Some of the tension faded from his stance. “Are you sure?”
Zola couldn’t help but smile. “Sure that you owe me? Yes.”
“Sure that you really want me to stay.”
Yes. “You’re sleeping on the couch.”
A slow smile curved his lips. “I expected nothing less.”
The smile spoke of wicked confidence and lingering heat, evoking a strong enough reaction to drive her from the couch in search of her phone. Calling Alec would give her time to catch her breath, to find her balance. Perhaps time to fool herself into believing that she’d invited Walker to stay in search of closure, when the truth seemed so much more damning.
Her rebellious heart wasn’t trying to close the chapter of her life dominated by Walker Gravois. It was trying to start a new one.
Walker sat behind the dojo’s small front desk and fielded another inquiry about class schedules and rates. The phone had been ringing nonstop all morning, making it clear just how successful a business Zola had built for herself.
But she needed help. There was a whole level between the ground studio and her apartment on the third floor, a single cavernous room where clients worked out or sparred between private lessons. Right now, it sat empty. Someone could be up there teaching a second class. And if she had someone working the desk—
Knock it off, Gravois, he told himself firmly. It’s her business, not yours.
A particularly enthusiastic kiai drew his attention back to the floor, where Zola ran herd over a dozen supernatural children. Most knelt in a ragged circle, fidgeting with the abundant energy of youth, while one tiny wolf with bouncing pigtails barrelled through taikyoku shodan so fast it looked like a blur instead of a kata.
Separate classes for humans and supernaturals, another thing that had to complicate her scheduling. She definitely needed help, and he had to remember that he was the last person who should offer it.
Zola murmured encouragement to the girl as she corrected the position of her arms, then watched her execute a few vigorous punches. “Better,” Zola said, raising her voice. Her gaze caught Walker’s across the room, and she smiled a little. “Up, all of you. Along the far wall.”
One or two of the children groaned, but they still formed a staggered line against the mirrors. Zola moved to stand beside the desk and nodded. “Sprints. Thirty. Boys, then girls, then boys, then girls. Go!“
The seven boys took off toward the far wall, the shapeshifters outdistancing the one child who sparked with magic instead of feral power. Zola turned her back on the spectacle and switched to French. “I cancelled my afternoon classes. When the little ones are gone, we’ll be able to concentrate.”
“It’s a nice place, Zola.”
Pride shone in her eyes. “Yes. My place. My home.”
And he’d stumbled back into it. Guilt raked at him, and he had to force a smile. What if her involvement went beyond allowing him to use her contacts? If he’d brought his fight to her. .
He’d never survive if his mistakes hurt her.
She read his turmoil in the fake smile. “I wasn’t helpless, even as a girl. Whatever comes, I’ll handle it.”
He should have known he wouldn’t be able to fool her. “You shouldn’t have to. That part’s on me.”
One dark eyebrow swept upwards. “You think I need your protection?”
Careful, Walker. “I think it’s my responsibility if I bring my trouble to you.”
“Only if you’re better at handling that trouble than I am.” She smiled in teasing challenge as the doorbell jingled, announcing the arrival of the first of the parents returning to retrieve their children. “Perhaps we’ll see later.”
Definitely a challenge. “You looking to fight me?”
“Just a friendly sparring. I’m sure we’ve both learned new tricks since the last time.”
So many layers of meaning, even if Walker was fairly certain she’d meant the words innocently. “Can’t wait,” he murmured, lowering his gaze so she wouldn’t see the awareness there.
Zola slipped away to resume watch over her charges, running them back and forth as more parents and guardians arrived, until the front of the dojo was crowded. More than one of the wolves cast curious glances his way, but no one approached him, not even when Zola sent the last of her students stampeding toward the exit.
She closed the door and threw the deadbolt. “The children are my favourites. They haven’t learned to be afraid yet.”
“But they’re aware.” They’d recognized him as out of place.
“New Orleans is safer. Not safe.”
Another thing that hadn’t changed in the years he’d been gone. “My half-brother still lives here.” Better to get that out there, to let her think it had influenced his decision to come back, even if it wasn’t true. After all, he hadn’t dragged his ass into John’s restaurant past closing time, asking for help.
No. He had come to her.
She brushed her fingers over the light switch, leaving the dojo lit only from the broken light slanting through the blinds on the front window. “Yes, I remember.” Her footsteps took her towards the stairs, as if she expected him to follow. “I enjoy his cooking.”
Surely John would have said something if Zola had taken pains to introduce herself. “Have you met him?”
“Of course.” She hesitated, then turned while balanced on the first step, putting her eyes level with his. “I told him only that I’d met you during my travels, and that I’d considered you a friend. He never indicated he knew otherwise.”
Because his brother had never been a meddling bastard, and it was a dozen kinds of wrong for Walker to regret it now. “John’s the quiet type.”
“Mmm. Some say the same of me.” A smile played at the corners of her lips. “So. Do we spar?”
So that was what had her in such an all-fired hurry to get upstairs. Walker acquiesced with a shrug and one raised eyebrow. “If you think you can handle me.”
Laughter was her only answer as she spun and launched herself up the stairs. He had to follow at a run, and barely ducked a swing when he made it into the open room above.
He circled out of reach, keeping a sharp gaze on her centre of gravity. “That wasn’t quite fair, honey. Cheap shots are beneath you.”
“No such thing.” Her weight rested nimbly on the balls of her feet, and she swayed a little, smiling. “Never start a fight you don’t intend to finish, no?”
“The cardinal rule,” he agreed. “But you know dirty fighting exposes weakness.”
“So does friendly banter.” She darted forward, a feint obvious enough to be easily avoided. “Play with me, Walker.”
He kicked off his shoes and rushed her once. Instead of meeting her straight on, he pushed off on her shoulder, using the momentum to spin them both around. She went with it, flowing into the turn so fast she whipped around in a tight circle and nearly struck his back.
He broke away and let her come at him, ready to pin down her technique. She didn’t have one; she had at least a dozen, drawing on elements from various martial arts so quickly, so fluidly, he could barely catalogue them.
There was more than a little capoeira influence in the way she moved, especially when she crouched to avoid a blow and immediately retaliated by bracing her weight on one arm and launching into a meia lua pulada. Her legs kicked through the air, spinning so fast they almost blurred, and he barely dodged.
Walker managed to get her on the mat, but she hooked her feet under his legs and threw him off immediately. He landed with a thump on the mat, and she sprang up in another flurry of kicks.