[Southern Arcana 3.0] Deadlock (32 page)

“Nowhere near what it could have been. Right now, it’s little more than vandalism. If the police knew Franklin was there or—God forbid—his girlfriend, the assistant District Attorney…” His weary sigh said it all. “We can’t afford to act like petulant children when we don’t get our way. We can’t afford people like that on our ruling councils.”

He sounded so tired, so defeated. Alec rose, took both of their glasses to the bar and reached for the whiskey. “They’ve been getting their own way for a long time. Maybe they can tell something’s about to give.”

“Is it?”

“Hasn’t it already?” Alec brought the Alpha his glass. “Enrica Maglieri is the first woman to sit on the Conclave. A turned wolf of two years defeated a Conclave member in a fight. The Seer has a child and isn’t living under their thumb anymore. The old guard has to be in a panic.”

“The old guard, as you call it, will fight to the death to preserve what they see as theirs.”

It was as clear a warning as Alec was likely to get, but nothing he didn’t already know. He lifted his glass and smiled. “So let’s fight.”

A strange black Town Car was parked outside Alec’s house when he and Carmen returned from the city. Carmen tensed when the driver’s door opened and a vaguely familiar man stepped out. “Who the hell is that?”

Alec shifted the truck into park and gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white. “That would be Alexander Jacobson, Junior. My father.”

That meant the impeccably coiffed woman in the pink designer suit had to be his mother. She shaded her eyes against the slanting sunlight in an effort to see inside the cab of the truck and frowned.

Carmen laid her hand on Alec’s knee and attempted a joke. “Hiding down on the floorboard isn’t an option, is it?”

“I told you to run for the hills.” Alec carefully lifted both hands from the wheel and flexed them. “If you want me to, I’ll turn around and drive away. We can stay at your place. Or a hotel.”

“No. We’re not going to live that way, running from them until they give up and go away.” She opened the truck door and stepped out. “Hello.”

Alec’s mother was a handsome woman, with flawless golden skin and darkly exotic eyes. She smiled at Carmen as she picked her way across the uneven gravel, mercenary interest darting ahead of her on a wave of tight anticipation. “You must be Carmen Mendoza. I’m Geraldine Parker Jacobson, Alexander’s mother.”

The roiling emotions turned her stomach, but Carmen managed a smile. “Alec’s told me a lot about you.”

“Oh, now I doubt that.” Geraldine offered Carmen her hand. “It’s all right, dear. I know my son.”

The truck door slammed behind them, and Alec’s boots crunched on the drive as he circled the truck. Carmen felt his solid heat at her back as she shook the older woman’s hand, and she stepped closer as soon as she could, leaning into him. “Welcome to New Orleans.”

Tension vibrated through Alec. “You could have called.”

“I did,” Geraldine replied serenely. She lifted one hand, a deceptively casual gesture that had Alec’s father scrambling to her side. “Miss Mendoza, allow me to introduce my husband, Junior.”

The older man held out a hand and flinched when Alec growled. Geraldine pinned her son with a cool look, but her rebuke was mild. “Manners, Alexander.”

A tense situation, and it was up to Carmen to defuse it and maintain a veneer of civility. “Come on inside,” she invited. “I’ll make some coffee, and we can visit for a little while.”

“That sounds lovely.” Geraldine turned, then glanced over her shoulder. “Alex, your father would like to have a few words with you. Perhaps you boys can follow us inside?”

A quick squeeze of Alec’s hand, and Carmen released him. “I’ll see you in a minute.”

She led the woman up the porch steps and through the front door, trying to ignore the way Geraldine’s gaze seemed to linger on the beat-up furniture and bare walls. “The kitchen is just through here.”

“I see.” Though disapproval flavored the words, so did sadness. “He hasn’t made much of a home for himself, has he?”

For Alec, his house had been a place reserved for the times when he had nowhere else to go. “He hasn’t had much of a reason to.”

“I hope you give him one.” The older woman folded her hands together and gave Carmen a serious look. “I know you’re an empath. I won’t pretend that I don’t have ambitions for my son. I want to see him achieve his potential. I want to see him take the power he deserves. But I’ve never wanted him to be unhappy.”

“And when those ambitions run counter to his happiness?”

“Sometimes they will. The strongest among us make sacrifices. We should, because we get absolute loyalty in return.”

The loyalty they garnered was anything but absolute, and most of them were too much like Carmen’s uncle—ready and eager to abuse what they
did
get. “If you’re looking to me as an ally, I should tell you right now that I will never encourage Alec to do anything that goes against his conscience or his values. It’s just not going to happen.”

Geraldine smiled. “You’re not weak-willed. That’s good. I don’t need an ally, but he will. I imagine sometimes you’ll rather hate me, but I was born a Parker, just like the Alpha’s late wife. My mother was an Ochoa. Leadership and power is in my blood, and in my son’s.”

It would be easy, maybe even satisfying in a petty way, to inform her that Alec wasn’t interested in doing things the old way, that he didn’t believe a good leader’s abilities had to be intrinsically tied to his heritage. But there was no victory in it, nothing to be gained. Perhaps this woman had done the best she could, and perhaps power was simply the only thing that mattered to her.

It made no difference either way. Alec wouldn’t be fighting to bring down people like his parents—doing so would result in little more than chaos. Change would come slowly, born of struggle and difficulty.

But change
would
come.

It allowed Carmen to return the woman’s smile. “I can’t think of anyone who would do a better job than your son.”

“Then we
are
allies, whether you believe it or not. In that, at least.” Her gaze drifted around the kitchen and dining room, a tiny wrinkle appearing on her otherwise perfect forehead. “You’ll undoubtedly be busy with plans for the wedding, not to mention finding a place in New York. Perhaps you’ll let me hire someone to take care of the house here. A Conclave member really should have a home fit for entertaining.”

So many assumptions, it was difficult to know where to begin. Carmen took a deep breath and retrieved the coffee from the cupboard. “Actually, I’m going to handle that myself. But, if you have the time… I’ll admit I could use some help with the wedding plans.”

“I know just the person. I’ll make a few calls. Take care of everything.”

Allowing Geraldine control of one day out of a lifetime was palatable. Allowing her to decorate their home wasn’t. “I understand we’ll be expected to stage quite the party.”

“For a Conclave member?” The woman’s smile widened. “Oh, it will be the wedding of the decade.”

On second thought,
palatable
might be too generous. Still, she and Alec could stand it, and they’d plan their own honeymoon, assuming they had time for one. Someplace quiet, peaceful, with no one but them for miles in any given direction.

Walker Gravois was tall, dark and arguably one of the most dangerous men in New Orleans. He’d have to be, to keep up with Zola, but the lion had a further edge, one Alec recognized all too well from a decade ago—the alertness of a man accustomed to fighting for his life.

They’d all need that edge soon enough.

Alec stood next to Walker in Zola’s second-floor practice area, watching Andrew and Julio take swings at each other under Zola’s watchful eye. Andrew was damn near half a foot taller than Julio, but Carmen’s brother was built like a brick wall—solid muscle and unrelenting strength. Alec had seen him take more than one punch that would have laid anyone else in the room flat out, but Julio seemed capable of shaking off just about anything.

“Mendoza’s a tank.” Walker’s lazy words still carried more than a hint of bayou accent. “But his head would be rolling right now if Andrew wasn’t pulling his punches.”

Because Andrew knew where to punch, and when. Instinct, training—something had clicked in the younger man’s head, unleashing a formidable fighter. “This is half a year as a shapeshifter. Imagine how scary he’ll be in another year or two.”

“Don’t really want to.” Walker grinned. “One more reason to keep on his good side.”

It helped with one of the nagging worries about what would come with the challenge tomorrow. “I’m glad I’m not sending him out to get his ass handed to him.”

The lion sobered. “Still might not be an easy fight. I heard some stuff about Hughes. Real nasty shit.”

“Never thought it would be easy. I just need to know Andrew has a chance.”

“Oh, plenty, provided he can hold it together in an actual fight.”

Julio ducked a swing and backed away with a snort. “We can hear the deconstruction. It’s very uplifting.”

Alec had no sympathy. “You’ll hear a whole hell of a lot worse during an actual challenge. At least we want to see your punk asses make it through in one piece.”

Andrew kept coming, and this time Julio landed a punch to his gut. It wasn’t enough to stop him, but it gave him pause. Julio danced back, panting. “I think Callaghan’s ready.”

“What about you, Julio?
You
feel ready?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? Y’all left me the easy one.”

“Don’t get cocky, kid.” Alec took a step forward and snapped to get Andrew’s attention. “Enough. You need to be fresh for tomorrow.”

Andrew growled and spun away, flexing his shoulders, his breathing so deep and rhythmic it had to be a conscious effort to calm himself.

Zola slashed a disapproving look at Alec, moved to Andrew’s side and murmured something too soft to hear. Then she raised her voice. “Julio, with me.”

She disappeared down the stairs with the two of them, leaving Alec alone with Walker, who asked, “Got time for a serious question?”

He should have seen it coming. Anyone who had the slightest interest in the power structure of New Orleans had found a chance to speak to him over the past week, starting with his father’s awkward attempts at reconciliation. No one knew if he was going to win, but they knew they’d better be prepared.

Walker was more straightforward than most, and Alec appreciated it. “Worried about the new world order and where the lions fit into it?”

“You hold my marker, mine
and
Zola’s.” Walker nodded slowly. “Just wondering if you plan to do anything with it once you snag this spot you’re after.”

Alec hadn’t allowed himself to envision a world beyond Friday—not yet. “Whatever I do, we’ll all figure it out together. The rest of the country may not be ready for it, but it’s about time the wolves in New Orleans started playing friendly with everyone else.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” He offered his hand. “Good luck.”

Clasping the lion’s hand, Alec could only hope he wouldn’t need it.

Chapter Twenty-One

Carmen recognized the clearing behind Alec’s house instantly. The place where he’d chased her, caught her.

Kissed her.

Now, people milled about, a dozen she knew and even more she didn’t. All here to bear witness to a fight that could end in death.

More than one death. Alec stood a few feet away in a loose circle with Andrew and Julio, their voices a low murmur. On the other side of them, Kat stood by Miguel, her face pale and miserable.

As more people filtered into the clearing, Alec broke away from the other wolves and strode to Carmen’s side. “How you holding up, sweetheart?”

She had her empathy locked down, everything and everyone shut out, even Alec. “I’m fine, I’m—” At this point, only a resolution would make her feel better. “Jorge Ochoa just accosted me and said he’s always admired me. What is that all about?”

“Sucking up.” Alec slid an arm around her waist and tugged her close. “It’s good. It means he’s sure I’m going to win.”

Most of the gathered throng seemed to be, perhaps because they sensed Cesar only fought because he had no face-saving alternative. “Be careful. Promise me you will be.”

“You know it.” Heedless of the crowd, he leaned down and brushed his lips over her cheek. His voice lowered to a whisper. “I need you to do something. Something only you can do.”

“Anything.”

“When Andrew’s fighting, keep an eye on Kat.” His breath barely stirred her hair, but his body was tense against hers. “Empathically. If something happens to him, even if he’s just hurt… The last time she saw someone hurt him, she killed two men. Jackson can lock her down, but he needs to know if her empathy’s about to go nova.”

“I can ask her,” she murmured. “I’m sure she’ll want me to. She wouldn’t want to risk hurting everyone.”

“Don’t mention—” He broke off, pulled back and smiled down at her. “Who am I kidding? You know how to handle it, and you have no idea what a relief that is.”

“We’re in this together.” She caught sight of her father across the clearing and quickly averted her gaze. “Has anyone figured it out yet? The other challenges?”

“Not that I can tell.” His smile faded. “And we shouldn’t give them a chance. Everyone who matters is here. It’s time.”

Fear spiked, intense and unavoidable, but she knew her shields would hold it in. She stretched up to kiss his cheek. “You’re ready.”

“Because of you.” He turned his head and caught her mouth in a hard, hungry kiss that promised it wouldn’t be the last. “I’ll be right back,” he whispered against her lips, then turned and strode toward the center of the clearing.

Carmen released a breath on a shudder and ignored two people who looked like they might try to talk to her. Instead, she walked over and slid her hand into Kat’s. “Can I stand with you?”

“Yes.” Kat’s fingers closed around hers, so tight and desperate Carmen’s hand ached. Power prickled against her shields, the pressure of an empathic gift as angry as it was vast. Next to her, Kat shuddered. “I don’t know what’s worse. Watching, or not watching.”

“Not watching.” Imagination combined with ignorance, and the
waiting
… “Not watching would be worse.”