Free Zola's Pride by Moira Rogers Page B

the earth—when had the death of one
ever come without pain and trouble for those left in the rubble of
their broken lives? “Tell me.”
    He shifted his weight from one foot
to the other. “Is there someplace we can talk?”
    She could take him next door, to the
coffee shop, but she imagined nothing he had to say could be said in
the presence of humans. Bringing him to her home was too trusting,
too intimate—but denying him felt like cowardice.
    Pride had always been her folly.
“Come upstairs. I’ll make you some coffee.”

    Walker had thought that nothing
about Zola’s present life could shock him. She’d always
been a free spirit, and he’d had to acknowledge at the outset
of his search that he had no idea where or how he’d find her,
which was predictable in its own way. But the one thing he hadn’t
seen coming was that she might have run back to New Orleans. “I
didn’t expect you to be in Louisiana.”
    No one who didn’t know her
would have noticed the tiny flinch, the way her shoulders tensed up
and squared, a telling defensive gesture. “New Orleans is a
good place for a cat. The wolves ignore me.”
    “ I know.” He’d
grown up in the bayou, south of the city. “I guess all the
stories about my old stomping ground made it sound irresistible.”
    The coffee cup she’d pulled
from the cupboard smashed into the counter hard enough to fracture,
and she hissed her frustration. “I didn’t come here
because of you,” she said stiffly as she shoved the cup aside
and reached for another. “And why I am here is irrelevant. Why
are you here?”
    Easy enough to answer, and it still
might get him kicked out of her apartment. “I need your help.”
    Zola didn’t seem surprised.
“Yes, Seers rarely die quiet deaths. I suppose she left a mess
behind?”
    That was one way to put it.
“Tatienne ran into some trouble with a mercenary group in
Portugal. It was bad.”
    “ How bad?”
    “ Bad enough for them to follow
us.” Bad enough for them to kill most of the pride.
    She turned slowly, eyes narrowed,
face tight. “Why me? Why throw yourself on my mercy when not one of you had a sliver of compassion in your hearts
when she drove me out? I am not a martyr, not for any man. Not even
for you.”
    Yes, she would assume no one had
cared, because the truth was an unthinkable horror, one he would
never reveal to her if he could help it. “I cared, Zola. You
have to know I did.”
    “ Maybe.” She turned
again, gave him her back—this time in a clear show of
disrespect. “Maybe not enough.”
    There was nothing to say, no
soothing words to offer. “The pride is mine—what’s
left of it, anyway—and all I want to do is keep them alive.
Keep them safe.”
    “ You want to move them here?”
Disbelief painted the words. She spun to face him, and her fingers
twitched toward her palm, a warning sign that her temper burned hot.
Ten years ago she would have followed through, formed a fist and
struck him. Her passions had always ridden close to the surface, but
maturity had clearly tempered them with restraint.
    “ New Orleans is the safest
place,” he told her calmly. “Surely a half-dozen lions
who only want to keep to themselves won’t get in your way.”
    “ Oh, are we civilized now? Are
we human ?”
She abandoned the coffee she’d poured for him and stalked
across the hardwood floor to slam a hand to the table next to him.
Then she leaned into his space, filling the air with the angry sizzle
of a shapeshifter challenge. “I will not be forced from my home
again.”
    Keeping a leash on his own reaction
cost him dearly. There were few ways to react to such a challenge,
and they all ended in violence or sex—neither of which was an
option, not if they both wanted to keep their heads on straight. “I’m
the only one left, Zola. The only one who stood by while Tatienne
drove you out. And I’ll—I’ll leave as soon as the
rest of the pride is settled.”
    She recoiled, leaving only