Rico regarded the restless group, reading resentment, boredom and irritation rubbing over a strong foundation of dislike. He hadn’t expected the New Orleans Shifters to like him, but he’d hoped for a bit of that shock and awe from the first day to hold them together until he taught them what they needed to know to survive. Maybe he was too arrogant, too uncertain of his role as teacher to claim their admiration. They didn’t have to like him to learn from him, but they did have to respect him to place value on what he shared.
Okay, so he wasn’t great at speeches. Time for an impressive visual aid.
One by one, they noticed the stranger in the room, standing silently in the shadows, attention lingering there instead of on their instructor as he stepped in front of them.
“What’s our greatest advantage as a fighter?”
They stared at him blankly for an uncomfortable beat. Finally, Donny offered, “Strength.”
“Good, but not enough.”
“Skill,” T-Ray added.
“Also good, but a lot of strong, skilled fighters find themselves on their backs crying uncle. Right?”
T-Ray flushed as a snicker ran through the group. They’d heard of the brawler’s defeat by a scrappy little guy who’d wiped the floor up with him.
A voice drawled from the back. “Are you going tell us the secret, or do we have to send you $29.95 plus shipping and handling?”
Rico’s gaze narrowed, but he smiled as the others laughed over Auguste’s comment. “Naw, the lesson’s free if you’re smart enough to learn from it. I’ll give you a little demonstration, then let’s see which of you dock dogs can figure out what’s going to save your lives.”
Before amusement at his expense turned ugly, Rico stripped off his sweat jacket to bare his chest. Hard muscle swelled his shoulders and brutally corrugated his long, tapering torso. Numerous scars spoke of brutal training, his body a weapon as deadly as the pair of staffs he picked up from the table. He brought them down behind his head, squaring them along his traps to delineate his impressive physique.
“This is strength.”
As he gestured for his visitor to come forward, he flung one of the bows his way. It was plucked deftly from the air, spun through a series of loops and figure eights before jabbing his way like a lance. Rico didn’t flinch as its tip stilled a scant inch from his nose.
“That’s skill.”
When the newcomer removed his jacket, revealing a bristle of dark, russet-colored hair and a single large diamond earring, they knew they were about to be schooled by two Terriot princes. He twirled the bow in lazy loops then struck a fierce en guard pose. And without a word the two brothers engaged with a crack of wood on wood.
In a deadly dance so evenly matched it almost appeared choreographed, the Terriot warriors circled and clashed, each strike intercepted, every parry held. None of the movements were pulled. Had any blow landed, the power behind it was bone-shattering.
With focus so intense, they might have been alone in the room until a firm voice called out, "Elbows in, Row. Mated life is making you sloppy."
Surprised, Rico broke form, turning toward the speaker. If his brother's moves had indeed been careless, the quickly checked swing would have taken off his head.
"My king!" Rico went to one knee, staff squared on the floor in front of him, other fist going to the wolf's head tattoo over his heart as his head bowed.
"Get up," Cale Terriot insisted. "You know I hate that."
As Rico stood, his king pulled him into a quick embrace, gripping his damp hair to give his head a shake.
"When did you get here? Did you come with Row?"
A quick grin, "If anyone was taking a shot at you, I wanted it to be me."
As if unaware of their awestruck audience, Cale shook off his jacket and stripped out of his pullover, paying no attention to the collective inhale when he turned to accept the baton Turow offered. His back held a maze of old scars. More dramatic were the very fresh reminders of how close he'd come to death little over a month before when he’d worked the docks beside many of them as black-haired cage fighter, Mick Terry. He grinned at his brothers rather savagely.
"Let's play."
If two princes sparring was breath-suspending, a king thrown into the mix mesmerized. The Patrol members, with the exception of T-Ray, who knew Cale from the city’s underground fighting circuit, had never seen such violent poetry in motion. Though of widely different styles-Turow smooth and disciplined, Rico boldly aggressive, and Cale a rapid blur-all maintained the same firm control that left their audience with jaws sagging.
When Cale's baton slipped past Turow's guard to crack sharply against his skull, the younger prince bowed out and took a knee on the sidelines.
Breathe. Rico slowed the hot-blooded need to break form and attack recklessly that always got him in trouble. He needed to be a positive example, not of what not to do. He rarely, and more recently never, got the best of Cale, who'd picked up some interesting tricks from Savoie in order to protect his queen, his clan and himself. He knew his brother was pacing himself so as not to embarrass him in front of his men, but losing to Cale Terriot was nothing to be ashamed of. So, when a quick move ghosted through his tight defenses and dropped him to hands and knees, he set aside his weapon, as Turow had done, to bow to the greater man without loss of pride.
Once they got over their awe, the New Orleans recruits cheered noisily as Cale put down his hand to hoist their instructor to his feet.
They bumped brows, Cale whispering, "I'll get outta your way. See you at the club. I got a special invitation from the birthday girl. I owe her my life. It's not like I'd say no." Before Rico could smile, he added, "You and Colin owe me some explanation about this . . . ummm, tutoring session."
"I'll let him break the news."
"And then we'll talk."
That somber tone promised nothing to look forward to.
"Yes, my king." Rico looked to Turow. "Staying or going?"
"Thought I'd give you some backup."
Having Turow Terriot at his back was nothing to dismiss lightly. While the silent prince stood behind him, Rico addressed his now attentive audience.
"Learn anything?"
"Yeah. That you can take one helluva hit!" the mouthy one, Trey, called out.
Rico chuckled at his own expense then replied, "I give as good as I receive. I think I promised to show you and some others that." His gaze slid to Gus then quickly away. "Anyone learn anything valuable?"
"Yeah," T-Ray chuckled. "That you don't want to fuck with Terriots."
Rico grinned. "Very true. But it's not the speed or the skill or the power that makes us who we are. It's not even the willingness to do or sacrifice whatever it takes to win. It's something I learned just recently from my king, who I'm always proud to lose to. Anyone know what that is?"
Gus answered quietly. "Mind reading."
While the others chuckled, Rico asked, "Explain."
"It's like you know what the other is going to do ahead of time."
He gave a reluctant nod to Amber’s brother. “Anticipation, not for drawing first blood, but to watch for a pattern and a weakness. My weakness is rushing in before I understand my enemy, as my brothers have so kindly pointed out on more than one occasion.” He smiled back at Turow who broke his stoic front to grin. “Know your opponent. Take those first few minutes, if you have them, to study their moves, their technique so you can use them to your advantage. Row, here, hesitates just for a split second before he takes his final shot.”
“What?”
Rico nodded toward his indignant brother. “Yeah, you do. It’s a moral compass thing, deciding if you need to kill or just incapacitate. In that second he’s open, and it’s the only second you’ll ever get. If you don’t take it, he takes you.”
“But you’ve been training together for years,” Gus interjected. “How does that help us when going up against an enemy we don’t know?”
“Most of the time, you have seconds to understand your opponent, if you’re lucky. Battle isn’t like sparring in a nice cozy warehouse. It’s brutal and ugly and the most terrifying unknown you’ll ever come up against. Have any of you actually killed someone?”
An awkward silence. Only T-Ray Roux glanced at the floor. Then Trey, the big mouth, challenged, “Have you?”
Without blinking, with his voice so flat and cold it sent a palpable shiver through each of them, Rico said, “I had the blood of a dozen grown men on my hands before I was old enough to enjoy my first female. We never had the luxury of being children in our House. We grew up forced to fight our brothers to shine in our father’s eyes until able to turn that rage on enemies. And we had plenty of rage, enough to burn down the world.
“Here in your sheltered little community, you don’t know what fear is. It’s a cold that seizes up in your belly worse than any hunger. You don’t know what loyalty is, that unquestioning drive pushing you to leap in front of another to take a bullet without hesitation. You don’t have the kind of pride that makes death preferable to disgrace. You’ve never known a threat to your families or your clan that could tear all you love away in an instant. But you will. It will come. It will come to your city, to your comfortable homes, to crush and conquer everything you know. It’ll come from the North, and there is no place you can hide, no mercy you can beg for, and no future you’ll want for your children. That’s what’s coming. Not from Memphis. Not from Tahoe, but from the cold and the unforgiving who are not like us.
“You think I’m here because I get off pushing you around. Maybe I do.” A thin smile. “But I’m also here to teach you how to save your own lives, so you can protect this city that’s valuable to all our survival. So, our enemies won’t be one step closer to my family’s door. If we can’t stop them here, they’ll devour us like a plague. If any of you think I’m just playing around, that this is a game, leave now, because shit’s about to get deadly serious.”
“You’ve seen them?” Trey asked almost in a whisper.
“No. I don’t ever want to see them. But I know the evil they do, the evil that infected my king and your leader, Savoie. I know that they’ve come into your city once before and none could stop them.”
“But you can teach us how?”
He smiled fiercely at Donny. “I can teach you how to become a force they’ll be afraid to confront, if you’ll listen. If you’ll trust me and yourselves. I don’t plan to die here, but I don’t know how to surrender. Will you follow me?”
Silence.
“Yes.” T-Ray’s voice rose firm and strong.
“Yes,” Trey seconded.
A chorus of determined pledges followed.
And Rico heard his brother echo softly behind him, “Yes."
* * * * *
Pearl LaRoche’s party was everything Amber assumed a young girl’s gathering would be—giggling, awkward kids, dressed up and uncomfortable, unsure of how to act or what to say within the circle of parental supervision. She’d never had such an experience in her own youth but had glimpses of it in the angsty coming-of-age movies Evangeline occasionally made her watch. Pride in and concern for her girl squirmed through Amber. That helplessness at not being able to shelter or advise her was a first, but she stood firm and stood back.
Waiting for her daughter to return from the bathroom, her gaze wandered the faces of those around her, most strangers, many Terriots, but the Terriot she sought was missing.
The lights went down in the room, spiking anxiousness because Evie hadn’t returned. About to search for her, Amber stopped as the spots flashed and circled above. She and the others turned curiously as those floods of light swept down to fix upon two figures on the dance floor. She caught her breath, eyes brimming.
They made an adorable pair, Rico in baggy pants, high tops, a sparkly gold short-waisted jacket open over a loose and yet revealing A-shirt, his hair spiked aggressively, and her daughter wearing a stiff tulle skater skirt over cropped bike shorts, a midriff top mostly hidden by a large varsity jacket, her hair gelled up into an '80s bouffant and her smile stiff with fright. Protectiveness almost had her stepping forward. Then Rico’s palm fit to the girl’s side and her gaze rose to his just as the music began. And she beamed with confidence.
Amber pressed fingertips to trembling lips, the ache in her belly rising to swell her heart to near bursting as MC Hammer’s “Can’t Touch This” set the mismatched couple in synced Running Man motion, stepping, sliding, turning as the room began clapping in time to the beat. Dwarfed by his larger form, Evangeline did a saucy little grind while Rico motioned with the wagging of his forefingers that no one would be touching that any time soon.
If Amber James didn’t already love him, that would have sealed the deal.
The music changed abruptly to Kenny Loggins’ infectious “Footloose.” When Rico grabbed his partner’s hands, lifting the slight figure through a series of spins and tosses, worry for her daughter’s safety never surfaced as her own feelings soared dizzily along with her because of the absolute trust in the child’s expression.
As the group moved out onto the floor to mimic the film’s energetic scene, forming two lines facing one another, the cute couple moved down it, followed by Colin who grabbed his youngest sister’s hand to draw her out on the floor amid squeals and blushes. Cale snatched up the birthday girl to dance her down the cheering gauntlet.
And at the end of the line, Rico did something that would endear him to Amber forever. He placed Evie’s hand into that of the dark-haired teen she’d been ogling since they got there, and gave the boy a push. Amber saw the universe explode in her daughter’s expression, but she had no chance to delight in it as Rico traded daughter for mother, pulling her tight so she had no choice but to follow the sexy swing of his hips as he grinned down at her.
Breathless by the time they finished their trip down the line, Amber made no move to leave his loose embrace, layered upon the hard, panting rock of his chest, losing herself in the warm glow of his gaze.
“Thank you.”
He lifted her hand to his lips for a kiss that was anything but chaste before answering, “My pleasure.”
“When did you do all of this?”
He winked. “Our secret.”
Amber glanced toward her child. “I’ve never seen her so happy.”
“Then my job here is done.”
She smiled at his teasing remark, but hoped that wasn’t true.
* * * * *
After changing out of his sweaty vintage clothes, Rico exited the bathroom and bumped into the one person he didn’t want to see.
"Can we talk?"
"I don't have anything to say to you, Mia." He started to draw back, gaze scanning the room for his brother, but she latched on to his arm in a no-nonsense grip.
"Outside." She nodded toward the back door.
"With you?" His brother was busy for the moment laughing with their king, but his inattentiveness wouldn’t last long. "Not a chance. I don't even want to be seen talking with you in here."
She tugged his arm, hard, jerking him off balance, pulling him toward the steps leading to the rear exit. Her aggressiveness was one of the things that had appealed the most to him. Now, he was afraid it was going to get him killed. Rather than make a scene, he went along as far as the office, waving her inside as an alternative to being out alone with her in the dark, inviting all sorts of deadly misconceptions. She stepped in, and he conspicuously left the door open.
"What do you want, Mia?"
"Make it right with Colin."
He waved a dismissing hand. “Not this again.”
“Yes, this. I don’t know how many more times I can say I’m sorry.”
"Water under the bridge. Bygones, et cetera."
"Not good enough. We need to set some things straight."
"Really?" He snorted. "Did you come up with some other excuse for lying to me? For playing me? To avenge your family? To make Colin jealous? To get close enough to my family in Tahoe to find a way to kill us all? Am I forgetting anything?"
"I never lied to you," she argued with insulting indignation. But she didn't deny his accusations.
"I don't care, Mia. I don't care about your guilt or Colin's conscience. I'm not going to make it easy for you to toss aside what you did. Because I don't forgive you. Not for using me, not for messing up my life with your selfish agenda. So, save it, sister."
She paled, but instead of the expected petition of tears, she squared up to meet his accusations without flinching.
"I don't expect to be forgiven. I don't forgive myself. And I know how lucky I am that your brother has a kinder heart than either of ours.”
He studied those luscious red lips that had once tried to suck his off his face, then betrayed him so eloquently. The thought of tasting them again was the farthest thing from his mind. He searched for a quick escape.
“Colin will be looking for you.”
“I knew what I was doing, to you, to him,” she continued as if she hadn’t heard him, “and I couldn't let it matter. I told myself it was the right thing to do for my family, for our safety and our future. It wasn't a game to me, and I never took it lightly. I had to put aside all the feelings I had for you and Colin, for your family and this place, to be someone I despised, someone who deserves every bit of your contempt.”
Before he could comment, she hurried on.
"But I won't make excuses. Someone had killed my father and brother, and that someone convinced me and others that my cousin and your clan were to blame. Would you have done anything different if our roles were reversed? To avenge your family, to save your loved ones, and keep them from harm? Is there anything you wouldn't do? Anyone you wouldn't be willing to betray?"
He fell silent then finally surprised her by saying softly, "No. There is nothing I wouldn't do for those I love. There's nothing I haven't sacrificed for their sake. And it doesn’t matter. It will never change how they see me."
She studied him, still angry, still fierce, still cuttingly honest. "How they see you or how you see yourself?" When he regarded her in stoic silence, she demanded, "What did you say to him?"
Rico sighed, all the self-righteous starch going out of him as he confessed, "Something neither of us can ever forgive. Let it alone, Mia."
"What did you say?"
"I asked him if he was sure the baby was his."
She blinked. "How could you ask that when you know it is?"
"Because it was the only way I could hurt him, and I wanted to hurt him."
Her fist came straight from the shoulder, clipping his chin to send him stumbling. Before she could launch another punch, a firm voice intruded.
"That's enough, Mia. You don't need to fight my battles."
She turned on her mate, fury seething in each rapid breath. "This isn't just about you and him."
"Yes, it is," Colin corrected, his tone so flat and emotionless, she immediately calmed from anger to concern.
"This wasn't what you think, Colin."
His brows rose, gaze going from her unblinking stare to his brother's swelling jaw. "Then that was a love tap?"
"That was . . . not planned as part of my apology."
Brows went up another notch. "You were apologizing to him?" The cool stare shifted to Rico who wisely remained impassive. "I think you've done enough apologizing, Mia."
"Colin." She took a breath to argue, but another voice intruded.
"Mia, I need to speak to my brothers. Would you excuse us?"
One didn't argue with one's king-in-law when his silky smile might be covering any number of intentions. After a quick press of Colin's forearm, Mia slipped by Cale Terriot and out into the hall so he could close the door behind her. He looked between his two younger brothers who both refused to return his gaze, theirs downcast above firmly gripped jaws.
"All right," Cale began. "I'm not going to ask who started it. I am so beyond caring who said what. Enough is enough. You're grown ass men, not whiny kids with daddy issues any more. I don't care if you slug it out or hug it out, but this crap ends right here, right now. You're representing me and our family, and you will not shame us or yourselves with this petty shit. Don't come out of this room until you've put it behind you for good. You pay for anything you break. Just don't break each other's fool necks. Deal with it. Now."
After Cale shut them in time-out alone, they regarded one another for a long, prickly moment.
"Slug or hug?" Colin asked at last. "Got a preference?"
Rico sighed. "I'm real tired of being a punching bag." He rubbed his jaw ruefully. "But not feeling the huggy thing."
"Me, either. Wanna beer?"
"Sure."
While Colin went to the cooler, Rico dropped onto one of the couches, eyes closing, his face aching, his emotions balling up like a discarded wrapper all over again. The chill of the bottle glass brought his gaze up. "Thanks."
Colin clinked his brew against Rico's and instead of electing the distant couch, he took a seat beside his sprawled rival. They drew deep, sitting in silence for a long moment.
"I've been such a dick."
Colin didn't argue that opening statement. Instead, he countered, "You were there for me, Red. I wouldn't be alive to have what I have if it hadn’t been for you. You kept me going long enough to realize what I needed to fight for. I didn't want one of those things I had to fight to be you."
They both drank and reflected on those comments.
"A son," Rico mused, nudging with his elbow. "I can't take any credit there." A heavy exhale. "I got drunk and feeling sorry for myself, not because of what you had, but because of what I didn't."
They both took long swallows. Colin bumped against him. "I'm really over this discussion. How 'bout you?"
"Totally."
"Do you need a hug?"
"Not from you."
A chuckle. "So, how are things going with the locals?"
Grateful for the change in topic, Rico filled him in on his observations and inroads with the New Orleans patrol. Leaving out the fact that one of the males under his command was Amber's brother.