Chapter 14 - Rick
They had flown to Washington in one of Nicolas’s private jets, a rare indulgence that Felix didn’t often opt for. This time, however, he seemed far too on edge to tolerate any traffic and was instead brooding in the corner of the jet, poring over legal documents with a deep furrow in his brow.
“Is he okay?” Rosalia asked, leaning over towards Rick, eyes wide in concern.
“He’s fine,” Rick replied, though he didn’t fully believe it. The humans had caught wind of mounting tensions between the Iron Walkers and the Black Claws, and if his informants in the White House were to be believed, the potential conflict had shaken the human administration to its top levels.
It made sense. If two such powerful packs were to clash, other packs could get drawn in. And humans would no doubt feel the impact.
Besides, Raph would be at the Accords with his Black Claws. And the murder of his son would no doubt be at the forefront of his mind.
Rick couldn’t help but sneer. It wasn’t murder. It was an execution. Putting down a rabid animal.
He’d do it again in a heartbeat.
Rosalia had settled back down, her finger tracing the book in front of her. He glanced over the page. It seemed to be a history of the peace talks following the Conflicts.
He hadn’t wanted to bring her. The presence of the Black Claws at the Accords set his teeth on edge.
But he had promised her that he would encourage her political education, and she had wanted to come. Plus, he would be there. There was nowhere safer for her than at his side.
The same was, of course, also true for his daughter. Eva sat opposite them, bouncing in her seat, singing along to the movie playing on her tablet.
“That’s a pretty song,” Rosalia said, smiling up at Eva, who grinned widely.
“Thank you, it’s my favorite!”
“Perhaps we should get you some singing lessons,” Rick said absent-mindedly. “I suspect your piano tutor might know someone.”
Her face fell. It was only small, a tiny crumpling of her little brow, but he caught it. A dimming of her weightless happiness.
“Or, you could just carry on singing,” he said quickly, “if that’s what you prefer. For your own enjoyment.”
Her eyes widened, “Really?”
He smiled indulgently, “Really. If it makes you happy.”
She nodded vigorously, “It does!” Then, she turned back to her tablet and began singing again, louder than before. It wasn’t perfect; she missed more notes than she hit, but the radiant joy on her face was all he needed to see.
Rosalia nudged his side, and he glanced down to see her smiling at him, her eyes sparkling.
“What?” he asked, brows knitting together.
“Nothing,” she said, her smile widening. “Why don’t you get back to your papers?”
He huffed, shuffling the papers in question in front of him.
Truthfully, he hadn’t been able to concentrate much on them.
He was too wired. Too ready for the upcoming challenge.
He had spent weeks preparing, making sure everything was in line, so that when he walked into that first introductory meeting, he could quickly and brutally disarm the Black Claws before they had the chance to even speak.
The thrill of anticipation sang in his blood.
It wouldn’t be long now.
Rick adjusted the cuff of his charcoal jacket, eyes trained on the view spilling beneath the plane window as they descended into Washington.
City lights stretched like molten veins across the dark earth, flickering orange and white.
He could see Rosalia’s reflection in the glass, a faint blur, but enough to catch the ready eagerness in her face.
She wouldn’t be allowed into the actual meetings, as she wasn’t technically a member of the Iron Walker inner circle yet, but she could take the opportunity to get a sense of things. Find her footing. And he could smell the excitement wafting from her at the challenge.
And the fear.
She masked it well, burying it deep, but it was there. It didn’t surprise him. It was in the flutter of her pulse, the white of her knuckles as she held her book.
The Black Claws would be present, and her father.
But Rick was there too, and only the Iron Walkers knew of her involvement in the demise of the three Black Claws. The size of the target on her back remained unchanged.
But there was a target, nonetheless.
He shifted in his seat, jaw clenching. He had killed for her before, and he would kill for her again.
As the plane landed, jolting slightly against the tarmac, it occurred to Rick that the depth of his feelings for her ran much deeper than he had previously anticipated. Than he had previously accounted for. He was not a man to open his heart readily.
The truth sat inside him, an uncomfortable wrinkle in his otherwise meticulously crafted sense of self.
It wasn’t the sex. He had never gotten attached before. He had, in fact, lived his life comfortable in the assumption that when he did finally settle down, allow a female behind his carefully constructed walls, it would be entirely due to his own conscious choice.
To have such things dictated by mere…emotion…
It irritated him. But at the same time, his wolf was simple in its approach.
Mine. That’s all there is to it.
And Rick had never been one to deny the uncomplicated truth of his animal self. He was not a human. He was a shifter. Emotion came second to instinct.
And his instincts roared that Rosalia was his.
If only he could accept that.
It hadn’t come easy to his pack brothers.
Nicolas had been forced to ice Daisy out, to protect her from his bastard of a father, and the lies between them had stretched years.
Cassie was a human, and Felix had had to overcome a lifetime of mistrust. As for Dane and Lola…
Dane had been a complete idiot, to nobody’s surprise. There wasn’t much more to it than that.
But all three of them had defeated the obstacles facing them, and every day, Rick could see the happiness it brought them.
By comparison, Rosalia was his wife. His from the very start, with nothing in their way. Uncomplicated.
He glanced over at Rosalia, who was smiling indulgently at Eva, more of a mother to her than Zara had ever been.
She was beautiful. Poised. Intelligent. Stronger than she knew.
His jaw clenched.
He was not a man to open his heart readily.
As the plane slowed to a halt and Rick stood, grabbing their bags from the overhead compartment, Rick tried to put thoughts of Rosalia out of his head. He had to concentrate. As lovely as she was, he couldn’t let her distract him from his purpose.
He needed to bring down the Black Claws. Lay them low before they decide to attack.
Rosalia accepted her bag from him with a grateful smile, holding her hand out for Eva to take, and Rick brushed a kiss onto her forehead, relishing the heady scent of her skin.
She sighed, leaning into him, and his whole being clawed at itself to just let her in.
He schooled his features and stood tall. His wolf snarled at him, driving him to lean back into her, to kiss her properly.
He wrestled the beast down.
Later. There would be time for all that later.
For now, he had a war to win.
***
The Willard was already a hornet’s nest.
Even from the limousine, he could scent the alphas inside, musk and dominance clashing in the marble halls. By the time they stepped beneath the gilded entrance, the air was thick with it, testosterone and fury woven into the perfumed flowers scattered uselessly about.
Rick’s gaze swept the lobby, cataloguing threats.
Black Claw wolves clustered in one corner, thick-shouldered and sullen, their dark suits fitting like shackles on beasts too large for cages.
The Stonewheel Bears were louder, booming laughter rattling the chandeliers.
A pride of mountain lions lounged like kings, feline smiles concealing sharp teeth.
And threading among them, serpents all their own, were the human delegates.
Senators, advisors, men, and women who thought their pens sharper than any claw.
And John Heath.
The Green Mountain alpha stood near the bar, a glass of amber liquid in his hand. He did not approach, did not so much as lift his drink in acknowledgment. But his eyes found Rosalia instantly, and the satisfaction in them made Rick’s wolf bristle.
He felt Rosalia tense beside him. He didn’t need to look to know her throat had tightened, her shoulders drawn. The careful mask had not faltered, but scent did not lie. Fear leaked through her restraint, delicate and bitter on his tongue.
His jaw flexed. He wanted to rip Heath’s throat out then and there. Wanted to drag Rosalia behind him and snarl at every bastard in the room that she was his, and no one would touch her, not even her father.
Especially not her father.
But Eva’s hand was small in his, and her wide eyes darted from face to face, curious but anxious beneath the weight of so many alphas. Rick reined himself in with effort. This was not the battlefield. Not yet.
“Come,” he murmured, guiding both Rosalia and Eva toward the lounge off the main foyer. Plush leather couches, soft lamps, fewer prying eyes. He settled them there, crouching to tuck Eva’s coat around her small legs. “Stay here. Other guests will join you soon, as well as guards.”
Rosalia nodded, her eyes flicking to him with something he could not name. Gratitude, perhaps. Or relief. It stirred a dangerous warmth in his chest, one he refused to examine too closely.
He straightened, smoothing his jacket once more, and stepped back into the maelstrom.
“Are you ready?” Felix asked, eyes flashing as he glanced over to the Black Claws.
Rick sneered, “No games. No lead-ups. I’m not even going to give them the chance to lay any groundwork.”
Felix nodded, running a hand through his hair, “Good. I want this done clean.”
Rick couldn’t help the scoff. “I’d lower your expectations.”
“I’m serious, Rick,” Felix said, his voice low and graveled, thick with stress, “don’t do this as a wolf. It’ll only goad them. Do it as a lawyer. Brief. Impersonal. I want the fallout to be minimal.”
Rick’s lip curled. “Nothing has ever happened at an Accord meeting, and nothing will ever happen. The humans with their guns make sure of that.”
Felix bared his teeth. “Raph’s son is dead, Rick. I don’t think this is going to be like other Accord meetings.”
“Don’t worry,” Rick said, smoothing his jacket, eyes flashing as he looked around the room, “I have everything under control.”