Bound by Flame (11 page)

He had no need to go there. The Latches and all their madness were over. He did what had to be done.

His gut ached like it always did when he thought about that bloody scene four months ago. Sweat coated his face and arms, even though he wasn’t hot. Nick clenched his jaw and wished he could dig a knife in his chest and cut out those memories. He’d pitch ’em out the nearest window and never look back—but something Cynda said back in the Jeep kept bugging him.

“
You can’t separate Jake from what happened to your parents…. Do you think you owe Jake something because of how they died?
”

Nick hadn’t thought about it in just those words.

The heat on his face eased, and he forced his muscles to relax.

He didn’t think he owed Jake anything, no. But…maybe Jake felt differently. Nick had an idea now about how to reach the Astaroth. Something he hadn’t tried—at least not in the right way. He would, today, later.

His eyes moved on to Cynda’s massive Celtic harp, dominating the corner of the room opposite that big table. Nick shook his head. Now
that
thing had been a pain to move. Two or three times, he had dented the floor with it, damaging their new HQ.

Well, HCQ.

Head Case Quarters, as every other precinct lovingly referred to the townhouse.

Plumbing issues aside, the place was pretty solid. At least they didn’t have to deal with the press here. Besides, they couldn’t have Sibyls and half demons whizzing in and out of the old Fourteenth Precinct, down on West Thirtieth. The police annex wasn’t set up for that level of traffic, or for enough privacy to hide the real purpose of the OCU with so many new people involved. So, the OCU had moved operations to the townhouse. Here at HCQ, Sibyls and the OCU could interact freely, and without public scrutiny. Any public or media-related work would be conducted by the OCU alone, down at the little set of offices they maintained at the old Fourteenth.

A loud hiss from Cynda drew Nick’s attention back to the redhead on the communications platform. Now Cynda seemed to be talking to women in blue and brown robes. At the other two Motherhouses, he presumed.

Whatever they were saying, it made Cynda frown.

At least the brown-robed crones and blue-robed harridans didn’t seem interested in Nick like that one from Motherhouse Ireland.

The old woman in green was still glowering at him through that other mirror, the one with the carved bog-oak frame that Cynda liked best. The crone’s expression reminded Nick of how the Sibyls in the alley had regarded him, like he was a cross between cockroach and rat, though they hadn’t said a word about why.

Nick felt Gideon rumble in the back of his mind, creeping forward, ready to help him face this threat, whatever it was.

He tried to brush Gideon backward, but the beast wouldn’t go.

Clearly, the old woman in the green robes didn’t have positive feelings toward Nick, if Gideon was so friggin’ riled.

What, did she want his inner demon neutered the way Creed’s had been?

Nick twitched at the thought. So did Gideon. Like a muscle spasm, only deep in Nick’s brain. He rested his hand on the thick chain around his own neck. His talisman. The key to controlling the Gideon part of his essence.

We have different ways, Creed and I,
he told that Gideon aspect of himself.
I would never let anyone melt you into me, or whatever those Russian Mothers did to Creed.

Gideon responded with a peaceful, trusting silence, though Nick sensed his beast-half continued to keep a close watch on the crone in the green robes.

Abruptly, Cynda raised her hands.

The images in the mirror blurred and faded as the fire Sibyl danced quick circles on the table, arms up, fingers sweeping back and forth like she was literally clearing the air.

Nick kept his breathing even as he watched the magic unfold, from the way Cynda moved to the way the mirrors shuddered against the walls, changed in texture, seeming to grow two-dimensional again even as the energy in the room moved and shifted around Cynda.

She was the center of all things and reality in that moment, and then—then it was just over.

The pictures in the mirror, now flat and indistinct, slowly blinked into nothing, then into reflections of the bedroom. After a few more minutes of slower dancing, Cynda stopped, her chest rising and falling, rising and falling. She spoke some quiet words, then climbed off the table and walked toward Nick, frowning.

He didn’t question her. In his months of knowing Cynda, he had learned that silence gave her more room to speak.

“That was harder than it should have been.” She raised one hand and rubbed her eyes. “The Mothers are beside themselves, and the adepts, too. All of us, everywhere. It was so hard to concentrate. I kept screwing up the chants and dances like I was a novice—and I know they all noticed.”

She hugged herself and looked absolutely fragile.

Nick ached to take her into his own arms and kiss away her stress and troubles, but he knew better. That would be like leaching a flame’s oxygen until it snuffed into sparks and smoke. It was way too easy to smother Cynda. As much as it went against his instincts and tendencies, he did have to let her lead more often than he was accustomed to doing with anyone.

“Bela Argos made sure the Mothers got Maura’s
shotel
right away.” Cynda seemed to hug herself even tighter. “Won’t take them long to get the results to us.” She shivered as she continued. “They want us to stay together, the triads, in several large groups, scattered across the city. Three or six in any patrol or incident response.”

Nick gave a nod of approval. “There
is
safety in numbers.”

Cynda gazed up at him. “And safety in letting friends and family take care of you. Thank you for guarding me, Nick. I’m sorry I’ve been such a bitch about it.”

The way her eyes flickered, the way she leaned toward him—it was too much to take.

Nick bit back a groan as he bent down and brushed her soft cheek with his lips. “I’ll always keep you safe. I’ll never let you get hurt again.” He moved his mouth across her jaw, her chin.

Cynda responded, instant and certain, turning her mouth to his until they were kissing, deep and hard and full.

Nick pulled her closer, cupped her firm ass with both hands and squeezed until she moaned into his mouth. He could feel her nipples, hard and ready against his chest, and he wanted to take her right on her big table, pump himself into her this minute, this second.

She rolled her hips against his, grinding herself against his pulsing cock like she wanted the same thing, until he damned near lost control, until he almost picked her up and carried her to the huge slab of wood, tearing her clothes off with each step.

But she pulled back a second later and stopped him, palms against his chest, carefully pushing him away from her.

Body roaring in protest, Nick turned Cynda loose. She looked conflicted and uncomfortable, and her voice came out in a whisper as she said, “You’ve got another day to find Jake. That’s all I can give you. I’m sorry.”

Nick’s chest tightened.

Don’t push
.

Fuck
he wanted to. Push, grope, ignite, satisfy…

But she really was fragile right now. He could see it in those beautiful eyes, feel it in his blood, even though he wished he didn’t. Her softness, the way she seemed like she might break from a single word, made him ache for her all the more.

He reached out and cupped her cheek, running his thumb along her jawline until he saw her shiver. She didn’t ask him to stop, or turn her face away from his touch, so he stroked her jaw again. She seemed to loosen all over, as if she might want him to hold her after all.

“We’ll talk about Jake later, firebird.” Nick brushed her hair behind her ears, then risked a kiss to the top of her head, which she didn’t resist. “And us.”

“We say that a lot,” she murmured, gazing up at him with those gorgeous green eyes. “Later for this, later for that. We’re storing too many emotions and problems on back burners, don’t you think?”

“Everything’s staying warm.” Nick lowered his head and moved his lips across her cheek, up, then down, toward her neck. At her ear, he said, “Some things might get hotter.”

Cynda trembled outright, and moved into him, just a step, the slightest movement, but Nick savored the fresh brush of her body against his. When his fingers slid down to her neck, she caught them and, half-mad, half-playful, said, “Stop that.”

He kept his eyes on hers and his hand wrapped in her fingers. “Do you really want me to stop?”

Cynda sucked in a breath. “No. Damn you.”

She closed her eyes, then opened them and let go of his hand. “But we have to get back downstairs and deal with this J. C. Downy revelation.”

Nick stroked her cheek once more, taking his time, reminding himself that he could be patient even if the top of his head blew off his body. Not to mention his cock. Waiting was what she needed right now, what she had to have.

He could give that to her.

Nick realized that if he could, he would give Cynda anything she wanted. Anything in the world.

When he nodded and took his hand from her face, Cynda’s expression shifted between disappointment and relief—with a touch of the devil.

Be sure, firebird. Because I’m sure. And I’m not waiting much longer.

“Duty first,” she said as she slipped around him and headed toward the door. “Pleasure later.”

“I’ll remember that,” he muttered as she escaped the bedroom and started down the hall.

Nick made a quick check of his clothes and his already-laceless boots.

Nothing smoking or burning.

Miracle.

Less than fifteen minutes later, Nick sat next to his brother in the ballroom-turned–conference room, in a row of folding chairs, trying to pay attention to the daily briefing even though Creed was aggravating the living piss out of him.

“Her room’s three doors from yours.” Creed gave Nick’s arm a punch. “Just knock and slip in one night, and give it to her fast and hard. She’ll still respect you in the morning.”

“If you weren’t my brother, I’d let you go a round with my
other,
” Nick said in a low, menacing tone.

Creed snorted. “I faced huge, snarling Russian wolves to get
my
woman. Surely you can handle a little fire.”

“Don’t start with the wolves again.” Nick let Gideon’s golden glow shine through his whole body. “I mean it.”

Creed laughed some more, but shut up. Finally.

At the front of the room, Sal Freeman banged on a chalkboard and yammered at the group of twenty or so OCU officers. Cynda’s triad, a ragtag group of ranger Sibyls, and triads from South Queens and North and South Brooklyn stood to the sides, listening.

The Sibyl numbers were dwindling fast.

Nick ground his teeth. Time to get a handle on this—now.

Freeman gave out the name of J. C. Downy, and set all the air Sibyls to researching it, as well as a few OCU officers with good electronic skills or archives connections. Everyone agreed the raid on the Bronx house should take a backseat to ferreting out Downy and bringing that witch in for questioning.

Cynda went next, relaying messages from the Mothers, along with the order to stay together at all costs.

As the meeting broke into smaller groups, Cynda faded off to talk more directly to the Sibyls. Creed gave Nick another two seconds of ribbing, then headed out of the conference room and down the long hall. Nick heard his brother’s footsteps echo, then ascend the wood and marble staircase as he went to pick a room for himself and Riana, since the triad needed to stay under the same roof.

Because of Nick’s symbiotic relationship with Gideon, his hearing remained unnaturally sharp, as did his eyesight. Near the conference room windows, he could see the gentle wisps of smoke rising from Cynda’s clothes as she spoke in the hallway with Merilee and Riana. Andy stood off to the side wearing her sunglasses even though she was in the house, smoothing down her crazy auburn hair, and waving one hand to say,
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Hurry up.

If Nick looked closer, really looked, using the full breadth and depth of the enhanced perception his partnership with Gideon allowed him to enjoy, he could see the ring of heat that clung to Cynda like a best friend, or a possessive, protective force. Merilee’s ring of energy looked like a contained whirlwind, faint but definite, waxing and waning with her level of attention. Around Riana, the air didn’t move at all, as if she centered it by her very presence. Andy…well, there was something around Andy, too, but the color and shape were ill defined. Bluish, chaotic, and a little thick, almost like a window Nick needed to polish with his elbow before he could see inside.

That Andy had a psychic residue didn’t surprise Nick. In his experience, most officers in the OCU had some paranormal talent or other, whether they knew it or not. Probably why they were drawn to the service in the first place. He had often wondered if the same was true for similar police units worldwide, and figured that it was.

Yep. Here we are, all the freaks and geeks, NYPD and otherwise.

Welcome to Head Case Quarters.

Several hours later, as the arguing, planning, patrol assignments, and tactical diagrams reached their peak, Nick’s mind wouldn’t stay on the tasks at hand. He needed to find Jake, and with every passing second, that need increased.

Cynda was right. They couldn’t keep the secret forever. He had to locate the boy—the man—the demon—whatever the hell he was.

Now.

Where to start was the only question, but after his conversation with Cynda in the Jeep, Nick kept coming up with the same answer.

Start where everything began—and where it all ended, too. He needed to seek Jake at the spot where they were most connected. If he were Jake, and they did share genetics, that’s where he’d go to make sense out of things, find the answers he needed.

After making sure Cynda was with her triad, Nick excused himself from the strategy meetings, showered, and dressed in his single-weave tunic and pants. He didn’t bother belting. He had long ago surpassed any belt a martial-arts training program could offer him, and he preferred the looser fit when he worked out.