Bound by Flame (15 page)

“Put me down right now,” she growled as Nick carried her along the far edge of Pelham Cemetery toward the Jeep.

“No” was his only response.

He ignored her struggling and kept her cradled against his chest. Couldn’t help himself there. He was too glad she was in one piece. Did make walking difficult, though. She almost knocked them down three separate times. He briefly considered carrying her potato-sack style, but he’d be flashing her half-naked ass to all of City Island. As it was, his raid jacket didn’t give her much cover, especially since she’d burned some pretty big holes in it when he was wearing it, trying to protect her during the fight.

She planted her elbow in his ribs, taking his breath, but he kept walking. “Put me down or I swear to the Goddess I’ll roast you.”

“We have to get out of here, firebird. Be quiet, and don’t smoke or burn anything. Civilians might see us.”

She went quiet, and she didn’t hit him again. He could tell she was beginning to come around all the way, and realize what was happening.

His head hurt, and every few seconds, he still wanted to vomit his guts out. Whenever he blinked, he saw big golden spots. The flashing red and blue lights from marked cars, fire engines, and ambulances lining King Avenue weren’t helping.

Everywhere his hands touched Cynda’s bare skin, heat blistered him—but she didn’t make any flames or smoke.

A few seconds later, she tensed. “Riana and Merilee?”

Nick shifted his grip and held her closer. “Already in the Jeep, waiting for us. If you’d be still, we’d get there faster.”

Cynda’s green eyes went from cloudy and distant to present and alert. She could probably walk now, but he didn’t want to put her down.

“What about Andy?” she asked, gingerly touching the bruise under her eye.

“Puking by the rear bumper, from what I can see. Creed’s pouring water on the back of her neck.” He let out a breath. Fifty yards, and they were on the road, straight out of this mess.

Cynda’s mouth twitched, then pulled into a frown. “Any Sibyls seriously injured?”

He hugged her a little tighter, and she let him. “No, but we’re sending six of OCU SWAT to the ER with burns and broken bones—and one serious trauma.”

Thirty yards. Twenty-five. Nick walked faster. The Forty-fifth was doing a grand job holding the line around the Sweetbriar house and King Avenue, but they could only keep the press and public back for so long.

“What will the Forty-fifth—”

“Gas main,” he said, anticipating her question. “And water main. When we woke up, the whole place was flooding. No one will be able to tell the difference.”

The sound of Andy’s obnoxiously loud retching rose over the dull background roar of police radio chatter and increasing crowd noise.

“Gas and water mains.” Cynda rolled her eyes as they reached the safety of the Jeep. “How creative.”

Nick opened the Jeep’s front passenger door, slipped Cynda into the seat, and fastened her belt.

In the backseat, Riana groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Anybody who makes a loud noise dies.”

“Captain called before you woke up, Nick,” Creed said from the hatch. “He’s six degrees hotter than red-ass mad. We need to get on the road.”

Cynda glanced once more at Nick and let him go.

Nick felt a weight form in his belly as he closed her door and got in behind her. He glanced back toward the nearly leveled Sweetbriar house and cursed himself for putting so many people in danger on an impulse.

No, not an impulse. It was for Jake.

Where is he?

Was he part of that setup?

Half of Nick’s mind knew his brother had to have been part of the bait, probably sent to the townhouse to fire Nick up and lead them all into an ambush. But the other half of Nick’s mind wasn’t so sure—or didn’t want to be.

Delilah Moses. Was she really a captive, or was that bullshit, too? That would have to get sorted out. Nick had no idea.

As for Max Moses…

A couple of horn blasts let them know the other caravan vehicles were ready to go.

“Lock and load,” Merilee said from the front seat.

Nick tensed.

Max Moses
.

The next time Nick ended up face-to-face with that slimy little rat-bastard, Max wouldn’t walk away whole.

9

The air in the townhouse conference room sizzled like fifty fire Sibyls were losing their tempers—but it was just one Curson.

Well, one half-demon cop.

Nick glowed like a radioactive warhead as he towered in front of the conference table and stared down Sal Freeman, Andy, and Creed.

Behind the conference table, the chalkboard and the paper-tacked bulletin board trembled from the energy of his rage.

Cynda stood at the back of the room with Merilee and Riana, separated from Nick by two dozen desks and chairs. She wanted to interfere, but she also wanted to stay out of the way.

Far, far out of the way.

She had meditated to heal on the drive back from City Island as best she could, and changed into comfortable jeans and a shirt when they got to the townhouse, but every muscle in her body still ached, and noise and light still grated on her. All the shouting hurt somewhere deep in her brain.

“Six of our people down?” Freeman clenched both fists, impressive biceps bunching. “What kind of fuckup was that operation? We
plan
. We recon. We don’t just muster the troops and take off blind, Lowell.”

Riana had hold of one of Cynda’s hands. Merilee had the other. They both squeezed her fingers.

“Recon wouldn’t have helped.” Nick faced his captain with equal stubbornness. “They knew we were coming. We need to move on to the Bronx house Max Moses told us about tonight and see what’s there.”

Freeman started to sputter a response full of four-letter words, but Andy cut him off.

“You’re too close to this, Nick.” She sounded so weary Cynda felt a surge of worry for her friend’s health. Dressed in Merilee’s jeans and one of Riana’s droopy-looking blue Oxford shirts, Andy didn’t even look like her usual self—a loud, brash fashion-disaster poster.

The wiped-out cop ran a hand through her unruly auburn hair and moved a step closer to Creed as Nick wheeled on her. She didn’t give up her point, though. Andy would never surrender in an argument unless she really
was
on her deathbed. “You can’t recon the Bronx house, especially not tonight. You’ll blow it.”

“I’m going,” Nick snarled.

Creed shook his head. “No. Let us do this part. Tomorrow. Hell, first of next week. The unit and the Sibyls need to rest.”

Nick’s expression darkened. “I’m not hanging Jake out to dry.”

Freeman put his muscled frame between the brothers and got right in Nick’s face. The captain’s biceps bulged against his white sleeves, his collar was open, and his tie was long gone. His thick black hair looked heavy with sweat, and his color rose as he yelled, “You
will
stay at this townhouse while the recon team does its work. You
will not
move without my okay, or you’ll hand over that damned badge!”

Nick jammed his hand into his jeans and ripped his back pocket yanking out his wallet. He would have thrown the leather at Sal Freeman’s face, shield and all, if Andy hadn’t grabbed his arm and snatched the wallet out of his hand.

Creed got hold of Nick’s other arm.

Cynda blew air through her teeth.

Enough of
this
shit.

She shook off Merilee and Riana and strode forward. Before Nick could damage himself or anyone else, Cynda bumped Sal Freeman out of the way with her hip, stood on her toes, snatched the collar of Nick’s shirt in both hands, and stared directly into his wild, dark eyes. “You’re done, big man.”

Nick struggled with Creed and Andy, and tried to pull away from Cynda’s grip, too.

“Stop!”
Cynda pressed herself into Nick, more than aware of his fury, of the steel-taut muscles shoving against her—and the barely suppressed
other
’s heat challenging her own.

Whatever.

After everything they’d just been through at the Sweetbriar house, if Nick’s inner demon was going to hurt her, then let it show up and swallow her whole. She hoped she gave the friggin’ thing indigestion.

Glaring at Nick, she channeled her elemental talent and lit Nick’s entire body on fire.

Andy let Nick go and staggered back from him and the conference table, clapping her hands to her shirt to crush little sparks and dancing flames.

Creed jumped aside, swearing.

Even Sal Freeman peeled away from Nick. Riana and Merilee lowered the blinds until all the windows in the conference room were shuttered.

Cynda pushed the burning Nick toward the desks, a few steps away from her, and snuffed the flames on her own clothing.

She was getting low on shirts, and this one was wasted now. Holes all across the chest—and both sleeves, too. So much for commercial fire retardant. Stupid stuff sucked.

Nick stood still for a few more seconds, ringed in Cynda’s fire from head to toe.

He blinked at her. Looked shocked. Seemed to focus completely on her face. Then he shifted fully into his
other
form, smoldered quietly as an eight-foot golden god for a moment, and morphed back to human male.

Naked human male.

No more fire. No burns. A little smoke and ash. His ponytail holder had burned away, and his dark hair fell wild around his face and shoulders.

Cynda gave him a slow appraisal, from his steaming face and shoulders to his sharply defined pecs and abs,
outstanding
package, rock-hard quads—definitely no worse for the burning.

Just the sight of him made her entire body ache. The pain in his eyes, etched on his face, that made her heart ache.

At least she had his full attention now.

“Better,” she said, her voice lower than she intended, as her eyes once more drifted up and down his perfect body. “Pretty great, in fact.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Andy muttered, shielding her eyes from a first-class view of Nick’s naked ass. “Talk about a sharing violation. Here.” She thrust Nick’s wallet and shield over his shoulder. He took it and placed it on the nearest desk.

Andy was out the door before Nick could thank her. So was Creed. Riana and Merilee lingered for about one second, then they left, too. Captain Freeman went last. He paused at the door, glanced at Cynda, and pointed to Nick. “He doesn’t leave this building until tomorrow, got me?”

“I got him,” Cynda said, trying to keep her pulse from racing. “I mean, you. Whatever.”

Freeman slammed the conference room door shut behind him.

Cynda was pretty sure he turned the lock, too.

Nick didn’t say a word. He just stood like a well-carved statue, staring at her, his expression absolutely unreadable.

If she reached out, her palm would be on that sculpted chest.

Cynda’s heart pounded as she slowly walked toward Nick. The world outside the conference room drew away until it felt like they were the only two people in the whole townhouse, in Manhattan, in all of New York City.

Maybe if she touched Nick, he’d come to life again, and speak, and make sense. Maybe if she kissed him, she could heal some of the anguish that drove him to shred the gym, speed off to City Island with the cavalry in tow, and now almost ram his shield up his captain’s nose.

“You’re a shithead,” she whispered, unable to tear her eyes from his.

One of Nick’s eyebrows twitched, like,
Oh yeah?

“First, you wreck the gym and behave like a maniac in front of half the OCU—and a load of Sibyls who don’t even know you.” Her hands ached from wanting to touch him. “Second, you dump the Jacob information on my triad before I tell them.”

Nick didn’t move, not even an eyebrow this time.

Was there any man in the world she’d rather have naked in front of her? Cynda couldn’t stop looking at him. Didn’t even want to try.

“Third,” she said, her voice growing hoarse from the heat crawling through her body, “you act all macho on City Island and treat me like I’m a weak little girl who can’t hold her own in a battle. Fourth, you were a complete jackass to your captain, your brother, and Andy when you
know
they’re right—and you
know
Andy hasn’t been okay in weeks.”

She temporarily ran out of words, captured by the growing fire in Nick’s black eyes. Emotion finally crept across his handsome face.

Desperation. Frustration.

Desire.

“Finished?” he asked in a low, gravelly tone.

“No, I’m not.” Cynda finally let herself touch Nick, but just to smack her hands against him and push him back another step. The heat in her fingers left red prints in the center of his bare chest. “You told me you had control of your
other
. That you meditate, have mantras. So what was that before the raid, that little fit in the gym—and just now, with all the glowing? Do you have control of your demon-half, or don’t you?”

Nick’s eyes flashed. “You don’t know what I saw in the gym. What I heard.”

She leaned toward him, shoulders smoking. “Maybe that’s because you
never tell me anything
!”

Nick flinched like she had slapped him. “That’s not true.”

Cynda waved a hand, trailing fire in the air between them. “What really happened with Jake in the basement, Nick?”

He opened his mouth. Hesitated.

Jets of flame crackled across Cynda’s back, wasting another section of her shirt—and getting Nick’s attention again.

“Talk…to…me.” She crossed her arms. “Whatever it is, we’ll handle it together. I swear that on
my
family’s lives.”

Nick ground his teeth so forcefully Cynda winced. The look on his face—utter disgust and agony. She didn’t know whether to hit him or shake him or take his head in her hands and kiss him until he found the right words.

Nick’s muscles tensed until she thought he might snap a tendon. “I know Jake probably set us up.”

“I don’t care about that part right now. The basement, Nick.” Cynda kept herself focused by digging her nails into her own skin. “I want to know what happened when you saw Jake.”