Bound by Flame (21 page)

Holding the cuffs with one hand, Nick stooped, collected the bag, and shoved it in Max’s sweatshirt pocket.

The bastard actually gave him a little smirk. “You might have me on the weed, but I’d like to see you make City Island and all that other stuff stick to
me
. No judge in his right mind will believe a word you say.”

“You won’t be seeing any judge here, Max.” Nick shoved the scrawny man forward, out of the stand of elms, onto a paved path. When Max staggered, Nick grabbed him and pointed him north, toward the townhouse. “Some special judges in Ireland want a word with you. They’re called Mothers.”

Max slowed, and Nick gave him another push.

At the edge of the park, he took hold of Max’s cuffs with one hand and put his free hand against Max’s back. They crossed onto the sidewalk, with traffic whizzing alongside, and Max didn’t struggle much, probably scared Nick would shove him in front of a bus.

The long, cold walk back to the townhouse did nothing to settle the fire inside Nick.

All he could think about was an ever-increasing army of Astaroth demons, intent on destroying fire Sibyls.

Cynda.

Not happening.

He’d be damned if they’d get her, or anyone else. He’d behead hundreds of Astaroths all on his own. Even if he had to take Jake down, just like he took down their mother.

I’m going to have to do it after all. Kill my brother. I can feel it in my gut.

Which ripped and tore until he wanted to blow a hole through his own center, just to stop the pain.

Nick’s breath curled around him like dragon-flames as Gideon let loose an inner snarl.

My brother Jake.

The leader of the invisible demon horde.

Under Downy’s control? Or not?

Nick guided Max in front of him as he crossed against traffic and flipped off the nearest honking driver.

Another family member’s blood on my hands.

No.

There’s
got
to be another way.

A few minutes later, Nick banged open the townhouse’s front door and shed snow and ice on the polished, perfect herringbone hardwood floors as he marched Max toward the conference room.

“This don’t look like a real precinct!” Max yelled. “What’re you doin’? Help. Hey! Heee-eeelp!”

His racket summoned the troops better than any bell or siren.

Creed, Riana, Merilee, and Sal Freeman came out of the kitchen at a dead run. Riana looked like she had coffee all over her shirt.

More OCU officers poured out of side rooms, along with the North Staten Island Sibyl triad.

The sight of so many cops and the Sibyls in their fighting leathers—with swords and daggers clearly visible—made Max clamp his mouth shut. He gave Nick a look like he might piss his pants.

Cynda came running down the steps, wide-eyed. She was dressed in hip-hugging jeans and a black tunic, and she looked more than fine, even if he had half a mind to cuff
her
once he finished with Max.

Nick couldn’t help gazing at Cynda for a few seconds before putting his hand on Max’s head and forcing him forward, through the conference room door.

Everyone else came rattling in behind him. Freeman immediately sent the OCU officers out again to attend to whatever they’d been doing, but he let the Sibyls stay.

Nick pushed Max all the way to the front of the room and spun him around.

He waited for his audience to sit down, glaring first at Freeman, then at Creed, then at everyone else, one at a time.

They all eased themselves into desks facing Nick and Max, Cynda on the far right. Nick didn’t want to be so aware of her, but her presence grabbed a part of his mind and wouldn’t let go.

“What’s going on?” Riana asked, obviously rattled.

Nick shrugged. “I caught up with Max. Thought I’d bring him in.”

“You…went after him alone?” Cynda looked surprised, then worried.

“That’s how I’ve always done things.” Nick couldn’t help the Gideon-enhanced sharpness in his tone. He turned his face toward her and held her gaze without blinking. “Sorry I forgot to ask your permission.”

“Or mine,” Freeman said, his voice as cold as the weather.

Nick chose to give that remark a pass. For now. He and Freeman would have to resolve their differences later, or he
would
hand in his badge and work on his own.

Instead of getting into it with the captain, he shared the information Max had given him in the park. As he spoke, Merilee and the air Sibyl from Staten Island scrambled to get out their pads and pens and keep up.

Max squirmed a few times, but Nick kept him quiet by turning his head toward the increasingly angry armed Sibyls. As he spoke, he didn’t hold back on the parts about Jake, even though it made his gut ache worse.

Creed’s expression suggested he felt sick, but Nick knew he couldn’t help his twin.

What was, was.

They’d just have to deal with it.

After relating all he had to relate about the Downy situation and the Bronx house, Nick said to Cynda, “I hear the Mothers like to do their own interrogations in situations like this. Why don’t we go upstairs and get them on the line?”

Cynda’s cool, collected expression faltered. She stammered for a moment, then came back with, “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Nick.”

He forced his best smile. “I can always buy some plane tickets, and we can do this exchange in person.”

Riana, Merilee, and the other Sibyls looked confused, which surprised Nick.

So, whatever happened the night before last, Cynda hasn’t even told them
.

He didn’t know if that made him feel better or worse.

“I thought I was going to Ireland,” Max mumbled, obviously confused.

Riana pushed out of her desk and stood. “I think it’s a good idea.” Her gaze flicked from Nick and Max to Cynda as everyone else got to their feet, and she hesitated. “If you don’t want to send him, Jewel can do it.” She gestured to the tall, brunette fire Sibyl from North Staten Island.

Cynda’s mouth came open, but she didn’t say anything.

Merilee stepped in with, “That’s probably best.” She gave Creed a little nudge, and he came forward to take control of the prisoner. To Cynda, she said, “Why don’t you and Nick have a little chat?”

“Also a good idea,” Riana agreed immediately.

Cynda wrapped her arms around her middle and looked like she wanted to die.

As Nick surrendered Max to Creed, the informant balked and strained to turn back to Nick. When Creed let him, Max asked, “Will you at least rescue me mum if you can?”

Poor bastard has no idea what’s waiting for him in Connemara
. Nick pushed the prisoner toward Creed and said, “Yeah.”

At the same moment, Cynda said, “I’ll save Delilah.”

Nick locked eyes with her. Electricity seemed to crackle across the room.

Creed took Max off Nick’s hands, and he and Freeman and the other Sibyls started to leave the room.

Cynda glanced after them and chewed on her lip.

Nick realized she was thinking about bolting out the door behind them.

Not happening, firebird
.

He waited until Max, Creed, and Freeman cleared the door, then slipped forward while Cynda’s attention was still on the procession of Sibyls.

Before she could get away from him again, he grabbed her around the waist, hoisted her, and tossed her over his shoulder.

She yelped with surprise.

Merilee, who was last in line, jumped at the sound, slowed for a second, but didn’t turn to check.

At least
somebody
in the Sibyl ranks trusts me.
As he finished the thought, he couldn’t help putting his free hand on Cynda’s firm ass to steady her.

His jeans caught fire.

“Don’t do this,” Cynda snarled as she pounded on his back with flame-coated fists.

Nick shifted his grip to keep her from kicking a hole in his ribs and said, “You’re the one who’s always wanting to talk, firebird. So let’s talk.”

He strode out of the conference room, carrying the swearing, fire-spitting Sibyl toward the basement, and just let his clothes burn.

13

Blood rushed to Cynda’s face as Nick carried her over his shoulder while he dodged teetering stacks of books on his way to the basement. She continued to shout swearwords as his clothing sizzled from the flames on her fists and body. He didn’t seem to give a damn that he would end up naked by the time he finally set her down.

If he set her down.

His boot heels sounded like gunfire on the wooden steps, and his maddening, musky ocean scent kept washing over her, threatening to take her fire. His skin was cold from his trip out to capture Max, his shirt still almost icy against her heat.

She tried to wriggle out of his grasp. “Nick! So help me, I can cook parts of you you’ll
really
miss!”

He clasped his hand more firmly over her ass. “You keep up that noise, everyone in HCQ will be listening at the door.”

She
so
didn’t want to deal with him right now, with any of this. It was too hard being so close to him, wanting him with such a fierce rush of desire—and more. Something more.

Something she couldn’t face right now.

Cynda squirmed and beat on his back, which was hard as a friggin’ rock. Right now she hated him. She hated the Mothers. It didn’t matter what she did, what choices she made, she was going to lose. And she was so tired of losing.

Losing her birth family as a child. Losing her home to Creed and Riana. Losing other Sibyls.

And now—the decision between losing the only true family she’d ever known or losing Nick.

What kind of choice was that?

The pain in her chest blossomed and a tear steamed away to nothing on her hot cheeks.

Her fists hurt from beating on his back. He probably didn’t even feel her blows, but she kept hitting him until she spent so much energy her spurts of fire started to wane.

When he got her inside the basement, he closed the door behind them and locked it, all the while keeping an iron grip around her body. Then he marched her past restacked weights, new exercise balls, and patched mats, to the center of the room. He slid her off his shoulder, keeping her close, his arms around her waist as her feet found the stone floor.

Cynda fought waves of joy at his touch, and her fire diminished until only smoke drifted from her now-bare shoulders. It felt so good to be close to him, to feel his body against hers.

Joy slipped away, replaced by heart-wrenching pain.
Wrong. Every single thing in the world is wrong right now.

But she still couldn’t tear herself from him.

He
was so right.

Why did this have to be so complicated? Why couldn’t she have him
and
her family?

Cynda gazed into his black eyes and her tortured thoughts faded a bit. She shoved them to the back of her mind. For now. For just this moment.

The concern in his gaze, the pain—and something more—tore at her like a firestorm. The
something more
in his eyes—it seemed to match what she felt inside.

She wanted to kiss him so badly she felt it like a storm in her belly. Her eyes traveled from his face to his bare chest—his T-shirt had completely burned away. Unable to stop herself, she ran her hands up his thighs and across his tight abs, resting them on his pecs. She loved his firm muscles beneath her palms, the smoothness of his skin.

But she couldn’t keep this up. She didn’t dare. She’d never be able to stop touching him.

“What changed?” he asked her in quiet, low tones, his face only inches from hers.

Nick’s breath felt like heaven on her face. “Nothing,” she said, wishing that could be true. Her muscles felt close to giving out from the sudden feelings of defeat. “But everything.”

Nick dipped his head and caught her bottom lip in his teeth.

Cynda gasped from the sharp pleasure, and before she knew it, she was kissing him deep and long and slow. The instant her lips touched his, she knew if she didn’t stay away from him she’d never have enough of him, never be satisfied.

Rational thought burned away like sparks winking out of existence. He slid his hands under her burned tunic and dug his fingers into her skin. Like electric shocks, everywhere he made contact made her whole body feel alive.

Reason tried to batter its way into Cynda’s mind again, but her body begged her to forget the consequences of what she was doing. Clenching his hair in her fists, freeing it from his ponytail, Cynda kept going, heart pounding harder and harder each second she tasted Nick’s mouth, his tongue. That burning, minty fire. She could drink it. She could drink
him
.

His arms tightened around her as she trailed her fingernails down his sides, lower, to the waistband of his jeans. To the snap and zipper. His erection shoved against the fabric, pushing into her belly, teasing her, tempting her more than she thought she could stand.

Another second, and she would fall right off the cliff—and land at the bottom of her life, broken into bits.

Instead, she broke the kiss, but she didn’t move away from him.

“I need you so much it aches,” she whispered against Nick’s mouth. “It hurts.”

“I can fix that,” he said in his deep, sexy voice. Every word felt like a tender nibble on her breasts, between her legs. Cynda throbbed all over. But she shook her head.

No.

Aloud, with less conviction. “No.” Then the rest of the truth hit her like a hammer to her chest. “I want to
so much,
but I can’t.”

Nick refused to turn her, and Cynda couldn’t stop staring at him, into his hypnotic eyes. She didn’t want to let him go. She wanted to feel the safety of his arms, the comfort.

“Tell me why, firebird.” He kissed her forehead, then rested her head on his bare shoulder and ran his hand through her hair. “What did the Mothers say to you?”

Cynda pressed her cheek against the hard muscle of his chest, and took a deep breath of him. All man. All hers—