Witches' Waves (22 page)

“I know.” The other man's voice changed, showed a hint of compassion that Meaghan hadn't expected. Not so much like Shaw after all, though he'd probably be just as cool and ruthless if he felt it was needed. “I suspect that's why you took her to the beach that day. God knows it's why I didn't try to stop you.”

“I knew she was a suicide risk,” Garrett admitted. “But she deserved that much freedom, to choose her own death rather than wait for a termination order or a seizure that finally killed her. I had no way of knowing her water magic was so strong it would override the lock.”

Termination order?

The scariest thing was that it didn't surprise her. Pain choked her, knowing that Garrett was involved, but at least he'd tried to let her die with dignity and seemed genuinely sorry it hadn't worked.

But why did he number himself among the monsters? That strange magic she'd sensed earlier?

She tried to maintain the illusion of unconsciousness. If they knew they'd been overheard, she'd be dead within minutes. She could move now, and it was all she could do to keep herself from jumping up and trying to run. But she knew she wouldn't get far.

“Nobody did or I would never have let you set her free to die. She's a far more powerful witch than anyone except maybe Shaw realized. As powerful as most witches I've met from the major clans, even though all her relatives were textbook normal. Your style of magic lock won't work for long now that her gifts have woken.”

Garrett made a small, pained noise at that, and the other man paused briefly. He was being considerate of Garrett, she realized, and that surprised her.

“And she's been with the Donovans,” he continued, “who no doubt encouraged her to rebel but didn't have time to teach her much control. We'll use her as long as we can, but either the lock itself will kill her or she'll break the lock and have to be terminated for everyone's safety. And if she takes anyone with her when she snaps, that will be Shaw's fault for keeping her and everyone else ignorant of her true powers.”

A long, long silence. Finally Garrett said very softly, “When the time comes, I'll do it myself, sir. My fucked-up magic isn't good for much, but I can make sure she doesn't have time to suffer or be afraid.”

The other man sighed. “It's a damn shame we even have to have this conversation, Mr. Clark. An asset as valuable as a seer raised by the Agency should have been nurtured, not abused. If Shaw weren't already dead, I'd kill him myself for mishandling this situation from the beginning. For now, give her another dose of sedative. If she's sedated as much as possible, it should keep the worst effects of the lock at bay.”

Meaghan held very still as the sound of the other man's footsteps retreated and a door shut. Garrett's hands were gentle on her skin, touching her like she imagined someone would touch a beloved pet that didn't have long to live. “I'm so sorry, honey,” he whispered as the needle pricked into her arm. “I didn't want it to be this way.”

Hot tears fell on Meaghan's skin.

She couldn't afford to slip into unconsciousness, so she rode the waves of the drug again. This time, she had practice, so it worked better.

Garrett, whom she'd thought was her friend, was talking about killing her and calling himself a monster. She could still feel the gentleness and sorrow in him, though, despite the strange, twisted magic she also sensed.

On the positive side, even the other agent, the one who seemed to be Garrett's boss, was a little afraid of her. There had to be some way to use that to her advantage.

And she'd been dying because of the spells on her, not from her disorder.

That meant she might be able to build a life with Deck and Kyle, assuming she could get out of here alive.

I
will
get out of here. I'll get back to Kyle and Deck. And before I do, I'll make sure these bastards are scared to come after Jocelyn, or any of us, ever again.
The thoughts echoed with enough power to hold off the drug for a short while.

But in the end it won.

Chapter Twenty-One

“Your uncle Dermott and I always suspected there was a secret Agency facility in Northern California,” Desmond Donovan said, “probably in an abandoned mine or logging town in Humboldt County, inland from Eureka. Honestly, though, I'm surprised you're sticking your neck out this way instead of going surfing and trying to pretend there's no evil in the world.”

Deck forced himself to breathe slowly and focus on his father's red-rimmed, swollen eyes. If he was being even more brusque than usual, a lot of it was grief and anger. Maybe goading him was his father's way of holding on to a little of the status quo when things were spinning out of control. That didn't make Deck like it, but at least he could understand.

“I never said there was no evil. I said that when it came to fighting evil I was as likely to screw things up as I was to help, and you've always agreed with that. I'm still concerned I might make something go horribly wrong. But they brought their evil to Donovan's Cove and hurt people I love. They killed Grandma. They took Meaghan. I can't sit this one out.”

Deck's father crossed his arms over his chest, still impressively broad at sixty-five, and studied his son as he might a proliferation of stinkbugs. Only he'd probably have some compassion for the stinkbugs that couldn't help being what they were.

That wasn't fair to his father and Deck knew it. But he was definitely being studied. And if past experience was any guide, he was being found wanting. Not a stinkbug, but not what he should be either. Deck's stomach churned. He'd told Kyle he needed to face his father alone, but now he wanted the otter by his side. Holding his hand. Charming his father. His parents would love Kyle.

His parents would love Meaghan too, even if they might not be so crazy about him being with both Meaghan and Kyle.

Get Meaghan back in one piece, then sweat the small stuff.

At his age, his parents' reaction to his partners should be small stuff. Just his luck he had more intimidating parents than most.

Finally, his father spoke, his words soft and considered. His father's words were always soft and considered. No wonder Deck tended to speak first, loudly, and worry about it later.

“Your aura finally looks like an adult's. This woman the Agency snatched back is the one who makes your magic dance.” It wasn't a question.

“Meaghan
and
Kyle.” He resisted the instinct to add
sir
to that. He was twenty-three but he still felt like he was six and in trouble whenever his father addressed him. “Neither one does so alone. It's the same for Meaghan. We both need Kyle.”

Deck counted silently during his father's next long silence. Forty-seven seconds during which he could have been doing something useful. Thanks to his father, he knew more or less where Meaghan was. He needed to let the others know so they could narrow down the search and figure how to get there without the teleportation technology the Agency had.

If the count hit fifty, Deck was going to bolt to his feet and leave. Instead, his father spoke, “I wouldn't have chosen an otter or a girl with serious medical problems and a history with the Agency for your partners. And before you say anything, I know it's not my job to choose your partners. Your mother and I worry about you because you've always seemed like you were lost and flailing, and it's hard to let go of the habit. But the magic doesn't lie. I can see it in your aura. You're linked to both of them and it's already making you, and probably the others, more than you would be on your own. I'm glad to get some good news out of all this horror. Even if it's good news it'll take me awhile to adjust to completely.”

For the first time in Deck's memory, Deck felt like he might have the upper hand in a conversation with his father. “I'm glad you're thinking of this as good news, even if it's confusing good news. I'm a Donovan. Family is important to me and I'd prefer we all settle down here. But if we have to pack up and move to Australia or Baja because you can't handle this relationship, that's what we'll do. Kyle and Meaghan and I belong together.”

He just barely managed to avoid saying
“Kyle and Meaghan are mine,”
which was true on the deepest level but would disturb his father a little too much at a time when they all had to work together. “I'll do whatever I need to do to keep them safe and happy. That starts with taking the information you gave me and using it to get Meaghan free and kick Agency ass.”

His father gaped, temporarily speechless.

Deck stood, stalked away from his father's desk. Despite the bitter fear lodged in his belly knowing that Meaghan was a prisoner and Elissa's kid might still be in danger, knowing he had to confront the Agency to get Meaghan back and keep the rest of the family safe, he felt a strange sense of satisfaction.

At the door, though, he turned back to his father.

The older man's face was buried in his hands but he looked up when Deck turned. His face was furrowed with grief and pain. “You grew up while I wasn't paying attention. Do what you must and may the Powers bless you all and protect your little witch until you can bring her home. Just be careful out there. It seems what your cousin ran into wasn't just a rogue operative. The Agency's even worse than we knew.” He took a deep breath. “I'm sorry, lad. The first time you brought that otter boy around, my mother said he was a deep one and would be good for you if you had the sense to see it. Mother would never stand in your way, even if your way's a bit odd, and she always said you'd find your path when you were ready. It's about time I learned that lesson. Past time.”

Deck struggled for air, as if an enormous wave was crushing him, keeping him from the surface. He couldn't think, could barely speak.

But one thing came through the turmoil in his mind, crystal clear. He and Desmond Donovan had their differences, but they both loved Grandma Roz and mourned for her. His grandmother, his father's mother.

He had work to do, a lover to save.

But first he took a few agonizingly slow steps back to his father. Circled behind the big Victorian desk that separated them whenever his father felt the need to have one of their little chats.

Drew his father into a hug. At first the other man sat stiff and unmoving in the straight-backed Eastlake desk chair, more shell-shocked, Deck thought, than proud. Then he stood, embraced him back, and, safe in the circle of his son's arms, let himself cry.

Deck was bigger than his father, he realized with a start. All these years of thinking the older man was so huge and imposing. He was, but it was partly force of personality and strength of magic. Even as a teen, Deck must have approached his father's height, and now he was both taller and broader.

For a little while, he made himself a shelter for a man who at the moment wasn't one of the world's best-known and most powerful witches, but simply a man mourning his mother and fearing for a son about to go into danger.

Chapter Twenty-Two

They'd been racking their brains, trying to use the information that Deck's father provided to figure out where to go. Elissa and her sister, Bethany, were scrying. Rafe, who'd finally confirmed he was a shaman, was out in the woods, calling upon his spirit guides. Akane was off somewhere, doing whatever it was Akane did; everyone agreed it was better not to ask. Deck had attempted several spells involving ley lines and a combination of earth and water magic, but all he'd succeeded in doing was making mud in the living room, so he was tearing through old grimoires trying to find anything that might be useful. All the powerful magic users' scrambling would be funny to watch if it wasn't so desperately, terrifyingly serious.

Kyle, with the help of Jude and Tag, had been studying US Geological Survey maps and photos, trying to find an area that was missing or looked doctored somehow. They'd found a couple of promising spots, though nothing certain. Despite the gravity of the situation and the lump of leaden fear in his belly, Kyle couldn't help feeling a certain triumph that the people without magic had made more progress than the witches.

Not enough, though. They'd narrowed the area down, but that just meant they were looking at a big area instead of an immense one.

Then Paul stumbled in, naked except for a pair of sweatpants several inches too short for him, his usually tidy dark hair a disheveled mess. Always fair, he was the color of paper, and his blue eyes were wild. Despite his eerie appearance, though, he was smiling as he exclaimed, “I've dreamed where we need to go.”

“Dreamed?” Kyle whispered anxiously to Deck.

Deck shrugged. “It's what Paul does. And he's always right. Unfortunately it happens when the magic wants it to, not when Paul needs it to. We got lucky this time.”

Deck jumped to his feet, but Kyle was there first, in Paul's face. “Where?”

“I wrote it down. It's seriously off the beaten path in the hills of Humboldt County—outside Eureka, like Uncle Desmond thought. It's a long drive, so we should get on the road ASAP.”

Because it didn't bother anyone else, Kyle didn't panic at the purple shimmer in the corner. He still jumped a little when Akane stepped out, all three tails swishing beneath the hem of a plaid schoolgirl skirt. She looked as cute and harmless as Hello Kitty if you discounted the fact she'd just walked through a hole in reality. “I've found a better way to travel. A nice pilot named Steve Sakai who owes one of my sisters big-time will meet us at the airport in three hours and fly us down. Think that will give everyone time to charge up?”

Even Tag and Paul looked stunned at that. “How did you know I'd dream? I haven't had a true dream since we found you,” Paul finally asked.

She shrugged. “I didn't, but if nothing else, I figured we could fly to Eureka and then we might be close enough for Deck and Kyle to trace Meaghan. Or we could find the place in the hills that everyone knows not to go because it's haunted or radioactive or full of sinkholes.”

“I'm sorry,” Elissa said, “but we're staying here. I can't leave Jocelyn.”

Deck hugged her. “Of course not. And Jude and Rafe weren't affected by whatever was screwing up everyone's magic, so they need to be here too. If the bastards come back, Rafe can confuse them and Jude can eat them.”

“I'm going,” Akane said, “since I can come back at the first sign of trouble.”

“Meaghan was our guest,” Paul said solemnly, “and guests are sacred in the old Irish ways. The dream said I should go. Tag, your gun will still work fine even if our magic doesn't, so you're staying behind.”

Tag coughed. “We don't know if there's going to be a problem here. We know there's going to be a bunch of trouble there, and like you said, the gun works even if magic's wonky. And my fists work even if I'm out of ammo. I haven't even been in a good bar fight in a year, and you're no good in a brawl without backup. So first we get you charged up, and then I'm going with you.” The way the two men looked at each other suggested that while the details of the argument were unique, the gist of it wasn't.

“I'll drive to the airport,” Kyle volunteered, glad there was at least some way he could be useful.

Before anyone could answer him, Deck was hustling him out of the room.

Deck tore off Kyle's shirt and tossed it aside before they reached the front door. His own quickly followed. He grabbed Kyle's hand hard enough that he felt small bones shift under his grip, and together they pelted down the stone-and-shell path toward the beach. The wind was picking up, carrying rain with it, and while no lightning jolted the sky yet, Deck sensed electric tension in the air.

He waited until they were past the hedge, out of sight of the house, before he grabbed Kyle and forced him to a halt. Kyle was wearing sweats. Deck tucked his thumbs into the waistband and dragged them down over Kyle's narrow hips. The dual didn't help at first, but when the pants hit the ground, he stepped out of them, graceful and hesitant. His eyes had gone wide, irises swallowed up by the black pupils. He started to reach for the zipper of Deck's jeans, but Deck took control of his wrist, forced his hand away. “Not yet,” Deck growled, holding Kyle's hand behind his back. “I set the pace. You follow. This is magic we're making, not love. Okay, magic and love, but I know what the magic needs.”

Kyle closed his eyes, bliss and fear fighting for supremacy on his face.

Good.

Deck was scared shitless at what he was going to do, at the same time it made his cock hard as rebar. That meant Kyle
should
be afraid.

Deck might end up charged enough to blow up the Agency singlehandedly—or he might kill them both on the spot.

But he couldn't afford to think about that now.

Instead, he grabbed Kyle's hand and ran toward the beach.

As soon as they left the path and reached sand, Deck stripped. The rain buffeted his bare skin. It was cold enough that his balls wanted to crawl inside his body where it was warm, and he was too worried to feel sexual in the ordinary sense. But as he'd told Kyle, they were making magic, not love, and his body had been trained to respond to red magic from adolescence.

And Kyle was there, all dark and lithe and beautiful and, despite everything, Kyle's cock was hard, maybe because of the violent desperation of the situation.

With a noise that was half groan, half prayer, Deck pulled Kyle in for a kiss, roughly enough that the other man stumbled and crashed into his body.

Perfect.

One hand on the nape of Kyle's neck—controlling, possessing—the other on Kyle's ass. Bodies angled so their cocks fought to touch. But it wasn't enough. Their minds needed to be unveiled, naked as their bodies. Duals were intensely physical and at the same time innocent and open—they felt none of the subconscious guilt or dirtiness about sexuality that even uninhibited witches sometimes absorbed from mainstream human culture—so they were great partners for red magic. But unlike witches, it wasn't always easy to reach their minds.

Unless you had that cord connecting you to a dual you loved as well as desired and liked, and then the walls that normally separated human and dual could tumble.

Normally Deck kept shielded and grounded as much as possible. His magic was too unpredictable to do otherwise. But now he dropped everything, opened himself wide to the elements of his power.

Water. Earth. Electricity.

Sex and love.

Water was easy. Water was always easy, the great sacred slut ocean flowing in to offer herself when he called and sometimes when he didn't. But this time he called more, called on the little streams and ponds in the area, on the rivers, on the rain that hovered in the air as it always did in this part of the world, even on days far clearer than this one. He called and he called, not just for himself but for Meaghan. And water answered with a rush and a crash, filling him with cool gray-blue power.

Earth was shyer, more reserved, a slower build because he didn't work with it as much, but once he opened fully, he felt that dark, heavy energy under his feet. Not just the vast power of tectonic movement, of fault lines and potential disaster, but of all the life contained in the soil, the chemicals and minerals that made up life. Not exactly at his fingertips, not quite within reach, but close enough to taste, flint and steel in his mouth like the aftertaste of the dry German wines Paul liked.

He didn't even bother to reach for electricity. It was there, like it always was, just waiting for the youngest Thorssen descendant to need it—whether he knew he needed it or not.

Last, he opened to red magic. Opened to Kyle, to the flavor of Kyle, to how Kyle felt in his arms, to Kyle's keen intelligence and drive and need to be more than what either his own community or human society thought an otter could be; to the complex mixture of seriousness and humor, submission and dominance, dark intensity and playfulness that made him someone Deck loved with a fierceness and desire that he'd never known before, equaled only by his love and desire for Meaghan.

The walls crashed down between him and Kyle like a seawall giving way before the onslaught of a storm.

Images. Kyle's heart opened to him in images. Deck didn't even try to understand them all, because some of them were probably things only someone with an otterside could fully comprehend, but what he got out of it was love.

Love for him. Love for Meaghan. Love for what the three of them could be—no, would be—to each other: playful companions, bulwarks against danger (except when they deliberately swam into danger together to ride the big waves), warmth in the night, shelter from the storm (except when it was more fun to play together in the storm's fury), and maybe, if the Powers and the three of them wanted, parents together, and it didn't bother Kyle at all that the child wouldn't have his genes. He was an otter and otter men helped raise the children of any woman they cared about and it didn't matter if they'd ever slept together, because kids were kids.

Deck filed that away to contemplate later.

Filed the specific image away and focused on the love and desire and need that crashed over him in waves. On the connection to Kyle. On the connection to Meaghan, and even though she was far away, blocked from him by both the Agency's and the estate's shields, he felt her bright and brave and angry through the silver cord that linked them.

As he focused, he kissed as if he could devour Kyle with his kisses and incorporate the other man into himself that way while still keeping him individual and whole. The rain beat down cold and fierce, but Kyle was hot against him, and the water didn't cool him off, just made him smooth and slick and even more tempting. How could Kyle be so strong and so yielding at the same time? It was part of the man's charm and mystery, that he could be as submissive as he was yet give as good as he got and more. Deck's jaw still ached where Kyle had punched him, although the power of the kiss allowed him to transmute the discomfort into a weird kind of pleasure. Not the kind a sub or masochist, wired to get off on certain kinds of pain, might feel, but an emotional pleasure that Kyle was that tough and brave, and yet wanted to submit to him, wanted to be his.

And wanted Meaghan to be both of theirs, for them all to belong to each other, in a gentler way, but just as surely.

That knowledge, that mutual love and desire, shot to Deck's cock. Red magic snapped and sizzled on his skin, or maybe that was the lightning dancing in the air. Waves crashed down, big now, and close, but not close enough. He didn't want to tear his lips away from Kyle's, but he did, just so he could say, “Now. We need to get closer to the water now. Right where the waves are breaking.”

It was both an order and a cry of raw need, both magical and erotic. When Kyle jumped to obey, Deck felt like some of his skin peeled away along with Kyle's, leaving him alone, vulnerable.

He wasn't alone, though, not with the power swirling around him, crashing over him, rumbling under his feet and through his body. And he and Kyle had done nothing so far but kiss.

A few steps and he reached the surf line. Reached Kyle.

The waves lapped at his calves as he pulled Kyle against him. For a few seconds, they clung together and Deck drank in Kyle's warmth and the fierce, wild presence of the elements.

But his magic—and his body—demanded more. “Suck me,” he ordered over the surf and wind, stunned by how authoritative and potent with magic he sounded. Him, Deck Donovan.

Kyle looked up at him, dark eyes shining in the greenish storm light, then knelt in the foam and rushing water. Hip-deep—a human might have balked, certainly would have flinched at the cold as it hit his cock and balls, but Kyle was at home in cold water and if he thought twice, he didn't let it show.

Just fisted Deck's cock at the base and guided it into his avid mouth.

Kyle swirled his tongue around the head, then sucked deep. Swirled and sucked, swirled and sucked. A whirlpool, a vortex of pleasure, and Deck grabbed the pleasure and transmuted it to magical energy. Already, power buzzed under his skin until he felt swollen with it, and it felt damn close to perfect. Lightning struck the distant cliffs and far out to sea as some of it leaked out. Deck bit his lip, mustered the control he usually exercised over Kyle and used it on himself instead, pulling the power inward so he could use it when he needed it. The thunder and lightning didn't stop, though, so it wasn't just his magic talking, but nature doing a light show.

Good. He could use that.

Kyle's mouth on his cock was almost too hot and sweet, Kyle's hands, one on his shaft, the other on his balls, almost too skilled. If they'd been playing just for fun, Deck might have let go and shot down his lover's throat.

But sex magic was different, and Deck reluctantly pulled away from that talented mouth.

Only to order Kyle to his feet while Deck went to his knees.