Witches' Waves (6 page)

Deck had been convinced he'd never see Kyle again, but he'd still ordered bondage rope off the Internet.

But when they walked into the huge, comfortably shabby former reception area of the Victorian hotel that had been converted to apartments for the single family members, they were forced into a change of plans.

Deck's grandmother Roslyn was waiting for them, along with Elissa's mom, Jan. Roslyn was hovering over Portia, the most powerful telepath in the Donovan family. Portia was even paler than usual and looked queasy, and Grandma Roz was obviously working some kind of magic to keep her from passing out. Meaghan was walking on her own, but she looked pretty shaky too. Everyone's auras bristled.

Something bad was going on.

“I thought Meaghan was going to hang out with Elissa,” Deck said, knowing how lame he sounded.

“Change of plans,” Jan said briskly. “Elissa had left the baby with me, and when she brought Meaghan to see her, I figured I needed to see what was really going on. Best to take precautions when someone has a story like Meaghan's.”

Of course. He should have anticipated this.

“Your friend's telling the truth,” Portia said. Her voice was as pale and drawn as her face. “Meaghan's been a prisoner of the Agency most of her life and the Agency's been using her visions against Differents. They'd fed her some bullshit about helping duals and other Differents integrate into human society. She led them to Jude, but because of his connection to Elissa she finally saw what the Agency was doing and she's been fighting as best she could ever since. She's not sure how much she let them know about Jocelyn, and because her own memories are so foggy, I can't tell either. She was willing to die to try to keep Jocelyn safe. But it may be too late.” She started to sway, then sat down abruptly on the nearest chair.

“Elissa says she senses Shaw's magic lingering on Meaghan,” Elissa's mother said, “Maybe some other sorcery as well. Meaghan agrees she wants it gone, so we're going to lift it now, but we need help from both of you.”

“Me?” Kyle raised his eyebrows. “How can I help with magic, Ms. Donovan?” He smiled as he said it. Deck was very busy trying to maintain his game face and not let the dismay he felt at Aunt Jan's words show, but he couldn't help noticing that smile.

“We'll need to break down Meaghan's shields, and the ones Deck gave her, to clear the spell trace. Meaghan's a seer, so this is going to be traumatic even inside the house protections and surrounded by well-shielded witches. She'll panic. You're the only person here the poor girl has known for more than ten minutes. You can anchor her.”

“How?” Kyle sounded concerned, but at the same time eager. Finally getting to do something heroic, Deck thought. Poor furry bastard would find out soon enough that heroism left marks.

“You look like a clever lad,” Grandma Roz said quietly, turning up her Irish accent, as she always did when she needed to charm someone of the female-fancying persuasion. Never mind that Roslyn was over a hundred, she had enough red magic that it worked every time. “You and the lady take a few minutes to talk it out. We witches have some prep work to do. Declan, you're with us. We'll be prepping for the ritual in the grove.”

Deck tried not to gape and failed. They knew his mind wandered during long rituals, and his combination of erratic powers didn't exactly play well with others. Normally his relatives let him off the ritual-magic hook unless they were dealing with a violent lightning storm at sea or a tsunami—or, he supposed, a toaster that had fallen into a bathtub due to an earthquake. “What do you expect me to do?” He realized he was one eye-roll away from coming off like an exasperated teenager and tried, belatedly, to smile and sound less sullen.

She shot him a blue-eyed look that was half glare and half approbation, the kind of look only an Irish grandmother could pull off properly. “Meaghan has water powers as well as precognition, but the water magic's locked down with a sorcerous spell. Right now, you're the only water witch available, and she'll need you to ease her through having that magic awakened after so long.”

Had his grandmother lost her mind? And Jan was nodding like she thought it was a great idea. “Are you sure…”

His grandmother couldn't read thoughts—thankfully—but from the look she gave him, she didn't need magic to know what he was about to say. “Don't start arguing with me, lad. The only other grown water witch at home right now is Portia. I'm not putting her in a circle with an unshielded seer with repressed memories. It has to be you.”

No, no and no.
The lightning power behaved so unpredictably when other magic was bouncing around. He mostly knew what to do when the lightning collided with familiar Donovan magic, but Meaghan had nasty sorcerous spells on her. What if the power decided it wanted to play and he couldn't stop it? “Heather can work circles around me.”

“Dispelling dark sorcery is no task for a witch of thirteen, even one as competent as Heather,” his grandmother said.

Did he have to spell it out? He'd rather not be so blunt with Kyle listening—not to mention poor Meaghan, who had to be scared enough without knowing one of her would-be saviors wasn't up for the job. But he was
not
going to risk a magical clusterfuck if there was any way to avoid it. “I don't trust my control around sorcery. Meaghan has enough problems without being struck by lightning indoors.”

Roslyn sighed heavily. “Get over your fears and step up. It pays to be cautious with wilder magic like yours, but you've never hurt another person and I doubt you'll start now. You're not getting out of being a Donovan this time. And you might as well get used to working with the lass. Someone needs to teach her to use that water magic once she gets it back.”

“Oh shit,”
Deck mouthed at Kyle as the relatives led him away.

Chapter Seven

Meaghan heard them all leaving the room, all those new people. Felt them leave. She was alone, away from the wearying, well-meaning strangers.

That should have felt good. One thing she'd always yearned for back at the hospital was the chance to be truly alone, not observed at all hours.

But alone in a strange place, in the middle of a room she'd never been in before, was a little alarming. Where were the walls, the furniture? Should she just stand here so she didn't trip or break something? It had been only a few seconds, but she had to fight back a wave of panic.

Then she realized she wasn't alone. She didn't hear anything, didn't sense the buzzing in her head she felt around Becky or some of the doctors, but a hint of warm, pleasant energy told her Kyle was nearby, but being still. More still, she thought, than most people could be. He moved a few steps, but she knew it more from a subtle shift of the air than by a sound.

Then she felt a by now familiar hand on her arm. “The couch is over here.” Kyle's voice was warm and sleek like fur, a caress on her skin. “Come with me. Sorry for not saying something right away, but my brain was retreating from the combined force of all those Donovan personalities. I understand why Deck says he needs to get away sometimes and play.”

“I like them,” Meaghan said. “They're intense, but they don't buzz in my brain, except for that one woman, Portia. I know they're there, the way I know a quiet normy is in the room with me, but they don't intrude without asking.” She wondered if that made any sense to Kyle. In her short time in the outside world, she was starting to realize that she perceived the world differently from most people, and it wasn't just her blindness.

“I like them too,” Kyle said. “I don't know about buzzing in the head—I think that's a witch thing—but they seem a lot less intrusive than my raft.” He paused and corrected himself. “My family. I love my family, but they're really in your face. Perpetual two-year-olds, in some ways, but that's the way most…” He paused again. “Let's get you to the couch.”

Kyle's touch was featherlight on her arm, but Meaghan could still feel ocean and fur in that soft connection. Ocean and fur and heat and the energy of another man, a hint of what she was starting to recognize as Donovan energy.

Interesting. That charged tension between him and Declan Donovan hadn't been dislike, but desire. She smiled ruefully to herself. Her sex visions must not have been premonitions about her being with Kyle, or Kyle and another guy, but premonitions she was going to meet two guys who were in to each other, mixed up with imagery from that last series of audiobooks Becky had loaned her, the ménage erotic romances.

Damn. It had been such a happy thought. She'd really like to have some great sex, the kind the books talked about, before she got too sick to enjoy it properly. Hell, she'd like to love and be loved, but she'd settle for a sexy good time with someone who wasn't using her for creepy magical purposes.

Maybe she should tell Kyle she was happy for him. No, that would seem weird, especially since she didn't know if he and Deck had actually said anything to each other yet, let alone done anything. But there was, it occurred to her, something she ought to say. “Kyle, you can stop pretending to be human. I feel fur and ocean whenever you touch me, and I remember animals around me when I was drowning. And now that I've been around more humans, I realize your energy simply feels different. Are you and your family seals?”

“Otters.”

She remembered what little she knew of otters: smart enough to use tools in minor ways, playful, lived in large family groups. “You can practically live in the water when you're animalside. You're so lucky!” She paused. “Or you would be if it wasn't for the fucking Agency.” She put her hand on Kyle—she'd hoped for his arm but got his bare thigh instead, smooth and strong and unexpectedly hot under her hand. Her breath caught and she pulled her hand away quickly because it felt way too good where it was. Inappropriately good, especially if he was involved with Deck.

Kyle barked out a dry laugh. “You seem so otherworldly, the way you talk so calmly about feeling my fur and sensing people's energy and having visions. Then you drop the F-bomb like a pissed-off Marine. Your voice even sounds different. Harsher and deeper, like a little girl imitating her daddy.”

Memories of the monster she used to call Daddy, the monster who'd then seduced her, flooded her. Meaghan froze. Her heart began to race so fast she thought it might explode. Pressure built inside her skull. Something was either trying to get in or get out. She couldn't let it, not with the baby here, not with all these witches and other Differents so close. She pressed her hands over the top of her skull. “No!” she screamed, not that it had ever done any good before. “I won't let you use me again.”

Kyle wrapped around her, sinuous as the otter she now knew him to be. “No, you won't. Not here. I don't know much about magic, but I know this place is shielded like Fort Knox. That's part of why I brought you here. Nothing comes in or goes out without permission, and you're not giving it permission. Just hang tough.”

“It hurts.” Then she realized it wasn't as bad as usual. Layers of protection stood between her and the vision. She snuggled against Kyle, seeking solace in the contact. The pain, the sense of a vision beating on her brain, retreated further. “Touching you helps me.” He felt so good, smelled so deliciously of the ocean. If she could touch more of his sleek skin, enjoy more of that furred heat, she knew she'd be all right.

Or maybe she wouldn't care as much.

“Then keep touching. Touch all you want.” The last word came out almost as a groan.

Then Kyle was kissing her.

At first it was a soft brush of his lips, not quite innocent, but exploratory, gentle. It felt, Meaghan thought, like a first kiss was supposed to feel, full of tenderness and promise, asking many questions, but not making demands. She'd never been kissed that way, like warm wavelets lapping at her. She wasn't sure what to do.

Her body had a few ideas, though. She wrapped herself around Kyle, threw one leg over his lap and tried to get every bit of contact she could. She put one hand on his cheek, gently stroking the planes of his face. Good cheekbones, just the faintest hint of stubble. She couldn't picture his face from the impressions she got through her fingers, not in the way a sighted person might imagine, but she gleaned a lot of information anyway. Mostly that she liked to touch him, and he liked the contact too. He shivered when she outlined his ear, made a strangled noise into her mouth. With her free hand, she cupped the back of his sleek head, half because the smooth, short hair felt so good, half because she was afraid he'd come to his senses, realize he was kissing the wrong person and pull away.

Instead of pulling away, Kyle stepped up the pace of the kiss, teasing at her lips with his tongue. Now Meaghan knew what to do. Tongue kissing she knew about. She parted her lips, welcoming the sensual invasion.

He tasted wonderful, dark and musky and salty. There was another flavor, a familiar one she couldn't place. Out of context, maybe. Kyle pulled her closer. His tongue danced with hers, and as it retreated, Meaghan, daring greatly, followed it, exploring his mouth.

His teeth felt sharp to her tongue. That undertone of ocean and musk and fur was stronger now, and it was so delicious she moaned. A door in her head blew open, one she'd always kept shut with Shaw to protect herself. Kyle overwhelmed her senses fully then—his arousal, his need, his confusion. She couldn't read his actual thoughts, but she figured the confusion was because he wanted Deck. No, was in love with Deck, a hot, roiling knot of pain and delight in the center of his spirit. At the same time, he enjoyed kissing her, wanted to do more than kiss her.

What the hell was she supposed to do now? From all she'd read, a good romance heroine would pull away if she knew the guy kissing her was in love with someone else. But she'd never been kissed like this—Shaw had ravaged her mouth, and she'd enjoyed it at the time, but Kyle's kiss was something new—and might never be again. And Kyle wasn't exactly pushing her away. Straddling his lap as she was, she could feel his cock hardening against her. Even through clothes, the sensation was too much to resist.

She had to enjoy that pleasure just a little while longer. Just a little more kissing and she'd make sure Kyle came to his senses. She hoped Kyle's boyfriend—if Deck was a boyfriend and not a hopeless crush—wouldn't be too upset over a dying woman stealing a few smooches, dreaming a few dreams.

Though maybe she was kidding herself about that. What did she know about relationships, other than everything she'd learned from Shaw was a lie? Even Becky emphasized romance novels weren't much like real life. She needed to come to her own senses so she could help Kyle find his.

Kyle's hand brushed her nipple. The touch was so tentative it seemed accidental, but she instinctively knew it wasn't. The little bud tightened, and bright, refreshing ripples of pleasure ran over her.

That light touch started a craving she couldn't resist. She groaned into his mouth, “More.” He applied more pressure, and from ripples the pleasure grew to a wave, crashing over her. Her body arched like she was about to seize, but her mind remained clear. Clear and needy.

And she was being selfish. She wasn't an innocent virgin, though she was acting like one. Kyle wasn't demanding, but she could feel his cock pressing against her. She knew what she should do. Knew what Shaw would have made her do some time ago, if he wasn't going to fuck her, wasn't going to make her come to trigger a vision. Men had stronger needs than women, Shaw always said, and got aroused more quickly. If she was this aroused, Kyle must really need attention. It would be wrong not to help him out.

She repositioned herself and reached for Kyle's cock. At her angle, she couldn't actually get his shorts off, but she managed to work her hand inside the waistband. He wasn't wearing underwear. He was hot and alive in her hand, hard…and big. Maybe it was just the awkward angle, but she could barely close her hand around him. She imagined him filling her. Kyle would be gentle at first, she sensed, waiting for her body to catch up, but with that lithe, strong body, he'd be able to drive into her hard.

She dreaded trying to get that big cock into her mouth, though. Oral sex was obviously fun for guys, but despite the arousing descriptions in some of the books she'd heard, it had never been anything other than unpleasant choking for her.

She flashed to a memory of Shaw using her mouth, fucking it as roughly as he did her sex.

And then another image came to her, a delicious one. Kyle on his knees, sucking, devouring, all his attention focused on the cock that was in his mouth, soft, damp grass under his knees, green-garden scents under the oceanic electricity and musk of his partner. The cock was rough in his mouth, but that was good. He wanted it that way, needed to feel overwhelmed by the other man's passion and strength.

It wasn't a fantasy and it wasn't exactly a vision. It was Kyle's memory, lived in vivid, erotic detail through her body.

That was the taste Meaghan couldn't quite identify, and the thought that she'd tasted another man's come in Kyle's mouth made her body threaten to explode. Kyle's hand slipped between her legs, stroking her through the soft sweatpants. Primed as she was by the kisses and the images in her mind, she couldn't hold out, couldn't keep from coming.

And she couldn't afford a seizure and its accompanying visions right now.

She pulled away, reluctantly. “You just had sex with Declan, but it's left you horny,” she said, trying to sound matter-of-fact, the way Shaw always liked if they talked about sex. “Would you like me to suck you off?”

She didn't want to choke on his cock. She wanted to keep on with the kissing, the gentle, mutual exploration that she'd always dreamed of experiencing. But that would just get him more aroused and since she couldn't afford to let herself come, she had to make sure he did. That was the polite thing to do.

Kyle's brain threatened an aneurism as a less painful alternative to dealing with the situation.

He'd assumed Meaghan was a virgin based on her life as a glorified lab rat. She'd felt so damn good snuggled against him, though, so small and sweet and sea-and-amber scented, that he couldn't resist kissing her. He'd meant to leave it at one soft kiss, one taste of her lips. Her awkward kisses hadn't suggested anything other than inexperienced arousal, but they were passionate enough that he'd pushed a little and was delighted by her responsiveness. And when she'd started stroking his cock with surprising expertise, his body just plain didn't care where she'd picked up that unlikely skill. His boggled brain decided to roll with it. All his instincts prompted him to use his body and his passion to claim the sweet little witch, at least for now.

But he couldn't trust himself to be gentle. Otter duals were wired for dominance or submission, or, like him, for both, depending on the partner. It came from their animalside. Sea otters, the furry animals, might be cute and playful, but otter sex was rough, violent, occasionally deadly. Otter duals transmuted the instinct into consensual kinkiness. Which was fine with people who liked that kind of thing, but not with someone like Meaghan, a relative innocent with Powers only knew what psychological scars.

And unfortunately Meaghan made him feel very, very dominant.

Maybe she wasn't as innocent as he'd thought. But the way she'd asked if he wanted a blowjob, like she was asking him if he wanted more coffee, suggested something ugly in her past. He didn't want to do anything that would traumatize her further. And that meant backing off until he knew for sure he could control his instinct to play rough.

It was also odd she'd figured out he'd been with Deck not long before he started making out with her, yet she'd taken it as a matter of course. Otters weren't monogamous, but
he
thought he'd been impulsive and kind of rude. Why didn't she?