Dominic, Owen Yates, and Mal arrived shortly after Rook. They combed the area, and Mal took to fox form in an attempt to track the Wraith by scent. The trail led into the water; if it emerged elsewhere, Mal didn’t find it.

“Maybe he drowned,” Mal said, with an air of what Nick considered unwarranted optimism. “That would be good, wouldn’t it?”

Jamie only shook his head. “He…it…didn’t drown.”

“It?” Yates asked.

“It didn’t seem human. It was strong, and fast, and survived a fall that would have killed a man.” Jamie tugged his coat closer. The shredded sleeve showed a series of shallow scratches across his pale skin. “I shot it in the chest, and it didn’t die. It was more like a devil than anything.”

“It wasn’t a devil,” Nick said.

“On that, we agree.” Yates held up a flattened bullet. “I found this on the terrace. I’ve heard rumors the government is looking into hexes to make cloth bulletproof, for use in war. But as far as I know, the concept has never been successfully demonstrated.”

“It has now,” Dominic said grimly. “Nick, you said its speed seemed to abandon it after a time. But it became freakishly strong.”

“After touching one of the bones it wore.” Nick thought back. “The bone cracked.”

Yates and Dominic exchanged a glance. “It must be hexes,” Yates murmured. “But I’ve never heard of anything like this.”

“Discuss it tomorrow,” Rook said. “After we’ve had a bit of rest and are thinking clearly.” Nick just had enough time to be surprised at his brother’s sensible suggestion, when Rook cast a sly look in his direction. “Some of us have other people—I mean, things—to do tonight.”

Featherbrain.

Jamie moved stiffly. Probably his knee had taken a hit in the fall, when Nick was forced out from under him. The look of resignation on his face at the prospect of walking home made Nick feel unaccountably guilty.

Well, the man had saved his life. It was only natural to display gratitude. So he took on horse form and silently urged Jamie to mount, all the while ignoring the looks of shock from everyone except Jamie himself.

Tomorrow, Nick would make sure Rook understood that was all it had been. Gratitude. He wasn’t about to start carting around some witch on the regular. Although the declaration would probably have more weight if Rook hadn’t caught him trying to shove his hand down Jamie’s trousers.

Shortly thereafter, Nick clopped slowly down 42nd Street, Jamie’s weight on his back. “Here we are,” Jamie said. “Home sweet home.”

Nick halted outside the tenement Jamie indicated, then walked over to the stairs, in the hopes of making it easier for Jamie to dismount. When Jamie slid carefully from his back, Nick felt the loss of his warmth, the air against his hide much chillier than it should have been.

Once he was certain Jamie was down, Nick took on human shape again. They looked at each other uncertainly for a moment. Then Jamie cocked his head in the direction of the doors. “You can come inside. If you like. It’s a long walk back to Caballus, after all.”

“It is,” Nick agreed, and kissed him. It was foolish—had been foolish from the start—but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Jamie’s mouth felt too good against his own, and their bodies fit together like they’d been made for one another. Desire flared from a stoked coal into a fire, burning away doubt and leaving behind only raw need.

They broke apart. Jamie grinned and grabbed Nick’s hand. “Come on. I’d like a proper bed this time.”

Nick let himself be led into the tenement. Jamie’s apartment was on the first floor, no doubt because it would be easier than managing flights of stairs every day. As soon as Jamie shut the door behind them, Nick pushed him against it.

“What is it with you and shoving me into things?” Jamie asked, but his breath came raggedly. His eyes burned dark with desire, the brown splotch in the right one making the green seem even more intense.

Nick planted a hand to either side of Jamie’s head, bracketing him in. “I think you like it,” Nick challenged. He pressed his thigh against Jamie’s erection, was rewarded with a gasp of pleasure.

“Aye,” Jamie whispered. “Kiss me.”

Nick did as he was asked. Fur and feathers, he could get lost in the contours of Jamie’s lips, his tongue. Jamie’s hands shaped his back, and the longing to have that touch on his skin stole Nick’s breath.

Nick stepped back, shucked his overcoat and suit coat, and reached for the buttons on his vest. But Jamie grasped Nick’s hands, stilling their movement. “Not so fast,” he said. “We’ve got all night, don’t we?”

Nick didn’t know any more. Everything seemed like it was spiraling out of control, going too fast. Like he’d bolted and dragged a cart behind him, downhill and unable to stop for fear of overturning.

“Yes,” he said, and licked dry lips.

Jamie unbuttoned Nick’s vest slowly, then set to work on his shirt. He pressed his lips to every inch of skin as it was revealed. Nick tipped his head back helplessly, then gasped when Jamie’s mouth found his nipple. His arms tightened around Jamie’s slender form, one hand cupping the back of his head. Jamie’s teeth sent a bright spark of pleasure straight to his balls.

“Oh hell,” he whispered.

“Aye.” Jamie drew back. His hand trailed down Nick’s belly, then cupped him through his trousers. “As much as I’d like to kneel down right now and suck you, my knee ain’t going to agree to it.”

The mental image left Nick biting his lip for control. “Then get on the bed, witch.”

Jamie didn’t remove his hand, just kept fondling, sending delicious sensations racing along Nick’s nerves. “Use my name, Nick.”

It was his last line of defense, his only way to put some distance between them, and of course the blasted witch wanted to take it away. Nick took a deep, ragged breath. “Jamie. Will you get on the bed? Because I want to fuck you until you beg to come.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Jamie shot him a wink, then strolled in the direction of the bed, stripping off his coat and vest as he did so. The scratches on his arm looked shallow, and had already scabbed over.

Wyatt’s pendant hung around Jamie’s neck, just below the hollow between his collarbones. Nick hadn’t realized Jamie took the necklace after Wyatt died, and it sent a little flash of guilt through him. He hadn’t told everything he might have about Jamie’s dead lover, and now here he was planning on fucking him a second time, knowing Jamie was grieving for the eagle.

Nick wished he’d had the chance to really get to know Wyatt. To learn the sort of man he’d been. Nick had the unsettling feeling he would have liked the dead familiar quite a lot.

“Is this all right?” he asked. “I’m still not Wyatt.”

Jamie sat on the edge of the bed, his pant leg rolled up, exposing the leather sleeve that kept the prosthetic firmly attached. “I’m not the person I was a year ago, either,” he said after a pause. “I don’t know what that Jamie would have done. The one with two legs, who never imagined Wyatt would desert, or leave him alone to mourn.” He closed his eyes, then opened them again. “But I want this, more than I can say. I’m sick of grief.” He glanced at Nick, heat in his eyes now. “I want joy.”

Nick swallowed. “Figure I can offer an hour or two of that.”

Jamie unlaced the prosthetic. His leg ended a few inches below the knee, and seemed smooth and well healed to Nick’s eye.

“Do I need to be careful of the stump?” Nick asked. “Is it tender, or sensitive, or…?”

Jamie shook his head. “Not anymore.”

“Good.” Nick pushed Jamie back, and he went, sprawled on the bed with only his unbuttoned shirt and trousers on. He looked up at Nick with a wicked grin, spreading his arms out as if to suggest he was Nick’s for the taking.

Nick crawled into bed over him, lowering himself to give Jamie a deep, thorough kiss, before sitting back. Jamie let out a soft whimper of desire, hips bucking under Nick’s.

“You’re the one who wanted it slow,” Nick teased.

“Aye, well, I say a lot of stupid things,” Jamie said with a half-laugh. The skin of his chest was pale, dusted with fine hair. His pink nipples drew up tight, and Nick gave one a pinch. Jamie moaned and arched his back, clutching at the sheets. “Saint Mary, I want you. I thought the last time, it was because I hadn’t slept with anyone since Cuba, but if you don’t get off my cock I’m going to come like this.”

Nick swung his hips away. “Surely someone with a face like yours could have his pick of partners. Especially working somewhere like the MWP, where the odds are in your favor.” For whatever reason, most familiars and a good percentage of witches preferred to sleep with their own gender. Nick’s father had owned Krafft-Ebing’s book; the German doctor had devoted an entire chapter to the question of witch-familiar sexuality.

“A face like mine?” Jamie asked with an arched brow. “Are you trying to give me a compliment, Nick?”

“You’re handsome, and you damned well know it.”

“Such a sweet talker.”

“Shut it.” Nick reached for the buttons of Jamie’s trousers. Jamie’s cock jerked beneath the cloth as his fingers skated over the bulge.

He pulled Jamie’s trousers and drawers off all at a go, and tossed them blindly onto the floor. Jamie’s cock lay against his belly, flushed red, a glistening strand of precome on the tip. Nick slid off the bed and stripped off the rest of his clothes, desire urging him to do a dozen different things at once. Rub his cock against Jamie’s, or take Jamie’s prick into his mouth, or ask Jamie to suck him.

Jamie peeled off his unbuttoned shirt, but his eyes traveled up and down Nick’s form appreciatively. “I always did like a man with muscles,” he said, and licked his lips. “Come here. I want to taste you.”

“Since when have you started giving all the orders, wi—Jamie?” Nick corrected.

Jamie arched a brow. “Are you saying you don’t want your prick sucked, then?”

“I didn’t say that.” Nick climbed onto the bed and straddled Jamie’s chest. Bracing one hand against the headboard, he leaned forward enough that Jamie could take his cock if he wanted.

Jamie didn’t hesitate, grabbing Nick’s hips and urging him closer, only to wrap his lips around the head. Then down, deeper, his mouth and throat hot and wet. He looked every bit as sinful as Nick had imagined he would: reddened lips, cheeks hollowed, his particolored eyes flashing up to watch Nick’s face.

Fur and feathers, it felt good, better than he had any right to expect. They moved together like they were made for each other. The bond burned behind his heart, the sensation almost lost beneath the heat of arousal.

He pulled back with a growl. Jamie’s fingers tightened on his hips, then relaxed. “You taste so good,” Jamie panted. “Fuck. I want you to come in my mouth sometime.”

“Not yet.” Nick had already spotted the oil on the crowded shelf above the bed, and now he reached for it. “Tonight I’m going to fuck you again. Roll over.”

“Nay.” Jamie grabbed a pillow and stuffed it under his hips. “I want to see your face this time.”

Nick had the sneaking suspicion that Jamie wasn’t precisely lying…but what he really wanted was for Nick to see him. So Nick couldn’t deny exactly whom it was he was with.

His witch.

Well, he’d asked for it, with his poor behavior the last time. He owed it to Jamie to look him in the face. Still, he wasn’t going to let Jamie know that. “Any other requests, Your Majesty?”

“Horse’s arse,” Jamie shot back, but with a grin. “A man’s got to fight for every step, just to meet you halfway.”

Nick settled between Jamie’s thighs. He bent down, traced a path from scarred knee to groin along the inside of Jamie’s leg. Jamie let out a sound of pleasure. “Your hair feels good on my skin.”

Nick obliged by dipping his head so the locks dragged across Jamie’s cock and balls, too. And while he was down there, no sense in wasting the proximity. He gave Jamie’s prick a long, slow lick from base to tip, catching bitter fluid on his tongue.

He paused just long enough to unstopper the oil and pour it over Jamie’s balls and ass, before slicking his fingers. Setting the bottle aside so it wouldn’t accidentally spill, he turned his attention back to Jamie’s prick. Not taking it in his mouth, but licking and nibbling along the length, the hood. While he did so, he let his slick fingers slide down, find Jamie’s passage, and push in.

Jamie gasped a little. “Good?” Nick asked. “Or too much?”

“Good,” Jamie breathed. “Damn good. More, please.”

Nick gave his cock a final, thorough lick. Tremors ran through Jamie’s thighs, and his prick stirred in time to his heartbeat. He was close, so Nick sat back. Desire flushed Jamie’s chest and face pink, his lips parted and his black hair wild. The look he gave Nick was one of scorching lust, so heated it felt like a hand on his skin.

Nick grabbed Jamie’s knees, hooking them over his shoulders as he bent down. Need throbbed in his veins, and he pressed the head of his cock to Jamie’s ass. Then he pushed in. Jamie’s back arched, and he made a strangled sound that went straight to Nick’s balls. Nick cradled his hips, working in slowly but inexorably, until every barrier relaxed and he slid in deep.

So like and unlike the time in the Cave. This was the same: bodies moving against each other, breathing ragged, the slick heat surrounding his cock. But that had been fast, desperate, a distance of clothes and denial between them. Now Jamie sprawled out luxuriously under him, thighs tight around Nick, lone heel digging in. Lips parted, hand stroking his cock in time to Nick’s movements.

“It’s good, ain’t it?” Jamie asked. He released his cock to grip Nick’s shoulders with both hands, dragging him closer. “Fuck, Nick, tell me it’s good.”

It was better than good. Maybe because of the stupid bond; maybe because of some other, unknowable reason. They moved together in perfect sync, bodies and breath. It was nothing Nick had wanted. He’d never thought he’d fuck a witch, certainly not his witch, and it was all too much, every nerve exposed and raw, as if Jamie had stripped away even his skin.

He didn’t want to look down at Jamie’s face and feel this, whatever this even was. Tenderness, and need, and something that might have been more than friendship. Tonight had been a setback, but soon enough they’d catch the killer. The hexbreaker would sever their bond, and Nick would never see Jamie again.

There was no other option. Jamie’s uncle was the head of the Dangerous Familiars Squad, for God’s sake. The sooner they parted ways, the better.

At first the thought of freedom had felt like the breath a man took before diving into deep waters. But now it felt like drowning.

“Yes,” he said, even though he knew it would be easier for both of them if he lied. “It’s amazing, Jamie.”

Jamie threw his head back, long neck exposed, his chest heaving with his breaths. “Please…”

“Please what?”

Jamie shook his head, reaching again for his cock. Nick got there first, wrapping his fingers around Jamie’s prick and tugging. Jamie’s eyes opened wide, and he gripped the bedclothes, as if trying to keep himself from flying straight off the bed.

The time for slow and steady was over; Nick thrust harder, trying to keep the stroke of his hand in rhythm but failing. Jamie didn’t seem to mind, though; he gasped and begged wildly, incoherently. “Aye, Nick, don’t stop, please, harder, more…”

Sweat slicked Nick’s skin, and he bowed his spine, lips finding Jamie’s mouth, then his throat. “Nick,” Jamie said, the sound a plea or a prayer. Then hot spunk filled the space between them, Jamie’s whole body shuddering, thighs and ass clenching alike. Nick let go of Jamie’s cock in favor of gripping his hips, and drove in once, twice, thrice, before cresting.

The silence was broken only by their breathing, and the faint sound of a fiddle playing in an apartment somewhere above. They remained still, locked together, but Nick had the strangest sensation of falling.

“Mmm.” Jamie let go of Nick’s shoulder, his hand trailing up Nick’s neck to his jaw. “That was…thank you.”

Nick pulled carefully free. He made sure to meet Jamie’s gaze this time, turning his head only a little to press a kiss against Jamie’s palm.

Jamie stretched out languidly, slender and lithe and unselfconscious. “Rest for a bit?”

Nick should refuse. Should grab his clothes and go, before things became even more complicated. But weariness seized him. He’d cantered from Caballus to Central Park, fought the Wraith, and then fucked Jamie into the bed. The idea of trudging all the way home, when he could just put his head down for a few minutes, felt impossible.

“A bit,” he agreed. He stretched out beside Jamie, and tried to ignore the way his heart ached sweetly when Jamie curled into him. “Just for a little while.”