“I can’t say I’m happy working with a bunch of witches,” Nick said as he opened the door to his apartment. He removed his coat and shook it off in the hall, trying to avoid tracking any more rain in than he had to. “But if that’s what it takes to put an end to things…”

Jamie did the same, then set about lighting the gas lamps, while Nick locked the door. If Jamie thought him foolish, relying on gas when he could have hexlights so easily now, he’d never said.

Just like he’d never taken Nick’s magic without asking first. Or done any of the other selfish things Nick associated with witches.

He’d given. Lent his patience and his ear, his mind and his hands.

“It wasn’t all bad, was it?” Jamie asked as the soft, warm light filled the room. “Dinner, I mean, not the discussion after.”

Nick didn’t want to admit it. “It wasn’t awful,” he temporized.

Jamie shot him a grin that said he wasn’t fooled. “You can relax and let your guard down around some people, Nick. Even if they are witches.”

Nick crossed the room to him. “I’ve let my guard down around one witch, at any rate.”

“Aye.” Jamie’s throat worked as he swallowed. “Don’t think I ain’t noticed.” He put a hand to Nick’s chest, running his fingers lightly over the damp lapels of Nick’s coat. “I swear, Nick, I won’t let you down.”

Hell. Nick wasn’t supposed to feel like this, his insides warm and soft. Certainly he wasn’t supposed to like it.

He bent and kissed Jamie. Jamie responded, hands in Nick’s rain-spangled hair, tugging him closer. But the kiss itself stayed gentle, a lush slide of lip against lip, the lightest dart of tongues. Jamie’s scent surrounded him and it suddenly felt like Nick would never get enough.

Drawing Jamie after him, he retreated to the bedroom. He hadn’t had anyone else in this bed, preferring to keep his affairs short and casual, and separate from his day-to-day life. But Jamie had caused him to do so many other things he’d never thought he would, what was one more?

They undressed one another, taking their time, stopping to kiss and caress. When Jamie sank down on the edge of the bed to unlace his prosthetic, Nick waited until he was done, then knelt between Jamie’s legs. Jamie blinked in surprise, then smiled. “Never thought I’d see you on your knees.”

“To the devil with you,” Nick said, but without heat. He helped Jamie shimmy out of the rest of his clothes, then leaned forward and took the erect cock waiting for him into his mouth.

Jamie groaned, his fingers tightening in Nick’s hair. The salty-bitter taste of him sizzled on Nick’s tongue, and he slid down, taking Jamie to the root. Jamie murmured words of encouragement, until he finally grasped Nick’s hair and tugged harder. “Not yet,” he gasped.

Nick drew back slowly, letting the head of Jamie’s prick spring free with a wet pop. “Fuck, you’re good at that,” Jamie said, grabbing Nick’s hand and pulling him onto the bed.

Nick stretched out by him, so their skin pressed together from chest to toes. The hard length of Jamie’s cock prodded his stomach, and Nick swallowed heavily.

“Fuck me, Jamie,” he whispered.

Jamie’s hands and mouth stilled. He drew back a little, so he could see Nick’s face. “You want me to fuck you?”

Nick nodded quickly, before he could change his mind. He half feared Jamie would ask him why. If he was going to do it with anyone, he wanted it to be with Jamie. But he wasn’t certain he could say the words.

Maybe he didn’t need to, because Jamie kissed him. “All right, then. Where do you keep the oil?”

Nick retrieved it. “Lay on your belly, to start,” Jamie instructed. He peppered kisses across Nick’s shoulders, down his spine, to his hip. “I’m going to make this so good for you,” he promised, even as he spread Nick’s buttocks apart.

Nick jerked at the touch of Jamie’s tongue to his hole, the sensation catching him off guard. Jamie kept up his leisurely pace, taking his time, licking and probing until Nick’s cock ached with need. Jamie paused just long enough to pour out some oil, then resumed, this time with the addition of a finger.

“Fur and feathers,” Nick swore.

Jamie laughed. “Feels good, don’t it? Just relax, sweetheart. You spend so much time taking care of everyone else. Let me take care of you, for once.”

The words shouldn’t have made Nick’s chest feel too small for his heart. He tried to push it away, to focus on the physical sensations only, but somehow everything had gotten twisted up into a single thread.

Jamie went slow, adding fingers, finding the place inside Nick that made him groan with pleasure. Eventually, he pulled away. “Stay like that,” he murmured, draping himself over Nick’s back. “Right there.”

Nick’s fingers tensed in the pillows as Jamie began to work the head of his cock inside him. “Breathe,” Jamie murmured. “Aye, there we go.” His lips brushed Nick’s shoulders. “Feel that? That’s me in you.”

“I couldn’t exactly miss it,” Nick said, which drew a delighted laugh from Jamie. He rocked his hips, pushing in farther, and Nick bit his lip against the stretch. But God, it did feel good, Jamie’s weight on his back, prick filling him.

“Roll onto your right side,” Jamie urged, tugging at him. “With me, now.”

They ended up on their sides, Nick’s left leg draped over Jamie’s thigh, Jamie’s chest pressed tight against his back. “There we go,” Jamie said. “Now I can really make you feel good.”

He rocked his hips in slow thrusts, while his left hand wandered over Nick’s body. Playing with nipples, his cock, his balls. And oh God, it was good, sensation layered on sensation. Nick twisted his head around blindly, and Jamie shifted until their mouths met in a deep kiss.

Jamie’s hold on him tightened, and his hips moved more urgently. “Touch yourself for me, sweetheart,” Jamie urged. Nick did, while Jamie’s clever fingers twisted and pinched his nipple, and Jamie’s cock bore down on the sensitive spot inside, and Jamie’s voice whispered endearments in his ear.

Nick shouted when he came. His orgasm felt dragged from his very bones, his whole body shaking with the force of it. He clenched on Jamie’s cock, felt Jamie’s teeth in his shoulder, muffling a groan.

Silence fell, broken only by their breathing. Jamie’s hand skated up and down Nick’s arm, a tender caress. Feeling discomfort for the first time, Nick shifted his hips, so Jamie’s softening prick slipped out.

“How was that?” Jamie asked.

Nick rolled onto his back. “Good.”

Jamie offered him a sleepy smile. His black hair was wildly mussed, his particolored eyes content. “I’m glad you liked it. I did, too.” He shifted his head onto Nick’s shoulder. “I like you.”

“Same,” Nick said, and that was the problem, wasn’t it? He liked Jamie far more than was sensible. Jamie’s sense of loyalty might annoy him at times, but it drew him as well. Jamie understood boundaries—he never pushed further than Nick was willing to go. He cared, desperately, about justice, and not only for Wyatt.

How would he react if he knew he was Nick’s witch? That the bond was true, not just a thing of convenience?

Nick cleared his throat. Nothing had changed, and yet the thought of ending things felt like dying. “After all this is over…I’d like to keep seeing you. If you want.”

Jamie’s smile was bright as sunrise. “I do,” he said, and leaned over to kiss Nick again.

A heavy fist pounding on the apartment door drew Nick up out of sleep. For a wild moment, he thought he’d been found out, and it was the Dangerous Familiars Squad on his doorstep. Then he heard Rook call his name, before the pounding resumed.

“What the devil?” Jamie asked, raising his head. “Is that Rook?”

“Yes.” Nick rolled out of bed and pulled on his trousers. “That birdbrain better have a good reason for waking us, or I’ll make a feather duster out of him.”

He jerked the door open just as Rook was about to pound on it again. “Are you trying to wake the whole building?” he demanded.

Exhaustion ringed Rook’s eyes and tightened his mouth. “Grab Jamie and head to Central Park. Bridge 24,” he said without preamble. “Some time after the rain ended, there was another murder.”

Nick’s feeling of dread increased the closer they drew to the scene of the crime. In the small hours just before dawn, there was no hope of catching either cab or train, so Nick had once again taken Jamie up on his back. He had to admit, Jamie was a good rider. Not that he had any experience to compare it with, but Jamie moved with him easily, as though they were attuned to one another on some deep level.

Maybe it was the bond. If Tom broke it for them, how much would things change? Would they still be as good together, in bed and out?

What if they didn’t break it after all?

The air near Bridge 24 smelled of falling leaves, and of the water from the New Reservoir. But as they drew closer, Nick scented something that didn’t belong to the landscape of the park.

Blood.

“What happened to Rodrigo, or whoever was supposed to be keeping watch?” Jamie wondered aloud.

“They probably stayed in because of the rain. Hard to fly in a downpour.” Of all the cursed luck.

The shine of hexlights and murmur of voices drew them on. Rook and Dominic stood on the cast iron bridge, along with Quigley. The witch who had taken over driving the MWP’s wagon from Jamie perched on the driver’s seat nearby.

Nick let Jamie dismount, then shifted back to human form. As they approached, Rook looked up. “Another feral,” he said unhappily. “Do you know him, Nick?”

Nick stepped up to get a closer look at the body. As with the other murders, the dead man had been killed and then gutted, his own blood used to paint a hex sign on the bridge around his body.

But when he saw the man’s face, Nick’s blood turned to ice.

Conrad.

Somehow, Nick managed to keep his expression neutral, even though his mind raced. Had the Wraith caught up with Conrad the other night after all? But if so, where had it kept him in the meantime?

The Menagerie was somehow involved. If Conrad had stumbled into the Dangerous Familiars Squad’s hands instead…

They might be on their way to Caballus at this very moment.

“I don’t know him,” Nick lied.

Dominic frowned slightly. “Are you certain?”

“I don’t know every familiar in New York, witch,” Nick snapped. The coppers might be destroying Caballus, or beating Kyle, or even invading the tenement right now for all he knew. He didn’t have the time or the patience to answer questions.

“Whoa, whoa, easy now.” Jamie put a hand to Nick’s arm. “No reason to get mad at each other.”

Nick pulled loose. “I’ll get mad if I damned well want to.” He was supposed to have kept Conrad safe. Just like Pia. “I don’t know the man, except as a fellow feral who got murdered while we sat on our asses and talked.”

“But you’re not a feral, are you?” Rook shot back.

Nick’s breath seemed stuck inside his lungs. He’d spent his entire life thinking of himself one way, and one way only. As a free familiar. A feral, with no witch to bind him.

Rook knew it, of course. Which was why he knew exactly where to slip in the knife.

“That was uncalled for,” Jamie told Rook.

Nick turned and walked away from them all. He didn’t have time to quarrel with Rook, or to feel that little flush of pleasure when Jamie took his side.

“Nick!” Jamie called. “Nick, wait up.”

For a moment, Nick thought about shifting and running. Leaving Jamie behind. “I need to get back to the saloon,” he said. “There are things I have to do.”

Jamie’s hand closed on his arm. “Nick, slow down. What’s wrong?”

“A feral is dead, with his blood everywhere,” Nick said. “That’s what’s wrong.”

Jamie shook his head. “It’s more than that. Are you…are you blaming yourself? Because you didn’t have any way of knowing.”

Conrad had been dying horribly in the park, while Nick had been in bed, taking it up the ass from a fucking witch.

No. Nick took a shaking breath and tried to calm himself. He wasn’t going to be ashamed of anything he’d done with Jamie. “I really do have something to take care of,” he said. “The sun is almost up—the Wraith won’t attack in broad daylight. You go to your apartment, and I’ll meet you at the Coven in two hours.”

Plenty of time to warn Kyle. He’d close the saloon for the time being, so the coppers wouldn’t hurt any innocent bystanders if they did decide to raid the place. The tenement could prove more challenging, but he’d think of some way to warn the inhabitants.

Some way to keep them safe, as he hadn’t kept Conrad safe, or Pia. God.

His brusqueness hurt Jamie; he could see it in the crinkle of flesh around Jamie’s eyes, the deepening crease between his brows. But once again, he didn’t push. “All right.” Jamie’s hand fell to his side. “I’ll see you later, then.”

Nick wavered. He ducked his head quickly, brushing his lips over Jamie’s. “Later,” he agreed.

Then he shifted back into horse shape and cantered swiftly away, leaving Jamie standing forlornly behind.

Nick arrived at Caballus to find a black police wagon outside, and three burly men breaking the saloon door right off its hinges. A man with captain’s bars stood to one side, a satisfied smirk on his face.

Nick could still run. Except after Nick’s encounter with the Wraith, Kyle had taken to sleeping behind the bar, rather than chance walking home alone after dark.

Nick had failed Conrad and Pia, but he’d be damned if he’d let these assholes hurt Kyle.

Nick took back human form. The coppers had broken down the door and rushed inside; he could hear their shouts on the street. With a shout of his own, Nick charged in after them.

They forced Kyle to his knees, hands clasped behind his head, eyes squeezed tightly shut. One of the coppers shoved him hard in the back, and he went to the sawdust-covered floor without resistance. The copper took out his nightstick, while the captain observed the proceedings with a jaded eye.

“I want to see a warrant,” Nick said, drawing their attention to himself and away from Kyle. “Right now, or get the fuck out of my saloon.”

The captain looked Nick up and down insolently. “Are you the owner of this fine establishment?” he asked with deceptive lightness.

“Who the fuck are you to be asking?”

A nightstick struck the back of one leg, sending Nick to the floor. “Answer Captain O’Byrne’s questions,” snapped the copper who’d hit him.

O’Byrne folded his arms over his chest and looked down on Nick. “We have a witness who says you’ve been hiding dangerous familiars in your basement, horse.”

“They’re lying,” Nick said.

“I don’t think so,” O’Byrne replied. “But I do think you’re resisting arrest.”

The phrase must have been a signal, because three of the big coppers moved toward Nick. Before he could try to scramble to his feet, they closed in on him, fists and clubs flying.

There was nothing for Nick to do but curl up and try to protect his head and vital organs. “I’m Jamie MacDougal’s familiar!” he yelled through the pain. “He’s O’Malley’s nephew! Hurt me, and you’ll be in trouble!”

His wild hope, that Jamie’s name would stop the beating, came to nothing. A boot caught him in the side of the head, and blood poured down his face. They meant to kill him here on the floor of his own saloon.

“Enough,” O’Byrne said.

A part of Nick wanted to sob with relief. But it was short lived. Hands wrestled him to his knees, wrenching his arms behind his back. Cuffs closed too tight around his wrists.

“Do a thorough search, boys,” O’Byrne ordered.

Within moments, the bar’s plank had been ripped down and thrown aside. Tables overturned, and chairs shattered like kindling. One of the coppers took out his nightstick and began to methodically smash every bottle, until the air reeked with spilled whiskey and gin.

Nick swallowed and forced himself to focus on O’Byrne instead of the destruction. “I’m an MWP detective,” he said. His teeth had cut the inside of his lip at some point during the beating, and the taste of blood filled his mouth, but he didn’t dare spit it out. “Jamie MacDougal is my witch. My badge is inside my coat, if you don’t believe me.”

O’Byrne jerked open Nick’s coat. The lining tore as he ripped the badge free.

“Not for much longer on either count,” he said. The silver badge hit the sawdust, and O’Byrne ground it beneath his heel. He leaned over, grabbed Nick by the chin, and forced his head back. “Do you imagine we don’t know exactly who you are? The Inspector ain’t exactly happy you tricked his nephew into bonding with you. I guess you thought it would give you cover, keep us off your back. Give you a free pass, if we caught you.” O’Byrne’s fingers tightened, digging into Nick’s flesh mercilessly. “You were wrong. MacDougal served with Roosevelt; that alone is enough to take him a long way toward the top. Chief of Police, someday, or better. But not with a stone like you around his neck.”

Nick wanted to argue. Jamie wasn’t like that; he didn’t care about climbing the ranks.

But he cared about being a copper. He might be willing to bend the rules, but Nick had been doing a lot more than that. When he found out Nick had been hiding fugitive ferals in his cellar…

The sound of breaking casks and shattering glass echoed up from below. Under other circumstances, Nick would have been sure they couldn’t find the door. But Conrad had probably been forced to confess everything before they handed him over to the Wraith. They’d know exactly how to get into the hidden room.

Nick shut his eyes, sick with anger over the destruction of his saloon. Helpless to keep it from happening. He’d been as thorough as possible cleaning the little room in the cellar, but it might not have been enough. If they found so much as a hair belonging to Conrad, Yates’s damned hexes would be able to match them. That would be all the evidence needed to send Nick right to the Menagerie.

Eventually, the sound of boots thudded on the stairs. “Empty,” one of the men said. “Scrubbed down recently, if I’m any judge of things.”

O’Byrne’s pale skin flushed with anger, and he turned on Nick. “Do you think you’re clever? Do you think a bit of soap and water will make any difference?”

Nick met his gaze squarely. “I run a clean establishment here. No idea what you’re talking about.”

He didn’t see the blow coming. His head snapped to one side, pain blooming on his jaw. O’Byrne shook his hand as if the punch had hurt. “You use the hidden room to conceal dangerous familiars from the law. You might as well confess now. We have a witness.”

Nick swallowed. “Then bring him here, so he can accuse me to my face.”

The request was met with silence. Nick had been right. O’Byrne’s witness was dead in Central Park. God only knew what they’d done with the puma; he was probably dead too. The coppers hadn’t expected to need the ferals; they’d thought there would be plenty of evidence in the cellar.

“You haven’t got anything on me,” Nick said. “So why don’t you just fuck on off?”

O’Byrne kicked him in the stomach. As Nick doubled over, retching, someone yanked his arms up painfully and unlocked the cuffs. A second click sounded from Kyle’s direction as he was released as well.

“This ain’t over, horse,” O’Byrne warned. “You get clear of O’Malley’s nephew, or there will be consequences. I hope you’ve kept the fire hexes up on your tenement here.”