Stupidly, Jamie’s first reaction was disappointment.

When Nick had asked him to return, for a reason he didn’t want to say aloud in front of anyone else…well. Jamie had been looking at Nick…and Nick had been looking back, he was certain of it. The raw attraction hadn’t been just on his side after all. He’d felt the spark of desire catch flame. A little candle, burning away the numb, gray fog that had enveloped him body and soul for far too long.

Guilt had accompanied the desire, of course. Wyatt’s body was still in the morgue, for God’s sake. Even if it hadn’t been, Jamie hadn’t touched another man since Wyatt. How could he even think about falling into bed with a grumpy arsehole like Nick, especially now?

But it had been so long, not feeling anything. He told himself it wouldn’t really count, if he tumbled Nick. Nick obviously wasn’t looking for anything serious, not with a witch. Maybe Jamie should have had more self-respect than to sleep with someone who clearly didn’t like him, but the memory of those bulging muscles, of Nick handling the beer kegs like they weighed nothing…

He’d taken the time to dress as well as he could. Even put a vial of oil in the pocket of his overcoat, just in case. Walked the whole way from the El half-sick and half-hard.

But it turned out sex wasn’t what Nick was offering. At all.

Jamie wondered if he should have accepted the drink. “You…want to bond…with me?”

Nick ran a hand back through his long black hair. He’d been working the bar, and either shed his coat or not bothered to put one on since this morning. The white shirt was rolled up to show off his brown forearms. The fabric pulled taut across his shoulders every time he moved.

“It would only be temporary.” Nick’s flashing eyes met his defiantly. “I know about the hexbreaker. I’m not looking for a new career with the MWP, and I’m certainly not looking for a witch.”

Jamie felt off-kilter, the way he had when he’d first been learning to use his prosthetic leg. Back when any misstep sent him tumbling to the ground. “Are you saying…that is…am I your witch?”

Nick reared back, eyes going wide. “No.”

Thank heavens. Jamie pitied any poor witch saddled with a curmudgeon like Nick. “But you want to bond with me. Temporarily.”

“You heard what my brother and his witch said this morning.” The chair creaked as Nick restlessly shifted his weight. “The Police Board has the MWP in a bad position. But if Ferguson had a pair not already assigned to this illegal hex nonsense, they might be able to do something without the Police Board even realizing.”

“Oh.” Jamie’s mind reeled. It might work.

Except he didn’t even know this Nick. Other than he was Rook’s brother, and gorgeous. And only interested in Jamie as a way into the MWP.

Not to mention, Nick’s proposition felt deceitful, bending the rules every which way. The sort of thing Jamie had never been comfortable with.

“We solve the murders, keep any other ferals from being killed, and then have the hexbreaker destroy the bond,” Nick went on. “After that, we’ll part ways and never see each other again.”

“What happens if we don’t find who killed them?” Jamie hated to even contemplate the idea there would be no justice for Wyatt, but he had to consider it. “Crimes don’t always get solved. Just look at the Whitechapel murders. Or the Midnight Assassin down in Texas.”

Nick didn’t look happy at the reminder. “One month, then. If we haven’t made progress in thirty days’ time, we break the bond.”

Jamie gripped his knees. The left ached where surgeons had pulled out a chunk of shrapnel. He didn’t like Nick’s scheme, not at all. But the idea of just turning him down and hoping Rook and Dominic had time to look into the killings between their other duties didn’t sit right with him, either. “I’ll think about it.”

“What’s there to think about?” Nick demanded. “You’re a witch. You’ll have access to my magic for a month. Why wouldn’t you want that?”

“Because it ain’t that easy!” Jamie lurched to his feet. “If I bond with you, if Ferguson agrees to this idea of yours, I become a detective and try to find the murderer with you—then you leave a month later, and what? I get demoted, which won’t look good on my record no matter the cause.”

“Of course,” Nick said, folding his arms over his chest. “I should have known you’d put your career over the lives of ferals.”

“I ain’t saying that!” God, Nick was lucky someone hadn’t murdered him, out of sheer frustration. Had he actually considered putting aside his grief for Wyatt to sleep with this man? “I ain’t saying I want to work with an arse like you, neither. I surely don’t want to bond with you, even temporarily, if you ain’t so much as willing to let me think it over.”

He started for the door. “Wait,” Nick called.

“You ain’t given me a reason to,” Jamie said, and slammed the door behind him.

A few hours later, Jamie sat in the driver’s seat of the wagon, waiting for the other MWP police officers to return with suspects in handcuffs. Supposedly a gang was making illegal hexes out of the basement of a ramshackle building on Hamilton. There was a feral colony nearby; probably the gang had been here for years, selling to the ferals and the other poor members of the neighborhood. There hadn’t been any unexpected deaths or other complaints registered against them, so their hexmen must have some idea what they were doing.

But the Police Board wanted all unregulated, unregistered—and untaxed—hexes gone. So the MWP came in force. Or at least, sent in the biggest men, or the familiars who turned into the biggest, most fearsome, animals. Nick would have fit right in.

Nick.

The feral’s plan was insane. Ferguson would never go along with it. Jamie should have forgotten about it the minute he stepped out the door.

“Really, James, your face could curdle milk,” Cicero informed him. “Which would be a dreadful waste of both the milk and a pretty face.”

The small man perched on the driver’s seat beside Jamie, one leg crossed over the other, hands neatly folded on his knee. As usual, he dressed outrageously—a scarlet coat in a feminine cut with a green carnation in the buttonhole, his eyes lined with kohl.

Jamie felt heat rise to his cheeks at the compliment. “You—you shouldn’t say things like that,” he stammered. “Ain’t you with Tom?”

Tom Halloran had come along not only for his ability to deal with any hexes thrown at them, but for his imposing physique. He wasn’t as big as Nick, but more than large enough for Jamie to be anxious to avoid any misunderstandings concerning his lover.

“Of course we’re bonded. Is that what you mean?” Cicero blinked at him innocently—then laughed at Jamie’s expression. “Yes, darling, I’m quite attached to my Thomas. But I’m not dead, and there’s no harm in looking.” He picked a piece of lint from his pressed trousers. “Besides, this waiting is dreadfully boring.”

“Then why are you out here instead of in there?” Jamie asked. Tom hadn’t seemed at all surprised when Cicero remained behind.

“Do I look like I go around subduing hardened criminals?” Cicero sniffed delicately. “Thomas doesn’t enjoy it, but he’s quite good at it. Anyway, this raid isn’t even after the interesting sort of hex. We raided a brothel last week—the madam was offering free hexes to encourage flagging gentlemen to go for another round.”

Jamie felt his face go scarlet. Such hexes were legally available only at pharmacies—not exactly difficult to get, but expensive and indiscreet enough to encourage a thriving underground trade.

Cicero laughed again. “You blush like a virgin, darling. Now see, this was worth waiting out here rather than risking having my tail stepped on inside.” His yellow-green gaze returned to Jamie. “So why the long face?”

Jamie hesitated…but Cicero and Tom weren’t assigned to the murders, despite Tom’s assistance with the hexes. It might be easier to talk about it with him. “I can’t stop thinking about Wyatt. The first feral killed in the park.”

Cicero frowned slightly. “I heard you knew him before. In the army.”

Jamie should have guessed. Rook and Cicero were the two biggest gossips in the MWP—and that was saying something. “We were close.”

“Well, of course. Who can resist a man in uniform?”

“I was in uniform, too,” he reminded the cat.

“Even better.” Cicero lounged back bonelessly. “I imagine seeing him again was a shock, since he was supposed to have died over a year ago.”

“Aye.” The horse nickered softly, and Jamie realized he’d been clutching the reins too tightly. He forced his hands to relax. “I can’t help but ask myself why he never contacted me. Maybe he was afraid I’d turn him in, or…I don’t know.”

“This can’t be easy,” Cicero said. “I am sorry, James. Truly. Rook and Dominic will do everything they can to find who killed him and the other one.”

“Pia,” Jamie said automatically.

Everything they could…which was much less than usual. Any illegal hexes brought from this raid would add to the pile already on Dominic’s desk.

His stomach twisted. “What if I could do something?” he asked.

“Like what?”

Jamie hesitated. “What do you think of Rook’s brother? Nick?”

“I think Nicholas is a bloody fool,” Cicero said without hesitation. “But he can afford to be one, since he transforms into a rather large horse.” At Jamie’s questioning look, he shrugged. “It’s much harder to capture and force bond something like a horse than it is a cat, or a crow, or a dog. Not impossible, obviously, but more difficult, especially in a city. The problem with Nicholas is he thinks everyone should be like him—living in so-called freedom, away from any sort of protection against unscrupulous witches.”

Cicero’s delicate shiver told Jamie he wasn’t just speaking hypothetically. “You had a bad experience?” Jamie asked.

Cicero paused before answering, eyeing Jamie up as if judging whether or not he was worthy of the story. “Every familiar has a version of the same tale, darling. We’re walking down the street, minding our own business, and suddenly feel a little sting. A hex to check if we’re bonded or not. Sometimes we’ve no idea where it came from. Sometimes, it’s all too obvious. After I joined the MWP, I could flash my familiar’s badge, and they’d slink away. Before, though…it’s not fun, running for your life, hoping you aren’t bolting right into an ambush.”

“I don’t suppose it would be.” Had that happened to Wyatt, after Eddie died? At least he could fly away.

“But Nicholas views it as throwing away our freedom. To be fair, he does his best to protect the ferals living under his care. But he can’t be with them all the time.” Cicero watched Jamie out of the side of his eye. “If you want to know more, talk to Malachi. He lived in Nicholas’s colony for a while.”

“Malachi was a thief,” Jamie said. Not much of an endorsement for the sort of company Nick kept, even if the fox had gone on to join the MWP.

Cicero shrugged. “I doubt Nicholas cared one way or the other. He has very specific concerns: hating witches and protecting familiars.”

“Why does he hate witches?”

“Well, I’m sure I don’t know.” Cicero sighed dramatically. “Honestly, why are we talking about Nicholas? He’s so dreadfully boring compared to me. Why on earth are you asking about him?”

Jamie licked lips that had gone dry. “No reason.”

“Fine. Don’t tell me. Ruin my night.” Cicero laced his hands around his knee. “But let me ask you one thing. If you have a chance to do something about the murders, as you said, what’s keeping you from it?”

Fear. Fear was the answer that popped into Jamie’s head, and as much as he wanted to deny it, he couldn’t.

He’d let Wyatt down once before, by not being there with him when Eddie died. Failed so bad, Wyatt hadn’t even tried to contact him once the familiar reached New York.

Now Wyatt was dead, and there wasn’t much Jamie could do to make up for his past failures. But it wasn’t nothing.

Nick might know a lot of ferals, but he wasn’t an MWP officer. Jamie was an officer, but he just drove the damned wagon. Could they even hope to solve the murders? True, if Ferguson approved their plan, Rook and Dominic would help, but would it be enough? Or would Jamie just fail Wyatt one more time?

If he didn’t try, he couldn’t fail.

Or maybe he just failed in a whole new way.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You’re right,” he said. “Thanks, Cicero.”

Cicero winked at him. “My pleasure, darling.”

“Another death?” Conrad asked. The other ferals in the hidden cellar stared at Nick fearfully. One of the young whimpered; he wasn’t certain which.

He’d delayed telling them in the hopes he could reassure them he was doing something about the situation. That clearly wasn’t going to happen, though.

Probably for the best, really. What would the other ferals, here and in the saloon above, think if he worked openly with the police? It would ruin his reputation. If Jamie had taken him up on the offer, he would have had to lie about the situation; otherwise, everyone would assume Nick had sold them out.

“Yes,” Nick said, holding up his hands in a pacifying gesture. “But, terrible as it is, it’s good news for you. Pia wasn’t involved in smuggling ferals. So Wyatt’s death likely didn’t have anything to do with it, either. Which means I can risk contacting someone else without leading a killer to them.”

“What does that mean for us?” asked the bear, Rachel, crossing her arms.

“With any luck you’ll be out of this basement in a day or two.” Relieved smiles greeted his words. Nick would be almost as glad to have them gone. He could feed them for a while, but costs added up fast, and it wasn’t as if any of them were paying customers.

Not to mention the longer they were here, the more chances something might go wrong. Say, for his witch’s uncle to arrest him.

What had he been thinking, offering to bond with O’Malley’s nephew? What was he going to do for a follow up, offer to suck Ingram’s cock?

The stupid thing was, he’d been disappointed when Jamie turned him down. It didn’t make sense. What sort of witch refused power when it was handed to him?

His disappointment hadn’t had anything to do with the witch, of course. Only that finding out who had killed Wyatt and Pia would be a hell of a lot harder, without the information the coppers withheld. Nothing more.

Nick left the hidden ferals, picked up a crate of bad whiskey to serve as his excuse for going into the basement, and trudged up the stairs to the saloon’s main room. The mismatched tables were crowded tonight, and customers lined up along the wooden plank of the bar. But rather than the raucous gathering one might expect, the mood was subdued. Anxious.

No one had come here tonight to have a good time. Not after word of the second murder spread through the feral community. Rather, they’d come to huddle together, where they might be safe from the outside world for a little while.

Kyle worked the bar—no fancy cocktails here, just five-cent beer and ten-cent whiskey. Caballus was in the upper tier of dive bars, but it was still a dive bar. No one with money to spare drank here, but it was still far better than the places that served the drippings from kegs and half-drunk glasses, all mixed together.

Ammi would have been appalled. She’d hoped for better for both her sons.

Well, then, she shouldn’t have put her trust in a witch, should she?

The bell above the door jingled, and the saloon fell silent. Nick turned, ready for trouble.

Not ready for the kind of trouble that actually greeted him, though. Jamie MacDougal hovered on the doorstep, as if unsure whether to come inside.

“Mind the place for me,” Nick told Kyle, because he didn’t know how long this might take. Then he strode across the room and grasped Jamie by the shoulder. “Come on.”

He led the way to his apartment and shut the door, to give them privacy. “What do you want?” he asked without preamble.

Jamie leaned his right shoulder against the wall just inside the door. “I’ve been thinking about your offer.”

Nick leaned against the wall as well. So close, he could make out the startling spot of brown amidst the green of Jamie’s eyes. The faint scent of sandalwood cologne drifted up from his skin.

Nick caught himself licking his lips. Curse it. “I thought you’d made up your mind already.”

“I had.” Jamie wavered, then shrugged. “But once I had the chance to think, as I’d requested, I decided that getting justice for Wyatt is worth putting up with a grumpy bastard like you.”

Startled, Nick laughed. “Not many people would say that to my face.” He considered Jamie carefully. “One month.”

“Aye. One month.” Jamie held out his hand.

Uncertain if he was making the biggest mistake of his life, Nick shook it. Jamie’s hand was warm, strong, lightly callused. A mix of fear and desire curled through Nick’s blood at the touch. Fear, because he was agreeing to the one thing he’d sworn never to do.

Desire, because a man couldn’t help but wonder what those lips would look like kissed. Or wrapped around his cock.

No. He didn’t fuck witches. And of all the witches he didn’t fuck, this one was at the very top of the list. The most unfuckable.

He blinked and realized he was still holding Jamie’s hand, like an idiot. Letting go, he stepped back and put space between them. A sliver of fear worked its way down his spine, but he set it aside. “All right. Let’s do this.”

“Now?” Jamie asked, eyebrows lifting.

As though he hadn’t had to screw his courage to the sticking point to even get this far. Nick folded his arms over his chest. “Any reason not to?”

“Only that we should probably talk to the others—Rook and Dominic, if not Chief Ferguson—and make sure they’ll even let us work the case if we do this?”

Nick glowered…but the witch was right, curse him. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll meet you at the Coven first thing in the morning.” He shook his head. “Rook is never going to let me hear the end of this.”