Before the Witches

by Karina Cooper

  This was her gift. Her choice.

  His pleasure.

  She watched him through her lashes as she sucked at him; thrilled as his hands tunneled into her hair, not to push her away but to guide her. Hold her hair from her face so he could see her mouth work him, suck him, take him in deep, nearly to his balls.

  His eyes glittered, painfully bright. His jaw clenched so hard she could see a muscle leap in his jaw.

  It echoed the muscle leaping against her throat, her lips.

  “Oh, God,” Nigel rasped, so hoarse it was nearly nothing more than a whisper. She’d found his tipping point. His fingers tightened around her head and pulled her off, his cock sliding free of her mouth with a soft sucking sound. He grabbed her by the arms and yanked her across his lap.

  Katya caught herself against his shoulders. For a moment, a breath of time, she stiffened. He was aggressive. He was all male, and she’d teased him, but he . . .

  He wouldn’t hurt her. He couldn’t.

  He wasn’t like them.

  “Damn.” As if aware he’d toed up to some kind of line, he let go of her arms. Although his erection twitched, glistening from her attentions, he didn’t move. His eyes pinched, mouth twisting. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  Katya settled a finger over his lips. They stilled, but he didn’t have to talk to show her what he was thinking. His eyes were filled with it: Regret. Anger. Concern.

  She leaned in, replaced her finger with her lips and kissed him so softly that even she shivered with it. “You are you,” she said. “You are not—”

  Them.

  Nigel didn’t let her finish. He kissed her again, swallowing the word. The memories. His hands gentler, he stroked them down her back. Over the curve of her ass, framed in lavender lace. She braced one hand on his chest, warm and so alive under her palm, and pulled aside the stretchy swatch of her underwear.

  His cock nudged her, and she sucked in a deep, sudden breath.

  Everything narrowed down to this second. This moment, his hot flesh against hers. His gaze boring into her own; his hands steady on her waist. Supporting, not restraining. Warm and callused and protective.

  Closing her eyes, she sank down, impaled herself with a slow, wet slide of flesh in flesh, and threw her head back on a fierce, satisfied moan.

  He echoed it. His fingers dug into her waist, but it was Katya who set the pace. Her will that curved her hips, slid them away, then slammed them back. His length rubbed inside of her, filled her, each inch like a benediction, a healing salve.

  There was nothing before Nigel.

  There would be nothing after.

  Katya knew only now. Her body’s temperature rising. Her brain fragmenting as she rode him. Her thighs burned with the effort, but his hands helped her to steady herself; let her concentrate on the fierce intensity of his cock buried deep inside her. In and out. Stroking, stretching, filling.

  One of his hands moved. She gripped the arm of the sofa beside them as she struggled to quiet her moans. And then his thumb touched the hard knot of nerves between her swollen folds and that was the end of any pretense of control she had.

  She orgasmed on a long, shuddering arc of sensation and sound. It uncoiled like a flood crashing through a shattered dam, rolling through her from head to toe and back again; centered always on his thrusts, on the jerky motion of his hips where they joined. She watched his features tense. “Katya,” he gasped.

  “Do it,” she whispered, and watched his eyes flash and darken and finally close as he came inside her.

  It set off every nerve she had. Forced another screaming tide through her body, her chest, her throat. He captured the back of her head in one hand, swallowed her cry with a kiss that filled her mouth as deeply as he still filled her body.

  When she couldn’t take it anymore, she tore her lips away, gasped for air as her heart slammed against the cage of her ribs.

  Nigel’s breath came in low, slowing pants. Unable to resist him, she let him tug her down to his chest. Her knees burned from the sofa cushions, her hip was threatening to lock at any moment, but Katya said nothing.

  Slowly, closing her eyes and burying her face in his chest, she listened to Nigel’s heart pounding beneath her ear. For a long time, neither spoke.

  When his heart had slowed, and her breath once more came and went without shaking, Nigel stirred. “You must be hungry.”

  She didn’t bother opening her eyes. “Tired.”

  His breath stirred the hair over her face as he sighed. “Of course you are.” Slowly, as if she were made of glass, he shifted out from under her. The loss of his body heat immediately made her shiver. “I’m going to get you some food,” he said, refastening his pants. His features were granite hard. Locked down.

  Katya blinked at him. “I . . . Is everything all right?”

  He hesitated. His expression gentled, and he bent to hand her the jeans they’d tossed to the floor. When she took them, he caught her hand. “I’m not running away,” he said, so seriously that her heart fluttered. “I’m just giving you food. And a chance to . . .” His mouth worked for a moment. Then, helplessly, he gestured at the office. The sofa.

  Her. Naked but for a purple thong.

  “Get presentable?” she hazarded. But she couldn’t help the smile in her voice. Or the warmth slowly filling her chest.

  “That,” he agreed. He squeezed her fingers, and let her go. “I’ll be back. You’ll eat, and then catch some sleep. And I’ll check on Junie,” he promised, before she could even frame the thought in her head.

  She watched him leave the office, her mind whirling. As the door swung shut, she saw him scrape both hands through his hair. Like a man beset by trouble.

  “So close,” she whispered, and looked at the denim clenched in her lap. She was so damned close to making the worst mistake of her life.

  Or maybe . . . Katya closed her eyes. Or maybe the best.

  Chapter Six

  “How is she?”

  Nigel looked up from the paperwork he hadn’t been writing on for the past hour. It took his bleary vision a long moment to clear, focusing Jake Leigh’s double image into one serious expression of concern.

  He palmed at his eyes, straightening his back from its half-slump. “She?”

  Jake’s mouth quirked. “Katya.”

  “On a first name basis, are you?” Nigel couldn’t help the underlying lash of jealousy beneath the wry question. He gouged his thumb into one eye, rubbing as if he could stamp out the fierce, protective surge.

  “She’s fine,” he added before Jake’s mouth could frame the question his raised eyebrows were asking. “Sleeping. Her and Junie. I figured I’d give them an hour more before diving into the interrogation portion of our day. We have a few hours before the child welfare advocate arrives.”

  “Poor kid.” The officer leaned against the desk, and for the first time, Nigel saw the shadows under his blue eyes. Lines bracketed his mouth. “That girl . . . It just makes you want to do something, you know?”

  Oh, yeah. He knew. He’d done something, all right. He sighed, pushing aside the sheaf of papers. “You can’t fix the world, Leigh.”

  “Yeah, well. I sure want to try.”

  Nigel smiled wearily. “That’s why you’ve got a badge. Any word from Nancy?” He deftly served the change of subject before either of them could dwell on the two refugees sleeping behind the office door only feet away.

  That would only piss them both off, Nigel knew. And undirected anger was a hell of a drain on the resources.

  “No word, yet. Lydia’s starting to get antsy, though, so I’ve asked my sister-in-law to—Whoa.” Jake dropped a hand to the desk, his brow furrowed deeply. “Did you feel that?”

  “Another quake?” Nigel stood, but like Jake, he braced both palms on the desk. Nothing moved. Just the usual vibrations of heavy feet tromping through five stories of police station chaos.

  Jake frowned. “I’d swear I—”

 
The light in the police station dimmed slowly. As if a storm front had rolled in beneath Seattle’s typical gray clouds. The gray ambience of Seattle’s typical daylight turned over the soul-sucking fluorescence of the office lights.

  “Holy shit!” Waters snapped a blind back, suddenly pale. “Guys . . . ?”

  Nigel circled the desk, hard on Jake’s heels as the officer sprinted to the window. Jake pulled the blinds up, the vinyl clattering loudly as the shade rose.

  Seattle filled the frame, much as it always did, save for a little extra wear and tear. As it had been for the past few hours, bumper-to-bumper traffic filled the streets; frightened people hurrying to get out of a city falling apart around them.

  The news had promised no more quakes.

  They hadn’t said anything about the early night.

  “What the hell?” Jake breathed.

  Nigel watched the thick, lightless bank of clouds roll over the visible skyline. He’d seen it before. Once, when Maylene had faked being sick and he’d let her stay home on his day off. She’d watched a show, some entertainment science. It was about . . . Oh, shit.

  Even as he opened his mouth, the building shuddered. “Ash,” he said, shocked. “That’s an ash cloud.”

  “Quake!” Waters yelled at the same time. The furniture shimmied in place, and Nigel grunted as he turned and slammed thigh-first into the corner of a desk that hadn’t been there moments before. The walls swayed, lamps and computer monitors crashed to the floor.

  “Get to reinforced positions,” someone shouted.

  Jake grabbed Nigel’s arm as a vicious tremor sent him staggering into a fold-out cubicle. “Get—”

  “I’m on it!” Nigel pushed through the room, feeling as if he were forcing each step through knee-high sand. “Katya?”

  Cords snapped around him. Light fixtures crashed to the ground, sparks popping. “Evacuate!” someone screamed. “We gotta get out!”

  The office door slammed open. Katya staggered out, her hair sleep-tousled and her eyes wild over Junie’s head. The girl clung to her, lurching as the floor pitched beneath them.

  “Nigel!” Katya held Junie tightly, her eyes pinched with the effort he could clearly see she was exerting to stay calm and upright. “What’s happening?”

  “Ash cloud. We need to get you out.”

  “Ash?”

  He didn’t give her any time to look, grabbing her arm and wrenching her towards the doors. God only knew what was happening, but it wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. “Open the doors!”

  Stacey slammed at them. “It’s stuck,” she said, her voice pitched too high. But she worked at the handle, ramming her thin shoulder against it. “Help?”

  Nigel wrapped a supporting arm around Katya and Junie as the building rattled violently. “Jake?”

  “Here, sir.” Jake surged past him, throwing his weight against the doors. Waters joined him, his shoulder working the bent panels. They slammed open.

  Waters caught the dark-haired woman around the waist. “You okay, Stace?”

  She flashed him a tight little smile. “Great,” she said through her teeth. Screams filled the stairway, echoed up to them in a wild cacophony. Even as they crossed the threshold, the hallway creaked and groaned. The stairs rattled, metal and cement tearing free in jagged panels.

  Jake leaped back, hauling a screaming Stacey with him. They bowled into Waters and Nigel, sent Katya staggering back into the department doors. She grunted, wincing.

  “Christ,” Jake breathed as old cement filled the air like the ash looming outside.

  Nigel was desperately aware of Junie’s small hands at his waist. He met Katya’s eyes over the small group. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded, her face pale.

  “Ferris!” McClintock’s voice cracked like a whip.

  Nigel looked up the swaying stairwell. “Chief, we gotta—”

  “There’s a chopper on the roof,” she cut in. “Let’s go.”

  “Chief?” Jake frowned. “Are you bleeding?”

  For the first time, Nigel noticed the dark smear of blood on the woman’s face. “Shannon!”

  She shook her head, mouth tight. “Haul ass, people.”

  Even as she ducked from view, the stairs groaned again. Nigel grabbed Stacey, pushed her to the front of the group. “Take her,” he said, thrusting Junie into her arms.

  “Katya,” Junie wailed, reaching for her.

  Katya struggled to maintain her footing, clutching the door frame for support. She cried out a flurry of Russian.

  His grasp wasn’t that great under duress. He caught go and sweetheart and roared, “Move it.”

  They surged up the stairs, in pairs and singles, clinging to the railing as the supports creaked and swayed. Junie clung to Stacey’s hands, sobbing in fear, Jake right behind them to lend a hand as he could.

  Nigel grabbed Katya as she flailed, her feet thrown out from under her by a particularly violent surge. “What is happening?” she gasped.

  He didn’t dare take the time to answer. His fingers tight at her elbow, he half-threw her up the stairwell as Waters followed, swearing.

  Two flights of stairs suddenly seemed like an eternity. The whole structure heaved, screaming, cracking. Cement steps fell apart, practically beneath them. Finally, Stacey pushed through the rooftop door, pulled Junie out of the way. Jake ran toward the chopper with the chief at his side. She held her head, blood seeping through her fingers.

  Nigel let Katya dash through the door, turning to help Waters. He thrust out a hand. “Move it, Andy!”

  The stairwell creaked and echoed, dragged a screaming crescendo across his ears. Caught halfway down the staircase, the grizzled detective met Nigel’s wild eyes through gray, dust-smeared resignation.

  The moment dragged to a standstill.

  For one, eternally long second, Nigel held out his hand.

  Waters reached for it, his face red. His teeth bared as he strained to clear the steps.

  Not fast enough.

  With the support beams broken, the final hinges at the top of the stairwell wrenched free. Nigel yelled; Waters dropped his hand as grit and metal rained around them. He shook his head, gripping the swaying railing, and his lips moved.

  A prayer. A curse. Hell, Nigel didn’t know.

  Whatever it was, it was still on his lips as the stairs collapsed beneath him. Anger slammed through him as Waters’s gray head vanished in a cloud of crumbled cement and dust.

  It all crunched five stories below. Brick and bone and one of the finest badges Nigel had ever known.

  He dropped to his knees as if he’d be able to pluck the detective from the ruins, tears aching behind his gritty, burning eyes.

  “Ferris, let’s go!” The chief yelled. “That’s an order, detective.”

  He staggered to his feet. Flailed as the crumbling ledge behind him cracked a warning. With monumental effort, he sprinted onto the roof, mentally saying good-bye to the man who’d taught him what it meant to be a damn fine detective in an unforgiving department.

  He met Katya’s gaze as he ducked low, approaching the small group beneath the chopper’s rotating wings. She touched his arm. “Did he—?”

  He shook his head. “How many seats?” he asked roughly, pitching his voice over the whup, whup, whup of the whirling rotors.

  “With the pilot?” The chief nodded shakily to the man bent over the console, earphones firmly over his head. “Four.”

  Clumps of gray floated on the air, stirred into a miniature blizzard. Jake’s cheek was smeared with black and gray, and the roof was filling with it.

  They were running out of time.

  And space.

  Nigel met Jake’s tense gaze and nodded. He’d be the bad guy. With his heart in his throat and the building shuddering beneath them, he ordered, “Katya, Junie, get in the chopper. She can sit on your lap.”

  “But I—”

  He spoke over her, grimly closing his ears—his traitorous heart—to her arguments. �
��Stacey, you get the second seat. Chief, take the last one, get medical help as fast as you can.”

  Jake handed Stacey into the helicopter, his features rigid. Her eyes filled with tears. “But what about you?” she demanded. “There’s one more seat!”

  Nigel said nothing, avoiding Katya’s stare.

  Jake shook his head. “The bird won’t take all the weight. The last seat’s for my girls,” he said. “Go get them for me. Tell my wife—” His voice cracked. “Tell her I love her.”

  Katya handed Junie up beside him. “Get in the helicopter, Officer Leigh.”

  Nigel stiffened. “Katya, don’t—”

  The building swayed dangerously. The helicopter skidded, metal skids screaming against the cement roof. The pilot swore. “We gotta go!” he roared. The ash floated down like a cotton blizzard, gummy as it gathered the moisture from Seattle’s sky.

  “You have a baby to take care of,” Katya yelled. Her finger slammed into Jake’s chest. “Go take care of them.”

  The chief stepped back, her face pale beneath the blood, but set. “I’ll be less weight,” she said flatly. “Jake and his family is a full load.”

  “Goddamn it!” Nigel grabbed Katya’s shoulder. “Get in the fucking cabin,” he snarled. “I’m a police officer. I have to stay. You don’t!”

  “Ten seconds!” the pilot yelled.

  “Get in the cabin, Jake,” McClintock ordered. She grabbed a pipe for support, wiping a mask of ash from her eyes. “That’s an order!”

  Stacey clung to Junie, who struggled wildly.

  “Katya,” the girl sobbed. “Katya!”

  “Ya vas lyublyu,” Katya called. Tears slid down her cheeks, leaving blackened streaks behind. “Go, get out. Take care of her!”

  “Katya!”

  Jake look backed at Nigel. His mouth opened.

  Nigel caught Katya as she stumbled, flattened a hand over her head to keep her from standing too close to the whirling rotors, and held her protectively. “You idiot,” he roared.

  “We’re leaving!” the pilot said, flipping switches. The engine revved, swirling ash and grit in a thick cloud.