Moira Rogers: Crossroads

He turned and nodded awkwardly when he reached the door. “I’ll call you tomorrow, Nick. Count on it.”

She tried in vain to think of something witty to say. “Have a good night, Derek. I’ll talk to you soon.”

He leaned down, his breath warm against her skin as he brushed his lips over her cheek in a soft, barely there kiss. Nick reacted without thought, turning her head until her mouth touched the corner of his.

The world tilted as her feet left the ground. She heard Derek’s low, desperate growl as her back hit the wall, just a second before his mouth covered hers.

She’d been dreaming of it for the better part of a year—longer, if she was going to be honest with herself—and shock still thrummed in her veins, making her heart jump. Then the surprise faded, replaced by animal satisfaction. His taste and scent filled her senses as his tongue twined with hers, and she drove her fingers into his hair and held on.

One large hand landed on her hip and slid down, coaxing her leg up and around his waist. His hips ground against hers as he groaned and bit her lower lip in a purely possessive gesture.

Nick locked her legs around him and met the next thrust of his hips with a frantic arch of her body. “Derek.” Mine. The word echoed in her head as she urged his head back and trailed a hot line of kisses over his jaw and neck. She whispered his name again and bit him.

His hand crashed into the wall next to her head hard enough to send a framed picture crashing to the floor. “Fuck. Nick, I’m losing it…” His voice sounded lost in the boundary between lust and terror. A growl rumbled up through his chest and tore free of his throat and, when he spoke again, he sounded scared. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You wouldn’t hurt me.” Her denial was instant, automatic. Then the full meaning of his words hit her, and she froze. “Oh, God.” She laid her hand on his face. “You haven’t had sex since the attack.”

“No. Shit, I’m not—” He drew in a breath, and his cheek heated under her hand. “It’s not that bad. But I haven’t had a lot of it, and not with anyone I really… Not with anyone—” He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. “Please tell me you understand all that complicated shit Alec explained to me about the hormones and the instincts and temporary insanity?”

It had never seemed all that complicated to Nick. Then again, it was the only thing she’d ever known. “Physical chemistry is amplified. A strong enough attraction can make it hard to control desire.” God knew she was having a hard enough time with it, though she’d had a lifetime of practice. “It could be fast, maybe, the first few times, but… You won’t hurt me, Derek. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“God, I know. My manly pride stings a little at the idea of crappy sex. I sort of wanted to impress you.”

Nick arched an eyebrow at him. “Who said anything about crappy sex? Fast doesn’t equal crappy, not when it’s—” She broke off and looked down. “They write poetry about it, you know. About that moment where you can’t stop, and nothing else matters. When someone could be holding a knife to your throat and you wouldn’t notice, because every single part of you is focused on—” She found herself staring at the pulse throbbing at the base of his throat, and a quiet growl rose. “We— If we wait—”

He swallowed. “Is this why all the myths talk about werewolves mating for life?”

“Part of it.” She lowered her hands to his shoulders and tried to ignore the strong flex of muscle under her fingers. “It’s supposed to be very…affecting.”

“Supposed to be?” He narrowed his eyes. “I really hope that doesn’t mean I’m the only one feeling this, or I’m going to go away now, and possibly die.”

Nick stared at him for a moment, surprise stealing her voice. “It doesn’t work if it’s one-sided. Not like this.”

His breath left him in a whoosh. “Oh, thank God.”

Then he kissed her again.

A fresh wave of need crested inside her, sweeping away rational thought. She moaned into Derek’s mouth and pulled at his shirt, desperate to feel him. The fabric tugged free of his pants, and she slipped her hands under it, moaning again when she encountered the heat of his bare skin.

She tried to work the shirt higher, but he didn’t relinquish her mouth. He tilted his head to the side and deepened the kiss, and she started to think he might never stop.

It took someone pounding on the glass door a foot away from their heads to tear them apart. Derek lifted his head with a rough curse that cut off with a strangled noise. He jerked his gaze back to her face, his expression wild. “Uh, I hope your sister is an identical twin, because someone who looks exactly like you is standing outside with the tallest man I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“What?” The fog of pleasure in Nick’s head lifted, and she turned her head as she pushed at Derek’s chest. “Michelle?”

He stepped back and lowered her to the ground. “I guess so.”

Her sister barely looked like herself. Instead of her usual immaculate suit, she wore sweatpants and a rumpled T-shirt, and her normally well-groomed hair had been jerked into a haphazard ponytail. Her face was pale and drawn, exhausted. Even Aaron seemed uncharacteristically grave, with tight lines around his eyes and mouth.

Nick rushed to the door and unlocked the deadbolt with a frightened jerk. “Micky? What the hell are you doing here?”

She stumbled over the threshold. “The Conclave’s issued an order for Aaron’s execution.”

Nick caught her and rocked a little as she met Aaron’s steady, resigned gaze. “Why? What the fuck is going on?”

“I’m pregnant.” Michelle let the blunt words hang between them for two short heartbeats before she burst into tears.

Derek could have made a graceful exit while Nick’s sister sobbed. Nick gave him several opportunities, but he balked at leaving. It could have been because Aaron and Nick kept exchanging tense, worried gazes that screamed danger, or because the girl in hysterical tears looked almost exactly like Nick.

He got water instead, pulling a chilled bottle from the fridge behind the bar before catching Nick’s gaze. He nodded toward Aaron, then the bottle of tequila, one eyebrow raised in silent question.

Nick shook her head and framed her sister’s face between her hands. “Sweetie, just breathe. Breathe, okay? You’re here, and you’re safe, and all three of you are going to stay that way.” As she spoke, she lowered one hand to Michelle’s stomach. “I swear it, Micky. All of you.”

Michelle shuddered, and magic twisted through the room so fast and intense that the water bottle slipped through Derek’s fingers. The deadbolt on the door slid shut with a clatter and all of the lights went off. A moment later the streetlights dimmed. He turned to the windows and blinked stupidly at the frosted glass that had replaced Nick’s usual dual-paned windows.

A wail jerked his attention back to Michelle, who was actually glowing . The gentle light faded as she closed her eyes and curled her hands into fists. “That’s the other problem. I haven’t had very good control since it happened. The Conclave thinks I lost my powers because of that stupid myth, but if they find out the truth, they’re going to kill me too.”

Nick scoffed and shook her head again. When she spoke, her voice was quiet and serious. “They’ll have to snatch you over my dead body, sweetie.”

The fact that she meant every word made Derek’s heart catch. He fought back that same protective rage that had been choking him over the past weeks and snatched the bottle of water from the floor. “Should I call someone? Alec or Jackson? They both owe you.”