Moira Rogers - Crossroads

The doors slid open onto a private hall decorated in rich tones of crimson and gold. It wouldn’t have been so bad if the wealth had been ostentatious or gaudy, but Derek knew just enough to understand that understated, effortless elegance wasn’t effortless at all.

He was still wearing the faded jeans and T-shirt he’d had on when Alec had shown up. His hiking boots fell heavy on the spotless, polished hardwood floors, and he caught a glimpse of his reflection in a gorgeous antique mirror, his tired features overwhelmed by what had been a five o’clock shadow two days ago and mussed hair that badly needed trimming. He didn’t belong here.

Too fucking bad.

Nick’s father pulled open the heavy oak door before they reached it. He’d looked worried when Derek had first seen him in New Orleans. Now, he looked twenty years older. “Gabriel.”

Manners, Derek. He didn’t know who that silent voice in his head belonged to, but it offered sound advice. “Mr. Peyton.”

He stepped aside, his expression inscrutable. “Nicole’s in the kitchen.”

Not exactly an open-armed greeting, but he hadn’t been expecting one. The fact that the Alpha wasn’t wrestling him back into the elevator was as close to approval as he was likely to get. He should consider himself blessed and get to the kitchen. To Nick.

Of course, finding the kitchen on his own was another problem.

He didn’t have to. Nick appeared in a doorway off to his left and froze. She stood there for a few seconds, her face pale and eyes red-rimmed, just looking at him. Then she breathed a sob and hurried across the foyer, past her father and Mahalia.

He dropped his bag a second before she launched herself at him. It didn’t matter anymore that John Peyton, Alpha of the fucking United States, was standing there eyeing him with what had to be disapproval. It didn’t matter that he felt grungy and out of place in a house so far out of his league it made the moon seem within reach.

She mattered. Derek closed his arms around her body and dragged her against him, his heart aching at the way she trembled. Nick had always been small, but for the first time she felt fragile. The last week had broken something inside her, and it made him want to scream.

Later. He buried his face in her hair and whispered her name.

“They killed him.” Her voice was small and muffled. “It was Coleman, but they all did it. They’re all responsible.”

“I’m sorry, honey.” Useless words, but all he had. “I’ll help you with whatever you need to do. Anything.”

“I know.” She pulled back at the sound of footsteps retreating, leaving them alone in the foyer. “Come on. Get your bag and I’ll take you to our—to your room.”

He lifted the bag without taking his gaze from hers. “I missed you. I missed you so damn much, Nick.”

Her hand still rested in his, and he felt the tremor that ran through her. “I…” She shook her head and pulled him down a hallway. She didn’t stop until they reached the last door, and he almost stumbled when she yanked him through it.

It was her room. Framed family pictures and black-and-white photos of the city plastered the walls, and it felt the same as her house back home, cluttered and eclectic and warm.

Derek barely had time to drop his bag again before Nick was back in his arms. “I missed you too. I love you.”

He lifted her this time, clear off the floor, and stumbled back. He hit the door, slamming it shut behind them with a noise he barely noticed because Nick was against him, in his arms, and all he could think about was kissing her.

So he did, covering her mouth with a low groan and kissing her with a desperation that wasn’t even about sex. He needed her to be safe and close and happy . Needed her to be his.

He needed to be hers .

Nick clung to him, her fingers threaded through his hair, and whispered words against his mouth. “I don’t care what happens, I’m not letting go again. I can’t.”

The words were everything he needed and, for the next few heartbeats, the world ceased to exist. The harsh, cruel world of prejudice and politics, sexism and violence—everything faded away in one moment of blissful fucking perfection.

Chemistry, magic, love —it didn’t matter what it was, just that it felt like he’d spent the last two years struggling against the current only to let go. Peace settled over him as he kissed her again, savoring the softness of her lips and the warmth of her body.

Her mouth left his to trail over his cheeks and jaw. “I need you, but I’m scared, baby. I know why Alec sent you.”

Derek curled his hands in her hair and urged her head back. “First things first, Nicole Peyton. Alec didn’t send me anywhere.”

“You mean that.” Her eyes blazed with something hot and primitive, something that stirred the wolf inside him. “You came for me.”

“Damn right I did.” Now that they were together, she didn’t feel fragile. She felt strong, dangerous, the dominant magic inside her an equal for his own. Together, they could do whatever they needed to. “I don’t give a shit if things are dangerous. You’re not dealing with it alone.” Never.

Her small hands framed his face, and she kissed him again. “Thank you for being here.”

“No place else to be, Nick.”

Doubt and then a fierce protectiveness flashed across her features. “We need to talk to my father.”

He’d come here prepared to kill a man for her if he had to. It didn’t say much about him that facing her father seemed more daunting. Or it says something about her father. “He’s not going to love me, Nick. It’s okay. He doesn’t need to, as long as you do.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m going to let him treat you badly.” Her jaw tensed. “No way.”

Alec had told him not to waste time worrying about earning the Conclave’s respect. Nothing he could do would matter, because he wasn’t one of them. And that included Nick’s father.

But Nick seemed determined, and he couldn’t bring himself to deny her that hope. “Okay, sweetie. You’re the boss.”

Nick kept her hand wrapped tightly around Derek’s as they stepped into the kitchen. Her father and Mahalia were side by side at the counter, chopping vegetables and speaking in low tones. “Dad?”

His gaze snagged on their joined hands for a moment before it reached her face. “Yes?”

“We need to talk.” She pulled out a stool beside the island and sat. “Figure out what to do about Coleman, and what comes after.”

Her father nodded and set down his knife to brace both large hands on the counter. “First off, tell me if you knew what your sister had planned.”

“I knew when she asked Luciano if he’d marry her.” She rubbed her thumb over Derek’s hand. “She didn’t consult me beforehand, if that’s what you want to know.”

Derek’s fingers tightened around hers, but he stayed silent as her father frowned. “She didn’t consult anyone, and that’s not like her. If it’s because she needs to take control, that’s one thing, but I’m worried about her making impulsive decisions out of grief and desperation.”

Mahalia shook her head as she began to chop broccoli into a colander. “I’d bet anything it’s the former, John. I’ve seen people crazy with grief, and Michelle’s not that. If anything, she’s locked down.”

The description brought a sick feeling to Nick’s stomach. “She said she needed to decide for herself. To do something about her future instead of just letting everyone else handle it.”

“But Luciano…” He trailed off as his gaze flickered to Derek.

Derek didn’t flinch. “Luciano cares about her, and that makes it a sticky situation.”