Witches' Waves

by Teresa Noelle Roberts

  He’d forgotten that duals didn’t feel cold the way humans did—and otters spent a lot of time in the chilly waters of the Pacific.

  When Kyle groped at the zipper of Deck’s jeans, Deck stopped feeling cold too.

  “I think all the time about sucking you,” Kyle whispered, his voice harsh and throaty. “I dream about it. Even when I’m not wordside.”

  Deck tried to find words for all the reasons this was a bad idea.

  But with Kyle’s hands stroking his quivering dick, all Deck could say was, “Me too. I dream of your mouth and my cock. I just plain dream of you.”

  Kyle grinned, his lips moist and red, his mouth a little toothy to be human. Then he sank to his knees—and he really sank, not the semi-awkward scramble or flop most humans would manage, as if Kyle surrendered fully to the moment without any thought for his knees exposed in board shorts, or possible rocks and mud—and released Deck fully from his jeans.

  The air was chill on Deck’s newly bared skin, but Kyle’s mouth was hot. Dual hot, hotter than a human’s, and he used it like it had no purpose other than pleasuring Declan Donovan’s cock.

  Before he lost his mind completely to sensation, Deck set up a quick-and-dirty keep-away spell on the area. Kids would decide they wanted to play somewhere else. Adults might guess why they had this urge to be anywhere but the back vegetable plot, but would respect the wish for privacy. Akane and the duals living with or visiting the family would be oblivious to the spell—it took a lot to magic a dual and even more to affect an immortal kitsune like Akane—but with any luck they were busy.

  He felt the spell rise up, an earthen wall surrounding a waterspout.

  Then he gave himself up to the wet heat of Kyle’s mouth.

  Demons and devas, even Kyle leaning against him was erotic. Deck couldn’t remember ever being as aware of his partner’s energy as he was now, twining over his skin, caressing places Kyle’s mouth and hands couldn’t.

  Kyle’s body was hot, and his mouth was hotter, but his energy was deliciously cool. Blue and brown, ocean and shore, calming the earth, containing the lightning, dancing with the water of Declan’s magic, balancing it. Kyle felt different from another water witch. The water energy wasn’t flowing through Kyle. It was him, on a very deep level. Water energy and a predatory yet playful force that had a vibrant color Deck couldn’t name.

  Pleasure beat inside Deck. One hand cupped the back of Kyle’s head. Deck couldn’t help curling his fingers into Kyle’s dense hair, as if Kyle was his to control—which he suspected Kyle wanted at the moment, from the way he went so readily to his knees.

  He thrust into Kyle’s mouth at the thought, unable to contain himself, and Kyle’s energy flared in joyful response.

  With his other hand he gripped Kyle’s shoulder for balance, since all the blood seemed to be draining away from his brain. Even Kyle’s muscles moving under his long-sleeved tee-shirt added to Deck’s arousal, as if the palms of his hands had become an erogenous zone.

  Kyle’s tongue teased at the slit of Deck’s cock. One hand fondled his balls just the way Deck liked. Then Kyle engulfed him, taking him deep. The muscles of his mouth and throat worked, his tongue lapped at Deck’s shaft.

  And Kyle’s other hand worked between Deck’s cheeks so his fingers touched the puckered opening of his ass.

  It was almost too much, after such a long time with nothing but dreams of this man. For a fleeting instant, Deck managed to focus on the flow of magic and energy between him and his playmate to prolong his pleasure.

  Then that clever finger infiltrated his ass. Deck shot into Kyle’s mouth, unable to stop, unable to do anything but cry out something that he’d meant to be Kyle’s name, but didn’t sound like English or Gaelic.

  Head swimming from the explosive force of the orgasm, Deck wobbled on his feet and wished he’d taken the time to get Kyle to his place, an unoccupied guesthouse or anywhere there was a bed.

  Of course, if they’d taken that extra time, he might have talked himself out of the blowjob, and certainly out of what he did next.

  Which was to draw Kyle to his feet and hold him close, glorying in the feel of Kyle’s energy surging over his skin.

  Damn it, he was in love with Kyle. He was pretty sure it wouldn’t work out in the long run. Shouldn’t there have been magic dancing if he and Kyle were meant for each other? But having Kyle back, finally holding Kyle against him, touching him, even kissing the top of his head, made Deck feel contented and complete, instead of like the odd man out, the fuckup in his family.

  This was a trap. Kyle didn’t mean it to be, but it would be. Deck would try to live up to Kyle’s expectations, like he used to try to live up to his family’s until he realized it was impossible. It might work better with Kyle because Kyle might think he was more than he was, but Kyle wasn’t expecting him to be fucking Superman.

  Unlike his father, who was pretty much the magical equivalent of the Man of Steel, rigid standards, perfect abs and all, and who couldn’t figure out why Deck, of all his five kids, couldn’t live up to him.

  He could hear Desmond Donovan in his head now, telling him he was being irresponsible, leading Kyle on, using Kyle, who wanted a real relationship, when all Deck could offer, until he got his magic balanced and his head screwed on straight, was a fling. He opened his mouth to apologize, though he wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for. But what came out of his mouth was, “My place. Now. Need to fuck you until I know I won’t send you away again and you know not to listen if I try.” Mixed in with the raging lust was a profound sense of relief that someone lost had come home.

  He wasn’t sure if Kyle was the prodigal or he was.

  Kyle said, “Do you have rope? Because if I’m not tied up, I’m not responsible for how much furniture I break. Not to mention skin. I’ve been craving this way too long, and you know otters get a little crazy during sex.”

  Deck had been convinced he’d never see Kyle again, but he’d still ordered bondage rope off the Internet.

  But when they walked into the huge, comfortably shabby former reception area of the Victorian hotel that had been converted to apartments for the single family members, they were forced into a change of plans.

  Deck’s grandmother Roslyn was waiting for them, along with Elissa’s mom, Jan. Roslyn was hovering over Portia, the most powerful telepath in the Donovan family. Portia was even paler than usual and looked queasy, and Grandma Roz was obviously working some kind of magic to keep her from passing out. Meaghan was walking on her own, but she looked pretty shaky too. Everyone’s auras bristled.

  Something bad was going on.

  “I thought Meaghan was going to hang out with Elissa,” Deck said, knowing how lame he sounded.

  “Change of plans,” Jan said briskly. “Elissa had left the baby with me, and when she brought Meaghan to see her, I figured I needed to see what was really going on. Best to take precautions when someone has a story like Meaghan’s.”

  Of course. He should have anticipated this.

  “Your friend’s telling the truth,” Portia said. Her voice was as pale and drawn as her face. “Meaghan’s been a prisoner of the Agency most of her life and the Agency’s been using her visions against Differents. They’d fed her some bullshit about helping duals and other Differents integrate into human society. She led them to Jude, but because of his connection to Elissa she finally saw what the Agency was doing and she’s been fighting as best she could ever since. She’s not sure how much she let them know about Jocelyn, and because her own memories are so foggy, I can’t tell either. She was willing to die to try to keep Jocelyn safe. But it may be too late.” She started to sway, then sat down abruptly on the nearest chair.

  “Elissa says she senses Shaw’s magic lingering on Meaghan,” Elissa’s mother said, “Maybe some other sorcery as well. Meaghan agrees she wants it gone, so we’re going to lift it now, but we
need help from both of you.”

  “Me?” Kyle raised his eyebrows. “How can I help with magic, Ms. Donovan?” He smiled as he said it. Deck was very busy trying to maintain his game face and not let the dismay he felt at Aunt Jan’s words show, but he couldn’t help noticing that smile.

  “We’ll need to break down Meaghan’s shields, and the ones Deck gave her, to clear the spell trace. Meaghan’s a seer, so this is going to be traumatic even inside the house protections and surrounded by well-shielded witches. She’ll panic. You’re the only person here the poor girl has known for more than ten minutes. You can anchor her.”

  “How?” Kyle sounded concerned, but at the same time eager. Finally getting to do something heroic, Deck thought. Poor furry bastard would find out soon enough that heroism left marks.

  “You look like a clever lad,” Grandma Roz said quietly, turning up her Irish accent, as she always did when she needed to charm someone of the female-fancying persuasion. Never mind that Roslyn was over a hundred, she had enough red magic that it worked every time. “You and the lady take a few minutes to talk it out. We witches have some prep work to do. Declan, you’re with us. We’ll be prepping for the ritual in the grove.”

  Deck tried not to gape and failed. They knew his mind wandered during long rituals, and his combination of erratic powers didn’t exactly play well with others. Normally his relatives let him off the ritual-magic hook unless they were dealing with a violent lightning storm at sea or a tsunami—or, he supposed, a toaster that had fallen into a bathtub due to an earthquake. “What do you expect me to do?” He realized he was one eye-roll away from coming off like an exasperated teenager and tried, belatedly, to smile and sound less sullen.

  She shot him a blue-eyed look that was half glare and half approbation, the kind of look only an Irish grandmother could pull off properly. “Meaghan has water powers as well as precognition, but the water magic’s locked down with a sorcerous spell. Right now, you’re the only water witch available, and she’ll need you to ease her through having that magic awakened after so long.”

  Had his grandmother lost her mind? And Jan was nodding like she thought it was a great idea. “Are you sure…”

  His grandmother couldn’t read thoughts—thankfully—but from the look she gave him, she didn’t need magic to know what he was about to say. “Don’t start arguing with me, lad. The only other grown water witch at home right now is Portia. I’m not putting her in a circle with an unshielded seer with repressed memories. It has to be you.”

  No, no and no. The lightning power behaved so unpredictably when other magic was bouncing around. He mostly knew what to do when the lightning collided with familiar Donovan magic, but Meaghan had nasty sorcerous spells on her. What if the power decided it wanted to play and he couldn’t stop it? “Heather can work circles around me.”

  “Dispelling dark sorcery is no task for a witch of thirteen, even one as competent as Heather,” his grandmother said.

  Did he have to spell it out? He’d rather not be so blunt with Kyle listening—not to mention poor Meaghan, who had to be scared enough without knowing one of her would-be saviors wasn’t up for the job. But he was not going to risk a magical clusterfuck if there was any way to avoid it. “I don’t trust my control around sorcery. Meaghan has enough problems without being struck by lightning indoors.”

  Roslyn sighed heavily. “Get over your fears and step up. It pays to be cautious with wilder magic like yours, but you’ve never hurt another person and I doubt you’ll start now. You’re not getting out of being a Donovan this time. And you might as well get used to working with the lass. Someone needs to teach her to use that water magic once she gets it back.”

  “Oh shit,” Deck mouthed at Kyle as the relatives led him away.

  Chapter Seven

  Meaghan heard them all leaving the room, all those new people. Felt them leave. She was alone, away from the wearying, well-meaning strangers.

  That should have felt good. One thing she’d always yearned for back at the hospital was the chance to be truly alone, not observed at all hours.

  But alone in a strange place, in the middle of a room she’d never been in before, was a little alarming. Where were the walls, the furniture? Should she just stand here so she didn’t trip or break something? It had been only a few seconds, but she had to fight back a wave of panic.

  Then she realized she wasn’t alone. She didn’t hear anything, didn’t sense the buzzing in her head she felt around Becky or some of the doctors, but a hint of warm, pleasant energy told her Kyle was nearby, but being still. More still, she thought, than most people could be. He moved a few steps, but she knew it more from a subtle shift of the air than by a sound.

  Then she felt a by now familiar hand on her arm. “The couch is over here.” Kyle’s voice was warm and sleek like fur, a caress on her skin. “Come with me. Sorry for not saying something right away, but my brain was retreating from the combined force of all those Donovan personalities. I understand why Deck says he needs to get away sometimes and play.”

  “I like them,” Meaghan said. “They’re intense, but they don’t buzz in my brain, except for that one woman, Portia. I know they’re there, the way I know a quiet normy is in the room with me, but they don’t intrude without asking.” She wondered if that made any sense to Kyle. In her short time in the outside world, she was starting to realize that she perceived the world differently from most people, and it wasn’t just her blindness.

  “I like them too,” Kyle said. “I don’t know about buzzing in the head—I think that’s a witch thing—but they seem a lot less intrusive than my raft.” He paused and corrected himself. “My family. I love my family, but they’re really in your face. Perpetual two-year-olds, in some ways, but that’s the way most…” He paused again. “Let’s get you to the couch.”

  Kyle’s touch was featherlight on her arm, but Meaghan could still feel ocean and fur in that soft connection. Ocean and fur and heat and the energy of another man, a hint of what she was starting to recognize as Donovan energy.

  Interesting. That charged tension between him and Declan Donovan hadn’t been dislike, but desire. She smiled ruefully to herself. Her sex visions must not have been premonitions about her being with Kyle, or Kyle and another guy, but premonitions she was going to meet two guys who were in to each other, mixed up with imagery from that last series of audiobooks Becky had loaned her, the ménage erotic romances.

  Damn. It had been such a happy thought. She’d really like to have some great sex, the kind the books talked about, before she got too sick to enjoy it properly. Hell, she’d like to love and be loved, but she’d settle for a sexy good time with someone who wasn’t using her for creepy magical purposes.

  Maybe she should tell Kyle she was happy for him. No, that would seem weird, especially since she didn’t know if he and Deck had actually said anything to each other yet, let alone done anything. But there was, it occurred to her, something she ought to say. “Kyle, you can stop pretending to be human. I feel fur and ocean whenever you touch me, and I remember animals around me when I was drowning. And now that I’ve been around more humans, I realize your energy simply feels different. Are you and your family seals?”

  “Otters.”

  She remembered what little she knew of otters: smart enough to use tools in minor ways, playful, lived in large family groups. “You can practically live in the water when you’re animalside. You’re so lucky!” She paused. “Or you would be if it wasn’t for the fucking Agency.” She put her hand on Kyle—she’d hoped for his arm but got his bare thigh instead, smooth and strong and unexpectedly hot under her hand. Her breath caught and she pulled her hand away quickly because it felt way too good where it was. Inappropriately good, especially if he was involved with Deck.

  Kyle barked out a dry laugh. “You seem so otherworldly, the way you talk so calmly about feeling my fur and sensing people’s ene
rgy and having visions. Then you drop the F-bomb like a pissed-off Marine. Your voice even sounds different. Harsher and deeper, like a little girl imitating her daddy.”

  Memories of the monster she used to call Daddy, the monster who’d then seduced her, flooded her. Meaghan froze. Her heart began to race so fast she thought it might explode. Pressure built inside her skull. Something was either trying to get in or get out. She couldn’t let it, not with the baby here, not with all these witches and other Differents so close. She pressed her hands over the top of her skull. “No!” she screamed, not that it had ever done any good before. “I won’t let you use me again.”

  Kyle wrapped around her, sinuous as the otter she now knew him to be. “No, you won’t. Not here. I don’t know much about magic, but I know this place is shielded like Fort Knox. That’s part of why I brought you here. Nothing comes in or goes out without permission, and you’re not giving it permission. Just hang tough.”

  “It hurts.” Then she realized it wasn’t as bad as usual. Layers of protection stood between her and the vision. She snuggled against Kyle, seeking solace in the contact. The pain, the sense of a vision beating on her brain, retreated further. “Touching you helps me.” He felt so good, smelled so deliciously of the ocean. If she could touch more of his sleek skin, enjoy more of that furred heat, she knew she’d be all right.

  Or maybe she wouldn’t care as much.

  “Then keep touching. Touch all you want.” The last word came out almost as a groan.

  Then Kyle was kissing her.

  At first it was a soft brush of his lips, not quite innocent, but exploratory, gentle. It felt, Meaghan thought, like a first kiss was supposed to feel, full of tenderness and promise, asking many questions, but not making demands. She’d never been kissed that way, like warm wavelets lapping at her. She wasn’t sure what to do.

  Her body had a few ideas, though. She wrapped herself around Kyle, threw one leg over his lap and tried to get every bit of contact she could. She put one hand on his cheek, gently stroking the planes of his face. Good cheekbones, just the faintest hint of stubble. She couldn’t picture his face from the impressions she got through her fingers, not in the way a sighted person might imagine, but she gleaned a lot of information anyway. Mostly that she liked to touch him, and he liked the contact too. He shivered when she outlined his ear, made a strangled noise into her mouth. With her free hand, she cupped the back of his sleek head, half because the smooth, short hair felt so good, half because she was afraid he’d come to his senses, realize he was kissing the wrong person and pull away.