Crossroads

by Moira Rogers

  “My partner is remarkably close-mouthed about a lot of things.” Jackson regarded his beer for a moment. “But if there’s anyone who can help Andrew, it’s Alec. You know that better than most.”

  “Yeah. Except at this point after my attack, I was still hiding in Alec’s basement, wincing at loud noises. Andrew’s…”

  “Don’t feel too bad. From what I can tell, you’re the norm, not this crazy shit.”

  Derek drained half his beer and slammed the bottle down on the table. “I’m not suffering a bruised ego. I’m worried about my friend.”

  “Hell, I know that. There isn’t a damn thing I can say or do to reassure you, though, and you deserve to know that.”

  Alec had said the same thing. “Franklin found someone to help Kat. An empath who splits his time between New Orleans and England. He’s due to be here in a few weeks, but I don’t know how to keep Kat from going nuts before then. She won’t talk to me.”

  Jackson’s bottle thumped on the table. “Let me and Kenzie worry about Kat until then. Even if she could talk about it, she’s not going to burden you. Not right now. You’ve got your own shit.”

  “My shit is that I can’t help any of the people I care about deal with their shit.”

  “All Kat needs is time.”

  “And Andrew, and Nick. Is that what they need too?”

  “Do yourself a favor and focus on Kat and Andrew.” Jackson looked away. “You can’t help Nick.”

  Derek closed his eyes. “Is there news?”

  “Not really. Not news.” The other man’s bottle tapped rhythmically on the table. “Do you understand why she went back to New York? What she’s there to do?”

  “She’s there to save her sister.” Derek didn’t open his eyes, because the tone of Jackson’s voice had shifted. Wariness, or maybe even pity. “I don’t know the details, but she’s probably never getting her life back.”

  Jackson was silent for a long time. “It’s a trade. Michelle and her kid get a pass, such as it is…and Nicky gets auctioned off.”

  The pain of the last week disappeared in a black hole of agony. His instincts screamed for action, for him to charge up to New York and destroy anyone who might challenge him for his woman. His mate.

  His hands ached, and it was only then he realized he’d clenched them into fists so tight his fingernails were digging into his palms. It hurt to take a breath, but he managed. Speaking was worse, but he managed that too. “Anything I try to do will just make her life worse.” Please contradict me.

  “I’m sorry as hell, Derek.”

  If he saw sympathy in Jackson’s face he’d scream. “Don’t. She’s the one who has to…” He couldn’t even get the words out.

  “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean—” The words melted into a curse, and Jackson’s chair slid back from the table. “Sometimes it hurts worse being the person on the sidelines.”

  “I’m not on the sidelines. I’m not invited to the game.”

  “I know. Shit.”

  Torturing Jackson about it wasn’t going to do any good. Derek met Jackson’s gaze. “Andrew and I are going to be at Franklin’s clinic for the next week, helping with some construction upstairs. I don’t know what to do about Kat. She can’t come with us but I don’t think she’s ready to go back to your office yet.” Maybe if he concentrated hard enough on micromanaging Kat and Andrew’s lives… Because sticking your head in the sand has been a huge fucking success so far.

  “Mackenzie would love to have her help over at the dance studio.”

  “Perfect. She was so excited when Nick told her—” His voice cracked as the bottle in his hand shattered. The purely physical pain of glass shards slicing into his palm barely registered over the wave of loss. Not a human loss, either—the agony clawing inside him was animal and furious, every bit as strong as the lust that had come with Nick’s touch.

  “Fuck.” Jackson’s voice sounded far away and vague. He dragged Derek to the sink and quickly rinsed his hand. “You should go see Alec,” he advised as he wrapped a clean kitchen towel around the wound.

  “Alec.” Derek’s voice was hoarse, jagged, and the wolf felt too close to the surface. He shuddered and tried to find the control he’d spent two long, miserable years learning. “Kat. Kat was going to stay here.”

  “Let us handle it. We’ll take her to our place.”

  With Kat gone, he could let go. “Soon?”

  Jackson glanced out the window over the sink. “Now.”

  With Kat gone, he could fall apart.

  Holding it together while Jackson rounded up Mackenzie and Kat was one of the hardest things he’d had to do in an already difficult week. But he smiled and closed his healing hand into a fist so she wouldn’t see the blood, and Kat was so locked up in her own head that she didn’t question his assurance that he’d be fine on his own.

  There was no reason she should. Derek was the steady one. The responsible one who’d taken over the difficult parental role in her life when she’d still been young enough to believe parents were strong. Not immortal—she’d lost too many family members to believe that—but unshakable.

  So he kissed her forehead and Mackenzie’s cheek. He ignored the worried look in the woman’s eyes as she tugged Kat toward the door. It was enough to know Kat would be safe. Jackson and Mackenzie would take care of her.

  She’d be better off than him.

  He listened to Jackson’s truck rumble to life in the driveway. He leaned against the door and followed the sound of the vehicle backing out and shifting gears. Within moments, the clanking rattle of the engine had faded and he was alone.

  Alone. Something I’d better get used to.

  It would be nice to think he wasn’t the type to indulge in self-pity, but he’d never been very good at lying to himself. The last two years of his life had been one endless self-indulgent snit as he wallowed in his misery and used his uncomfortable situation as an excuse. An excuse to avoid everything he was too afraid to face.

  Like the fact he wasn’t human anymore.

  Derek pushed off the door and headed to the kitchen to finish cleaning up. The cuts on his hand were almost healed, nothing but thin puckered lines that would fade to silvered scars by midnight and be gone in the morning. Not fucking human.

  He’d admitted it on the surface. He’d even used it as an excuse to keep Kat trapped in bubble wrap for the last two years. She might complain and bitch and throw things at him sometimes, but he’d always held the trump card. It’s instinct. He’d see that flash of guilt in her eyes, the realization that he’d gone through hell and survived, that she could have lost the only family she had left. And she’d buckle just enough to let him protect her from the things that had happened to him.

  Not that he’d done her any favors. Supernaturals lived dangerous lives. The number of their acquaintances who had been orphaned before twenty was proof enough. Believing he could keep Kat safe forever had been foolish, but instead of helping her learn how to cope with the dangers of the world she insisted she belonged in, he’d…

  What did you do, Gabriel?

  He’d done what he’d always done. He’d acted like that world Kat played in was a world in which neither of them belonged. He’d been born human, after all. Even after he’d recovered from the attack, he’d tried to resume his previous life, as if humanity was something he could shoehorn himself back into if he just fought hard enough.

  Wasting time had cost him everything that mattered.

  He blew out a breath, trying to fight the rising swell of pain. It didn’t matter. The wolf inside him grieved for a lost mate, and nothing would dull the pain but time. Alec had promised him that much, at least.

  Alec was probably a fucking liar.

  It didn’t matter. He’d take the pain, make it his. Find a way to use it to do things differently, to help Kat become strong enough to t
ake care of herself, to help Andrew adjust to the new world he was stuck in. To find a place in that world for himself, because hiding in between the two worlds hadn’t done jack or shit for him.

  And maybe, maybe, if Nick found a way out of her political mess—don’t hope, don’t you dare hope—he’d be ready to meet her as a partner.

  It might be breaking the spirit of his promise, but it was the best he could do. Because if Nick Peyton thought he could go on with his life as if she hadn’t left a gaping hole in it…

  Alec is a fucking liar.

  Nick pulled her patterned silk wrap more tightly around her bare arms and sighed with relief when she and Veronica stepped through the hotel’s revolving door and into the night. “That was horrible.”

  “Moderately so, yes.” Veronica’s modest heels clicked against the sidewalk as she moved to the curb. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help much, but I doubt I would have caught anyone’s attention without stripping naked and climbing on my chair.”

  The pleated hem of Nick’s dress fluttered around her legs, and she shivered. “One of the Ochoa boys said I’d lost weight and asked me if I make myself throw up after I eat.”

  “Well, for an Ochoa, that was almost tactful. He must have been trying.”

  They’d all been trying. “Way too hard,” Nick murmured. “Want to come back to the penthouse for a drink?”

  Veronica smoothed her hand over her dress in a self-conscious gesture and shook her head. “Did you see my father’s face before he left? Riding home with you instead of him is all the reprieve I get. I need to let him yell at me for not being gorgeous and charming or whatever my crime is this week.”

  Though the style of her dress was sedate, the expensive, pale gold fabric complemented Veronica’s dark skin beautifully. “He’s full of shit. You know that, right?”

  “I do.” Veronica turned to watch the traffic zipping by. “I didn’t always. I thought I could be enough, and I tried for a long time. But the one thing that he wants is the one thing I’m never going to be—a nice, dominant son who can take over his empire. So fuck him.”

  “I feel your pain.” There weren’t any empty cabs in sight, so Nick started walking. The words built up in her throat, choking her, and she blurted them out. “All I want to do is go home to New Orleans.”

  Veronica caught her hand and squeezed it. “I’m so sorry, Nicky.”

  She barked out a laugh. “I get maudlin and whiny when my father and Michelle aren’t around to hear me.”

  “Good. Let’s walk a few blocks and you can whine at me. Tell me about him.”

  “About Derek?” Even thinking his name scraped at the raw wounds inside her, and she steeled herself against flinching. “What do you want to know?”

  Instead of answering, Veronica changed the subject. “There was a boy in Atlanta. No, not a boy. A man. A thirty-three-year-old bartender who was turned six years ago. The first time he touched my hand, I thought I was going to melt into the floor.”

  It sounded too familiar. The first time she’d met Derek, he’d still been human. He hadn’t had a clue who she was, and he’d flirted shamelessly with her. Afterwards, after the attack and the hospital and Alec dragging him off to heal, things had been different. He was half-wild, almost twitchy, and something beyond flirtation had passed between them without a word. Something powerful, undeniable.

  Goose bumps rose on Nick’s arms, and she rubbed them away. “Melting pretty much covers it, I think.” She’d wanted him to wrap around her, warm and strong and hard. “It’s…intense.”

  “It’s intense,” Veronica agreed softly. “But it doesn’t last forever, I promise.”

  If only. “It’s not just mating instinct.” She bit her lip. “I love him.”

  “I loved Raul too. Or I convinced myself I did.”

  “Yeah?” Nick tried to breathe through the pain. “Did you have to try to convince yourself it didn’t mean anything? That it was just sex? Stupid, instinctive sex?”

  Silence stretched out too long, so the answer, when it came, was no surprise. “No.”

  Nick closed her eyes. Even through the months she’d spent dropping the really blatant hints, waiting for Derek to take what she was offering, she’d known he wouldn’t. It didn’t matter if he wasn’t ready or if he liked her too much or if the intensity of their attraction had scared him. “I tried to believe it was about sex because I couldn’t have him. Even if I could, it wouldn’t be for long.”

  “Nicky.” They’d come to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk, and Veronica coaxed her into the shadow of a nearby building. “God, I didn’t mean—”

  “It doesn’t matter.” She couldn’t stop shaking. “It was part of another life.”

  Veronica’s arms closed around her shoulders. “The good things always are.”

  Regardless of the pent-up anger and frustration clawing at her, having this conversation on the street was a bad idea. Anyone else leaving the party early would see them. Nick hugged her friend briefly and broke away. “Would you mind if we had that drink later? I think I need to be alone right now.”

  Veronica studied her face. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

  “Absolutely.” She didn’t bother trying to smile. “I’m just going to go home and try to forget tonight happened.”

  “If you need anything…” The words trailed off. “Well, I won’t be able to do a damn thing, but I would if I could.”

  “Yeah.” Nick lifted her arm to hail a cab. “I’ve felt that way for years. You, me, Michelle, Luciano… Is it really worth all this?”

  “Maybe.” Veronica dropped her gaze to the ground. “When I was young and stupid, I thought that our generation would change everything. I wonder if they thought the same thing when they were our age.”

  If they had, surely they knew better now. “Change is tough. People don’t like it.”

  “I suppose they don’t.” A taxi pulled up to the curb, and Veronica squeezed her hand. “Call me if you need me.”

  Nick held her hand for a few moments. “Thanks. I mean it.”

  “You’re welcome, Nicky.”

  The rest of the lone walk to her father’s co-op helped settle some of the pain and frustration roiling inside her, but her hands still trembled when she crossed the lobby and called the elevator. They didn’t stop until she made her way through the dark, quiet foyer and into her father’s study, where a quick search of the bar yielded an unopened twenty-seven-year-old bottle of Glen Albyn.

  She poured herself a triple.

  Mahalia appeared in the doorway, a kitchen towel thrown over her shoulder. “I thought I heard someone. How was dinner?”

  “Uneventful.” Nick drained half the Scotch and shrugged. “Decent catering.”

  “Mm-hmm. And the company?”

  Horrific. “Acceptable.”

  Mahalia fidgeted with the edge of the towel. “I wanted to apologize for the things I said the other day. I don’t know how things were between you and Gabriel, and I don’t know how you left them.”

  “It’s all right.” Nick counted to three and felt a small sense of triumph when the burning in her eyes subsided. “I understand. The situation has everyone on edge.”

  Instead of seeming pleased by the acceptance of her apology, Mahalia snorted. “That’s very kind of you. Very polite.”

  The trembling returned, worse this time. “I try.”

  The older woman’s dark gaze grew stormy, troubled. “Are you going to live this way forever? With little Nicky Peyton shoved in a box and some carefully groomed shapeshifter trophy wife in her place?”

  Nick finished her Scotch and considered the alternatives. “Well, I could go back to New Orleans and ask Derek to abandon his family and friends and run away with me. Of course, he’d hate me for it, and I don’t think I’d like myself too much either, given what would happen to Michelle an
d Aaron.”

  “Nicole—”

  “So…yeah.” Nick refilled her glass with more liquor this time. “I’m going to be vicious, May. I’m going to lock Nick Peyton in that box and never think about her again, because I can’t.” A ragged sob escaped. “If I start to wonder what kind of life she might have had, I won’t be able to do what I have to do.”

  “What is that, exactly?” Mahalia rounded the desk and took the glass from her hand. “You marry this Maglieri boy, and what then? What does it accomplish if you’re both miserable as hell on fire?”

  “Is that a rhetorical question?” Nick rubbed her aching head. “Babies, May. Power and legacy, everything the wolves hold dear.”

  “Maybe some of them, but not Derek. Not you.”

  Stop, please. “Do you really think what I want matters?”

  Mahalia’s jaw tightened, and she leaned one hip against the edge of the desk. “It should, especially to your future husband.”

  Nick snatched the glass back with a small growl. “Luke is as much a pawn in this whole thing as I am.”

  “So marry him.” Mahalia’s tone was decidedly casual. Too casual. “Surely it’s not so different from human marriages of convenience. Marry Luciano, and then you both agree to lead your own lives.”

  “No.”

  “Hear me out—”

  “No, May, you don’t understand.” Desperation drove Nick to pace the floor. “Even if it wasn’t a shitty thing to do, Derek couldn’t take having me belong to someone else.”

  “Even if you had an—an arrangement?”

  “Even then.” She stopped by the window and leaned her forehead against the glass. “I know you’re trying to help, to find some way, but you have to listen to me.” Tears streamed down Nick’s cheeks. “If there was a way for me to be with him, I’d do anything, go through anything. But there isn’t, Mahalia, and you have to—have to stop…”

  “Shh.” Mahalia wrapped her arms around her and rocked gently. “It’s just not fair, honey.”