Guilty as Sin (11 page)

But as she walked quietly down the passageway, the door of the bath chamber

opened. On a billow of steam, a tall, broad figure emerged and strode away from her.

Aetherii had little use for modesty—bathing and grooming were social rituals,

frequently shared—so Dax
‟
s nudity shouldn
‟
t have been a shock. But, gods, there was

so
much
of him, all so beautifully, perfectly, aggressively male. In the dimness of the

sleeping house, the subdued light of the small lamps on the stairs gleamed sidelong on

his golden flanks and struck sly sparks from the bronze of his plumage. Damp hair

curled roguishly against the nape of his neck. Each measured stride revealed teasing

glimpses of muscled buttock and thigh, partially concealed by the cloak of his massive

wings. Lise found herself leaning forward, her mouth open as if she could inhale each

glimpse, absorb it into blood and bone, a treasure she could keep forever.

By the time Dax turned a corner and disappeared, she was shaking as if in the grip

of a fever.

It didn
‟
t matter what she wanted or how much she wanted it. She winced,

remembering. Poor Sire, poor Mama. She
‟
d been such a trial as a child, always off

exploring, coming home all bruised and bloody, her feathers twisted. How many nights

had she sat scowling at the dinner congealing on her plate while Sire explained, all tired

patience and disapproval?
You are one of the Gray, Liseriel. You cannot simply do as you

please. I have enough responsibility without the extra worry of your willfulness.

Lise scrubbed herself until she glowed, and every feather shone with meticulous

grooming, but it was a long time before she slept that night.

* * * * *

“We
‟
ve located three of his hideouts, so why can
‟
t we find him?” Lise slammed a

thick folder down on Jan
‟
s desk with such force, the brush rattled on the ink block. “It
‟
s

driving me crazy.”

Jan grunted. “I imagine he
‟
d be delighted to hear that.” He cocked his head to one

side. “What do you intend to do next?”

52

“Dax can explain.” Lise fixed her gaze on the table so she wouldn
‟
t have to look at

his face, alight with purpose and enthusiasm. If she did, she
‟
d blush. “He
‟
s been

working on it for me.”

Jan leaned forward, blue eyes hard as gems. “Go ahead.”

“We know Michael has to be living somewhere. He needs a place to keep his

disguises, if nothing else.” Dax unrolled a detailed map of the Slopes, anchoring the

corners with the ink block, a paperweight and some books.

Jan
‟
s brows rose. “That
‟
s an excellent map,” he said. “Much better than the one

Mirry has. Where did you get it?”

“From the Palace. I had to bribe the director of public works. I put it on expenses.”

Jan winced.

Despite her annoyance, Lise had to suppress a grin. “Don
‟
t worry,” she put in. “It
‟
ll

be worth it.”

“Better be,” muttered Jan.

“We
‟
ve narrowed the area down to these few blocks.” Dax pointed. “This cross

marks the wigmaker
‟
s shop where Michael bought the blond wig. And here
‟
s the stall

of the used clothes seller. Her stamp was on what was left of his shirt.”

He smiled across the table, apparently guileless. “Your turn, Lise.”

Grimly, she took over. “I
‟
ve been working my informants hard. These other crosses

all indicate sightings. You can see they cluster in this eastern area.”

“Mmm.” Jan
‟
s wings rustled. “The Prince is demanding results—loudly, I might

add. Not that he
‟
s prepared to help, the tight-fisted old bastard. What do you suggest?”

“A trap.”

“Of course, but what will you bait it with?”

“Me,” said Lise. “Or rather, my featherpearls.”

“Explain.”

She could feel her cheeks heating. “Well, Michael
‟
s— He
‟
s—”

“Obsessed,” Dax said, and she shot him a grateful look. “We thought—”

The door burst open, banging against the wall.

“
Jan
.” Fledge
‟
s voice was barely recognizable, her face chalk-white. “Oh gods.”

Putting out a trembling hand, she swayed.

Jan surged across the room in a blur of ebony wings, catching her up against his

chest. “What? What is it?”

Fledge lifted her other fist to show a piece of crumpled paper. “Hssrda!” she

gasped. “They
‟
ve got the children!”

53

Hssrda (sing. Hssrdan):

Hybrid race, saurian-human. Most authorities believe the Hssrda were created as slave-

soldiers by the Firsters, using the magical craft referred to in the ancient texts as “gene-

splicing”. (See Firsters—Magic) However, popular legend recalls a single individual, the so-

called “Mad Mage”. (See Ballads, Traditional).

Excerpt from the
Great Encyclopedia
, compiled by Miriliel the Burnished.

* * * * *

Sinking down on the side of his bed, Dax glared at his bare toes. He wiggled them.

Ow
. Who
‟
d have thought feet could hurt so much? It wasn
‟
t a common experience for

an Aetherii. He, Lise and every member of Jan
‟
s staff had taken to the mean streets of

Sere, working a grid pattern. They
‟
d questioned what felt like every grimy inhabitant of

the Slopes, searched every hovel, warehouse and cellar. Lise had reduced a brothel

madam to tears and nearly broken the arm of an uncooperative barkeeper.

Nothing.

As for poor little Fledge— Dax winced. Jan had insisted she stick with him, which

was just as well because by midnight, she was so worn down with nerves and fury and

terror, she could barely stand. Over her vociferous protests, Jan had scooped her up and

flown her home. He
‟
d forced a dose of
sleeptight
down her throat and put her to bed.

Lise and Dax had pressed on until they could no longer continue. A few hours sleep

now and they
‟
d do the whole thing over on the morrow. Rip the Veil and fry the world,

children
! Gooseflesh rose all over his body. The only good thing was that the Prince

wouldn
‟
t allow Hssrda in the city, but it wasn
‟
t as if cruelty and perversion were their

sole preserve, the reptiles. Bitsy and Zemis and the rest had to be somewhere in Sere,

but anything could be happening to them, anything at all. Gods.

Resolutely, Dax stripped and slid under the sheet. Clasping his hands on his belly,

he dragged in a long breath and let it out again. Another. He
‟
d be no use without sleep.

His dreams were strange, distorted fragments of childhood, viewed as if down the

wrong end of a spyglass. Long, golden summers spent swooping low to run his

outstretched hands through the swaying purple tips of the meadow grass, wheeling in

the soft twilight air, playing tag with the others.

From far off, his mother
‟
s voice calling again and again, deeper than he

remembered. “Dax! Dax, wake up now.”

54

A hand patted his cheek, not gently. But he couldn
‟
t move, his limbs mired in

something hot and heavy. With a mighty effort, Dax fought his way free of the mists

and cranked his eyes open.

“Took you long enough,” grumbled Michael, bending down to peer into his face.

The thief
‟
s teeth shone white in the light of the single lamp on the dresser.

Dax
‟
s eyes crossed. “Wha—?” His lips were numb, his tongue like a lump of

leather. “
Nngh!
”

Michael placed a palm in the middle of Dax
‟
s bare chest and rubbed a small

smoothing circle. “Don
‟
t worry,” he said. “The effect only lasts a few minutes.”

“Wha
‟…
effec
‟
?”

Rip the Veil, Michael was sitting astride his hips, completely at ease. Dax
‟
s body

could have been a godsbedamned rocking chair. The curve of the thief
‟
s muscular ass

pressed into his groin, warm and solid through the light sheet. It wasn
‟
t

uncomfortable—yet—but the potential for damage was definitely there.

“It
‟
s a useful herb,
sleeptight
,” said Michael with a smirk. “In the Slopes, the doxies

and their pimps use a concentrate of it called
knockemdead
.” The smirk widened to a

grin. “For obvious reasons.”

By all the gods, he was going to rip the man
‟
s arms off and beat him to death with

them. With a
fellwolf
growl, Dax reared up, reaching. But something cold tightened

around his wrists, cutting painfully into the flesh.
Chains
. Shit, he
‟
d been trussed up like

a fowl for market, his wrists and ankles secured to the bedframe, his wings furled and

useless, trapped beneath him. The growl became a roar, Dax
‟
s tail lashing out to coil

around the thief
‟
s trim waist.

A pillow tumbled to the floor.

“
Shh!
” Michael clapped a hand over Dax
‟
s mouth. Simultaneously, something cold

and sharp pricked the skin beneath his ear. “Shut up or I
‟
ll cut ye another smile.”

Ruthlessly, Dax flexed his tail, squeezing. A part of him knew it was stupid.

Another part didn
‟
t care. And somewhere so deep it was woven into his blood and

bone, he couldn
‟
t make himself believe Michael would hurt him.

“Stop it with the fuckin
‟
tail.” The thief sounded breathless.

Pain sparked on Dax
‟
s neck, cold and icy-bright. More furious than he
‟
d been in his

life, he glared into Michael
‟
s eyes, an inch from his own. The man
‟
s chest was sealed to

his. Through the linen of the thief
‟
s shirt, he could feel the rapid drumming of a single

heart, the two points of warmth that were Lise
‟
s featherpearls.

“I need to talk to you.” Michael was so close, he spoke almost into Dax
‟
s mouth,

and for a split second, Dax remembered the firm press of a masculine mouth on his, that

erotic bite on his lower lip.

Rage sparked in his blood, hot and sweet. With a growl, he exerted all his strength,

pulling at the chains, biceps swelling with the effort. The bedframe creaked and pain

55

ground into his wrists. He absorbed it, used it as a spur. His tail lashed, thudding into

the thief
‟
s ribs.

Michael grunted. “Don
‟
t—” He leaned forward, a warm palm sliding up the

underside of Dax
‟
s arm, all the way to his wrist. “Stupid bastard. Stop fightin
‟
.” Pulling

back, he thrust bloodstained fingers under Dax
‟
s nose, the smell coppery and rank in

his nostrils. “Look what ye
‟
ve done to yerself.”

Dax whipped his tail around the thief
‟
s neck and began to squeeze.

Michael choked out an obscenity.

Instead of using the blade, as Dax half-expected, he fumbled something soft out of a

pocket and slammed it over Dax
‟
s nose and mouth. Desperately, he twisted his head,

but the other man held on. Drug fumes turned his brain to mush, his vision filling with

black spots that overlapped, morphing into a long, dark tunnel. On a slurred curse, Dax

toppled forward, the sensation not unlike tumbling headlong into an abyss.

When he opened his eyes, nothing seemed to have changed. The thief still sat

astride him, grinning. “Useful things, tails,” he said. “Wish I had one.”

Dax flexed it. Fuck, the bastard had lashed his tail to one ankle. A growl of

frustration rumbling in his chest, he heaved with his hips.

Smirking, Michael ground down to meet him. “Mmm.”

Another wriggle and a squirm that pressed the ultrasensitive place at the base of his

tail hard into the mattress. Dax
‟
s breath hissed between his teeth. Little sparks of

pleasure ricocheted in his balls, the root of his cock humming with the beginnings of

interest.
Bastard, bastard, bastard
. How did he know? He fought his way through the last

of the drug fumes. No, Michael was a Grounded. He couldn
‟
t know that a touch where

tail met spine was sometimes all it took for an Aetherii.

When he arched up to relieve the pressure, the other man
‟
s eyelids dropped to half-

mast. “We can do that too, if you want.”

“No. Bastar
‟
.” Dax fought to enunciate. “Don
‟
wan
‟
.”

“You sure?” A dark brow arched up. Michael grinned like a lusty boy. For the first

time, Dax noticed he wore tight-fitting trews and a knit shirt, both dead black. He
‟
d be

no more than a shadow in the night, a dark shape seen out of the corner of the eye,

silent and sure-footed.

As Dax licked his lips, the other man leaned closer, staring at his mouth. “Ge
‟
on

with it,” Dax mumbled.

He marshaled his resources, exerted his will. “Talk if you wan
‟
, but kiss me an
‟
I
‟
ll

kill you. Swear.” He pressed his tongue against his teeth, welcoming the tingle of

returning sensation.

“All right,” said Michael agreeably enough. “No kissing.” He chuckled deep in his

throat. “On the mouth.”

56

He sat up, fingertips skating from the pit of Dax
‟
s throat over the planes of his

chest, all the way to the edge of the sheet at his waist. Shivers trailed in their wake,

despite everything Dax could do.

“Feathers,” said the thief, brushing the fine down on Dax
‟
s chest in a meditative

fashion. “Amazing.” His teeth flashed. “Pretty.”

“Talk.” Sheer desperation deepened Dax
‟
s voice by an octave.

All amusement vanished. Michael folded his arms. “What have you done with

Bitsy? And the baby? Nell.”

“Done? Nothing.”

Michael
‟
s eyes narrowed to glittering slits. “Then where are they? I haven
‟
t seen

Bitsy in over a week, or Nell. Neither has anyone else. I asked around.”

Dax raised his chin. “What
‟
s Bitsy to you?”

“None of your godsbedamned business.” The blade flashed an evil silver. “Last I

heard, she was at Fledge
‟
s school.” A pause. “She trusted her, as much as Bitsy trusts

anyone.”

Dax
‟
s gut clenched. He was a Second Pinion warrior. He shouldn
‟
t feel so

vulnerable, so…exposed. “You
‟
re not going to like it.”

“Go on.”

“Let me loose.”

“No. Talk, birdy.”

Dax sucked in a breath, acutely conscious of the muscled thighs clamped against his

sides. He met the dark hazel gaze full on and held it. “Nell is fine. I
‟
ve seen her myself.

She
‟
s with a respectable woman. Fledge pays her well for her trouble.”

Michael frowned. “Bitsy would never— Where the fuck
is
she?”