Guilty as Sin (19 page)

falling back against his arm. The next instant, she was writhing in his grip. A solid blow

to the midsection made him grunt.

Laughing, Michael whisked himself out of the room. Lise
‟
s curse cut off as the door

snapped shut behind him. Trotting back to Bumble Alley under a dawn sky, he

congratulated himself. Overall, it had been a most productive night, if a trifle unsettling.

His pride had taken a bit of a beating and he still felt a little—well, jangled—but a few

hours
‟
sleep would put that right.

First round to the master thief of Sere. After all, there were only two things that

mattered—finding the kids and winning.

He estimated he had a couple of hours grace before the Aetherii were sufficiently

organized to come after him, but why wait? Might as well pack the essentials and move

now. He had bolt holes all over the city, he could sleep when he was dead.

Ma could have the rest and good luck to her. Him. Whatever.

While he was at it, he could get word out on the street for Veryl. Michael
‟
s lips

pulled back from his teeth in a
fellwolf
snarl. Jan
‟
s agent in Mother
‟
s Hearth was a dab

hand at reports, no fancy words and all on one page. A month ago, a high-ranking

93

Matriarch had been murdered in her bed, her throat cut from ear to ear. She
‟
d been a

law-giver, not a warrior, a woman known for being both just and compassionate. Her

slaves counted themselves fortunate to be in her care.

All save three, obviously, because when the alarm was raised, three former

criminals were missing—together with a large sum of money and a jewel chest. One

man was a sneak thief, the woman was hopelessly addicted to pleasure drugs. The third

was Veryl.

Michael had buried that sheet of paper in the middle of a folder containing Feolin

agricultural statistics. With any luck, Lise would never find it. He had a head start.

By the Twister, he looked forward to meeting this Veryl!

94

Dearest Mama, Respected Sire,

You will be glad to know that I am finding the city of Sere most interesting. The Grounded

are strange but fascinating. As he promised, cousin Mirry’s introduction was sufficient to secure

me a temporary position with the security detail attending the Winged Envoy. I am working

with Liseriel the Gray, Janarnavriel the Noir’s second-in-command. You may recall that she had

a distinguished record at the Pinion Academy.

Mama, when I told her I was writing home, Lady Chriz laughed and asked me to send her

love, and also to thank you yet again for saving her tail feathers all those years ago at the

Academy. Sire, you will be disappointed to know that my courage failed me and I forebore to ask!

I have been spending my spare time at a kind of school for slum children run by Fledge—

you know, the Grounded woman who is Mated with Mirry and Jan. Mama, you would like her.

She is amazing, a force to be reckoned with and more than a match even for Jan, let alone Mirry.

(The three of them together are something to behold!) The children are surly and challenging and

brave, so needy they break my hearts, but Fledge says I am helping.

More soon.

Ever your loving son,

Dax

* * * * *

Heedless of the muck on the floor, Lise went to her knees next to the thin, stained

mattress against the wall. “They were here,” she said, in a voice completely devoid of

expression. “Look.”

Dax took the object she handed him and peered at it. “What
‟
s this?”

“A peg doll.” Lise rose, her mouth tight. “Haven
‟
t you seen one before?”

Dax shook his head. Just a small piece of wood with a crudely drawn face. So

primitive. Did its little owner love it? Did she miss it?

Something crashed behind him, so unexpectedly he jumped. What the—?

Lise tossed aside the remains of the wormeaten chair she
‟
d just smashed against the

wall and grabbed a chipped earthenware jug from the top of a rough wooden crate.

“Too late,” she snarled, hurling it.
Crash!
“Godsdammit, always too fucking late!”

“Hey.” Dax reached for her. “Remember the rag and bone man? He recognized the

sketch. Veryl was here last night. It
‟
s definitely him, and we
‟
re catching up.” He rubbed

a palm over her shoulder. “C
‟
mere, chick.”

95

Lise straightened her spine with an almost perceptible snap and took a smart step

sideways. “I
‟
m fine,” she said, bestowing a brisk pat on his arm as she headed for the

cellar door. “Don
‟
t worry.”

But he did.

He worried about Lise and about Fledge and about the few kids still attending the

school, so quiet and wary, he suspected they were scared even of him. Streetwise

though they were, they were only babies. Poor little Fledge, but his morning duties

were done and the sooner he had a quick bite, the sooner he could return to the palazzo

and Lise. Dax pushed through the swing doors of the tavern on the square, his brow

creased.

“Hullo, Pammie.” He forced a grin as a serving maid bustled forward, wiping her

hands on a grubby apron. “How
‟
s your mother today?”

A smile bloomed on the woman
‟
s tired face, exposing the gaps in her teeth. “She

slept right through last night,” she said. “The
godspeace
pills ye gave me helped a lot.”

She lifted a hand toward a wing then dropped it. “Thank ye, hautlord.”

Gingerly, Dax patted her shoulder. “It
‟
s useful stuff,
godspeace
. And forget the lord

thing.” He cleared his throat. “Now, what
‟
s good for lunch?” Gods, his stomach ached

with tension and he was still starving. How could that be?

“Deep-dish pie,” Pammie said promptly. She scanned his big body with frank

appreciation. “You want two?” She chuckled. “Or mebbe three?”

Dax settled himself on the stool the innkeeper kept specially for him. “Good idea.

Make it three, as quick as you can. And an ale.” He
‟
d never been able to think properly

on an empty stomach. Deliberately, he screened out the clatter of plates from the

kitchen, the loud beer-fueled conversations all around.

Two days since Fledge had found the note on the school door. Anything could have

happened to the kids since then, each possibility more horrific than the last. He winced.

How would Lise react when they finally recovered the—well, whatever there was left to

bring home? He couldn
‟
t bear to think of it, or of how he
‟
d cope himself.

Moodily, Dax forked up another mouthful of pie, hoping it would stay where he

put it. Veil-it, he wasn
‟
t dealing well with the inner turmoil, life worked so much better

when he felt solid, well buttressed inside the fortress of his calm.

Michael had disappeared into the night, leaving nothing but mockery floating in the

air behind him. It was as if the master thief had never existed. If it hadn
‟
t been for the

physical vividness of his memories, Dax might have thought it all a particularly

disturbing dream. As it was, his sleep was restless, peopled by Michael and Lise both,

in endless improbable combinations, some erotic, some downright weird. He
‟
d wake

drenched in sweat, either cold and clammy with fear, or hot and needy with arousal.

Such wild emotional swings weren
‟
t like him at all.

Yet every evening, he made a point of flinging his windows wide open, though he

was damned if he could work out why. Challenge? Invitation? Both?

96

He drained his tankard, grunting his thanks when Pammie set another at his elbow.

Deliberately, he set up a rhythm of deep breaths, clearing his mind. A man couldn
‟
t

solve a problem until he looked it in the eye and saw it for what it was. This was going

to be an uncomfortable interlude. Dax finished the first pie, shoved the dish aside and

reached for the second.

The first priority was finding the children, preferably before Michael did—for any

number of reasons.
Use me
, whispered a dark, laughing voice in the back of his mind.

All night long.

Grim and determined, Lise had scoured the city for Veryl without Fledge
‟
s

knowledge. Dax
‟
s mood lightened a little. He hadn
‟
t thought it possible, but at the

mention of the Grounded
‟
s name, Janarnavriel the Noir had looked poleaxed—just for a

moment. Then his elegant mouth had shut like a trap and he said, “It may be nothing,

but no one is to mention Veryl to Fledge. Understood?”

“Of course,” Lise had agreed, but Dax caught the quirk of her lips.

“Where
‟
s Mirry?” she
‟
d enquired, her voice rough with urgency. Jan
‟
s gaze traveled

to across the room to the scholar
‟
s desk, half buried under an avalanche of notes, files,

scrolls and empty
roberry
cups.

“Rip the godsbedamned Veil.” Jan ran a hand through his hair, an almost

unprecedented sign of agitation. “He
‟
s gone to the Royal Library in Valaressa, chasing a

manuscript.”

Lise said, “He was the last to have that report from Mother
‟
s Hearth, but it
‟
s not on

his desk. I
‟
ve looked everywhere. Godsdammit, Jan, I need it! When
‟
s he due back?”

Jan placed his ink brush on its tray, the quiet precision of the action as emphatic as a

shout. “When he
‟
s finished.” He contemplated the neat piles of documents in silence.

“I
‟
ll send someone to hurry him along.”

In the tavern, Dax stared down at the greasy tabletop, calculating. A day
‟
s flight for

the messenger, a few hours for Mirry to tear himself away from his research, a day to

fly back. Perhaps today.

Delicate shadows had bloomed beneath Lise
‟
s eyes and she was strung tight with

tension. She
‟
d lost weight too, he was sure of it.

In desperation they
‟
d descended on the pawnshop in Bumble Alley, but neither

Lise
‟
s studied menace nor Dax
‟
s towering presence had unsettled Ma one iota. Rubbing

her whiskery chins, the pawnbroker had given it as her opinion that Michael of Sere

had left town.

“Nah,” she
‟
d rasped. “Ye can
‟
t see the room, not
‟
less ye wan
‟
to rent it.”

The memory of Ma
‟
s lecherous grin made Dax feel queasy.

“A fine chamber
‟
tis, so private an
‟
all. Ye come back with a warrant, one with the

Royal Seal on it.” When she chuckled, her chins wobbled. “I know me rights, I do.”

97

A dead end. Though every now and then, the sensation of being watched became so

vivid that Dax would spin around, expecting to meet eyes as changeable as a sun-

dappled glade or to hear the fading echo of a sardonic chuckle.

Godsdammit, everything had gone wrong—especially between himself and Lise.

The easy comradeship was still there, but no more. It was subtle, but somehow she
‟
d

managed to set him at a distance. Dax rattled the fork around the empty dish, racking

his brains. Where had he gone wrong?

Yes, he
‟
d kissed her, but he hadn
‟
t been alone in that kiss, not after the first frozen

second. Ah, gods, the feel of her in his arms, straining against him, that helpless little

sound in the back of her throat. In that moment, she
‟
d wanted him, he couldn
‟
t doubt it.

Restlessly, he shifted on the hard stool. Why had she changed her mind?

Gods, that kiss! His toes curled in his boots at the memory. With her sweet, hot

mouth open beneath his, what he
‟
d felt that first day as they flew together over Sere

paled in comparison. This was it. Destiny, meant to be, the will of the gods. Whatever.

And it was enough.

Wasn
‟
t it?

Warm breath on his thigh, the uncomplicated focus of a man
‟
s lust. Shudders down

his spine, his cock throbbing…

Now sporting a right-angled bend, the fork hit the table with a clatter.

My body for a night…

He never lost his temper, never, but Michael had a way of— Shit! He ground his

teeth, his tail striking the leg of the table so hard he flinched, cursing. When he got his

hands on the man he
‟
d—

What would he do?

Rip the Veil, he didn
‟
t know.

Briefly he entertained the delightful vision of his huge hands wrapped around