Guilty as Sin (21 page)

He didn
‟
t speak until they
‟
d cleared the city walls and the thin shouts of the people

below had faded into the distance. The thief
‟
s body was tense against his, his face pale

and set. “Throw up and I
‟
ll drop you,” said Dax cheerfully.

Michael
‟
s throat bobbed. “No, you won
‟
t,” he said, his voice thin with shock.

“Gods, it
‟
s—” When he shook his head, his hair brushed whisper soft against Dax
‟
s jaw.

The wind plucked at his shirt with inquisitive fingers. “Not what I expected. Holy

fuck.”

Dax banked to hitch a ride on an updraft and the thief hissed as the landscape

below tilted. Dax tightened his grip. He had one arm slung under Michael
‟
s thighs, the

other beneath his shoulders. Now that he had altitude, the man
‟
s weight was no

problem, not to a male Aetherii Dax
‟
s size. In fact, all things considered, it was quite

pleasant having Michael curled into his body, rigid with tension but trusting him all the

same.

“Hold on if it makes you feel better,” he offered blandly.

He
‟
d expected a gasped
fuck you!
Instead, Michael gave an unsteady laugh,

extricated an arm and flung it around Dax
‟
s neck. He peered downward. “Everything
‟
s

so small.”

“Being six hundred feet up does have that effect.”

Michael
‟
s other hand gripped the forearm clamped across his chest. “Fuck you,

birdy!”

That was more like it. Dax chuckled. Then he rubbed his chin against the top of the

other man
‟
s head, just because he could.

“Follow the road.” Michael nodded toward the dusty ribbon unreeling beneath

them. “How far do you think we
‟
ve come?”

Dax glanced back at the city walls. “Only a couple of miles. You said Veryl left an

hour ago. How far ahead would he be?”

The thief
‟
s straight brows drew together. “Not sure. The
vran
was a typical hired

hack and the man
‟
s no lightweight.” Absently, he spread his fingers, fitting them

between Dax
‟
s knuckles. “But I don
‟
t know much about
vranee
.”

Light dawned. “You can
‟
t ride, can you? That
‟
s why you sent for me.”

102

He got a look that should have singed his tail feathers. Instead, he had an insane

desire to laugh. Before Michael could open his mouth to curse, Dax said, “Yes, I know,

fuck me.”

A fallen angel smile lit the other man
‟
s face. “If you say so,” he purred. With a lithe

twist, he turned his chest into Dax
‟
s, wrapped both arms around his neck and stretched

up to press their mouths together.

Dax faltered in the air. His arms tightened reflexively, sealing Michael to him as

they dropped with a sickening lurch. His hearts thundering, he steadied, finding the

wingbeat again. “Nngh,” he said, twisting his head aside.

“Nu-huh.” The thief licked into Dax
‟
s mouth. He was shaking, hard tremors against

Dax
‟
s flesh. “Let
‟
s fly, Aetherii.”

“I
‟
ll…drop you,” Dax managed to growl, but Michael
‟
s tongue was sliding against

his, distracting him, stealing his wits, strong and confident and utterly beguiling.

“Never, not you,” whispered the thief. Hard fingers gripped Dax
‟
s hair, a small

pain that stimulated and hurt in equal measures.

“This is craz—”

With a deep murmur, Michael suckled the tip of his tongue. Dax
‟
s eyes rolled back

and his toes curled. His tail whipped up to coil around the thief
‟
s upper thighs, holding

him securely, just under the taut curve of his ass. Rip the Veil, he had no idea a kiss

could be like this, so ruthless, so… authoritative. It was as much as he could do to keep

the pair of them aloft while the other man explored his mouth, nipping and nibbling

and licking and sucking.

Oh gods,
sucking
— That merciless, perfect mouth, its wet heat and strength, the

way Michael gave him no quarter. He wouldn
‟
t think about it anymore, he
wouldn’t
. His

cock was a painfully rigid bar, throbbing against Michael
‟
s hip, the thief
‟
s erection

prodding his belly in response.

Michael pulled back to lick a tingling path along Dax
‟
s jaw. “Mmm,” he murmured.

“You taste good.”

“Stop it or—” Driven to desperation, Dax loosened his grip, letting the other man

slip a couple of inches before catching him again. The hard planes of their bodies

scraped together.

“
Shit!
” Michael
‟
s arms tightened around his neck then relaxed. The thief grinned

into Dax
‟
s face, eyes sparkling with amber flecks. Experimentally, he undulated, a hard,

sensuous ripple from shoulder to hip. “
Mmm.
”

Dax clamped down on his shudder of response. Grimly, he said, “You
‟
d get there

just as well dangling by one ankle.”

“Oh yeah?” Lightning quick, Michael darted in to nip the curve where neck met

shoulder. “That
‟
s what you—” He stiffened, his gaze fixed on something below. “Well,

well. Look what we have here.”

A dull brown dot moved on the track.

103

“Veryl,” Dax said, his satisfaction threaded through with disappointment. Which

was wrong in so many ways he couldn
‟
t count them. What did he think this was? A

Mating Flight? He blinked, startled. Gods, how bizarre, how—

“In person.” Michael pointed to the junction up ahead where a wider road wound

out of the hills. “There
‟
s the road from the Empty Lands. What do you bet he
‟
s going to

turn off?”

Their eyes met. “We could get in front of him and circle around.” Dax arched a

brow. “If you
‟
re not afraid to go faster.” He gave a nasty grin. “And higher.”

Predictably, the other man
‟
s lips thinned. “Try me, birdy.”

104

Hssrda—Anatomy:

The scaly, armored bodies of Hssrda are vulnerable at two points only—under the jaw and

in the armpit. Their sheer bulk and strength, together with natural armaments of talon, fang and

spur, make them almost impossible to kill.

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

* * * * *

How could he have forgotten how hideous Hssrda were, how they stank? Irritably,

Michael rubbed his nose. Twister, no wonder his olfactory nerves were confused.

Below, in a pleasant glade, the Hssdra caravan squatted like some foul blight. But every

time the wind changed, the swamp and carrion reek was undercut by the clean,

masculine scent of the Aetherii pressed against his back and the green, spicy smell of

the candlewood foliage that surrounded them. He and Dax were perched, somewhat

precariously, high up in the fork of an ancient tree on a forested slope, well concealed

by a thick screen of new leaves. Dax
‟
s brawny arm was still wrapped around his chest,

despite Michael
‟
s silent attempts to shrug free. The Aetherii had simply tightened his

grip until Michael
‟
s ribs creaked, his pretty eyes flashing green gold as he flicked a

warning glance at the dizzying drop to the forest floor. Michael had subsided,

grumbling under his breath.

He had to admit, he hadn
‟
t been so disconcerted, so
excited
, for a very long time.

Gods, the flight had been purely incredible! Unconsciously, he leaned back into the

wide, warm chest behind him. To see the world laid out below like that, as if he were a

lord of the air, a
highhunter
! He couldn
‟
t remember the last time he
‟
d felt such primitive

gut-wrenching fear. It had been amazing. Exhilaration still bubbled in his blood,

keeping him half-hard. On the other hand, the true extent of Dax
‟
s strength had been a

hell of a shock, a terrible affront to his masculinity. He
‟
d felt like a hapless maiden,

cradled in the Aetherii
‟
s arms—and hated it.

The distressed moaning of the
herdbeasts
carried clearly, accompanied by the

leisurely crack of a TailSoldier
‟
s whip. The slave carrying the meager buckets of feed

yelped and quickened his step. Hssrda cared little for the welfare of anything they

termed
meat
.

Daxariel the Burnished had been right to call him crazy. Of all the dangerous,

stupid ways to reassert his manhood—

But, oh gods, the
rush!
Michael
‟
s breath hitched, Lise
‟
s featherpearl burning like a

tiny coal laid over his nipple. Twister! His balls tingled with both memory and

105

anticipation. But Dax had liked it. Oh yes. He
‟
d clamped Michael to him, wrapped him

up with arms and tail, taken him soaring and kissed him back.

Who
‟
d have thought such an innocent would taste so…dark, so addictive?

Absently, Michael counted. Ten slaves, two TailSoldiers, a SpurCorporal and a

ClawCaptain. Or at least that was his best estimate of the ranks, judging by the relative

sizes of the creatures. Senior officers were always bigger. The ClawCaptain looked to be

about eight feet tall and three feet around the middle. An abstract pattern of venomous

yellow scales spilled over one mottled khaki shoulder, its thick serrated tail creating a

furrow behind it in the leaf litter.

Dax
‟
s mouth had been hot and sweet, tentative as a girl
‟
s at first. Michael grinned

down at the filthy, barred wagons, not really seeing them. He was too experienced not

to recognize the precise moment the other man lost himself in the pleasure. His own

answering surge had been so strong, he
‟
d seen spots.

All that beautiful strength and muscle, spread helpless beneath him, willingly

given, his to fuck, to defile, to possess.

He reached out to grip the branch above his head. A flash of memory—Lise
‟
s lovely

gray eyes staring into his, luminous with the honest fervor of the well-intentioned, her

sweet mouth shaping the words,
Swear on all the gods you hold dear.
Michael
‟
s lips

twisted. How fortunate that he didn
‟
t believe in anything save his own wicked self.

Something sinuous and silky curled round his calf and squeezed. Warm lips moved

against the shell of his ear. Dax rumbled, “Look.”

Ah, yes.

One of the TailSoldiers was struggling with Veryl
‟
s rearing mount, an armored fist

gripping the bridle with merciless strength. The
vran
hooted its distress, its clawed

hoofs, big as dinner plates, pawing the air. Michael stifled a chuckle.
Vranee
loathed

Hssrda, not that he could blame them.

“No!” Veryl
‟
s voice carried well from across the clearing, sharp with tension. He

fought to keep his seat, his boots thumping against the feathered ribs of the
vran
. “No,

don
‟
t—!”

Too late.

Dax snorted in Michael
‟
s ear as Veryl and the
vran
parted company, the man hitting

the dirt with a bone-jarring thud. The ClawCaptain hissed a command, gesturing with a

taloned paw, and two slaves edged into the blur of thrashing hoofs and dusty feathers

to take the reins from the TailSoldier. Veryl sat groaning, rubbing his hip.

He still resembled the portrait in Lise
‟
s files, blond, with sky-blue eyes and a full,

sulky mouth, but good living had thickened his body, adding a small swelling paunch

and another chin. Grimly, Michael wondered if the women he whored out looked half

so well fed. The bastard had let himself get soft, which argued for a promising lack of

discipline.

106

The ClawCaptain shambled across to loom over Veryl like a reptilian nightmare.

The long toothy jaw moved. “You have meat, yess?”

Veryl scrambled to his feet, making a production out of slapping the dust off his

trews. “If you mean slaves, yeah I do.” He didn
‟
t lift his head to meet the Hssrdan
‟
s slit-

pupiled gaze.

“As promissed?”

“Of course.” The man stared fixedly at his mount, its body still trembling as the

slaves led it to a shady spot. “Twister, that beast
‟
s worth fifty marks. If it
‟
s damaged…”

With a sidelong glance from under his lashes, he let the sentence trail off.

The ClawCaptain ignored this sally completely. “How many?”

“Six, three male, three female.” Veryl ducked his head, smirking. “Can
‟
t ask

better
‟
n that.”

The ClawCaptain appeared to have little grasp of the subtleties of human

conversation. “Young oness?”

“Oldest is twelve. Youngest is seven or near enough.”

Bitsy had to be at least fourteen. Either Veryl didn
‟
t know or he
‟
d dropped her age

to make her more saleable. Whoreson bastard.

The ClawCaptain turned its head to watch the SpurCorporal direct the two slaves

setting up a sturdy camp table in the shade of a tree, leaving Veryl to swallow hard and

loosen his collar. Sending the slowest slave reeling with a casual blow, the

SpurCorporal laid out a sheaf of papers and a battered abacus. Then it covered its eyes

with one hand in what seemed to be some form of obeisance and hissed a few words at

the ClawCaptain.

With a grunt, the senior officer lumbered over to the table, propped itself handily

on its thick tail and hooked a sheet with a surprisingly delicate claw.

“Ssame as thiss lisst?” it asked.

With grim satisfaction, Michael watched it dawn on Veryl that he was stranded on

his feet, left to face the Hssrdan like a naughty schoolboy. A highly effective strategy,

though he couldn
‟
t decide whether the ClawCaptain had an excellent grasp of human

psychology or none at all. On the whole, he suspected Veryl
‟
s comfort or lack thereof

simply hadn
‟
t entered its head.

Dax
‟
s growl vibrated the length of Michael
‟
s spine. “
Shh
,” murmured the thief,

gripping a thick wrist and giving it a warning squeeze.

Below, Veryl was describing the merchandise, his voice rising with excitement.

“Skin
‟
s very fair,” he was saying. “Unmarked, I swear—”

The ClawCaptain said, “Ten markss each. Gold.”

Dax
‟
s tail flexed, endangering the circulation in Michael
‟
s leg. “Veil-it, I will tear

him limb from limb.” The words were quiet and considered. Implacable.

The sweat froze on Michael
‟
s skin. He shivered.

107

Veryl stumbled back a pace, opening his eyes very wide. “That
‟
s ridiculous!”

“Ss?”

“Not fer such…” His expression grew cunning. “
Tender
meat. Thirty gold marks a

piece.”

The ClawCaptain was unmoved. “Feeding,” it pointed out. “Training.”

Veryl said, “Twenty-five.”

Unperturbed, the Hssrdan tinkered with its abacus, the cheerful
click-clack
echoing

around the clearing. “Fifteen.”

“You
‟
ll beggar me.” Veryl squirmed in genuine distress.

“Twenty gold markss. And wassh them firsst. Pass insspection.”

Veryl sighed deeply. “Done, I suppose. An
‟
don
‟
t forget I want an extra copy of the

bill of sale.” He licked his lips. “It
‟
s a gift fer someone special, a souvenir ye might say.”

Dax was growling again, a steady rumble in Michael
‟
s ear.

No discernable expression showed on the Hssrdan
‟
s saurian face. “Ss.”

“All right then. I
‟
ll let ye know when I can get
‟
em out of the city. Where will I find

ye?”

“Three weekss at Crasstin Market.”

That fit with what they knew. Crastin Market was a small, seedy village nicely

situated in a deep fold of the hills to the south west, a nest of brigands and scum, and a

thorn in the side of the Prince of Sere. But every time he sent his guards to pluck it out,

the populace faded away into the steep forested valleys where they waited with the

utmost patience until the Prince
‟
s men gave up and went away. Slave auctions aside,

Michael knew he
‟
d be perfectly at home there.

The ClawCaptain gestured for Veryl
‟
s
vran
to be brought forward. The Hssrdan

waited until the man was seated, the
vran
fighting the reins, trying to sidle away.