Guilty as Sin (25 page)

minute though. Listen, Dax—”

He didn
‟
t turn his head. “Shut up.”

Fifteen minutes later, Michael said, “You saved my life.”

“Yeah. Pretty stupid.”

“And now we have a strong lead on the children. It
‟
s only a matter of time.” A

silence. “I pay my debts.”

Dax kept walking. He was pretty sure he was running a fever. The injured wing

burned as if someone had taken to it with red-hot pokers, and his chest hurt.

“She doesn
‟
t care about me, Dax.” Michael sounded tired.

“Then why—?” Dax shut his mouth.

“It was just sex. Didn
‟
t mean anything.”

“That
‟
s supposed to make me feel better?”

Hard fingers snagged his elbow and swung him around. When he staggered, the

thief steadied him. “Gods, man, you look like shit,” he snapped. “Here, lean on me.”

Without waiting for a reply, he insinuated himself under Dax
‟
s arm, propping him up.

As they rounded the next bend, he said, “Don
‟
t take the high moral ground with

me, birdy.”

Dax fixed his gaze on the lights up ahead. Individual points were distinct now,

twinkling like friendly golden stars.

“You can
‟
t tell me you never fucked someone for the sake of it.”

Dax said nothing.

The thief
‟
s fingers gripped his wrist like a manacle. “For Twister
‟
s sake, stop it!
‟

120

It took him a moment to marshal his foggy thoughts and arrange them into words.

“Stop…what?”

“The ice treatment. Like a bloody girl.”

Huh. At last, he mumbled, “Haven
‟
t…done that, fucked like that.”

“Don
‟
t believe you.”

Michael
‟
s voice changed. “Dax?” he said sharply. He reached up to lay a cool palm

against Dax
‟
s thundering pulse. “Fuck, you
‟
re burnin
‟
.”

121

The only way to safely explore every sector of the mountain city of Sere is to hire the services

of a native guide. It is also advisable for the Grounded to purchase a sturdy pair of boots,

preferably with studded soles. Sere is built on seven hills, with the Palace occupying the greatest

eminence and the slum known as The Slopes, the lowest-lying area.

The Princedom of Sere: a traveler’s guide
, revised ed, Miriliel the Burnished, 10355

ATF.

* * * * *

The Aetherii was hellishly heavy, one arm and a wing draped over Michael
‟
s

shoulder, his face pasty in the moonlight. Sweat gleamed on a broad cheekbone and his

glorious tawny hair hung limp and dark. Michael stiffened his spine, bracing himself to

take the weight. “All right. Not much farther. Hang on.”

As if Dax
‟
s fever were contagious, he felt like shit too. Gods, the man
‟
s face! As if

Michael had taken a blade and gutted him from neck to navel. He
‟
d been in love with

her all along, the great stupid farm boy.

How had everything become so complicated? He
‟
d had no choice but to tell him, to

cut him with it, truly he hadn
‟
t. It was a matter of self-preservation, perfectly simple

and straightforward. Being with Dax made him less than he was, or maybe more—who

the hell knew? Softer somehow, like a knife with a dulled edge. Vulnerability like that

was more than he could afford. In the long run, it would travel with him to the streets

and it would kill him.

He should cut his losses, leave the Aetherii here on the road and walk away, back to

the life he knew. Dax was as strong as a bull
vran
. He
‟
d be fine.

Back at the clearing, the TailSoldiers hadn
‟
t known the Aetherii was there. Dax

could have shut his eyes and blocked his ears. The whole messy business would have

been over in a few minutes. But he hadn
‟
t, had he? Instead he
‟
d descended on the

Hssrda like a hero out of a child
‟
s storybook and saved Michael
‟
s life.

Honor was a handicap, nobility a luxury for the naïve. The importance of paying a

debt, on the other hand…. No one gave you something for nothing,
no one
. There was

always a price, because that was the way the world worked.

Twister be praised, there was the west gate. If he concentrated, he could hear the

ever-present hum of life in a big city, a huge beast murmuring in its dreams.

“Look,” Michael said urgently. “We made it.”

“I can manage.” Dax made an effort to push him away, but Michael simply shifted

his grip.

122

“Move it, birdy,” he growled, and they stumbled forward. What he needed was a

cart and a carter. Shouldn
‟
t be too hard to come by at the west gate, even at this hour.

He glanced up at the moon, riding high in the sky. An hour or so past midnight, he

judged.

Michael approached the first man he saw idling near a noodle stall. He was tall and

broad, well upholstered with the kind of fat that conceals working muscle. When

Michael led him around the corner to where Dax waited in the shadows, he stared.

Then he licked his lips, an avid gleam in his eye.

“I kin do ye a deal,” he said. “Me cart
‟
s down here.” He stepped up close, herding

them toward the cart that stood in a gloomy alley. “That one o
‟
them bird men, is it?”

With a sigh, Michael propped Dax against the cart wheel. “Do not move,” he

ordered. “You hear me?”

“Fine,” mumbled Dax. “Doin
‟
fine.”

“Sure,” Michael said easily. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the carter reach

over the tailgate. Fuck, he didn
‟
t have time for this. Dax didn
‟
t have time.

“So how much—?” he began, and swayed aside, the carter
‟
s club missing him by

inches.

Swearing, the man regained his balance, winding up for another blow, but

Michael
‟
s knife caught him mid-curse. His eyes wide, he clutched at the blade in his

throat, gurgled and died. Michael retrieved his weapon before the carter stopped

twitching, wiped it on the man
‟
s coat and sheathed it.

“Wha—?” said Dax. His face was flushed now, his eyes a glittering green. “Hell,

man, did you have to kill him?”

“He had nasty plans for your future, birdy,” Michael said. “And sadly, none at all

for me. Up you go.” Pushing and shoving, between them they got the Aetherii sprawled

in the back of the cart. Michael climbed up to take the reins, trying to recall everything

he
‟
d ever known or observed about driving
herdbeasts
.

Turned out it wasn
‟
t much, but brute strength seemed to be pretty effective. He

hauled the team around and sent them plodding toward the up-market residential area

where the Aetherii had their palazzo.

“What
‟
s in the cart?” he called.

Silence.

“Dax?” Shit,
shit!
“Dax, answer me!”

“V-vegetables.” Dax
‟
s usual velvet rumble sounded hoarse. Rustling was followed

by a grunt and a curse. “They
‟
re lumpy. Smell like old socks.”

Michael laughed, feeling suddenly lighter than air.

The Winged Envoy
‟
s palazzo blazed with light, great swathes of it painting the

cobbled street outside.
Hmm.
He couldn
‟
t see anyone, which was suspicious in itself.

Michael hauled on the reins and the team clattered to a stop in the deep shadow

123

between two tall buildings a block away. Fumbling, he found the brake and set it. Then

he jumped down and went around to the tailgate.

“Come on,” he said. “Almost home.”

Turning his back, he positioned himself so Dax could lean on him as he clambered

down. Feeling the other man
‟
s weight on his shoulders, hard muscled planes sliding

against his spine, he shivered, trying to recall how long it had been since he
‟
d turned

his back on anyone.

“Thanks,” said Dax. A long plume slithered over Michael
‟
s cheek like a kiss, trailed

across his throat.

“You
‟
re not there yet.” Michael grasped the Aetherii
‟
s arm and pointed him toward

the palazzo. “Do you see it?”

When Dax grunted his assent, Michael released him and stepped back into the

shadows. “This is as far as I go. Oh, and here.” Pulling his shirt out of his waistband, he

extracted the bunch of feathers and thrust them at the other man. “Yours.”

So many expressions chased across Dax
‟
s honest face that Michael stared, unable to

snag any particular one. The Aetherii ducked his head, stroking the longest plume with

a considering finger. At last, he said, “You
‟
re not as bad as you think you are, Michael.”

“I couldn
‟
t leave them, they were evidence you
‟
d been there,” he said blightingly.

“Sleep tight, birdy, and get those wounds seen to.” He turned to walk away.

Dax clamped strong fingers around his upper arm. “Wait. I— I—” The feverish

flush intensified until he was very nearly scarlet. “Thank you. I
‟
m sorry I—” He lifted a

hand toward Michael
‟
s throat then dropped it awkwardly. “I shouldn
‟
t have—”

Michael shrugged, feeling his own face heat. Strange, when he never blushed.

“We
‟
re even now,” he said.

Dax raised a shaking hand and pushed the hair out of his eyes. “I saved you, you

saved me. You do…what you like, thief, but I won
‟
t forget.”

Michael raised a brow. “I always do what I like,” he said, and walked away into the

dark. But for some reason, he couldn
‟
t get past the corner. He stopped, gritting his

teeth, feeling Dax
‟
s gaze bore into his shoulder blades.

Godsdammit!

He spun around. “She barely waited for us to finish. Twister, I
‟
d only just pulled

out and she was giving me grief, making me swear a solemn oath to keep my wicked

hands off you.”

Dax closed his sagging jaw with a snap. He was leaning against the wheel of the

cart again, as if his legs had suddenly refused to hold him up. “What? What do you

mean?”

Michael stalked back to glare up into those pretty green eyes. “She was thinkin
‟
of

you, idiot.” He slapped a palm against Dax
‟
s broad bare chest for emphasis. “I was her

bit of rough.” He shrugged. “Nothin
‟
more, nothin
‟
less.”

124

Dax grabbed his hand, crushing his fingers. “What did you swear on?” The flush

had faded to a porcelain pallor.

Michael gave him a glinting smile. “On all the gods I hold dear.”

A frown gathered on the Aetherii
‟
s brow. “Do you believe in the gods?”

He let the smile broaden to an evil grin. “No.”

“Oh.” Dax
‟
s lashes fluttered down and the blood surged hot under the skin of his

throat and cheeks.

“Ah, fuck it.” Michael took the final step forward, slid his fingers into Dax
‟
s hair

and dragged his head down into a kiss. He
‟
d meant it to be quick and dirty, a sort of

punctuation mark to put an end to an incredible day, but the Aetherii
‟
s mouth was so

hot and strong, so fucking
welcoming
, that Michael lost track.

And then he lost control, because Dax abruptly came to life and took over,

wrapping him up in arms and wings, plastering him to that magnificent expanse of bare

chest. His breath gone, Michael wondered vaguely if he
‟
d finally caught Dax
‟
s fever

because he was burning up, exquisitely—unbearably—aware of everything tactile, the

soft brush of feathers, the burning heat of the other man
‟
s skin, the density of bone and

sinew pressed against him. Dax
‟
s tongue flickered against his, so astonishingly take-

charge that he had to exercise every particle of self-discipline he possessed not to let his

head fall back in a maidenly swoon.

He didn
‟
t like kissing, it was too, too…personal. In the air, he
‟
d kissed Dax to get

the upper hand, that was all. And by the Twister, it had worked, hadn
‟
t it? Michael only

kissed women as a preliminary to something better and, well, because they seemed to

expect it. As for men… Sex with men was all about a bruising race to the finish in the