Guilty as Sin (26 page)

dark, fast and very often furious. Kissing them was a waste of time and resources. The

best way to use a man
‟
s mouth was to fuck it, hard and deep.

Dax growled and vibrations tap danced the length of Michael
‟
s spine. His balls

drew up and his cock bucked in his trews. Reflexively, he pressed closer, challenging

for control. Dax responded by spreading a huge hand across the back of Michael
‟
s skull

to hold him steady. Fuck, against the Aetherii
‟
s strength he was helpless. No hope.

Michael of Sere didn
‟
t do helpless or hopeless, not since Tannio, when he
‟
d been

little more than a boy. He growled back, low and dangerous, gripping double fistfuls of

hair and tugging. The other man
‟
s chest rumble dropped a register until it was

positively subterranean. It hardly seemed possible, but the embrace ignited, became

incendiary.

Michael
‟
s head went light. Fuck, this was the second—no, godsdammit,
third
—time

he
‟
d kissed Dax of his own free will. Somewhere along the line, he
‟
d clearly lost what

little sanity he possessed.
Put an end to it,
yammered something in the back of his mind.

Now, you fool, before—

His heart knocking against his ribs, he kept his mouth moving, gathering his forces,

bearing down hard on the bloody-minded determination that had kept him alive

through a childhood and adolescence in the dog-eat-dog world of the Slopes. Slipping

125

his hands out of the thick wealth of the other man
‟
s hair, he stroked down the back of

his neck. Dax arched and rumbled, a sound like a huge velvet purr. That beautiful

monster of a cock ground into his thigh. Dax gentled the kiss, nibbling on Michael
‟
s

lower lip.

Shaking, Michael pressed his fingers against the place where the Aetherii
‟
s carotid

artery should be. He dug in. Gods, what if he
‟
d miscalculated? Dax had two hearts,

what else might be different?

But no, he
‟
d done it right.

“Hey,” mumbled Dax, his breath warm and sweet against Michael
‟
s jaw. “Hurts.

Stop that.”

Reaching up, he took Michael
‟
s wrist, all gentle inexorable strength, pulled his hand

down and planted a kiss in the center of his palm.

The bottom dropped out of Michael
‟
s stomach. He stared into green-gold eyes,

glittering with fever. The golden skin of Dax
‟
s chest was stained with a deep flush,

extending to his neck and his cheeks. Drops of sweat beaded his hairline.

Dax smiled, wide and white and trusting. “
Mmm.
” He drew Michael closer and his

lashes dropped to half-mast. “More.”

Something very like panic flared behind Michael
‟
s breastbone, but that was

nonsense. Panic was a weakness no thief could afford.

“Fuck no!” He pushed away, punching Dax in the chest, a hard jab.

“Ow.” Dax rubbed the spot, sending him a reproachful look.

Michael stepped back quickly, breathing hard. “What the fuck was that?
‟

Still smiling, Dax considered. “Payback?” he offered at last. “And, gods, it was

good.” He made a grab. “Come back here.”

Michael danced aside. Coolly, he arched a brow, shoved his trembling hands in his

pockets. “You
‟
re going to pass out any second. I
‟
ll leave you for the scavengers, I

swear.” He jerked his chin in the direction of the lights. “Get your fine feathered ass into

the palazzo. This fucking minute.”

Dax squinted down the street. Then he rubbed his brow and sighed. “Huh,” he

said. “All righ
‟
. C
‟
mon.” He shambled away, weaving like a drunk.

Almost dancing with impatience, Michael willed him on. He could feel the

sharpened attention of something—
someone
—focus first on Dax and then on him. Yet he

couldn
‟
t bring himself to leave, not quite yet. “Go on, birdbrain,” he muttered under his

breath. “Get fuckin
‟
on with it.”

But Dax turned so he was walking—stumbling really—backward. “C
‟
mon then.”

He held out a hand.

Automatically, Michael took a step forward then stopped, brought up short by the

edge of the shadow. No more cover. Gods, any minute—

“Lise will want to—” The other man cannoned into a wall. Bouncing off, he grunted

then went on as if nothing had happened.

126

Michael winced.
Serves you right
. He glared.

Dax raised his voice slightly. “She
‟
ll want to see you.”

Not bloody likely.

From farther up the street, someone exclaimed, the sound carrying crisply in the

still night air. Dark figures erupted from the palazzo, half running, half flying.

Footsteps beat a rapid tattoo, coming closer.

“My ass is fine, huh?” Dax chuckled then hissed through clenched teeth. “You
‟
re

wrong though, no feathers, not on my ass.”

Grinning, Michael faded back into the lane between the buildings, trailing one hand

along the side of the cart. Fleetingly, he thought of the carter, gazing sightlessly up at

the moon, back near the west gate. He hadn
‟
t taken the man
‟
s belt pouch. Twister, he

was slipping.

“Dax!” said a woman
‟
s voice. “Gods, what happened?”

Lise.

Hopping over a fence, Michael threaded his way through backyards and service

alleys, but it wasn
‟
t long before he gave in to temptation and took to the rooftops.

Curiosity had always been his besetting sin. Soundlessly, he navigated pitched roofs

and gutters until he
‟
d come almost full circle.

Stretched out on his stomach in the shadow of a pair of chimneys, he inched

forward to peer over the edge of a gutter. The palazzo
‟
s grand double doors had been

flung open. Strangely foreshortened, three Aetherii were approaching the front steps—

Dax, Liseriel the Gray and a stocky male with tawny wings, a stranger.

Dax had his good arm wrapped around Lise
‟
s slim waist, but it was obvious he was

trying to spare her his weight. In fact, he was taking the opportunity to nuzzle her hair,

the clever bastard. The other Aetherii hovered, watching anxiously.

“You
what?
” Lise
‟
s exclamation rang out in the quiet street.

Dax came to a halt, staring down into her face. Michael heard the rumble of his

reply, but he couldn
‟
t distinguish more than a few phrases. “Children at Crastin

Market. Veryl… fight them off. Couldn
‟
t…Michael.”

Lise looked utterly appalled. “
Michael?
Veil-it, Dax, you can
‟
t trust him, he
‟
s,

he
‟
s…” She raised a shaking hand to touch his face.

Dax caught her hand and pressed a kiss to the palm. On his roof, Michael rubbed

his own hand furiously against the side of his trews, remembering. Dax lifted his head,

staring toward the cart. “A bad man, I know.”

“He didn
‟
t try to…?”

Even though they
‟
d turned toward the door, Michael could hear the smile in Dax
‟
s

voice, that special smile that was all his own, sweet and steady and calm. “Of course he

did.”

The moonlight made Lise
‟
s upturned face glow with an otherworldly beauty, but it

did nothing to conceal her agitation. She lifted her hands to Dax
‟
s chest, and with a

127

shock, Michael noticed her tail rubbing over Dax
‟
s, again and again, slow and sure.

Twister, would he ever get used to it?
Tails!

“Are you all right?” she said, and Michael knew she wasn
‟
t asking about the

wounds.

“I
‟
m fine, chick. I—” Dax broke off.

The tide of Michael
‟
s blood rushed in his ears. He
‟
d never been so acutely aware of

the pump of his heart, working away in his chest, beat after beat. The tiles beneath him

grated as he strained forward. He froze, knuckles white where he gripped the gutter.

Gods, no farther or he
‟
d be taking a short flight without benefit of wings.

Below, Dax cupped Lise
‟
s cheek in a big hand. “Don
‟
t worry, love,” he said. “I
‟
m

here.” The words came slowly, as if he selected each one with special care. “I

understand better now, but I have a lot of thinking to do.”

They stared at each other, the seconds stretching and growing heavy. Michael

cursed under his breath, rigid with frustration. What he
‟
d give to see their expressions

close-up, to read the emotions in their eyes!

Janarnavriel the Noir appeared in the doorway, black-winged and grimly

handsome. “Go get your bag, Tril. I
‟
ll help here.”

As the other man nodded and disappeared into the building, Jan called after him,

“We
‟
ll be in the front office.” He reached out and drew Dax over the threshold.

Liseriel the Gray stood staring after them, her head tilted to one side. With a shrug,

she mantled her wings, tail lashing. Abruptly, she spun around, scanning the street

with narrowed eyes, hands on hips.

Michael froze. Gooseflesh sprang up the length of his spine, across the small of his

back, even over the inside of his thighs.

Gods, she was fine! Like a tempered blade, all rapier grace and deadly steel. She

knew
. Twister, somehow she knew he was there.

Ah, but he could never resist a challenge. Grinning, Michael came easily to his feet.

Immediately, that raptor
‟
s gaze locked onto him and her glorious wings spread in a

wide, threatening arc. What
was
that? A seven foot span? Eight?

He sketched a courtly bow, touched his fingers to his lips and then to the

featherpearl throbbing over his heart. Laughing, he slipped away across the roofs of

Sere.

* * * * *

Lise strode into the room, rustling with gray-winged outrage. “He was there,” she

said in a voice choked with fury. “Blew me a kiss, the cheeky—”

“He brought me back.” Gratefully, Dax allowed Jan to guide him down to a stool

next to his big desk. He felt shaky and uncertain, all the way to the marrow of his bones.

“Might not have made it without him.”

128

His entire left wing was a burning, throbbing hurt, and his shoulder ached in

sympathy. Ow, shit. Rip the Veil and fry the world.