Guilty as Sin (9 page)

stare at his body, her small, beady eyes bright in the pouches of fat, her breath high and

harsh. Mercifully, she wouldn
‟
t say much. Ma never did.

Michael had never been quite able to decide whether Ma was male or female, or

some weird mixture of both. But she—or he—was the most accomplished fence and go-

between in Sere, and once she was bought, she stayed bought, both of which were facts

for which Michael was profoundly grateful. The gods knew, he
‟
d never been

particularly squeamish, let alone modest, but if Ma touched him, he
‟
d be hard put not

to strike her.

Yet another mark against Liseriel in his mental ledger. Michael rubbed his temple,

his head pounding in the fetid air. Payback was sweet, but beyond that, if he couldn
‟
t

neutralize Liseriel the Gray he couldn
‟
t do business in Sere—and that went beyond

humiliating, it was a matter of self-preservation. He was a career criminal, after all.

In any case, all his life Michael had kept score—those he owed, those who owed

him. It was the way the world worked, the way he knew where he stood, a system of

41

checks and balances. It was how things were
finished
, so a man could move on. Two

interminable years it had taken him to collect on the debt for Tannio, but once it was

done, he
‟
d been free. Except for the dreams.

A preemptive strike was what he needed. Hmm, but how?

A naked blade in his hand, he turned into a tunnel so narrow his shoulders brushed

the slimy walls. Straining, he fixed his eyes on the corpse-pale circle of light up ahead

and trudged on.

He thought of those luminous gray eyes flashing in the shadows of the Prince
‟
s

Grand Ballroom, the drumming of her pulse beneath his fingertips as he pressed her

into the wall, the flicker of a tail tip against the inside of his thigh. Gods yes, she
‟
d

reacted to his touch. She
‟
d tamped down the instinctive response, suppressed it, but

he
‟
d known too many women to miss that feminine vulnerability.

Liseriel wouldn
‟
t be so cool and elegant, so matter-of-fact, when he was sunk balls-

deep inside her, those endless legs over his shoulders. Sheathing his dagger, he spread

both hands over his chest. The featherpearls were cool now, smooth and hard in the

center of his palms. Deliberately, he rolled them a little, enough to make him hiss with

pleasure. The reek of the sewers had bludgeoned his olfactory nerves into a stupor, but

nonetheless, he set himself to recall the wild green scent of her, building the image piece

by piece.
Mmm.

His breath quickened as he splashed through a shallow puddle. What would he

find when he opened her legs and licked up inside her? How would she feel against his

balls as he shoved himself deep? Soft as down or springy with a sweet brush of curls?

Michael adjusted himself in his trews, his smile broadening to a
fellwolf
grin. Ah

gods, why stop there? She was so law-abiding, so—his lip curled—so respectable. If he

was careful and clever, he could teach her every perversion he knew and have her on

her knees begging for more. Hmm. He recalled her level gaze, the cool intelligence and

cynicism of it. No, it wouldn
‟
t be easy. Arrogant, his enemies called him, and with good

reason, but all his risks were carefully calculated.

Reconnaissance would be the key. He wouldn
‟
t rush it.

When he was finished, when he
‟
d taken his pleasure, the ledgers balanced and his

reputation restored, he
‟
d tell her why he
‟
d done it and watch her face. Sweet.

A rat ran over his foot and he leaped back with something perilously close to a

scream. Fuck! When he swallowed, his mouth tasted vile. Gods, he was thirsty.

Oh yes, settling the score with Liseriel the Gray was going to be one of the

highlights of his career.

He huffed out a silent laugh. As a bonus, seducing her would put a delightful kink

in Dax
‟
s tail. Because he wanted her, the big lump, that had been abundantly clear.

Scrambling over a half-broken wall, he wriggled forward until he could peer out a

grate. The shadows had lengthened, the street shrouded by dusk. Scowling, Michael

followed a narrow, upward-sloping passage, emerging between a privy and a rubbish

heap in the backyard of a tumbledown tavern. He slinked down the alley, keeping to

42

the shadows. Fuck Ma and her buckets, he wasn
‟
t far from Bubba
‟
s Bath House. So

what if it cost him good coin to clean up? Dax could owe him.

Michael replayed their encounter, from the first buffet of the mighty wings to the

surprisingly soft lips against his own. Killing the man out of hand hardly seemed fair.

Judging by the way Lise had spoken to him, he was a subordinate of some kind.

Nonetheless, Lise was Dax
‟
s weakness. Hmm. That gave him a place to set a lever,

but what else?

A beggar woman sniffed and spat as she brushed by him in the narrow street.

Michael snarled his reply.

Since earliest childhood, his life had depended on lightning assessments of

character. There was something very…solid about Dax, something deep and steady.

Intelligent. Loyal. Not a quick thinker, but to dismiss him as a fool would be downright

dangerous. His physical reflexes had been fast enough.

He
‟
d felt the strange beat of Dax
‟
s heart, off-kilter and very fast. The Aetherii
‟
s thick

cock had stirred against his own, though that was a common enough reaction to

danger. Michael had been half-hard too. They were a handsome race, the Aetherii. Dax

might be huge, but his body was in perfect, if massive, proportion. The hair, the bronze

feathers, those green-gold eyes—only his rough-hewn features saved him from beauty.

Pausing outside the discreet entrance to the bath house, he rubbed his chin with

grimy fingers. He hadn
‟
t had a man since Tannio, or not for anything more than a

fumble in an alley, quick and satisfyingly dirty. Could he do it?

He pushed the door open wide and strode in, his head high. Of course he could. By

the seven icy hells, he could do whatever he set his mind to, it was how he survived.

Though… He snorted with amusement. No way in hell would he bottom. Obligingly,

his imagination supplied a picture of Dax stretched over a bright mound of

multicolored pillows, wings and legs both spread. He was utterly relaxed, half asleep or

sated, his head pillowed on his folded arms, sunset hair mingling with bronze feathers.

The lamplight licked the curves of a mouthwatering ass with gold.

Well, shit.

Michael
‟
s brows rose as he stared at the startling crimson and gilt wallpaper in

Bubba
‟
s hallway, unseeing. The image was…uh, it was remarkably clear. Dax
‟
s skin

was the color of pale honey, the path of his spine marked by the strong bumps of his

vertebrae, paralleled by deep indentations of muscle. And then the feathers started, his

enormous wingspan seeming to take up all the space in Michael
‟
s attic chamber. His

tail, clad in smooth bronze feathers, flicked lazily from side to side. It ended in a

luxuriant tuft, each plume at least six inches long.

Michael blinked.

A tail. In the way.
A tail
for the gods
‟
sakes
.

“Bath in a private chamber,” he growled, snagging a passing attendant by the

elbow, ignoring the woman
‟
s huff of disgust.

43

Five minutes later, he sucked in a grateful breath and let himself sink beneath hot

perfumed water. Surfacing with a gasp and a flurry, his ringing laugh echoed off the

walls, the sheer merriment of the sound incongruous in the decadent atmosphere. The

perfect pick-me-up for a jaded master thief, and all he had to do was reach out and seize

it.

Unbidden, Lise strolled into the vision, naked save for a twist of gauze about her

hips, her high breasts crowned with pink nipples like summerberries. As she kneeled to

press a kiss to Dax
‟
s hair, she lifted a glittering gaze to Michael
‟
s.

A salute and a challenge in one, as if he heard the distant clash of blades.

Michael hardened so fast he saw spots.

Gods
yes!

44

Aetherii—Defense and Warfare—Pinion warriors:

All adult Aetherii, male and female, spend at least one year at the Pinion Academy learning

the arts of formation flying and aerial combat. The only exceptions made are for those with

disabilities. The trainees graduate as Sixth Pinion warriors, capable of contributing to the

defense of the Eyrie. Those with the talent may progress through six levels of increasing

difficulty. For example, to qualify as a Third Pinion warrior, the trainee must demonstrate

above-average athleticism, strength and coordination, together with a toughness of spirit beyond

that of the general population. Second Pinion warriors are considered lethal while First Pinion

warriors are the supreme raptors of the Aetherii race, extraordinarily swift and deadly. This

sublime combination of skill and ruthlessness is so rare that only a handful of First Pinions exist

in each generation.

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

* * * * *

“Gone.” Lise set her hands on her hips, scowling at the alley baking in the afternoon

sun, the closed doors and shuttered windows. She could swear she felt eyes on them,

sly laughter.

“If I didn
‟
t know better, I
‟
d say he could fly.” She sucked in air, her cheeks hot with

exertion. “Damn him to the seven icy hells.”

Looming next to her, Dax busied himself tucking in his shirt, not even breathing

hard. “Sorry,” he rumbled.

“Save it,” she said. “Give me the short version now. You can write a proper report

for Jan later. I
‟
ll show you how.”

“All right.” Dax turned, retracing their steps.

“Hey!” Lise called after him. “It
‟
s this way.”

Dax glanced back over his shoulder, the tip of his tail stirring gently in the hot air.

“I know, but I
‟
m going back to the tavern on the square.”

“What?” Lise shook her head to clear it then trotted to catch up.

“I need to settle up with the innkeeper,” Dax said, as if the fact were self-evident. “I,

ah, broke a door.” He flushed.

“Oh.” Lise shrugged. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth when she thought

of Jan
‟
s face. “All right. Claim it on expenses.”

Once he understood that Dax had come to pay him, the innkeeper was all oily

smiles. “Please…ah, hautlord. Be seated,” he said, ushering them with great ceremony

45

to a table next to a street-level window. It was bathed in a wash of buttery sunlight.

“What may I get for you? On the house of course.”

They might as well be on show in the menagerie of the Ten Nations Fair. Lise stared

the man down. “Something hot,” she said, brushing past him. “And we
‟
ll sit over here.”

But as she headed for a dark corner at the back of the room, someone yelped in

pain, the sound unmistakable. Turning, she blinked. Dax had one huge hand wrapped

around the innkeeper
‟
s wrist.

“I
‟
m sure you weren
‟
t actually intending to touch those pretty feathers,” he said

kindly. He beamed down at the man and his fingers tightened slowly. “Were you?”

“
Nngh
,” gasped the innkeeper, writhing. “No, no. I
‟
d never— Shit!” He sank to his

knees, his face pasty.

With a smile of blinding innocence, Dax released him. “That
‟
s what I thought.” He

clapped the man on the shoulder, sending him reeling. “Your best ale for me. Lise?”

“
Babybane.
Strong and hot.” Once the innkeeper was out of earshot, she murmured,

“Veil-it, Dax, I heard his bones crack.”

Dax shrugged, unperturbed. “You wouldn
‟
t have liked it, his greasy fingers.”

“You
‟
re right about that.” Lise rested her chin on her clasped hands so she could

gaze into his placid face. This was the man who
‟
d held a stinky baby and soothed her to

sleep? “But I can take care of myself.”

“I know.” A large forefinger traced a gouge in the sticky wood of the table, over

and over. “It was an impulse.” He glanced up. “Sorry if I embarrassed you.”

“You didn
‟
t. My thanks, but there was no need.”

His lips set in a stubborn line, though he didn
‟
t speak.

Lise said, “There
‟
s more to you than meets the eye, Daxariel the Burnished.”

The slatternly girl who brought their drinks was so preoccupied with staring at

Dax
‟
s magnificent wings, still mantled above his shoulders, that she walked into a

neighboring table. Dice spilled, bouncing merrily over the floor. A trio of workingmen

cursed her roundly.

Lise lowered her voice though she took care to keep her tone brisk. Businesslike.

“You had him. How did he get away?”

A slow flush crawled out of the vee of Dax
‟
s loosely laced shirt. “He—he distracted

me.”

“So I imagine.” She sipped her
babybane
. “How?”

The flush intensified. “I didn
‟
t—didn
‟
t want to—” The green-gold gaze became

imploring. “I didn
‟
t want to hurt him, all right?”

“What?” Lise stared. “You nearly broke the innkeeper
‟
s arm just now.”

Dax dismissed this with an impatient wave. “I wouldn
‟
t have done it, not really.

Look, I
‟
m sorry, I
‟
m no good at violence.”

46

A great swathe of that glorious hair fell across his face, masking his expression.

“The Pinion Master said if I don
‟
t get over it I
‟
ll be stuck a Second forever.” He drained

half his tankard in a single grateful swallow.

“Wait a—” Lise shut her sagging jaw with a snap. “You
‟
re a
Second
?”

“Yeah,” said Dax, wings drooping a little. “I don
‟
t have the killer instinct to be a

First. You know what I mean?”

“Yes. Godsdammit, no!” She pulled in a deep, steadying breath. “A Second Pinion

warrior? Truly?”

Dax shot her a guilty glance. “Truly. I pull my punches, you see. Too soft to go the

extra mile.”

“But how—?” Lise rallied. “How in the gods
‟
names did you get beyond Sixth then?

Let alone to Second?”

“Because I
‟
m good at the rest of it,” he said without a trace of false modesty. “Really

good.”

She
‟
d had to struggle, practice
‟
til her palms bled and her wing muscles ached like

fire. Until she cried in the privacy of her room, weak with weariness and pain, only to

rise and do it all again on the morrow. Weeks and months of it, and even then she
‟
d

failed the first brutal test—two thirds of Pinion trainees did. So she
‟
d done it all again,

determined to succeed even if it killed her. The month she
‟
d finally passed the Second

level, two of her classmates did die and another was severely injured. None of which

was unusual.

Being a Second Pinion warrior was one of her proudest achievements. The other

was working for Jan.

There
‟
d never been more than half a dozen Firsts at any time in Aetherii history.

There were only four now, and Janarnavriel the Noir was among them.

Rip the Veil, what a problem to have! This man, this great innocent, was too fucking

nice
to be a First, to take his place among that elite group of Aetherii warriors. The

thought of so much natural talent stopped the breath in her lungs.

“Why didn
‟
t you tell me?”

“You didn
‟
t ask,” Dax said, finishing his ale.

Lise thought back. Gods, he was right, she
‟
d just assumed. Those guileless green

eyes…

Leaning forward, she nudged his collar aside to expose the side of his neck. A

shallow slice smeared the golden skin with red. “How did you get this?”

“I thought I had him.”

Obligingly, Dax lifted his chin so she could peer more closely at the wound. Careful

not to touch it, she drew back. Not deep enough for stitches, thank the gods. The man

was so aggressively healthy, she doubted it would even scar. Just as well because it

would be a crying shame to mar that smooth, strong expanse. She gave herself a mental

shake.

47

“But you didn
‟
t have him after all,” she said.

“No.” Dax frowned. “I didn
‟
t expect a Grounded to be so strong. Or so fast.”

“Believe me,” said Lise. “Michael
‟
s exceptional.” She set her jaw. “But I
‟
ll catch him,

I swear.”

“Yes. He—” Dax cleared his throat. He fixed his gaze on the tabletop, russet lashes

brushing his cheeks.

Lise waited, but the silence stretched. Dax
‟
s wings flexed, arching above his

shoulders. “What else did he do?” she said at last.

Dax lifted a burning gaze and suddenly, she was pinned by vivid green-gold,

unable to breathe. “He showed me—” Hesitantly, he laid a big warm hand over hers.

“He has your featherpearls, Lise.”

She gritted her teeth. “I know.”

“But how—?”

“He stole them, all right?” With considerable effort, she moderated her voice. “And

when I catch up with him, the slippery bastard, I
‟
ll take them out of his hide.”

Dax
‟
s deep rich chuckle froze her in her seat, running down her spine like a

caressing hand, coming to rest in that sensitive spot at the base of her tail, spreading

warmth. “Yes, you will,” he said. “Literally, I imagine.”

“What?” Was that a dimple?

All the humor died out of his face. Feathers rustled and color bloomed on his broad

cheekbones. “He
‟
s, ah, he
‟
s wearing them in…in his nipples.” Dax winced. “Sorry.”

“He
‟
s
what?
” All the air disappeared from the room. Her lungs seized.

Dax lowered his voice to a soft rumble. “He has a ring in each…one. With a

featherpearl threaded on it.”

Lise choked. “I
‟
ll kill him, I swear.” Her chair scraped as she leaped to her feet. If

she didn
‟
t move—
right now
—she
‟
d explode. “He
‟
s playing me, the bastard.”

She hadn
‟
t thought that genial face could look so grim. “Not just you.” Dax

hesitated. At last, he said gently, “Won
‟
t you sit down? There
‟
s more.”

Her cheeks must be incandescent. “More?” The thief
‟
s lips pressed against hers, the

tingle of them her whole world as darkness closed her eyes, the feel of his strong, lean