Spider-Touched (22 page)

Worry remained in her dark eyes, tugging at him, threatening to delay him. He made himself turn and walk away from her.

Tir approached the dock. He was careful to keep his head ducked and his face turned away from the camera mounted on the lamppost near its entrance, though he had no idea whether it was possible for his image to be captured on film or not.

The long-sleeved shirt chafed his skin after centuries of wearing minimal clothing. Its collar felt as tight and constricting as the sigil-inscribed one it hid.

He was confident he could recover Araña’s boat. But as he moved farther and farther from her, he hated knowing he’d left her unguarded.

The city wasn’t her home. Already it had proven unsafe for her.

He thought of the bloodstains on the ground she’d searched earlier, the strength it had taken for her to return to the place where her family had been killed. For centuries he’d despised humans, looked at them and seen only the worst of their natures, but she was different.

She hardened his body and softened his heart. She made him
feel
, and the emotions were uncomfortable, contradictory. Unwelcome. And yet when he was with her, he hated having any barrier between them.

It was only when he stepped foot on the wooden dock that she left his mind completely. He could feel dozens of open stares, and more that were hidden. A thick-necked man emerged from a small concrete building, pig eyes darting suspiciously.

“What’s your business here?” he said, the salt-sweat smell of him arriving along with his question.

“I’m interested in buying a boat,” Tir lied. “Are there any for sale?”

“Might be,” the man said, eyes traveling over Tir’s clothing in an effort to assess his wealth.

Tir did something he hadn’t done in centuries. He consciously opened himself to the man’s emotions.

They poured over him like oily refuse. Greed and suspicion dominated, mixed with a craving to feel flesh yield and bones break under meaty fists.

The temptation to end the human’s existence flashed through Tir like a lightning strike. Ragged and bright and primal.

Restraint came with great difficulty. It came only with thoughts of Araña waiting for him, worrying for him.

“I’ll investigate on my own,” Tir said, eyes boring into the man’s, letting him glimpse his own death in them.

The man stepped back, sensing something. Or perhaps he was being monitored by the camera as well.

A hatchet-faced man with an aura of authority emerged from the same concrete building as the dockhand. He took a step toward them.

The man in front of Tir said, “This way,” and turned, leading Tir directly to the boat he’d come to look at.

“It’s for sale?” Tir asked.

“Auction is tomorrow morning. Nine o’clock sharp. Cash. Unless you’ve worked out the terms of a barter beforehand with the guard.”

“I want to see belowdecks.”

The dockhand glanced back toward the concrete building. The hatchet-faced man was still standing there, watching.

“It’s unlocked.”

Tir boarded the boat. It was old but well maintained. And though there was no evidence of Araña or the men who’d been her family, Tir could see their presence in the care they’d taken.

Where there was wood, it was smooth and waxed, beautifully preserved. Sail covers and bags were faded and weather-worn, but meticulously mended, stowed, and tied.

Belowdecks a safe stood open, revealing shelves empty of valuables. Closet doors were the same, attesting to the fact that anything personal or valuable had been stripped from the boat.

Rage filled Tir. He felt the violation as if it were his own.

The boat was more than transportation to Araña. It was her home, a place that represented freedom and security—and while Matthew and Erik lived, happiness and family.

Tir returned to the deck and then to the dock, grateful the pig-eyed attendant was gone and not there to tempt him into venting his anger. He headed back toward land, taking in everything he could of his surroundings.

He noted the lights mounted on poles, which of the other boats were occupied, the landmasses and shorelines, as well as the distance to the docks where moored container ships and boats belonging to the powerful were patrolled by heavily armed men.

It was difficult to determine all of the security measures in place, or the danger involved in stealing the boat. But he was confident he could overcome them. Humans didn’t venture out in the night unless they had reason to—and then only if they were heavily armed and well paid.

The real problem lay in where to take the boat, where it could be safely hidden until their business in Oakland was finished.

Tir glanced at the sky. The sun was well into its descent.

Tension radiated from Araña when he rejoined her in the alley. “She’s been confiscated?”

“Yes. They auction your boat tomorrow morning.”

Her eyes went to the
Constellation
and her hands fisted. She glanced at the heavily patrolled piers where the wealthy kept boats.

He could feel her gather her control and wall up her emotions. “If I’m lucky, whoever buys the
Constellation
will keep her berthed where she is. I don’t know these waters well enough to know where it’s safe to leave her until I’m ready to go home. Getting her back will have to wait.”

A protest sounded in Tir’s soul at the thought of Araña leaving him, or thinking she could. When she would have turned away, he halted her by curling his fingers around her forearm. “We have until nightfall to find a place to hide the boat. If we do, I’ll recover it for you tonight.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Araña said, unable to bear the thought of Tir being recaptured. She’d rather lose the boat than see him in chains again. “Even if we learn of a place to hide her, there’s no time to watch and note the routines of those guarding the port and the docks.”

From Matthew and Erik she’d learned the importance of planning. Of having patience and watching, spotting the glitches in security that would allow a thief to both venture into another’s territory
and
escape it with whatever prize was sought.

Tir’s fingers tightened on her arm. “Do you think I can’t deliver on my promise to you?” he said in a silky voice, masculine affront seething, sliding into her through his touch.

Araña hid a sudden smile. In that moment he reminded her of Matthew, and there was no pain in it.

She did what Erik would have done, subconsciously modeling her behavior on his. She moved into Tir, and he released his punishing grip in favor of pulling her against him.

Twelve

ARAÑA wound her arms around his waist and hugged him to her. She ground her pelvis against his.

His hands moved up her back to tangle in her hair. His lips descended to settle on hers in a fierce, dominating kiss, a show of power she acknowledged and acquiesced to.

She yielded, melted into him. Whimpered as moisture flooded her channel and escaped from her slit.

He deepened the kiss, moving to pin her against the wall in a primal demonstration of strength that made her feel exquisitely feminine.

She wanted to shed her clothes and welcome him into her body. To kneel in front of him and take his cock into her mouth in a show of ultimate submission.

“I need you, Tir,” she whispered when he allowed her breath, her plea covering more than just the desire she felt for him.

She’d craved touch all her life, but now that she’d known his, she knew no other would satisfy her. “I don’t want you to be injured or enslaved because of me.”

Tir’s hands left her hair to cup her face, then slid downward to cover her breasts. He rubbed his palms over pebbled nipples, making her moan, before smoothing them down her sides to settle at her waist.

Her womb fluttered and her cunt lips grew more swollen. She rubbed her hardened clit against his erection.

His fingers tightened. “Stop or I’ll take you here. There’s not much time if we hope to find a safe place for your boat.”

A shudder went through her, but she obeyed, forcing her mind back to what was important. “Levi and Rebekka are the only people I know in Oakland. We can go back to the red zone and see if they’re at the brothel.”

Her passion cooled with thoughts of Rebekka and the remembered vision. Worry slid into her gut and coiled there, waiting to change into guilt.

Tir’s eyes darkened. “The Were left me for the guardsmen.”

Araña didn’t deny the truth in his statement, but she countered it with a question. “Would you have done differently in his place? Especially for someone you thought was human? And a criminal?”

Tir’s nostril’s flared. “I would see mankind wiped from the face of the earth if it were left to me.” He leaned in abruptly. Close enough so their breath mingled. “Except for you. You I would allow to live.”

“There are plenty of humans worth saving,” she whispered, thinking of the men and women Erik and Matthew called friends, those who’d accepted her among them, the outlaws and outcasts who held to their honor in a harsh world.

Her hand went to Tir’s chest. She felt the hard, fierce beat of his heart. “Not all of us are like those who held you captive.”

“Then pray it’s not up to me to decide whether they live or die, Araña.” He stepped away from her but circled her wrist with his fingers.

She thought they’d go directly to the bus stop. Instead Tir pulled her into a tiny eating place not far from the waterfront.

Her stomach reacted by growling, her mouth by watering, her hands by automatically going to the knife hilts.

Rough-looking seamen clustered around a mismatch of salvaged tables. Their faces were tanned, leathered, unshaven, and more than one of them wore the tattoos of a criminal.

They undressed her with their eyes and Tir stiffened at her side. “It’s okay,” Araña murmured, comfortable despite the glances. She’d been in plenty of diners and bars like this one, where men who lived and worked on the water gathered. “We need to eat before we go to the brothel. This is a good place to do it.”

There was little chance of guardsmen wandering in for drink or food. Only trouble would bring them, and these men didn’t want trouble, not of that kind, not in a city like Oakland. And if someone were curious enough or bold enough to approach Tir, thinking he was a pimp . . . then perhaps they’d be able to gather information on how frequently the docks were patrolled and what manner of predators roamed them at night.

Araña allowed Tir to guide her to a stool along an L-shaped counter separating customers from a cook and a server. At his silent urging, she took the open seat against the wall while he took the one next to her.

Grease spattered as baskets laden with cut potatoes were dropped into deep pools of cooking oil. Flames jumped as fish were tossed on grills.

“You ready?” the server working the counter asked, stopping in front of Tir.

Stained pictures hung on the wall next to where the cook was busy slapping food onto plates and passing them to an older woman to deliver to those waiting at tables. Prices next to the pictures, as well as crude writing, noted what the diner served.

Beer. Fish. Fries.

The catch of the day was salmon.

“Fish,” Tir said.

The server’s gaze flicked to Araña then to the male customers crowding around tables. “Your woman eating or she here to work?”

Tir’s nostrils flared at the question. Araña put her gloved hand on the bunched muscles of his thigh in a soothing gesture.

“She eats. Fish for her, too.”

The server shrugged and told Tir the cost of the meal. His expression said he thought Tir was a fool for paying with cash from his pocket when he had a woman who could cover it by working in the alley on her back or knees.

Tir turned toward Araña, and within a heartbeat, eyes smoldering with hostility changed, the flames of hatred giving way to heat as they looked at each other and remembered their last meal together.

Liquid desire pooled in her labia with thoughts of breakfast and his feeding her by hand. Color rose in her cheeks.

Silence stretched between them. The need to touch was countered by the feel of strangers watching and the necessity of remaining alert to their surroundings.

“Later,” Tir murmured, and she gave a slight nod before escaping the intensity of his gaze.

Their food arrived in an unceremonious slide of plates along the counter and a clatter of forks. They ate, and as they did so, interest in them faded, except for five men who sat huddled over their beers, whispering and nudging one another, passing something she couldn’t see around the table until finally one of them lurched to his feet and approached.

A few steps away from Tir, the man doffed his tightly woven knit cap and held it in both hands. Grit clung to the grooves in his skin, and his fingernails were outlined in dark grime. His eyes dropped to where Araña’s gloved hand remained on Tir’s thigh, only partially obscured by the counter.

Sea-chapped lips pulled away from tobacco-stained teeth. “My friends and me, we was wondering if you’re selling time with the woman. ’Cause—”

Tir stood. The man backpedaled, fingers lifting away from his clutched cap in a gesture of peace. “Sorry, no offense meant.”