Thief of Light (13 page)

She heard him take a deliberate breath, as if he were about to launch into song.

“
Prue
.” Only her name, but Erik’s voice dropped an octave, thrilling through every nerve, the impact like the echo of distant thunder, making her tremble right down to the marrow of her bones.

“Yes?” she whispered through dry lips.

“
You must have a mirror
.
Tell me where it is.
”

She was drowning in the blue of those ocean eyes, just as she had the first time she’d met him. Prue struggled, but in the end, it was simpler to tell him what he wished to know.

“Bedchamber.”

“
Put the shawl on and go see how pretty you look.
” Erik bent and pressed his lips to her cheek, right over the dimple.

Prue’s head whirled, her senses overwhelmed by the warm, masculine scent of his body, starched linen and a hint of leather.

Shakily, she rose, Erik standing so close their arms brushed. He steadied her, then stepped back. “Go on,” he murmured.

Sister, what could it hurt? It was the least she could do, after all. Her brow furrowed, Prue walked the few steps into the adjoining bedchamber, her thoughts muzzy and confused. Vaguely, she wondered if she’d overeaten.

Shivering, she shook out the shawl and draped it over her shoulders, stealing a moment to feel the fineness of the fabric between finger and thumb. When she looked up, her mouth dropped open in a soundless exclamation. Sister save her, it was true. The deep, vibrant jade made her eyes glitter like best-quality aquamarines, the ones the nobleladies of Caracole prized so highly. Her skin glowed, honey and roses, and her hair gleamed a rich, glossy brown.

Embroidered the entire length of the shawl was a stylized school of seelies gamboling among the waves beneath the silvery light of the Sister’s sickle. Wonderingly, Prue rubbed a forefinger over the indigo silk the unknown artist had used for their pelts. As a child, she’d loved the old tales, and her favorites had always been the ones about seelies, with their bulgy eyes and naïve wisdom. “Silly as a seelie” went the saying, but in the stories, the seelie was the only character who saw what was truly just and right.

Thank the Sister her head was clearing. Gods, he was clever! He couldn’t have made a more perfect choice. Unable to bear the sight of her reflection a moment longer, Prue spun around to face him. She tilted her chin. “I still can’t accept it. Now what?”

Erik Thorensen gazed down at her, as calm as ever. “Welcome back, Prue,” he said. Which was decidedly odd, even on this strangest of days.

He took a light, two-handed grip of the shawl around her shoulders and gave it a little shake, pulling her slightly closer. “Do you like my gift, Prue?” The unsettling twinkle had returned to his gaze.

A hot chill ran straight up Prue’s spine and down again. She moistened her lips. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “How could I not?” When she shrugged, moving within the constraint of the jade silk held taut by his effortless strength, she had the mad urge to rear back against it, to fight. He’d pull her right into his broad chest, his hard thighs. In every fiber of her being, she
knew
it. And she wouldn’t have to think anymore.

Gods, she was losing her mind!

But instead, he turned her swiftly to face the mirror, her spine flush against his chest. “Look, sweet Prue.”

When she opened her mouth, he placed a stern forefinger on her tingling lips. “Sshh.” Her head didn’t reach his shoulder. Towering above her, all charm and personality, his eyes danced, a bold, devilish blue.

“Watch.” He raised the edge of the shawl and settled it over her hair, adjusting the folds on her shoulders. “See, you can use it as a head covering, the way Trinitarian girls do.”

“Is that where it—?”

“Quiet. The color deepens the color of your eyes. Gorgeous. She said it would, the stallholder, when I described you.” His lips curved with satisfaction.

“But Erik, how mu—?”

“A bargain. Let’s try it this way, like a good Trinitarian wife.” He drew a fold across her face. “Gods, that’s erotic. One look at those eyes and a man’d kill to see the rest.”

Sister save her, she couldn’t keep up! Her frantic breath warmed the silk against her lips, her pulse a nagging beat that tightened her nipples and pattered low in her belly, between her thighs. Gods, it had been forever since she’d felt the sharp bite of desire! But why now? And for the Sister’s sake, why this man?

Erik whipped the shawl away and draped one end around her neck, tossing the other over her shoulder. “A winter scarf, or”—his voice dropped—“a belt.”

His long arms wrapped around her from behind, cinching her in a long swathe of fabric, once, twice, three times. He handled her with confidence, but so deftly his touch was barely there.

“It’s too long,” she said stupidly.

“No, it’s not, you’re small.”

Their gazes met in the reflection, and Prue’s heart turned over. His lips curved, slowly, oh so slowly. Holding her breath, she watched Erik the Golden smile for the first time without reservation, slow and very sweet. It broke over his face gradually, like sunrise stealing over the city, transforming him, softening the hard angles and planes. He seemed to hover on the brink of joyous laughter.

And yet, and yet . . . She knew she wasn’t perceptive. It was why she managed the business of The Garden and Rose the people. But something about this beautiful man made all the hair stand up on the back of her neck.

“Erik, I . . .” She ran down, unable to think of what she’d been about to say.

“I bought it for you because I imagined you wearing it and the thought gave me pleasure. Also because I feel guilty about the state of the Opera’s accounts. But mostly because I knew you’d like it. It’s not a bribe, Prue, or a price.” His long fingers spanned her waist and his cheek nuzzled hers, his breath warm and sweet. “It’s a gift, freely given. Please, don’t spoil it.”

“I don’t wish to be ungracious. Let me think about it and I’ll tell you tomorrow.” She’d speak with Rose, they’d work out a strategy between them.

“There’s only one problem with that.”

“What?” Prue glanced up in the mirror and fell into endless blue.

“I thought I was a patient man,” said Erik Thorensen. “I just discovered I’m not.”

Hooking his fingers into one side of the makeshift belt, he tugged. The silken clasp tightened and he pulled her around, right into his chest. Off balance, Prue flailed, clutching two fistfuls of shirt.

Spreading a broad palm over her back to keep her steady, he bent his head. His mouth landed on hers so sweetly, so softly. How strange! She’d been sure she’d be consumed, that Erik Thorensen would devour her and she’d be lost forever in his strong blond beauty. Instead, it was a real first kiss, almost awkward, his lips warm and smooth, learning hers little by little—a nibble here, a nuzzle there. An unhurried lick over her bottom lip and she couldn’t help the hum of pleasure, deep in her throat.

Only a kiss, nothing more. An experiment of sorts, an indulgence, then she’d come to her senses and return to the work she was meant to do.

One arm slid around her waist and down to her buttock, hauling her flush into a wall of hot muscle, his erection prodding shamelessly into her belly. With the other hand, he cradled her skull, tilting her head at the perfect angle for his marauding tongue.

Erik the Golden kissed the way he sang, with consummate artistry and overwhelming passion. Sweet Sister, his timing was uncanny! Every time Prue feared she might pass out with the sheer wicked pleasure of it, he’d pull back just enough to let her breathe, whether she wanted to or not.

With every deft stroke, he stole another degree of control from her, until she was lost indeed, hanging in his arms, kissing him back with everything she had. He tasted so dark and sweet. The very air they exchanged was spiced with his potent masculinity. Dizzily, Prue wondered if she could simply lie in his arms forever and breathe him in. Nothing could hurt her then.

The room spun as he picked her up and strode out of the bedchamber.

What? Prue levered one eye open.

“Sshh,” he murmured into her mouth. “I’ve got you.”

With a booted foot, he pushed her big office chair around and sank into it, Prue curled close in his lap like an astonished kitten. “I thought you’d feel safer here,” he said calmly enough, though his chest rose and fell with his quick breaths. “Away from the bed.”

The dazzle of sparks in her blood died away to a slow splutter. Gods, she was wrapped around him like a lover vine in high summer!

She sat up, fumbling with the shawl, trying to rip it off.

Wincing, Erik shot her a pained look. “Stop wriggling.” He untangled her, taking his time. “You’ll damage the silk. Not to mention me.”

Kissing him had felt so good, so wonderful, and now look at him—smiling to himself as if he thought she’d believe him, all confident charm and golden good looks—leaving her perched on his knee like the silly girl she’d once been. Surely she’d learned her lesson? For a split second, she was back in the Melting Pot, in the fetid dark, listening to heavy footfalls pass her hiding place, praying that Katrin wouldn’t cry.

Neither she nor her baby had had the power to hold him. Both of them burdens Chavis couldn’t wait to shed.
She hadn’t been enough.

The memory sent her scrambling off Erik’s lap in a graceless rush. Using her anger as a shield, she faced him, gripping her hands together. “Merciful Sister, Erik, this isn’t a play. Who writes your lines?”

Erik’s smile evaporated. “Prue, don’t be frightened of what you want.”

“
Frightened?”
It was a relief to feel the strengthening rush of anger. This was familiar ground. “I know all about men like you, Erik. I will not be manipulated. Or charmed, or patronized.”

Erik rose to loom over her, and suddenly, he seemed more dark, more deadly than golden. “Who was he?”

“What? Who?”

“The man who did this to you, hurt you so badly.”

Stupidly, she wanted to cry. What was the use of denying what was clearly so obvious? “No matter, he’s long since dead.” Squaring her shoulders, she looked Erik in the eye. “In a strange way, I owe him everything I am. Because of our child, I had no choice but to go on.” She shrugged. “So here I am. A self-made woman, I suppose you’d say.”

He went very still. “You have a child?”

“Katrin.” He didn’t know her nearly as well as he thought he did. Prue gave him a thin smile. “She’s nineteen. My darling.”

He was folding the jade shawl with smooth, efficient moves, avoiding her eye.

“When does your engagement in Caracole finish?” she asked coolly. “I can send the Opera’s accounts after you easily enough.” There, that should do it. Her shoulders slumped.

Erik crossed the office to place the small square of fabric on a shelf. Sister, he knew how to move, all long-limbed, dangerous grace! When he turned, the light from the window turned his hair into a glorious nimbus. “Tickets sales have been so good already, I’ve extended the run. Signed the contract this morning.”

He came to stand before her and the twinkle was back in his eye. “I’d better get back for rehearsal.” Nudging her chin with his fist, he said, “Shut your mouth, sweetheart. Another two weeks, pretty Prue. I look forward to meeting your Katrin.”

Swiftly, he pressed a kiss to her cheek, the one with the dimple. “See you tomorrow.” He strode from the room.

Scarcely daring to breathe, the Necromancer crumpled, waiting it out, his cheek pressed ignominiously against the silken rug. It was almost an hour before he felt able to move and another fifteen minutes before he could get himself propped up in his chair. His chest aching, he tugged the bell pull that would summon Nasake.

“Take a message to the rest of the Queen’s Cabal,” he said. “I’m working from home today.” He gestured at the lax bundle of blue in the corner. “Get rid of that.”