Thief of Light (23 page)

Treading water a few yards off, Erik regarded her steadily, a small smile curving his firm mouth. The stubble darkening his jaw gave him a rough, piratical air.

“Uh.” Prue drew a breath and tried again. “I—I don’t know what to say. Why I—” She shook her head.

“Was it good, Prue?”

The flush burned all the way up her throat to her cheeks. Her head still spinning, she sat up, busying herself with retying her laces, ignoring the tremble in her fingers. “You know it was.”

His teeth gleamed. “I didn’t speak out of turn either. Total control.” He sounded inordinately pleased with himself, though she couldn’t imagine why.

It took all her courage to say it. “What about you? Did you—?” Not that she cared.

Erik’s smile went awry. “I’m fine,” he said brusquely. He gave a short bark of laughter. “You’d think water this temperature would make some bloody difference, wouldn’t you?” Shaking his head, he sank, leaving only a trail of bubbles. A few seconds later, his sodden trews landed on the ledge beside her with a wet splat.

Surfacing, he rubbed one eyebrow. “Went off like a starship rocket right behind you. Haven’t done that since I was a lad.” Arching his arms over his head, he threw himself backward, his body a bulky length of golden, hair-dusted muscle, all grace and strength and water gleaming.

Doubtfully, Prue regarded the dripping garment beside her. “You can’t walk back through The Garden naked,” she said when he surfaced in a flurry of spray, shaking the hair out of his eyes.

“Ah, that feels good.” He grinned. “Don’t see why not. Shouldn’t be anything out of the ordinary.”

Prue thought of Rose.
I’d stand him on a pedestal in The Garden, stripped, and people would pay just to look.
She wouldn’t put it past her friend to do just that. Despite the flutterbyes still dancing a saraband in her belly, the thought had her stifling a chuckle. “Sorry. Couldn’t answer for your safety.”

Erik laughed, the bright sound ringing around the enclosed space. He swam to the far end of the chamber and back again, using a powerful, overarm stroke. Sister give her strength, she wouldn’t look! Not that there was much to see, unless she really concentrated, just the gleam of taut, muscled buttocks as he dived, water caressing the long line of a brawny thigh. And once, as he arched his body, a glimpse of the darker fur at his groin, his cock a pale length nestling there.

“We used to swim in the river, my brothers and I.”

Prue tilted her head. “You had brothers?”

“Three.” His lips curved. “Gods, we were a handful. Poor Ma.”

“Your father?”

In the twilight illumination, his eyes looked black. “He was a fisherman. His boat went down in a storm when I was six.”

“I’m sorry.” Prue curled her legs under her. Asking was stupid, when every tidbit only intrigued her more. Hell. “Where are you from?”

“New Norsca. On the northern continent of Concordia. It’s beautiful, Prue, mountains all the way to the sky, magnificent fjords. Cold as a bitch in winter.” Returning to the ledge, he crossed his arms and rested his chin on them, gazing up at her.

“And you went
swimming
?” His body really was like music, a perfect lilting flow from the width of massive shoulders to a strong, trim waist to the high, arched rounds of his buttocks shimmering under the water.

“In summer.” His smile became a reminiscent grin. “Naked as the day we were born.” He slanted her an unreadable look. “Haven’t done it in years until today. You?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “What do you think?”

“I think it feels fucking wonderful.” He reached up to pluck at the gown. “C’mon in. Dare you.”

When she batted at his hands, he just laughed. “Live dangerously, Mistress McGuire. I’ve seen it all anyway.”

In the end, he simply hoisted himself onto the ledge beside her with a twist of powerful shoulders and reefed the nightgown off over her head, despite her protests. “Take a breath, sweetheart.” He scooped her hard into his chest and tumbled them both off the ledge.

The water closed over their heads and they sank slowly, Prue’s hands clutching Erik’s shoulders, his hands gripping her waist. Their legs tangled together. Tendrils of her hair escaped the braid to writhe around her face, but she didn’t notice. Underwater, it was a dim, silent world, where their eyes met in wordless communication, and all she could hear was the beat of the blood in her ears. Erik tugged her flush against all that cool, slick hardness, and she tilted her head so her lips met his.

The kiss was cool and unhurried, an exploration of what felt like familiar territory, already dearly beloved. But this time, it wasn’t dreamlike at all. Everywhere his flesh touched hers, Prue tingled, and given the broad expanse of him, that was pretty well everywhere. The light fur on his chest was a delicate rasp on her nipples, his belly firm and cobbled against her softness. Muzzily, she thought she would have been happy to go on like this forever and to hell with breathing.

A dark thought broke through the surface euphoria. Perhaps it would be better.

Her vision was hazing when they broke the surface, though she wasn’t entirely certain which was the greater contributing factor—the mind-numbing Magick of Erik Thorensen’s mouth or the lack of air.

Idly, he tucked an errant curl behind her ear as they floated languidly together. “We should go back,” he said eventually.

“Yes.”

Silence save for the water lapping.

“Prue—”

“Godsdammit.” Turning away, she stroked toward the dark tunnel that led back to the real world. “Don’t you dare.”

“I have to.” He caught her easily, taking her cheeks between his palms to gaze deep into her eyes. “I hate that I hurt you. Forgive me? Please?”

Last night, he’d had her exactly where he wanted her, open and vulnerable. Then he’d discarded her, exactly as Chavis had done. Whatever it was he wanted, she hadn’t been able to supply it. A great fist closed over Prue’s heart and squeezed all the joy out of it, drop by drop. Such a transitory thing, happiness. Strange how heavy she felt, as though she could sink into the formless mud on the seabed and stay there, safe in the muffled, silty quiet of death. “You want an honest answer?”

After a moment, he nodded, his face drawn.

Prue picked her words with care. “I believe you’re sorry, but trust’s a fragile thing. Once it’s gone . . .” She shrugged

“I know.” His voice was so low she could barely hear it, but it rang with bitter knowledge. “Gods, I know.”

“The heart remembers hurt.” She blinked away the sting of tears. “Part of the human condition, I suppose.”

Slowly, he released her and she swam to the ledge to retrieve her gown. Wadding it up in her hand, she said, “Let’s go.”

“Yes.” Erik grabbed his trews. “I spoiled it, didn’t I?”

“Depends on what it was you wanted. A pleasant diversion to pass your time in the city?” She shrugged in answer to her own question. “I don’t need to tell you how attractive you are.”

She stroked toward the entrance to the tunnel and turned in the water, waiting. “You know that and you use it. It’s what you do, what you are.” She tried to smile, perhaps to soften the blow, though for whose benefit, she couldn’t be sure. “Not a man for the long haul.”

His face grim, Erik joined her. As if she hadn’t spoken, he said curtly, “On the count of three then. One, two . . .
three
!”

Together, they sank a few feet and kicked into the darkness of the tunnel.

She’d stopped shivering by the time they reached the first of the small pavilions, but she hadn’t said a word beyond a murmured thanks when he wrapped the towel around her shoulders. Erik glanced down at her huddled figure. Her face looked pinched, not like bright, bustling Prue at all.

Caracole was one fucking debacle after another. A slow, ugly feeling unfurled in his belly. What, in the gods’ names, had he been thinking just then? Had he been thinking at all? After last night’s disaster, he should have been testing each step with her, moving slowly, but he’d been thoroughly seduced by the blaze of awe and joy that suffused her whole expressive little body when the seelies bobbed up. Gods, she’d loved them! And then . . .

Make me
, she’d said, her voice breaking.
Damn you to hell!

Even walking through The Garden in this awkward silence, his balls tightened at the memory. One of the most perfect moments of his life, her heart beating in the delicate flesh against his tongue, his will controlling her climax, setting her free to soar. And no mistakes, well, not then. He’d been so careful, ensuring she couldn’t touch more than his hair, inspecting every word before it came out of his mouth. This time, he’d held to his purpose. No Voice.

Gods, the rewards! He hadn’t even been touching himself and he’d come so hard he’d almost drowned.

It was after that he’d fucked it up.

Despite the warmth of the sun, the wet trews clung cold and clammy against his skin. He shivered, and regret and fury swept over him. He’d ruined it. Her opinion was clear enough.
Not a man for the long haul
. He glared at the wet braid snaking down her back, almost hating her. How dare she offer him a glimpse of paradise and then snatch it away?

Erik’s lips tightened. He didn’t have time for a
long haul
, whatever that was, but he’d hold fast to what remained of his honor and make do with what she’d give him of her own free will in the brief time they had. He’d just done exactly that. In the battle for Prue McGuire, this round went to him, not the Lady. Determination firmed inside him. He’d win the next one too.

Mind you, honor didn’t mean he wouldn’t push Prue’s boundaries as far as he possibly could—he’d already shown he couldn’t resist, even if he had to walk the very edge of risk. He thought of her helpless, delicate wrists bound in jade silk and his balls tightened with mingled lust and apprehension.

His frown darkened. The physical pleasure he’d given her was nothing in comparison to the body blows he’d dealt her proud spirit. Which meant he had a responsibility to heal what he could—if he could. Erik stifled a sigh. He’d have to be careful—not only with Prue, but with himself.

Gods, he’d hurt her.

As they passed a fountain, tinkling into a grotto of pierced and fretted rocks, Prue grabbed his arm, bringing them both to an abrupt halt. A few yards ahead, a man kneeled on the path, a huge dark flower cupped tenderly in both hands. He was crooning to it, tunefully enough.

“Dai,” said Prue. “What are—?”

The man held up a warning finger. Finishing the song, he patted the blossom the same way he’d pat a woman’s cheek. Then he rose, dusting off the knees of his trews. All his garments were black and superbly cut, the shirt finished with fine silver buttons.

Erik recognized the beautiful face, like a wicked angel. Yesterday, he’d seen it on a barge, laughing at him. He glared, pleased to discover he was at least six inches taller.

The man slanted a twinkling glance in their direction. “I’d ask,” he murmured, “but then I’d have to hear the answer.”

“Dai, what are you doing? Where’s Walker?”

“First things first, Mistress Prue.” The man nodded at Erik, the ruby drop in his ear catching the sun like a crimson tear. “You’re still all wet, my friend. What are you? Part fish?”

“What I am
not
is supper,” growled Erik. “Just so we’re clear.”

Prue shot him a startled glance. “This is Erik Thorensen,” she said to Dai. “The singer.”

Dai’s considering gaze traveled from Erik to Prue and back again. His lips twitched. “So I see,” he said obscurely.

Prue hitched her towel more firmly around her shoulders. “If Walker catches you in his bed of dark roses, you’re a dead man, Dai.”

But Dai shook his head. “He sent me, said I was to keep them company for a while. I’m to take his classes as well.”

“But why?”

The other man’s merry face clouded. “He’s back at the House of Swords, Mistress, with a fever you wouldn’t believe.”

“
Walker?
But he’s never sick.”

“Isn’t Walker the swordsman?” asked Erik. Dai wore a long dagger at his waist, but Erik had no doubt there’d be another half dozen weapons concealed about his trim person. He looked that kind of man. Casually, Erik shifted closer to Prue, resisting the temptation to tuck her under his arm.

“Walker’s many things,” said Dai. “He was a shaman once. Now he’s a gardener.” He gestured at the flowers, their satiny petals a purple so dark it was almost black. “He bred these blooms for Mistress Rose. He’s a genius with any kind of blade, not to mention purely incredible with a quarterstaff.”

Shaking himself out of a moment’s abstraction, Dai touched Prue’s arm. “What’s wrong, Mistress Prue?”

Prue raised troubled eyes to Dai’s. “I was going to ask Walker to come with me. I have to go the Open Cabal today.”

“Ah,” said Dai. “My pleasure.” He bowed.