Guilty as Sin (16 page)

stimulated
her the way he did. He was wild and willful, thinking only of himself. When

he saw something he wanted, he just reached out and…took it.

Lise
‟
s blood surged, her feathers ruffling with excitement all the way to the tips. An

appalling way to live, but gods, how
freeing
it would be!

Her knees shook—the surface of the door an unyielding plane against her furled

wings. In the messy soup that now passed for her brain, Dax shone like a steadying

beacon, a high point on a mountaintop she could navigate by.

A cold, hard lump formed in the pit of her stomach. Godsdammit, she had a job to

do. Six little lives depended on her professional skills and she mustn
‟
t forget it, not for

an instant. As for Dax—she was not only older and presumably wiser, but in a

command position. Taking advantage of his inexperience would be a kind of abuse. She

loathed that sort of thing.

On the other hand, he
‟
d never lied to her, not once. She doubted he knew how.

He
‟
d wanted her, she couldn
‟
t doubt it. His cock had been a molten bar pressed into her

belly, both long and thick, his hearts a sustained double gallop beneath her palm. Lise

released a long, shaky breath. She
‟
d trust Dax with her life, she
‟
d known that for a long

time now.

Could she trust him to know his own mind and heart?

76

Maybe. And Veil-it, she was so tempted.

Just as tempted as Michael, obviously. But, oh gods, the thief would destroy Dax.

He
‟
d take all that beautiful innocence and besmirch it. He
‟
d use his cynical charm, that

supple, sinful body, and while he might gift the other man with incredible pleasure, in

the process he
‟
d banish every last vestige of the glow that shone out of Dax
‟
s eyes, she

knew it.

Not a murder of the body, but of the spirit. Lise frowned, thinking.

Murder
.

Wait a minute, Michael was a trained assassin, but she couldn
‟
t recall his last kill.

How odd that she
‟
d forgotten. Well, the facts were easy enough to check. They
‟
d be in

the file she
‟
d left open on the circular bed.

She stared at it in the moonlight, lying innocently on the sheets, the cover closed,

papers neatly squared away. All the fine feathers on her body lifted, but before she

could take a breath, a shadow materialized out of the window recess.

“Hullo, Lise,” said Michael. Teeth flashed in a cheerful smile. “Miss me?”

77

Children of the Mother—Government:

The Children of the Mother are ruled by an elected Council of five Matriarchs. All citizens

over the age of twenty-five may vote, both male and female, but only women over the age of fifty

are eligible for the Council. The Matriarchs employ advisors on an ad hoc basis and gender is no

bar. In fact, the Battle Commander of the Children is often male.

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

* * * * *

“No,” Lise said coldly. With an effort, she halted the instinctive move for a

nonexistent blade. Why oh why hadn
‟
t she grabbed it as she
‟
d tumbled out of bed?

Inexcusable. “Miss you? Why no, should I?”

Beneath the fine linen of her nightshirt, goose bumps pebbled her skin. Even her

feet were bare. Not that it mattered, an Aetherii warrior was never truly defenseless.

The tip of her tail twitched. If she could hook his ankle…

She infused her voice with all the scorn of which she was capable. “Dax wasn
‟
t

entertaining enough?”

Michael sauntered a little closer but still well beyond her wingspan, the reach of her

tail. No fool, he.

He grinned. “Far from it. No, he was…” The grin faltered and for a moment, he

looked almost lost, but it must have been a trick of the moonlight. “Interesting.

Positively toothsome.”

“Leave him alone.” Involuntarily, Lise
‟
s wings mantled behind her, her tail lashing

so hard, the whip of it stung against her calf. “He
‟
s not a toy for your stupid games.”

The thief raised a brow. “My games are never stupid.” He let a short silence slither

by. “Because they aren
‟
t games. Anyway, it was you I intended to see, but I happened

to glance in Dax
‟
s window first.” He spread his hands, showing empty palms. “What

can I say? I got, ah, distracted.”

“Say your piece and get out.”

“May I light the lamp first?”

“Over there.” Lise gestured toward the dresser. “You
‟
re very cool, Michael of Sere,”

she said, watching him move. “All I have to do is yell and you
‟
re a dead man.”

Light flickered, spreading a wash of gold over the rug woven to resemble a

cumulous cloud, the silver-shot and lavender quilt, the heap of natal pillows she used to

78

make a sleeping nest, like all her people. It spotlit the thief
‟
s strong, nimble fingers and

streaked his thick brown hair with the honey gleam of health.

He turned to face her. “But you won
‟
t.” He took a step closer. “Not when there
‟
s the

slimmest chance I might be useful.” Closer still. “Not to mention you
‟
re eaten alive with

curiosity.”

He was right, gods damn him. Every nerve tingled, her brain raced, all her senses

engaged from the ends of her fingers to the tips of her wings. The only thing that

compared was the screaming rush of a power dive. She could feel the warmth of his

body, see the tiny bump the featherpearl made beneath his shirt. Clenched in her fist, its

mate pulsed. She
‟
d never felt more alive, more aware of her body.

“I
‟
m at your mercy.” Raising his arms, he turned full circle. “Not armed.”

As if she
‟
d believe that. Lise gave a dry chuckle.

Michael
‟
s grin was slow, hot and deeply satisfied. “I promised myself I
‟
d make you

laugh.”

Startled, she compressed her lips. “What do you want? Going to offer me the same

odds as Dax?”

The thief
‟
s eyes danced. In this light, they were more golden brown than hazel. “Of

course,” he said smoothly. “The remaining featherpearl and the use of my body for a

night. My hand on it.”

Lise didn
‟
t move.

“I don
‟
t bite.”

Her face was in shadow, his in light. Taking her time, Lise studied the straight,

strong nose, the level brows and finely sculpted jaw. No wonder he passed so well for

an aristocrat. Her hearts hammered.

“This is ridiculous,” she said. “Not to mention inappropriate. Veil-it, Michael, we
‟
re

not gambling on the lives of innocent children.”

His mouth went tight, and for a split second, something cold and bleak looked out

of his eyes. “No child of the slums is innocent, but yes, children. What are you doing to

find them?”

“Searching.” She couldn
‟
t keep the bitterness from her tone. “And more searching.

The Winged Envoy sent a message to the Prince asking for some of the guards to help.

We haven
‟
t heard back yet.”

Michael snorted. “Don
‟
t hold your breath.”

Before she could retort, the insufferable grin bloomed again. “You have to admit—”

Stepping right into her space, he grasped her hand, pulled her into his arms and

pressed a kiss to her cheek. “The wager
‟
s nothing if not motivating.”

His lips traveled across her jaw, sending shocking little curls of sensation down her

spine. Pressed against the curve of her right breast, the remaining featherpearl throbbed

like a tiny coal, synchronized to the beating of her hearts. He smelled of cold night air

and warm male skin. Excitement and pure temptation.

79

“Get,” Lise whipped her tail around his throat, “away from me.” She flexed,

increasing the pressure.

“Mmm.” Apparently unperturbed, he lifted a hand to run his fingertips back and

forth over the silky closefitting feathers as if he were examining the fit of his cravat.

Every muscle in Lise
‟
s body clenched.

Michael grunted, but he didn
‟
t move. A brow rose. “What a way to go,” he said, a

trifle breathlessly.

“Rip the Veil and fry the world!” Lise shoved him away, and he collapsed

backward onto the bed, rubbing his throat and…
chuckling?
“Look, what the fuck do you

want?”

“Lots of things.” Drawing his legs up, he settled himself cross-legged among her

pillows, as if he had every godsbedamned right to be in her bed. He sent her a long,

level look. “But first, I want to know all about Fledge, every detail.”

“Fledge?”

“Has there been a ransom demand?”

“No, but—”

“Then why leave the note? It
‟
s stupid.”

Lise met his hard hazel gaze. “Fledge was devastated,” she said slowly.

Concentrating on deep regular breaths, she pulled a small stool out from beneath the

dresser. “You think that was the purpose?” She sat, settling her wings behind her.

“Not entirely, the money
‟
s the main thing.” A clean-cut lip curled. “Hssrda pay

well for fresh meat. But the message was intended to frighten. Her distress could be a

nice bonus for someone.”

Lise picked up her tail and ran the tuft at the tip through her fingers again and

again, thinking. “Yes, but who?”

“Who hates Fledge? What
‟
s her background?”

“She
‟
s Feolin by heritage, but she was with the Ten Nations Fair when Mirry met

her.”

“Mirry?”

“Miriliel the Burnished.” She shot the thief a sidelong glance. “Dax
‟
s cousin. A

scholar.”

“She
‟
s fucking both of them, isn
‟
t she? Jan and this Mirry?” His brow creased.

“Maybe there
‟
s something there, jealousy perhaps.”

“No!” The word echoed, disconcertingly loud. By unspoken consent, they
‟
d been

keeping their voices low, like conspirators. “You don
‟
t understand.” Lise thumped a fist

on the bed for emphasis, but it sank into the mattress. “They
‟
re Mated, all three of

them.”

“Mated?” Michael frowned.

80

“They had a Mating Flight.” She struggled in the face of the thief
‟
s puzzlement. “It
‟
s

a permanent bond. Lifelong.”

The dark brows rose high. “And it works?”

“Enough love and trust, and anything works.”

“You think?” That shuttered expression was back. For an instant, the thief looked

far older than his years.

“I
know
.”

Michael
‟
s snort was eloquent of disbelief, but he said, “All right, I
‟
ll take your word

for it. Anyone in her life before the two Aetherii?”

Lise rubbed her forehead. “There
was
someone,” she said. “One of the roustabouts

at the Fair. He was cruel to her. Violent. Mirry and Jan— Gods!”

She sprang to her feet, wings arching high and wide. The bedclothes rippled with

the rush of air, one wingtip knocked a silver-backed brush from the dresser. It fell with

a clatter. The lamp wobbled, and the golden pool of light wavered.

Michael flexed his arm and something small and deadly glittered in his fist.

Lise stared at the thief
‟
s handsome face, appalled. How could she have missed the

fact he was armed?

“What?” The blade slid back into a forearm harness. “Tell me.”

She shook off the lapse, but Veil-it, she
‟
d remember next time. “Mirry went

hunting. It wasn
‟
t that difficult, not for someone like him. The man—gods, I wish I

could remember the name!—he
‟
d gone to Valaressa and set himself up as a pimp. He

had three girls.” Her lips twisted. “All half-starved, cowed and beaten.”

“Fledge was lucky then.”

“Oh yes. But they never told her anything about it. Jan has contacts with the

Children of the Mother and he arranged to have the man sent to Mother
‟
s Hearth as a

pleasure slave of the lowest rank.”

Michael laughed, but it wasn
‟
t a pleasant sound. “You mean he sold a man who

terrorized women to the only one of the Ten Nations ruled exclusively by females. As a

whore.” He snorted. “Poetic.”

Lise held his gaze. “That
‟
s right.” She smiled without humor. “Jan has a long

memory.”

“And Mirry?”

“Miriliel the Burnished doesn
‟
t think like most people. He
‟
s complicated…subtle.”

She closed her eyes, striving to recall the scholar
‟
s expression, the exact cadence of the

quiet implacable words. “He said they were providing Vale—no,
Veryl
—with an

educational opportunity. The contract did have provision for him to earn small sums, so

if he could learn to be especially pleasing to women, he might not die a slave.”

“Veryl. What does he look like?”

81

“Don
‟
t know.” She sank back to the stool, wings drooping. “But it doesn
‟
t matter.