Guilty as Sin (2 page)

All without a sound.

He must have excellent upper body strength for a Grounded. Not to mention agility

and nerve. But then Jan had warned her, hadn
‟
t he?

“Ow.” A pause while the hautlady pawed at her neck. Then she let loose with a

stream of curses a guttersnipe would have been proud to own.

Grinding her teeth, Lise brushed past the woman, ignoring her stifled shriek. Out in

the midnight cool of the garden, she darted silently to the wall that marked the end of

the courtyard garden. He hadn
‟
t returned to the ballroom, she
‟
d bet her life on it.

8

Desperately, she scanned the dim, quiet street below. Winding down the mountain,

away from the brightly lit Palace, it was lined with tall, narrow buildings, the shop

fronts tightly barred and shuttered. On the upper floors, the good merchants of Sere

slept the well-earned sleep of the enterprising and successful.

There!

Fifty yards away, a shadow shifted, so quick and lithe, she could have imagined it.

But she hadn
‟
t. He
‟
d removed the wig, and either reversed the coat or found another,

but godsdammit, she knew that silhouette, the economical way he moved. Her teeth

bared in a wild hunter
‟
s grin, Liseriel the Gray pulled herself up onto the top of the

wall, spread her wings and took to the air. Like all Aetherii, she was too heavy to lift

herself from a standing start, but any high point was her friend. Noiselessly, she glided

down the street, keeping to shoulder height.

Her quarry would head for the slums, she was sure. All she need do to intercept

him was bank the slightest bit and veer down this alley, and then—

Strong hands grabbed her tail and jerked, sending a shocking whiplash from the

base of her spine all the way to her skull. Before she could recover, Lise
‟
s back collided

with a hard chest, her tail was released and a forearm made of steel crushed her throat.

Faster than thought, her hand flashed to the long-bladed dagger in her belt, but a

chilly razor-sharp edge pricked the soft skin behind her ear, and a pleasant voice

murmured, “I wouldn
‟
t.”

She
‟
d been unforgivably careless. All Pinion warriors were trained to fight with

hands, feet, wings, tail—whatever weapons they had available. Liseriel the Gray was a

Second, she could have broken his arm with a punishing wing strike, strangled him

with her muscular tail, gutted him with her blade… But the man had her securely

pinned, his warm breath an infuriating intimacy against her neck, the point of his knife

pricking a vulnerable artery.

Slowly, Lise let out a long breath, allowing her wings to drop. She could beat

herself up later—after she
‟
d reduced Michael to a bloody pulp. For now, her life

depended on her gift for calm under pressure.

“Mmm.” He pressed himself even closer, until not even a sheet of paper could have

passed between them. From chest to hip, the hard planes of his body undulated against

her plumage. “Your feathers feel gorgeous, much softer than I expected.”

Lise fixed her eyes on the sickle moon. “You
‟
re not surprised to meet an Aetherii in

the dead of night?”

He wasn
‟
t aroused. They were so close, she would have felt it. No, he was playing

with her, the bastard, his voice empty of all save cruel amusement.

“You
‟
ve been watching me all night, birdy. Why should I be surprised?”

Rip the fucking Veil, she must be losing her touch. “I
‟
ll be more careful in future,”

she said.

9

The blade pressed a little harder into her skin, a tiny slice of pain. “You think you

have one? A future?” A warm trickle of blood slid down her neck.

“Killing me would be an exceptionally bad idea.” Could he feel her hearts galloping

out of kilter in her breast?

“I
‟
m not so sure.”

Gods, how could he sound so cold, so empty when he was sealed against her spine,

his flesh as warm as any lover
‟
s, his breath as sweet?

“You didn
‟
t kill the hautlady.”

“Surprised?”

Lise gave the ghost of a shrug, all the movement the firmness of his grip permitted.

“A little. You
‟
re a trained assassin. Child
‟
s play.”

In the silence, the faintest echo of sprightly dance music drifted from the Palace. A

dog barked once from farther down the street.

Finally, Michael said, “Even for an assassin, death is a serious business.” He leaned

forward, mouthing the delicate point of her ear then nipping sharply so she choked on a

yelp. “Business being the operative word. The best assassins are very,
very
expensive.

You may tell Janarnavriel the Noir I have no current commissions.”

Lise stiffened. He
‟
d even pronounced the name correctly.

His wicked chuckle gusted warm over her skin, sending a hot chill down her spine

that raised all the fine feathers on her body. “Ah, birdy, how could anything as

impressive as you remain inconspicuous?”

She moistened dry lips. “I don
‟
t think that
‟
s a compliment.”

“It
‟
s not, Liseriel the Gray, it
‟
s not.” Veil-it, how did he know her name?

Michael
‟
s voice turned to ice and the point of the blade twisted, making her hiss

with pain. “Unless you wish me to carve you a set of gill slits, you will remove your tail

from around my leg. Now.”

Her vision hazing with fury, Lise complied, but she did it as slowly as she dared.

The body behind her relaxed infinitesimally. Another chuckle, another hot chill.

“You owe me recompense, Liseriel. You
‟
ve been decidedly inconvenient.”

“Good,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Glad you agree,” he said blandly, and her blood congealed.

Oh shit, what—?

“A feather, I think.”

Shock made her twist in his grasp, catching a glimpse of his shadowed profile, the

sweep of extravagant lashes, underlined with a thin sweep of black, the dark hair tied

back. “Veil-it, what do you want with a feather?”

This time, his amusement sounded genuine. “Use your imagination.”

Lise choked, a scalding flush running up under her skin. Godsdammit, she couldn
‟
t

remember the last time she
‟
d blushed.

10

“Tell me,” he purred. “Is it true Aetherii have no body hair?”

“Go to hell.”

“After you, birdy. Now, which pretty feather do I want, hmm?”

Lise pressed her lips together. Being plucked
hurt
. Not that she
‟
d give him the

satisfaction of showing pain, the bastard. But he
‟
d see the blood and know.

Without warning, he shoved her toward the wall of a building. Instinctively, Lise

braced herself with her hands, the stone cold and rough beneath her palms.

“Bring your left wing closer, my dear.” The knife pressed almost lovingly against

the large artery in her neck. “Slowly.”

Grudging every movement, Lise shifted the wing.

“Don
‟
t breathe. Don
‟
t even twitch.”

Michael
‟
s free hand stroked from her velvet-clad hip, up over her waist, her ribs,

leaving a trail of the hot chills she
‟
d noticed before. His fingertips traced all along the

roots of her wings, curiosity and even wonderment in his touch. “You have openings in

your coat. It
‟
s specially made?”

Lise snorted. “Of course.”

Now he was stroking along her primaries, where the feathers were almost as long

as his forearm. Lise began to tremble, furious at her own weakness.

“Shh,” he murmured absently, his fingers busy, examining each plume in turn. “I

wish it wasn
‟
t so dark. I can
‟
t see the color variations properly. The closer they get to

your body, the lighter they are. Are all your feathers gray?”

When she didn
‟
t answer, Michael took a step forward, pinning her between his

unyielding body and the unforgiving wall. Her cheek pressed painfully into the stone.

“Are they?”

“No,” she gasped.

“Tell me,” he said impatiently, fingers still busy, testing, caressing.

Lise squeezed her eyes shut. Oh gods, he
‟
d be wonderful at grooming, his touch

both confident and sensual, not too light, not too firm. Aetherii groomed each other
‟
s

plumage with featheroil on a regular basis as a gesture of love or of friendship. But he

couldn
‟
t know what it meant. He was a thief at best, an assassin at worst, self-confessed

and unrepentant.

“Every shade of gray from dark to very pale, then cream, then…then…” She ran

down, her breath giving out on her.

“Keep goin
‟
.” He tugged one feather gently, abandoned it and went on to the next.

“Then?”

She was going to choke to death on her embarrassment and rage. “P-pink.”

When he snickered with delight, she wanted to kill him. His hips were jammed

hard into her buttocks, the evidence of his interest now a red-hot brand against her. So

he hadn
‟
t used the hautlady. Perhaps.

11

Lise forced herself to be calm, to think. What did it matter if Michael found her

feathers erotic? He wouldn
‟
t be the first Grounded to be captivated by the sensual

beauty of Aetherii plumage, not by a long way. They even had an ugly word for it—

featherslut. If ever there was a time to use his distraction, it was now.

She drew a preparatory breath, but before she could take action, he said, “This

one.” A brisk tug and the feather came away in his hand without pain.

Thanks be to the Veil, he
‟
d selected a plume she was about to lose anyway. She
‟
d

been going to treat herself to a long bath followed by a session with the featheroil on

her return tonight. Michael had merely forestalled her to the tune of a single feather. A

relieved breath whistled out of her before she could prevent it.

His hand appeared before her face, holding the feather. “Will this one have the

cream and pink on it?”

Gods, was there no end to this humiliation? She nodded as best she could.

Michael leaned his entire weight against her, from hips to nape. Luxuriously, he

ground his cock into the cleft of her buttocks. “I hope so, Liseriel the Gray, or by the

Twister, I
‟
ll be back for one that does.”

Another leisurely rub. “Unfortunately, my dear, I still have things to do.”

Her hearts leaped, her fists clenching. The moment he drew back…

Long fingers caressed her neck, stroking, pressing. Harder and yet harder against a

major artery. Merciless. No, no… Her vision dimmed. Shit, n-no…

“Good night, Liseriel the Gray.” A chuckle. “Ye did right well—for an amateur.”