Guilty as Sin (24 page)

air out of the way like a powerful swimmer stroking in deep water. But when he was

about ten feet away, Michael whirled to face him. Did the man have eyes in the back of

his godsbedamn head? The thief opened his mouth, but whatever he
‟
d intended to say

went spinning with the shock of impact. All the breath gusted out of him in a pained

grunt.

“Fuck, wha—?”

Dax said nothing, preoccupied with getting a decent grip around Michael
‟
s

shoulders and under his legs. He gritted his teeth. Gods, he
‟
d underestimated the pain.

He could barely flex the injured wing. He was going to fly straight into the road and

ricochet off again and again, like a stone skimmed across a pond.

116

Michael slung his arms around Dax
‟
s neck and froze, pressed close. “Are ye outta of

yer fuckin
‟
mind?” he hissed.

Dax grunted a negative.
Breathe in, upstroke. Breathe out, downstroke. Breathe in,

upstroke.
He gained another foot or so. “What
‟
s…matter? Scared?”

Michael snorted, his breath hot against Dax
‟
s neck. “Fuckin
‟
terrified.”

“Don
‟
t—” As the trees fell away beneath them, his vision finally stopped graying

out at the edges. “Try kissing me then.”

After a long tense moment, Michael said, “You must think I
‟
m stupid.” His voice

was very dry. “Oh, and would you mind not going any higher? I
‟
ve got an outside

chance of surviving a fall if you don
‟
t.”

Laughing hurt so much, Dax gave up the attempt. Instead he concentrated on the

rhythm of flight, hauling them through the air, one limping wingbeat after another.

Favoring the bad side had him completely out of kilter.

After a few minutes of watching the grim, silent effort, the thief said, “I think you
‟
re

bleeding again.”

“Probably.”

A long pause. “You came for me.” Michael spoke into the pit of Dax
‟
s throat, so

quietly his lips barely moved.

Something sandpapery rasped the skin of Dax
‟
s neck. What the—? Oh, the

beginnings of a beard, like all Grounded males. A shiver ran the length of his spine,

lodging at the base of his tail.

He grunted. “Said I would.” He rolled his good shoulder, which was taking most of

the strain. The muscles there were tying themselves into a burning knot.

He muttered, “Ah, Veil-it!” He hadn
‟
t noticed on the flight out, but the thief was

made of muscle, solid and heavy. If Dax got a cramp… He glided back down, until he

was no more ten feet above the dusty track.

A hand brushed experimentally across his back, under the weary wings. “Where
‟
s

it hurt? Here?”

“No, shoulder.”

“Put me down then.”

“Not leaving you out here.”

The thief snorted. “You think I
‟
m afraid of the dark?”

Dax didn
‟
t answer. Worriedly, he peered at the approaching bend. It didn
‟
t look as

if many people traveled during the hours of darkness, but what if the Hssrda hadn
‟
t

headed for Crastin Market after all? The road twisted and turned, a black tunnel

illuminated by weak shafts of moonlight. They could be lying in wait up ahead. And

godsdammit, he couldn
‟
t fly high enough to scout for an ambush, in case he dropped

right out of the sky. Ever helpful, his imagination supplied a vision of Michael

stumbling along behind the filthy van, his lean body bruised and bleeding, those

117

elegant features distorted with fury and despair. Marked as a troublemaker, a leader, he

wouldn
‟
t last more than a couple of days before they—

His stomach muscles clenched. By the Veil, he could do this. Involuntarily, he

flexed his arms.

Michael tilted his head back to glare into Dax
‟
s eyes. “Godsdammit, you
‟
re

stubborn.”

He was almost too tired to grin. “So my mother says. And my sire, and my sister,

and Lise, and—” He broke off.

Michael moved a hand just enough to push Dax
‟
s chin around with his knuckles.

“See the glow on the horizon?” he said. “That
‟
s Sere.”

Dax squinted. “
Mmpf.
” At this speed and following the track, another half an hour,

forty minutes at the very least.

The night air rippled through his feathers like cool fingers, whereas the man in his

arms was furnace hot, pressed against his chest and belly. Michael didn
‟
t speak, but

after a few minutes, he began rubbing the heel of his hand hard across Dax
‟
s shoulders,

over and over.

Another minute went by. “She
‟
s going to be mighty pissed with you,” the thief said.

Strong fingers dug into the meat of Dax
‟
s shoulder, massaging and stroking, holding

the cramps at bay.

It hurt so good, Dax squeezed his eyes shut for a second. “Huh,” he said. “You too,

thief. I
‟
m not going down alone.”

Michael
‟
s hair brushed his neck. “I
‟
m not the one she loves.”

Dax missed a beat and they lurched. “She doesn
‟
t—” he said, and clamped his lips

together.

“Oh, I don
‟
t know.” Michael sounded a little breathless. “She
‟
s very protective.

Made me swear to leave you strictly alone.”

“Made you—?” Dax brain stalled. “When—?” He sucked in a huge breath. “When

did—?”

“Set us down and I
‟
ll tell you.”

Every muscle in Dax
‟
s body locked up, his arms flexed, tightening around

Michael
‟
s ribs. The thief made a harsh, deep sound, a cross between a gasp and a groan.

“Fuck this, birdy!” Suddenly, the other man was struggling in earnest, thrashing

and swearing.

An elbow to the gut and Dax saw spots. His grip relaxed and the thief slipped,

dropping to the dusty track sure-footed as a temple cat. Without a pause, he reached up

to snag Dax
‟
s ankle, reeling him in as he blundered in the air.

“Ye stupid shit,” he snarled. “C
‟
mere.”

118

Flailing, Dax caught him across the back with the bad wing. Shit that hurt! Michael

stumbled then rolled, taking the Aetherii down with him. Ah, gods, no, no!

Involuntarily, Dax braced himself for a bruising landing.

To his surprise, strong hands braced him from below, keeping him from the worst

of it. Nonetheless, every nerve in his injured wing shrieked a protest and all the breath

punched out of his lungs in an agonized whoop.

He came back to himself sprawled full length in the dust, a hard, lithe body beneath

him. “Get the fuck off me, ye great lump,” said Michael. “Ye weigh a ton.”

The moon shone full into the other man
‟
s face, spotlighting the firm mouth, but

leaving his eyes lost in shadow. Lost, gods, so lost…

Dax
‟
s hands were big enough so that when he slid his fingers into Michael
‟
s hair, he

was cradling the whole of the thief
‟
s skull, the bony curve hard and warm under his

fingertips, hair shifting cool and soft across his knuckles. He pressed the other man
‟
s

body into the rutted surface of the road.

“You swore…” He squeezed his eyes shut then opened them. “How—? I mean

when—?” Roughly, he rocked Michael
‟
s head from side to side by way of

encouragement. “Tell me.”

Michael raised his hands, skimmed them down Dax
‟
s forearms and took his wrists

in a firm grip. Watching, Dax saw his face go cold and hard, the look of a man who
‟
d

made a decision. His lip curled into the familiar mocking smile. “When do you think,

birdy? When I was fucking her.”

Words and feelings knotted in a hard ache in the center of Dax
‟
s chest. The bellow

of outrage imploded in his throat, emerging as a half-choked growl. “You— She— Ah,

shit!”

Somehow, his hands had shifted, his fingers wrapped around the thief
‟
s throat,

forcing his chin up at an awkward angle. The man lay quietly, studying Dax
‟
s face in

the moonlight, apparently unafraid.

He
‟
d never flown slap-bang into the side of a mountain, but this must be what it felt

like. Even with all the breath knocked out of him, he could still feel the pain, his soul

flayed and bleeding. It didn
‟
t seem fair. “No,” he whispered, his lips numb.

“Oh yeah.” Another of those nasty smiles. Michael arched his hips, grinding into

Dax
‟
s groin. He wasn
‟
t hard, neither of them were. “Say the word and I
‟
ll do the same

fer ye.”

The rage came like a cleansing tide, obliterating hurt and grief in a red mist. Dax
‟
s

wings arched high and wide behind him and he bore down on the body beneath him,

his biceps cracking with the strength of his grip.

“Dax,” croaked a voice somewhere on the periphery of the fury. “Dax, let…go.” A

thumb pressed hard into the flesh on the underside of one wrist, the nerve screamed

and he lost all feeling in that hand.

119

He blinked. Michael was tugging at his arms, his face contorted. Slowly, Dax

uncramped his fingers, one by one. Then he rolled off the man and sat up in the middle

of the track. His guts heaved. Gods, he
‟
d nearly— Bile rose in this throat, hot and sour.

He buried his face in his hands.

Michael coughed. “Fuck.” A pause. “I may—” Another cautious rasp. “Never sing

again.”

Bastard. Moving like an old man, Dax hauled himself to his feet and started toward

the glow of the city lights. Gods, he was a fool. All he
‟
d ever wanted, ever needed to be

complete, gone. He could see it now, all too clearly—both of them, utterly necessary to

him in some way he still didn
‟
t understand. And they
‟
d turned to each other, left him

out. The irony of it burned like acid.

He trudged on, absently noting the soft footfalls behind him. He supposed he was

jealous, but it didn
‟
t feel the way he
‟
d always imagined. This was more

like…devastation, the razing of a city made of hopes and dreams.

“Why didn
‟
t you pull a knife?” he said to the night air.

“No need. I, ah, knew you wouldn
‟
t do it.” Another few yards. “Was close for a