Thief of Light (21 page)

Erik pressed his fingertips to the wood, then his forehead. “Divine retribution, that’s what you are,” he said. “The challenge I still can’t resist. Gods, I’m a fucking fool!” But he didn’t speak above a whisper.

Wearily, he kicked off his boots and curled up on the couch, trying in vain to accommodate his length. After an hour of tossing and turning and cursing, he rearranged himself on the floor, a couple of cushions under his head. Just before the dark tide of sleep washed over him, he reached out for the jade shawl. Bunching it in his fist, he held it to his nose and inhaled. Reminiscent of the warmth of her body, the fresh smell of the soap she used. Gods, that was better!

He slept.

She must be mad.

“Your shoes, Prue,” said Erik patiently, setting aside the towels. “Take them off.”

They sat side by side at the top of The Garden’s water stairs, alone in the early morning hush. Behind them, flowers tilted their pretty heads to the rising sun, emitting drifts of perfume, sweet or spicy, according to species. Before them, the water flashed and sparkled, so brilliant in the new light that it hurt the eyes. In the pavilions, the human occupants of The Garden slept the sleep of the well satisfied.

Erik bent and slipped off one of Prue’s slippers. He rubbed her foot in his big warm hands, and it felt so good, she let him continue for a few moments before she came to her senses and jerked away. Her heart was beating its way up into her throat, choking her. How, in the Sister’s name, had sensible Prue ended up here—going seelie hunting with a singer? It was insane.

“Can you swim?” he asked.

“Yes.” She cleared her throat. “Well, I’m competent, I suppose.”

His lips twitched. “I expect no less of you, Mistress McGuire.” He slid an arm around her waist, hugging her into his body.

Prue shivered, so preoccupied with what was to come she absorbed his warmth without thinking. “It’s going to be chilly in there.”

“I know, but we need to do this now, before anyone’s up to ask questions.” He turned his head to gaze into her eyes, and she got lost for a minute in his serious smile. “Ready?” The stubble on his firm jaw glinted red gold in the sun.

All he wore were his trews, muscles sliding fluidly under the smooth planes of his upper body. And the strange talisman around his neck on a golden chain. The bruises were flowering nicely. Why she should find the cup of his navel, surrounded by hard muscle and a swirl of silky hair, so irresistible, she had no idea. It was infuriating, and more than a little unnerving. Perhaps it was because she’d woken in the night and tiptoed to the door of the sitting room, drawn by the low rumble of his even breath. The light of the full moons pouring in through the window spotlit his massive form as if he were on a stage. He’d been stretched out on the floor, the contours of his long body like the rough undulations of a mountain range. One hand had been splayed over the jade shawl lying next to him, every fingertip in contact with the fabric.

It took her back to Katrin’s baby days and the blanket she’d adored.

Ah, now she was getting maudlin!

Rising, she left him, marching down the steps to where the water splashed and gurgled. “Let’s do it then.”

“That’s my Prue.” Her spine prickled with the heat of his grin.

Before she could retort, he’d launched himself past her into the water in a long, flat dive. Surfacing with a strangled yell, he pushed the hair out of his eyes and stroked back to the stairs, his face alight with excitement, the strength of his features only emphasized by his water-darkened hair. He still looked brutally tired. Prue’s heart lurched. Not only maudlin, but a fool in the bargain.

She didn’t want to think anymore. She was as ready as she’d ever be—wearing her oldest nightgown because he’d warned her it might be messy under there, her hair braided and tied back out of the way.
Sister save me, I’ve lost my mind
. Prue sucked in a breath and leaped.

The cold struck her like a fist in the chest, but as she trod water, watching Erik cast about under the stairs, her blood began to pump, her skin to tingle.

He reappeared at her side with a couple of easy strokes. “It’s behind,” he said. “Just like the other one.”

“All right,” she said breathlessly, sculling around the base of the stairs, acutely aware of eyes as blue as the water, watching her every move.

At last he said, “You’re a bit more than competent, Prue.” Something warm bloomed in her chest.

Beneath the stairs, water lapped at the tough outer skin of the Pleasure Leaf. Wonderingly, Prue touched it, solid as a building. She couldn’t make a mark on it, not with all her strength.

Erik slid his arms around her from behind, giving her the shelter and support of his body. She wasn’t fool enough to reject it. Their legs brushed under the water, her nightgown billowing. He inhaled deeply, expanding his chest “There’s nothing wrong here, thank the Lord and Lady. No stink, no rot.”

“The seelies?” She peered around.

“Through there.” He pointed to an opening about ten feet in diameter in the Leaf. “With any luck.”

Prue’s mouth fell open. “You mean we—? Gods!”

“If it’s like the Leaf of Nobility, that passage leads down to all kinds of hollow chambers, inside the Leaf itself. I’ll go through and check first. Then I’ll come back for you.”

“But—”

“Shush,” he said sternly. “I can hold my breath much longer than you can. You wait here, understood?”

Prue clutched his shoulders, the density of bone and muscle chilled and hard under her fingers. He was so big and strong, so vital, he seemed indestructible. But he wasn’t, no man was. “You’ll be careful?”

“Of course.” He gave her a crooked grin. “Especially seeing you still care.” With both hands he grasped her head, pulled her forward and kissed her deep and hard, his lips cool, but his tongue hot and deft. She was still gasping with outrage when he released her, jackknifed into the water and disappeared down the tunnel. Her final view of him was the flex of powerful buttocks and the pale flutter of the soles of his feet, kicking.

As the seconds ticked past, the cold rose out of the depths, climbing up her legs, caressing her belly, her breasts with slow, deadening fingers. Prue clung to the walls of the Leaf, her nightgown tangling around her legs like a shroud. First, she counted the seconds in her head, then out loud, her hoarse whisper no more than a thread among the lapping of the wavelets.

She reached a hundred three times before she broke. Merciful Sister, he had to be dead, trapped in some small, horrible space, those beautiful eyes gone wide and dull, his lax limbs bumping against the walls of the tunnel as the current rolled—

He burst out of the dark opening like the Technomage starship barreling toward the heavens on a plume of flame. Then he had the nerve to laugh out loud, a sound of sheer joy that echoed around the shadowed space.

Prue thumped him hard on the chest with her fist. “I thought you’d drowned!”

“Don’t be silly.” Erik dropped a kiss on her nose, then drew her close before she could gather her wits sufficiently to hit him. “This tunnel’s quite short. Hold on to me and you’ll be fine.”

Prue searched his face, the moving shadows flickering over his features. She could do this, of course she could. He’d keep her safe. “Give me a minute.”

Closing her eyes, she breathed deep, filling her lungs, calming her racing heart. Gradually, she became aware of Erik’s hands soothing up and down her spine in a hypnotic rhythm, his muscled chest, pressed against the softness of her breasts, vibrating with a deep, wordless croon. She suspected this was how he might communicate with nervous horses and small children, but if truth be told, she didn’t care, the comfort was too great.

With an effort, she raised her head. “Ready.”

“On a count of three then. Hang on tight, and let me do the work. It’s not far, Prue, I promise, but you mustn’t panic.”

“I don’t panic.” She glared.

“I knew that.” Another smile, a brief kiss pressed to her lips. “Here we go. One . . . two . . .
three
!” His arms banded around her.

Together, they sank through the shadowed water and entered the tunnel. The light vanished, and Prue clenched her teeth so hard her jaw ached. In the darkness, Erik was her only reference point, and she burrowed into his warmth and strength, feeling the flex and release of his mighty muscles, his legs moving against hers as she added her kicks to his. She had the sense of an immense weight pressing down on her, her body brushing against a smooth, unyielding surface.

Just as her lungs were beginning to labor, they broke through into open space.

Whooping for breath, she clung to Erik’s shoulders. His palm cupped the back of her skull. “All right?”

When she nodded, he loosened the arm he had around her waist. “Look, Prue,” he whispered, awe coloring his voice. “Look!”

Secure in his hold, she leaned back, staring. Her jaw sagged. The world was made of a shifting twilight, illuminated by flashes of the most shockingly vivid yellows, blues and greens, as if the sea gods had decided to manifest their essence as captive light. The chamber was no more than thirty feet across, roughly oval, its sides curving in a pattern that was too organic to be completely regular. Every now and then, there were other dark openings, ledges and indentations.

“Oh,” she breathed. “
Oh
. What’s that? The colors?”

“Healthy phosphorescence.” Erik’s voice was hushed. “I think the titanplant produces it.”

Prue slid out of his grasp and stroked toward the nearest wall. Skeins of opalescent color shimmered in the flesh of the titanplant. When she reached out in wonder, it coated her fingertips, sliding down over her hand and wrist in a wash of glowing, vibrant beauty. There was no physical sensation, as if she truly bathed in light. Her eyes prickled with tears.

She met Erik’s gaze across the water, his eyes dark. “You look like a goddess, Prue,” he said softly.

“Don’t be stupid.” She shook her head. “Anyway, I don’t believe in the gods. They’ve never done much for me.”

The air tasted warm and moist and briny, pressing against her, making her acutely aware of the life pulsing beneath her skin, the wet nightdress molded to her body. But she was no longer cold.

Prue swallowed. “Seelies?” The word came out in a husky whisper.

“I’ll have to call them.” He glanced around the chamber. “C’mon. Over here.” Taking her hand, he drew her along the wall toward an indentation that formed a spacious ledge about three feet deep and quite a bit longer. “Up.” Without warning, he set his big hands to her waist and boosted her forward onto the ledge. When she teetered, he chuckled and spread his palms over both cheeks of her bottom for the final shove.

Ignoring the murder in her glance, he hoisted himself up beside her with easy strength. Water streamed off his head and shoulders, making him look darker, sleeker, but no less powerful. As he moved to lean against the back wall of the ledge, the charm around his neck glowed pale amid the wavering shadows.

All the fine hairs on the back of Prue’s neck stood up. What was it Purist Bartelm had told her?
You have a natural resistance to Magick, Mistress
. She’d always been so practical, so grounded in reality, in the cold, hard beauty of numbers. The old wizard had been right, she didn’t really believe in Magick, though she knew on an intellectual level it must exist. Any time Katrin had been sick as a child, she hadn’t hesitated to send for the healers from the Wizards’ Enclave, but that was only because she wasn’t quite poor enough for a visit to the charity clinic in the Technomage Tower. Whether it was the herbs or the Magick or the resilience of youth, the child had always recovered. Prue frowned, remembering. Now that she came to think of it, the healers invariably asked her to move to the other side of the room. One man, less tactful than the others, had said outright her presence interfered with his concentration.