Thief Of Light Part 27

Their eyes met. Erik's smile faded as his gaze searched hers. "Ah, Prue."

Without further speech, he slipped his hand under her hair, cradling the nape of her neck, the touch firm and comforting. Willingly, Prue lifted her face and he kissed her. His lips were soft and smooth, the kiss satiny, excruciatingly tender and never-ending. She sighed into his mouth, her whole body inclining forward into his, melting. He kept it light, almost chaste, his other hand brushing her cheek, stroking her hair, but the heat of his muscled body, the smell of his skin, was so enticing that by the end, he was leaning back among the pillows, Prue sprawled across his lap, clinging to his shoulders.

When he freed his lips, she murmured a protest without opening her eyes.

"Sshh," he said. "Give me a minute. I want to remember you exactly like this." Tucking her head under his chin, he skimmed his fingertips over her shoulders, her back, her ribs, the tender side of her breast. He stroked her cheek, traced her ear with a delicate touch, feathered her curls. All the time, he was crooning, something melodious, but nothing she recognized. It was strangely soothing.

Prue smiled into the curve of his strong throat. "What are you doing? Memorizing me by feel?" She glanced up.

"Yes," he said seriously, smiling as if she were already a dear memory, part of a distant past. "We'll never be the same again, love. Not after tonight."

28.

"Master," wheezed Nasake. "Master!"

"Bah!" The Necromancer released his spectral grip and the man slid down the wall of the bedchamber, his face an interesting shade of gray green. Ignoring him, the Necromancer reached for the gla.s.s of bracing elixir he kept by his bed and took a healthy swig.

The liquor burned down his throat, and his galloping heart settled back to a regular dull thud. By Shaitan, was he surrounded by incompetents? It was true enough, what Tolaf used to say: If you want something done properly, do it yourself. Excellent advice, and the Necromancer had followed it to the letter when he'd made his first kill. The old sodomite had lasted a satisfyingly long time.

He pulled at his lower lip, brooding. His Magickal abilities had never been stronger, more magnificent, but the physical envelope betrayed him at every turn. Wistfully, he remembered the way he'd swooped on the Technomage Primus in her dreams, right across the vacuum of s.p.a.ce. In his prime, he could have plucked the air witch right out of a nightmare and devoured her whole.

Now . . . he grimaced . . . the only stimulus that helped at all was the death energy of a seelie.

From behind, Nasake rasped something, a distorted echo of his thought.

"What?" The Necromancer turned.

"A seelie, Master." The manservant shook with coughing. "I found another in the trap."

"Help me dress. Hurry, fool!"

It was a mature male, so big it barely had room to turn in the tank. Strong. Still puffing from his dash down the stairs, the Necromancer surveyed it with enormous satisfaction. He didn't spare the crumpled, white-coated heap in the corner a glance.

An hour later, he allowed the limp form of the seelie to slip to the floor. His blood seethed with power, every nerve tingling with eager purpose. With the ease of long practice, he tallied the sum of his Dark Arts. Ah yes.

The Necromancer strode from the lab, so pleased he even patted the Doorkeeper on its horned head, adroitly avoiding the clashing fangs.

But his smile faded soon enough. Settled deep in his favorite armchair in the study, he unfurled a tendril of his dark power and sent it questing across the sleeping city toward the soft, clean glow that was the air witch.

s.h.i.t! He recoiled.

She was awake. Not only conscious, but with the singer. The Necromancer ground his teeth in frustration. No guesses as to what they were doing, not at this advanced hour. He could feel the swirl of erotic energy they generated, the pa.s.sionate caring, the love love. Filthy, undisciplined- For a moment, he panicked. The seelie's death energy was a finite resource. More of it bled out of him with every second that pa.s.sed. What should he-?

Of course!

The signature of the a.s.sa.s.sin's peculiarly empty soul was so distinctive, he located her immediately. Smiling, he settled back in his chair and sent his will winging to a shabby inn on the fringe of the Melting Pot.Erik held her so tightly she could barely breathe. Opening one eye, Prue caught sight of their entwined bodies in the mirror, posed like an erotic painting. He was hunched right over her, wrapping her up in his arms, his cheek against her hair, eyes closed. As she watched, a single fat tear leaked from the corner of his eye, rolled over his cheek and lost itself in her hair.

A foul gust of chilly air swirled around the bedchamber, like a sly questing presence. It brought with it the faintest reek of rotting garbage. Erik shivered and the odor disappeared as if it had never been.

Her heart contracting, Prue burrowed even closer. He felt so broad and warm, so strong and unyielding, but where they were sealed together, his pain seeped into her skin, her bones. G.o.ds, she couldn't stand it! "Sshh," she found herself saying, pressing closer still, patting and soothing. "It's all right, love. I'm here."

How could she have forgotten the way a loved one's suffering peeled off the emotional layers? It burned away the selfish and the petty, so that everything took on a merciless clarity.

She pressed her lips to Erik's collarbone, breathing in the scent of his skin, the fresh, green smell of hair wash underlain with a dark male spice, full of virility. It spoke to the primeval female within her, promising both pa.s.sion and protection-safety forever-though her rational mind knew full well he was the greatest threat she'd ever faced.

Did he truly love her, or had he lied? Her breath hitched. Perhaps he had delusions about that as well. The truth of it mattered, of course it did. Her entire future turned on his honesty. But nothing-nothing-was going to change the fact that she loved him with a totality that encompa.s.sed every fiber of her being, in all ways possible. His brush with death had skimmed off the layers of self-deception. All the foundations had been knocked away from beneath her, leaving her floundering.

Erik sighed into her hair, his breath warm against her scalp. Stroking his open palm the length of her spine, he shaped the curve of her bottom and pressed her closer still.

Oh, that felt good. Prue tried to relax, her entire body strung so tight her nerves thrummed, her thoughts running on.

Loving Erik had become part of the very weft and warp of her soul, one of the ways she defined herself. A business owner, a bookkeeper, Katrin's mother, Rose's friend, she lived all those roles, but now there was another to add-the woman who loved Erik Th.o.r.ensen.

Hopelessly, deeply. Forever.

Prue shivered violently.

"Are you cold?" murmured a deep voice.

Lost for words, she shook her head, sliding her hand down over his chest until she could feel the tiny b.u.mp of his nipple against her palm. The pulse of his life beat there, cupped in her hand, strong, vulnerable and infinitely precious.

She loved him.

Whether he saved the city or Caracole sank to the bottom of the sea, she loved him.

Sooner or later, he'd be gone among the stars, off on a Technomage starship, the gossamer-thin slingshot sails spread to catch the winds of s.p.a.ce. She couldn't count the number of times she'd gazed up into the night sky, wondering. She'd been no more than ten when she'd first seen a starship take off, rising on a plume of flame into the heavens, a spear hurled at the heavens by a warrior G.o.d. Traveling with Mam and Da to the city. Such an adventure for a little girl. Her lips curved in a sad smile.

Erik would sing his way from world to world, that superlative voice enthralling his audiences, other women flocking to his bed-and still, she'd love him.

He believed he had some G.o.ds-given power over others. The memory of a seelie's anxious, blue-furred face popped into her mind. Hoot! Burble! Hoot! Burble! He'd been right after all-myth had turned out to be real. Perhaps . . . He'd been right after all-myth had turned out to be real. Perhaps . . .

No, Erik was just a particularly strong-willed man, dominating and persuasive. Her heart sped up as she remembered him pounding into her, no mercy, sending them both soaring to a shattering climax. Oh yes, she could acknowledge the power of his will. But to compel compel with his voice? A fantasy. Such things weren't possible, but so what? She loved him, she'd deal with it. with his voice? A fantasy. Such things weren't possible, but so what? She loved him, she'd deal with it.

I'm d.a.m.ned, he'd said and his voice had been thick with self-hatred.

How could he think like that? How dare dare he? he?

G.o.dsdammit, he'd done nothing so very dreadful, or even dis honorable. He'd seduced a full-grown woman who-she had to admit it-had been more than willing almost from the very beginning. It wasn't as though she was a foolish virgin. She knew what he was, she'd always known. In every other way, he'd acted with honor. Comparing him with Chavis was an insult, and she was a fool to have done it. For the Sister's sake, she thought ruefully, the more she learned of him, the deeper she fell.

And it seemed he was more perceptive than she. You fear it as much as you crave it. You fear it as much as you crave it.

Her stomach pitched-with terror and excitement and longing.

The final step. She'd be his irrevocably. Because she couldn't conceive of such complete surrender unless she threw her heart and soul into the mix.

If she reached out and took what he offered, willingly, joyfully, he'd see how he' d deceived himself.

Prue nearly laughed out loud-but she wasn't able to catch her breath.

Because it was was funny. Who was she fooling? funny. Who was she fooling? You're no sacrifice, Prue McGuire You're no sacrifice, Prue McGuire, she told herself. You're going to do this for yourself as much as for him. You're going to do this for yourself as much as for him.

Merciful Sister, why not? How he'd done it she had no idea, but Erik had brought forth another Prue-a woman so alive with pa.s.sion, with life and love-that she hardly recognized her. G.o.ds, had she always been so dull?

Turning her head, she took a tiny nip out of his firm shoulder, then soothed the spot with her tongue. His arms tightened around her, and his c.o.c.k kicked against her thigh. She drew a shaky breath, heat and moisture plumping the lips of her s.e.x.

He wouldn't hurt her-unless she asked him to. G.o.ds! Her vision hazed for a moment.

Her heart beating right up into her throat, she trailed her fingers across his chest, stroking the light mat of hair between his nipples. She followed the intriguing line of it down over his sternum, his muscled stomach.

Erik hissed and his c.o.c.k swelled, stretching toward her touch. The foreskin pulled back to form a soft collar, revealing the rosy dome of the head with its slit already weeping for her. "Don't stop there." He picked up her hand and jammed her palm against his length.

Automatically, Prue flexed her fingers, and he grunted, his hips punching up into her grip. His life throbbed in her grasp, urgent, hard and hot, velvet over steel. Gently, she squeezed, and the satiny skin moved under her fingers, sliding over the engorged core. Erik shuddered, his breath stirring her hair, but he didn't speak.

She should tell him. Prue glanced at his face and froze. His eyes burned into hers, his cheeks flushed and sweat standing on his brow. "Harder," he rumbled. "I won't break."

Fascinated, she traced a throbbing vein with her thumb. "Prue . . ." he growled, and she smiled and tightened her grip. Up and down, up and down. Erik purred and arched.

What was the etiquette? What did one say? Take me any way you want. I changed my mind. I'm yours Take me any way you want. I changed my mind. I'm yours. She had no idea how to begin the conversation.

Prue began to fist him, hand over hand, pausing occasionally to swipe over the head, smearing it with its own moisture. Under the pad of her thumb, his glans felt dense and velvety, mouthwateringly smooth and searingly hot.

Prue's lips twitched, her heart soaring. Actions spoke louder than words, she'd always believed. He wasn't likely to be interested in a chat at the moment. It might be better to show him.

Bending forward, she extended her tongue and took a cautious lick, all around the head. She'd never much enjoyed doing this, but with Erik . . . She dotted a row of small, sipping kitten kisses wherever she pleased, at random. Oh, soft and firm, all at once. Musky and strong and sweet, all at once.

Erik's hips jerked. "Sweetheart . . . stop now."

Ignoring him, murmuring her pleasure, Prue licked her lips and went back for more.

Strong fingers threaded through her hair. Despite her preoccupation, she heard his preparatory intake of breath. "Stop, Prue. Sit up and look at me."The a.s.sa.s.sin was a long heap covered by a light blanket. Soft snuffling snores stirred the lock of pale, silky hair lying across her pillow. The Necromancer's lip curled. Ah well, a tool was a tool.

Bracing himself, he slipped seamlessly into her dreams.

There was a man there-a man with a dark, relentless hunter's face. Mehcredi was running down an endless alley, her lungs laboring, but every time she turned a corner, the man waited there, his pitiless eyes black as pitch, watching, implacable. She'd whirl and run in a different direction, the breath rasping in her throat.

Over and over.

Without compunction, the Necromancer interposed himself between them. "a.s.sa.s.sin," he hissed.

She pressed her back to a wall, her silvery eyes darting everywhere. "I'm sorry! Don't hurt me!"

"You failed me."

A pause and she regained her equilibrium, gulping for breath. Locating him by the sound of his voice, she turned her head, staring into the impenetrable shadow beneath his hood. "Oh," she said, and her shoulders sagged with what looked oddly like relief. "It's you. Sorry, what did you say?"

The Necromancer shut his mouth with an irritated snap. Shaitan, this one was remarkable! More than a little piqued, he repeated himself, something he rarely did. "You failed me, a.s.sa.s.sin."

Mehcredi shrugged. "Not my fault."

"You were seen, weren't you?" That produced an interesting reaction.

The a.s.sa.s.sin knuckled her eyes like a frightened child. "He looked into my eyes, he'll find me." Her voice cracked. "Kill me."

"That's your problem. And here's another, a.s.sa.s.sin." The Necromancer paused for effect. "You owe me a death." Another pause. "Don't you?"

Long fingers clenched on her thigh. "I did everything I was supposed to."

"Excuses do not interest me. I contracted with you for the murder of the singer. You failed to deliver. What are you going to do about it?"

The a.s.sa.s.sin's lower lip jutted. "You can have your G.o.dsbed.a.m.ned money back." Panting, she wrenched her belt pouch open. Credits tinkled on the cobbles as she flung them away. "Here, go hire yourself an army."

"My dear, I think you've forgotten what I can do." Almost affectionately, the Necromancer reached out with dark, insubstantial fingertips and brushed the skin behind her ear.

Mehcredi gave a hideous, choking gargle as all the strength leaked out of one side of her body. Listing, she slid down the wall and collapsed.

Impatiently, the Necromancer waited, counting off the precious seconds of the seelie's energy.

Eventually, the a.s.sa.s.sin rolled over, retching. "I'm d-dreaming," she said. "I'll wake up in a minute."

"True enough," agreed the Necromancer. "But you can feel pain in a dream. You can die die in a dream. For the last time, in a dream. For the last time, what are you going to do what are you going to do?" He watched her mind racing, vastly entertained.

Sitting up, she ma.s.saged the side of her neck, rubbed her limp arm. "Try again?"

"No," he said immediately. "Not try try. This time, you'll succeed."

Mehcredi shot him a sideways glance. "I'll get help." One-handed, she began to gather up coins.

"One more thing." The Necromancer allowed the smile to appear in his voice. "The fee's dropped. Ten credits. You can deliver the change along with the singer's body."

The a.s.sa.s.sin's face darkened. "But that's not fair!"

"That's life." The Necromancer shrugged, his shadowy presence now so vast, it blanketed the night sky of Mehcredi's dream. "Allow me to remind you." Eager to taste the astonishing purity of her soul once more, he swooped.

But as the a.s.sa.s.sin shrank back, her eyes widening until they were as round and silvery as the Sister at full, he became aware of foreign sounds, scrabbling, scratching. The woman's body wavered, then steadied again. The noises escalated. Growls and yips, a fusillade of hysterical barks, a small body hurling itself against the door. Again and again.

"That's . . ." Mehcredi wet her lips and her presence faded in and out. She was waking. ". . . dog. Have to . . ."

Abruptly, she vanished.