Thief Of Light Part 40

"She the tasty little morsel with the big eyes and sweet t.i.ts?" Deiter tossed the garment over.

Erik grunted an affirmative, concentrating on working his bad arm into a wide sleeve.

The old wizard grinned, watching him struggle. "I think she fancies me, that one."

f.u.c.k, it still hurt to twist his upper body. "Sure, same way she fancies her granda." With a vicious jerk, he sashed the robe around his waist.

"I'm an old man," said Deiter mildly. "You just said so yourself." He rose to hold the door open. "I'll yell for help if you fall. Where are you going, by the way?"

Erik gripped the dresser, testing his legs. He didn't need nursing, he was feeling stronger by the minute. Casting the patiently waiting wizard a dark glance, he said, "Where I belong. To Prue." She'd be p.i.s.sed with him, but too bad.

The Main Pavilion drowsed in the afternoon sun, silent and apparently deserted. Erik negotiated the stairs, one determined step at a time, Deiter babbling all sorts of nonsense in his ear-fire Magick, his less than flattering opinion of the G.o.ds, pentacles, life and death on a cosmic scale, the future of civilization as he knew it. Erik let it all float past, and with a huff of exasperation, the old man fell silent.

"f.o.o.kin' 'ell," whispered a voice from below.

A second's pause, the pattering rush of feet and a small, wiry body cannoned into him, skinny arms wrapping around his waist as far as they'd go.

"Ow! s.h.i.t!" Pain lanced into Erik's side and spread in a gleeful red-hot tide. Careful," he grunted. "That hurts."

To his surprise, hard little hands patted his chest, dark eyes studied his face from under impossibly long lashes. "They sed ye was better," said Florien accusingly.

"I am." Lord's b.a.l.l.s, the boy cared.

The child snorted. "Ye look like s.h.i.t."

Unexpectedly touched, Erik grinned and ruffled the dark hair. When the lad glared, smoothing it flat, he felt strangely rea.s.sured. His brother Lars had been like that, all swagger and bluff and cheek. His vision blurred for an instant.

Deiter chuckled. "Out of the mouths of babes . . ."

Florien shot the old man a killing glare. "Ain't no f.o.o.kin' bebbe."

The shifting, transitory world of the theater had been his family for so long, but these feelings were different-warmer, closer, more demanding and exacting. Prue and Florien, even Katrin and Rose. s.h.i.t, he was collecting people!

Unperturbed, Deiter stroked his beard. "Lad has promise."

"Don' move, yah? I'll git 'elp."

"There's no need, don't-" But the boy had already darted away toward the kitchen.

Erik growled under his breath. Slowly, he climbed another couple of steps. G.o.ds, he used to take them two at a time. But that was in another life.

He heard Florien's chatter approaching, a feminine voice responding. A moment of shocked silence and Katrin arrived beside him in a flurry of skirts. Wedging a strong young shoulder under his arm, she muttered, "For the Sister's sake, Erik, what are you doing? Mam will kill you."

Erik grinned. "You think?" He liked it when Prue fussed.

"I know," said Prue's daughter, with a rueful twinkle. "Me too probably. All right, lean on me. Where are we going?"

Erik held her blue gray gaze. "Where do you think?" There was a smudge of flour on her cheek. She'd been baking.

"Oh." The faintest tinge of pink crept into her cheeks. "Florien," she said, "see if you can find Mam."

"Yah." The boy trotted purposefully away.

Stiffly, Erik disengaged himself from Katrin. "I'm fine."

"But-"

"I said I'm fine."

Katrin's spine straightened with an almost perceptible snap. "Right," she said coolly. "I'll go ahead. I've got a key."

Erik smiled wryly. Well, h.e.l.l, he hadn't thought of that, had he? A real fool he would have looked, beating his head on the wrong side of Prue's door. Deiter ambled along beside him, mercifully silent as they negotiated the last few steps, the pa.s.sage and the entry to her suite.

Her expression studiously blank, Katrin appeared in the doorway of Prue's bedchamber. "I've turned the bed down," she said.

"And very nice too," said Deiter approvingly, peering around her. He prowled into the sitting room and gazed out the window. "Lovely view of the-Lord's b.a.l.l.s, the boy's found her." Backing toward the door, he favored Erik with a thin smile. "I'll be off then."

He disappeared.

"Erik?"

"Yes." He sank onto the couch with a grateful sigh.

Katrin clasped her hands over the front of her ap.r.o.n. "Thank you."

He opened an eye. "What for?"

Shyly, she reached out to touch his shoulder. "You saved her."

Erik opened both eyes. "If it wasn't for me," he said grimly, "your mother wouldn't have needed saving in the first place. Anyway, she saved me too."

Katrin's eyes misted. "Did she?" She drew up a chair. "I'm not surprised. How?"

Erik hesitated. "She was . . . there, that's all. When I needed her." She'd refused to let him go, holding his fading soul captive with the power of sheer, b.l.o.o.d.y-minded love. The irresistible force and the immovable object.

"Oh." Katrin wiped away a tear. "Do you love her?" she said abruptly.

"You've asked me that before."

Her jaw firmed. "I'm asking it again. There were a few hours . . . Bartelm thought we might lose you after all." She fiddled with the edge of her ap.r.o.n. "I saw her face."

Erik leaned forward to lay his hand over hers. "Yes," he said simply. "I love her and I always will."

All the breath left Katrin in a gusty sigh. Her soft blue eyes went wide and starry. "Thank the Sister."

Something clenched in his chest, and it had nothing to do with his wound. "Don't be grateful too soon," he said.

"I know." Another tear trickled over her cheek. "You'll take her away with you." She sprang to her feet and took a couple of restless steps, skirts rustling. "But if she's happy . . ." Katrin swallowed hard. "That's all that matters."

Erik opened his mouth and closed it again. Rea.s.surance would be a lie when he had no idea of what lay ahead. The little boy in him hoped desperately for forgiveness, absolution, but the man was certain it was too much to ask. Far too much.

The door opened.

"What do you think you're doing, Erik Th.o.r.ensen?" Prue skewered him with a blue green glare.

Erik lifted his chin, fighting not to lapse into a besotted smile. "I came for my clothes," he said coolly. His eye fell on the hands Prue had placed on her hips and everything within him went hunter-still. Silver and aquamarine circled each wrist.

He raised his gaze to Prue's. "On second thoughts . . ." he growled. The air thickened, he could see the sparkle of it. Experimentally, he sent a flow swirling toward her to flirt with her hair, brush her cheek.

Katrin gave a funny little gasp. "I'll be off then," she said, making for the door, pausing only to drop a kiss on her mother's cheek. "Be happy," he heard her murmur. The door closed softly, the lock clicking home.

Prue cleared her throat. "You should be in bed."

Erik bared his teeth. "Not without you." Pleased to the marrow of his bones with his new skill, he wafted his little breeze over her shoulder and down over her breast, darkly delighted when her nipples beaded up. He nodded at the silver cuffs. "You're wearing them."

"Yes, I-" Prue broke off, wetting her lips.

"Come here, sweetheart."

"You're in no condition-"

"I'll be the judge of that." Weaving the ribbons of air into a thicker band, he wrapped it around her waist and tugged her close. "Kiss me."

"You're mad," she grumbled, but she bent to give him her smiling lips.

Ah, so sweet. One kiss at a time, Erik lured her in, until he had her down on the couch beside him, sprawled over his lap, that tender, carnal mouth all his to plunder and adore.

When he finally let her up for air, she looked dazed, her hair mussed and her lips swollen. G.o.ds, he loved that expression, innocence debauched. "No," she whispered. Then more firmly, sitting up. "No."

Erik pressed a kiss to her palm. "Don't say no to me, Prue, not while you're wearing my cuffs."

"But Erik, you've only just-"

"See what you did." He gestured at his lap, where his c.o.c.k reared, fighting to be free of the concealing robe.

Prue licked her lips and the robe twitched. "Oh dear," she murmured. "That looks . . . uncomfortable." She slanted him a sparkling glance, the mischief still underpinned with a touch of anxiety. The dimple quivered and his heart squeezed hard with love and l.u.s.t.

"It is," he said, trying not to pant. And waited.

Prue frowned. Then she folded her arms and stuck out that stubborn chin. "I refuse to hurt you," she said.

Every physical sensation was magnified unbearably by emotion-the dull ache of the wound, the sly caress of soft fabric across the sensitive head of his shaft. G.o.dsdammit, he couldn't think straight, helpless as a leaf at the mercy of capricious winds. Overwhelming tenderness buffeted him one way, guilt and apprehension another. For a disconcerting second, he thought he might cry.

Well, h.e.l.l.

How much more would he have of her? How many more opportunities to create the memories he'd have to live on for the rest of his life? To see love and joy illuminating her sweet face instead of disgust and condemnation?

Clearing his throat, he leaned back, spreading his knees. "I don't want you to hurt me either," he said. "But I'm sure you can think of something."

41.

"Mm." Erik licked his glistening fingers, curling his tongue around each digit like a great cat. "You smell so female. And G.o.ds, I love the way you taste."

A reminiscent tingle streaked through Prue's belly. She'd loved the way he tasted her. She was still quivering with the silvery force of it when an enormous yawn caught her unawares.

"Go to sleep," he murmured, the dark velvet rumble as intimate as what they'd just shared.

Her hair tangled with his on the pillow, gold and brown, all mixed together. Placing a big warm palm on her stomach, he rubbed, very gently. "Close your eyes now, sweetheart. You need the rest."

So she did.

The dreams tumbled past as fragments-that awful chair, the Technomage, razor-sharp implements in her gloved hands, the Necromancer's toneless voice, evil incarnate. Worst of all, the dreadful noise Erik had made in the back of his throat, the blue of his lips, the big body she loved no more than an empty husk.

But when she jerked and trembled, her eyes flashing open on a choked cry, he was right there, his muscled warmth spooned around her, his deep voice murmuring rea.s.surance in her ear. Prue pressed her lips to the smooth swell of Erik's biceps and drifted off with a sigh of relief.

This time, her dreams were different, so vivid they were glimpses of an erotic scene in stained gla.s.s, bright chips showing what she'd done to him. Like the sun shining through pure color, a warm glow of triumph suffused her soul.

Her pulse thudding in her ears, she'd gone to her knees before him and parted the robe. Sister save her, but he was beautiful, velvet soft and steel hard, roped with a delicate tracery of blue veins.

When she'd run a considering finger from root to tip, his c.o.c.k had jerked against his belly. "Don't tease," he'd grated.

Her heart singing, she'd raised a cool brow. "Is that an order, Your High and Mightiness?"

Erik almost laughed, she saw his lips twitch. He painted on a scowl, color flying high on his cheeks. "Your mouth," he rumbled. "Give me your mouth." But the fingers in her hair were gentle.

Oh G.o.ds. Permission to play.

Prue smiled in her sleep, her breath growing choppy.

Every part of his genitals fascinated her-the dense, velvety head of his shaft, all rosy red and salty sweet with desire; the contrast of the satin smooth skin over a solid, engorged core. The beat of his life throbbed under her tongue, deliciously hot and oh so vulnerable. Cupped in her palm, the furry bundle of his t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es was drawn up tight, his thighs rock hard with tension against her shoulder. Experimentally, Prue slid a finger up and over the seam of his b.a.l.l.s and then back over his perineum.

Erik caught his breath. When she added a leisurely lick all around his glans, he hissed and his hips arched.

Sweet Sister, the power of it! Who'd have thought? Prue suppressed the wriggle of delight and set herself to drive him out of his mind, lick by lick, nibble by nibble.

Strong fingers tunneled into her hair, but she refused to be rushed. He tasted like sherbet infused with strong musk, making her tingle, the flavor all male, strangely compelling. Moaning, she pressed her thighs together, compressing the soft, slippery flesh of her nether lips. All she need do was strip off her trews, straddle him and impale herself. He was too far gone to resist.

No, she might hurt him. In any case, she couldn't give up the intoxicating joy of control, not quite yet. The soft, wrinkled collar of his foreskin deserved a specially gentle nip, the heart-shaped head a spiral trail of kitten licks. And there was a sweet spot, beneath, just there . . . When she flicked it with her tongue, he- Groaned.

As if the heart were being torn from his chest, while his hands urged her into a rhythm and his b.u.t.tocks tightened with the desire to thrust. In all the time she'd known Erik the Golden, she didn't think she'd heard him make any music as beautiful as that helpless, yearning noise.

Prue bent her head, fisted him from the root and swallowed as much hard flesh as she could manage. The groan dropped an octave, though she wouldn't have thought it possible. Her eyes closed with pleasure, she began to suckle, softly at first, then more firmly. Moisture trickled down her thighs, dampening the trews.