Thief Of Light Part 41

Erik froze beneath her, no longer breathing, every muscle locked.

Prue chuckled, deep in her throat, which made him curse. Then she slowed down, lightening the pressure.

He tugged at her hair. "G.o.dsdammit, woman! Finish me!"

Taking her time, Prue released him. "Ah," she murmured, blowing a thoughtful stream of warm air over his crown, watching the muscles in his stomach contract. "Is that an order too?"

"Nngh!" His teeth clicked together. Vividly blue, his eyes blazed down into hers. "f.u.c.k it, you need a spanking."

Prue's c.l.i.t tightened into a burning knot, the tiny spasm nearly enough to tip her over, there and then. G.o.ds, she'd never . . .

She swallowed hard, then turned her head to press a breathless kiss to the inside of his wrist. Holding his gaze, she allowed herself a wicked grin, knowing the dimple was quivering in her cheek. "Do you promise, Oh Master?"

A bead of sweat rolled down the strong column of Erik's neck and lost itself in the golden fur on his chest. His nipples were hard disks, tightly peaked. "Over my knee," he said, his voice gone to gravel. He raised a big hand. "Fingers buried deep inside for your pleasure, while I smack your gorgeous a.s.s 'til it's red. Until you can't help but scream because it's so f.u.c.king good."

Prue gurgled.

One more word and she'd explode, right here, kneeling on the rug. G.o.ds! He was still talking, painting wicked, decadent pictures in her head. Slipping a d.i.l.d.o into her a.s.s, clamping her nipples . . .

With more haste than grace, she engulfed him again, ramping up the pressure, applying strong pulling suction, her head bobbing.

"s.h.i.t!" Erik's body bowed right up off the couch. "Move, love. If you don't . . . want . . . Ah, G.o.ds! f.u.c.k!"

His length rippled against her hard palate, but at the last second, he clamped her head between his hands and jerked her away, ignoring her m.u.f.fled cry of protest. Ropes of warm, creamy fluid hit her cheek, her neck, splattering her tunic. Prue licked her lips, savoring. Salty as tears, harsh as grief, pungent with masculine pa.s.sion. The essence of the man, inexpressibly precious because she loved him.

When she looked up, tears stood in Erik's eyes. "G.o.ds, Prue, you're perfect." Fleetingly, she wondered why his smile had a bittersweet edge, but the expression illuminated his face with such pure male beauty that she felt dizzy, her body still thrumming with desire. Taking her hands in his, he came to his feet, and she rose to tuck herself against his side. "Bed."

Still favoring his side, he'd chivvied her into bed. With ruthless dispatch, they stripped the tunic and trews from her together, grinning like idiots. Erik descended on her like a storm, sending the lightning whipping through her with fingers, lips and tongue. Again and again, until she lay limp and sweaty among the tumbled sheets, pleading for mercy.

G.o.ds, it had been incredible. So good, so d.a.m.n good.

And then . . .

She couldn't believe what he'd done next.

With a gasp, Prue shot bolt upright, her heart pounding. The dream fragmented as she returned to reality. Erik lay beside her, fathoms deep, his hair all mussed, falling over his eyes. He mumbled in an irritated sort of way, reaching out to pat the warm place where she'd been, searching. The bandage over his ribs shone pale against his tawny skin. Grim lines bracketed his mouth where there'd been none before.

"Sshh. I'm here." Prue stroked the back of his hand, avoiding the scabbed knuckles. She shivered, remembering the horrible crack of bone on bone when he'd hit the Necromancer's servant.

Golden brown lashes fluttered. Erik grunted, threw a heavy arm over her thighs and fell back into slumber.

It was evening. They'd slept right through. A single lamp cast a pool of light, the hair-dusted skin of his arms gleaming as if he'd been sprinkled with gold. He must have lit it before he dozed off.

She stared at him. A big, beautiful man, his long limbs sprawled across her bed. More than she'd ever thought she'd have, that was true enough.

But more than just a man.

Erik Th.o.r.ensen was some principle of nature made manifest. He was destined for a huge cosmic purpose. If Prue McGuire loved him more than life . . . Well, that was completely immaterial.

On some instinctive level, she must have always known it, she thought, her heart aching, but until he'd made love to her with his Magick, she hadn't realized how it would affect her her.

"One more time," he'd said, shooting her a devilish grin. Rising, he went to lean against the dresser, casually, splendidly naked. "And look, no hands."

Prue had frowned in puzzlement.

Still smiling, Erik exhaled slowly, his fingers moving fluidly as if he were shaping- "Ooh!" An inquiring breeze wafted over Prue's right breast and her nipple tingled. Another, a little more insistent, curled around her left breast, pushing and tugging, circling her areola as if he were breathing on her delicate flesh, all warm and moist.

"Erik, what are you . . . doing doing?" The last word emerged as a squeak. Invisible currents of air swirled all over her body, stroking, tickling, pleasuring, relentless as the man himself.

His grin became blinding. "What does it feel like?"

Gasping, Prue shot him a glare. "You know very well what-Oh, G.o.ds!" She flopped back onto the pillows, boneless. A gentle, inexorable force was pushing her thighs open, fingering her slick folds excruciatingly lightly, nudging her c.l.i.t.

"f.u.c.k, you're gorgeous." His voice dropped to a purr-growl. "Show me, sweetheart. Show me Show me."

The pressure increased, swirling, pressing, urging her higher and higher. She'd never felt so exposed, so wanton in her life. Nor so desired. His pa.s.sion was a tangible force, in every possible sense. Prue didn't know whether to laugh, cry or scream. In the end, a thunderous climax pulled all three sounds from her throat.

But now, as she watched him sleep, tears p.r.i.c.kled her eyes. Because she knew going with him was inevitable-she just hoped Katrin would forgive her. But she'd never known what it was to love like this, with everything she was and everything she ever could be, with her whole heart and mind and body. She'd always thought it a fairy tale of hope, told to make humdrum lives more bearable.

Easing herself away from under Erik's arm, she padded over to the dresser and picked up her hairbrush, watching him in the mirror.

Yes, she'd be with him when he left Palimpsest-because to live without him would break her. Oh, not at once, but little by little, one tight, bitter shard at a time. Better to wrench herself away from Katrin, knowing her daughter had a bright future with Arkady, filled with family and love and good work, an adult life.

Prue tugged the brush through her hair. She'd never been in a starship, never even seen the Technomage s.p.a.ceport. To travel to other worlds-Sister, that was an adventure she'd never thought to have.

When Katrin had her first babe-The brush caught on a knot. Erik's reflection blurred into a fuzzy, golden outline. She'd come back. Yes, she would. In the meantime, Rose would be here, Rose who was Katrin's second mother, Prue's best friend, closer than any sister . . .

Very gently, Prue laid the brush down and began to braid her hair into thick, sensible plaits, as she did every night. She was Prue McGuire. She'd survive this.

Even if it ripped her heart to pieces.Florien knocked on Prue's door midmorning. "Yer t' come down t' t' kitchen, both o' ye," he said the moment she opened it. His dark eyes flicked from the robe she'd flung on, to Erik, lounging bare chested on the couch behind her. A knowing smirk curled his lips. "Now," he added.

Prue stiffened. "Who told you that?"

"T' old one. Wit' t' three beards."

Prue frowned, nonplussed. Erik gave a great crack of laughter, followed immediately by a curse. When she turned, he had a palm pressed to his side, his brows drawn together. "Deiter," he said, the ghost of a smile still curving his lips. "He means Deiter."

"Was there a 'please' attached anywhere?" Prue asked the boy.

Florien thought about it. "Nah," he said at last.

Prue stiffened. "Well, you go back and tell him-"

Erik's hand landed on her shoulder. "We'll be there. Fifteen minutes." He leaned past her to shut the door in the lad's face.

Prue spun around. "Who does Deiter think he is?" She narrowed her gaze. "More to the point," she said more slowly, "who do you you think he is?" think he is?"

With a sigh, Erik patted her bottom. "He's the most powerful Purist I know, for all that he drinks too much." Crossing to the couch, he sat and bent gingerly to pull on his boots. "I don't think he possesses such a thing as a heart, but he doesn't lack for guts." He gave a wry chuckle. "Or gall, for that matter. But Gray and Cenda trust him."

Prue loosed her plait and unraveled it. "Gray's your friend, isn't he?"

"I suppose so." Erik shrugged. "Or the nearest thing to it." His face closed. "I haven't let anyone close since I was a lad." He glanced up. "Only you."

Prue stared, shocked into speechlessness. A couple of words and she was overwhelmed. She'd never thought of herself as special-but to Erik, she was. Who'd have thought it? Before she could gather her scattered wits, he went on, "I doubt there's anyone who knows more about Magick than Deiter, not even Bartelm and Nori put together. If anyone can make sense of"-he paused to clear his throat-"the Necromancer and the seelies, the whole f.u.c.king debacle, he can."

"I'll get dressed then."

Erik's eyes brightened. "I'll watch."

Which meant it was thirty minutes, not fifteen, before they entered the kitchen, and Prue still felt flushed, her skin tingling.

Cenda, Gray and Deiter sat at the big table, Katrin pouring cups of a steaming tisane from a large pot. Setting it down, she crossed the room and bent to peck Prue on the cheek. "You all right?" she whispered.

Prue gazed up into her daughter's face, her heart aching. "I'm fine."

"Come and sit." Katrin smiled. "Are you hungry? Let me get you something."

"Not there!"

Prue froze, her hand on the back of the chair next to the old wizard's. Deiter's mouth worked. Fumbling in his robes, he produced a small jug, removed the cork with his teeth and took a healthy swig.

"Why not?" Erik had gone completely still at her back, his voice arctic with offense.

Shuddering, the Purist wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Because it hurts, that's why."

"Hurts?" said Prue, bewildered. "What hurts?"

"Your G.o.dsbed.a.m.ned Magick," snarled Deiter, tilting the jug once more. "Lord's b.a.l.l.s, woman, get away from me, will you?"

Erik's hand closed over hers, warm and comforting. "Over here, love." He drew an unresisting Prue to a seat at the far end of the table.

"M-Magick?" She recovered enough to glare. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm about as Magickal as . . . as this table." She slapped her hand down hard on the wooden surface, making the cups jiggle.

"That's just it, Prue," Cenda said gently. When she wrapped slender fingers around her cup, steam rose from it in little puffs, one after the other. "Your Magick is that you have none."

"I don't know what you mean."

Cenda wore a beautiful golden ornament in her hair, fashioned like a tiny lizard. To Prue's amazement, it opened sapphire eyes and blinked, then it sat up on its haunches, miniscule claws clutching at the red swathes of hair over the fire witch's temples. Prue was so bemused, she almost missed Cenda's next words. "I can feel it too, and I'm nowhere near as old in Magick as the Purist."

Prue's brain creaked back into gear. Over the past few days, she'd grown to like the fire witch, to enjoy the quiet humor and bright intelligence Cenda hid behind an una.s.suming manner. But now she came to think of it, she and Cenda had never been physically closer than about three feet. The other woman hadn't been obvious about it, but she'd managed to keep her distance.

A cup of fragrant tisane appeared before her, Katrin's hand touching her shoulder in rea.s.surance. Prue cleared her throat. "The Technomage said . . . she said I broadcast a field, whatever that is. She wanted to know how. She was going to . . . to . . ."

Cenda muttered something under her breath and rills of flame sparked from her fingertips, wreathing up her arms. Under Prue's astonished gaze, Gray reached over, his shadow following, and placed a hand over hers. The flames subsided.

Deeply shaken, Prue lifted her cup and took a sip.

"Ah yes, the tame Technomage." Scowling, Deiter rummaged through the battered leather satchel that hung over the back of his chair. Coming up with a thick bundle of papers, he plunked it down on the table and undid the string tying it together. "There's something here." Pages rustled.

After a moment, he looked up. "Well, don't just sit there, woman, go on, tell us the rest. But for the G.o.ds' sake, start at the beginning." He waved a dismissive hand at Katrin. "You can go, la.s.s."

"No." Prue held his eye down the length of the table. "Katrin is my daughter. I trust her and I want her to understand." Because then she might forgive me when I go. Because then she might forgive me when I go.

With a rustle of skirts, Katrin settled herself beside Prue.

Deiter shrugged. "It's on your head." He aimed a gnarled finger at the young woman. "Your life is of no consequence, girlie, do you understand? Speak of the business of G.o.ds and Magick and I'll obliterate you."

Before she knew it, Prue was on her feet, her chair toppling with a clatter. "Not if I get to you first." Blood boiling, she advanced on the old wizard. "Does it hurt yet?" she snarled.

Deiter's face went a pasty shade of gray green. Prue took another step. He clutched his chest. "Cenda!" he gasped. "Fireball, quick!"

As if from a distance, Prue heard the fire witch say quietly, "I'd do the same. You're on your own, Purist."

Erik growled. The tisane pot rose a foot off the table and poised itself to pour, right over the old man's lap. Gray laughed aloud.

42.

"Mam!" Katrin's shocked voice cut over the confusion. "Whatever you're doing, stop it! You'll kill him." She tugged at Prue's arm.

Shivering, Prue unclenched her fists. Her head reeled, stupid with confusion and the sickening remnants of murderous rage. "For a minute there, you looked just like Purist Nori," she told the old man. "I thought she was going to die too."

"Nori?" With trembling fingers, Deiter pushed the tisane pot aside, breathing a sigh of relief when it subsided gently to the table. Erik snorted.

"The first time I met her, at the theater. It was me that made her ill, wasn't it? Something about me?" Horror washed over her in an icy, numbing wave. "The Necromancer knew. Oh G.o.ds, he wanted it, he wanted me me." Despite herself, her voice rose. "What am I?"

"Sshh, love." Erik's arm slid around her waist, guiding her back to her chair.

Deiter's color had improved. "I'm not sure." He sighed. "Nori and I are so old, Magick is all that holds us together. It's painful to come undone, so to speak." He shot her a keen glance from under s.h.a.ggy brows. "Do you believe in Magick, Mistress McGuire?"

Prue rubbed her aching temples. "That's what Purist Bartelm asked at the time."

"And the answer?"

Five pairs of eyes regarded her with unwinking interest. "No, I don't." She gave a harsh laugh. "Or rather, I didn't."

Erik laid his hand over hers. "What about the G.o.ds?"

"I've told you before." She looked into his face, seeing the concern there, the love. "If they exist, they haven't done much for me."

"I wasn't going to say this." Erik stroked her cheek. "Sweetheart, don't be distressed, but I really did die."

"You've got a strange way of showing it," said Gray dryly. Cenda clutched his arm, her amber eyes bright with concentration.