Guilty as Sin (12 page)

“She
‟
s disappeared, along with five of the others.”

The flat of the blade pressed into his chest, a fraction of an inch from a bronze

nipple. “Disappeared?” said Michael, almost without inflection.

“Fledge wasn
‟
t worried, not at first. The children come and go. But today—” He

took a deep, calming breath. “She found a note pinned to the door of the school.”

“A note?”

“More like a list.”

Michael
‟
s pupils had shrunk until they were no bigger than pinpricks.

“Each child described—gender, age, physical characteristics.” Dax had to stop to

clear an obstruction in his throat. “Experience, if any. Mirry says it
‟
s a catalog.”

“A slave catalog.”

“Yes.”

On the dresser, the lamp spluttered. Somewhere farther down the street a loose

shutter banged forlornly.

57

“Tell me the rest,” the thief said.

“The rest?”

Michael
‟
s lips quirked. “You
‟
re not so hard to read, Aetherii.” He reached down to

grip Dax
‟
s jaw, hard fingers digging into the soft flesh of his throat. “Something
‟
s got

you scared half to death. I don
‟
t flatter myself that it
‟
s me.”

“The list was pinned to the door with—” Dax moistened his lips, his guts a painful,

writhing knot. “One of those cleavers the Hssrda use. A rusty one.”

“Shit!”

They stared at each other, both breathing hard.

At last, Dax said, “Take off the chains.”

“Not yet. You think it
‟
s Hssrda?”

“We searched. Everywhere.” Dax moved his head against the pillow. “There are no

Hssrda in the city. The Prince won
‟
t allow them access.”

“True. And the scaly bastards are too big to hide. So it
‟
s a human, working with

them, a middleman.”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“Don
‟
t know yet, but when I do—” Dax bared his teeth.

“Not if I get to him first. You know what happens to children in the Hssrda slave

camps, birdy?”

“I
‟
ve heard.”

“They
‟
ll sell Bitsy to the miners, out in the Mountains of Morn. She won
‟
t last more

than a month, not with that cough and the way they
‟
ll use her. If the boys are pretty

they
‟
ll go as pleasure slaves. If they
‟
re strong, they
‟
ll be gelded and sold as laborers. As

for the rest—” He shrugged, his handsome face as hard as winter iron.

Dax squeezed his eyes shut. The reptilian Hssrda were slavers first and foremost,

but they also had a taste for human flesh. In fact, they
‟
d eat anything, including each

other. He swallowed hard.

They were silent a moment, each thinking his own thoughts. At last, Michael

stirred. “I
‟
d intended to play with you a little, but I find I
‟
ve lost my appetite.”

“
Play?
” Dax glared.
“Fuck you, Grounded.”

The thief gave him a smile full of teeth and wicked speculation. “In time perhaps,”

he said. “But only if you ask nicely.” He settled himself with the air of one sure of his

welcome, his buttocks warm against Dax
‟
s genitals.

Sweat popped on Dax
‟
s forehead and all the way down his spine, right to the spot

where his tail began. As nimble as a dancer, Michael swayed to one side to turn up the

lamp. Dax gritted his teeth, praying for calm.

“I
‟
m curious. Tell me about the Aetherii,” Michael said, for all the world as if they

were making small talk at some royal soiree.

58

Dax raised a brow. “Why should I?”

“No reason.” As perceptible as a touch, Michael
‟
s insolent gaze traveled over Dax
‟
s

face, pausing at his mouth before shifting to his hair and thence to the feather bed of his

wings. “No problem either. Much more interesting to find out for myself.”

All self-contained grace, he rose to his knees, grasped the sheet and whisked it off.

When Dax swore, Michael clapped his other hand over his mouth. “
Shh!
” he hissed.

“You want her running to the rescue?”

“Who?” Dax grunted into the thief
‟
s palm, though he knew.

“Lise,” Michael said absently. “Gods, man, you
‟
re magnificent.” Another leisurely

raking stare, head to heels. “Daxariel the Burnished. Well named.”

Dax didn
‟
t dignify this with a reply. He was busy reaching for his Second Pinion

discipline. Why couldn
‟
t he think straight? Sweat dripped off him in runnels of heat, yet

chills ran up and down his spine, tightening the flesh over his ribs, his balls. His tail

flexed and quivered, raging against the bonds. He couldn
‟
t stop the reactions, couldn
‟
t

find the still place within, the core of self that had always been his refuge and his

touchstone. The tumbling rush of emotions was so complex and so violent, he wasn
‟
t

able to tell if he was aroused, frightened or furious—or all three.

With a deliberate effort, he fixed his gaze on the hilt of the slim knife sheathed at

the thief
‟
s waist, imagining the shock of the first slice, the onslaught of pain, icy-cold at

first then hot with agony. His blood froze, which put paid to a tentative erection very

nicely. Thank all the gods. His cock was confused, that was all. Rip the Veil,
he
was

confused. If ever he
‟
d needed his fabled calm, it was now. Very slowly, he released the

breath he
‟
d been holding.

For a split second, he considered the possibility of rape. Veil-it, no, it wasn
‟
t in

character. If he
‟
d judged the thief right, Michael was far too vain to take by force what

wasn
‟
t offered freely. In any case, the man wouldn
‟
t have a problem obtaining bed

partners, male or female, he was too fascinating by far, all lithe masculine beauty and

sinfully clever charm.

No, the thief wouldn
‟
t hurt him—or not more than he could bear—he had no doubt

of that. Ah, but humiliation, that was a different matter. Dax set his jaw. Regardless of

the indignities, he wouldn
‟
t give the bastard the satisfaction.

“So like us,” murmured Michael. “Yet so unlike.” His gaze had dropped to Dax
‟
s

groin and clung there, as palpable as strong fingers wrapped around his girth.

“It
‟
s true. No body hair, only feathers.” Completely relaxed, he smiled into Dax
‟
s

eyes, damn him to the seven icy hells. “What else is true of your race, Aetherii?”

If he opened his mouth, the gods alone knew what would emerge—a bellow, a

groan or, Veil-it, a whimper. Dax ground his teeth and endured.

Michael
‟
s shoulders moved in an elegant shrug. “Have it your own way. I
‟
ll find

out for myself.”

59

Bending forward, he lifted a lock of Dax
‟
s hair and rubbed it between his fingers.

“I
‟
ve never seen hair so many colors, let alone pointed ears. It
‟
s kind of— Fuck!”

As he jerked his hand back, Dax
‟
s teeth snapped together a hair
‟
s breadth from his

wrist.

Dax gave the thief a cold stare. “You have excellent reflexes,” he growled.

“Hmm.” Michael looked thoughtful. “I underestimated you, Daxariel the

Burnished. I wonder how many have done that and lived to regret it?”

He favored Dax with a roguish twinkle so patently false the Aetherii couldn
‟
t help

but snort in derision.

“What is it Liseriel calls you? Dax, isn
‟
t it?”

Dax stared at an interesting stain on the ceiling and said nothing. Michael wouldn
‟
t

come within biting distance again. A chance lost, but he
‟
d caught the bastard off guard,

made him jump. Score one for the birdy.

Hard, hot palms moved in leisurely circles on his chest. Dax concentrated on his

breathing. That stain looked vaguely like a map of the Empty Lands. If he squinted—

“Your feathers are so incredibly soft.” There was a note of honest wonder in the

other man
‟
s voice. A pause. “Your heartbeat is really strange. Are you all right?”

Without warning, Michael lay down flat against his chest, cock to cock, belly to

belly. Veil-it! Dax couldn
‟
t help himself, he flinched, every muscle in his body locking

tight. The thief placed his ear to Dax
‟
s chest, breath washing warm and moist over a

nipple. As it drew up in a tight tingling rush, blood spilled into Dax
‟
s cock, hot and

stupid as a beast in rut. There was no way Michael could miss it, pressed together as

they were. In fact, he was certain he felt an answering surge, the thief swelling to meet

him.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! With a Herculean effort, he focused on sharp, shiny blades—and

blood and guts and vomit and pus and puke and—

“There
‟
s an echo.” Michael lifted his head, his face illuminated by the delight of

discovery. “Two! By the small gods, you have two hearts! And they
‟
re on the wrong

side of your body.”

Dax blinked in the uncomplicated warmth of the other man
‟
s pleasure. “Yes,” he

heard himself say. “The smaller one is for the wings.”

“Extraordinary. So…” Michael sat up, his face alight with wicked mischief. A dark

angel up to no good, but unbearably beautiful with it. “What else about an Aetherii

man is different? Well, apart from the wings and tail?”

He shifted back to sit on Dax
‟
s upper thighs, fingers bracketing his hipbones.

“Hmm.” His lips curved as he looked down. “Very impressive.”

The way Dax
‟
s ankles were fastened, his legs were open, cock and balls on display.

What did the thief mean? His dimensions? After all, he was built in proportion. Or

perhaps it was his self-control? Thank all the gods, he
‟
d finally achieved that, though a

60

good part of it was due to the loss of Michael
‟
s body heat and the shrinkage brought on

by cool air and exposure.

He
‟
d heard that Grounded men came with both testicles together every time, so

they didn
‟
t last very long. Dax had to admit his experience was…limited, but wouldn
‟
t