Guilty as Sin (17 page)

He
‟
s servicing one of the warriors of the Mother as we speak.”

“You don
‟
t know that for sure,” argued the thief. “I
‟
ve escaped from more unlikely

places.”

Lise huffed. “I don
‟
t doubt it.”

He picked up the folder from the bed and leafed idly through it. “This my file?”

Lise nodded, watching his intent expression. This hard-edged, purposeful man she

thought she could grow to like, even respect, but Michael of Sere had so many

disguises, layers and layers of them. Unfortunately, it only made him more intriguing.

Unconsciously, she sighed and he looked up.

“What?”

“There
‟
ll be a file on Veryl in my office,” she said, regrouping. “And we have an

agent in Mother
‟
s Hearth. I should check her last report.”

“Good idea.” In a single economical movement, he was on his feet. He flicked the

folder with a derisive thumbnail. “Let
‟
s hope the rest of it
‟
s better than this.”

“What? I
‟
ll have you know—”

A corner of Michael
‟
s elegant mouth tucked up. “Did it yourself, did you?” His eyes

danced. “I
‟
m flattered.”

Words jostled in Lise
‟
s throat, fighting for utterance. “Wait here,” she snapped. A

thief had no place in her office. “And don
‟
t touch anything if you value your fingers!”

She didn
‟
t slam the door behind her, but it was a near thing. With grim satisfaction,

she waited for the decisive click as the latching mechanism engaged. It was an excellent

lock.

Michael gave Lise a couple of minutes before retrieving the pick he kept in his boot

and dealing with the lock—good enough for the average thief, not for him. He emerged

on the landing in time to watch her spiral down, down, down, wings spread, tail

streaming behind. His breath caught in his chest. A silent midnight hunter. Such

ethereal otherworldly grace, all lethal femininity. He leaned over the stair rail, staring.

The linen of her nightshirt glowed pale in the stray moonbeams filtering in through the

tall, narrow windows, and all the primary feathers on one wing gleamed as if they
‟
d

been freshly cast in silver.

Twister! What the hell was he doing, yearning after her like a lovelorn boy? A brisk

roll of the shoulders, and Michael trotted down the stairs, making no more noise than

Liseriel the Gray in flight. Far below, a door closed with a soft emphatic
snick!
He

grinned.

The strip of light showing beneath the door widened to a wedge as Michael slid

over the threshold. The room was long and narrow. At the far end, beyond a wide desk,

Lise was busy rifling through an open drawer in a tall cupboard. The slow swishing of

her tail reminded him of a temple cat he
‟
d seen once, crouched to watch a small lizard

82

skitter in the sun. Any minute, she
‟
d growl. All that intelligence working in harness

with a predatory instinct near as keen as his own. Ah, he loved it.

Soundlessly, he drew the door closed at his back and eased the bolt home.

With a huff of satisfaction, Lise extracted a file and began to flip through it, her

head bent. The silver-blonde-smoke sweep of her hair swung forward to expose the

tender nape of her neck. Absently, Michael began to count the small bumps of her

vertebrae until they disappeared under the shirt. Her hair was a great untidy tangle,

blown every which way by her night flight. His lips quirked. Was she aware of it?

Would it bother her?

The smile faded. Well, hell, he
‟
d never know her well enough to tell, would he?

He leaned against the door and folded his arms. “I
‟
m no assassin,” he said acidly.

“Your so-called intelligence isn
‟
t worth—
Oompf!
”

She
‟
d moved so fast he barely got his hands up in time. As it was, Michael found

himself slammed hard against the door in a whirl of wings and whipcord strength. His

arms were full of slim, alluring curves powered by muscle and outraged fury, while he,

in turn, was surrounded by the arch of her wings. The sensation of soft feathers was a

ghostly brush across delighted nerves. Overall, he would have been perfectly content if

not for the knee dangerously close to his groin and the tail coiled tight around his right

wrist. As she increased the pressure, his fingers tingled and then went numb. She
‟
d

noticed he was right-handed. So what? He was very nearly as good with his left.

Gritting his teeth, he arranged his features in an expression of calm amusement.

“Temper, temper,” he murmured.

Twister, she was stronger than any woman he
‟
d ever met. If he made a real effort,

he didn
‟
t doubt he could free himself—not that he wanted to—but he might have to

hurt her in the process. Relaxing, he spread his legs to accommodate the gorgeous press

of her body and grinned down a scant inch into eyes gone storm dark with anger and

offense. The pulse in her throat fluttered like a mad thing.

Ah, all the passion a man could desire. If he could set it free, she
‟
d burn him alive.

“Shut up,” Lise snarled. “If you
‟
re not an assassin, what
‟
s this then?”

Using her tail, she jerked his hand up to the level of their shoulders. Gods, it felt like

an articulated steel cable, politely camouflaged in silk. His shirt sleeve slipped down to

reveal the tattoo of a tiny dragon, no more than half an inch long, on the inside of his

wrist.

Well, fuck.

“I haven
‟
t taken a commission since I was eighteen,” he said coolly. Tannio
‟
s death

had put paid to any desire for further progress through the ranks of the Assassins
‟

Guild.

Lise
‟
s eyes narrowed. “You completed the training. Why not?”

“Because it cost—” He broke off.

“What?” Her pretty mouth twisted into a sneer. “Your self-respect?”

83

Only my whole world.

Michael smiled. “Something like that,” he agreed. Raising his free hand, he brushed

his knuckles lightly across her lips. Her breath was warm, so alive. “Check properly

and you
‟
ll find it
‟
s the truth. I
‟
m a thief, not an assassin.”

She glared, but there was no real conviction in it. “You took my featherpearls,
thief
.”

The grip of her tail relaxed a trifle.

“So I did.” For the first time, Michael reached out to stroke one of the long plumes

brushing his shoulder. He dropped his voice to a caressing croon. “And a feather, a

pretty, pretty feather.”

She
‟
d lost some of the high color conferred by temper, but now a rosy blush ran up

under the clear skin of her throat and cheek. To his disappointment, she furled her

wings, taking them out of his reach.

“Relax, Lise.” No longer able to resist, he dipped his head and nuzzled her jaw,

inhaling that delicate heat in great, greedy gulps. “I won
‟
t tell you what I did with it.”

The only reason he was able to hear the half-stifled gurgle of amusement was

because his open mouth was pressed to the silken skin below her ear. Gods, she was

sweet. Ripe for the taking.

“You
‟
re incorrigible.”

“But honest. Give me back the use of my hand, sweetheart.”

She went rigid in his arms. Godsdammit, what—? The warm manacle of her tail slid

away, and though the returning rush of blood was painfully good, he missed the

intimacy of the connection.

“Don
‟
t patronize me, Michael.”

Oh, he
‟
d called her sweetheart. A misstep. Hell, he was losing his grip. “Wouldn
‟
t

dream of it,” he said, opening his eyes very wide.

A muscle next to her mouth quivered. Michael pressed his advantage. “I like my

hide the way it is—unpunctured.”

For that, he got a dry chuckle. Liseriel the Gray had herself back under control. He

could see her marshalling the serried ranks of her responsibilities, all the reasons why

not. Well, fuck that. He
‟
d been primed for sex from the moment he
‟
d swung in an

undefended window and seen Dax
‟
s huge hard body sprawled across that big, round

bed. Time to roll the dice.

Brushing her hair aside, he gave in to temptation and licked the tip of one pointed

ear.
Mmm
, soft and silky. By the Twister, she smelled good, her fresh green perfume

underpinned with a trace of feminine musk, something he was too experienced to

mistake. Blood surged in a dizzy rush, spilling into his cock. He welcomed the lifting

weight between his legs, luxuriating, his skin gone all tight and tingly, his hips moving

in gentle circles against hers.

A shudder ran right through her. Wings lifted then settled, so quickly the sibilant

rustle was barely audible, even in the sudden silence. With a muttered curse, Lise

84

wrenched herself backward only to come up hard against the unyielding strength of his

grip.

Softly, softly. “I
‟
ll let you go,” he said, very low. “If that
‟
s what you really want.”

Though he wasn
‟
t sure he would, even if she begged. “I want to forget about real life for

a while, don
‟
t you?”

He watched as realization dawned. She was finely caught. Under the wings, he had

one arm wound around her waist, feathers whispering against his knuckles in a cool,

satiny kiss. The other hand clasped the back of her neck, his thumb moving in small,

soothing circles. For good measure, he shifted one leg and clamped it over the back of

hers. From breasts to thigh, her slim, strong body was molded against his, not soft,

because she was all muscle, but curved and feminine and so hot that drops of sweat

popped at the small of his back.

Her eyes had gone wide and smoky. He stared, drowning, watching her fight an

internal battle. Liseriel the Gray wavered on the razor
‟
s edge between duty and desire,

and he had a bad feeling about which way she was going to come down. To his

surprise, the regret was piercing. He hadn
‟
t known how much it mattered.

“Michael,” she said, and something slapped sharply against his booted ankle. Then

again.

Fuck! Her tail, lashing. Passion.
Need
.

“Listen, I—”

Everything male in Michael, master thief of Sere—mind, body and wicked, wicked

soul—roared in triumph. He swooped.

85

Assassins’ Guild—Operation:

The Guild owns a number of training establishments. Trainees move up through well-

defined structure of levels of master. Penalties for failure are severe and occasionally terminal.

Qualified assassins wear a tiny dragon tattoo, usually on the underside of the forearm, though

females sometimes carry it in surprising places.

Excerpt from the
Great Encyclopedia
, compiled by Miriliel the Burnished.

* * * * *

Michael had been prepared to cajole, to coax. But after an initial hesitation, Lise

gave way all of a piece. Gods, this was going to be glorious. Refusing to rush, he

grasped the back of her skull and tilted her head for the best access. Then he opened his

mouth and let her explore, luring her in, loving every second of it.

Lise
‟
s tongue flirted with his, sliding and caressing, never still. She was

experienced, he knew that immediately, but strangely tentative with it, a combination

that shot straight down his spine. He hissed his pleasure into her mouth, the skin over

his scrotum pulling up tight.

Oh
yes
.

Growling, he slid an open palm down over her back, heading for that taut,

gorgeous ass. And there it was—her tail. Amazing.

The moment he touched it, Lise keened into his mouth and her jaw slackened in

luscious surrender. Well, fuck, a hot spot. When he skated his fingers up and down the

place where tail joined spine, nails sank into his shoulders and she started to climb his

body as if he were a tree. Her wings rose and rose, so high and wide over them both,

they obscured the light.

By the Twister, he knew he was good, but he didn
‟
t generally get this reaction until

he had his fingers deep inside a woman
‟
s hot, wet velvet, stroking. Or his tongue. Or

his cock.

Gods!

In a single movement, he scooped her up, and still plundering her mouth, took the

few steps to the desk. Setting her down, he rocked his jutting shaft into the junction

between her thighs. Even through two thicknesses of material, her jungle heat suffused

his sensitive flesh, humid and earthy. Fuck, if his cock got any harder, the skin would

split.

86

Hands unsteady with urgency, he pushed the nightshirt up over her thighs. His

fingertips slid over tender skin then—oh gods!—slick, moist satin, and farther to brush

against—

Michael froze.

Feathers?

Fuck, he had to see.

His usual finesse deserting him, he pulled back, fumbling with her buttons. He

realized his mistake when Lise laid trembling fingers over his. Godsdammit, fool that

he was, he
‟
d given her time to think.

“This is insane,” she whispered, and her voice cracked. “I don
‟
t—” She frowned

and gave herself a little shake, pulling back. “This is stupid. Wrong. I should— I have

to—”

Michael
‟
s straining lungs sucked in air. Forcing a smile, he twined their fingers

together and lifted her hand to his mouth. “You want it, I want it. There
‟
s nothing crazy

about that. And there
‟
s nothing you can do for the kids right now.”

He nipped and nibbled, pouring on the charm while his belly went rigid with the

possibility of loss. “What
‟
s the harm?”

Her soft chuckle held no amusement. “I wouldn
‟
t know where to begin.”

He grinned. “Live a little, Liseriel the Gray. Go wild. Why the hell not?”

But she didn
‟
t move, staring into his face. “There
‟
s a price,” she murmured, almost

to herself. “There
‟
s always a price.”

After an eon, she turned her hand to stroke his cheek, her smooth fingertips rasping

against his stubble. “You
‟
re so…exotic.”

“Me?” he said, startled into speaking without thought. “Don
‟
t be ridiculous. You—

you
‟
re amazing. A miracle.” He traced a fingertip over one of the pebbled bumps

pushing impatiently at fine linen.

When her lashes fluttered down on a sigh of pleasure, he closed his whole hand

over one small, sweet breast, the nipple hot against his palm. “Gods, Lise.”

Later, he couldn
‟
t decide whether she
‟
d given him her mouth or he
‟
d taken it. In the

final analysis, all that mattered was a kiss deep enough, hot enough, intoxicating

enough to drown in, dark and rich as the best spiced brandywine.

When she made that tiny, husky noise in her throat, Michael
‟
s head reeled, his cock

demanding he rut and thrust until he spilled. Fuck, the same sound as when Dax had

kissed her. And, gods, he was where Dax had wanted to be. He
‟
d succeeded where the

other man had failed.

With the last fraying remnants of his control, he fumbled for the ties on his trews

with one hand while he slid the other down to the base of her tail. Without ceasing the

deep drugging kiss, he rubbed a gentle circle.

“Oh!” Lise gasped into his mouth. Her head fell back and she squirmed against

him. “Oh gods, that
‟
s good.”

87

“Unh,” said Michael. Why didn
‟
t he have more hands? Or a godsbedamned tail?

As he surged forward, gripping the base of his cock, Lise
‟
s thighs fell open, her

knees rising to the level of his hips. His tip slid through the hot, moist cleft of her

intimate flesh.

They both hissed with the shocking delight of it.

His face buried in her neck, Michael pushed forward an inch. Thank the Twister she

couldn
‟
t see his eyes roll back in his head with the intensity of the sensations. She was

searingly hot but narrow, clasping him tight as far as the glans.

With a muttered oath, he gripped her shirt in both fists and jerked. Lise
‟
s sharp cry

rose over the rip of fine fabric parting right down the middle. Buttons pinged on the

floor.

Ah, gods, how sweet, how dirty. Two lovely handfuls of pert breast, each crowned

with a small, furled nipple, luscious as a new
summerberry
. Her ribs and her taut, little

belly lifted with every panting breath, her skin the color of cream.

Michael
‟
s gaze arrowed downward and he blinked. “Fuck! Godsdammit!”

Involuntarily, he thrust, sinking halfway before he could stop. It wasn
‟
t the

smoothest entry he
‟
d ever made, but no question it was the most thrilling

Twister fuck him, her pubis was crowned with tiny gray feathers, soft as a dove
‟
s

breast, though between her legs, she was built like every other female he
‟
d ever had.

Rude and ruffled and open. Beautiful.

Gods, she was nearly bare down there. Michael bit the inside of his cheek hard

enough to make his eyes water. Her labial lips were flushed the delicate, wet pink he
‟
d

dreamed of, her clitoris sitting up as hard and smooth as the featherpearl currently

licking his nipple with heat.

The meaty girth of his cock was embedded partway into her body, the tiny mouth

of her sex stretched as tight as a drum to accommodate him. The gods knew he loved

looking, but on the whole, he had to admit his absolute favorite part, his major focus,

was that intimate junction. Fuck, it was good to be male. Slowly, he drew back,

luxuriating in the lush silken drag, the skin of his cock glistening in the light.

He paused. “You all right?” His voice came out all raspy.

It took her two tries to speak and she didn
‟
t sound any better than he did. “Yes.

Gods
.” Her eyes were huge, fixed on his. Feathers brushed his shoulders, his buttocks.

Beneath the shirt and trews, goose flesh raced over his skin. Next time they
‟
d be naked.

He
‟
d tumble her down on his silk-clad mattress and— Was that the tuft on the end of

her tail, stroking his calf? Strong fingers came up to clutch his biceps. He
‟
d have bruises

on the morrow, but who cared?

Michael
‟
s pulse pounded in his ears, the drumbeat unbearably insistent in his cock.

Throbbing, he eased forward with all the finesse of which he was capable. Now he had

this dense, close clasp, he felt as if he
‟
d been hungering for it all his life.

88

“Oh, that
‟
s good. More.” Lise writhed on the desk, arching her hips.
Offering herself
.

An ink block hit the floor with a dull crack, papers skimmed through the air like pale

birds.

“No, wait, wait.” She reefed the laces out of his shirt, thrust the fabric aside. “Show

me. Ah, gods.” Her voice sank to a whisper. “You do have it.” With a fingertip, she set

the featherpearl swinging.

Michael sank balls-deep in a single dizzying glide. “I don
‟
t tell lies.” He rotated his

hips, filling her, probing. “Much.” She looked so pretty with a sexual flush staining her

cheeks and throat, her eyes bright with passion.

Lise braced her elbows, rising far enough to nuzzle her way across his chest, her

breath hot and moist. When she sucked his nipple into her mouth, earring and all,

silvery lightning sizzled to the base of his spine and jolted him hard in the balls.

“
Aargh!
Shit!”

Her chuckle was breathy but suffused with delight. She was sure of his pleasure

now, and therefore more confident of her own. Come to think of it, he hadn
‟
t fucked

anyone who was his physical and mental match since Tannio, let alone a female.

Gritting his teeth, he disciplined his breathing and set up a rhythm of slow and

deep, interspersed with the occasional swivel. Fuck it, he had a reputation. No way

would he break first, godsdammit. Not even for an Aetherii warrior. Hell, he had her

pierced, possessed. For the moment, Liseriel the Gray was his, and his alone.

Lise
‟
s palms slid over his ribs and around to his back, tracing the muscles on either

side of his spine. When her progress was stopped by his waistband, she made an

impatient noise in her throat, dug her fingers in and shoved his trews down to mid-

thigh.

“Ah!” Her head fell back, eyes closing. Agile fingers danced over the hollows where

his buttocks were clenched, dipped down to cup both cheeks of his ass. “Naked,” she

panted. “Veil-it,
bare
.”

Michael pressed so deep, his balls collided softly with her heated flesh. “Well, what

did you— Fuck!”

Something sinuous wound around his knee and coiled up his thigh. Gentle, but

inexorable, it tugged his leg aside, forcing him to shift his feet apart. A pause, and it

brushed slithery-soft over the crease of his buttocks all the way from tailbone to anus.

Holy fuckin
‟
Twister!

“You like that?” Lise gasped, giving the pierced nipple a quick lick.

All he could do was grunt. Release clawed at his willpower, his balls so tense and