Thief With No Shadow (48 page)

Bastian hugged her close, feeling how delicate she was, made of fine bones and soft skin. “Tell me,” he said.
And whatever it is, I’ll make it right.

“It’s Hantje.” Her voice was a whisper. Tears trembled in it.

Every muscle in Bastian’s body clenched. Sudden fury bellowed in his chest.
I’ll kill him.

His arm tightened around her shoulders. “What has he done?” If Hantje had touched her if he’d
dared
—

“He says he doesn’t want me, and he
does.”
Liana’s voice broke on the last word. She began to weep.

Bastian pulled her closer. “It’s all right,” he said, while his anger gave way to bafflement.

“He thinks he’s not good enough for me, but he is! He
is
.” Sobs distorted Liana’s words. He hadn’t the faintest idea what she was talking about.

“Hush,” he said, pressing a kiss into her hair and smelling rosemary. “Don’t cry. It’ll be all right.”

Endal whined and tried to lick Liana’s face.

Do you know why she’s crying?
Bastian asked him.
Something about Hantje?

I know that she wants to mate with Hantje
, Endal said, and succeeded in licking Liana’s chin.
And that he wants to mate with her.

Bastian sat stiffly on the step, hugging Liana. Shock was blank inside him. The noises that he uttered, soothing, were automatic.

What? How do you know?

I can smell it.

Bastian pushed the words away. Impossible. Unbelievable.

But Endal never lied.

You can smell it?

Yes.

Liana and Hantje?

Yes
, said Endal, trying to climb onto Liana’s lap.
Didn’t you know?

Bastian narrowed his eyes and looked up at the clouds. The sun burned high above them, almost at its zenith. No, he hadn’t known. Liana and Hantje. Liana and a wraith.

Endal could smell it?

He listened to Liana’s weeping, and to the thud of his own heartbeat. “Hush,” he whispered. Sobs shook her body. She wanted to marry Hantje. A wraith, a would-be thief, a man who was braver than he was.

“Tell me,” he said, when Liana’s tears had slowed and her gulped breaths were steadier.

“Hantje says he doesn’t want me.” Her voice trembled. She opened her arms for Endal to put his head and forepaws in her lap. “But I can
feel
it. He wants me as much as I want him.” She held Endal awkwardly, tightly, burying her face in his black coat.

“How much do you want him?”

Liana’s head rose sharply. “I
love
him.” Her face was fierce and tear-stained. “And he loves me.”

“Liana, love and desire are two different things. Sometimes it’s difficult to distinguish between them.” He brushed her cheek with light fingers, trying to take the sting from his words.

She shook her head. “Hantje is the only man I’ll ever want to marry.”

Bastian didn’t speak for several seconds. “Are you certain?”

“Yes!”

He envied Liana’s certainty. She knew her own heart. “Does Hantje feel the same way?”

“Yes.” Fresh tears welled in her eyes. “He does.”

“Then why—”

“Because he thinks he’s not good enough for me! And he
is.
He’s the kindest, nicest...” Her face twisted.

Bastian held her while she wept into Endal’s fur. The dog bore it patiently.

“I’ll speak with him,” he said, when her sobs had quieted.

Liana stiffened. “You?” She raised her face and looked at him. Tears streaked her cheeks. “Why?”

“Because I think you should marry him.”

He saw hope flare in her eyes. “You do? But I thought you’d... But he’s a
wraith
.”

Bastian smiled. “I know.”

“You want me to marry him? You really do?”

He nodded. “I want whatever makes you happy.” And if that was a wraith, so be it.

“Bastian...” Joy shone through her tears. “Thank you.”

Bastian shut his eyes and held her close. A child no longer.

He opened his eyes, kissed her hair, and released her. “Go wash your face, little one, while I find your wraith and talk some sense into him.”

Liana wiped her face with a sleeve. She hugged Endal, pushed him gently from her lap, and stood. “Bastian, do you truly think you can persuade him?”

He saw anxiety and hope in the way her hands gripped together, the knuckles whitening. “If he loves you, then yes.”

“He does.” There was no uncertainty in her voice or eyes.

“Then don’t worry.”

Her face was tearstained and radiantly beautiful. She bent and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I love you, Bastian.”

“I love you, too,” he said, but she was gone, running into the house.

Bastian sat on the doorstep, rubbing his cheek. Liana and Hantje. Liana and a wraith.

It wasn’t what he’d wished, but did it truly matter that Hantje was a wraith? Bresse wasn’t Stenrik.

He rubbed his cheek and sighed.
You can smell when people want to mate?

Yes
. Endal yawned widely, showing his teeth.

What about me?

You want to mate with Melke.

The bald words brought blood to Bastian’s face. He felt it beneath his fingertips, hot. Embarrassment crawled over his skin. He let his hand fall.

You smell that?

Yes.
Endal scratched vigorously behind one ear.

And Melke? Do you smell anything from her? Does she wish to mate with anyone?

Endal stopped scratching. His pale eyes fastened on Bastian’s face.
You would like to know?

Bastian cleared his throat. More heat scalded his cheeks. “Yes,” he said, aloud.

Very well.
Endal shook himself briskly.
I shall smell.

Bastian looked at him. A dog. A simple creature who liked to chase sticks and bark at lizards, and who knew things that most humans didn’t. He could tell when people were afraid and when they lied and when they desired one another.

Thank you, Endal
, he said.

B
ASTIAN FOUND
H
ANTJE
in the sickroom.
No
, he said, catching hold of Endal’s thick leather collar.
Don’t disturb them.

It wasn’t embarrassment that halted him in the open doorway. He didn’t need the dog’s senses to know that whatever Melke and Hantje talked about was deeply private.

They sat with their heads bent together. Hantje’s face was tight and bitter, his eyes shut. The black hair was bound back at his neck.

Melke’s hair hung free, sliding forward over her shoulder. He saw the fineness of her profile, the paleness of her skin, the red of her lips moving as she talked. Her words were too low to hear.

She reached to touch her brother, laying a hand at the nape of his neck.

Hantje flinched. His eyes shut more tightly. His mouth twisted.

The young man hated himself, Bastian realized. It wasn’t merely that he thought himself not good enough for Liana. He hated himself.

There was love in the angle of Melke’s head, tilting towards her brother, in the touch of her fingers at the nape of his neck. Quiet love. And quiet despair.

Bastian watched her, the movement of her lips and the soft fall of her hair, the elegant lines of nose and cheekbone and jaw, the slender fingers resting on Hantje’s neck.

Desire, yes, and something that was more than desire.

He turned away from the open door.
Come,
Endal. They want to be alone. We’ll wait downstairs.

“Y
OU SHOULD HAVE
left me there.”

“Don’t you dare say that.” Melke tightened her fingers on Hantje’s neck. “Don’t you dare
think
it!”

He said nothing. His eyes were still closed, as if he couldn’t bear looking at her.

Melke touched her brow to his. “I could never have left you there,” she whispered.

“Why don’t you hate me?”

“Because you are my brother and I love you.”

He shook his head, his forehead moving against hers.

“Yes.”

But Hantje made no reply. He sat, stiff and tense, hunched into himself.

“Hantje, please. You must stop this. It will destroy you.”
And if it destroys you, then it will destroy me.

“It’s all my fault.” His voice was rough. “Everything’s my fault.”

“No.”

“Yes!” Hantje pulled away from her. His eyes opened. She saw his distress, his self-hatred.

“The curse is broken,” Melke said quietly.

He made a sharp, dismissive gesture with his hand.

“I am unharmed. Liana is unharm—”

“You almost died!”

“But I didn’t die. I’m fine.” Her voice was calm, soft.

Hantje’s lips twisted. He shook his head.

“And Liana is unharmed, thanks to you.” Pain twisted in her chest at the thought of what he’d endured, an endless night of brutality. “And Bastian is unharmed.”

“None of this would have happened if I’d not—”

Melke laid her hand over his mouth. “Don’t, Hantje. Please. You must forgive yourself.” But he pulled back from her touch and she saw that he rejected her words. It was in the stiffness of his face and the bitter tightness of his mouth, the hard gray of his eyes.

He pushed the chair back, the sound of wood against wood harsh, and stood. An awkward kiss was pressed into her hair. “Go to sleep,” he said roughly, and then he was gone, his gait clumsy, as if he didn’t see the floor.

Melke bowed her head and tried to hold the tears back with her fingers.
Don’t do this, Hantje. Please.

CHAPTER SIXTY

B
ASTIAN CAUGHT THE
young man’s arm as he pushed past him. “You and I need to talk.”

“What?” Hantje pulled away from him. He blinked, and the bitter misery on his face vanished. It was if a mask slid over his features, haughty. His chin lifted.

Bastian experienced an odd pang of familiarity as he watched the transformation. “You’re very like your sister.”

Hantje’s mouth tightened. “She’s better than me.”

Bastian shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

The young man’s eyes narrowed. “She—”

Bastian blew out a breath that was part sigh, part laugh. “You mistake me. I wasn’t insulting your sister.”

Black eyebrows drew together. “Then what?”

“We need to talk.”

Hantje followed the silent invitation of his hand, stalking past him down the corridor and into the unfurnished parlor. Bastian closed the door behind them. The air was stale and musty.

“Well?” Hantje asked. He crossed his arms over his chest, defensive, proud.

“Liana wishes to marry you.”

The haughtiness vanished for a fraction of a second, allowing Bastian a brief glimpse of anguish before the mask snapped back into place. “It’s merely an infatuation.” The young man’s voice was stiff. “She’ll forget me once I’m gone.”

“I doubt it,” Bastian said mildly, and watched as Hantje’s mouth tightened. “She’s very certain.”

“You needn’t worry.” The words were flat. “She’s safe from me. I have no intention of taking advantage of her.”

“No. So she said.”

Hantje’s eyelids flickered slightly. There was a moment of silence, broken only by the
clack
of Endal’s claws on the wooden floorboards as he explored the empty corners of the room. “Then we understand each other and this discussion is over.” Hantje stepped past him and reached for the door handle. “I’ll leave as soon as my sister is able to travel.”