Like a Thief in the Night

by Bettie Sharpe

  She shivered at Eden’s mention of one of Darkriver’s other top assassins. She had worked with Keris once. Arden liked her kills close and clean, but Keris was a madman—he took on his targets with no planning, no forethought. He attacked with nothing but a knife in his hand and murder on his mind. He fought like a berserker and emerged from each assignment covered in his victims’ blood, smiling as serenely as a plaster saint—smiling as though he hadn’t just butchered every living thing unlucky enough to have seen his face.

  “Keris never leaves witnesses alive to report his identifying marks.”

  “This kid won’t leave witnesses, either. You’ll train him to be ruthless, if you know what’s good for you. The Director signed off on him, personally.”

  No one refused the Director—no one who wanted to continue living. And if Arden refused, the Director would probably send Keris after her before assigning him to mentor the kid. She imagined the boy’s face, wild-eyed and spattered with blood. She imagined not one, but two bloodthirsty berserkers loose in the world.

  If she agreed to Eden’s order, Arden could save both her own life, and the kid’s sanity. It was a win-win situation—except for the kid’s eventual victims. And, Arden told herself, if his victims were given a choice in the method of their own inevitable demise, they would undoubtedly prefer the sure strength of a garrote or the cool kiss of a bullet to the brain over the undulating edge and hooked tip of Keris’s favorite knife.

  She sighed and returned her attention to the boy. He was gangly, smooth-cheeked, still very much a child despite his height. Twelve, perhaps. Other than the birthmark, he would do. With his café-au-lait skin, black hair and Eurasian features, he would blend into the populaces of India, Europe or the Americas.

  She took a deep breath. “When do we start?”

  “Whenever you’re ready.”

  “Then let’s get this over with,” Arden grumbled. “I don’t like kids.”

  “You had best learn to like this one. He’ll be your protégé, same as you’re mine.”

  “He has that much potential?”

  “Darling,” Eden brushed Arden’s shaggy bangs out of her eyes with an almost maternal gesture, “he’ll be better than both of us.”

  She walked out of the dining room and into the hallway beyond. Aniketos had turned left, Arden went right, following the stark white hall that circuited the penthouse, taking the path that would lead her away from him. The exterior doors and windows were still sealed with steel security shutters. The walls and floors were thick, solid concrete. There was no way she could escape Aniketos’ trap, but that didn’t mean she would stop looking for a way out.

  She went more slowly this time, observing everything around her as she went. The flat was decorated in a minimalist style, with strange ornate flourishes. The carpeting was gray, the furniture was black, and the walls were white, but every tabletop, counter and interior door was made of opaque blue-green glass edged in gilt. The light fixtures, chandeliers and faceted doorknobs were made of the transparent version of the same glass.

  Old-fashioned, two-dimensional paintings, drawings and tapestries hung on every wall. Every corner housed small sculptures chipped out of rock or cast in bronze. Each item was cared for and carefully preserved. The place was a treasure trove of stolen art.

  An opaque glass door at the end of the hallway led from the living quarters to the more public areas of the penthouse. She passed through a great room with a two-story ceiling, a white marble floor, and thick black couches arranged around a massive fireplace with a mantle of carved black stone. The wall behind the fireplace was mirrored from floor to ceiling—the better to reflect light from the far wall which was nothing but windows—or would have been windows if not for the armor plating of steel security grates that blocked out even the smallest hint of light.

  To Arden’s left, a marble-tiled foyer ended at a pair of embossed bronze doors that had to be at least four meters tall. Arden knew the doors would be locked, but she couldn’t stop herself from tugging on the massive bronze handles, just in case. The doors didn’t budge. The hall continued on the other side of the room, and she followed it.

  She tried the first door she came to. The faceted glass knob turned freely under her hand. The door opened into a library with row after row of airtight temperature-controlled shelves. The youngest book she recognized was at least three hundred years old, dating back to when people regularly printed and read books on paper.

  She searched the shelves of the library for any information that might help her. She found all manner of antique secrets and occult bullshit. In the pages of a four-hundred-year-old book on lock mechanisms, she found a yellowed scrap of cigarette paper with a simple formula scrawled in pencil beneath the title How to Turn Lead into Gold.

  “Useless.” She shoved the paper back into the book and left the library to search the remaining rooms. She needed a weapon.

  The next room held an array of sophisticated computer equipment. All of the machines were security controlled with biometric identification systems. She would find no help here. She crossed this room from her mental list and moved on.

  The third door led to a short, dark hall. The air in the hall was cold and damp. She pushed open the steel door at the other end. The basement room lay beyond, with its crumbling plaster walls and single metal chair bolted to the center of the floor. Her free hand curled into a fist. Darkriver didn’t have a monopoly on set dressing and mind games.

  The final room was set up like an archaeologist’s workroom. It was a labyrinth of pedestals and waist-height work tables containing fragments of pottery, broken bits of tarnished bronze, sandy shards of shattered glass, crumbling scrolls and crude little idols made of shell and clay.

  She checked the drawers beneath the worktables and found all manner of textiles—old handmade American quilts, Baroque European brocades, serapes, colorful kente cloth, swathes of patterned cashmere, ornate Japanese kimono, Indian sari silk, ancient scraps of cloth-of-gold. She tucked the swath of red sari silk beneath her arm. It would do for clothing after she bathed.

  There was a writing desk in the far corner. It was crowded with books and pens and paper. There was a crumbling old book lying open on the table, which, in turn, contained a photograph of an ancient clay tablet. Beside the book was an open notebook with handwriting stretching halfway down the page.

  Arden frowned at it. She hadn’t known people wrote things by hand anymore. She frowned and tried to puzzle out the looping, connected letters.

  There was once a very clever Thief whom no lock could stop and no trap could catch. When there was nothing left in the world of men to challenge him, he decided to steal from the gods. He scaled the ziggurat that led to their glass heaven and climbed over the golden gates to paradise.

  The words sounded familiar—as though she’d heard them before. She shook her head.

  “Fairytales.” She rolled her eyes. Gods and thieves and magic, what a waste of time. She had no time for the silly myths that silly people once believed. She needed a way out or a way to kill Aniketos—preferably both.

  She sneaked into the bedroom. The bed was empty, but the door to the bathroom was ajar. She crept up to it and peeked through the gap at the reflection in the heated mirror above the sinks. She saw the shower area reflected in the mirror. Aniketos was there, naked and surrounded by steam, his back to the mirror. The noise of the shower would cover the sound of her approach when she attacked him. Surprise would tip the odds in her favor.

  But, God and the Devil, he was beautiful.

  She should have acted, but she watched him instead. She ran her gaze down his body, from his slick black hair to his wide shoulders to his long, strong arms and muscled back. His ass was a hard curve of muscles and his thighs were thick with sinewy strength.

  She felt a perverse thrill at watching him naked. He had stripped her bare and kept her that way, letting his eyes roam as he pleased. She had never seen his naked body. He hadn’t even taken of
f all of his clothes when he’d fucked her.

  Arden didn’t care if she was acting like a voyeur; this view was long overdue.

  Her nipples were tight. She put her hands beneath her shirt and cupped her breasts. A thrill of desire shot through her body. She savored the smooth, wet feel of her body’s response. She squeezed her nipples before sliding her right hand down to her pussy.

  Her clit was already aroused, and the first pass of her hand sent a shudder of pleasure through her body. She didn’t need to imagine her hand belonged to someone else, or that she was in some other situation. Reality was arousing enough. Arden had to admit there was a definite erotic appeal in watching a naked man who had no idea she was there.

  He turned around to tilt his hair back under the shower. Arden licked her lips. She wanted to take her time looking at him, to admire his muscled chest and ridged abs, to appreciate the lean, masculine beauty of his legs—but his cock made her mouth water. She couldn’t look anywhere else.

  He was shaved, and his sac hung heavily behind his penis. Even semi-erect, his cock was as thick as her wrist and long enough to hit all the right spots. She plunged a finger into herself and pressed the heel of her hand against her clit.

  She was close. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the sensation. Her hands worked while she kept her ears attuned to the continued din of the shower.

  A wet hand closed around her wrist.

  She opened her eyes and Aniketos filled her vision. He was silent as she looked him over. She ran her gaze the length of his wet body before returning to his hot eyes.

  “You are too twisted to resist.” He peeled the shirt from her body. “I had planned to make you beg me.”

  He grabbed her shoulders and wrapped his hot, wet arms around her. Beads of warm water dripped from his hair onto her skin, sliding down her back and over her breasts like a phantom touch.

  She raised her face to his. He kissed her. She opened her mouth and slid her tongue between his hungry lips. She snaked her arms around his back and pressed her bare breasts against his wet, naked chest.

  Slowly, he urged her back toward the bed. It was a halting journey. Every breath pressed his hard chest against her sensitive nipples. Their hands and arms jostled for position, each seeking to touch without care for the other’s explorations. Their legs tangled together, skin sliding against wet skin.

  She lost her balance when her legs came up against the bed. He held her up, keeping her body pressed to his for one long moment before letting her fall back onto the bed.

  He moved to cover her body with his, but she sat up and pushed his chest back with her hand until he was standing again. Arden leaned down and ran her tongue along his cock. His muscles tensed. She opened wide and sucked the head of his penis between her lips. She pressed her tongue against the sensitive head, and slid her mouth up the length of him. She took as much of him as she could with her mouth and wrapped her hand around the base of his cock.

  When he groaned, she knew she had him right where she wanted him. She slid back down his cock, and pulled her sucking mouth from the wide head of it with a pop. She waited.

  He looked down at her, his pale blue eyes bright with anger and arousal. “You will not control me.”

  That’s what you think. Arden lay down across the bed, leaning her head back over the edge so she could see him.

  Even upside down, the man looked good. His cock was still wet with her saliva. She licked her lips. Saints and sinners, she wanted that cock back in her mouth.

  She wanted to suck him off, to fuck him with her mouth and throat. She wanted the taste of him on her tongue, the scent of him in her lungs. She wanted to take control of his every sensation, to hold the most sensitive part of his body mere millimeters from her teeth. She wanted the satisfaction of making him come.

  She moved her hands to her body, running them down her sides, and back up to her breasts. She caught his gaze and smiled. “Watch me.”

  Aniketos looked down at Arden as she lay on his bed. Her long, slim body was spread out like a banquet before him. Her golden skin glowed against the black silk sheets. The angle of her head emphasized her long, slender neck.

  He had no doubt she knew exactly what she was doing; that she was displaying her body to tempt him, to pull him under her control. She was as cagey and conniving as she was beautiful and dangerous. And soon she would be his.

  She licked her lips, those soft pink lips. Her lips were such an innocent color, the rosy pink of a virgin bride. He remembered the way her lips had looked wrapped around his cock, a wicked combination of innocence and sin.

  “Are you watching?” Her voice was breathy. She wanted to control him, but she seemed barely in control of herself. She had been on the brink of orgasm when he’d caught her masturbating, and he didn’t think she was so far from it now that a few well-placed touches wouldn’t put her over the edge.

  She cupped her breasts with her hands, pressing them together while catching the nipples between her index fingers and thumbs. She made an enticing picture, and she smiled like she knew it. She kept her dark eyes on him, watching, assessing.

  She parted her lips and arched her back, thrusting her breasts up and her head further back over the edge of the bed. She slid one hand down her body to touch her cunt. She parted the lips there, stroking herself as he watched.

  His heartbeat was loud, his erection was almost painful. He knew he was watching her too closely. More than one of his previous lovers had noted the unnerving intensity of his gaze, the way his passions bordered on obsession. But obsession was part of his nature. What else could see a man through long centuries while everyone he knew and loved aged and died? He wanted. He took what he wanted. What else was there?

  Right now, he wanted Arden. She was what he thought about, what he craved. She was as rare as any treasure he had ever stolen—beautiful and dangerous, a creature he longed to tame, though he knew her feral nature was the heart of her appeal.

  The only way to extinguish such an obsession was to sate it. He wanted her to yield completely, to grant him mastery of her body and soul.

  She met his gaze with a challenge in her eyes. She plunged one finger into herself. It emerged wet and glistening.

  “Still planning to make me beg?”

  He recognized her position. Her head tilted back to make an even line from her lips to her throat. It was the same technique sword-swallowers used to perform their amazing feats.

  Aniketos heard himself say, “I believe I have reconsidered.”

  She reached back over her head, arching her back still further and motioned him forward with a crook of her index finger. He moved closer, and closer still, at the tempting insistence of her imperious gesture. Soon, the bobbing head of his cock was mere centimeters from her mouth.

  She extended her tongue and licked the tip of it even as her hand on his hip guided him closer. His cock slid between her soft lips. She urged him further. Her tongue worked him as he slid his cock into the warm, wet haven of her mouth.

  He groaned as he began to move his hips, to fuck her mouth. He looked at her body, spread out before him. Her high breasts were just big enough to fill his hands. Her hand roamed over her own body, caressing her breasts, teasing her clit. She drove him mad, displaying her body while she sucked his cock. Did she know what she was doing to him?

  She made a sound, a low, smug hum that ran the length of his cock and settled into his spine. She knew.

  Arden would have smiled if her mouth had not been otherwise occupied. Her left hand rested on Aniketos’ hip, guiding his movements, holding him off so she could tease him with her tongue then urging his cock deep into her throat. A fine tremor ran through the muscles beneath her hand. His breathing sounded hard and heavy. He was close, so close.

  “Arden.” One word—her name was both command and capitulation.

  Ah, that was it. That was what she wanted to hear.

  She opened wide and slid him as deep as he would go. He slid away and
she sucked him hard. She touched herself while she sucked him, her free hand taking up the course he had interrupted with his sudden appearance.

  His body tensed, his pulse pounding toward orgasm. His hips moved fast, fucking her mouth, shoving the wide head of his cock deep into her throat again and again. Her eyes watered with the effort of controlling her reflexes even as her body hummed with satisfaction at his loss of control. His hips stiffened, and his hands curled into fists. His cock swelled, pumping hot, salty come into her throat and mouth.

  She held him between her lips for a heartbeat before she slid her mouth from his shaft, licked her lips, and swallowed the evidence of her victory.

  She couldn’t keep the smile from her face as she looked up at him. There was a flush beneath the bronze of his skin and his pale eyes were heavy-lidded from his release.

  He met her smile with one of his own. He walked around to the opposite side of the bed, grabbed her by the ankles and pulled her forward so her head was resting on top of the mattress. He wedged his leg between her knees and knelt between her legs. He ran one hand up her body and pressed it between her breasts to hold her down as he pressed his lips against her belly. She was tired but still aroused.

  He parted her labia and put his tongue on her. His movements were long and slow, building up pleasure in layers until her body relaxed for him.

  He took his time, stoking her fires with long slow licks and then letting her ebb so he could tease her again. Minutes passed. The madness crept up on Arden slowly. Each time his tongue retreated, her body tensed, her hips arched up toward his lips.

  She was so close, balanced on a tightrope of spun glass. He suckled her clit, and retreated. She fisted her hand into his hair and pulled his head back to her. She heard a muffled laugh beneath the sound of his sucking.

  He pressed two fingers into her pussy, crooked them and pressed against her clit with his tongue. She shattered. She was flying and falling at the same time. She had never felt more alive or more afraid.