Thief of Light

by Denise Rossetti

  Prue began to fist him, hand over hand, pausing occasionally to swipe over the head, smearing it with its own moisture. Under the pad of her thumb, his glans felt dense and velvety, mouthwateringly smooth and searingly hot.

  Prue’s lips twitched, her heart soaring. Actions spoke louder than words, she’d always believed. He wasn’t likely to be interested in a chat at the moment. It might be better to show him.

  Bending forward, she extended her tongue and took a cautious lick, all around the head. She’d never much enjoyed doing this, but with Erik . . . She dotted a row of small, sipping kitten kisses wherever she pleased, at random. Oh, soft and firm, all at once. Musky and strong and sweet, all at once.

  Erik’s hips jerked. “Sweetheart . . . stop now.”

  Ignoring him, murmuring her pleasure, Prue licked her lips and went back for more.

  Strong fingers threaded through her hair. Despite her preoccupation, she heard his preparatory intake of breath. “Stop, Prue. Sit up and look at me.”

  The assassin was a long heap covered by a light blanket. Soft snuffling snores stirred the lock of pale, silky hair lying across her pillow. The Necromancer’s lip curled. Ah well, a tool was a tool.

  Bracing himself, he slipped seamlessly into her dreams.

  There was a man there—a man with a dark, relentless hunter’s face. Mehcredi was running down an endless alley, her lungs laboring, but every time she turned a corner, the man waited there, his pitiless eyes black as pitch, watching, implacable. She’d whirl and run in a different direction, the breath rasping in her throat.

  Over and over.

  Without compunction, the Necromancer interposed himself between them. “Assassin,” he hissed.

  She pressed her back to a wall, her silvery eyes darting everywhere. “I’m sorry! Don’t hurt me!”

  “You failed me.”

  A pause and she regained her equilibrium, gulping for breath. Locating him by the sound of his voice, she turned her head, staring into the impenetrable shadow beneath his hood. “Oh,” she said, and her shoulders sagged with what looked oddly like relief. “It’s you. Sorry, what did you say?”

  The Necromancer shut his mouth with an irritated snap. Shaitan, this one was remarkable! More than a little piqued, he repeated himself, something he rarely did. “You failed me, assassin.”

  Mehcredi shrugged. “Not my fault.”

  “You were seen, weren’t you?” That produced an interesting reaction.

  The assassin knuckled her eyes like a frightened child. “He looked into my eyes, he’ll find me.” Her voice cracked. “Kill me.”

  “That’s your problem. And here’s another, assassin.” The Necromancer paused for effect. “You owe me a death.” Another pause. “Don’t you?”

  Long fingers clenched on her thigh. “I did everything I was supposed to.”

  “Excuses do not interest me. I contracted with you for the murder of the singer. You failed to deliver. What are you going to do about it?”

  The assassin’s lower lip jutted. “You can have your godsbedamned money back.” Panting, she wrenched her belt pouch open. Credits tinkled on the cobbles as she flung them away. “Here, go hire yourself an army.”

  “My dear, I think you’ve forgotten what I can do.” Almost affectionately, the Necromancer reached out with dark, insubstantial fingertips and brushed the skin behind her ear.

  Mehcredi gave a hideous, choking gargle as all the strength leaked out of one side of her body. Listing, she slid down the wall and collapsed.

  Impatiently, the Necromancer waited, counting off the precious seconds of the seelie’s energy.

  Eventually, the assassin rolled over, retching. “I’m d-dreaming,” she said. “I’ll wake up in a minute.”

  “True enough,” agreed the Necromancer. “But you can feel pain in a dream. You can die in a dream. For the last time, what are you going to do?” He watched her mind racing, vastly entertained.

  Sitting up, she massaged the side of her neck, rubbed her limp arm. “Try again?”

  “No,” he said immediately. “Not try. This time, you’ll succeed.”

  Mehcredi shot him a sideways glance. “I’ll get help.” One-handed, she began to gather up coins.

  “One more thing.” The Necromancer allowed the smile to appear in his voice. “The fee’s dropped. Ten credits. You can deliver the change along with the singer’s body.”

  The assassin’s face darkened. “But that’s not fair!”

  “That’s life.” The Necromancer shrugged, his shadowy presence now so vast, it blanketed the night sky of Mehcredi’s dream. “Allow me to remind you.” Eager to taste the astonishing purity of her soul once more, he swooped.

  But as the assassin shrank back, her eyes widening until they were as round and silvery as the Sister at full, he became aware of foreign sounds, scrabbling, scratching. The woman’s body wavered, then steadied again. The noises escalated. Growls and yips, a fusillade of hysterical barks, a small body hurling itself against the door. Again and again.

  “That’s . . .” Mehcredi wet her lips and her presence faded in and out. She was waking. “. . . dog. Have to . . .”

  Abruptly, she vanished.

  29

  The Voice echoed around the chamber and Prue froze, Erik’s cock cradled against the heated velvet of her tongue. It nearly killed him, but he tugged gently at her hair and she came up easily enough, though she resisted long enough to administer a final suckle that made his balls clench. She was delightfully flushed, her breasts quivering with the force of her breath, nipples tight and rosy. It suited her, he thought wistfully.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  Prue chuckled. She trailed a fingertip along the crease between his hip and his thigh and his cock jerked in helpless reflex. “I’d say so.” She shot him a challenging look from under her lashes. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

  “Proof,” he said heavily. “Remember? Proof of the gift the gods gave me. My blessing and my curse.”

  “Oh,” she said. “That.”

  “Yes, that.” Erik caught her chin in one hand and gazed deep into her eyes. “I just used the Voice on you, compelled you to stop.”

  Her lips quirked. “Yes, with your hand in my hair.”

  His brain felt foggy, slow-moving and stupid, stunned by the unaccustomed storm of emotions. They flashed by so quickly, in such gut-churning combinations, he had difficulty snagging one long enough to face it, let alone deal with its import. He could discern love and lust, that was easy enough. He’d lost the high edge of his erection, but his cock was still half-hard, the stupid thing, what with the lingering effect of Prue’s oral ministrations and the press of her silken skin all down his side. His nostrils were full of the luscious, mind-numbing scent of feminine arousal.

  The curse of the Voice and the pain it brought with it were lifelong, intimate acquaintances, but not this bittersweet, aching tenderness. With every second that passed, it threatened to shatter his precarious composure. Hell, he was on the point of tears, no better than a little girl.

  Erik gazed down at the woman in his arms. Such a valiant heart, braver than he’d ever be. What would she do if their positions were reversed?

  She’d do what was right and honorable, what was best for him.

  A spiky lump of ice formed in his guts. His chest tightened.

  She’d walk away.

  Prue sighed and stirred, pressing closer to his body heat. “Erik, we have to do something about this, ah, problem of yours.”

  “I know.” Time—that was what he needed—a few more minutes to summon up the resolution. Her fingers skated over his inner thigh, perilously high. Every muscle tensed. He sat up a little straighter, removed his arm from around her shoulders.

  Prue drew away slightly, a crease between her brows. “Old Purist Nori attended the reception on your opening night, remember? She was wise, sensible.” Prue shot him a wary glance from under her lashes. “I can’t imagine there’s anything she hasn’t s
een. Why don’t we go talk to her tomorrow?”

  Erik counted his breaths. One. Two. Shit! Three. Four. “Prue,” he said as steadily as he could. “I’m in my right mind, truly. The Voice is real.”

  “It is or it isn’t.” She looked him in the eye. “You said . . .” A long pause. “. . . you loved me. Why did you do that?”

  “Because it’s true.” He swung his legs off the bed and rose, achingly aware of the frozen silence behind him. He’d reached the door to the bathroom when she spoke, her voice soft but steadier than he’d expected.

  “A strange way to show it. Leaving me flat. Again.”

  “This is the best thing I can do for you, the only thing.” He didn’t hear the pad of her bare soles on the thick pile of the silk carpet, but suddenly, the air was full of Prue, of the fresh, sweet smell he’d come to associate with her. Her dark hair swirled madly around her face, her fingers dug into his forearms. Erik had to set his feet not to be knocked sideways.

  “C’mon,” she said, her face vivid with the intensity of her purpose. “Let’s get this fantasy of yours out of the way. We’ll sort out the rest later.” Stepping back, she set her hands on her hips and tilted her head to one side, a smile trembling on her lips, both tender and mocking. “Like you said, this is the best thing I can do for you. Command me, Erik.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut. “No.”

  Prue’s brilliant aquamarine gaze burned into his. “Prove you love me,” she whispered. She went up on her tiptoes, her lips brushing his. “I dare you.”

  “Gods, Prue!” All his thoughts fragmented, blown apart by a great rushing tempest of feeling, the force of the Voice unstoppable, overwhelming, blasting his good intentions to smithereens. It felt as if it came from the soles of his feet, the back of his skull, the base of his spine. His heart.

  “Give your trust to me, Prue, everything you are. Be mine.” With his last scrap of sanity, he added, “For tonight, just tonight.” The words hung in the air, almost tangible.

  She swayed and he caught her to him. “Prue!”

  Her dazed eyes fluttered open and she gave a shaky smile. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it? What do you want me to do?”

  Erik swung her up into his arms. “Whatever I tell you,” he growled.

  Erik lowered Prue to the center of the bed. Dipping his head, he placed a sweet, serious kiss on her lips. “Kneel up, sweetheart, and give me your hands.”

  Her stomach fluttering, she did so.

  Big warm hands closed over hers. He pressed a kiss to her palms, one after the other. “I’ll take good care of you, I swear,” he murmured, his voice husky.

  Prue held his eye. “I know.”

  “Sshh.” He pressed the cushion of her lower lip with a gentle thumb. “You’ve never played like this before, have you?”

  She shook her head. “What about you?”

  “A little, but it meant nothing.” His brows snapped together. “Which is hardly to my credit.” When his thumb drifted back and forth across her mouth, she teased it with her tongue. Erik hissed. “You’re all that matters, Prue.”

  He gazed intently into her face, as if he was imprinting her on his mind, feature by feature. She’d never seen him look so stern—or so beautiful, pared back to an elemental purpose. “Here’s the first rule.”

  Prue choked. “Rule?”

  His mouth kicked up at the corners. “Of course. For tonight, your pleasure belongs to me, not to you. Do you understand?”

  Watching him from under her lashes, she nipped at his thumb. “Not really.”

  “You’ll learn,” he said cryptically. “Don’t take your eyes off me either.”

  “What if I can’t do that?”

  His face hardened and a hot chill ran down Prue’s spine. “I’ll punish you.”

  “Punish?” It came out perilously close to a squeak. “How?”

  Erik’s expression grew positively devilish. “In a way I’ll enjoy and you . . . might.” His eyes danced. “Put your hands behind your back, love.”

  Trembling with nerves and a strange, dark excitement, Prue did so. Erik placed his forefinger in the hollow of her throat. In a leisurely fashion, he drew it down her torso, between her breasts, over her solar plexus, his eyes following the gooseflesh that rose on her skin. He circled her navel and then tracked back up again.

  “This is the most important rule. Are you listening?”

  She wouldn’t have been surprised to see a silver trail of sensation follow his touch. Gods, it tingled! Prue had to clear her throat before she could answer. “Yes.”

  “You can beg all you like and it won’t make any difference. In fact, I’ll enjoy it.”

  When she stiffened, his eyes gleamed with pleasure. “If you’re in real pain, disgusted, truly terrified, then I’ll stop, but only then.”

  Prue wet her lips. “But how, how will—?”

  He considered for a moment “Sing the ‘Seelie Song.’ ”

  “I told you I can’t sing.”

  Erik smiled grimly. “You’ll manage if you need to. Just the first line. Got it?” When she didn’t reply, his voice lowered to a bass baritone growl. “Answer me, Prue.”

  “Godsdammit, yes!” She tossed her head. “I’ve got it.”

  He gripped her chin in hard fingers. “You looked away then. Don’t do it again. You’re mine, all of you.” His eyes were almost black, his cheeks flushed. “Starting with this gorgeous mouth. Bring it here. And don’t move your hands. I won’t let you fall.”

  Her pulse thundering in her ears, Prue rose on her knees. Because she had to stretch up to fit her mouth to his, she wobbled on the yielding surface of mattress. Erik slid his fingers deep into her hair and cradled her skull, the single point of contact enough to keep her steady. With a deep murmur of satisfaction, he took possession of her mouth. She couldn’t think of any other word for it. Possession. He luxuriated, indulging himself with nibbles and licks, sinking deeper by slow degrees, overwhelming her with his passion.

  Prue twined her fingers together behind her back and gripped hard so she wouldn’t forget herself and wind her arms around his neck, press herself close to the furnace heat radiating from his skin.

  Somehow, he seemed to know. He lifted his head a fraction. “I’ve got you.”

  That was all. But it was enough. Prue sighed into his mouth, relaxing. Her head fell back in surrender. He’d never kissed her like this before, as if her mouth were a pleasure garden created solely for his delectation.

  Her head reeled with the power of it. She need do nothing beyond the giving of herself. Her only responsibility was to please him. It was impossible to get it wrong because he would tell her, show her.

  Prue whimpered against the hot, sleek velvet of his plundering tongue. How extraordinary, she thought dizzily. She felt so light, if it wasn’t for the anchoring grip of his fingers, she’d float to the ceiling like a feather lifted on a spring breeze. Yet her body was heavy, suffused with hot blood, soft and slick and ready to be taken. A trickle of moisture ran down the inside of her thigh. Her breasts were so engorged the creamy flesh was taut, her nipples distended.

  Deliberately, she arched, hissing into Erik’s mouth when the sensitive crests brushed over the light mat of hair on his hard chest. She was about to go back for more when he wrapped his hands around her shoulders and freed his mouth. She groaned with frustration.

  “Wanton baggage.” But he smiled, his eyes brilliant with pleasure. He curled a lock of her hair around one finger and it clung, still a little damp. “Your hair needs brushing out.”

  “No, no, it’s fine. Leave it.”

  Erik arched a brow and turned away, leaving her bereft. In complete silence, he padded over to the shallow shelves that held the erotic devices. Prue’s chest went tight with shock. She wasn’t naïve, she knew what some of them were for and she could have told him to the last cred what they cost, but some of the objects . . . Well, she preferred to remain in ignorance.

  He stood there for an
endless time, reaching out to touch first one, then another. Watching him, Prue had no problems with obedience—she couldn’t drag her eyes away from the eloquent line of his shoulders, the way his thighs tensed and his buttocks went taut. When a drop of water coursed out of the dark gold of his hair and over his bent neck, so strong and yet so vulnerable, she quivered with the desire to press up against him and lick it off, to kiss and comfort and love.

  When he picked something up, she tensed, but his body obscured her view. Both his hands disappeared and Prue craned forward. What in the gods’ names was he doing? With a pained grunt, he dropped his head, his shoulders heaving. A long pause and he went back to pondering his choice.

  By the time he made his final selection, Prue’s thought processes had degenerated to a gibbering soup. Gods, gods, oh gods, what is he going to—?

  All he held was a hairbrush and a scrap of fabric crushed in his hand.

  Prue’s breath whistled out from between her teeth. But when her gaze dropped to his magnificent erection, jutting proudly from a nest of sandy curls, she forgot to breathe entirely.

  A smooth, tight ring surrounded the root of his cock, glinting gold against the flushed skin, the constriction continuing under his scrotum. No wonder he hadn’t been able to muffle his discomfort.

  Before she knew it, she’d licked her lips.

  When Erik chuckled, she itched to hit him, but of course, she couldn’t, could she? Her hands were clasped behind her back. Words tumbled out of her mouth. “That’s not fair!”

  “Do I care?” Grinning, he tossed the brush and the fabric onto the bed behind her. “Thank the gods I already took the edge off.” He leaned forward to drop a kiss on the tip of her nose. “Waiting’s going to be pure torture, but fuck, it’ll be worth it, every second.”

  Prue curled her lip and shot him a killing glare, but all he said was, “Sit on your heels, sweetheart, and get comfortable.”

  The mattress dipped as he settled himself behind her, her hips bracketed by his knees. Automatically, she flexed her fingers, encountering his flat belly, the drift of the rough hair intriguing beneath her fingertips. When the heel of her hand brushed something velvety soft and very hot, he swore and jerked away. Prue grinned to herself.