by Anne Marsh
He shoved his hands through his hair. “Trust me now,” he growled. “Marching straight up to Lierr and handing over the necklace is a piece of monumental stupidity.”
“Really.” She tapped one nail against her lips while she considered his words. “No, really, I’m still not convinced. You see, I came up with my plan and I trust me. We’re back to the not-trusting-you business.”
“How can I convince you to trust me?”
“You want a homework assignment? We don’t have time for that.”
“You don’t have time for that. You have a deadline for getting back to Lierr with your stolen goods. I have all the time in the world. More.” He smiled wolfishly. “There are advantages to being darn near immortal.”
She could see that.
Would it really hurt if she trusted her Cat this one last time?
Stupid. She shook her head. That was as stupid as he claimed taking the necklace to Lierr was.
“Look. You need to make Lierr come to you. Draw him out of his city stronghold to neutral ground. Go straight in there to him, waving the necklace around, and he’s just going to pluck it right out of your fingers. No questions. No answers. You need leverage.”
Cat had a point, she reflected. “Safer bringing him out,” she mused, “than going in to him.”
“Right,” he agreed cautiously. “Spin him a tale. Convince him you’ve got me on your tail and that he needs to come out and fetch the piece so you don’t lead the Guardians straight to his doorstep. You can use that scrying bowl to contact him.”
The master thief looked as cool and implacable as ever when he appeared in the bespelled water of the scrying bowl.
“Have you brought the necklace?” were the first words out of his mouth.
“I’ve got it,” she answered, noting the greedy look that appeared in his eyes. “What, no thank-you? It was damn hard to steal.”
“Where are you?” he demanded, ignoring her attempt at levity.
“In Shympolsk.”
“What are you waiting for, then? Bring it to me, or you know what will happen to your sister.”
She knew, all right. Lierr didn’t bluff. He wouldn’t hesitate to hurt Lore. “You’ll get your necklace.”
A hot presence pressed against her back and she just managed to force herself not to lean against Jafar’s hard body. Into the reassuring warmth. “The merck,” Lierr said. “He’s still with you?”
“Yeah, Lierr, he is.” No choice but to brazen it out, convince Lierr that Jafar was in her employ, her control. “That first banshee you sent after me was a tad on the murderous side. And then there were all those Ifrits. Ate my men, Lierr. Chewed them up and left me a few thank-you bits. What was I supposed to do?”
“Ifrits.” If she hadn’t known that nothing shocked Lierr, she’d have thought he looked vaguely surprised. And somewhat green, to boot.
“Yeah, don’t tell me they’re news to you.” Or maybe they were. Had Lierr truly not known the bloodbath into which he was dropping her? No, she decided. He’d known. He just didn’t have the balls to admit it to her.
“Ifrits, Lierr. You didn’t tell me the Ifrits would be after your pretty piece.” She raised her eyes to his. “They fight dirty.”
He shrugged, his image rippling and distorting in the hazy mist above the bowl. “You’ve survived.”
Barely. “At a cost, Lierr. Here I am, paying for what you want.”
“No,” he contradicted her gently. “You’re paying for what you want.” He shifted, and Lore’s face appeared in the scry circle, Lierr’s hands cupping the soft curve of her cheeks.
“Sunk to a new low?” she asked him.
Her sister grunted and Miu swung her attention to the familiar, pale face. “Has he hurt you?” He had, she knew, but there was hurt and then there was hurt. Some things could be glossed over with time. Others couldn’t.
“Lore.” She fought the urge to close her eyes and bang her head against the wall.
“The baby sister.” He smiled, and it was an expression of pure evil. Lore opened her mouth and he pressed a finger against it. “No, darling. I think your contribution at this point is rather superfluous. You’ve sent a charming message to your sister.”
“Lierr—”
Lore stared at her from the scry circle, a tear streaking down her cheek, looking for all the world like the naive baby she was.
“Let her go, Lierr.”
“Bring me the necklace, Miu.” Lierr pressed a small, hard kiss against the corner of Lore’s beautiful mouth. “Don’t make me mad.”
“Right, there’s just one problem. I’ve got Guardians tracking me. You ready to have them trail me right to your hidey-hole?”
“Cats?” he asked, looking doubtful for the first time. “I don’t think much of the friends you’ve picked up, Miu. Meet me in the tea garden where you used to work. Midnight.”
The connection broke and the surface of the bowl slowly flowed back to perfectly ordinary water.
***
Jafar took the bowl from her hands and gently set it back in its pouch.
The small crinkle of skin between her eyebrows made something in the region of his belly ache. He frowned. No one had told him that this mating business meant hurt.
“No worries, love,” he said. “He touches her, I’ll kill him.”
“Do you think he’ll really bring Lore to the tea garden?” She chewed on her lower lip, mangling the tender flesh. Inside him, the Cat shifted, scenting blood.
“I’ll find out at midnight, won’t I?”
“You’ll find out?”
“Yeah, you’ll be waiting here, safe and sound.”
“No.” She didn’t even bother looking at him. “My sister. My job. I go with you.”
“Why can’t you let me help you?” Flesh smacked flesh and he looked down in some surprise at the bright sting of pain blossoming in his hand. He’d just slammed one fist into his other palm.
“I’m just not used to having help.” She stood and paced across the room.
“You don’t trust me.” It was as plain as the nose on his face and he didn’t need the senses of his Cat to pick out the distrust emanating from her.
“Sure I do.” And wasn’t that about as unconvincing an answer as he’d ever heard?
“You do?”
“Sure.” She paced back to the bed. Flopping down on it, she drew up her knees and wrapped her arms protectively around them.
“We’re mates.” He kept his voice calm. “Mates look out for one another.” And he looked forward to the day she’d look out for him, although he wasn’t holding his breath. “Why won’t you trust me? Is it because of Lierr? Because he’s the one who convinced you that all males are untrustworthy pricks who you should kick around and belittle?”
She looked up, met his eyes.
“No,” she said.
He was sick and tired of one-word answers. “No,” he agreed. “So who did teach you that little life lesson? Or did you just make it up on your own?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. If he did, the Cat was going to burst free and show her precisely how mates treated one another.
“No,” she burst out. “Lierr didn’t teach me that lesson. He didn’t have to. I’d already learned it a dozen times by the time he plucked me from the tea gardens and informed me that, in all his benevolent goodness, he’d decided to make a project of me. I knew what he was and what he’d want from me—and I went with him anyway. No surprises there.”
He brushed a strand of cinnamon hair back from her face. “You knew.”
“Yeah, I knew.”
“And you decided to let him use you so you could use him.”
“Yeah. So you don’t have to pity me or feed me this I-understand-your-pain crap. It was a business arrangement. I don’t trust anyone.”
“Other than your sister?” He watched her carefully.
“Not even her.” She shrugged. “Not really. Love her, yes, but she’ll do what she needs to do to survive and I
can respect that.”
“I need you to trust me,” he growled. “That’s part of being a mate. Our females have to trust us, have to know that even if we change, we will not harm them.”
He reached out and took her face between his hands. “You’ve seen my Cat. Are you afraid of it?”
Miu sat silently on the bed, gazing up at him. Holding her breath.
Was she frightened? He scented the air, pulling the warm, delicious tendrils of scent deep inside him. Female musk. Soap. Just a whiff of anger.
But no fear. The Cat growled with satisfaction. She could hold her own.
The mattress whispered pleasantly as she shifted toward him slightly.
“Touch me,” he demanded, feeling the change beginning.
Would she do it? Did she dare?
Coming up on her knees, she laid a small hand on his shoulder, where the skin flickered between its familiar golden color and the thick, furred pelt of the Cat.
“Like this?” she asked, her voice breathy.
He remembered her fear of the Cat in the tunnel. And also her excitement. Eyes narrowing, he swung his gaze to meet hers. “Will you lie down with my Cat, Miu?” His voice was a low, deep rasp. He didn’t want to disgust her, make her fear him, but he couldn’t hide who—or what—he was any longer. If she stayed with him now, she accepted the male and she accepted the Cat.
Both of them.
The Cat chuffed, a low, feral hiss of sound. His nails curved, lengthened—and the fabric of the bedclothes parted.
Protect. Pounce. The conflicting urges threatened to pull him apart.
Her eyes examined his face, watched as his Guardian form was subsumed by the Cat. “Yes,” she whispered.
Yes. He was afraid to admit the satisfaction that one word gave him. The visceral jolt of liquid pleasure made his cock thicken and strain toward his mate.
Her eyes dropped to his cock and flew back to his face. “We’re in this together. I trust you, and you let me go along to meet Lierr. You up for that, Cat?”
He was. He used the raw heat of his huge Cat’s body to back her against the headboard.
What sent him over the edge was the faint, unmistakable sound of bells as she slowly stripped off her clothes.
“Here, kitty, kitty,” she said.
***
The wet heat of his rough tongue stroked her neck. The hard press of his body made her glad that she was already on the bed. Less distance to fall, because the damned Cat turned her knees to jelly. When his tongue slid over her breast, exploring, she choked on a moan. He was tasting her and she wondered what he tasted. She craved his touch on some fundamental, primitive level of her being. His urgency beckoned to her. No matter what form he took, he wanted her, and that was an aphrodisiac unlike any sold in the city.
“Kitty,” she breathed, surrendering to his ministrations. With erotic efficiency he licked her, bringing her to the edge of orgasm again and again. Between her thighs, she could feel his thick golden fur, rubbing her most sensitive spots with delicious friction.
And then he was changing back, taking on his Guardian form with liquid rapidity. Thick fur shifted and became skin, vanishing as he pressed his face against her throat, inhaling.
She wanted this, she realized. Wanted him. Only him.
“Mine.” Grasping his hair in both hands, she swung his face up until his eyes were level with hers. He growled. She smiled. “Mine,” she said again. “You keep saying we’re mates. Fine. I’m good with it. But it works both ways, kitty. You’re mine. Got it?”
He nodded curtly.
“Yeah,” he rasped. One hard hand threaded through her hair, holding her in place for his kiss. The other hand—she shuddered—stroked down her shoulder with authoritative firmness, over the rounded curve of her belly. No finesse and she wanted none. Just primitive possession. “Mine,” he growled, his fingers tangling in the fine threads of the gold chain he’d locked around her waist, plucking at the links until they tugged at the bells that stabbed the very core of her.
The bells were a lush fullness, sliding slickly through the swollen, wet folds of her sex. A teasing weight. Smooth and heated by her own skin. A caress she was aware of every moment of the day. Heqet, he might as well have branded her. She couldn’t escape from the memories of his arms, his lips, his touch. Now he plucked at the very core of her.
Worse yet, she didn’t want to escape.
She loved him, the bastard.
A sharp tug of the chain sent bells jolting upward,
blazing an electric path of sensation through her sex. The bells stabbed at her clitoris and she gasped. Flashes of electric light exploded behind her closed lids. “Mine,” he said again.
Yeah, she got that.
This worked both ways. If he had taken her, well, she had taken him. Clearly, he needed a reminder. She wrapped both hands around his heavy sex. “And this is mine. We’re perfectly clear. So get on with it.”
Much to her satisfaction, he did. And as he stroked her to shuddering orgasm, she wasn’t entirely sure whether it was man or Cat who claimed her.
***
Had he hurt her? Locked deep inside him, the Cat protested. The Cat certainly hadn’t intended to hurt the female Jafar was cradling in his arms. No. The Cat adored that female. Only wanted to be close, close, close.
It didn’t matter. He had no right to do this to her.
He knew better than to take any female when the transformation threatened him. Pulling out of her soft body, he examined her face for signs of distress.
Her eyelids fluttered and she stared up at him.
“Your Cat came out,” she said quietly.
He stilled, waiting for the anger. The disgust.
“He’s as playful as you,” she said, to his surprise.
Then she smiled and he thought he would fall over from the shock of it. “And I think he likes me.”
He knew his Cat did.
“Let me go to Shympolsk for you, lover,” he said, settling back into their old argument. At least that argument was familiar ground. He knew what her objections were there. “Let me look after this one thing for you.”
She was shaking her head before he’d finished. And then she stood his world on its head with one simple question.
“Are you crazy?” She swatted away the warm hand that feathered erotic patterns over her shoulders and the upward slope of her breasts. “No. We’re partners. We settled that.”
Jafar lay spooned behind her, his large body curled around hers.
“Let me be close to you,” he whispered, and she was lost.
The moment was ineffably sweet, a bright blossom in the very dark air of the room, a softening of the edge of bright fear that she kept carefully tucked away. The fear that she would not escape from Lierr. Wrapped in a cocoon of night dark and Guardian mazhyk, she heard only the soft slide of fabric and the shifting of their bodies.
He lay on his side behind her, lifting her to her side and wrapping himself around her. His thick erection stroked gently at the tight seam of her thighs for long minutes. Just the velvety soft tip of his penis stroked deliciously, as the lazy excitement built. Cream slipped from her body.
He parted her thighs with his knee. The broad head of his erection separated the lips of her sex, sliding into her body slowly. Filling and stretching her.
“You feel so good,” she whispered. “Move now.”
And he did. Long, slow, luscious strokes that seemed to suggest they had all the time in the world. “Like this?” He stroked deeply into her, pulling back with a delicious friction that made her want to grab his body and pull it back to hers. Hard.
Instead of answering, she reached down to cup the heavy weight of his testicles, savoring the heat of them. The position was awkward but rewarding. She stroked the tender skin stretched between his balls and his perineum. He was taut with excitement. He was beautiful.
He reached around to pet her clitoris, tugging gently. They came together in long, slow shudders. This
time, he was silent and the sex was slow and sweet and close. It was as if she were becoming one being with this Cat lover, she realized, and she could only hope that her instincts had not been misguided.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Miu settled herself at a table in the tea garden just before midnight. Jafar had objected strenuously to the idea that she was to be the distraction that would keep Lierr from noticing his own presence, but, as she’d pointed out, there really wasn’t much choice. The thief master was unlikely to hand over her sister unless he saw both Miu and the necklace.
The seconds seemed to tick by with agonizing slowness as she waited. And then, across the garden, she spotted him. Dark, ageless, and uncannily good-looking, Lierr stepped closer, moving into the circle of light cast by the candle on her table.
“Why, Miu,” he said softly, “I almost think you’re not pleased to see me.”
“Your damn necklace just about got me killed,” she complained. Not to mention mated. For life. With a Guardian.
“I never promised easy,” he said lightly, and she gave in to the urge to look up. She hated speaking to Lierr’s chest. She’d forgotten just how large he really was.
“This makes us quits,” she warned. She wasn’t handing anything over until he agreed—again—to the terms of their contract. As far as she knew, she was the first thief in a decade to complete the terms of her contract. She wasn’t letting him suck her into another hundred thefts because she was too stupid to close all the loopholes before she handed over the goods. It would be just like Lierr to figure out some clever way of binding her to him right after he released her.
She narrowed her eyes.
Lierr had controlled her through the markings on her forearm. Somehow, he’d been able to send unimaginable pain—as well as just discomfort, so nice to know he had a sliding scale—to whatever portion of her anatomy he’d decided to assault. That particular hold he had over her was going to break. Now.
“Remove the mark,” she ordered, knowing he would expect that to be her first demand, “and then I’ll hand over your necklace and be on my way. You can play dress-up with it on your own time.”