The Water Thief

by Jane Kindred

  Macsen groaned softly in unison with me as he spread me open, and then made a rough, animal sound to accompany my moan of pleasure as he drove himself in, deep and steady. Kneeling behind me with the suit pants at his thighs, he moved his hands to my hips and pulled me back to meet him, raising me slightly onto my knees. When his hand moved to my inflamed cock, oil still coating his fingers, I clutched the bedspread, panting into the pillow.

  “I’ve had no one,” he murmured, stroking me so slowly, I squirmed and let out a plaintive whimper. “No one but you, Sebastian. Only you.” His hand and his cock both picked up speed, and I had to bury my face in the pillow to stifle my sounds, happily surrendering myself to Macsen to do with me as he pleased. This was what I had wanted, what I had needed.

  The magic of Cantre’r Gwaelod was rising through my veins, skittering over my skin in the sweat of our motions, and surging into my cock as he rocked me captive between his hand and his hips. The wild energy seemed to burst from every pore, energy I hadn’t allowed myself to feel since going into hiding from Emrys. I abandoned myself to it and came with a shuddering howl into the pillow. Macsen opened his palm, his hand pressing my sticky cock to my abs as he fucked me hard a few moments longer before he tensed and groaned and shot inside me.

  We collapsed together, Macsen spooning around me, and he turned my head toward him to give me a slow, satisfied kiss. “Only you,” he said again as he released me, and smiled. “I suspect I may be in love with you, Sebastian Swift.”

  I laughed softly as he closed his arms around me, hugging me to his chest. “I love you, too, Sebastian Swift.”

  Macsen rested his chin on my shoulder, so quiet I thought he’d fallen asleep until he spoke softly a while later. “Are you coming home to take your birthright?”

  I rolled onto my back and gazed up at his worried, sorrowful eyes. “Macsen…you don’t think I still blame you for what the Fates dealt us?”

  “The Fates didn’t deal anything. My father and grandmother did. And I helped them.”

  “It doesn’t matter. None of that matters. Emrys is gone. Llys Mawr belongs to both of us.”

  “It doesn’t. It belongs to the earl of Cantre’r Gwaelod. To you.”

  I ran my hand over my shorn hair, self-conscious and wishing he hadn’t brought this up. “So you still resent me for being born who I was?”

  “No.” Macsen took my hand and wove our fingers together. “I want to put things right, Sebastian. I don’t want to be who I’ve been. I don’t want to be the cause of your suffering anymore. It’s eating me up.” His fingers were squeezing mine painfully, but I didn’t protest. This was hard for him, and I had to acknowledge it.

  “You would be a landed lord if it weren’t for all the foolishness of class and ‘legitimacy’.” I smoothed my thumb along his and his grip relaxed. “I want you to have Llys Mawr. I want you to keep my title. It would cause too much uproar to reveal the truth now. And I am not suffering.”

  “But what of you?” Macsen sat up, propped on his elbow, his brows drawn together in concern. “How can we be together if we return?” He paused, the furrows in his brow even deeper. “You are returning with me, aren’t you?”

  Somehow, I hadn’t even thought this far, too caught up in the pleasure and relief of having Macsen back. “Maybe we should stay here.”

  “What would happen to Llys Mawr?” Macsen gave me a tentative smile. “Your garden is finished. You haven’t even seen it.”

  “You had it finished for me?”

  “It was a memorial garden.” He drew me tight against his chest. “By the Fates, I’m glad it isn’t anymore.”

  Smelling his earthy scent, feeling the sinewy arms—and the stripes on his back that would always make my heart ache for the little boy who’d taken them—I didn’t care where I was, so long as I was with Macsen.

  “We should go home,” I agreed. “August would say it’s my duty to be the steward of the sunken hundred. We’ll find a way to make it work.”

  * * * * *

  It was more easily said than done. Macsen couldn’t stay away from Cantre’r Gwaelod long without having too much explaining to do. There weren’t many places the lord of the Hundred could disappear to without someone seeing him. And there was much to do in dissolving Emrys’s business entanglements. We’d decided to distribute the water Emrys had already brought to this realm to those who never could have paid what Emrys wanted for it. Though leaching any more of it from Cantre’r Gwaelod would have been dangerous for both realms, it seemed a crime to let its benefits go to waste. Using the devotees of Mererid as agents of fate—or guardian angels, as August liked to call them—we would give it in secret to those in greatest need. I would stay behind to help and follow Macsen once everything was done.

  Macsen didn’t like the plan, and he liked it even less that Sven would be going back with me. But I needed time to figure out just how we were going to manage to be together once I returned.

  “I promise you, I’ll see you soon,” I told him on the drive to Borth. “It’s not like before.”

  But it felt like before, when August and I stood in the tide and opened the portal.

  Macsen held on to me as the vortex began to spin, not breaking our kiss, as if he meant to drag me with him. I had to pull away. “Promise again,” he growled, his eyes dark with fear and passion. “You’ll come.”

  “I promise. I’ll come.”

  And then, as before, he was gone.

  * * * * *

  It was Sven who gave me the solution as we said good-bye to August and Dafydd several weeks later.

  August embraced me almost as tightly as Macsen had as we stood on the shore in a light autumn rain, both of us feeling the electric dance of the drops against our skin. “I’ll see you again,” she promised.

  “Why don’t you come with us? Dafydd could come…” I could see by the look on her face that the answer was no before I’d finished my sentence.

  “Our duty is here, watching the waves.” She smiled and cupped my cheek—clean-shaven now, since there was no need to hide. “Make sure he’s good to you, dear brother. Tell him he has me to answer to if he ever hurts you.”

  “He won’t hurt me.” I kissed her hand. “And I’ll tell him,” I added with a wink.

  Sven gave her a hug as I shook Dafydd’s hand. “Feels like I’ve known you…intimately,” Sven joked as he held her a bit too long. From the look Dafydd gave him, it was clear his joke wasn’t lost on them. “She’s a sweet little thing,” Sven murmured to me as we waded out into the surf. “Don’t know what she sees in that one.” I’d always suspected Sven’s attractions weren’t limited to men.

  “You do realize that’s my sister you’re talking about.”

  “Ah, relax, Sly.” Sven gave me a sidelong smirk. “You’re prettier than she is.”

  * * * * *

  In the cool, clear air of Cantre’r Gwaelod as we walked toward Thievesward, I pondered his words. There was one way Macsen and I could be together that wouldn’t raise any eyebrows—at least so long as we were discreet about it.

  Jewel and Abigail were all grins when I told them my plan after we’d downed a jug of ale in honor of my return. “I have just the thing,” said Abigail, disappearing into the changing room and returning with a gown for a somewhat plumper girl than I’d been. “You’re broader in the shoulders now. I think this’n’ll do.”

  * * * * *

  As before, Sven delivered me to the gates of Llys Mawr. “Sure you don’t want a quick go?” he asked hopefully, eyeing my more ample-looking bosom as he helped me into the carriage. “Just for old times’ sake?”

  I gave him my best coquettish smile. “Why, Dr. Rees. What kind of woman do you take me for?”

  “Trained you too damned well,” he groused, and climbed in beside me. “That corset is killing me. You’re a cruel mistress.”

 
Before the carriage left me at the gate, I surprised him with a fierce hug. “I promise I’ll get that miserly brother of mine to open his purse and repay you for all the kindness you’ve done me, Dr. Rees.”

  Sven rolled his eyes and shook his head, admiring me as I stepped down. “You do take to this role, don’t you? You be good, milady.”

  “When am I not?” I winked and took my leave.

  I didn’t wait to be announced, flouncing past the surprised butler when he opened the door. “Where is his lordship, Perkins? I’ve traveled a long way.”

  “I believe he’s in the library, milady.” Perkins gave me a belated bow. “Welcome home, Lady August. Shall I have your rooms made up for you?”

  “Of course,” I said, and gave him my best you-can’t-find-good-help-these-days headshake as I headed into the library.

  Macsen was absorbed in a book when I entered and didn’t look up. “You may leave the tea on the table, Mrs. Roberts.”

  I undid the laces beneath my chin and pulled off my bonnet, careful of my coiffure. “I hardly think the countess of Cantre’r Gwaelod ought to be serving tea.”

  Macsen’s head shot up, and the motion seemed to propel him from his seat. The book fell forgotten from his hand. “August?”

  “I know I’ve put on a bit of weight, but I did think my own brother would recognize me.” I grinned as he swept me up in his arms, the grin swiftly dissolving under the urgency of his kiss. When he came up for air, I giggled nervously, a sound uniquely aided by the tightness of my corset. “Sebastian, darling, what will the help think? I’m glad to see you, too, but I’m fairly certain this isn’t done.”

  Macsen let me go with a start, his face blazing scarlet, but there was no one about. “We’ve all missed you a great deal,” he stammered. “Are you…?”

  “Home to stay?” I peeled off my traveling gloves. “Dr. Rees has pronounced me cured of my nervous disorder at long last. If you have no objection to sharing the family title and holdings, I believe I may just settle down and accept my status as an old maid, living out my days at Llys Mawr. Unless you’ve found someone to marry me off to.”

  Macsen laughed, his eyes bright with happiness in a way I’d never seen them here in Cantre’r Gwaelod. “I rather doubt anyone will ever be good enough for my sister to earn my blessing.” He gave me his arm. “Let me show you to your rooms.”

  “Might be a little busy in there right now,” I said as I took it. “They’re being made up. Why don’t you show me to yours instead so we can have a nice, long…chat?”

  Macsen moved faster than I thought possible with his limp as he led me up the stairs. Once the door was locked behind us in his room, he pushed me back against his dressing table and sat me on it, pressing himself up against the table between my legs. I hooked them around him and my arms around his neck as he kissed me fiercely, my face framed between his hands, until the tingle of magical energy on our tongues brought us slowly back to our senses.

  “Your hair…” He fingered a dark curl at my temple as he loosed his hold. “How did you grow it out again so quickly?”

  “It’s a wig, until I’ve grown back my own.”

  “And this is really what you want?” His eyes searched mine. “To play a part, always? To let me play the lord of Cantre’r Gwaelod?”

  “It’s what I want. You’re what I want. Always. If I want a break from being August, we can always take a trip to the upper realms.” I grinned devilishly. “I imagine we won’t be the first twins to scandalize the neighbors with a disturbingly close relationship.”

  Macsen grinned back. “Let’s get started on that right away, shall we?” He made quick work of my traveling jacket but fumbled in frustration with the tiny buttons on my bodice. “Damn these garments. How do I get you out of this?”

  I pointed my eyes deliberately at the utility knife he always wore at his hip. “I have another. Use your imagination.”

  “Hussy,” he growled, and obliged.

  About the Author

  Jane Kindred is the author of epic fantasy series The House of Arkhangel’sk, Demons of Elysium and Looking Glass Gods. She spent her formative years ruining her eyes reading romance novels in the Tucson sun and watching Star Trek marathons in the dark. She now writes to the sound of San Francisco foghorns while two cats slowly but surely edge her off the side of the bed.

  You can find Jane on her Twitter account and Facebook page—both of which are aptly named “janekindred”—and her website, www.janekindred.com.

  Look for these titles by Jane Kindred

  Demons of Elysium

  Prince of Tricks

  King of Thieves

  Master of the Game

  Looking Glass Gods

  Idol of Bone

  Idol of Blood

  Idol of Glass

  The Lost Coast

  The Water Thief

  Don’t miss these other titles by Jane Kindred

  Some histories should stay lost. Especially those written in blood.

  The only things Millie Lang’s mother gave her were third-degree burns, and a name Millie refuses to use. Abandoned as an infant, Millie grew up as “the girl with the scars”, shunted from one foster family to the next.

  Before she met Lukas Strand, she’d never understood what “home” meant. Then Lukas disappeared without a word. Eight years later, Millie is secure in the life she’s built as a physical therapist. Until she gets a letter from a mysterious stranger who knows her real name.

  From the moment she arrives at the sprawling vineyard manor on California’s Lost Coast to work with the owner’s young son, she begins to doubt her secret benefactor’s motives. The vineyard is known as The Strand—and Lukas is her patient’s father.

  As Millie delves into the tangled threads of their family histories, she realizes the fire that scarred her may not have been an accident—and Lukas’s son is in danger. Unless she survives long enough to unearth the key to some very uncomfortable truths…

  Warning: Contains a vineyard owner whose family tree may not have the ideal number of branches, and a woman who is about to discover the magic hidden in her own DNA. May cause unsettling feelings of creeping anxiety and a sudden urge to make bad puns about wood.

  When desire rises, angels will fall. One, by one, by one…

  Demons of Elysium, Book 1

  Over the past century, Belphagor has made a name for himself in Heaven’s Demon District as a cardsharp, thief, and charming rogue.

  Though the airspirit is content with his own company, he enjoys applying the sweet sting of discipline to a willing backside. Angel, demon, even the occasional human. He’s not particular. Until a hotheaded young firespirit steals his purse—and his heart. Now he’s not sure who owns whom.

  A former rent boy and cutpurse from the streets of Raqia, Vasily has never felt safer than in the arms—and at the feet—of the Prince of Tricks. He’s just not sure if Belphagor returns those feelings. There’s only one way to find out, but using a handsome, angelic duke to stir Belphagor’s jealousy backfires on them both.

  When the duke frames Vasily for an attempted assassination as part of a revolutionary conspiracy, Belphagor will do whatever it takes to clear his boy’s name and expose the real traitor. Because for the first time in his life, the Prince of Tricks has something to lose.

  Warning: Contains erotic sex: m/m, m/m/m, m/m/m/m…oh hell. Let’s just say “mmmmmm!” and be done with it. Also one m/f scene. Smart discipline meted out with a great deal of love and charm. Erotic sex acts requiring copious amounts of elbow grease.

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  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously a
nd are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B

  Cincinnati OH 45249

  The Water Thief

  Copyright © 2016 by Jane Kindred

  ISBN: 978-1-61923-333-1

  Edited by Linda Ingmanson

  Cover by Kelly Martin

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: March 2016

  www.samhainpublishing.com