Bracing herself, she turned to meet Erik’s gaze.
As he handed Prue into a skiff, Erik glanced at the Sibling Moons in surprise. The Brother had barely risen above the palazzo roofs, the Sister keeping pace. So it hadn’t been a lifetime after all, only a few hours.
Grimacing, he plucked his wet shirt away from his skin. His nostrils stung with the vomitus smell of evil. “Let me change,” he said, “and get the boy settled at the boarding house. Then I’ll take you home.”
For a wonder, Florien said nothing, only sat stiffly in the shelter of Prue’s arm, gazing steadfastly at a point over Erik’s shoulder, his small face pinched and old. No child should have to witness such horrors, but he’d recognized the poison immediately. What a life, the poor little bastard.
By the time the skiff had grounded at the base of the water stairs, the lad had nodded off, still sitting bolt upright. When Erik bent and scooped him up in his arms, he reared back with a panicked gasp, his eyes flying open.
“It’s all right,” said Erik uneasily, patting a knobby knee. “I’ve got you.”
Florien grunted, but he relaxed and let himself be carried up to the street before he wriggled free.
Erik turned to Prue. “Wait for me?” It came out halfway between an order and a question, not what he’d intended, but she nodded, her face pale and set, her exotic eyes shadowed. Erik blew out a long breath. He tossed the skiffman an extra coin. “Stay here with her, all right?” He got a nod in return.
It took him no more than a few minutes to take Florien to the dancers’ room and hand him over to Sydarise. Despite the boy’s token protests, Erik saw the tension leave the wiry little body. Refuge in a woman’s soft embrace was a wonderful thing when you were small and frightened. Hell, even for a grown man—
He paused with his shirt half unbuttoned, his skin pebbling with goose bumps. Another night, a little more of the comfort and the pleasure. It wasn’t much to ask, surely? Shit, if it wasn’t for Prue, he thought with a kind of weary savagery, he’d book the Company on the first starship back to Concordia and get the hell out. Let the whole fucking city go to the bottom. That could have been him writhing in agony on the taproom floor, his throat a bloody ruin. Fuck, what if he’d offered Prue a sip—or the boy? Blindsided by the enormity of the thought, he grabbed the door frame in a white-knuckled grip, panting.
He could hardly bear to think of it. The desire to race down to the skiff and snatch her up against his heart was so strong, he was down the stairs and out the door before he knew it, his breath still choppy.
Prue hadn’t moved a muscle. She didn’t speak or acknowledge him in any way, though when he settled beside her, she turned her cheek into his shoulder. Wordlessly, Erik put his arm around her, and the skiffman poled slowly away down the canal.
The air felt heavy and still, almost suffocating. A fitful, salt-laden breeze blew in off the sea, still carrying with it the reek of corruption. Erik rubbed his nose. Far away, thunder rumbled. A chill slid down his spine. “Is that—?”
Prue straightened, pulling away from him. “The first storm of summer.” A trio of Technomage flitters buzzed toward the mainland, racing before the wind.
As their eyes met, the sky out to sea split from top to bottom with a great fork of lightning. Simultaneously, a fat drop of water plopped onto Erik’s sleeve and the world echoed with a long, rolling boom. With a curse, the skiffman bent his back, digging in with the pole. The small craft leaped forward.
At The Garden, Erik shoved the fare into the skiffman’s fist. “Keep the change.” Subduing the impulse to pick Prue up and sling her over his shoulder, he grabbed her hand and together they dashed toward the lights, trying to dodge the thickening drops. Almost helplessly, she began to giggle. Erik frowned. It had an edge of hysteria to it he didn’t care for, not for level-headed Prue.
With a tug, she drew him away down a side path and under some sort of shelter. “Here,” she panted. “In here.”
“Where are we?” Before him loomed the vaguely familiar bulk of one of the smaller pavilions, the graceful soaring lines of the roof silhouetted against the racing clouds, the thick, velvety scent of Walker’s dark roses hanging heavy in the damp air.
Prue gave a sharp bark of laughter. “If I’m going to lose my mind, I may as well do it properly.” She withdrew a key from her belt pouch and fumbled with a door he could barely make out. It swung open soundlessly. “Welcome to the Bruised Orchid.” She vanished and light flared, flashing across his retinas.
Erik’s jaw dropped. He thought he’d seen decadence—after all, he’d performed at the Oligarch’s palace on Green IV—but never had he seen anything to equal the hedonism of this. To call it a bathroom was an insult. His startled gaze traveled from the deep, square tub of black marble to gold spigots, glitter-veined onyx tiles on the wall and a crimson and cream rug on the floor. In the mirrored wall, he could see Prue’s back, ramrod straight, her hair straggling down her back in a wet mass, her damp trews molded to the pert curve of her bottom. She looked very small, completely commonplace in the opulent room.
“This is the top of the line,” she said. Her face was very pale, save for two spots of color burning on her cheekbones. No trace of humor remained in her expression. “Do you like it?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“The bedchamber’s through there.” She indicated a connecting door with her chin.
Erik’s heart began a slow, slamming beat. Turning, he found a serviceable bolt on the exterior door and slid it home. “And no one knows we’re here,” he said slowly. “We’re safe, for tonight at least.”
Outside, branches creaked in the rising wind, the rain spattering harder on the roof of the pavilion, but the room itself was warm, lit by a uniform golden glow. Wonderingly, Erik reached up to touch a light globe in its wall sconce. “These are Technomage devices,” he said. He flipped on one of the elaborate gold spigots and steaming water gushed into the tub. “Even the plumbing. Gods, Prue, how did you afford it?”
“Went into debt.” Prue’s jaw firmed. “We took a calculated risk and it paid off. Sometimes they do.” Her eyes went bleak and flat. With a shrug, she turned away and bent to adjust the flow of water, the fine fabric of her trews outlining the peach of her bottom, clinging to the shadowed cleft between the taut curves of her buttocks. His eye was drawn immediately to the plump purse of her sex, pushing against the material.
The punch of arousal had him hardening so fast, he felt light-headed. As Prue straightened, he took a step forward, reaching. The heavens boomed, a long, rolling reverberation, and the room was illuminated by a flash of sheet lightning as bright as a summer’s noon. Prue jumped, a stifled noise escaping her. The light blanched her face, highlighting the bones beneath the skin, the shadows beneath her eyes. She looked like some small startled animal, poised for flight.
Long before the thunder had faded, Erik had her hard against him, one palm cradling the back of her head, settling her against his shoulder. Foolishly, he rocked her back and forth, crooning nonsense, patting her back. “It’s all right, love. It’s all right.”
Prue set the heels of her hands against his chest and pushed, looking up into his face. “No,” she said, “it’s not.” When her lips trembled, she pressed them together for a moment. “The prettydeath was meant for you. If it wasn’t for poor Dai, you would have . . . have . . .” She turned her head away.
Behind her, water tumbled into the bath and steam rose, curling toward the coffered ceiling. Rain drummed on the roof, splashed from the gutters.
“But I didn’t.” When he cupped her cheek, her skin was chilled velvet against his palm. “Look at me, Prue. It wasn’t just luck.” He frowned, thinking how best to put it, how much to reveal of the secrets he’d never told a living soul. “The Lord and the Lady have a plan for me. Call them the Sister and the Brother if you like, but the gods have a purpose for me, something I have to do.” Slowly, he began to rub her arms, not caring for her pallor, the shivers running
through her small frame.
She nodded. “You have to save the city, yes, I know.”
Erik raised a brow. “And you, Mistress McGuire? What about you?”
“The gods mean nothing to me.”
“They don’t?”
She stiffened in his grasp. “Why should they? They weren’t there when I needed them. No one was.” Her lashes fell, veiling those aquamarine eyes. “You can’t save me either, Erik. I’m none of your business.”
He gave her a little shake, the hot lick of temper taking him by surprise, as shocking as the thunder and lightning outside. “Like hell you’re not! Look at you, you’re wet through, freezing.”
Her chin went up. “So are you.”
Erik ignored that one and slipped the first fastening on her collar. “Do you like these clothes?”
She glanced down. “I did, but they’re ruined now.”
“Good.” The storm seemed to have entered his head, rattling around inside his skull. Erik gripped Prue’s tunic in both fists and ripped it straight down the middle.
“Erik!” Her cry echoed off the marble as he dealt likewise with the chemise beneath.
Her breasts tumbled into his eager hands, the nipples tightly furled, the flesh firm and very cool. Too cool.
He went to his knees, taking her hand and planting it on his shoulder. “Lift your foot.” When she hesitated, he growled, “Do it. Or I swear to all the gods I’ll put you over my knee.”
Only the Horned Lord knew what she saw in his face, but she gasped and a pretty flush of pink brightened her honeyed skin, all the way from breast to cheek. After a pause, she complied, one foot at a time. With grim amusement, Erik recognized the feeling coursing through him as disappointment. He pulled her boots off.
“You too,” she said, her nails digging into his shoulder. “You’re cold too.”
“In a minute.” Hooking his fingers into her waistband, he peeled off her trews and the drawers beneath. “Step out.” Unable to resist, he spread his palm over the creamy globe of one buttock and squeezed gently. Shit, even her ass was cold! Tremors were running through her whole body, bone-deep.
Blinking hard, Prue stared at something past his left ear, wrapping one arm across her breasts. The other hand stole toward the dark thatch between her thighs.
“No.” Gently, Erik took her wrists and drew her arms away from her body. “It’s way too late to hide.” She was all creamy curves, voluptuous flesh underpinned by excellent muscle tone. Prue McGuire could never be described as slim or lissome. She was a pocketsize goddess—a divinity so hot and lush a man could sink into her and lose himself—cock, soul and heart.
Her smooth flank was right next to his face. Before he knew he meant to do it, Erik had turned his head and taken a tiny nip, high on her hip.
Prue hissed and he gave her a grin that bared his teeth, wondering how badly his hunger showed.
Leaning over, he swished a hand through the bathwater. Perfect.
He licked the spot he’d bitten, conscious of an insane desire to sink his teeth into the tender undercurve of her gorgeous backside. “Get in.” Even over the steady drumming of the rain, his growl was loud enough to threaten like the thunder.
Though she was still shaking, she stood her ground, glaring at him, the little fool. “When I’m ready,” she said. “You have something horrible in your hair. Did you know that?”
25
Erik’s precarious control evaporated. He rose to loom over Prue, taking ruthless advantage of his height and weight. “My hair can bloody well wait, you can’t! Why the fuck won’t you let me take care of you?”
Her eyes widened to enormous blue green pools. Just as swiftly, she lowered her gaze to his boots, apparently struck dumb. Godsdammit, a fucking miracle.
Erik grasped her hand. “Get in or I’ll put you in.” He steadied her as she climbed into the bath. The thing was so deep, it had a set of steps. The sides were carved with shelves and hollows, varying the depth of the water and providing spaces for lounging, edges for holding on to. There was even a kind of hose arrangement, attached to the spigots, worked by flipping a separate lever. Lord’s balls, the erotic possibilities were endless!
She spoke so softly, so much to herself that it was only because he’d just turned off the taps that he heard her at all. “I don’t know how to do that, let someone . . .” Her voice trailed away. Her back was to him, her thick hair curling outrageously with damp, the clean line of her shoulder hunched a little, as though she nursed some tender spot over her heart. When he glanced into the mirror, she looked weary to the bone, utterly defeated, not like the fierce little Prue he knew at all.
Erik stood rooted to the spot, besieged by temptation. Why not set her free to soar with pleasure, take control and give her the peace that came with complete abandon? It would require absolute trust, but all he need do was speak with the Voice. He bit his lip hard enough to hurt.
Clearing his throat, he said, “Towels?”
“In the cupboard.” Now she sounded almost normal, moving her hands under the water, splashing languidly. To his relief, there was more color in her face. Beneath the surface, her skin glimmered, her nipples a serene pink, plumped by the warmth. The indentation of her navel winked at him, the pale curve of her belly drawing his gaze to the shadow between rounded thighs.
His tongue felt too big for his mouth, his arousal pressing painfully against the lacing of his trews. Gods! If he let himself go, he could no longer tell whether he’d devour Prue or fuck her. Fucking her would be a simple matter, blessedly straightforward compared with this overwhelming desire to possess absolutely, to keep her safe and make her his.
He’d lost his battle with the Dark Lady, but he didn’t give a fuck. The challenge was no longer relevant. It simply didn’t matter.
His chest heaving, he wrenched open the carved doors of the cupboard. There were stacks of fluffy towels, black and crimson and cream, row after row of vials and bottles and ointment pots from a high-class apothecary, all neatly labeled. Grabbing a couple that looked useful, he placed them on the low bench near the tub together with a washcloth. That was better. He had his breathing regulated now.
Conscious of an unwinking tip-tilted gaze, he sat to tug off his boots, strip off his shirt and set aside the talisman on its chain. When Prue’s lips curved, he felt heat rise in his face. Ridiculous. Especially after last night. Was he a performer, or was he not?
Unobtrusively, Erik sucked in his stomach, squared his shoulders. He paused in the act of unlacing his trews and arched a teasing brow. “Like what you see?”
A little pink tongue crept out to moisten Prue’s pouty lower lip and a hard shiver of anticipation whispered over his balls. The skin there was so sensitive. “You’re fishing again,” said Prue calmly, but beneath the water, he saw her grip her hands together, her shoulders rigid with tension. She shot him a glinting half smile, all woman, all challenge and hard-won courage. “It’s rather . . . sweet.”
That did it.
Rumbling with pretended outrage, Erik dropped the trews and kicked them away. Ignoring the weighty demand of his rampant erection, he surged into the bath, so focused on Prue he barely noticed the delicious heat lapping his thighs. When he reached her, he seized her shoulders and jerked her up into his arms.
“You,” he said, fighting against the insistent press of the Voice in his chest, his breath lost in the struggle against instinct. “You . . .”
He spread a big hand over her cheek, his fingers aligned along the fine bone of her jaw, holding her steady. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”
Her hand came up to cover his. “No.” Her lips framed the word, but no sound emerged, her eyes huge, cynicism fighting with the temptation to let go and believe. “I’m not . . .” She cleared her throat. “Not the type to . . . stir strong passions.”
She’d gone rigid again, her body like smooth, warmed marble under his hands. Prue didn’t know the first thing about subterfuge, she was honesty to the
backbone. The tragedy was that she took self-assessment from beyond clear-eyed to brutal. How could she not see her own worth? His eyes stinging, Erik gentled his grip. “Do you believe I want you?”
“Oh yes.” By way of emphasis, she pressed harder into his embrace, nudging his hardness with her belly. But her smile went awry even as she did it.
All he could do was show her he wanted more than her body. Much more. “I can wait,” he said. Sliding his palm down her arm, he entwined their fingers. “Come here.” Gods, that had come out perilously low, commanding. Settling his back into the concave shape at one end of the tub, Erik tugged Prue down so she was nestled between his spread legs, her spine pressed against his chest. He reached for the hose, frowning over the lever arrangement.
“But what—?”
Ah. Warm water gushed out in a fine spray. “Close your eyes and hold still.”
Carefully, he wet her hair, smoothing it over and over with one hand, watching it darken and soften with the weight of the water, like sodden silk.
“Erik, what do you think—?” She tried to look over her shoulder, but he cupped the small, precious shape of her skull in his palm, preventing her.
“Sshh,” he said, dismayed by the thread of desperation in his voice, but helpless to prevent it. “Let me do this for you. Please.”
A pause. “Will it make you feel better?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he opened the bottle labeled as a hair cleanser and poured a good dollop onto the crown of her head. It smelled of something green and fresh, with a hint of astringency beneath, rather like Prue herself. He found he liked it.
Gently, Erik worked the sudsy stuff through her hair, using the tips of his fingers, first one hand, then both. Once all the tangles were gone, he massaged her scalp, starting cautiously, his touch light and soothing.
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