Thief of Light (28 page)

Her hands clenched hard on the ropes of the swing. She was tingling all over, breathing hard. Prue’s lips quirked in a wry smile. The poets had it right. Desire was definitely a kind of insanity. All right, put physical pleasure on the plus side of the ledger. What else?

She
liked
him.

Prue frowned. She hadn’t expected that. He’d sneaked past her defenses with his easy undemanding company, the cunning way he ambushed her with humor. She admired his quick wits and determination as much as that fabulous voice. And there was more. Erik hadn’t made hasty judgments about Prue McGuire the way most people did. In the strangest way, she felt she was safe with him.

She worried at her bottom lip.

Now that was an interesting thought. He didn’t seem to care that she wasn’t all fluttering eyelashes and languishing sighs. He wasn’t fazed by her intelligence or efficiency, nor by her looks—or lack of them.

Mentally, Prue contrasted her own plain, neat person with that of the tall blond dancer. Her heart sank. Time to fill in the other side of the ledger.

How often did a woman reject Erik Thorensen? Her mouth twisted. Wounded vanity was a powerful incentive for seduction. She’d never meant to intrigue him, but gods, she knew enough to recognize the hunter’s gleam in his eye. What did it matter that he’d made her like him? Charm, talent, acting—they were all his stock in trade. Once she’d succumbed and he’d worked off his pique on her willing body, he’d be off to the next conquest. Godsdammit, if his self-imposed mission to save the city took too much longer, he might finish up doing it right under her nose.

A
façade
—that was it. Prue struggled on. Behind the veneer of the man, there was either a wasteland or a raging storm, and she couldn’t decide which prospect was the more unsettling. A chill ran down her spine and she drew the shawl closer around her shoulders. It could be that the mystery of Erik Thorensen was grubby and commonplace and he had a woman waiting for him on every world. Children.

She gave a huff of disbelief. No, it wasn’t so, she’d stake her life on it. He valued his freedom too greatly. He had his own sense of honor, skewed though it might be. Once it was over with a lover, it would be over.

Oh gods. As it would be when he left her.

Merciful Sister, her head hurt! Prue brought the gentle movement of the swing to a halt, the soles of her slippers scuffing across the grit on the floor. Time was running out—and she had a promise to keep to a little boy.

Shuddering, she gazed at the imbalance on the page of her imaginary ledger. The heart wanted what it wanted, but oh, the risks! She’d had a taste of what he could offer and Sister save her, she wanted more. Her head was spinning, her stomach tight with tension.

Burying her head in her hands, she cursed softly. Suppose, just suppose for a mad instant, that she reached out for what she desired? Grabbed with both hands?

The memories might be worth the pain.

Prue sat up. She wasn’t a frightened girl, abandoned by the man she’d trusted with her whole heart. Not anymore. She had maturity, resources, Rose and Katrin to love her and pick up the pieces.

Gripping the ropes in both hands, she rose, concentrating on keeping her knees steady. Outside, female chatter approached and then receded down the passageway, Florien’s gruff little treble raised in response to some laughing comment. A door banged shut and the noise cut off.

Prue smiled. Such a strange child.
Erik tol’ me.
She sobered. No wonder he was wary, poor little mite, with that broken finger and the marks of privation still on him. Yet the boy hero-worshipped Erik, even if he didn’t entirely trust him.

All the whirling thoughts within her subsided into a pool of silence.
Even damaged, even too wary to trust, the heart still wants what it wants.

The prow of the ship looming over her shoulder, Prue stared her shrinking soul in the eye. Remaining steadfast in the face of overwhelming temptation was a grinding, exhausting business. She was heartily sick of it.

Her pulse raced. She didn’t have to trust Erik to enjoy him, to take what she longed for, but on her own terms. Was it possible to be weak in one way and yet stay strong and whole in every other? Erik Thorensen might be temptation personified, but that didn’t mean he was entitled to all of Prue McGuire. She snorted. Hah! The very prospect would have him running as far and as fast as possible.

Finger by finger, she released the ropes. Examining her stinging palms, she discovered the coarse fibers had rasped her flesh until it glowed.

No, thank the Sister, she wasn’t a complete fool. Physical pleasure was all very well, but she’d shield the tender underside of her heart by tucking the most essential part of herself away, deep and safe. A balancing act above a bottomless fall, but hell, she’d spent all her years at The Garden keeping her nerve, walking a fine line between ruin and success. It had been . . . stimulating.

Stepping into the corridor, Prue pressed a hand over the chilly void behind her breastbone. Don’t dither,
breathe
. She turned left and began counting doors.
Breathe
. One, two . . .

Squaring her shoulders, she rapped briskly on the third one along.
Breathe
.

“Come in.” Erik’s voice.

Her pulse leaped.
Breathe.
Head high, Prue swept in, stopping short after two steps.

Such a stark contrast to the opulence of the theater upstairs. Almost bare—a rack for costumes, a small shabby couch, Erik’s chair and the makeup table. The absolute minimum, and all used and worn.

When Erik looked up, their eyes met in the mirror.

The words dried in her mouth.

Although he was seated with his back to the door, he filled the small space, his shoulders so broad and strong, the taut line of muscle in buttock and thigh shamelessly outlined by the skintight breeches. He’d removed the demon king’s trim goatee, but his eyes were still rimmed with dark pencil, the lids dusted blue and highlighted beneath the brows with pale glitter.

Prue had never thought a man could be called beautiful, but the makeup made his eyes so brilliant she thought she might drown in the blue of them, as vivid as polished lapis lazuli from Trinitaria. The entire effect was disturbingly androgynous. Why it should emphasize his potent masculinity so compellingly she couldn’t fathom.

But it did and she couldn’t give him less than his due.

With quiet finality, the door snicked shut at her back.

“Gods,” she said, “you’ve got an incredible nerve. That was magnificent.”

He ducked his head, reaching for a sponge and a wide-mouthed jar of some kind of cream. “I did what I had to do,” he muttered.

“You forced them to listen.” Prue shook her head, bemused. “I’m only just beginning to understand. You never give up, do you? On anything?”

“No, Mistress Prue, I don’t.” Erik drew the sponge across his cheek. “I can’t,” he said. “Especially not now. One Leaf is bad enough. What if there are others? Think of the bridges that link them. The potential for disaster beggars the imagination.”

“I saw the first purplemist tree in bloom today. It’ll be storm sea son soon.”

He didn’t move a muscle. “Is that bad?”

Prue cleared her throat. “Could be. Can you still smell it . . . whatever it is?”

“Only when the wind changes.” Erik got busy with the sponge. “It’s getting fainter the more the tide turns.”

She folded her hands together to keep them from trembling. “The whole city’s talking about you now. You managed that much at least. Well done.”

Twisting around, he stared at her, one side of his face clean, the other still painted. Prue resisted the temptation to squeeze her eyes shut. She’d never been at all imaginative, but she found the sight dislocating, as though he wore a diabolical half mask. Two Erik Tho rensens, both brutally handsome, one hard and demonic and flashy, the other . . .

She tilted her head to one side, frowning. The naked side of his face should have looked vulnerable, exposed as it was. Instead, it was closed, revealing nothing but a control as hard as winter iron.

“What? Is there a spot on my nose?” Despite the growl, his lips twitched. Tossing the soiled sponge aside, he reached for a fresh one and turned back to his reflection. “My mind’s made up about paying the fine, so don’t argue.”

“Likewise. And Rose does what I tell her, so the advantage is mine. You said you have brothers, didn’t you?”

“Mmm. Three. But don’t bet on Rose.” His teeth flashed. “I can be extremely persuasive.”

“I know,” said Prue, with more feeling than she’d intended. She hurried on before he could reply. “How long since you’ve seen them? And your mother? You mentioned her.”

Erik wiped the remnants of cream from his face with a small towel. Slowly, he folded it and placed it in the precise center of the dressing table. Still in silence, he rose and turned to face her. Prue pressed her spine to the door and squared her shoulders. She was having difficulty with her breath again, though a stray draft swirled through the rack of hanging costumes and toyed with the fringes on her shawl. Where had it come from? The room was snug and warm.

Completely without expression, he studied her face. “Twenty years,” he said at last. He took a leisurely step forward. “I see you wore it.” A triumphant curve of the lips. He flicked the jade fringe with a long finger. “Why won’t you do what you’re told, Prue? I’ve got plenty of money. I’ll pay the fine.”

“No. It was my mistake, my responsibility.” Prue’s blood thrummed with the joy of battle. Defiantly, she raised her chin, trying to decide whether it felt like flying—or coming down with a fever. “Twenty years is a long time when it’s family.”

“Stop trying to change the subject. You’re a worthy foe, Prue McGuire.” Erik’s eyes lit with unmistakable heat. “All bluff and challenge. The irresistible force meets the immovable object.” A second step brought them almost chest to chest. His scent washed over her, a strange mixture—a trace of cosmetics, the cleansing cream, and his own male, musky warmth. Oddly arousing.

He stared down at her. “Do you have any idea how badly I regret the way I hurt you?” Very slowly, he raised a hand to touch her face. His thumb brushed over her cheekbone.

When she didn’t move, his expression lightened. “And how much you tempt me?” A slow, crooked smile bloomed on his lips.

“Stop it
.” Her voice cracked. “For the gods’ sake, just . . . stop it.”

Every vestige of charm disappeared. “Stop what?”

“Flirting. Seducing.” Prue blinked hard. “I know how I must seem to you.”

Erik frowned down at her. “You do?”

“Ordinary,” she said. “So sensible I’m a bore.”

He reached out to cradle her jaw in one palm. “That’s strange,” he said. “So you’re a mind reader now? And here I was thinking you’d been expressly designed by the gods to tempt me.” His thumb stroked gently over the cheek with the dimple.

Prue stiffened her spine. “You resisted temptation perfectly well last night.”

He raised the other hand to cup her face. “I made a terrible mistake and I caused you pain,” he said. “I swear on my honor I won’t do it again.” His eyes were intensely blue, steady on hers.

She shook so hard, currents of air swirled between them, vibrating with tension. Wrapping her fingers around his thick wrists, she used the grip to anchor herself. It took all the courage Prue possessed to speak. Hurling herself off a cliff would be easy in comparison. In fact, the falling sensation was so vivid she would not have been surprised to see a vast chasm open up at her feet, in the center of the threadbare rug.

“You . . . you . . .” Gods, she couldn’t do this.

“Prue, give me another chance.” His thumbs continued to caress her cheekbones, but he didn’t crowd her. Such an experienced hunter.

Recklessly, she pinned a smile on her lips. A shield for her heart, like the ones in the storeroom.

“If I do . . .” She plunged forward, headfirst over the vertiginous drop. “. . . you won’t . . . turn away again?”

“Not unless you tell me to.” His voice dropped to the velvet rumble that liquefied her bones. “Prue, love?”

Wordlessly, she nodded. Then she closed her eyes and held her breath, her heart trying to knock itself free of her ribcage. Her breasts swelled, so tight they tingled unbearably. Restlessly, she shifted her hips, the tender flesh between her thighs aching with slow, hot tears.

In the silence, she could hear the breeze pick up, the costumes flutter on their hangers.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, godsdammit!” Her eyes snapped open. “Do it before I lose my nerve!”

Erik grinned, reaching over her shoulder to bolt the door. His eyes sparkled like a summer sea under the sun’s hot caress. He must have looked exactly this way as a boy, brimming with delight and mischief.