The Witch Thief (Harlequin Nocturne) (19 page)

Her eyes widened and she felt his head jerk, knew he’d felt the heat.

Panic replaced pleasure. She tightened her core and let magic flow from deep inside her.

He tensed. His fingers gripped her hips and he urged her up and back down. The pleasure was back, swirling, as the pressure inside her built. She concentrated this time, kept the fire pounding to an almost uncontrollable force hidden inside her.

Magic, fire and pleasure. All three grew until her body pulsed, until she thought she would explode. Joarr cried out and pulled her tight against him. She cried out, too, let go just a little, just enough to let her orgasm wash over her and for a tiny bit of tension to leave her body.

With a sigh, Joarr spooned her body against his, but she couldn’t relax, couldn’t let go of her magic or her fire. Couldn’t risk him realizing she had both.

He brushed her hair away from her neck, pressed a kiss to her skin and drifted into sleep. But she lay there awake and afraid.

What was happening to her?

Chapter 18

T
he club was a shambles, but for once Fafnir didn’t mind doing his brother’s grunt work. A rope thrown over his shoulder, he scampered up the scaffolding, looped the ragged end of the rope through one of the pulleys attached to the ceiling and dropped the extra length onto the floor. While there he searched for Regin.

He wasn’t doing all of this without an expected payoff. His brother had been talking to the dragon’s female. Fafnir needed to know why and about what.

He could see his brother on the ground yelling at the human help who were cleaning up broken glass. Fafnir’s spy was beside him, as was one of the female dwarves who worked for him. The female dropped her broom and bent over to pick it up. Regin stopped his yelling.

Smiling, Fafnir grabbed another rope and rappelled his way back to the bar’s floor. His brother and the female had already disappeared from sight.

He picked up the broom the female dwarf had dropped and sauntered over to drop it into a pile of cleaning tools.

Once he knew why the dragon’s woman was at the club, he would have a better idea of how to bait his trap. And, if the dwarf did her job right, he should have that information very soon.

* * *

Joarr awakened to the ring of the phone. Amma was curled on her side on the bed beside him, naked, not even a sheet covering her. He ran his palm down her shoulder and arm, before reaching for the phone.

The voice on the other end of the line was friendly, but professional. “We have a letter that was left for you at the front desk.”

“A letter? From whom?”

The clerk stuttered a bit, then admitted he didn’t know. He had gone into the office and returned to find the note, sealed with sealing wax, sitting on the reception desk.

After asking for it to be sent up, Joarr hung up the phone.

Amma rolled over. There were dark smudges under her eyes. Joarr brushed his lips over hers.

“It appears we have another contact.”

She didn’t reply, just pulled the sheet over her breasts and pushed herself to sit against the headboard. There was a distance in her eyes he hadn’t noticed before, and something else… Fear.

He reached out to touch her, but she turned her head, then slid off the bed and headed toward the bathroom.

As the door clicked shut behind her, he curled his fingers back into his palms.

What had happened? The sex had been great, better than great. She’d shared her magic again; he could still feel it roaring through him, making him feel strong and alive. He’d thought she’d felt it, too, for a bit even imagined fire had escaped from her throat.

No beings except dragons harbored fire inside themselves.

There was a knock on the door. Pushing aside his wayward thoughts, he pulled on his pants, then went and answered it.

The note the bellman handed him was just like the first one—same paper, same plain envelope.

After tipping the hotel employee he closed the door and slipped his thumbnail under the seal.

Another invitation, to another bar, but this time in the middle of the day. He glanced at the clock that sat beside the bed. There was only an hour before the meeting. If he was going to make the appointment without shifting and flying, he would have to leave now.

He tapped the edge of the envelope against his palm and stared at the still-closed bathroom door.

“Amma,” he called.

The sound of water running was the only response.

He stared at the door again. If he told Amma about the note, she would most likely expect to come with him—their bargain was still in play. She would surely want a chance at getting the chalice and winning the reward.

But, there was also a huge likelihood that this was another trap.

He picked up his jacket and tucked the note into the inside pocket.

He dressed quickly. After finding a piece of stationery in the room’s desk, he wrote a note for Amma and left it on her pillow.

As he walked past the bathroom door, he could hear the shower running. He paused one more second, wondering if leaving Amma behind was the right move.

His hand on the doorknob to the hall, he nodded to himself. It might not be fair, cutting her out of what was happening, but it was smart and it would keep her safe.

* * *

Fafnir ambled into the hotel lobby. He sniffed the air; the place smelled of humans. He grunted and kept walking. The place was fancy—marble floors, real flowers and plush rugs. Just the kind of place a dragon would choose. The only kind of place Fafnir would choose once his transition was complete.

Sitting against the back wall was a reception desk, a counter-high reception desk. In other words too high for him to see over. Muttering his annoyance, he grabbed the edge and flipped his body onto the black marble top. A desk clerk dressed in a blue suit with a red flower stuck to his lapel stared back openmouthed.

“Not too friendly a setup you have here.” Fafnir tapped his toe. A bit of dirt fell off his boot onto the marble. From here he was taller than the man. Fafnir stared down his nose at him. The dwarf’s hand drifted to his belt where his ax normally hung, but the loop was empty. His father and brother insisted that they try to blend when any of them were out in the main human population.

Fafnir despised blending. He picked up his foot and sat his heel down on the clump of dirt, crushing it to dust.

“I’m sorry we… You… We don’t—” The man’s gaze danced around the room, as if he was afraid to look directly at the dwarf.

A common human ailment, in Fafnir’s experience. They weren’t comfortable with anyone who didn’t look just like themselves.

He ignored the man’s stuttering and stepped closer. “I know what you don’t. Don’t like my kind here, is that it?”

“No, of course—” The man glanced around again, but this time with an obvious intent of finding assistance from some quarter.

Fafnir pressed his advantage, using the man’s discomfort to get the information he needed. “There’s a couple staying here. I don’t know their names, but I need to talk to one of them—the woman.” He described the pair, then leaned so his nose almost brushed the clerk’s. “You find her for me.”

It wasn’t a request. The desk clerk, smart man that he was, seemed to realize that. He, however, was having a hard time realizing that it wasn’t an order he could choose to decline. “I can’t reveal information about our gues—”

Fafnir leaned closer. “Your full-size guests?” His size made many humans uncomfortable. And as much as he’d have preferred to just jam his fist into the man’s throat, he couldn’t. Not without a lot of extra trouble that would only get in the way of his mission. The spy had done her part; his brother had shared that the dragon’s female had come to the club looking for the Collector, had claimed she had some deal to make with him. This at least gave Fafnir a place to start, a job to claim.

“No, our guests’ size has no bearing on…” The clerk twisted to the side and picked up a phone. “Who should I say is visiting?”

Fafnir leaned back on his heels, ignoring the clerk’s question.

The clerk repeated his question. With a scowl, Fafnir replied, “She’ll know.”

He waited, hands on his hips while the clerk dialed the number and stammered into the phone. After a few seconds, relief washed over the man’s face. He nodded and set down the phone. “She’ll meet you in the bar.” He pointed to the right.

Fafnir grunted and leaped to the floor.

This plan was going to work. He knew what the witch wanted; he just had to convince her he was willing and able to give it to her.

Chapter 19

T
he hotel bar was decorated in marigold-yellow and white. It was impossibly cheery and made Amma just a tad nauseous. As did the dwarf sitting perched inside one of the oversize egg-shaped chairs. Sitting back against the cushion, his feet poked out like a child’s; somehow that made seeing him even more unsettling.

Fafnir.

Her first instinct had been to ignore the desk clerk’s claim that a man had asked to meet with her in the bar. She’d still been stewing over what had happened with Joarr—what her body had done—and was in no mood to deal with what she’d assumed was some human who had seen her in the lobby and mistaken her for someone he had a chance with. But when the clerk had described her visitor as a “little person,” she’d told him she’d be right down. She hadn’t known which dwarf to expect—but it didn’t matter. This mess obviously revolved around the dwarves. She wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to see why one had come to call. Besides, the dwarf had arrived only minutes after she’d discovered a vague note from Joarr saying he had been called out. Joarr was a dragon in the human world. Who would call him out? Only someone involved in this tale. And now a dwarf was here asking for her. She couldn’t ignore that.

As she entered, Fafnir wiggled forward, closer to the edge so his legs bent and his feet dangled.

An image completely out of keeping with the one set so solidly in her mind of him stabbing the dead dragon, then licking the blood that oozed forth, like a toddler sampling a lollipop. As it was, that image, combined with how he looked perched inside the egg, just made her shiver more.

One hand on each side of the egg, he leaned forward. “You have a chill? How about something warm to drink?” He smiled. His teeth were smooth and white, normal-looking.

Amma shivered again, then shook her head. “I’m fine. Were you looking for me? The clerk said someone was waiting in the bar…” She glanced around as if someone else might be hiding inside the small open space. Then letting her gaze drift back to the dwarf, she added, “But I don’t think we’ve met.”

He jerked his head toward an empty egg that sat a foot or so from his. “I understand you were looking for the Collector. Why? Do you have something to trade?”

“Are you the Collector?” She knew he wasn’t, but she wanted to hear whatever story he had concocted.

He raised one bushy brow and gestured toward the chair. With a weak smile, she sat.

He resettled himself, staying forward on the cushion, but shifting his legs a bit. “I thought you’d done business with the Collector before.”

Sitting inside the egg made Amma uneasy, as if someone might be sneaking up beside her, or that she could be trapped inside the plastic shell. She edged forward, so her peripheral vision wasn’t blocked by the sides of the chair.

“I have, but it was years ago.”

“You thought he’d changed?” The dwarf’s expression was impossible to read.

“I thought perhaps someone new had taken over the title.” It was a simple answer, unlikely, of course, but it seemed to satisfy the dwarf.

“No, there is only one Collector as far as I know.” He templed his fingers, then patted the pads against each other. “What is it you have for him?”

Amma twisted her lips to the side. She wasn’t sure how much to reveal to Fafnir, still didn’t know his connection to the Collector. “I’d prefer to talk to him about that,” she said.

Fafnir waved one hand. “He’s busy, and not available right now, but I am authorized to make deals for him. I am his son, after all.”

Amma blinked, but made no comment. If this was true, Fafnir could have the power he claimed, but Fafnir searching her out didn’t feel right.

“So, what do you have for the Collector, or perhaps I should find out first what it is you want from him in exchange?”

Amma’s eyes narrowed. Asking what she wanted wasn’t a standard negotiating tactic. Fafnir’s mistake aroused her suspicions anew. The Collector she’d dealt with wouldn’t trust someone so obviously unqualified to make a trade for him.

“His standard deal should be fine,” she parried.

“Standard?” The dwarf frowned, confirming that he was not representing the Collector at all.

So, why was he here? Amma suspected she knew.

She sighed. “I can see you are much too experienced to be taken in by games. As I said, I did business with the Collector a while back. I traded something to him in exchange for some information. Now, I’d really like that object back. Simple as that.”

The dwarf’s eyes glittered. He edged farther out of his egg. “And what would you be willing to give in exchange for this item?”

Amma licked her lips and tried to look unsure.

The dwarf took her bait. He jumped back in. “At the club, I heard you were with a dragon. Do you know him well? Would he be willing to help you get this item back?”

The dwarf’s eagerness was tangible.

Amma didn’t have to fake her uncertainty this time. “I… Dragons are very protective of their treasure.”

The dwarf’s stubby fingers curled around the sides of the shell. “What if the trade wasn’t for treasure? What if it was for something the dragon would never miss, could easily replace?”

“There isn’t much a dragon wouldn’t miss.”

Fafnir smiled. “Handled correctly there is.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a vial. Holding it between finger and thumb, he moved it back and forth. A green liquid sloshed from side to side.

Amma stilled. “What is it?”

“Nothing dangerous, just a sedative. It makes the other part of the task a lot simpler.” With his other hand, he reached into the inside of his coat and pulled out a flask. It was glass, wrapped in bands of metal—just like the flask the dwarf outside the portal had dropped and that she’d seen Fafnir fill with the dead dragon’s blood.

He handed it to her.

She flipped the flask over in her hands as if studying it. “What could the dragon have that I’d need this?” A sick feeling swept over her. She could barely stand to touch the thing; she knew what it was for, what Fafnir was about to ask her for.

“Dragons are rare,” he stated.

She inhaled and nodded.

“In some cultures beings even believe their magic can be used by others.”

“Really? I’ve never heard that.”

He shook his head as if the entire idea was distasteful. “There’s quite a market for dragon parts.”

Amma stared at the flask, wondering if it had been filled before.

“But we, of course—” he laughed “—don’t take part in that trade. We only deal in things that leave no one damaged.”

“Oh, good.” Had Fafnir been saving the dead dragon’s body for some reason aside from a source of blood? Did he see that as leaving no one damaged?

She closed her eyes for a brief second, forced herself to remain calm, and injected interest into her voice. “So, this—” she held out the flask “—is for what?”

He smiled. “Blood. I know it sounds odd but these…beings…pay quite well for dragon blood. They use it in elixirs and medical treatments. Some think it may be the cure to some of the worst diseases in the nine worlds.”

He made it all sound so very noble.

“And that?” She pointed at the vial of green liquid he still held.

“This?” He shook it as if he’d forgotten he was holding it. “Depending on the dragon and your relationship with him, this may not even be necessary. It’s just…well…some dragons we’ve found are squeamish about the process.”

“Squeamish?” she repeated.

His voice dropped. “This—” he held the vial out toward her “—keeps the dragon from even knowing the blood has been taken. Just slip it in his drink. It knocks them out for only a minute or two, but long enough to fill the flask. And they heal so quickly, if they notice the nick, they’ll just believe they cut themselves shaving.”

Somehow, Amma had a hard time believing that, but she took the vial.

The glimmer she’d noticed in Fafnir’s eyes earlier turned to a blaze. Obviously pleased, he relaxed a bit deeper into the egg. “So, now tell me about the object you gave the Collector.”

Still staring at the vial, Amma almost missed his request. She set the vial and the flask between her thigh and the wall of the egg. When she looked up the dwarf was watching her, eager and expectant. “It’s…” She hesitated. He’d made no mention of the chalice, but this entire journey had started because someone had delivered a note to the dragons claiming they had it and were willing to give it up. So, someone knew it was important; did Fafnir?

“It’s nothing really. I’m surprised your father even took it from me.” She laughed. “He probably took pity on me. I was a little desperate at the time.”

Fafnir waved her comments aside. “Then getting it back shouldn’t be an issue.”

Amma hoped not. She smiled, tried to appear meek and grateful for his upcoming assistance. “It’s a cup. Nothing special, metal with a few jewels.”

Fafnir stiffened; his hand, which had been tapping the edge of the egg, stilled. “A cup. The Collector has a number of cups that sound like that. Could you be more specific?”

Amma knew then he realized exactly what cup she was talking about. What she didn’t know was if he was willing and able to give it to her.

“It’s about this big.” She held her hands eight inches apart. “And there are dragons on its sides.” She went on to describe the cup in more detail. Finally, Fafnir nodded.

“I think I know the cup you’re referring to. Why, may I ask, is it important to get it back?”

“I…” She wasn’t about to tell him her real reason. “I’m afraid I didn’t come by it honestly the first time. Over the years, the guilt… It was so unlike me to steal, but I was desperate.”

He curled his lips into his mouth and hopped down from his egg. Before she could move, he was in front of her, patting her knee. “You want to undo a wrong. That’s very understandable and noble. I’m sure the Collector will want to help you make things right. He, after all, doesn’t deal in stolen goods—not if he realizes it.” He gave her a judgmental look. “Normally, I don’t know that one flask of blood would be enough…but I’m sure I can talk him into it.”

“You think?” She widened her eyes, softened her voice.

He leaned closer; she could smell the mustiness of old caves clinging to his hair and clothes. Felt the strange sizzle of magic she’d sensed when she and Joarr had stood near the dwarf in the bar. She’d thought then it was coming from Fafnir, but when she’d tried to draw magic off him, there had been none. This time, however, she was sure the magic was coming from him. She concentrated to keep from reacting.

“Do you think you can get the blood?” He licked his lips.

Amma squirmed before remembering her act. She nodded, but dropped her gaze to keep from having to look at the dwarf any longer. She hoped he took it for shyness and regret for her past thievery. “You’re sure it won’t hurt him? He won’t feel anything?”