The Witch Thief (Harlequin Nocturne) (9 page)

The cloud of magic gone, Amma closed her eyes for a second and wiggled the fingers of her free hand behind her back. Magic zipped through her, sizzled at her fingertips. Opening her eyes, she smiled. The power felt good, but it wasn’t enough, not to take care of herself, much less challenge Joarr. Still, it was a start, and she was fairly certain the dragon hadn’t even noticed what she had done. She had to keep it that way. She nodded to the paper in his hand. “What is it?” she asked.

He held it out to her. “Look familiar?”

It was an advertisement for a nightclub, Tunnels. She frowned. “I haven’t exactly been doing a lot of partying.”

He stared at her, then reached for the door. “Let’s go.”

“Wait.” She shook her head. “It’s just a flyer. It was probably shoved under every door here.”

He glanced at the paper in his hand. “I don’t think so. I think it’s an invitation.”

“To what?” She sat up on the mattress and draped the chain attached to her manacle across her lap. “We need to talk. I told you my situation, and you promised to make it worth my while if I stayed with you and helped you find the chalice.” She paused. “I’m not even sure why I’m here, what you expect from me.”

He dropped the flyer onto the bed beside her. “You’ve seen the Collector. You’ll know him if we see him again.”

“So, we’re looking for the Collector? Then why come here? I told you I met him in Nidavellir.”

“We aren’t looking for him. I just want to know if we meet him.” He turned; the bit of chain still attached to his wrist knocked against a table. He grabbed the end and held it as he paced.

She could see now that his time lying on the bed, appearing nearly comatose, had been an act. He moved like an animal trapped too long in a cage. “Back at my home, there was a note—did you see it?”

She shook her head; she’d seen that there was a note, but her lantern hadn’t been positioned so she could read it.

“It was from someone claiming to have the chalice. It’s why we went to the portal.”

“Where we were attacked,” she murmured.

“And from there we came here, to the human world.”

“Where we were attacked,” she couldn’t keep from repeating.

Joarr stopped, dropping his hold on the chain. It swung back and forth, seemed to hold the same energy she could see waiting coiled inside the dragon. “By dwarves.”

“Like the Collector.” She sighed. “So, what do you think is happening? Why would the Collector buy the chalice from me, then send the dragons a note saying he has it? And why would he attack us?”

“I don’t know.” The chain swung again. This time Joarr reached down and snapped off the extra length, let it drop onto the floor.

She thrust her arm into the air. “If you want me to help, you have to give me something. Removing this would be a good start.”

He stepped forward and grabbed hold of the chain. She thought he was going to do as he had done to his own, simply twist it off. Instead he used it to pull her to her feet. With it wrapped around his fist, he stared down at her. “I kind of like it on you.” His eyes warmed; something inside Amma warmed, too, but she kept her desire off her face.

“This is the human world. People do not walk around with shackles on their wrists and a chain dangling down their arm. They have laws, police.”

He tilted his head to the side. “And this should concern me, why?”

“Because they will think I’ve escaped from some prison—or crazed kidnapper. This—” she shook her wrist, making the chain rattle “—is not an everyday accessory in the human world.”

He stroked her cheek. “Maybe you just don’t hang out in the right circles. The desk clerk didn’t seem to care when he checked us in. In fact he offered to ‘add to the party.’”

Amma tilted her chin. She had heard the tiny man’s whispers and seen his leers. Although her fingers had twitched with the need for magic, she had suppressed her natural reaction to blow him to bits. He was only a human, after all—and she’d had so little magic to waste.

“Not many humans are as open-minded as our dear friend Carl,” she replied.

Joarr grinned. “I take it you weren’t interested?” he asked.

Her eyes flared.

A low chuckle rolled from Joarr’s throat. He leaned down and brushed her lips with his. “Don’t worry. I share my treasure with no one.”

* * *

As Joarr prepared to kiss the intriguing witch, she pulled back and held up her wrist.

He sighed. He did enjoy the chain hanging from her wrist; it was convenient. He held the manacle in one hand and pulled the chain tight with the other. “Just the chain, or the bracelet, too?”

She angled her head as if considering the question. “Just the chain. I’ll keep the manacle to remind me of our past.” Emotion flickered behind her eyes.

He ran his finger under the shackle. Her skin was soft and her pulse jumped under his touch. “And I’ll keep mine. I think we both need reminding.”

Her expression sweet, she replied, “Great minds.”

He twisted the metal and the chain fell to the floor. She bent to retrieve it. With it slung over one shoulder, she returned to the bed.

He sat beside her.

She looked at him from the corner of her eye. “Now we need to work out the details of our deal.” She leaned toward him. The chain fell onto the mattress between them. “I’ve proven myself, and I didn’t run when I had the chance. So tell me, dragon, what will you give me to stay and identify the Collector?” Her arms pressed against the sides of her breasts, causing them to jut up over the top of her shirt.

He ran the backs of his fingers down her cheek and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “A good deal goes two ways. What do you offer me?”

Her skin had a glow to it he hadn’t noticed earlier—the magic she’d taken. He’d felt her drawing power during his last shift. It made her more alluring, made him want to give her a little more. He stroked her cheek, inhaled her scent…the earth again, hot from the sun.

“I’ll help you find the Collector,” she murmured. “I found him once before. I can do it again, but you have to give me something in return.”

His hand stilled. “I shouldn’t have to pay you for helping to retrieve what you stole from me.”

“Yes, well. If you want me to cooperate freely, you will.” Her chin was squared, determined.

Once again he analyzed how much he needed her help. Again he came up with the same answer—not a lot, not really. It would be useful to have someone who could identify the Collector, and if she could actually contact the dwarf, change their position from mouse to cat, that would certainly be useful, but completely boiled down, he didn’t need Amma’s help; he did, however, want it. He wanted her.

He shook his hand, the one wearing the cuff. The metal slipped down his wrist, over the top of his hand. Amma waited, moving her own cuff in short, angry twists as she did.

Her anger, the fire in her, was irresistible.

“I think we can work out a deal.”

She raised her eyebrows. He’d surprised her.

“I…” He let his fingers drift from her cheek to the side of her neck, continued to move his touch lower…He cupped his hand over her shoulder, then onto her back. His fingers splayed over the center of her back, and he whispered, “I’m sure we can work something out.”

He let her absorb that for a second, then stood. “But perhaps not now.”

She jerked as if wakened suddenly from sleep. Frustration showed on her face. Then she scowled.

Joarr hid a frustrated scowl of his own. She didn’t appreciate his games; that was clear. But she hadn’t realized yet why it was important he play, why he had to make her think it was nothing but a game. He wanted to share the fire that flamed in both of them way too much.

Both hands dropped to his sides, he studied her. “What is your price now? And how do I know you will honor our deal?”

Her eyes darted back and forth in her face. The wheels were turning in her head; he was instantly alert.

“Treasure, of course. Lots of it. You gave the portal guardian two bags. I’ll need…” Her lips parted. She was searching for a sum. The question was, was she looking for one he would pay or one so high he would refuse? Joarr couldn’t figure the witch out, couldn’t guess her motivation. “One thousand,” she finished.

Was that high to her or low? Joarr couldn’t decide. He had probably a million such little bags of gold lying around somewhere. Of course, each was very precious to him. High, he decided.

“Too much,” he declared and waited to see what she would do next. This really was very entertaining and kept him diverted from thinking of other entertaining things they could be doing together. He settled in for a long match of parrying.

A tiny line formed between her brows as she twisted her lips to the side. It was obvious she was trying to look annoyed, but the flame he so loved was missing. The act confirmed what he had guessed; her first offer had been a ploy. Now she would ask for what she really wanted.

His face lacking expression, he waited.

She pressed two fingers to her brow. “One thing, then,” she said. “Is that too much to ask? One thing, my choice of everything you own.”

“Of everything I own?” He shook his head. “That hardly sounds like a smart deal on my part. You could name my house or cavern, or somehow twist them together and take both. Then I’d be no better off than what I face with the Ormar if I fail altogether.”

Eagerness shone from her eyes. She was fully engaged in their negotiations now. “A size limit, then. Nothing bigger, say, than…you.”

“Than me?” He frowned; as he’d already told her, in his dragon form he was huge. He wasn’t comfortable with this deal. He narrowed his eyes. “Than you. Nothing bigger than you.” She was tiny, maybe a little over one hundred pounds. He could afford to lose one hundred pounds of treasure. And there was nothing in his house he valued that wasn’t larger than that. Even his favorite chair outweighed her. Confident in his choice, he nodded. “You help me find the Collector and to get the chalice back, into my hands, and I give you one object I own that is no larger than you.”

She smiled and held out her hand. “Deal.”

He stared at her hand for a second. The temptation was too great. Slowly he wrapped his fingers around hers and pulled her closer. “Surely you can think of a better way to seal our bargain than this.” He brushed his lips over her hair. “I know I can.”

Chapter 8

R
iding high on her victory, Amma hadn’t noticed how close she was standing to Joarr. Not until she felt heat seeping from his hand into her body, warming her inside and out. She curled her toes into the soles of her shoes and tried to keep her mind focused on the deal they had made—and what it meant to her.

Unknown to Joarr, he’d just agreed to give her everything she wanted.

All she had to do was help him find the chalice and their baby was hers. Joarr had just agreed to give up any claim of ownership he had to his child.

And if she chose, if she decided the legend of the chalice was true, she could do as she had done before—trick the dragon into trusting her so she could steal the cup, this time for herself and her child. She had only agreed to help Joarr retrieve the chalice. She hadn’t said she wouldn’t steal it again right afterward.

So two options. Two good ones.

* * *

Amma watched Joarr as if she held some secret, like every hero in every tale who had ever outwitted the dragon—or thought he had. Sometimes, though, the dragon came back. Sometimes he gobbled down the hero, leaving nothing behind but an over-glorified sword and a distraught village. Amma would do well to remember that.

Joarr stepped back, so he could study the witch. She moved to the side, watching him, too. They were like two cats deciding when to pounce.

He held out his hand. “In the human world, I believe they would shake now.”

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “Seems like overkill.”

He took a step forward. His knee pressed against hers. “Humor me.”

She tilted her chin. “I could, I suppose.”

“Well, then…” He leaned down and plucked her hand from her lap, stroked his fingers over the fine bones visible beneath her skin. “So soft. You’re exactly as you were when I last saw you.”

“As are you.”

It was both compliment and insult on both of their parts. Joarr smiled. Then he leaned down to capture her lips with his.

He expected her to resist, or at least play at resisting, but instead she grabbed him by the back of the head and jerked him onto the bed beside her.

He didn’t object.

Her lips pressed against his. He opened his mouth and let her tongue find his, while his hands roamed her body. Her loose shirt gaped around her shoulders. He pulled it down, baring the tops of her breasts. He moved his lips from hers to her neck, flicked his tongue out, tasting her. Her skin was warm now. The glow that he’d noticed on her face seemed to cover her body. Her scent was stronger, too. He inhaled, wondering how she could smell so fresh after days in his cavern followed by hours here in this dingy room.

The bed beneath them creaked, as if reminding him where they were and how bad the conditions were. He pulled her against him and turned onto his back so she was shielded from the questionable linens by his body. Her skirt bunched around her waist; she straddled him. Her golden hair hung like a curtain over one shoulder and touched the mattress beside his face.

She ran her hands over his shirt and slipped the tiny buttons from their holes. “Can you remove them yourself?” she asked.

Without shifting, she meant. He shook his head no, and shoved her shirt up and over her head. Her skin was smooth and pale, but with the glow he’d noticed earlier—almost as if someone had sprinkled a bag of his gold dust over her body. And her breasts…were perfect. Round with peach tips and a tiny mole that lay just on the inside of one, the left one…over her heart. He leaned up and kissed it.

She laughed. “My flaw. You found it.”

He kissed it again. “A pearl is a flaw to the oyster.” He tugged her hips closer, sitting up as he did. She was facing him now, her eyes staring directly into his.

She draped her arms over his shoulders. “I don’t think you believe that.”

He paused, surprised. “Of course I do. I value everything.”

“Then why is your treasure all gold and jewels?”

He cocked his head, not understanding her at first. “My treasure is everything I own. You only saw the gold and jewels. The rest, the stone from a Svartalfaheim mine, the brick from a human street, even the leg from a dwarf’s discarded chair—I value them all. All are my treasure. Dragons may be greedy, but we value each thing for what it has to offer—not what some world or being says it is worth.”

“Worth is in the eye of the beholder?” she murmured.

“Of course, and I see worth in everything, beauty in everything. Why else would it be so hard to let anything go?”

* * *

Joarr’s words disturbed Amma. She’d been half joking when she’d mentioned her mole, and half not. Neither of her sisters had any imperfections—not a mole, a wrinkle, not even a freckle. They were perfect from head to toe.

The mole that he had kissed had been one cause of her great quest, one reason she’d stolen his chalice and traded it to the Collector. It had been one of the signs that she wasn’t like her sisters, wasn’t perfect. One more reason to find out who she was and where she’d come from.

She’d hoped she’d find something great, something that made up for the ruthless determination and sense of self her sisters had and she lacked.

But she hadn’t. She’d found nothing but outrage and hurt.

As if sensing her distress, Joarr pushed his fingers into her hair, lifting it off her skin. Then trailed kisses down her neck. “I love your mole,” he murmured. “I have never seen anything more perfect unless—” he kissed the hollow of her throat “—it would be your skin. Or perhaps—” he trailed his lips up her neck, pressed a tiny kiss, no more than a peck, against the corner of her mouth “—your lips. But then there are your eyes.”

She closed her eyes. He kissed each closed lid. “They are like nothing I’ve ever seen before, and your hair.” He wound the locks around one hand and stared at them as if they had turned to pure gold under his touch. “I would trade a mine filled with gold for such treasure.”

Her gaze darted over his face, not sure if he was playing with her or was serious, but when he turned his blue gaze toward her she saw the truth in his eyes. There was no lie there, not even a tease. Just pure admiration.

She blew out a breath, placed her hands on his shoulders and shoved him backward onto the bed. “Enough talking,” she murmured.

His shirt was completely open now. She pushed it to the side and ran her palm over the hard muscles of his chest. She had been with a number of males, both magical and mundane, but she had never been with anyone who excited her as much as the dragon. He was attractive, of course. She had never met a forandre who wasn’t. But Joarr also oozed power, and not just magical. He had a confidence that could only come with being one of the oldest, most revered beings that existed.

Who didn’t want to capture a dragon? Who wouldn’t love to bed one?

But Amma’s attraction to Joarr went past that, or she was beginning to believe it did. He talked of treasure and that is how he made her feel—rare, special, like no other female existed who could compete with her. And while she told herself the same, there was something about the glow in Joarr’s eyes that made her actually believe it.

Her hands on either side of him, she leaned down and twirled her tongue around his nipple. His hands moved to her back, his thumbs ran along her rib cage until he found the undersides of her breasts.

She breathed out, warm air on the skin she’d just moistened. He placed his hand behind her head and pulled her lips to his. His lips firm, his kiss was strong and possessive. Heat shot through Amma. She trailed her fingers down his chest, her nails scraping his skin.

His dress pants were already undone, but her skirt was still wrapped around her legs, constricting her movement. She jerked the tie at her waist loose and wiggled to free herself.

He didn’t seem to notice, kept kissing her, his tongue moving slowly and sensuously around her mouth. Then his hands found her breasts. Heat poured from his palms; his thumbs flicked over her nipples. She moaned and squirmed until she’d shoved her skirt off her body and forced her underwear to follow. Still kissing her lips and kneading her breasts, he lifted his hips. She tugged his pants free, too. He wore no underwear; she wasn’t surprised. The skin beneath his pants was smooth and radiated heat like a fire burned inside him. Which she supposed it did. She didn’t understand where dragons got their fire, if they stored it like she stored magic or created it as the need arose.

Right now she didn’t care. She was only interested in having him inside her—warm and pulsing. Pulling in and out, driving her passion to the point where she might explode.

And magic—there would be magic. She should siphon what she could; caught up in their lovemaking, Joarr wouldn’t notice. He would be too lost in the pleasure.

But as he moved his mouth from hers, placed his lips over her breast and rolled his tongue over her nipple, she realized she was lost already. She didn’t care about pulling magic. That would have to wait. All she cared about right now was being with Joarr and experiencing the magic of the moment, not stealing some to use later.

When they both were naked, he ran his hands up her sides. His warmth seeped into her. Without thinking, she returned the favor, slid her hands down his, over his arms and onto his chest, power flowing from her palms as she did. She didn’t have fire to offer like he did, but she had the magic she’d pulled earlier. It seemed natural to share. She formed it into something soft and warm in her mind. Surprise lit his face; he smiled and his blue eyes darkened.

His entire body radiated heat. Sweat trickled between her breasts. He lapped at it. A new bead formed; he lapped at it, too, lifting her up so he could trace its path down her torso. As he held her almost overhead, he buried his face in the curls that covered her sex and breathed into her core.

His breath filled her, teased and tickled her all at the same time. She squirmed, the feeling so intense it made her uncomfortable—too intense. Her breasts tingled; her sex tightened. He swirled his tongue over the nub that was hidden there and blew again. Her head fell back and her back arched. Caught up in pleasure, she couldn’t hold on to him any longer, was dependent on his strength keeping her in place—and he didn’t weaken, kept her there, his face pressed against her sex, his breath filling and teasing until her own breaths came in fast puffs and her heart thumped inside her chest.

Hot and wet and desperate for him to fill her, she let her head fall forward and thrust her hands into his hair.

“Joarr,” she rasped.

He didn’t stop. Another wave rolled over her. She squirmed against him. “Joarr.” Again and again, he flicked his tongue over her. Then as she quivered with release, he lowered her down, positioned her so she was poised above his rigid sex.

Struggling to gain control of her pounding heart, she pulled in breaths and knelt over him. He grabbed her by the hips and positioned her body so the tip of his sex brushed hers. Then slowly he edged inside her.

Her body tingled…with magic. As their arousal grew, magic swelled around them. It was everywhere. With each breath, she pulled it into her lungs. As he slid deeper inside her, it touched her there, too. Caused her body to quiver and her hands to shake. She didn’t have to pull power. Their union seemed to be making it; for the first time in her life, Amma felt as if she were creating magic, not just stealing another’s.