Page 18 of Blood Slumberm

He drew shameless sighs out of her until she was twisting under him, begging. In another life, she would have thrown all her other lovers out on their ears for one man with hands like this. She forgot his family name and her own.

“Troi,” she gasped against his ear as he held her, trembling, on the edge.

He sent her over with another rough bite and a gentle flick of his fingers. She spasmed against his hand, a moan tearing out of her. His jaw tightened, and he purred low in his throat like the cat that got the cream.

He worked her with his hand, dragging her long release out of her and lapping it up at her vein. And she couldn’t have stopped him if all her Pavo ancestors had come to haunt her for it.

When he finally let her go, her knees were jelly and her pride not much better off. He stood back, swiping his hand across his chin, and licked her blood from his fingers.

Her gaze dropped to the laces of his trousers, straining over his erection. Before her curiosity got the better of her and she took his measurements with her own body, she squeezed her thighs together and pulled her robe over her breasts.

Troi grinned at her. “My compliments on your table.”

And then he disappeared into thin air. She heard his bedroom door shut upstairs.

Insufferable creature, leaving her sitting here cold in the middle of a seduction.

Confusing man, retreating at her merest sign of hesitation instead of pressing his advantage.

Celandine’s gaze fell to the lute he had left behind. She could hardly envision her future, and yet she felt sure Troi’s song would haunt her dreams long after Summer Solstice was through.

While Troi slept, Celandine waited in the ramshackle cemetery where paupers went unmourned. No one here but the dead and her. She hadn’t been followed.

The long, hooded cloak she had donned to sneak out of the manor was too warm for the balmy summer day. But now she pulled it closer around her with a shiver.

Soon, graveyards would no longer be her haunts.

Heavy boots crunched in the brittle grass behind her, and Celandine jumped.

A low, hoarse chuckle crept over the back of her neck. “Did I frighten you, little bird?”

She turned to face the man. The morning light seemed to die everywhere it touched his dark clothing. He wore the short robes and leather armor of a Gift Collector, an assassin of Hesperines.The Eye of Hypnos—the glyph of the god of death and dreams—was painted on his breastplate in bright red blood.

Must his sort be so theatrical? She put her hood back and gave him a practiced expression of disdain from her days as a princess. “You should know I’ve put less savory creatures than you in their graves. If you think we mages of Chera fear our brethren who serve the god of death, you are very unwise.”

“You should know necromancers of my profession are more dangerous than anything else you’re likely to meet in a graveyard.”

“Be that as it may, your scarred face is not much prettier than some of the undead I’ve slain.”

He rubbed the bite marks on his chin and smiled. “The Order of Hypnos doesn’t pay me for my pretty face, only Hesperine heads. Can you get me inside the manor or not?”

She tried not to stare at the bleeding knife hanging from his belt. But she couldn’t escape the image of that blade laying open Troi’s throat.

She wanted to shake herself. A week locked in the manor with the Hesperine’s allure was addling her wits. She couldn’t let fleeting pleasure sway her from a decade of effort.

From within her cloak, she withdrew the rose she had brought from the manor’s garden as proof. “I’ve already made it past the flames.”

Greed gleamed in the Gift Collector’s hard eyes, and he reached for the flower.

Celandine held it back out of his reach. “I want to see my first payment.”

He took another step toward her. Her heart jumped in her chest, but she forced herself to stand her ground. “The Order doesn’t pay apostate witches at all. Don’t forget you won’t see a coin except through me.”

“And you haven’t a hope of getting to the Hesperine without me. If I don’t unravel the spells for you before the mages of Anthros arrive, your valuable prey will be wasted on their altar.”

Still standing too close for comfort, the Gift Collector dropped a heavy coin purse in her hand.

She let him take the rose and opened the purse to count her spoils. It was the amount he had promised. Enough to get her out of the city once Rixor and Kaion were dead. But after her escape, she would need much more to survive in the world as a woman alone.

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