on Dax ‟ s forehead and all the way down his spine, right to the spot
where his tail began. As nimble as a dancer, Michael swayed to one side to turn up the
lamp. Dax gritted his teeth, praying for calm.
“I ‟ m curious. Tell me about the Aetherii,” Michael said, for all the world as if they
were making small talk at some royal soiree.
58
Dax raised a brow. “Why should I?”
“No reason.” As perceptible as a touch, Michael ‟ s insolent gaze traveled over Dax ‟ s
face, pausing at his mouth before shifting to his hair and thence to the feather bed of his
wings. “No problem either. Much more interesting to find out for myself.”
All self-contained grace, he rose to his knees, grasped the sheet and whisked it off.
When Dax swore, Michael clapped his other hand over his mouth. “ Shh! ” he hissed.
“You want her running to the rescue?”
“Who?” Dax grunted into the thief ‟ s palm, though he knew.
“Lise,” Michael said absently. “Gods, man, you ‟ re magnificent.” Another leisurely
raking stare, head to heels. “Daxariel the Burnished. Well named.”
Dax didn ‟ t dignify this with a reply. He was busy reaching for his Second Pinion
discipline. Why couldn ‟ t he think straight? Sweat dripped off him in runnels of heat, yet
chills ran up and down his spine, tightening the flesh over his ribs, his balls. His tail
flexed and quivered, raging against the bonds. He couldn ‟ t stop the reactions, couldn ‟ t
find the still place within, the core of self that had always been his refuge and his
touchstone. The tumbling rush of emotions was so complex and so violent, he wasn ‟ t
able to tell if he was aroused, frightened or furious—or all three.
With a deliberate effort, he fixed his gaze on the hilt of the slim knife sheathed at
the thief ‟ s waist, imagining the shock of the first slice, the onslaught of pain, icy-cold at
first then hot with agony. His blood froze, which put paid to a tentative erection very
nicely. Thank all the gods. His cock was confused, that was all. Rip the Veil, he was
confused. If ever he ‟ d needed his fabled calm, it was now. Very slowly, he released the
breath he ‟ d been holding.
For a split second, he considered the possibility of rape. Veil-it, no, it wasn ‟ t in
character. If he ‟ d judged the thief right, Michael was far too vain to take by force what
wasn ‟ t offered freely. In any case, the man wouldn ‟ t have a problem obtaining bed
partners, male or female, he was too fascinating by far, all lithe masculine beauty and
sinfully clever charm.
No, the thief wouldn ‟ t hurt him—or not more than he could bear—he had no doubt
of that. Ah, but humiliation, that was a different matter. Dax set his jaw. Regardless of
the indignities, he wouldn ‟ t give the bastard the satisfaction.
“So like us,” murmured Michael. “Yet so unlike.” His gaze had dropped to Dax ‟ s
groin and clung there, as palpable as strong fingers wrapped around his girth.
“It ‟ s true. No body hair, only feathers.” Completely relaxed, he smiled into Dax ‟ s
eyes, damn him to the seven icy hells. “What else is true of your race, Aetherii?”
If he opened his mouth, the gods alone knew what would emerge—a bellow, a
groan or, Veil-it, a whimper. Dax ground his teeth and endured.
Michael ‟ s shoulders moved in an elegant shrug. “Have it your own way. I ‟ ll find
out for myself.”
59
Bending forward, he lifted a lock of Dax ‟ s hair and rubbed it between his fingers.
“I ‟ ve never seen hair so many colors, let alone pointed ears. It ‟ s kind of— Fuck!”
As he jerked his hand back, Dax ‟ s teeth snapped together a hair ‟ s breadth from his
wrist.
Dax gave the thief a cold stare. “You have excellent reflexes,” he growled.
“Hmm.” Michael looked thoughtful. “I underestimated you, Daxariel the
Burnished. I wonder how many have done that and lived to regret it?”
He favored Dax
where his tail began. As nimble as a dancer, Michael swayed to one side to turn up the
lamp. Dax gritted his teeth, praying for calm.
“I ‟ m curious. Tell me about the Aetherii,” Michael said, for all the world as if they
were making small talk at some royal soiree.
58
Dax raised a brow. “Why should I?”
“No reason.” As perceptible as a touch, Michael ‟ s insolent gaze traveled over Dax ‟ s
face, pausing at his mouth before shifting to his hair and thence to the feather bed of his
wings. “No problem either. Much more interesting to find out for myself.”
All self-contained grace, he rose to his knees, grasped the sheet and whisked it off.
When Dax swore, Michael clapped his other hand over his mouth. “ Shh! ” he hissed.
“You want her running to the rescue?”
“Who?” Dax grunted into the thief ‟ s palm, though he knew.
“Lise,” Michael said absently. “Gods, man, you ‟ re magnificent.” Another leisurely
raking stare, head to heels. “Daxariel the Burnished. Well named.”
Dax didn ‟ t dignify this with a reply. He was busy reaching for his Second Pinion
discipline. Why couldn ‟ t he think straight? Sweat dripped off him in runnels of heat, yet
chills ran up and down his spine, tightening the flesh over his ribs, his balls. His tail
flexed and quivered, raging against the bonds. He couldn ‟ t stop the reactions, couldn ‟ t
find the still place within, the core of self that had always been his refuge and his
touchstone. The tumbling rush of emotions was so complex and so violent, he wasn ‟ t
able to tell if he was aroused, frightened or furious—or all three.
With a deliberate effort, he fixed his gaze on the hilt of the slim knife sheathed at
the thief ‟ s waist, imagining the shock of the first slice, the onslaught of pain, icy-cold at
first then hot with agony. His blood froze, which put paid to a tentative erection very
nicely. Thank all the gods. His cock was confused, that was all. Rip the Veil, he was
confused. If ever he ‟ d needed his fabled calm, it was now. Very slowly, he released the
breath he ‟ d been holding.
For a split second, he considered the possibility of rape. Veil-it, no, it wasn ‟ t in
character. If he ‟ d judged the thief right, Michael was far too vain to take by force what
wasn ‟ t offered freely. In any case, the man wouldn ‟ t have a problem obtaining bed
partners, male or female, he was too fascinating by far, all lithe masculine beauty and
sinfully clever charm.
No, the thief wouldn ‟ t hurt him—or not more than he could bear—he had no doubt
of that. Ah, but humiliation, that was a different matter. Dax set his jaw. Regardless of
the indignities, he wouldn ‟ t give the bastard the satisfaction.
“So like us,” murmured Michael. “Yet so unlike.” His gaze had dropped to Dax ‟ s
groin and clung there, as palpable as strong fingers wrapped around his girth.
“It ‟ s true. No body hair, only feathers.” Completely relaxed, he smiled into Dax ‟ s
eyes, damn him to the seven icy hells. “What else is true of your race, Aetherii?”
If he opened his mouth, the gods alone knew what would emerge—a bellow, a
groan or, Veil-it, a whimper. Dax ground his teeth and endured.
Michael ‟ s shoulders moved in an elegant shrug. “Have it your own way. I ‟ ll find
out for myself.”
59
Bending forward, he lifted a lock of Dax ‟ s hair and rubbed it between his fingers.
“I ‟ ve never seen hair so many colors, let alone pointed ears. It ‟ s kind of— Fuck!”
As he jerked his hand back, Dax ‟ s teeth snapped together a hair ‟ s breadth from his
wrist.
Dax gave the thief a cold stare. “You have excellent reflexes,” he growled.
“Hmm.” Michael looked thoughtful. “I underestimated you, Daxariel the
Burnished. I wonder how many have done that and lived to regret it?”
He favored Dax
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