than sleeping in the stable with Maleficent.” While Kitiara wondered whether such a remark was worth a challenge, Caven leaned on his arms and straightened. When his focus returned, he gazed slowly over the room. “Where’s Wode?” he snapped. “That lazy—”
“Wode left an hour ago with the barmaid. Or rather, the blonde cow left and the boy followed.”
“Hot on her trail,” Caven said, satisfied. “Good lad. Which reminds me …” He maneuvered carefully over the dwarf, nearly falling headlong when the sodden creature hiccuped and rolled over. The room stank of stale things—food, beer, and breath. “I’m going with you,” he repeated. “To the Masked Dragon.”
“Tanis is already there. I doubt there’s room for three.”
“Then tell ’im to leave,” Mackid said mulishly. “I can flatten any elf any day.”
“Half-elf,” Kitiara corrected. “And don’t count on it.”
Caven gestured magnanimously, which threw him off balance. “Tell him to get lost, then go along with me.” He winked. “I’ll generously forgive your debt.” He caught his balance against the doorjamb.
Kitiara looked up, eyes skeptical but clearer than most others in the room. Caven Mackid was a splendid physical specimen of a man, but not exactly irresistible in his current state. And she wasn’t tired of the half-elf yet.
“I’m leaving, Mackid.” She turned away and walked up the three steps to the street.
It was raining. The cobblestones, slippery even in dry weather, were oily slick. Kitiara put one hand on the wall of the Happee Ohgr and moved quickly down the street, paying attention to her footing and trying to ignore the growing damp of her clothing. Behind her, she heard Caven’s muffled oath as he emerged on the street into the wet weather. “Kitiara!” he bellowed. But she went on without stopping, rain trickling through her curls onto her face.
At this time of night, practically no one was left on the streets of Haven but a few drunks and an occasional bored town guard. Kitiara took a sharp left turn and found herself in a side alley devoid of life and light; it led in the general direction of the Seven Centaurs and was made of packed ground rather than slippery cobbles.
Caven appeared some distance behind her. “Kitiara?” He peered into the gloom.
“Leave it, Mackid,” she snapped, and doubled her pace. At that moment, however, thunder crashed and the drizzle turned into a downpour. She leaped into a doorway with an exclamation. Caven joined her moments later.
The doorway was wide, protected, and dry. Lockeddouble doors led into what was a warehouse of sorts. Caven stood motionless between Kitiara and the street, an air of expectation about him. She shivered, realizing that her short skirt and light blouse, while okay for freedom of movement and for attracting admiring stares in the Haven market, were less than adequate for a chilly downpour.
She was soaked to the skin. Caven, on the other hand, was protected by his tightly woven wool cloak.
She pointed. “You wear that cape even in the warm weather, Mackid?”
Caven smiled. “It comes in handy.”
Suddenly Caven Mackid didn’t look so drunk to her. What he did look was
warm
, and Kitiara found herself coveting his body heat as much as admiring his physique. She shivered again. “Lend me your cape, soldier,” she ordered.
“Cold?” He grinned again. Caven loomed over her, not quite touching her. She could feel his heat. “I can do more to warm you than lend you my cape, Kit,” he murmured. His eyes were dark in his pale face.
Kitiara leaned back against the rough stone wall of the doorway. Chill emanated from the rock. Out in the street, rain streaked down in needles.
She drew a shivery breath. Then she nodded. Caven reached for her.
Chapter 6
Mage and Friend
S MOLDERING BLUE EYES PEERED AT K ITIARA AND Caven’s refuge from a doorway across the street. The hood of a voluminous woolen robe, charcoal gray in the gloom,
“Wode left an hour ago with the barmaid. Or rather, the blonde cow left and the boy followed.”
“Hot on her trail,” Caven said, satisfied. “Good lad. Which reminds me …” He maneuvered carefully over the dwarf, nearly falling headlong when the sodden creature hiccuped and rolled over. The room stank of stale things—food, beer, and breath. “I’m going with you,” he repeated. “To the Masked Dragon.”
“Tanis is already there. I doubt there’s room for three.”
“Then tell ’im to leave,” Mackid said mulishly. “I can flatten any elf any day.”
“Half-elf,” Kitiara corrected. “And don’t count on it.”
Caven gestured magnanimously, which threw him off balance. “Tell him to get lost, then go along with me.” He winked. “I’ll generously forgive your debt.” He caught his balance against the doorjamb.
Kitiara looked up, eyes skeptical but clearer than most others in the room. Caven Mackid was a splendid physical specimen of a man, but not exactly irresistible in his current state. And she wasn’t tired of the half-elf yet.
“I’m leaving, Mackid.” She turned away and walked up the three steps to the street.
It was raining. The cobblestones, slippery even in dry weather, were oily slick. Kitiara put one hand on the wall of the Happee Ohgr and moved quickly down the street, paying attention to her footing and trying to ignore the growing damp of her clothing. Behind her, she heard Caven’s muffled oath as he emerged on the street into the wet weather. “Kitiara!” he bellowed. But she went on without stopping, rain trickling through her curls onto her face.
At this time of night, practically no one was left on the streets of Haven but a few drunks and an occasional bored town guard. Kitiara took a sharp left turn and found herself in a side alley devoid of life and light; it led in the general direction of the Seven Centaurs and was made of packed ground rather than slippery cobbles.
Caven appeared some distance behind her. “Kitiara?” He peered into the gloom.
“Leave it, Mackid,” she snapped, and doubled her pace. At that moment, however, thunder crashed and the drizzle turned into a downpour. She leaped into a doorway with an exclamation. Caven joined her moments later.
The doorway was wide, protected, and dry. Lockeddouble doors led into what was a warehouse of sorts. Caven stood motionless between Kitiara and the street, an air of expectation about him. She shivered, realizing that her short skirt and light blouse, while okay for freedom of movement and for attracting admiring stares in the Haven market, were less than adequate for a chilly downpour.
She was soaked to the skin. Caven, on the other hand, was protected by his tightly woven wool cloak.
She pointed. “You wear that cape even in the warm weather, Mackid?”
Caven smiled. “It comes in handy.”
Suddenly Caven Mackid didn’t look so drunk to her. What he did look was
warm
, and Kitiara found herself coveting his body heat as much as admiring his physique. She shivered again. “Lend me your cape, soldier,” she ordered.
“Cold?” He grinned again. Caven loomed over her, not quite touching her. She could feel his heat. “I can do more to warm you than lend you my cape, Kit,” he murmured. His eyes were dark in his pale face.
Kitiara leaned back against the rough stone wall of the doorway. Chill emanated from the rock. Out in the street, rain streaked down in needles.
She drew a shivery breath. Then she nodded. Caven reached for her.
Chapter 6
Mage and Friend
S MOLDERING BLUE EYES PEERED AT K ITIARA AND Caven’s refuge from a doorway across the street. The hood of a voluminous woolen robe, charcoal gray in the gloom,
Similar Books
