Thief With No Shadow by Emily Gee Page B

She touched a finger lightly to the bridge of his nose. “You have such long eyelashes.”
    Young. Silvia was pretty, one of the prettiest women he’d seen, but there were lines at her mouth and eyes and gray strands in the curling blonde hair. He’d never asked how much older than him she was. Ten years, he guessed, but would never say so aloud.
    “And besides, I know we’re not finished yet.” Her hand was on his shoulder now, sliding down his ribs, at his waist. She curved her fingers around one of his buttocks. “Are we?”
    “No.” Desire stirred inside him again.
    This time Bastian took care to give as much pleasure as he received. He caressed Silvia’s generous curves, the plumpness of her breasts and belly and hips. He stroked inside her with his fingers, making her tremble and arch her body and close her eyes in pleasure. A slow and laughing hour passed in the rumpled, sunlit bed. And at the end, there was another long moment of exquisite release.
    They lay drowsily afterwards. Bastian closed his eyes, enjoying the soft warmth of Silvia’s body alongside him and the scent of sex, of male and female musk, of sweat.
    He knew she had other men. She was a widow and pretty and lived alone; of course she had other lovers. The knowledge didn’t bother him. He didn’t care, as long as he could have moments like this, moments of contentment and utter relaxation.
    Silvia sighed and sat up. “I must get back to work.”
    Bastian opened his eyes. He saw whitewashed walls and a low ceiling with rough beams. Bright sunlight came in through the window.
    “Will you stay to lunch?” Silvia brushed her fingers through his hair.
    Bastian thought of the long list Liana had given him, and of the wraith’s tainted silver coins. His contentment evaporated. “No. I can’t.” The signet ring was suddenly heavy on his finger, reminding him of responsibility and Vere and the curse.
    “Ah, well.” She stroked his cheek lightly, then bent to place a kiss low on his abdomen. “You’ll visit again.”
    “Of course.” Always.

 
     

     
    CHAPTER SIXTEEN
     
     
    B ASTIAN CHEWED THE last of the bun Silvia had given him. His feet had brought him to the watch house without him being truly aware of it. This was his usual routine in Thierry: an hour or two with Silvia, and then an ale with Michaud. While Liana stayed at home, with bone-dry dirt and sheep that slowly starved to death.
    The bun became as tasteless as dust in his mouth. He swallowed and scowled at the watch house. It was built of gray stone and had a steep slate roof like the other buildings in Thierry, but the windows had thick iron bars as well as shutters. Watch House was carved into the stone above the door. To protect and to serve justice. And for those who couldn’t read, the crown of Bresse and two crossed watch staves.
    The heavy door stood open. Bastian took the shallow steps in two strides and stepped inside. He didn’t have to call for Michaud. The watch captain stood in the middle of the room, tall and burly, his hands on his hips, frowning. At his feet was a brindle pup. The little creature cowered on the straw-covered floor. Every one of its ribs was visible.
    Apart from man and dog, the large room was empty. No officers lounged at the long table in their hobnailed boots and thick leather jerkins, no drunks slept off a night’s carousing in the four sparsely-furnished cells.
    Michaud looked up. “Bastian.” The frown on his bearded face became less fierce. He gestured at the pup. “Here, take this thing. I don’t know what to do with it.”
    Bastian crouched. “I don’t need another dog,” he said, while his hands reached for the animal. Hello, little one.
    The thin, trembling body squirmed in his grip and a wet tongue licked under his chin. He heard no words in his head, just a jumbled puppy-babble of fear and hunger and a desperate desire to please.
    “Well, what do I do with it then?” Michaud said, exasperation in his voice. “I