Текст книги "Irregulars "
Автор книги: Astrid Amara
Соавторы: Nicole Kimberling,Ginn Hale,Josh lanyon
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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 32 страниц)
Archer met and held Gaki’s gaze. It wasn’t easy. “I’m not going to change my mind.”
Gaki’s regard never faltered. Then he smiled suddenly and broadly. “Then there’s nothing more to be said. It’s disappointing for both of us, of course.”
“Yes,” Archer said huskily.
“I’d have liked nothing better than to see those beads rightfully restored to you. But I always say, if a thing is worth collecting in the first place, it’s worth hanging onto forever.”
“Forever is a long time.”
“No one knows that better than me.” Gaki grinned, his teeth very sharp. He reached for a champagne flute from the tray wafting by. “Cheers.” He turned his back and walked away.
Archer watched him go. Watched the bodyguard fall into respectful step behind.
He was surprised at the choice he’d made, and yet as he questioned his decision, he realized he did not regret it. It was the right choice.
Not that making it had brought him any pleasure.
He wandered over to the bar and ordered a Yukon Jack on the rocks. He reached for his wallet.
“I’ve got it,” a familiar voice said beside him. Commander Rake’s honey brown eyes smiled into Archer’s.
Chapter Six
“Why is it you’re always trying to buy me drinks?” Archer put his own cash on the counter and the barman swept it up.
“That should be obvious. I want to get you drunk and have my wicked way with you.”
“You needn’t get me drunk for that.”
Rake’s eyes kindled with a light that made Archer briefly shy. Rake was not…handsome exactly, but he was striking—or imposing might be the better word—in his severe black evening clothes. There was something about him, some energy, some zest. In the old days they’d called it virility. Archer had no idea what they called it these days. These days they didn’t seem to make many men like Rake.
“You surprise me.” Rake’s voice seemed to reverberate right through Archer as though Archer’s spine were a tuning fork and Rake was playing his song.
His cock twitched. Elaborately casual, Archer reached for his glass. “I think that’s unlikely.” He took a long drink and decided it might be wiser to strike out for the shore and safety. “What are you doing here anyway? Following me?”
Rake’s eyebrows rose. “Following you? I have people to do that for me. No, attending fundraisers for the Vancouver Arts & Antiquities Alliance is part of my job description.”
“Why would it be?” Archer was trying not to be illogically irritated by the information that Rake couldn’t be bothered to follow him himself.
“Because deals are made and alliances, if only temporary, are forged at these events.” Rake added, “And occasionally the art and antiquities that change hands fall under my jurisdiction.”
Archer sniffed in a show of not-so-polite disbelief and sipped his whiskey.
“Speaking of which, you seemed to be having a pleasant chat with George Gaki.”
He didn’t think he gave himself away by so much as a flicker of an eyelash, but Rake chuckled, a low, growly sound that sent another pleasurable ripple of alarm and anticipation down Archer’s spine.
“Something funny?”
“Funny might not be the right word. You do like to live dangerously, don’t you, Mr. Green?”
Archer tried to sound bored. He wasn’t sure he pulled it off. “Maybe you know what you’re talking about.”
“Maybe I do.” Rake tossed off his own drink, measured Archer from beneath dark, shadowy lashes, and said, “How much longer did you plan on staying?”
Archer grinned. “In a hurry to get home to your pipe and slippers?”
“In a hurry to get home. Not to my pipe and slippers.”
“Ah.” Archer was surprised at the wrench of disappointment he felt. But of course Rake would have someone tending the home fires for him. Probably throwing another log on the bonfire at this very instant.
“So?” Rake pressed.
“So?”
“How long did you plan on staying here? You’ve done your social duty and then some, haven’t you?”
Exactly how long had Rake been watching him? Archer was amused and annoyed. His usual state of affairs with the commander. The three As: amused, annoyed, or aroused. It had to be more than the aftershave. He tried to keep the edge from his voice. “I thought you paid people to keep an eye on me. What is it you imagine I might get up to tonight?”
Rake’s smile was enigmatic. The light from the chandelier picked out bronze glints in his hair; his eyes looked black. He said softly, frankly, so there was no mistaking his meaning, “That’s what I’m hoping to find out.”
Archer nearly dropped his glass. “You’re direct.”
Rake’s smile widened devilishly. “Yes.”
Archer wasn’t exactly sure if what he felt was excitement or apprehension. Maybe both. “Isn’t this a conflict of interest?”
“Not for me.”
He turned that over thoughtfully. It was an important distinction. Assuming he understood what the hell Rake was talking about.
“You’re not married?” He was stalling now. They both knew it.
“Not anymore. I ate my wife.” Rake grinned and for one truly weird moment his features seemed to waver, his teeth growing sharp and pointed, his eyes glowing red.
Archer laughed and set his glass down. He’d clearly had enough. “Oh dear. Did she forget to warm your TV dinner on time?”
“She was a very good wife. It wasn’t her fault. I didn’t have a lot of self-control back then and it turned out I liked boys better.”
“They do stay fresher longer.”
“You’re fresh enough.” Rake’s eyes laughed into Archer’s. “Are you coming?”
“Not yet,” Archer replied, starting to laugh too. “But the night is young.”
***
Parking was scarce in the West End. Archer managed to wedge his green Beetle between a Saab and a Kia Soul near Stanley Park. He walked the block back to where Rake waited for him in a triangle of lamplight on Chilco Street. The trees were tall and their sweet scent mingled with the ocean smells of nearby English Bay. It smelled like home. Not Gastown. Home.
As Archer reached him, Rake pulled him close with a hand curving around the nape of Archer’s neck. Rake’s mouth descended in a kiss so hot Archer’s mouth tingled. Rake’s moist tongue flicked out, seeking entrance, and Archer’s lips parted. A dark and dangerous heat flooded him as Rake’s tongue slipped inside his mouth and stole his breath.
It was crazy to be doing this right here on the street, in the open, beneath the smiling moon and the smaller smiling mini-moons of the street lamps. A crazy chance for Rake, certainly, but maybe his self-control wasn’t as evolved as he thought because he seemed unable to stop. Archer had no breath for the words, even if he’d had the will.
Rake’s lips left Archer’s and he kissed him delicately, sweetly beside his unsteady mouth, then trailed across flushed skin to nuzzle Archer’s earlobe, rousing shivers in him. Archer moaned. He felt weak, heavy limbed, as if he had no control over what was happening; it was out of his hands.
Sanity reasserted itself in the form of a pair of headlights that swept around the corner and spotlighted them briefly. They stepped apart. The car zoomed past, exhaust filling the night air.
This was a mistake. Rake was either laying a trap for him or…
Or what?
Archer couldn’t think what—the risk seemed to be Rake’s, really; he was the one who belonged to an organization that wouldn’t take kindly to fraternizing with the enemy—yet Archer still felt it would be dangerous to proceed.
And physically painful not to.
As he stood hesitating, Rake held out his hand. A human gesture, that. An age-old gesture signifying everything from the lack of weapons, an acknowledgment of equality, the implication of solidarity, a binding contract, or even the offer of friendship. Rake said nothing, but that simple move seemed to speak volumes for him. Archer took his hand and they walked in silence up the steps and into the tall, brick-faced, wood-framed building.
Rake’s apartment was an elegant one-bedroom suite with a breathtaking view of moonlit English Bay. The windows and that blue view dominated the room, but Archer had a quick impression of modern, streamlined furniture in earth tones, oak floors, granite countertops, and stainless steel fixtures and appliances.
The natural light would be amazing at any time of year and at any time of day.
“Drink?” Rake asked, bottle in hand, from behind the white wood and granite breakfast bar.
Archer shook his head, pacing the room, exploring everything there was to see. Not that there was so much. In fact, the apartment was as tidy as a realtor’s model. A few throw pillows in gold and cream, oversized earthenware lamps, small steel bowls with cardamom candy.
“This is nice. Not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
“Leather? Leather and wood and brass studs.” Archer smirked. “Traditional.”
“I am traditional, you’re right about that.” Rake poured himself a drink from the oddly shaped bottle. The liqueur was pale green. Absinth? Archer’s nostrils flared. No, cardamom again.
Interesting. But then everything about Rake was interesting. So far. The next hour could change that. Given that Rake was an oversized mortal and in an ultramasculine profession, he would probably opt for the predictable. Archer had no strong inclinations either way. Mortals were often clumsy and brutal in their coupling; so he was mostly curious as to how that precision of manner with which Rake handled himself would translate into sex.
He glanced at Rake, who smiled at him and raised his glass of green liqueur in a small, mocking toast.
Yes, Archer was curious about many things concerning Rake. In fact, the more he learned about Rake—which, granted, was little enough—the more questions he had.
He thought about Rake’s accent, similar to his own really, that almost stripped-bare pronunciation that came of years of living in different countries and places. Where did Rake come from? How old was he?
Perhaps some of his uncertainty showed. Rake said, “You look nervous. Are you truly only now beginning to wonder what you’ve got yourself into?’
“Have I got myself into anything?” Archer couldn’t fathom Rake’s expression. Certainly Rake was amused—by what? There was something else there too. He seemed almost…perplexed as he studied Archer.
Archer moved away, studying the oil painting over the long, beige sofa. An inhumanly beautiful figure sat brooding in a field of flowers. No. Not flowers. Moths. Pale green moths. A cloud of them.
“I know that painting. Or one similar to it. It’s by Vrubel?”
“That’s right. Mikhail Alexandrovich Vrubel.”
“But the painting I know doesn’t have moths.”
“No. This is a companion piece. Do you like it?”
Archer nodded. Oh yes. He liked it. Too much. It gave him a warm feeling in his belly and a fluttery feeling in his chest. Perhaps Rake had a thing for demons too. Maybe he’d taken up the badge to work out a few kinks. That would be sort of a relief. It would make Rake more…human.
Yes. That was it. Rake seemed almost inhuman in his spic-and-span perfection.
Archer continued to explore the room. The eyes of the demon in the painting followed him. “So where do you keep your pipe and slippers?” he joked.
“In the bedroom, of course.” Rake was standing right behind him. Archer hadn’t sensed his approach and excitement prickled up and down his spine. Excitement or unease. Archer wasn’t completely sure.
“Of course. Where else? You’re a traditional guy.”
He moved away toward a bookshelf, reaching for a steel-framed photo of Rake in front of the Golden Gate Bridge. He looked virtually the same, in the Irregulars uniform of a decade ago. Odd. He put the photo down again and picked up a geode at random. “The Irregulars must pay better than I thought.”
“I don’t do it for the money.”
Archer threw Rake a mocking look. “No? For the kicks then?”
“It has its moments.” Rake drew him into his arms and kissed him, a light, feathery brush of lips, more will-o’-the-wisp than caress. At the snap of electricity, Archer laughed, putting fingers up to his mouth. Rake laughed too, drawing him back again, brushing the soft curls aside to nuzzle him. Archer’s breath caught. He expelled it shakily as Rake’s hot, wet tongue delicately rimmed the shell of his ear. He shivered, tried to move away, but Rake held him fast. His tongue rasped leisurely over the tips of Archer’s ears.
“You know about the ears thing?” a voice that sounded too weak and breathy to be Archer’s own inquired faintly. Outside, he’d put it down to chance, but this was too deliberate for chance.
Rake’s breath gusted in a little laugh. “I know all about the ears thing.” Those heated, moist words seemed to travel right into Archer’s brain, make a sharp left, and arrow down to his groin. The fierce sweetness of his body’s reaction nearly made him dizzy.
He wrapped his arms around Rake’s neck and kissed him hungrily back. Rake met that demand with voracious enthusiasm. Archer tasted copper, ambrosia, cardamom, and something smoky. Coherent thought fled.
He was unsure of how they got to the bedroom or where along that journey he shed his clothes, but eventually he took hazy note that he was lying naked in a low bed with black silk sheets. Glowing blue lanterns with inked butterflies swung overhead. The butterflies threw giant winged shadows across the walls.
Rake’s big hands caught him by the hips, settling Archer on the smooth sheets. He leaned over him, a dark figure in the unreliable light. His eyes gleamed as careful fingers probed the entrance to Archer’s body. Archer moaned, squirming. He was no virgin, but his muscles were resilient and passage would be tight given the astonishing size of the bull-like cock between Rake’s muscular thighs.
In fact...
Archer’s eyes widened. In his entire life he’d never seen a sexual member quite like that one. Not in the flesh.
He opened his mouth, but Rake’s fingers, slick with his own hot pre-ejaculate, moved inside him, causing the strangest tingling. Archer murmured wonderingly and then sucked in a sharp breath as Rake guided himself into his body.
Rake took the sound that tore out of Archer’s throat as encouragement and he wasn’t far wrong, though Archer was transfixed for a second or two with shock. He’d never experienced that peculiar sensation, that mix of stinging and satisfaction—like needles dipped in bliss were floating through his veins and everywhere they stuck came a flash of sheer delight—but he’d read about it. The ultimate one-handed read, in fact. He cried out and Rake stopped at once.
Archer panted, “You’re…not…Canadian, are you?”
Rake’s eyes turned red. His lips parted in a smile and Archer could see the glint of his sharp incisors. Terrifying. Beautiful. “Don’t you recognize the real thing?”
Oh yes, he recognized the real thing. “Demon?” It came out as an inquiry, although that wasn’t the real question.
“And you with all those naughty postcards?” Rake laughed down at him and the barbed cock pushed deeper into Archer’s body, releasing more of the tiny, felicitous pinpricks.
Hearing that rough, purring laugh, Archer drove back, impaling himself deeply, and it was Rake’s turn to catch his breath.
Green and gold sparks danced off Archer’s skin and crackled around them. Rake jerked his hips, laughing silently as Archer cried out and arched up. Rake said something in Babylonian. Lover? Lovely? Tiny flames leaped in the black-red void of his eyes.
They began to rock, the moon pulling the tide, the tide grabbing for the shore, the melting sand giving way with a final tug at the roots of the mountains...
“Wait. More. I need more.” Archer groped for Rake’s hand, feeling the callused warmth of his smooth skin, the curve of his long razor-sharp nails as he placed Rake’s hand on his groin. “Hold me.”
“Like this?” The voice was no longer remotely human, but Archer no longer feared disappointment. No longer feared anything at all.
He wrapped the long fingers around his rigid cock, molding them into a fist. To his delighted relief, Rake slipped easily into the rhythm, and Archer writhed with pleasured abandon, the entire experience heightened by the proximity of the dangerous talons to his tender flesh.
Rake was teasing him now, varying the speed and strength of his thrusts, using hands and mouth with unholy skill until Archer was sobbing, his entire body shimmering green-gold as he swung out into the distance suspended between agony and ecstasy.
Time paused.
“Don’t leave me…like this!” Archer groaned. At least he meant to add the “like this.” Fortunately his naked little plea was lost in Rake’s snarl as he plunged into him, driving Archer toward the peak, pumping his rigid cock in the same rhythm. Archer felt all semblance of control slip away and he squirmed and twisted, trying to draw that indescribable sensation more deeply into himself. Rake’s mouth found his ear and he began to lick the upswept point. Something ignited, blazed; every muscle in Archer’s body locked. Rake bucked hard into him. It was like being filled with burning glass and at the same time it felt so impossibly, terrifyingly wonderful that Archer feared he would lose what little mind he had left.
Rake sucked hard on Archer’s ear and Archer screamed. He felt himself plummeting like a fallen star, giving off sparks as he dropped like a rock into the roaring red light that was Rake.
***
It seemed a long time later when the red glare faded and the world took shape once more. Lanterns swayed gently above a comfortable bed, blue hearts pulsing. Limp and trembling, Archer lay quietly as Rake softened and slid out of his body. He could see the glitter of his own drying release everywhere: lamps, sheets, Rake’s chest as well as his own, marked with it.
“Well, Puck? Better than picture postcards?” Rake’s voice was human again, though gruff from his shouts.
“Better.” Archer laughed shakily. “Did you just call me a rude name?”
Rake made a dismissive noise, gathered him close to his massive chest. His claws had retracted once more and his hands were gentle. Disarmingly gentle. “Whither wander you?”
Shakespeare. A poetry-spouting demon. A demon Irregular. Archer sniffed in absent disapproval. He was still considering the first question. He felt like something consumed by fire, hollowed out and only the shell left. Whatever he had imagined…Well, imagination could not do this reality justice.
Rake nuzzled his cheek and temple, but, mercifully, was careful to avoid Archer’s ears.
“How can you be…?” Archer began finally, troubled.
“A demon?”
“A badge.”
It was a moment or two before Rake said vaguely, “If you can’t beat them, join them.”
Archer raised his head, trying to read the truth in the midnight shadows. There was only the gleam of eyes, the gleam of teeth.
“You don’t feel…”
“What?”
“Divided loyalties?”
“No. The mortal and immortal realms must work together or all will perish.”
Propaganda. But there was truth in it all the same. Archer had not lived among humans for nearly a century without noticing that for all their fragility they could do a lot of damage. Even without the interference of humans, the other realms had a knack for self-destruction. Remembering how Greine the Usurper had put down the Irish sidhe revolts only too well, he shivered.
Rake cradled him closer, muttering, “Sleep now, little imp.”
Archer’s smile was wry. So the legends were true in that much at least. Demons were soft and sentimental after sex. With the lovers they didn’t kill, anyway. His body still rang with little thrums of pleasure. He humored Rake, snuggling closer still, hearing the muted boom of the eight-chambered demon heart, but his mind continued to flit from thought to thought like a bee sipping nectar.
It was all very well to say the realms could only survive through cooperation, but how had Rake, a descendent of creatures that would once have eaten humans for between-meal snacks, become a protector of mortals?
Come to think of it, how old was Rake? Maybe he hadn’t been joking about eating his first wife. Archer shivered. Rake growled something in—Babylonian? Sumerian? Hittite?—and kissed the top of Archer’s head.
Archer’s heart swelled and he kissed Rake back. He liked kissing Rake. His chest was smooth and his skin warm and he smelled of sex and vanilla and he had delivered more physical pleasure in the last half hour than Archer had known in the last half century. The caress was automatic, of course. Just good manners. He appreciated Rake’s sexual expertise and it was very nice to be held like this, to fall asleep in someone’s arms. Not that he planned on falling asleep. Archer had places to go and things to do.
Not immediately. He could wait a bit. Make sure Rake was deeply asleep. That was just common sense.
What did Rake want from him? Archer continued to mull it over. Was tonight intended as some sort of seduction whereupon, following the fulfillment of a sexual fantasy, Archer spilled all his deepest, darkest secrets and promised to help the badges round up his old comrades? If so, Rake had forgotten to ask him about his deepest, darkest secrets.
He wondered if Gaki had noticed him leaving with Rake. That was liable to send the wrong message.
When he was sure Rake was truly asleep, Archer slipped out from beneath his muscular arm, using a glamour to trick Rake’s sleeping consciousness into believing Archer still lay next to him. For long seconds he stood beside the bed and stared down at Rake’s relaxed form. There was no sign of the demon now. Rake looked like any weary mortal. Weary and ridiculously content.
Archer found himself unexpectedly reluctant to leave. It would be nice to spend the night, to sleep with the heartbeat of the sea pounding beneath the building, lulling him. Nice to wake tomorrow together and have toast and honey in that sunny room and let Rake cuddle him. Just a little. Perhaps they would talk and laugh and talk some more. Not about world-shaking events. Not about their jobs or politics. Only about matters important to themselves.
He listened to the echo of his thoughts with disquiet. What was he thinking? That fantasy wasn’t merely foolish; it was dangerous. And not merely for himself.
He found his clothes in the living room and dressed silently. The wards on the door took a few minutes to figure out. Rake clearly didn’t like to take chances. At last Archer opened the door and stepped quietly into the dry, temperature-controlled hall. The building continued to slumber. He walked briskly to the front entrance and let himself into a night that smelled of old wood, plum blossoms, and starlight.
His ears still throbbed, almost unbearably sensitive after Rake’s attentions. Archer shivered, remembering. His whole body ached in a distant way, not from the scratches and bites and bruises inevitably resulting from coupling with a demon, but with pangs of something like nostalgia. Missing Rake’s touch already—and he had nothing to anticipate because this had been a one-off. He could not risk it being anything else. Thus the walk along the quiet street, moonlight glancing off the hoods of cars, the lamplight slicing through shrubbery, seemed poignant and bittersweet. It felt as though he was leaving home forever as he walked down the deserted street to his car.
Archer jeered at himself as he climbed into his Beetle and started the engine.
***
Gaki’s estate was a tree-shrouded sanctuary in North Vancouver far from the hustle and bustle of the city proper. Archer studied the layout from behind the tall, spiked gates. It wasn’t as large and ostentatious as he had expected. A custom-designed Craftsman four-story with a detached garage and large guest cottage. The property was positioned within a protected bay on a private peninsula with a good 650 feet of private waterfront and sandy beach.
The house was well guarded with everything from security cameras to protection spells.
Standing deep in the shadows and well away from the biting iron of the double gates, Archer contemplated the dark windows.
They were there, he knew it. The beads were hidden somewhere in that house. His beads. Jewels designed by long ago faerie artisans for Archer’s family.
Did the beads sense his presence? Did they warm to life anticipating his touch? Did they know that soon he would have them?
A light went on in the highest story of the house and began to glow green.
Archer smiled. Yes. Soon they would be his.
