We’d faced a similar scenario with the Svarestri the last time I was here, and he’d shown no such shyness then. In fact, it had been his idea to use a PDA to distract a guard and get away, and it had worked, more or less. And the less hadn’t had to do with the distraction, but with the fact that Gertie showed up shortly thereafter.
Yet this time, he was furious. I didn’t know why, but I knew him. And hotheadedness had always been a problem for him even in my era, when he’d had centuries to learn to master his temper. He hadn’t had them now, and this Pritkin had always seemed less controlled to me, his emotions closer to the surface, both good and bad.
And bad right now was going to get him killed.
“Please.”
I stared up at him, desperate, pleading, but not able to say the words that might convince him with the fey standing right there. But something seemed to get through. Or maybe he just didn’t see an alternative that didn’t involve razor-sharp implements and our jugulars. He finally nodded tersely, a single up-and-down motion of his chin, and I scooted closer.
And was faced with having to actually live up to my bravado.
“The, uh . . . the tunic?” I gestured at it. “Could you, um . . .”
He jerked it off, along with the layers underneath—another tunic and a long, linen shirt—because of the cold outside. It was cold in here, too. To the point that I could see my breath, that my body was covered in goose bumps, that my knees would probably be knocking if they weren’t all but frozen to the flagstone. The fire from the outer room was too far away to do any good, and if the lanterns gave off any heat, I couldn’t tell.
Yeah, this is sexy, I thought, and tried not to shiver.
Pritkin paused when he was down to loose trousers and some strips of cloth that had been wound around his calves, like some sort of makeshift socks. Then he started rem
oving those as well. I wondered why until I realized: they could bunch his trousers around his ankles if he needed to move quickly, trapping him. And he was planning to move. I could see it in the tension in his body, in the hard, angry set of his jaw, in the tight muscles of his calves when the strips were finally off and he stood there in just a loose pair of pants.
And looked at me.
I didn’t know what his plan was. Maybe to pretend to play along, and move when the fey were distracted? Because I didn’t see how that helped. Maybe to actually play along, and hope it convinced them? Because he wasn’t looking like a guy who was ready to put on a show. Maybe something else entirely that I hadn’t thought of, because right now I was having a hard time thinking about anything.
Except the obvious.
I licked my lips and slid my hands up his legs, feeling hard muscle and coarse wool, with little pieces that caught on my palms. I needed to lotion more, I thought irrelevantly. My hands were rough. They were also trying to shake, making me grateful that the trousers were held on by a simple drawstring.
I looked up again, and saw that unfamiliar face staring down at me, and the shaking got worse. I suddenly didn’t know if I could do this, with two strangers watching me and Pritkin looking like someone else. I didn’t know if I could do this . . . like this.
Not like this.
My breath started coming faster, but not out of excitement. I knew the signs; I’d had a panic attack or two in my time, and why not? With my life? Which had somehow led to me kneeling naked on freezing flagstones, about to fellate a friend I had way too much attraction to already, while two bored, voyeuristic fey used me as their substitute for a porno. And while the people depending on us got slaughtered because we were almost out of time.
Yet I just stayed there, gripping his legs so I wouldn’t start trembling, so I wouldn’t freak out because I had to do this. I had to do this or shift us out, and I couldn’t shift us out, so I had to do this. But my body didn’t appear to be listening, maybe because the strange sense of dread I’d experienced in the room outside was back, and adding to the panic. To the point that the roof seemed to be collapsing on top of me, the walls closing in, a scream building in my throat as my fight-or-flight instincts kicked in, and kicked in big-time. I had to get out of here, I had to—
And then it hit, so hard and so tangible that it knocked me out of my budding hysteria and left me looking around for the source. It felt like a gust of wind, only there was no wind in here. There couldn’t be with no windows, and two closed doors. And even if there had been, it would have been cold and damp, like the night outside. While this felt like a breeze straight off a desert.
But not one of ours.
I glanced at Rosier, but all I saw was a lump in my discarded pack. But maybe I’d been wrong about him not being able to help. Because I’d felt something like this before, on another night, in another desperate situation. One in which Rosier had used his incubus powers to overwhelm my fear and panic, and . . . what had he called it? Enhance?
I felt like laughing suddenly.
What a completely inadequate word.
I sank back down, but this time, the hard stones beneath me were as comfortable as a pillow, the cold-eyed fey were simply gone, as if they’d never existed, and the frigid, dusty hallway was filled with a languid heat, heavy and fragrant, like warm honey.
And suddenly, this was just the easiest thing in the world.
My hands unclenched and smoothed up the tautness of Pritkin’s stomach, feeling hard lines and soft hair, and muscles that jumped delightfully under my touch. I leaned in, pressing my lips to the clean, warm skin below his navel, and felt his heartbeat. I stayed there, mouthing that delicious piece of flesh for a moment, feeling it catch and give under my teeth, feeling him jerk. And then laved the little wound I’d made with my tongue, because there was no hurry, none at all. There was just this, just tasting the salt of him, feeling the warmth, enjoying the soft musk that perfectly complemented the perfume in the air.
And that suddenly intensified, along with my hunger.
I looked up. “Tell me if I do something you don’t like,” I whispered.
He just looked back at me, almost bewildered, as if that had made no sense. And to an incubus, maybe it hadn’t. I held his eyes as I loosened the ties at his waist that parted at a touch, the fabric falling to the floor, to pool around his ankles.