“You’ve found what he wanted?”
“No.”
“How many of the books are left to search?”
The clerk’s gaze skittered to the counter. “Only those. They’re the last.”
Tir released the man. “Then we’ll look through those. You’ll stay with us.”
A short time later they left the shop without having found anything useful. As they walked Araña wondered why the Church was also seeking a translation of the tattoos on Tir’s arms. Did they hold the key to killing him or banishing him from this world as well as to freeing him? Her hands went to the sheathed blades. Her fingers rubbed over the smooth hilts, trying to draw comfort from them but not finding it. Was he a demon? Is that why the spider allowed him to touch her? Is that why she’d been forced to join the thread of her life to his in the dark heart of the fire? Tir stopped and gripped her upper arms when they were out of sight of the shop, imprisoning her and making her shudder, not from fear, as the clerk had done, but from needy longing. “You’re quiet,” he said. “Yes.” Questions crowded her mind, but the courage to ask them deserted her. She had secrets, too.
Things she didn’t want to share. But could she really help free him if he meant to wreak havoc on the world? Could she add that weight to all the suffering she’d already been responsible for as a result of her demon gift?
Tir fought to keep his fingers from tightening painfully on Araña’s arms. Her tendency to withdraw was back despite the heated scent of desire and the soft molding of her body to his. The longer he was with her, the more attuned to her emotions he became. They brushed against him, became almost a whisper of her thoughts in his consciousness. Her silence wasn’t comfortable. It rubbed him, made him feel raw and on edge.
The thin wall shimmering between them was intolerable. He wanted her open, as trusting when she walked at his side as she was when she lay underneath him, thighs splayed, her body welcoming his, holding him deep in her core.
“What are you thinking?” he asked, hating that he had no will to stop himself from doing it. Fighting against caring for this human who seemed to be tangling him in a silken web of need. Silence greeted his question, swallowing it as though it had never been spoken. Dark eyes met his, a black abyss he could lose himself in. Tir’s nostrils flared at the unspoken challenge. His thoughts flashed back to the morning, when she’d taken food from his hand, acknowledging with her act of submission that she belonged to him—body and soul.
They didn’t have time for this. Intellectually he knew it. But just as he couldn’t stop himself from questioning her, he couldn’t keep from stepping her backward, into the shadows, his hands moving from her arms to her wrists and pinning her against what remained of a collapsed exterior wall.
Where before he’d broken through the barrier she erected with tenderness, this time he took her mouth aggressively, plundered it with dominant intent and the hard thrust of his tongue.
Her resistance burned away, melted under the onslaught.
He claimed her cries. Refused to grant her breath that didn’t come from him. And in doing it, bound himself more tightly to her.
“Tell me what you were thinking,” he ordered, his cock throbbing, urging him to force her to her knees, to demand she worship him with her mouth.
“I was wondering if you’re a demon,” she said, and with a thought he found he could tell where the spider riding her body was. It rested on her palm, pressed to his as he continued to hold her hands pinned to the rough brick wall.
Was he demon? Was that why he could sense the mark? Or had he somehow forged a bond between them when he willingly shared his blood and healed her?
“There have been those in the past who called me by that name,” he said. “But I told you the truth when I said I don’t know. My memories are locked away by the collar.”
He lowered his head and claimed her mouth again, this time gently, wanting her to offer her submission willingly. Wanting her to accept him regardless of what he might be labeled.
She responded with the touch of her tongue to his, a sensuous dance in dark heat that left him light-headed and craving the feel of skin against skin, the sound of her voice pleading with him not only to take her, but to grant her sweet release.
“Does it matter what I am?” he whispered against her lips long moments later.
She shivered, as though some part of her mind continued to fight her body. “What matters is what you’ll do when you’re free of the collar.”
“No less than what you intend for the guardsmen who killed your family and would have raped you. I’ll hunt down my enemies and slay them.”
He leaned into her, pressing the hard ridge of his erection to the juncture of her thighs. “Tell me, would you have sliced into the clerk’s flesh if he’d refused to cooperate?”
Araña would have turned from him if he hadn’t been blocking her from movement. He felt her shame as surely as if it were his own, and might have recoiled from it if his rage hadn’t quickly replaced it, reminding him of what he’d suffered while at the mercy of humans. He despised them—all of them except her. It would take a lot for him to hate her.
Tir didn’t like the power she held over him.
“Tell me,” he said, pressing her for an answer. “Would you have forced the clerk to answer the questions put to him?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “I don’t draw a weapon unless I’m prepared to use it.”
Tir released her and stepped away, fearing if he didn’t, he would take her against the wall and further delay them. “You wanted to make sure your boat is still berthed where it was left,” he said, signaling the end to their discussion.
She nodded, emotions in turmoil, but he preferred their battering against his psyche to the silence and containment. They walked the length of the area set aside for humans with gifts. At its edge there was a store serving as a general market.
Heat surged through Tir when she placed her hand on his arm, stopping him in the shadows. “Wait here and I’ll go in and get you a shirt. You’ll need it before we go any farther. Tattoos are outlawed in most of the places where the Church has influence and the non-gifted rule. They’re reserved for marking criminals.”
He and Araña had clung to the shadows where possible, but he’d been aware of eyes following their progress, strangers noting them from behind concealing drapes and shutters. “I’ll wait,” he said, and watched as she crossed the street and disappeared into the store.
There were others coming and going from the market. Many of them glanced his way, sensing his presence though he did nothing to draw attention to himself.
Was it because the humans were gifted? Or was it so dangerous in this city that they had all become wary prey?
Worry for Araña crept in the longer they were apart. More than once he caught himself rubbing his chest.
He didn’t like having her out of his sight. Despite the spider mark and the knives she carried, she was so very mortal.
He took a step forward, only barely stopping himself from going after her. The tightness in his chest grew more pronounced. When had he come to fear her death so much?
Eleven
THE heavy gates bore the same heraldic crest as the flag fluttering from the car’s antenna. Private soldiers, wearing black uniforms bearing red lion rampant insignias, stepped from a gatehouse and approached the driver’s window, while others aimed automatic weapons down at the car from on top of the wall.
A glance in, and probably a subtle signal later, and the soldiers stepped away, allowing the car Rebekka was in to enter the estate. A second gate and more armed guards followed before she saw the place Tomás called home.
Manicured lawns and bright flowers were a testament to the wealth the Iberás held, as was the house. It would have been considered a mansion in the days before The Last War.