She was toying with a bowl of the hot stew the innkeeper was serving for dinner, nibbling at a piece of the questionable meat within it. She noticed Maxum’s regard of her and she returned it in kind, looking him up and down. He let her look and smiled at the interest he saw flickering in her eyes. And she had pretty eyes. A beautiful jade green to complement her silvery blond hair which she had plaited into two braids on either side of her head, covering her ears. He was disappointed by the style. He expected it was quite pretty when let loose. It would be straight, he surmised, like a silver-gold waterfall, reaching somewhere around her breasts. Those mysteriously hidden breasts.
She sat back a little, picking up her mug and taking a thoughtful sip. Then she stood up, skirted the boisterous goings-on in the center of the room, and came to stand before Maxum.
She was nearly a strap shorter than he was, slightly built—almost like a boy if not for those hips and…damn it, he wanted to see those breasts! But she had the face of a fairy, all fine bones and delicate points, right down to her small upturned nose with its gentle tip. She looked too genteel to be caught out in this kind of crowd in those kinds of clothes. She should be in a dress—with a corset that pushed up and showed off those breasts…wherever they were.
“A quiet corner,” he said with a nod to the other side of the table. “Come and sit.”
She regarded him for just a moment longer, but not because she was debating the wisdom of sitting with him. She had pretty much made up her mind to do that before she’d even gotten out of her seat. Still he didn’t know exactly what was going on behind those jade eyes. It was one of the reasons he was glad she had come over.
“I didn’t take you for the quiet corner type,” she said as she slid into her seat and put her mug down on the table.
“I prefer quiet corners. My men have other ideas.”
“You’re celebrating?”
“Is it that obvious?” he said with a grin he knew was charming. His brothers had always said the gods had gifted him with charm, good looks, and a good singing voice—all great ways to woo the ladies. And they were right. He’d caught more than his fair share with that smile.
She smiled back and relaxed in her chair. “A little bit. They’re throwing coin around like they could make it for themselves. They should be careful. It might attract the wrong element.”
Maxum chuckled richly. “We are the wrong element,” he said.
She laughed. It was a light, pretty sound but not a delicate little titter like the highborn ladies used. It was a laugh. A good, feminine laugh that made you smile to hear it. Maxum liked her more the more he discovered about her.
“What’s your name?”
“Airianne,” she said. “But you can call me Airi.”
“A light, breezy sort of name,” he noted.
She grimaced. “Oh, now you’re being unoriginal. I may have to rethink this whole situation.”
“Ah. Well, forgive me. I’ll try to be more unique from here on out.”
Maxum found that ironic actually. He was as unique as they came. It was simply a matter of not wanting everyone to know about what set him apart from everyone else on the Black Continent.
She made a show of thinking about it, but then she shrugged. “I’ll give you another chance if you tell me your name.”
“Wouldn’t that ruin the mystery of it all?”
“I rather doubt there would be much mystery if I have to call you ‘You there!’ the entire length of our short acquaintance.”
“Our acquaintance will be short?” he asked with an arched brow.
“Oh yes. If all it is based on is the mystery of your name then it will have to be short indeed. The moment I learn it, all would be over.”
“Hey, Maxum! Come roll at dice!” Doisy shouted at him from across the room.
Airi laughed. “There, you see? No more mystery, nothing to compel me to stay.”
“I’m sure I have other mysteries about me,” he coaxed her with a lopsided grin.
“Do you? Do you think I would find them interesting?”
“I know you would. I promise I won’t tell you a thing about me. You can discover the answer to all your questions on your own, thereby entertaining yourself for quite a long while.”
“But I already know so much about you,” she said.
“Such as?”
“I know your name.” She winked at him. “And I know you do not like to be called Max.”
“How do you know that?”
“Your man is so drunk he would have called you by the most familiar name he uses to address you. Since he called you Maxum and not Max I can assume he has been trained very, very well not to do it…so well he remembers even when in his cups.”
“What else do you know?” he asked, leaning back and relaxing as he let his eyes roam over her again and again.
“Let’s see…you are a mercenary.”
“How can you be so sure?” he asked, surprise tightening him up.
“You are well outfitted. You have spent a good amount of coin on your armor and that sword you carry. That blade was not made in any ordinary forge, I’ll bet my life on it.”
She was right. The sword was his brother’s. A god-made weapon and a gift from Weysa. Dethan had gifted him with it when he had told them he was leaving to “seek out his own life.” He hadn’t told them his plans or his ultimate goal. But having a god-made weapon would be crucial when fighting a god. It was a fair bet that no ordinary weapon could inflict injury otherwise.
“But being well outfitted does not a mercenary make,” he pointed out.
“Ah…but here your friends give you away. A mage, an orc, an archer, and a religious man make for a pretty well-rounded group of skills. All quite marketable if someone is looking for a hired hand to help with this little or that problem.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “But you do not make all of your coin by being a sellsword, and I think selling your sword is just a means to an end. You have different goals in mind.”
“Now you can’t possibly know that from sitting across the room,” he said, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. Her insights were uncanny. A little too uncanny. He was beginning to suspect she was some kind of mage like Dru. A spirit mage could tell a lot about a person if the right powers were used.
“I know that from speaking with you. You are clearly an intelligent man. You don’t throw yourself into revelry with abandon like your men do, you keep yourself separate from their behavior. That tells me a great deal about what kind of man you are.”
“It is an off night. Tomorrow I will get just as drunk as they are.”
“I think not. No sense trying to mislead me,” she said with a smile. “Just because I can see you doesn’t mean you must try to hide.”
“But how do you know I have other goals in mind?”
“As I said, you are an intelligent man. An intelligent man knows he cannot sell his sword forever. Eventually he will get old and his body will not work quite the way it should. What will you do then? An intelligent man would have some other plan, something to take him into his golden years with relative ease.”
Maxum smiled. “I do have other goals, but not for the reasons you surmise. So you see, there are still many mysteries about me to keep you interested.”
“Perhaps,” she said, pausing to take a sip of her ale. “What about me? Can you not divine anything about me?”
Maxum narrowed his eyes on her thoughtfully. “You do not like to wear dresses.”
She burst out in a laugh. “How do you know that? How do you know these are not just my traveling clothes?”
“They are too well-worn to be used just for traveling. You’ve even mended your breeches at the knee, telling me this is likely your only set of clothing. Or perhaps one of two sets.”
“Very good,” she said, seeming impressed. “But that does not mean I don’t like to wear dresses.”
“If I were a woman used to running about in the freedom of breeches and cotton, I would
not want to stuff myself into the confines of a dress and corset where certain behaviors would then be expected of me. Like this, you have all the freedom in the world. Why would you want to give that up?”
“Well, it so happens you are right, but I still say it’s a lucky guess.”
“No more or less lucky than your guesses.”
“What else?” she asked.
“Hmm…I’ll bet you’re a scrapper. You avoid fighting where possible, because you are clearly intelligent, but get you in the mix and you’ll hold your own in spite of your size.”
“Oh ho! Now we’re insulting?”
“Not at all. You’re just being sensitive. I was merely stating an observation. It was a compliment actually…that I can see you holding your own in a fight even against a larger opponent.”
“And what makes you think this?”
“You’ve got two daggers on you, one on each thigh. That tells me you’re proficient with them left- and right-handed…a marketable skill if ever there was one. They are short daggers so that means you’re used to fighting up close and personal. You travel alone, which means you’re pretty confident you can take care of yourself. You’re too clever to mislead yourself on that count so…that makes you a scrapper.”
“Very good.” She gave him a light round of applause. He nodded his head in gracious acceptance.
“There’s one other thing,” he said.
“And that is?”
“You’re seriously thinking about having sex with me.”
She laughed, a bright short burst of sound. “Am I, now? What makes you say that?”
“You got up and came over to me.”
“I could just be looking for a diverting conversation. How does sex come into the picture? If I wanted sex I could choose any of your men.”
“As I said, you came over to me instead of joining my men. That shows you have taste and are discerning. You didn’t want to be alone tonight, so you thought I might provide you with a little companionable distraction.”
“Distraction equals sex?”
He ran his eyes down over her, letting her see his appetite, which had grown considerably in the time they had been talking.
“It does in my book. And you haven’t thrown your drink in my face and stormed off. That’s also telling.”
She smiled, stood up, and crossed over to him. She sat in his lap and wound her arms around his neck. “And does the idea have any appeal to you at all?”
“What do your deductive powers tell you?”
“That it does indeed have merit. A great deal of merit,” she said, shifting her bottom a little on top of a steadily growing erection. He hadn’t planned on getting friendly with anyone tonight, didn’t really engage in it at all these days, his goals consuming his time and energies. But for some reason she appealed to him a great deal and now that he had started thinking about having sex with her, he found he couldn’t stop thinking of it. The idea of running his hands all over that fair, delicate skin—all the while knowing she was just as tough as she was soft—that was more than alluring to him.
His gaze dropped to the pretty bow of her lips; her top lip was sculpted perfectly and her bottom lip plump and inviting. She was close enough that he could smell the cleanness of her. She must have had a bath recently. He could say the same. Every night after he dragged himself out of the dirt the first thing he did was find somewhere to wash the grime off him, to wash away any traces of his curse. It was a small little rebellion. An empty one. But he wanted nothing to remind him of what would come again all too soon.
She saw where his attention had gone and she licked her lips, wetting them invitingly. She opened her mouth to say “Kiss me,” but he was already there. He pulled her forward onto his mouth, but savored the moment just before he really engaged her. It was a tease, a breathless pause before he covered her mouth in earnest. The taste of her spread over him like a balm. He engaged her tongue almost instantly, wanting her flavor. Her mouth was everything plush and decadent, sweet and heady…like strong drink, warming and dizzying. For just those few seconds he no longer felt like a cursed man.
It was a gift she gave without realizing it, and he was humbly grateful for it.
His hand went to the back of her head and he found himself frustrated by the two tight braids her hair was bound into. Her hair should be free and flowing, easier to bury his hands into, easier to feel the silkiness of it. And from what he could feel, he knew it would be very smooth and soft indeed.
One kiss ended and another began. Then another. His breath came hard as her hands dove into his hair. He was keeping it long these days, so she got a good handful of his loose curls and didn’t let go.
She finally broke from his mouth, but only long enough to throw her leg over him, straddling his lap and tucking the seat of her bottom tightly to his erection. He was confined by the suddenly tight material of his pants—and the fact they were in a crowded room, but that didn’t keep him from sliding his free hand up over her ribs beneath her vest and then…oh, there it was. The elusive breast.
She wore a simple linen shirt, but he could tell she had bound herself up with a snug wrapping beneath it, in an effort to look less like a woman no doubt. Still he could feel her just the same. He was pleasantly surprised to find she was quite well endowed for such a slight figured woman. He would have thought she’d run more to being built like a boy. But it was perhaps her mode of dress that had misled him. That and the damnable vest that had hid the true wealth of her feminine features.
With breasts like these it wasn’t any wonder.
Her hands grew busy, drifting out of his hair and down his neck. She was running her hands in broad strokes over his chest a moment later and he growled from the fiery sensations the caresses sent through him. Their kisses grew more and more intense the lower her hands traveled, until she caressed his hips, pausing…teasing him. She lifted her mouth from his and said in a throaty, purring voice, “I have a room upstairs. Normally I would camp out in the open, but I decided to splurge tonight. I’m glad I did.”
“I’m glad you did too,” he said, his voice rough with passion and need.
“It’s at the top of the stairs. I’ll meet you there in a minute. I have to…take care of something.” She blushed a little and he realized she needed to relieve herself. He chuckled.
“All right.”
He patted her bottom and she dismounted his lap and headed for the front door of the inn. She shot him a shy little teasing smile and then slipped outside.
Maxum sat back a minute, grinning to himself. His fortunes really seemed to be changing for the better these days. First he had acquired the talisman—no mean feat that—then he had found something sweet to savor for the night. Yes, indeed, things were looking up for him. If the trend continued, he might actually one day succeed in what he was attempting to do.
It wasn’t as though there weren’t a precedent. There had once been other gods, but the current reigning gods had usurped their positions, killing off their competition. If a god could do it, then by the gods, so could he.
Feeling happy and magnanimous he got to his feet and said, “Boys! Next round’s on me!”
He tossed a gold coin to the barmaid, who caught it expertly. Her eyes went wide when he said, “Keep the rest for yourself, honey.” It was no wonder. She was doubtless more used to seeing copper and silver than gold. It was possible she had never seen a gold coin in her life.
“Have a good time,” Kyno said. Clearly, despite their revelry, his men had been attentive enough to see what he’d been doing and they had figured out where he was going to be spending his night.
“Sleep fair, Maxum!” Dru said.
“Oy, there’s not much sleeping going to be happening there, what?” Doisy said with a loud belch.
Maxum made his way up to the room at the top of the stairs with a grin on his face. He entered and found the standard for most inns. A bed just big enough to sleep two—although not two of Maxum’s size, tha
t’s to be certain. It would barely suit one with its short mattress that would no doubt leave his feet dangling off at the ankles. Maxum didn’t waste any time stripping off his shirt. He debated whether or not to rid himself of his pants as well, but she hadn’t struck him as too much of the shy sort so he went for it and shucked them off. He was folding them when he fished into his pocket for the talisman. He wanted to make sure it was safely secured.
That was when he realized it was no longer in his pocket. He immediately searched the floor, thinking it had fallen out. Coming up empty he quickly pulled his pants back on and hurried, bare-chested, back out into the inn.
“Oy, that was quick!” Kyno belted out, making the other men laugh uproariously. Maxum ignored them and went to search the seat he had been sitting in…and that’s when it hit him.
“Fuck me!” he cried out as he bolted for the door. He ran into the stable where he’d seen a fine stallion of dappled coloring tied up earlier. Something told him it was hers and sure enough it was missing.
He ran out into the darkness, but there was no hope for it.
The little thief had made off with his hard-earned talisman.
Jacquelyn Frank, Bound by Sin
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