The Art of Stealing Time: A Time Thief Novel

“You can say that again,” came the soft reply.

  He stopped staring at the stone ceiling—which he couldn’t see once the guards turned off the lights for the night—and squinted across the cell. Was it his imagination, or could he make out a dark shape that was Gwen’s cot? “Are you awake, too?”

  “No. Go back to sleep.”

  “I haven’t been to sleep, so I can’t go back to it.” He hoped she would reply. If she would at least talk to him, then he stood a fair chance of wooing his way onto her cot. Or having her come and “tend” him again. That had been most pleasant, and not a little bit surprising.

  “I like your mouth,” he said conversationally, putting his hands behind his head as he once again looked up into the darkness. “It is sweet, and hot, and very enjoyable.”

  “We are not having this conversation.”

  He smiled to himself. She had refused to speak to him for hours, her breath evening out until he thought she had dozed off. But he had been wrong.

  What he hadn’t been wrong about was her interest in him. No woman could kiss him like she had if she wasn’t the littlest bit attracted to him.

  “I liked how your tongue touched mine. But it seemed to lose interest.”

  He cocked his head, but there was no reply.

  “I did enjoy how it twined around mine after that, though. It was very erotic.”

  There was a small noise in the darkness, like that of a frustrated woman stifling a sigh into a pillow, followed by the determined rustle of blankets.

  “I also very much liked touching your breasts.”

  An exhalation of breath. Good. She was listening to him, at least.

  “I like that they are . . .” He let the silence build for a minute and a half before there was a sharp sound of blankets being pushed back, and the squeak of a bed frame.

  “What?” Gwen demanded to know. “They are what? Horrible? Repulsive? Off-putting?”

  “Abundant. And warm. And so very sensitive to my touch.”

  “They are not sensitive to your touch,” Gwen said in a huffy tone and from the sound of it, lay back down on the cot.

  “No? So the thought of me touching them right now isn’t making your nipples tighten in anticipation?”

  “Certainly not!”

  “The idea of me nuzzling them, licking them, taking the tips of them into my mouth doesn’t stimulate you in the least?”

  “Not at all.”

  He smiled. Her voice sounded strangled, and he could swear her breath was coming faster.

  “Odd. I freely admit that the thought of your breasts, of touching them, of rubbing my cheeks on them, of tasting them and pressing them against my bare chest makes me hard.” Sadly, that was very much the truth. He shifted on the cot, trying to ease his now strained fly.

  She didn’t answer, but he heard the sound of her legs moving restlessly. That thought led to another. “I bet your belly is sublime.”

  “You’d so lose that bet.”

  “Really? What is it, if not sublime?”

  “A stomach. A poochy stomach. If you haven’t noticed, I’m a big girl.”

  “Statuesque.”

  “Large.”

  “An Amazon goddess.”

  “Mom Two says plump is in these days. I hope so, because I can’t seem to lose this last twenty pounds no matter how many Zumba classes I go to.”

  “I don’t care for women who have no padding on their bones. I prefer my woman with curves, and ample flesh for me to caress.”

  She snorted. “You’re worth your weight in gold, then, because most men like skinny women.”

  “That is their loss. Would you like me to go over there and show you just how much I appreciate your lushness?”

  “No!” There was a whump as she obviously turned over, no doubt giving him her back again. He wondered if she knew that he simply had admired her delectable bottom when she’d done so earlier. Probably it was best not to mention it.

  Then again . . . “You have a nice ass, too.”

  “Bloody hell, Gregory!” she snapped as the cot squeaked again, followed by the slap of two bare feet hitting the stone floor. He could just imagine her shaking a finger at him. “Stop cataloging my body! I’m trying to sleep over here.”

  “You are not. You are trying very hard to not imagine me naked.”

  The startled inhalation of breath confirmed that wild shot (literally in the dark). “You are deranged.” She curled up again.

  “It’s all right. I’m doing the same. Imagining you naked, that is. I already know what I look like.”

  She muttered something under her breath, but refused to rise to his bait.

  A thought struck him. “You appear to be shy about things of a sexual nature.”

  “I am not shy!”

  “You were shy when you kissed me. You touched the tip of my tongue with your own, and then seemed to be overwhelmed with the sensation.”

  “That is not shy. That is just . . . circumspect.”

  “Since you are shy, would you like me to describe myself?”

  “No!” Their silence was pregnant with unspoken thought that quickly became spoken. “I am not interested in what you look like naked. You are the Watch. You want to arrest my moms. You could look like Adonis, and I couldn’t care less.”

  Ah, so that was what bothered her. He had had a suspicion that she was feeling threatened by his employment. Unfortunately, he couldn’t reassure her that he meant her family no harm, when the truth was that he fully intended to arrest her mothers. Bringing in criminals who posed such a threat to the well-being of the Otherworld was likely going to be the only way he could salvage his career after he’d disobeyed orders.

  He decided to set aside that problem for the moment. It wouldn’t be resolved then and there, and he wanted to have Gwen fully on his side before he had to make the arrest.

  Thoughts of how he could present his case to her filled his head, and he didn’t realize how long he’d been quiet thinking that over until she interrupted his thoughts.

  “Well?”

  “Hmm?”

  Her voice was disgruntled. “Aren’t you going to tell me anyway?”

  He chuckled to himself. She truly was a joyful contradiction. He was certainly no stranger to women, and knew full well what effect his appearance had on them, but Gwen’s refusal to be lumped in with those women amused him. And entertained him. And most dangerous of all, intrigued him.

  “I’m six foot one, blond, and have blue eyes.”

  “I can see that for myself, thank you. Oh, forget it. It’s not like I want to know.”

  “My tailor would tell you that my waist size is thirty-four and my inseam is thirty-two. My shirt size—”

  “I am not going to be knitting you a sweater!” she burst out, interrupting him. “I don’t need to know your shirt size.”

  Silence fell. It lasted thirty seconds.

  She sighed. “Fine. What is your shirt size?”

  He told her. She muttered under her breath again.

  “If I came over to your cot, would you strike me in any way?”

  “Yes. Possibly. Almost certainly.”

  “I’ve been wounded already tonight.”

  She chewed that over. “I wouldn’t punch you in the face, but I don’t want to kiss you again.” The words choked to a stop, and she quickly corrected herself. “I don’t want you to kiss . . . dammit!”

  He wiggled his toes in delight. She wanted so badly to lie to him, to deny the attraction, and yet her own moral code wouldn’t allow it. He began to think that perhaps a few weeks in her company might not be enough.

  “Just . . . stay over there! I’m going to sleep now. And no, I don’t want to hear you describe your body anymore. I’ve had enough.”

  He let her be, partly because he had believed her when she said earlier that she hadn’t had much sleep, but mostly because he wanted to study the problem of how to overcome her objections to his position with the Watch.

  The
lights came on sometime around six a.m., and an hour later breakfast was served.

  The guard raised his eyes at the two of them lying on their respective cots, but said nothing, just delivered a five-star-hotel-quality breakfast of fruit, omelet, and the best bacon he’d ever eaten and then left them.

  They ate, but conversation was desultory. He tried a couple of times to get her chatting about her work as an alchemist, but she curled up on the cot and pretended to read one of the magazines that had been delivered with the breakfast.

  Gregory thought some more, found no solution, and instead paced the perimeter of the cell looking for possible means of escape. He found none other than the very solid door.

  “I don’t suppose you would care to cast the spell you used in order to get out of the bathroom in Slugs-Upon-Snails?” he inquired politely at one point.

  “I’ve told you,” she answered without looking up from the magazine. “The name of that little town is Malwod-Upon-Ooze, and no, I can’t. I don’t have the spell with me.”

  “You don’t remember it?” He was momentarily surprised by that thought. He’d assumed she was well versed in the art of magic, given her mothers’ backgrounds.

  She shot him a quick look. “No. I’m really bad at magic, so my mothers gave up trying to teach me. I can cast simple spells, but only if I have them written out in front of me.”

  “Blast,” he said.

  She did not reply. He continued to pace, very aware of her warm presence, while the scent of her made him think of all sorts of ways he’d give her pleasure when she finally admitted their mutual attraction.

  It was about two hours later that the captain of the guard opened the door again. “Come on—’is lordship wants to see you both.”

  “The king?” Gregory asked, holding out a hand for Gwen.

  She spurned his hand and strode past him through the door, her head held high.

  “Aye. There’s been a letter about you two, there ’as.”

  “What did the letter say?” he asked politely as they climbed the stairs to the ground floor. Immediately, three cats that had been curled up together on a bench stood, stretched, and jumped down to follow them.

  “No clue. I’m not privy to messages from the front.”

  Gwen stumbled. He grabbed her, but he needn’t have worried that she would fall—judging by the look of concern that suddenly appeared in her eyes, she had something on her mind.

  “What is it?” he asked softly as they followed after the guard as he led the way out the great hall to the courtyard.

  Gwen slid a glance at him, looking away quickly, but he could tell by the way she bit her lower lip that she was distressed.

  He wanted to bite her lower lip. That thought wafted through his mind and refused to be ousted. He reminded himself that he was an honorable man, a man who cherished women and did not view them as mere playthings. Gwen especially deserved to be treated with respect and care, and if she was worried about something, now was not the time to be thinking about just how wonderful it would be to bite that lush little pink lip. Or to taste her mouth again. And certainly not what the feel of her tongue touching his did to his various and sundry lower parts.

  He really wanted to bite that lip.

  “You know that if I can help you in any way, I will,” he said, pulling her back so they were out of Al’s hearing.

  “It’s . . . it’s just that the letter is probably from Douglas.”

  “I have no doubt that it is. Why are you so concerned? The worst he can tell the king is that we were sent here because we are prisoners, and we’ve already acquired that status.”

  “You don’t know these people,” she said with a little jerk of her hand in his. He wondered briefly how her hand had come to be there, and then decided that he liked it. His fingers tightened in support.

  “You don’t either.”

  “I’ve been here longer than you.”

  “By about twelve hours.”

  She made a disgusted noise. “That’s long enough to know that they aren’t normal.”

  “Well, this is the afterlife.”

  She waved that away with her free hand. “This goes beyond that. I’d expect some quirky characters to be hanging around, but these guys are just downright strange. Take that Ethan guy. He had dogs everywhere at his camp. And this place is overrun with cats. Not to mention the fact that the king has a Velociphant, whatever that turns out to be. Who do you know who has a million cats and a Velociphant?”

  “You have a point.”

  Her thumb stroked absently over the back of his hand. Inexplicably, the touch made his groin tighten.

  “I’m telling you, this isn’t going to be good news.”

  He released her hand, sliding his arm around her to pull her up to his side. She shot him a startled look, but didn’t object when he said, “Then we’ll face it together. I won’t let anyone harm you, Gwen. Have no fear of that.”

  He felt brave, and strong, and very much like a warrior of old, protecting his woman from a herd of marauding Vikings. Or Goths. Or whoever it was who stormed castles and caused men like him to defend women like Gwen. History had never been his strong point.

  Al led them through various outbuildings to a lower section that was surrounded by thick walls. Gregory glanced back and was only moderately surprised to note that the main structure was, indeed, a castle. One with tall pointy bits, and parapets, and other castle-ish details that he couldn’t remember the names of, assuming there had been a time when he knew them. As they emerged from between two small sheds, Gregory stopped, Gwen at his side, both of them stupefied by the vision that lay before them.

  “I take it that is a Velociphant,” Gwen said.

  “I would assume so. It looks mechanical, and Aaron said he needed someone with engineering experience.”

  “Come along, come along. ’is lordship doesn’t ’ave much patience when things are going awry with ’is contraption.”

  They moved forward again at the guard’s urging, Gregory examining the large structure that squatted like a mechanical behemoth. Scaffolding surrounded it on one side, with a half dozen men crawling all over it. Three wooden tables had been set up nearby it, both littered with papers that appeared to be held down by a couple of cats curled up with paws tucked under their fronts. At one table, the king of the Underworld stood with another man, both of them consulting what appeared to be plans for the machine. Beyond them, about twenty feet away, a woman clad in an orange blazer and white walking shorts stood talking to a group of about ten people.

  “—famed Velociphant,” the woman was saying as they passed her. “The king intends on using it to mow down an uprising of trees and shrubs. You will notice that in lieu of teeth, it has a set of spinning blades reminiscent of a large lawn mower. Oh, goodness, we are in luck today. Just arriving on the scene to plead for their lives are two prisoners. A little bird told me that they were getting up to some pretty racy hijinks last night as seen by our After-Hours Tour (five pounds per person, old-age pensioners two pounds fifty). Now, if you’ll come this way, we’ll have a quick peek in at the foundry to see where the Velociphant’s parts are created, and then be on our way to the gift shop, where you can buy not only a miniature reproduction of the Velociphant but also a life-sized stand-up of Lord Aaron in traditional Underworld garb. Follow me!”

  “This is really the strangest place I’ve ever been in,” Gwen said in a whisper.

  “It’s definitely not what one thinks of as an afterlife.”

  The tour moved off with only a few people snapping photos of Gwen and Gregory. Aaron and his buddy both ignored them. A cat was draped along the former’s shoulders, its tail flicking gently as the king raised an arm and gestured toward the machine.

  “M’lord, I’ve brought the prisoners what you requested.” Al made a bow, with a little flourish toward Gregory and Gwen.

  “Eh? Oh, it’s you two again.” Aaron turned his head, found himself staring up the nose of the cat, and
with an annoyed tch removed the animal. It jumped up to the nearest table, and with careful deliberation, stepped into an upturned top hat that was resting next to a cane. “The thief and the other one.”

  “I would object to being referred to as ‘the other one,’ but given my options, I’ll settle for it,” Gwen said, moving a few steps away from Gregory.

  Al murmured something about some tanning to be done and left them.

  Gregory did not like the sense of loss he felt at the removal of Gwen’s warmth pressed to his side. He frowned at her, but she was too busy staring with wonder at the machine that loomed over them. “I, however, have no compunction in denying the term ‘thief’ as applied to me. I am a Traveller.”

  “A thief, yes, that’s what I said. It’s a fine beast, isn’t it?” Aaron turned to Gwen to ask the question of her. Pride was evident in both the satisfied expression on his face and the fat note of congratulation in his voice. “It’s been seven years in the making, but at last it’s about ready to be unleashed. Behold, thief and the other one: the Piranha Mark Five.”

  Gregory dragged his gaze away from Gwen and studied the machine for a few minutes. Its shape bore a vague resemblance to a giant elephant, with a thick, bulbous head, a rounded back, and four girders for legs, but unlike the actual animal, this was made up of metal struts, cogwheels, pistons, and valves. A little hiss of steam emerged from the nearest valve. The man next to Aaron shouted and pointed at it, sending a worker to scurry over and give the round control a twist.

  “It’s very large,” Gregory said, since obviously the king was expecting some sort of comment. “Why do you call it a piranha when it resembles an elephant?”

  “It’s bitey,” Aaron said. “Also, once it has my enemies in its dread maw, it will consume them with much gnashing of its internal shredding blades.”

  “Ew,” Gwen said, giving the king a disgusted look. “That’s just mean, even for the Underworld.”

  “I have been sorely grieved,” Aaron said, turning when his man said something. “Yes, yes, go attend to the lubrication of the pistons. We must have it working no later than tomorrow. Oh, no, not now.”

  The man made an abbreviated move to collect his hat, now serving as a cat container, grabbing his cane instead as he trotted off to yell and gesture and assumedly order the workers about. Gregory turned to see what Aaron was frowning at. The blonde from the day before tripped lightly down the hill. She was escorted by a semicircle of cats, each of which wore a golden collar equipped with bells that tinkled gently.