Thief of Light by Denise Rossetti Read Free Book Online

his arms banded around her, his nose buried in her hair. She had to be imagining the trembles that rippled through his big frame. Or perhaps she was the one shaking deep inside.
    Pulling back, he grinned at her, and the strange moment passed as if it had never been. But Erik the Golden had spent his life onstage. Now his face expressed no more than pleasant amusement spiced with a wary masculine interest, though he was still very pale.
    “You smell wonderful,” he murmured. “What’s the perfume?”
    “Soap.” Prue’s voice cracked a little. “Let me go.”
    “Of course.” Erik steadied her and stepped back. He bowed, surprisingly graceful for such a big man. “Good evening, Mistress Prue. We’ll meet again.”
    Turning, he sauntered away into the crowd, leaving her to stare at the powerful muscles of his buttocks flexing under the cream breeches, the long legs encased in supple black leather all the way to midthigh.
    Godsdammit!
    Prue snatched up the wine cup and drained it in a single reckless draught. Then she slammed it down so hard the wishing well rang with the impact. Ignoring it, she set her jaw and went in search of Rose.

    It took an age to move through his guests and admirers, nodding and smiling, accepting compliments with grace, signing programs. Reaching the sanctuary of his dressing room, Erik ripped the door open, marched straight up to the far wall and slapped both palms against it with stinging force.
    What the fuck was wrong with him? What had happened to his so-called ironclad discipline?
    Fucking unbelievable. Years of grim control gone in a single instant. A softly rounded woman with hard, aquamarine eyes and a sweet, vulnerable mouth, and he’d crumbled, the Voice spilling him out of him on a tide of sheer want . A man who could command anything of anyone.
    Erik the Golden sank into the chair in front of the mirror and regarded his reflection with horror. Pale and rigid, his eyes blue and glassy, but only those who knew him well would know he’d looked into hell and seen himself looking back. With a curse, he used his sleeve to wipe the cold sweat from his forehead.
    Unbidden and unwelcome, Inga’s pale face swam out of memory before he could prevent it, her wheat gold hair stained dark with water, tangled with the bright slime of aquatic weeds . . .
    Dropping his head into his hands, Erik tried to get his scattered thoughts in order. What, in the gods’ names, had he just done?
    He couldn’t believe it. He’d blurted out the command as if he were still the thoughtless, arrogant lad he’d been so long ago. He’d used the Voice to compel Mistress Prue McGuire.
    Let me kiss it .
    Shit. The only saving grace was that it hadn’t worked.
    Erik’s thoughts shuddered to a halt.
    It hadn’t worked.

5
    The Necromancer turned his key in the well-oiled lock and slipped into the vaulted, shadowed space of his own entrance hall. The sweetish smell of furniture polish assaulted his nose. Of his efficient, unobtrusive staff, only Nasake lived in, a man so deep in the Necromancer’s thrall he no longer had a will of his own. It was simpler that way.
    Alone in the dark, he bent to massage his aching knee, cursing as the movement put an unwelcome strain on his lower back. The chairs in the Cabal Chamber weren’t made for a man his size and shape. Not surprisingly, the exercise of death Magick wasn’t particularly conducive to glowing good health. The body he’d been born with was wearing out.
    Another problem to be solved, another opportunity to be seized. He’d have to give it some thought.
    The palazzo was so quiet, he could have been the only other living soul within it, but he knew for a fact that wasn’t true—on two counts.
    Firstly, he didn’t have a soul, not within the strict definition of the term. In fact, it could even be said he was no longer alive—within the strict definition of the term.
    Beneath his feet, in the special chambers he’d had constructed for her in the