Chapter 22

The next afternoon, I found Ziola in the alley behind the guild hall, practicing with the clay arrowheads. Her stance was steady and composed, every line of her body radiating confidence, and as she pulled the bowstring taut, her lithe muscles flexed. She reminded me of the graceful sculptures in the temples that depicted the goddess of the hunt. A gentle breeze ruffled the strands of her hair, which framed her face like a fiery sunset.

In a fluid motion, she released the arrow, and it sailed through the air with deadly precision. Much like she herself had pierced my soul. I had meant every word I'd said to her in the Veiled Vaults, but it was nearly impossible for me to combat the magnetic pull she held over me. I knew all about lust, but this was different, and I was helpless to resist. My only hope was to hold out until this assignment was finished and I could escape.

When she lowered her bow, I cleared my throat to let her know I was there. "How are the arrowheads working?"

"Brilliantly." A broad smile lit her face. "The balance is not the same as iron, but I have incredible range."

"Farther than we were the other night?"

"Much farther!"

That was one good piece of news. She'd have more time for the potion to work before the gargoyles could reach her. Assuming it did. I had a lot of faith in Petra and Ellia's skills, but so much rested on this that I worried.

As she strode down the alley to retrieve the arrows from the target, she asked, "How do you feel? You're not as pale as yesterday."

"Much better. Did I look that bad?"

Ziola stopped and faced me, her expression somber. "You looked like something that had crawled up from one of the hells. I don't know how you walked that far."

I was taken aback. I'd felt weak, probably from blood loss, but didn't think I'd been that bad. But then it was unlikely she'd seen more than the occasional fistfight in the circus troupe and didn't have a good reference for comparison. She'd never cut a throat and watched a man die. All the more reason she needed to stay away from someone like me.

Pushing those depressing thoughts aside, I held out a small parcel. "I got this for you. You can use it until we find something you like better."

She took the package and ripped open the paper. A small green shirt that I had purchased in the market was inside. Dropping the paper to the ground, she held it up and looked up at me with shining eyes. I studied her carefully, pleased that I'd gotten the color right—it was the exact shade as her eyes.

"It's perfect," she said and stood on tiptoe to kiss my cheek. "Thank you."

Ducking my head, I pulled at my collar and turned to leave. "We can meet here tomorrow. I'll let you know what I learn tonight."

"Why can't I go with you?"

"I need to do this alone."

"You keep forgetting that you're supposed to be teaching me."

I looked back at her. "I can't very well teach you to shift."

She regarded me steadily. "Just what do you turn into?"

I shifted uneasily from foot to foot. For some reason I never really understood, many humans found rats utterly repulsive. I wasn't ashamed of my other form, but I didn't want Ziola thinking I was disgusting. A bit of a dichotomy since I so often made crude remarks simply to discomfort others. But this was personal and would involve exposing a piece of myself I only shared with a trusted few.

Eventually, I blew out a long breath. "I'll show you, but not here. Do you remember how to get to the Veiled Vaults?"

"The entrance, yes. But I won't be able to find anything inside."

"Meet me at the candle basket at dusk."

When she nodded, I strode away, leaving her in the middle of the alley, holding the green shirt in one hand and a bow in the other.

When I walked through the enchanted entrance to the Vaults, Ziola was sitting next to the wall holding a candle and she wasn't alone.

"I see you've met Fearghal," I said with a smile.

The knobblen who took care of the network was two feet tall with leathery brown skin covered in wrinkles. He looked like an ancient, twisted tree and wore an odd assortment of mismatched clothing. Knobblens were gentle creatures who lived underground, but they could make formidable enemies if crossed. Fearghal was an ideal caretaker: kind to frightened residents but fierce to those who sought to make trouble.

"I have," Ziola said. "He's been telling me about the tunnels' history. It's fascinating."

Fearghal gave me a slight bow. "It's good to see you again, Master Remy." Returning his attention to Ziola, he said, "I'll leave you in his capable hands and see to my duties, miss."

I reached down and pulled Ziola to her feet. Neither of us spoke as we wended our way back to the same screened cubby space we had used before. Once there, she put her candle on the table and raised her brows. "What is such a secret that we need to hide in order for you to tell me?"

"It's not that." I glanced around the alcove, avoiding her gaze.

"No? Then what is it?"

With a sigh, I unbuttoned my vest and removed it, my shirt following suit.

"What are you doing?" she asked, eyes wide.

"When we shift, our clothing doesn't come with us. So, most just strip down first."

"Oh. I guess that's why Manso always shifted in his private tent."

"Unless they wanted the kiddies visiting the circus to get an eyeful, I'm sure that's why he did."

She blushed, then picked up the candle and held it closer to my ribs. There was a thick red line of tender, raised flesh, but the gash had closed. In a few days, it would just be a scar. "Wow. You do heal fast."

I nodded. "Are you going to peer that intently at me while I strip?"

She squeaked and took a step back.

I smirked at her. "Not that I mind. I just wondered if I should dance around the room and swing my clothes over my head."

She laughed and sat on the edge of the cot while I sank down on the chair to remove my boots. I sat there for a few moments, mentally preparing myself for her scream of revulsion. Then I stood, dropped my trousers, and shifted. I felt my limbs shortening and fur sprouting as the table and everything else in the room grew larger.

Within a couple of heartbeats, I was a rat, standing on the floor, whiskers twitching. I watched Ziola without blinking. Perhaps without breathing.

She jumped to her feet and her mouth fell open. I braced myself for the worst. "By the gods," she said. "You're the rat from the docks."

Unable to speak, I merely waited.

She plopped back down on the cot and covered her mouth with both hands. "You helped me." She shook her head. "I thought you had vanished."

I cocked my head and wiggled my nose, uncertain when she thought I had vanished.

Then she dropped her hands and leaned forward. "Can I touch you?"

Did she think I might bite? I would have laughed if I'd been able. Instead, I moved closer to her and sat still. Tentatively, she reached out a hand and stroked my back. No one had ever touched me in this form, and I was shocked at the thrill of pleasure it sent through me. My ears drooped and I stepped closer, shivering as she caressed me again.

Ziola patted the cot next to her and I jumped up. Placing my front paws on her thigh, I looked up at her. "You are absolutely adorable," she breathed. "And you're so soft."

Not the most manly complement, but a thousand times better than I had any right to expect. I climbed onto her leg and closed my eyes as she began petting me again. It was unbelievably erotic and, for the first time in my life, I lost control of my form. With a soft pop of magic, I shifted.

I wasn't sure who was more astonished, Ziola or myself, when I was suddenly on top of her—naked, fully human, and fully aroused. My weight knocked her backwards onto the cot and for an awkward moment, we lay there, staring at each other.

Heat rushed to my face, and I felt like a boy who came immediately the first time a woman touched him. Thinking I might die from mortification, I started to push off of her and said, "Fuck. I'm sorry. That's never happened before."

Before I could sit up, Ziola wrapped her arms around my neck and pulled me back down. I dragged in a ragged breath, not sure I was strong enough to do the right thing and walk away. Burying my face in the curve where her neck met her shoulder, I struggled to curb the passion raging through me.

After a moment, I whispered, "I can't do this to you. I'm not the dependable kind of man you need."

She ran her fingers through my hair and murmured in my ear, "How about if you let me decide what kind of man I need?"

With an acute surge of desire, I surrendered to my baser side.

I kissed her shoulder, then lifted my head and caught her mouth with mine. She tasted of honey and vanilla, and everything in me insisted I was home. Reaching between us, she wrapped her fingers around my shaft and started stroking. As her thumb circled the head, I groaned and kissed her harder. Then she moved her hand lower and circled my balls. They tightened instantly, and I pulled back, trying to regain control before I truly humiliated myself.

Gently removing her hand, I said, "This is going to be over a lot faster than either of us wants if you keep that up."

I felt her lips curl in a smile against mine. The vixen knew exactly what she was doing to me. But two could play that game.

I nibbled on her lower lip as I slid my hand under her tunic. With a feather-light touch, I stroked the smooth skin of her abdomen and she moaned softly. Her fingers gripped the back of my neck, and I wanted to stay in that moment, exploring her body with my hands.

I had to see her, though. I broke away from her embrace and sat up. Her eyes were half closed, and her lips plump from my kisses. I shook with the need to take her but forced myself to go slowly. She let me pull the tunic over her head, revealing her small, faultlessly rounded breasts.

"Gods, Ziola, you are perfect."

Leaning forward, I kissed one, then the other. Her nipples tightened into taut buds, and I caught one between my teeth and sucked it into my mouth. Ziola moaned and threaded her fingers in my hair. She arched her back, and I moved to the other, teasing it with gentle nips. She grabbed my head and held me in place, while I continued to lash her breasts with my tongue.

The soft, erotic sounds she made drove me crazy, and I was desperate to hear more.

Sliding down to her belly, my tongue dipped into her bellybutton as my hands worked her leggings down her pelvis. She lifted her hips, helping me remove her pants, and I threw them aside. Going back to my knees, I bent my head to the area just above her mound. She shivered in anticipation, and when I flicked my tongue over her skin, she gasped.

My nostrils flared as her vanilla and lavender scent overwhelmed me, and my pulse quickened with the urge to taste her. I ran my fingers up and down her inner thighs and she sucked in a sharp breath. I stroked her gently, teasing her slowly.

When my fingers moved closer to her core, she opened her legs and ground her hips into my hand. I felt her wetness against my palm, driving my own arousal to the breaking point. She whimpered as I slid my finger through her wet folds and circled the sensitive nub at the juncture of her thighs. I teased her entrance with the tip of my finger and then slipped it inside her. She cried out, and I forgot everything but the feel of her body. She was hot and so wet.

Dipping my head, I replaced my finger with my tongue and licked her from entrance to apex. Ziola jerked as if struck with a jolt of electricity and threaded her fingers tightly in my hair. I lapped and sucked at her with increasing passion until her whole body seized up and she gasped, "Remy!"

When she stopped shuddering, I moved up her body, cupped her cheeks, and kissed her hard. My cock was pressed between her legs, thick and throbbing. I wanted to move slowly, but I couldn't think of anything but my desperation to be inside her. As I'd promised her once before, I was going to fuck her until she was hoarse from screaming my name.

The sounds of a scuffle in the tunnel outside our tiny room crashed through my haze of lust like a rock thrown through a window. The rustle of fabric scraping against the rough stone walls was interspersed with curses and grunts.

"You bastard!" Then the smack of a fist on flesh. The quick steps of boots shuffling hinted at an intensifying dispute.

I lay frozen on top of Ziola, as a small, hopeful part of my brain wondered if we could just ignore the growing ruckus. At that moment, I could have ignored an entire troupe of clowns tumbling into the alcove with us if I could just thrust into Ziola's wet warmth. Please gods, I thought vehemently, I won't take long. But the gods had never listened in the past, so I supposed it was too much to expect them to now.

Ziola's small palms were flat on my chest, pushing gently but insistently against me.

Another voice in the tunnel, shrill with desperation, called out, "It's just coin! Leave off!"

I braced myself with my arms and hung my head, jaw clenched. "OK," I said to Ziola. "Just give me a moment." Taking several long, ragged breaths, I thought about fleeing from gargoyles, fighting with demons…anything other than the warm, willing woman beneath me. With supreme effort, I wrestled my beast back into its cage and rolled off Ziola.

Another thump from the passageway and the first voice snarled, "You shouldn't have taken what's mine!"

Yanking on my trousers and grabbing a knife, I stalked toward the opening, ready to beat them senseless. Or slit their throats. Or maybe both. As I rounded the screen shielding our room, Fearghal came clattering around the corner. These two idiots were about to discover just how ferocious a two-foot tall knobblen was when enraged.

"I am sorry these guests have disturbed you, Master Remy," Fearghal said, his rasping voice sounding like rustling leaves. "Their welcome will be rescinded."

"Thank you, Fearghal," I replied and inclined my head. "As always, your service is appreciated."

I stepped back behind the screen as the retreating shrieks of the men echoed off the damp stone walls.

Ziola looked up, and I was dismayed, but unsurprised, to see that she had pulled her tunic back on and was wriggling into her leggings. "What was that all about?"

Our previous intimacy was shattered, and I sighed with resignation. Sitting on the chair, I tugged one boot on. "Guests aren't allowed to hurt each other while in the Vaults. But that doesn't always stop them." I shoved my foot in the other. "Fearghal takes his responsibilities seriously."

Ziola's mouth formed an O. "But he's so small."

"Don't confuse size with fierceness."

"Why does he call you ‘master'?"

I gave her a wry smile. "He thinks I should already be a master."

As she combed her hair back into its usual ponytail, she said, "Lorget mentioned you need to take on more responsibility. Why is that?"

"I told you who I was apprenticed to. There are lingering concerns."

She stopped in the middle of pulling on her shoe. "They don't trust you?"

"It seems not." I didn't feel like discussing my guild issues with Ziola, so I asked, "Now that you've seen my shifter form, are you ready to leave?"

She nodded.

"Good. I still have to go check out the internal security at Scepter Seraphim."

When we stepped through the entrance illusion back to the alley, I stopped and faced Ziola. After what we had shared, I had no idea what to say to her. See you later? Thanks for the good time? Nothing seemed appropriate. So instead, I stood and blinked at her like a fool.

Ziola reached out and took my hand. "Thank you for trusting me with your shifter shape. I still don't understand why it's a secret, but I'll keep it to myself."

That shook me from my stupor, and I pulled her into my arms. "I should have taken you to one of the guild's safe houses to show you. I didn't expect we would need that degree of privacy."

Her laughter vibrated against my chest. "No, I didn't either."

I pressed a kiss to the top of her head and stepped back. "I need to go."

"Tell me what you learn in the morning?"

I wanted to tell her to meet me at a safe house later so we could finish what we started. But I didn't. I just nodded and jogged off down the alley.