Guilty as Sin

Book four in the Phoenix Rising series.

Michael
‟
s bad, bad, bad—all the way to the bone. A single heated encounter with

the master thief, and level-headed Liseriel the Gray has never been so furious—so

intrigued
—in her life. Neither has Michael. Danger
‟
s always been his drug of choice.

With his huge bronze wings and sweet, serious smile, Daxariel the Burnished is

everything the thief is not—a generous, shining spirit; an honest, loving soul—and a

virgin.

It
‟
s going to take two Aetherii to catch a thief. Lise and Dax are both so

godsbedamned
good
, Michael can
‟
t wait to debauch and defile, to make his Aetherii beg

for dark erotic pleasures. It
‟
s the only way he knows to win—and win he must, because

there
‟
s something about wings and tails and trust freely given that has him reeling.

Exquisitely trapped between Michael
‟
s intoxicating wickedness and Dax
‟
s steadfast

love, everything Lise believes about duty is dust on the wind. How can she crave both

these men, different as night and day?

Ellora
‟
s Cave Publishing

www.ellorascave.com

ISBN 9781419935077

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Copyright © 2011

Edited by Mary Moran

Cover art by Syneca

Electronic book Publication August 2011

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‟
s Cave Publishing.

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in

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‟
s Cave Publishing,

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‟
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‟
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Aetherii:

One of the hybrid races, avian-human. Most authorities believe the Aetherii were created as

aerial scouts by the Firsters, using the magical craft referred to in the ancient texts as “gene-

splicing”. (See Firsters—Magic) Aetherii are winged and tailed. Plumage and skin may be any

color found in Nature. Various other physiological adaptations suit them for a life lived partly on

the wing.

Excerpt from the
Great Encyclopedia
, compiled by Miriliel the Burnished.

The Prince’s Palace

Sere

* * * * *

She didn
‟
t think she
‟
d ever seen such a pretty man—or one more accomplished.

Vastly entertained, Liseriel the Gray stepped deeper into the shadows and folded her

arms, watching him flirt with a plump matron encased in gold-shot velvet while his

eyes carried on an entirely different conversation with her stolid, bulky husband.

This was the master thief Jan had spoken of, she was sure of it.

Michael.

That was all they knew of him, his name. And that he
‟
d been an assassin once. Her

lip curled. Likely he still was.

Brilliant. Light-fingered. Deadly.

“You
‟
re the most observant person I know,” Jan had said to her during his briefing.

“All our intelligence indicates he
‟
ll be at the Prince
‟
s birthday celebration tonight. He

won
‟
t be able to resist. He has expensive tastes, this Michael.”

His hard mouth had curved without humor. “Find him for me, Lise. The Prince has

finally lowered himself to ask the Winged Envoy for help. It
‟
s an important

breakthrough in the trade negotiations.”

As head of security, Janarnavriel the Noir was the Winged Envoy
‟
s to command,

and for his second officer, Jan
‟
s word was law. Lise had merely nodded in her usual

cool manner, concealing her pleasure at the offhand compliment.

Which was why she was currently lurking in a window embrasure in the main

ballroom of the Palace, her gray wings furled about her like a cloak of shadows and her

tail curled neatly around one booted calf, watching the Grounded flirt and plot and

drink themselves insensible at the Prince
‟
s expense. The Aetherii were by nature a

5

spectacular race, still enough of a novelty in the mountain city of Sere to bring

passersby to a dead halt in the steep cobbled streets, mouths open, but Lise prided

herself on her ability to be unobtrusive. It was as much her stock in trade as her eye for

detail and her hard-won warrior skills.

The man appeared to be a gilded youth, the line of his jaw clean and beautiful, his

hair a thick golden blond that gleamed with health. Lise narrowed her eyes. A wig, but

a very good one. Human hair, she judged. There were rings flashing on his slender

fingers, sapphire drops in his earlobes. He
‟
d spared no expense, she had to give him

that. A perfect little lordling, and all in excellent taste. So what if she could see the hard

disks of his nipples beneath the ultrafine silk of his shirt? Or if the merchant was

darting discreet glances at the taut ass cupped so lovingly by the satin breeches

required by court etiquette?

Michael was wearing makeup, expertly applied—not unusual for men at the

Sereian court. Coupled with the classical purity of his features, the fine, elegant shape of

cheek and nose and skull, it gave him a disturbingly androgynous air. He looked… She

had to think about it…

Available
. Delightfully, dangerously available.

He was deceptively lean. Lise measured the width of his shoulders and her gaze

dropped to consider the muscle in his thigh. Oh yes, there was power there all right,

coupled with perfect, almost unnatural control. His purpose kept him on a tight leash,

this thief.

Her quarry detached himself from the merchant couple and drifted over to delight

a group of half a dozen bright-eyed society ladies. With no little amusement, Lise

observed the fluttering of lashes, the imperceptible tilt of their bodies toward him. They

made a delightful picture, all youth and firm, smooth flesh, colored silks and sparkling

stones.

Lise
‟
s brows drew together as Michael offered his arm to a dainty dark-haired piece

wearing a small fortune in
emeraldas
. Green fire dripped from her earlobes and flashed

in her cleavage.

In the minstrels
‟
gallery, the orchestra struck up a fanfare and the Prince
‟
s party

paused in the vaulted entrance to acknowledge the spatter of polite applause. The

Prince of Sere was respected, but not greatly loved. Lise watched his thin lips curl the

slightest bit as he raised a languid hand in acknowledgement.

She turned her head to check on the thief. Rip the Veil, Michael had disappeared!

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the pale gleam of his golden head, passing

through the tall, carved doors out onto the dimly lit balcony, his palm resting lightly on

the back of the girl
‟
s waist.

By the gods, he was good! But so was she.

Fading back into the darkness, Lise stepped across the windowsill. Half spreading

her wings, she drifted across the courtyard garden, no more than another shadow in the

night. Small creatures froze instinctively, trembling with terror, as her shadow passed

6

silently over their heads like a highhunter on the prowl. She glided to a gentle landing

on a rustic path behind a thick bush, aware that all the small rustlings and squeakings

had stopped.

Michael wasn
‟
t pushing the pace, she noticed. The young woman
‟
s hand rested

lightly in the crook of his arm, her skirts frothing over the steps as the couple descended

the curving stair down to the short swathe of velvet lawn. They looked pretty

together—as if they were meant to be—the blond head bent attentively toward the

dark.

He slowed to a halt as they reached the path. “The stars are beautiful tonight,” Lise

heard him murmur. “Look.” With gentle fingers, he tilted the girl
‟
s chin up, brushing a

cascade of ringlets back behind her ear as he did so.

In that, he was right enough. Lise glanced up at the Veil of the night sky. The single

moon of Phoenix shone like the thinnest of sickles, sharpened to a razor
‟
s edge. Over its

shoulder glittered a scatter of pinpricks—what the Grounded liked to call stars. To the

Aetherii, they were rents in the Tattered Veil, glimpses of the all-consuming fire that

was the primeval cosmos.

Michael indicated a small gazebo, situated a few yards farther on down the path

and bowered in an exquisitely perfumed climbing vine. The blooms shone like tiny

ghostly faces.

“Come sit with me a moment.” His voice was a light, beguiling tenor, full of

warmth and promises unspoken.

The young woman tilted her head back, her profile perfectly presented to his gaze.

“Sit?” Her gurgle of laughter was throaty, enticing. “Is that what you call it?”

Lise
‟
s feathery brows arched. So the hautlady wasn
‟
t new to the game.

The young woman paused, searching Michael
‟
s beautiful face. Then she said with

decision, “The dice and the brandy will not hold my lord
‟
s attention much longer. Ten

minutes.” Her teeth gleamed and her rounded face looked suddenly hard in the wash

of lamplight from the ballroom. “He knows me too well.”

She moved closer, pressing a plump breast against Michael
‟
s arm. “What can you

do for me in ten minutes, pretty man?”

For answer, Michael scooped her up high against his chest and strode toward the

gazebo. As they disappeared into the shadowed interior, the hautlady
‟
s giggle cut off

with a gasp, as if hard lips had slammed down on hers.

How would it feel to be so totally self-absorbed, to think only of
one
self, first and

always? Didn
‟
t the woman have any concept of duty and honor, let alone dignity?

Gods, how tawdry. Would the thief take his pleasure first? Probably. Her lips

twisting with distaste, Lise folded her arms and settled down to wait him out. There

was only one entrance to the small, ornate structure and she had it under surveillance.

Idly, she watched the stars twinkle, a dark wraith of a cloud drifting by to catch on

the cruel hook of the crescent moon. How satisfying it would be to catch him red-

7

handed, the thieving bastard, and turn him over to the Palace guards. Maybe rough him

up a little first. Jan wouldn
‟
t care in the slightest. Lise smiled without humor. She
‟
d

never met a Grounded male who didn
‟
t loathe the fact that she was as strong—if not

stronger—than he was. An Aetherii
‟
s muscles had to be powerful enough to support

the full body weight in the air. A second heart, tucked behind the first, supplied the

huge wings with extra blood—gifts of endurance and sheer brute strength.

Lise rolled her shoulders, feathers rustling with impatience. Her tail lashed so

violently, she had to clamp it against her calf lest she betray her position. Godsdammit,

she was looking forward to this!

The cloud wavered and broke. The night grew colder and darker, and she shivered,

despite the jacket and snug-fitting trews of gray velvet. Shadows deepened over the

gazebo, the garden settling into silence.

Not even the rustle of silk, the sound of an amorous whisper…

Lise
‟
s head jerked up, her eyes widening.

Veil-it!

Liseriel the Gray burst into the gazebo at a dead run, her hearts in her throat.

Obviously unconscious, the hautlady lay draped over a backless settee, her skirts

decorously arranged. No sign of the assassin. Her belly churning with dread, Lise laid

the back of her hand against the woman
‟
s bare throat. Warm skin, a pulse beating

strongly.

She released a shaky breath. The gods be thanked.

Bare
throat.

Shit! The gaudy
emeralda
necklace had disappeared. As had the matching earrings.

The woman moaned, raising a fluttering hand to her head.

Lise ignored her. Think,
think
! The place only had a single exit. She turned a full

circle, urgency stinging her professional pride like a swarm of angry
bitemes
.

How the hell—?

Her glance strayed upward—to the hole in the roof where the stars shone through.

The cunning bastard had planned it. How far in advance had he removed those tiles?

Furthermore, the couch was the only piece of furniture in the small space. Calculating

the distance between it and the ceiling, her brows rose. Michael must have leaped up

from the end of the couch, grabbed the edge of the hole and levered himself through.