The Witch Thief (Harlequin Nocturne) (11 page)

“The female, is she here?”

Amma raised both brows. The dwarf had been watching them. Following them? Had he been with one of the groups who had attacked them, or was he perhaps the dwarf she’d noticed at the portal bar? Either way, she knew Joarr was savvy enough not to trust him.

“Why do you ask?” Joarr this time, sounding bored. The dragon had made an art of appearing disinterested, but she had spent enough time with him that she could discern the act. And he was definitely acting now.

“I come with an offer that I don’t want to fall on other ears.”

Joarr must have made some nonverbal sign for the dwarf to continue. There was a pause, then the dwarf’s voice.

“My employer is interested in acquiring—” his voice lowered “—your companion.”

Amma stiffened.

The rustling of paper followed. “Come here tonight, ask for Fafnir. He’ll give you the details.”

“And why would I do that? Why would this employer think I’d be interested in whatever deal he has in mind?” Amma could almost see Joarr standing over the much shorter dwarf, looking down at him, letting him know the dragon wasn’t amused.

“Treasure,” the dwarf hissed. “Lots of it, like you’ve never seen. Objects gathered from all over the nine worlds for a century. A magical item gone missing? The Collector most likely has it.”

At the Collector’s name, Amma pulled back, catching her towel on the doorknob. The knob rattled and all sound in the room outside the bathroom stopped.

Amma held her breath, waiting, hoping the dwarf would go on. After a few seconds, she called out. “Damn. I dropped my…towel.” As the word left her lips, she cursed, realizing how that had sounded. “I mean I slipped on the soap and the towel is wet.”

There was movement outside the bathroom, the sound of the motel room’s door opening and closing. Amma leaned against the sink, her eyes staring blindly at the pink tile. The Collector wanted her? Why? Did he think she’d cheated him in some way? She hadn’t. She’d given him exactly what he’d requested, and in return he’d given her information that led her to Alfheim, and eventually the horrible fate of losing her body. If anyone should be angry it was her. And how did he know she was here? He must have been involved in everything that had happened. But again, why?

The bathroom door moved, opened a crack.

“Did you want me to dry you?” Joarr purred. It was the only way she could describe the sensual way the words left his throat.

The door swung open and Joarr stood in the doorway, his eyes glimmering like sapphires.

Chapter 10

T
he witch was naked and damp. Joarr didn’t hide his interest; he let his gaze roam her body.

Amma jerked a scrap of a towel around herself. It barely met over her breasts and gaped outrageously at the side, revealing her hip, thigh and calf.

He stepped into the tiny bathroom. She stepped backward until her body was wedged between the toilet and the sink. His hands pressed against the tile wall behind her, he looked down.

“If you need drying, I’d be happy to help.”

Her gaze flitted to the side, as if she was trying to see around him—reinforcing his suspicion that she had been eavesdropping.

With that in mind, he stepped back and held out the paper his unexpected visitor had given him. “We have an invitation, a direct one this time,” he murmured. The fact that the Collector’s name was mentioned and he apparently wanted Amma aroused every suspicion Joarr had had toward the witch.

He would show her the paper, but not mention what the dwarf had said, at least not yet.

Her head jerked back toward him. There was surprise in her eyes. She hadn’t expected him to tell her about the dwarf’s visit. This was good; it would help build her trust in him. “Is this address familiar?” He knew it had to be. He’d recognized it instantly, but it was time for Amma to give him something, to show she was going to work with him to regain the chalice. Otherwise, despite his conflicted feelings toward her, he might be tempted to take the dwarf up on his offer, assuming the offer was real. Joarr had his doubts.

The note was really more of a ticket, a backstage pass of sorts identifying the holder as a VIP to a club called Tunnels. The paper was made to look aged and a red wax seal had kept it closed until Joarr had broken it.

One hand pinching the ends of the towel together, Amma reached to take the paper. Joarr loosened his grip on the invitation and relaxed his posture, leaning one hip against the sink. The bathroom was steamy, and smelled of generic cheap soap and shampoo. But as the steam cleared from the air, Amma’s scent broke through. He inhaled, but kept his face neutral, showing no sign of his appreciation for the female trapped in the tiny room with him.

As she studied the note, a thin line formed between her brows. Joarr was interested in her response, but interested in other things, too. He blew cool air above her head, pushing the steam faster from the space and causing the tiny hairs of Amma’s arms and shoulders to rise.

She glanced at him. He closed his lips, pretended he’d only been standing, waiting.

A shiver shook her body. “The bar… It’s the same as the flyer.”

“Is it?”

She nodded; her towel slipped. She grabbed for it, managing to keep it from falling to the ground—much to his regret. He blew a second breath over her head. Another shiver passed over her and she glanced around as if looking for the source of the breeze.

When she looked up, he held out his hand. “How observant of you.” Her fingers shaking, she extended the note toward him. He let it fall from his fingers and float toward the floor.

“How clumsy of me…” He bent, brushing against her and the towel she was struggling to keep wrapped around her body. He managed to subtly give the thin cloth a tug; it slipped from her grasp and joined the note on the dirty vinyl floor. He scooped it up along with the note.

She didn’t cover her breasts; he appreciated that. She also didn’t look as if she were fooled by his act. She jerked the towel from his hand. “You did that on purpose.” Pushing him to the side, she grabbed her clothes, which were piled in the corner. Then she moved with the clear intention of leaving the room.

He wrapped his fingers around her arm and let his thumb drift over her skin, soft and still a little damp. When she looked up at him, her eyes glittering, he whispered, “Would you rather I didn’t care? That what you hid beneath that scrap of cloth held no interest for me?”

She blinked.

With a low chuckle, he released his hold and she walked on past.

As he watched her hips sway back and forth, watched her walk naked and unintimidated to the other side of the bed, he whispered to himself, “No worries there, my treasure. No worries there.”

* * *

The streets were busy in a scurrying, don’t-make-eye-contact kind of way. As Amma stepped over a drunk passed out on a piece of cardboard, she wondered how much of the human world was like this. She’d only been to a few parts of this world. Before her entrapment, she’d spent most of her time with her sisters, Lusse mainly. But both gravitated to stopping points carved out of in-between places—lands not connected to any of the major worlds. Lusse had preferred a place not all that different from the land the dragons called home—stark but beautiful with mountains and snow. Her oldest sister was drawn to the underground. Lived most of her time like a dwarf in some dark cave…or like a dragon. Amma hadn’t realized until now how both of her sisters had homes similar in some way to the dragons’.

Maybe that was why she was attracted to Joarr.

He stepped over the drunk she’d just passed. Joarr was wearing white again, a new outfit he’d got from somewhere. He’d had clothes delivered for both of them, paid with another bag of his gold dust. She didn’t know why he’d ordered clothes for himself and not just magicked them as he did when he shifted. Perhaps because he realized she needed something other than her filthy skirt and peasant blouse to go to the Collector’s club or perhaps he realized shifting around her gave her access to his magic.

He’d left off a jacket this time, wearing just a close-fitting sweater that showed off his muscled chest, and wool pants. Even his shoes were white, but with a hint of metallic.

On anyone else the outfit would have looked outlandish, but on Joarr…it just emphasized how masculine he was. Honestly, she couldn’t imagine him any other way, except maybe with no clothing at all.

She laughed. No, Joarr’s choice in clothing had nothing to do with her attraction to him. Damn him.

She smoothed the skirt of the dress that he’d chosen for her. It was white, too. Not a choice she would have made for visiting a place that promised danger. Something dark that would blend into the night or club crowd would have been her preference. But she had to appreciate Joarr’s brazen confidence.

She adjusted the bracelet he’d taken from the dark elf at the portal. She’d added it to her outfit. She still wore the manacle, too. Somehow the two seemed appropriate, one reminding her why she was here and the other… She fingered the silver chain. She wasn’t sure why she wore it, didn’t want to analyze her motive too closely; it had just seemed right.

She tightened her grip on the tiny silver purse that Joarr had also supplied. She was on edge and over-thinking things. She didn’t like being hunted, especially by an unseen adversary.

They were only a few yards from the address now. All around them were three-story buildings, old warehouses. There was no sign advertising which building might be the bar, but the line snaking from a basement entrance left no doubt where they should go.

Joarr pulled the invitation from his pocket and checked the address, anyway. “Looks like this is it.” He glanced around, obviously looking for the sign Amma had already noted was missing.

A group of female humans dressed in thigh-high boots and skirts that barely covered their asses sashayed past them. One turned and raised an eyebrow at Joarr. Amma slipped her arm through his and raised an eyebrow back.

The human tossed her head and laughed—as if she were a match for Amma.

Amma opened her fingers, instinctively reaching for power, only to once again realize she had none.

“Interesting clientele.” Joarr’s gaze wandered from the female who was now traipsing down the stairs to the club’s door and over a mixed group of dwarves and Svartalfars, dark elves.

It was obvious to Amma, and she was sure to Joarr, too, that the dwarves and Svartalfars were fully armed. The wooden handle of an ax poked out from under one dwarf’s jacket and the dark elves’ pockets were bursting. Dark elves were known for strange and destructive weaponry.

She placed a hand on Joarr’s sleeve. “Do you think this is smart?”

He glanced at her, surprised. “This is where the chalice is—or where the person who sent the invitation has directed us.”

As he said the words, she realized her instincts were right. “Where the person who sent the invitation wants us to be.”

Joarr smiled. “Yes. Good point.”

They stood for a second, both staring at the crowd milling toward the bar.

One of the Svartalfars brushed up against the female human who had eyed Joarr. She shot him a contemptuous stare. Amma paused, hoping for some reaction that would induce the dark elf to produce whatever toy he had hidden in his pocket. Unfortunately, he only leaned closer to the woman and whispered something in her ear.

The woman grabbed her friend’s arm and stomped away—obviously outraged—but her response was nowhere near what Amma had hoped for. Disappointed, she turned back to the job at hand.

If they wanted to get in the bar unseen, they needed a diversion or a disguise, probably both.

“We need to change.” She tapped her purse against her thigh. “If the Collector is behind all this, he’ll recognize me, and you…” She turned her gaze onto Joarr, steady and direct. Then shook her head. “You just stand out.”

He tilted his head, his brows lifting in surprise. “Dragons like to stand out. It’s kind of a goal of ours.”

She huffed out a breath. “One that will get you killed or at the very least cost you the chalice—and me my pick of your treasure.”

“You’re very take-charge all of a sudden.” He leaned down and breathed against her lips. The night was chilly and he’d selected no coats for either of them. But the air he blew on her was warm and sparkled with magic. It made her want to open her lips and suck it in. She found herself leaning toward him, her breasts resting on his forearm. “I like it,” he finished. Then smiled, his lips almost touching hers.

For a second she stood there, unable to react. Then she jerked back and stared at the building in front of her. Her voice cool, completely hiding the emotions swirling inside her, she said, “You can do your thing and change, but—” she pulled at her skirt with two fingers “—I’m a different story.”

He pulled her hand, which she had dropped to her side, back through his arm. “I am a dragon. We don’t hide well. We don’t hide at all. Our power is in others knowing what we are, fearing us, not acting like we are something else.”

His answer was cocky, frustrating and likely to get him the same fate that had befallen two, perhaps three, dragons before. She opened her mouth to tell him so, then snapped her lips shut. Some things just called for action.

He patted her hand, the one looped through his arm. “Your concern is touching. You keep up with it and I might just start to believe you care.”

When she didn’t reply, he continued, “Just do as you promised—help me retrieve the chalice. For now that means coming with me and not worrying about what my plan is.” He led her into the crowd, then down the first step that led to the bar’s door. Not prepared for the move, Amma wobbled. She grabbed hold of the iron banister that was mounted on the concrete wall beside her to keep from falling. Joarr stopped, too, just as suddenly, and reached out to grab her. She held on to the railing, determined not to have him touch her again, no more than she had to. Every touch and she got a little more confused, forgot she had an ulterior motive for her part in this fool’s errand.