Free Guilty as Sin by Denise Rossetti Page B

Great Encyclopedia , compiled by Miriliel the Burnished.
    * * * * *
    “Gone.” Lise set her hands on her hips, scowling at the alley baking in the afternoon
    sun, the closed doors and shuttered windows. She could swear she felt eyes on them,
    sly laughter.
    “If I didn ‟ t know better, I ‟ d say he could fly.” She sucked in air, her cheeks hot with
    exertion. “Damn him to the seven icy hells.”
    Looming next to her, Dax busied himself tucking in his shirt, not even breathing
    hard. “Sorry,” he rumbled.
    “Save it,” she said. “Give me the short version now. You can write a proper report
    for Jan later. I ‟ ll show you how.”
    “All right.” Dax turned, retracing their steps.
    “Hey!” Lise called after him. “It ‟ s this way.”
    Dax glanced back over his shoulder, the tip of his tail stirring gently in the hot air.
    “I know, but I ‟ m going back to the tavern on the square.”
    “What?” Lise shook her head to clear it then trotted to catch up.
    “I need to settle up with the innkeeper,” Dax said, as if the fact were self-evident. “I,
    ah, broke a door.” He flushed.
    “Oh.” Lise shrugged. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth when she thought
    of Jan ‟ s face. “All right. Claim it on expenses.”
    Once he understood that Dax had come to pay him, the innkeeper was all oily
    smiles. “Please…ah, hautlord. Be seated,” he said, ushering them with great ceremony
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    to a table next to a street-level window. It was bathed in a wash of buttery sunlight.
    “What may I get for you? On the house of course.”
    They might as well be on show in the menagerie of the Ten Nations Fair. Lise stared
    the man down. “Something hot,” she said, brushing past him. “And we ‟ ll sit over here.”
    But as she headed for a dark corner at the back of the room, someone yelped in
    pain, the sound unmistakable. Turning, she blinked. Dax had one huge hand wrapped
    around the innkeeper ‟ s wrist.
    “I ‟ m sure you weren ‟ t actually intending to touch those pretty feathers,” he said
    kindly. He beamed down at the man and his fingers tightened slowly. “Were you?”
    “ Nngh ,” gasped the innkeeper, writhing. “No, no. I ‟ d never— Shit!” He sank to his
    knees, his face pasty.
    With a smile of blinding innocence, Dax released him. “That ‟ s what I thought.” He
    clapped the man on the shoulder, sending him reeling. “Your best ale for me. Lise?”
    “ Babybane. Strong and hot.” Once the innkeeper was out of earshot, she murmured,
    “Veil-it, Dax, I heard his bones crack.”
    Dax shrugged, unperturbed. “You wouldn ‟ t have liked it, his greasy fingers.”
    “You ‟ re right about that.” Lise rested her chin on her clasped hands so she could
    gaze into his placid face. This was the man who ‟ d held a stinky baby and soothed her to
    sleep? “But I can take care of myself.”
    “I know.” A large forefinger traced a gouge in the sticky wood of the table, over
    and over. “It was an impulse.” He glanced up. “Sorry if I embarrassed you.”
    “You didn ‟ t. My thanks, but there was no need.”
    His lips set in a stubborn line, though he didn ‟ t speak.
    Lise said, “There ‟ s more to you than meets the eye, Daxariel the Burnished.”
    The slatternly girl who brought their drinks was so preoccupied with staring at
    Dax ‟ s magnificent wings, still mantled above his shoulders, that she walked into a
    neighboring table. Dice spilled, bouncing merrily over the floor. A trio of workingmen
    cursed her roundly.
    Lise lowered her voice though she took care to keep her tone brisk. Businesslike.
    “You had him. How did he get away?”
    A slow flush crawled out of the vee of Dax ‟ s loosely laced shirt. “He—he distracted
    me.”
    “So I imagine.” She sipped her babybane . “How?”
    The flush intensified. “I didn ‟ t—didn ‟ t want to—” The green-gold gaze became
    imploring. “I didn ‟ t want to hurt him, all