Àìàíäà Êâèê - Quicksilver

"Owen," she managed."Owen."

He was beyond any coherent response, beyond the boundaries of his own control. He no longer cared.

He thrust in and out of her, his senses dazzled by the energy of their hot auras.

And then he, too, was poised on the high cliffs above the deep, mysterious waters. His release slammed through him, taking him over the edge. Virginia cried out softly again. Another rush of energy rippled through her.

It seemed to him that they fell together, their auras fused in a moment of searing intimacy. When the last of the shuddering waves faded he opened his eyes and looked down at Virginia's flushed face. She was watching him with a strangely intent expression.

Do you feel it?he wanted to ask.Do you sense this bond between us?

He rolled onto his back, taking her with him. She sprawled across his damp chest. He wrapped her close, indulging his exhausted senses in her warmth and the soft, vital weight of her body.

He let himself drift into the hazy place that marked the indefinable border between the dream state and the waking state. It was a good place, a fine place. He could not remember ever having been in a better place. He wanted to stay there until morning.

They called him Wolf because he was as fast and as savage as any beast of prey. He had bestowed the nickname on himself while still in his teens, when he had realized that he possessed senses that the other street boys did not have. No one had dared object.

His talent had served him well. Over the years he had acquired a brutal reputation that was the envy of his colleagues. He was known and feared on the dark streets of London's underworld.

Until recently he'd made a comfortable living taking care of problems for one of the city's most powerful crime lords. Luttrell had appreciated his talents and paid well for his services.

But all good things must come to an end, Wolf reflected. Luttrell had been killed recently by another crime lord, Griffin Winters. Luttrell's demise had thrown the always delicate balance of power in the underworld into disarray. To further complicate matters, Winters himself had sold off his operations and vanished. Some said he was no longer even in London. No one knew where he had gone, but one thing was certain. Until the surviving crime lords got things sorted out among themselves, hardworking men like Wolf were on their own, obliged to make their livings by hiring out their services to whatever clients came their way.

Business had not been what anyone would call brisk lately. When the small man who called himself Mr. Newton had approached him outside of a tavern last night and offered a job, Wolf had accepted without asking too many questions.

He waited now in the deep shadows of the graveyard one street over from Garnet Lane. If he had calculated correctly, Sweetwater would pass this way when he left the Dean woman's town house.

The anticipation of the kill sparked an intoxicating excitement. All of his senses were heightened, but he was not yet making any attempt to focus. For the moment, he simply savored the darkness and the prospect of what was to come. It had been a while since anyone had hired him to kill a man, but he knew he hadn't lost his lightning-fast reflexes.

As if in response to his own flaring energy, the handle of the strange mirror that the odd little client had given him seemed to grow warmer in his hand. He doubted that he needed the device, but Mr. Newton had been very insistent.

"He's a talent of some kind," Newton said. "I don't know what sort, but I'm certain he's strong. There must be no mistakes. You will not take any chances."

"I can handle myself."

"I'm not worried about you," Newton said. "I just want to ensure that you are successful. Use the mirror in exactly the way I described. It's dangerous."

Although the graveyard was shrouded in darkness Wolf was careful not to look down at the mirror. He had made that mistake the first time he had removed it from the black velvet bag, although he had been warned.

"Have a care when you handle the artifact," Newton said. "It responds readily to psychical energy. It is best not to look directly into the glass, but if you must, be certain to keep your senses lowered. It requires a great deal of talent to control the Quicksilver Mirror."

But Wolf's curiosity had got the better of him. He had removed the mirror from the sack and looked into it with his talent slightly elevated. He shuddered, remembering the dazzling energy that had temporarily blinded his senses. He did not want to speculate on what might have happened if the client had not come to his rescue.

"Fool," Newton said, yanking the mirror out of Wolf's hand. "I warned you. Too much of that energy and you will destroy your own senses permanently. The object of the exercise is to blind Sweetwater to ensure that he cannot use his talent against you. When you have dealt with Sweetwater you will return the mirror to me."

Wolf had been more careful after that. If the Quicksilver Mirror worked as advertised he had no intention of returning it to Newton. The relic might come in handy in the future. It would give him an edge against his rivals. In London's underworld there was always plenty of competition.

Owen felt Virginia stir in his arms. She gently pried herself free from his grasp. He let her go. The room immediately grew colder. Reluctantly he opened his eyes and looked up at her.

"It's getting late," she whispered.

"I know."

He levered himself up on one elbow and watched her get to her feet. Her hair was wildly tousled. Her stockings had come free of the garters and were draped around her ankles. The top of the chemise was crumpled at her waist. Her face and breasts were still flushed. He felt his senses stir.

"You look delicious," he said. "Good enough to eat. I believe I'm working up an appetite."

"There will probably be some muffins left in the kitchen," she said very seriously. She pulled the chemise up over her breasts. "Unless your nephews ate all of them."

He smiled and got to his feet. "I had another dish in mind. But it's getting late. You need your sleep."

She glanced at the tall clock in the corner. "Good heavens, it's nearly two o'clock in the morning. Your nephews will be wondering what is going on."

He fastened the front of his shirt, taking his time. "If either of them asks any questions, which I very much doubt, I will tell them that we were discussing the case."

"I dread facing Mrs. Crofton in the morning." Virginia leaned down to strip off her stockings. "I shall be lucky to get breakfast before she gives notice. She has been remarkably tolerant of the eccentricities of this household, but the business of bodyguards watching the house will be too much for her."

He reached for his trousers. "You know, Virginia, it is probably not a sound idea to go about in fear of your housekeeper."

"I'm not afraid of her." Virginia straightened and stepped into the center of the pool of fabric formed by her discarded gown. "Well, perhaps I am, in a manner of speaking."

"Why?"

"Don't you understand? No, you probably don't." Virginia inserted her arms into the sleeves of the dress and concentrated intently on doing up the hooks of the bodice. "If Mrs. Crofton goes back to the Billings Agency to seek another position, she will naturally inform Mrs. Billings of the rather odd goings-on around here. Mrs. Billings takes great pride in making certain her people are sent only torespectable employers. I suspect that after all that has happened here lately I will no longer qualify."

He thought about that while he secured the knife sheath to his ankle and got his trousers closed. He fastened his waistcoat with quick, practiced motions and pulled on his low boots. When he was dressed he crossed the room to stand in front of her.

"Is respectability that important to you?" he asked.

She raised her chin. "My father was a gentleman who kept his glass-reader mistress in the shadows. I have lived my entire life with the stain of illegitimacy. I am burdened with a talent for perceiving the most unwholesome afterimages in mirrors. That is not exactly a fashionable or ladylike skill. I make my living in a way that Arcane, the one organization that should accept and understand my psychical nature, finds disreputable." She fastened the last hook of her gown and dropped her hands. "Yes, Owen, respectability is important to me."

He caught her chin on the edge of his hand. "I grew up in a family that does not concern itself overmuch with the outward appearance of respectability. But the Sweetwaters do care a great deal about honor and courage and strength of will. It is how we have survived. Those qualities are what bind us together as a family."

She smiled. "I do not doubt that."

"You are endowed with all of those attributes that Sweetwaters hold dear. I would trust you with my life and my secrets."

She went still. "Truly?"

"Truly." He brushed his mouth across her parted lips and straightened. "Speaking of family secrets, I have revealed a number of them to you. Which leaves me with only one safe alternative."

"What is that?"

"You must marry me, of course."

Her mouth fell open. "What?"

"Otherwise I shall have to spend the rest of my life worrying that you will reveal all of the dark Sweetwater secrets to some other man."