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Maximus stepped closer and, though the light was dim, he finally got a clear look at the emerald pinned at the other man’s throat. Saw it and recognized it.
He stilled, his nostrils flaring. Finally. Dear God, finally.
His gaze flicked up to the obscured eyes of the man on the horse. “You have something that’s mine.”
“Do I?”
“That,” Maximus said, pointing with his chin. “That emerald belonged to my mother. The last of two. Do you have the other one still as well?”
Whatever he’d expected from Old Scratch, it wasn’t the reaction he got: the man threw back his head and bellowed with laughter, the sound echoing off the tilting brick walls that surrounded them. “Oh, Your Grace, I should’ve recognized you. But then, you’re not the sniveling boy you were nineteen years ago, are you?”
“No, I’m not,” Maximus said grimly.
“But you’re just as foolish,” the Devil taunted him. “If you want the last of your mother’s emeralds, I’d suggest searching within your own house.”
Maximus had had enough. He drew his sword and charged.
Old Scratch yanked on the reins and his horse reared, iron-shod hooves flashing in the night. Maximus ducked, trying to edge around the great beast to reach its master, but the highwayman wheeled his horse and gave it spur, galloping down the only alley leading out of the yard.
Maximus whirled and leaped to a corner where two walls met. He jumped and climbed, his fingers hurriedly searching for holds in the dark. He could hear the hoofbeats retreating, the sound fading. If he didn’t make the roof soon, he’d lose the man and horse in the maze of narrow streets that made up St. Giles.
Desperately, he reached for a fingerhold over his head. The brick gave without warning, coming entirely off the wall and with it his hold on the building. He fell backward, scrabbling like a rat, his fingernails scraping against the brick.
He hit the muddy ground with a thump that sent sparks flying across his vision.
And then he lay there, flat on his back in the filthy yard, his hands and back and shoulders aching, with the rain falling coldly in his face.
The moon had disappeared from the midnight sky.
ARTEMIS WOKE TO the feel of strong arms grasping her tight and lifting her from her bed. She should’ve been alarmed, but all she felt was a strange rightness. She looked up as Maximus carried her into the corridor outside her room. His face was set in grim lines, his eyes drawn and old, his mouth flat. He wore his banyan, its silk smooth beneath her cheek. She could hear his heart beating, strong and steady.
She reached up and traced the groove beside his mouth.
His gaze flicked down to hers, and the naked savagery she saw there made her gasp.
He shouldered open his door and strode to his bed, placing her there like a prize of war.
He stood over her and tore the clothes from his body. “Take it off.”
She sat up to pull her chemise over her head.
Only just in time. Naked, he crawled over her, his body hot and hard. “Never sleep anywhere but in my bed.”
She might have protested, but he turned her roughly so that she lay on her stomach, her cheek pressed into his pillow.
He lay on top of her, his upper body braced on his arms but his hips and legs weighing her down. Trapping and holding her.
“You’re mine,” he said, laying his cheek against hers. “Mine and no one else’s.”
“Maximus,” she warned.
“Yield, Diana,” he whispered, parting her legs. She could feel the thick heat of his cock pressed hard on her bottom. “Yield, warrior maiden.”
“I’m not a maiden. You took that.”
“And I would again,” he growled. “I’d steal you away and keep you in a castle far from here. Far from any other man. I’d guard you jealously and every night come to your bed and put my cock into your cunny and fuck you until dawn.”
The crude words, the near-mad sentiment, should’ve frightened her. Perhaps there was something amiss with her makeup, for they merely made her warm. No, hot. Near burning. It was all she could do to stop herself from squirming beneath him.
