Heroes Fan Fiction ❯ Terragaze 1: The Killing Moon ❯ In starlit nights I saw you ( Chapter 2 )

TITLE: Terragaze: The Killing Moon

AUTHOR: TaleWeaver

DISCLAIMER: Any characters you recognise are not mine; they belong to their respective creators and owners. These words, however, are my own. The name and concept of `Street of Lights' was borrowed from Lynn Ffwelling's Nightrunners novels.

FANDOM / PAIRING: Heroes, Claire/Peter

RATING / CONTENT: NC-17. Sex and death.

SPOILERS: None - this is so AU that Claire and Peter wouldn't recognise themselves. Not so much Alternate Universe as Alternate Reality. Needless to say, they're not related.

PROMPT: Written for 50_alternates, Other worlds. Prompt: Assassin, substituting for #8, Brigadoon.

SUMMARY: Exactly a month later, Claire visits the painter Isaac Mendez, who marvels at the change in his friend, and wonders what - or should that be who? - has gotten into her. Meanwhile, Peter muses on why he is looking forward to each nightfall with ever-increasing longing, and a deadly scheme is conceived in the chambers of the Guild of the Blade.

AUTHOUR'S NOTES: while I don't pretend to any sort of historical accuracy (that's the other table of prompts!), this is set in an alternate version of Renaissance Italy, which also affects Peter and Claire's speech patterns - no slang here.

TRANSLATION NOTES: Maestro - Master (used here as a term of both respect and professional superiority, similar to the Japanese `sensei'), querida - sweetheart (spanish), fidanzata - sweetheart (italian).

SOUNDTRACK NOTES: During the Claire & Isaac scenes, `I'm feeling you' by Santana & Michelle Branch, and Peter ponders along with `Waiting for the night to fall' and `One Caress' by Depeche Mode. `Gargoyles' & `Darkness descends' by Midnight Syndicate for the Guild of the Blade scenes.

 

 

 

Part 2 - In starlit nights I saw you

 

 

In a quiet, sun-drenched studio located deep in the east quarter of the city, Claire sprawled on a chair so ornate it could only be called a throne, and absently juggled two daggers in the air as she gazed at the ceiling and watched the sunbeams play.

 

“Keeping yourself amused?” came an amused voice from the door.

 

Claire caught both the daggers in one hand smoothly, and grinned at the man who stood in the door. Isaac Mendez was her most unusual friend, and her most cherished outside the Guild. A gifted artist with a most unusual style, Isaac struggled to make the rent fairly often - which was rather typical of the breed. Claire helped out as much as she could, by posing for free and buying several of his paintings. All of the other paintings had disguised her in some way - a shadow across her face, a change of hair colour, or only her body was shown - but the portrait he was working on now would simply hold her image, accurate and clear. She hadn't told Isaac yet, but she intended to buy it from him as a present for Maestro Bennetti. Having accurate pictures floating around could be a real danger to a Dagger.

 

“I was wondering where you were!” Claire exclaimed. “I was starting to think that you'd thrown yourself into the sea in artistic despair!”

 

“The sea? Oh no, querida, if I was going to take the ultimate sketching tour, I would choose a nice quiet overdose of opium, I think.”

 

Isaac rummaged through the half-finished canvasses drying on the wall-rack, and picked out the current project. “I'll only be a few minutes, so if you want to change?”

 

Taking the `subtle' hint, Claire tucked away her daggers and rose, heading for the curtained alcove Isaac kept as a changing room for portrait sitters.

 

Isaac's mistress, the ever-efficient Simone, had already cleaned and hung up the outfit. Claire grimaced in anticipation - the leather trews redefined the term `awkward' when it came to dressing. She did like the way they looked on her, however scandalous. As she shed her shirt, boots and breeches - the heavy tunic and cloak she wore to disguise her figure on the street were already hanging near the studio door - she idly wondered what Peter would think to see her in them. Not to mention, how he'd cope with getting them off her.

 

Claire stopped that rather dangerous thought in it's tracks - like many of an artistic nature, Isaac could be frighteningly perceptive of moods, even hers, and it would be wisest if there was no suspicion as to who had fathered the child she needed. No matter how confusing things were with Peter. Quickly sliding into the loosened trews and black silk shirt embroidered in silver-gilt thread, she carefully brushed out her long curls, before twisting a small hank of hair at each temple and pinning them together at the back of her head.

 

Bouncing out into the studio (holding onto the waistband of the trews) to present herself for Isaac's inspection, she found that Simone had joined them, with jugs of fruit juice and wine, and several goblets. Giving a sunny smile to Isaac's beloved, she received a cool smile and nod in return. It was actually a warm greeting from her; unless she was in private with Isaac (Claire supposed anyway), or with prospective buyers, Simone came across as a cold-natured person. Unless with Isaac, the mulatto woman was always very conscious of her dignity and behaviour. It undoubtedly came from the fact that Simone was not a resident or citizen of Terragaze.

 

Legal standing was rather complicated in Terragaze; those who were written in the city rolls as born in Terragaze, such as Peter or Maestro Bennetti, or written in the rolls as legally adopted, such as Claire, were considered citizens. Those who had lived in the city for a decade, and could prove they had contributed to the city in that time, became residents. This also applied to those born in the city, but with a foreign parent, such as Isaac, and they had equal standing in the eyes of the law. Those like Simone, who had immigrated to the city less than ten years prior, were in a grey area - neither resident nor citizen, they still had certain rights. They could not be exiled from Terragaze unless they were proved a danger to the community, and in the law courts judges were instructed not to favour citizens or residents without due cause.

 

The only blind spot in the laws was in the areas of inheritance and marriage - probably a deliberate move on the behalf of the early Petrellis (they had re-written the citizenship laws in the first generation of their rule) to keep the wealth of Terragaze within the citystate. Terragaze recognised marriages that took place on foreign soil, and the right of inheritance on foreign soil, but property in Terragaze had to be bequeathed to a resident or citizen, or it reverted to the state. Also, while citizens could marry whomever they chose, a resident such as Isaac could only marry another citizen or resident - which was the major reason Simone was Isaac's mistress, not his wife. Claire assumed they would marry in another four years, when Simone could become a resident. She could marry him as a foreign national, but that would mean giving up her chance to become a resident in her own right, and if Isaac died before her, she could not claim any of his property - including the flourishing artist's cooperative they had created together.

 

Claire received an approving nod from Isaac in regards to her hair, while Simone tied the laces at the lower back of her shirt, which made it mould to the lines of her torso without being obvious. Claire then moved a hand to both the front and back waistband of the trews to hold them in place, as Isaac and Simone knelt on either side of her to tighten the laces that ran down the outside of each leg from ankle to hip, in order to keep the leather evenly stretched across her body.

 

As the leather moulded itself snugly to her stomach, backside and legs, Claire bit her lip - the hide was so soft, it felt almost like a touch, and she couldn't help but think of Peter yet again; this time a very heated memory of the previous night, when he'd run his hands gently up and down her back and over her hips and belly as he took her from behind on all fours, touching her as gently as if she were made of glass - her, a hardened Dagger!

 

“Isaac, d'you think I could keep the trews when you've finished the portrait? I truly doubt anyone else of your acquaintance would have the courage to be immortalised on canvas wearing them.”

 

“You need someone to help you dress in these as a matter of course, to make them fit to move in,” Isaac warned.

 

Claire was lost in her reminiscing, and uncharacteristically missed the speculative glance the painter and his beloved exchanged. “Oh, that shouldn't be a problem.”

 

“Oh?” Isaac asked, his voice dripping curiosity.

 

Claire looked down to meet Isaac's eyes, bright with the prospect of gossip, and unexpectedly flushed bright red. Simone gave Isaac a speaking look from behind Claire's back, and gracefully and unobtrusively left the studio. The relationship between the two women was friendly, but not the sort to invite confidences; Isaac was the one who related to Claire on that level. Most of the other artists in the city who kept a woman often had them watching sittings whether invited or no, especially when the model was as lovely as Claire, but not Simone. She was utterly confident in Isaac's love, and saw Isaac and Claire's relationship for the quasi-sibling friendship it was.

 

Isaac couldn't stop grinning as he headed to his canvas, despite being able to physically feel Claire's glower digging between his shoulder blades. This was the first time in almost two years of friendship that Claire had acted like the teenage girl that she was, instead of the mature, calm professional he had always known her as.

 

Hastily mixing the appropriate paints in the small wells in his metal palette (he'd traded with a blacksmith-artisan for it), Isaac double-checked Claire's pose. Naturally, it perfectly matched what had already been drawn. Both her childhood and her rearing in the Guild had given Claire perfect body memory. Claire had arranged herself in a sitting position on the chaise-lounge, one leg dangling to the floor to display the strip of skin exposed along the full length of her leg between the laces, her head angled to lean winsomely, her beautifully crafted and deadly-looking dagger in one hand as if about to use it to clean her fingernails. Isaac had known right from the start that this portrait would be the finest work he had yet created - contrasting Claire's fresh young beauty with the lethality of her profession, displaying her superbly toned body coupled with her burgeoning, but suppressed, sexuality.

 

But as Isaac started to work, he realised something; Claire's sexuality wasn't suppressed anymore. Instead, her body curled on itself and the silk covering the chaise-lounge in a way that almost screamed of a women who was having a great deal of sensual pleasure. He could work around it - most of her body had already been painted, needing only a few shadings - but he could still tell. This was most significant. Isaac had been witness to no few attempts to get Claire into bed, by both his friends and by people he needed to socialise with - all spectacularly unsuccessful - and she had listened to more than a few gossip sessions about the always-tumultuous love lives of his fellow artists without showing anything more than polite curiosity, and occasional wonder at the strangeness of it all.

 

Isaac needed to get to the bottom of this - not only because he wanted to know the source for this change in Claire, but purely for his own sanity so that the curiosity didn't cause a brainstorm.

 

Isaac had been working for about ten minutes - enough time for Claire to relax and fall into her model's trance - when he chose his words and ventured forth. With Claire, the direct approach was always best; needing to constantly mouth polite phrases as a professional standard meant that she deflected subtle probing easily and automatically.

 

“I'm glad to see that you've finally learned the pleasures of the bedchamber. Who is he?”

 

Claire sat bolt upright and stared at him in consternation. “Damnit to the Nine Hells! This is why I've avoided being alone with you for the past month!”

 

Isaac couldn't help but laugh. “Pose, Claire,” he reminded her. Claire settled back into position, and Isaac continued, “So tell me about him! I wish to know about the one who has managed to breach your walls.”

 

“He's a noble... highly placed, so it would be best if I don't mention his name. We met when he was assigned to me.” Isaac's eyes widened, and he bent to the side to look at her around his canvas. Claire smiled distantly. “He made a counter-offer, and circumstances led me to accept it.”

 

“Circumstances?” Isaac probed delicately, picking up a soft lead pencil. Claire had been very worried by something about six weeks ago, though she hadn't told him what.

 

“It's Guild business,” Claire told him. She would tell him no more than that, and he would not ask. “I go to his rooms as often as I can, anywhere from three times a week to five. Yet somehow, the lack of sleep isn't affecting me. I rest more soundly in his bed than my own.”

 

Isaac raised his eyebrows, as he delicately started to fill in the blank face on the canvas. He hadn't been able to decide on a facial expression yet, but the one Claire had now - girlishly dreamy, yet with knowledge no girl should have, but they all strived for - was one he'd never thought to ask her to try and assume. It was perfect, though. Now he needed to keep her talking for more than one reason.

 

“And his... skills?” Isaac asked, his voice dripping with innuendo.

 

Claire actually blushed charmingly. “He's very inventive, and energetic. We couple at least twice every night I visit, and I don't think we repeat a position in a single week. He enjoys all of my body, not just between my legs, and he always makes sure I take my pleasure before his own. He says such sweet things to me, both before and during our joinings. He also has a truly astonishing store of bawdy humour! He can make me laugh one moment, and moan the next.

 

“We talk a great deal - after, and in between. I like him, Isaac, I truly do. He is as clever and kind as he is handsome. His work in the court has hardened him, I think, but the veneer he wears is thin, and he is gentle underneath. He is very loyal to his family and loves them all very much, though he is not much like them. His nephews do the funniest things! He reads fantastical novels and mythological tomes, like me, and knows the name of not only all his family's personal servants, but their children and spouses as well. He does his best to alleviate suffering, and while he believes life should be treasured above position or riches, he doesn't look down upon me or try to interfere in my work. He respects me, Isaac, both as a professional and as a woman.”

 

Isaac fervently thanked whichever prescient impulse had led him to mix the paint tones for Claire's face, when he hadn't planned on painting that for another two sessions. The dreaminess had been joined by a glow of happiness and fulfilment that illuminated Claire's entire body from within, and Isaac needed to capture it.

 

“He confuses me, though. I like him, yes, but I like many people. But he is always near the surface of my thoughts. I enjoy every moment I spend with him, Isaac, and I find myself wishing I could spend more. He has become... important to me, and I'm not sure when, or what that means.”

 

Isaac hurriedly ducked behind his canvas, to hide the happy, knowing smile he couldn't suppress.

 

“You are not just celebrating your first real bed-pleasure, my dear friend. You are in love!”

 

Of all the things he could have wished for Claire, this was what he wanted her to have the most. But if he voiced his thoughts, Claire would become frightened, and possibly retreat into denial; it would be better for her to make this discovery in her own time. Though she was warm-hearted by nature, the training of the Guild of the Blade was rigorous in not only physical training, but emotionally and mentally as well. Claire had been raised with a great deal of caring, mostly thanks to her Maestro, but had been taught to deny impulsive behaviour, and to regard indulgences as dangerous and unseemly. Even knowing as little about the way of the Blade as he did, Isaac could understand why - when you make your living by death, one must always be on their guard - but it could lead to a very lonely life. Of Claire's year-group, her friend Jacqueline had already died.

 

Isaac took some time to capture the essence of Claire's lovely mood, and toned down the joy in his voice before speaking again. “Was it your lover you were thinking of, when you asked to keep the trews?” Claire's giggle was answer enough. “You can borrow the whole outfit, if you like. Just make sure you bring it back next fortnight in a proper condition.”

 

“Thank you, Isaac,” Claire purred.

 

Given her tone of voice, Isaac rather thought that Claire's lover would be coupling with her more than twice the night he saw her in this outfit. For his sake, Isaac hoped that he was as energetic as Claire had said.

 

 

Sunset, same day

 

 

Peter groaned as he struggled off his boots, nearly rocking the bootjack across the floor of his dressing-room. He carefully hung up his tunic with his coat - Podesta pouted if he didn't, and it had taken far too long to convince the man he could dress himself, noble or not - and headed for the bed in his shirtsleeves and breeches.

 

Carefully turning back the covers, he rearranged the pillows and plumped up several. Collapsing into the wing chair next to his fireplace, he propped his bare feet up on the ottoman and sighed, loosening the lacing at the throat of his shirt.

 

Nathan was neck-deep into his plans to re-organize the city guard, and had enlisted Peter to be his liaison, knowing of his friendship with Sergeant of Investigation Matthias Parkman. Peter had carefully gone over Nathan's plans to be sure they would do some good - much as Peter loved his brother, he knew that Nathan wasn't above occasionally manipulating events solely to his own benefit - and then taken them to Matt, for advice on who would be most receptive and who would need to be coaxed. Reorganization was all very well, but it could be awkward to have riots of protestors comprised of the very people who were meant to prevent and disperse such things. Peter had spent the day talking until his throat was parched, and gone from one office to the other until his feet ached. For once, he'd been truly grateful for his private carriage.

 

Podesta, his personal manservant, valet, secretary, and all-around dogsbody, had arranged to have a carafe of wine waiting for him, and as he sipped, Peter made a mental note to increase the man's wages again. It was ridiculous, really - at this rate, he'd have to sell some of that property in the mountains to cover Podesta's pension - but he gave exemplary service, and Peter knew he could be trusted to keep his mouth shut under torture. Peter always made sure to complain loudly about him in Nathan's hearing, so his brother wouldn't be tempted to try and poach him. Podesta would not be able to refuse the Doge, but he would not like being in Nathan's service - Nathan would not be nearly as tolerant of Podesta's taste for brawny men as bed partners, for a start.

 

He'd had to sneak up the back staircase to his rooms, in order to avoid his mother - an increasing occurrence, he was worried to note. Was she making more demands on his time, or was he just trying to evade them more, because he now had far better things to do than make the rounds of the court when darkness fell?

 

Peter glanced towards the windows, but the sun was still staining the sky in beautiful shades of red, orange, and gold. Peter had always enjoyed sunsets, but now he found them far too lengthy. Claire never came to him until several hours after nightfall. If she had an assignment, it would not be until well after midnight - if the death were to take place less than three hours before dawn, she would not come at all.

 

Peter hated the need for the Daggers, but he was enough of a political animal that he could understand the necessity for them. He had excelled in his studies of history as a child and youth, and the amount of careless bloodshed that had been caused among the court before the Daggers had been set up was truly appalling. He did not condemn Claire for her choice of profession - everyone had to make a living. But he could happily admit that he was very relieved by the fact that Claire only dealt in swift and clean death. With one notable exception; but Peter despised those who preyed on children.

 

Peter took a deep gulp of his wine, and his thoughts of Claire wandered from the professional to the deeply personal.

 

He'd asked Claire last sennight when her courses were due, and she had informed him that they had always been very irregular - she would keep coming to his bed until a Guild healer had confirmed her pregnancy, and even if she had conceived that first night, no Healer would be able to tell for at least another two weeks.

 

The moon would be dark again tonight. He and Claire had coupled, mated, and fucked in turn for a full month now, and as far as they knew, she was still not with child. He couldn't help but be glad, because he increasingly dreaded the night that Claire would tell him that she would not be coming back.

 

Peter had always greatly enjoyed lovemaking, from his first encounter at fifteen, when his fencing instructor Adam had taken him to the Street of Lights. But it had never been a great necessity to him. His bed had been empty for nearly a full season when Claire had come through his bedroom window. But from his first time with Claire, he found his appetite, reaction time, and stamina increasing dramatically, and it was almost as alarming as it was gratifying.

 

Until a month ago, his record had been three times in one night; now three times was the standard - twice was the minimum, when Claire could not come to him for more than a few hours, or she had been training hard that day. He had always prided himself on being a gentle and considerate lover, but Claire frequently provoked him into a sexual ferocity he had never dreamed he possessed. She always returned his intensity in full measure, and that only aroused him further. He no longer fell asleep after sex; every moment his skin slid against Claire's sent fresh energy rushing through his body, and he could not sleep at all with her in his bed unless she slumbered as well.

 

They did not lay in silence between sexual bouts, either - their conversations ranged over a large range of subjects, and Claire not only showed a admirable quickness of mind, but she was the only person he'd ever met who found every single one of his jokes funny. She found his tales of his family fascinating - not so unusual, for one who had lost hers, and she had shared that story with him as well. She told him about things that happened in the Guild house, without breaking confidences, and Peter had gained a great deal of understanding in how the Guild worked - it was one of the few organisations where the inner politics were almost as involved as the court.

 

Oddly, it had already ceased to surprise him, just how swiftly their meetings became heated. No matter how relaxed or weary he was when darkness fell, he was always hard and ready for her by the time she was naked. The sight or scent of Claire was all it took to bring his cock to pulsing, aching rigidity. It was almost as if his body was in thrall to hers; her very presence was enough to ignite his passion, in a way that no other woman had ever managed - or even tried.

 

It still astounded him, however, just how varied their couplings could be. Peter had a more than reasonable agility from his fencing training, but Claire's flexibility was like a cat and snake combined, coupled with a shocking amount of strength. Peter had long since pillaged the collection of erotic books that Nathan didn't think anyone else knew about - and no one did, except his mistress and Peter - and together he and Claire had managed positions that Peter had doubted were physically possible, even as a teenager. The only thing he wished was that Claire would consent to being on top more often. He'd always enjoyed being the one ridden as much as he enjoyed mounting his lover, but Claire rarely forgot the ultimate purpose of their couplings, and he could not convince her that she could conceive just as well that way. Claire could only be persuaded once a week or so, and only if he had mounted her once already that night. But those times aroused him most of all, perhaps because they were so rare that they carried the aura of the forbidden.

 

Speaking of forbidden...

 

Peter grinned to the empty room. Claire had discovered many things in his arms, including that she became highly aroused by watching sexual acts. It had turned out to be far from an isolated incident - a fortnight ago, she'd actually sought him out at a court function. It had been what his mother called `an intimate soiree' - meaning it had less than a hundred people - and it had lasted long into the night. Claire had become bored waiting in his room, and decided to practise her skills by infiltrating the party during the musical performance, posing as one of the servants. On the way, she'd witnessed a high-ranking noblewoman in a most illicit tryst (she was rather notorious for her extra-marital activities, in fact) and had stayed to watch. Claire had become so aroused, that instead of simply catching his eye in the music room and silently signalling him to excuse himself, she had actually told one of the footmen there was a messenger waiting for him.

 

Following the footman's instructions, Peter had found himself ambushed in an empty reception room. Claire had braced a chair underneath the doorknob, and shoved him against the wall as she inflicted a drowning kiss upon him. His head had already begun spinning when she unfastened his breeches and started urgently fondling his cock with both hands. He'd hardened in seconds, whereupon Claire had dropped to her knees, undoing her bodice just enough for him to grope her breasts blindly as she hurriedly licked and sucked upon his erection, until she had him begging for release. Despite his greater experience in the erotic arts, that had taken only a few minutes. Claire had then dragged him down to the floor and impaled herself on him, riding him so furiously that they'd slid several feet along the floor. Claire had climaxed almost immediately, coming again soon afterward and bringing him with her. They'd hurriedly straightened their clothing just enough to make themselves presentable, before heading back to his rooms, where they'd taken each other another three times.

 

Claire hadn't made it back to the Guild house before dawn, and hadn't been able to come to him for a full four nights afterwards, the longest they'd spent apart since their initial meeting and mating. It was just as well; Peter had had to do a great deal of explaining to Angela after disappearing from the party, and she'd kept a close eye on him for several days afterward.

 

Peter had long prided himself on having no pleasure or vice that he could not give up if circumstances demanded it. But he was starting to wonder if Claire was something he could do without. In a very short time, Claire had become one of the major fulcrums of his life, almost as important to him as his family, and it worried him. What would happen when she was with child, and no longer needed him? Could he persuade her to return to him after the child was born?

 

Coming out of his musings, Peter looked down at his lap in disgust. “She won't be here for a while yet.”

 

“Starting without me, my prince?”

 

Peter jumped in his seat, and his head whipped towards the window. He'd been so lost in his reverie that he'd been completely oblivious to the passage of time. Now his lover sat in the windowsill, with no light in his rooms to cast a betraying silhouette, grinning at him merrily.

 

“I was just thinking about you,” he replied, gingerly standing and making his way to sit on the bed.

 

Claire hopped off the windowsill, and eyed the large bulge in his breeches teasingly. “I should hope so.”

 

He vaguely noted that Claire was wearing a long cloak - she must have snuck through one of the tradesmen's' entrances, and hopped out the window of his sitting room and walked the narrow parapet to his bedroom window in order to surprise him. As he lifted his shirt over his head, he heard the rustle of Claire's cloak being draped over a chair.

 

Once his shirt was on the floor and his face was uncovered, he could see that Claire's face still held her merry grin as she started towards him.

 

“Stop.”

 

For the first time since they'd met, Peter addressed her as a scion of the House of Petrelli.

 

Claire instantly obeyed, her expression instantly wiped clean as she froze in her tracks.

 

“Turn around. Slowly,” he commanded, his voice rich with the authority of four generations of supreme power.

 

Blinking, Claire obeyed.

 

“What. Are. Those?” he ordered as much as asked.

 

Claire's face was as innocent as a summer sky. “My trews? You don't like them?”

 

Peter hurriedly unfastened his breeches, informing her imperiously, “If you can't get out of them in two minutes, I'll be finishing without you.”

 

Claire giggled and reached behind her for a moment, and her shirt promptly landed on top of Peter's on the floor, swiftly followed by her breast band and her usual assortment of hidden weaponry. They'd been lovers a month and he still couldn't undress her without injuring himself somehow, no matter how slow and careful he was.

 

“Claire, now,” he demanded.

 

Claire bent down and grabbed one of her stiletto knives from the heap on the floor, before sitting beside him on the bed and lying back. Claire then reached down between her legs, and very carefully worked the blade along the seam that ran over her womanhood, delicately slicing open the stitching. As she tossed the stiletto back onto the pile of weaponry, she met Peter's appreciative gaze and remarked, “I can stitch the seam back up tomorrow.”

 

Peter stood and hastily shoved his breeches off, crawling back onto the bed. Sitting back onto his heels, he beckoned to her imperiously.

 

Claire knew what he wanted - they'd used this position several times before, and thinking about Peter's reaction to seeing her in these trews had already made her wet. She immediately straddled his lap, impaling herself on his shaft to the hilt. Peter laid his hands on her shoulders and shoved backwards so that she fell flat on her back, and grasped her buttocks to give himself more leverage as he rocked back and forth inside her with a hard and fast rhythm. With Peter's lap holding her pelvis higher than her torso, every stroke rasped directly over the especially sensitive place on the front wall of her core, and Claire writhed beneath him in raw lust, her hips bucking and twisting wildly in an attempt to drive him deeper inside, her orgasm catching her unawares as it ripped through her body.

 

Breathless with aftershock, even as Peter's thrusts increased in power, Claire could feel another climax starting to build. In this position, she couldn't touch Peter, only wrap her legs around his waist and use her leg muscles in time with the movements of his pounding hips to subtly add to the impact of each stroke.

 

Claire had always loved how generous and considerate Peter was to her when they mated, but she found herself thoroughly enjoying this dominant, commanding aspect of himself that he was now revealing to her.

 

Peter's entire body felt like it was on fire, his head spinning from the pressure building up along his spine and boiling in his loins, and all he could do was grip harder onto Claire's taut buttocks and try to pull her onto him with more force.

 

It was oddly erotic, fucking Claire like this when he was naked and she was still partially clothed. The hide that still coved her lower body was soft and slightly rough, sensitising his nerve endings as it rubbed along his skin, and it felt incredibly sensual. If Claire didn't come again soon, this would finish with her only partly fulfilled.

 

“Touch yourself, fidanzata,” Peter urged. “Give yourself pleasure even as I do.”

 

Claire's hands went to her jouncing breasts, sliding along and cupping the curves before starting to tug on her hardened nipples, in time with his thrusts. Peter could see the trembling that often proceeded Claire's climax start to ripple through her flesh, and he leaned backwards so that he could angle his hard cock to place more pressure on that nearly-magical place inside her. Claire's core promptly convulsed around him, and as his own lust exploded Peter threw his head back to stare blindly at the ceiling, biting deep into his lip until it bled to keep back his yell of primal satisfaction and triumph.

 

Panting relentlessly, Peter kept his tight grip on Claire's buttocks as he tipped sideways and rolled, ending up on his back with Claire straddling him and lying on his chest, their bodies still intimately joined.

 

Once he realised that his heart had decided to stay in his chest, instead of pounding right through it, he asked pointedly, “Where exactly did you get those... garments?”

 

Claire tilted her head so that she could study Peter's face; the undertones in Peter's voice were new to her also, speaking of possessiveness and... something else?

 

“On loan from my friend Isaac. I have to have them in proper condition for our next sitting.”

 

“Sitting? This Isaac is an artist?” Peter asked, some uneasy implications beginning to dawn on him.

 

“Mm-hmm. I was on assignment about two years ago; my carefully planned escape route was blocked at almost literally the last moment, and I found myself hiding from my target's so-incompetent bodyguards in an artist's studio. I passed the time by studying the canvasses, and they were in a style like none I'd seen before. I found I liked one painting particularly, and after a sennight or so I went back to the studio and bought it. It still hangs on the wall of my bedchamber. Isaac's mistress was away on a business trip - she searches for and organises sales for several artists besides Isaac - and he was feeling lonely, so he spent a long time talking with me. He eventually asked me to pose for him, and I agreed, on the condition that he didn't show my face, and we became friends.”

 

Peter frowned at the ceiling in thought. He now remembered why the name Isaac sounded familiar - Claire had mentioned him the night they'd met. The important thing was that once this portrait was finished, some lecher would be able to stare at his Claire any time they chose, her lovely body displayed in clothing that most of the courtesans that dwelled on the Street of Lights would refuse to wear.

 

Feeling the tickle of Claire's hair sliding over his chest, Peter looked down at his lover's face, to see her gazing at him speculatively. Remembering just how devious Claire's mind could be, Peter asked, “Did you come to me dressed like this solely to drive me insane with desire? Or did you have a second purpose in mind?”

 

Claire smirked and nodded. “I was hoping that you would be intrigued enough to visit Isaac's studio. Like many artists, Isaac wishes to attract a rich, and preferably noble patron. We agree on so many things, from literature to music, that I truly believe you would find his work to your liking as well.”

 

“When will your portrait be finished? I find myself very much interested in seeing it.”

 

“Not for some time, yet, I believe. Not for several more weeks, at the very least.”

 

Peter quirked an eyebrow. “I will visit him before the end of the month, then.”

 

Claire grinned and wriggled away from him, tearing a groan from his throat as his still-sensitive body protested her loss.

 

“Care to help me out of these?” she asked.

 

Peter was all too happy to oblige, before drawing her beneath the bedcovers.

 

 

Three in the morning - the hour of the Wolf

 

 

The Guild house of the Blade operated around the clock. Training and classes, and the inevitable administration took place during the day, with most Daggers reporting in during the night, as they reported briefly on the success of their assignments and checked in to let the Roster-master know whether they were injured in any way, or otherwise unfit for duty. Report writing could be done at any time during the day or night, and many Daggers preferred keeping to a night-time schedule. Contracting with clients could be done at any time of the day or night.

 

But deep in the Guild house, one member was planning a particular and highly influential course of action. He sat in a luxurious easy chair beside the roaring fire, the flames providing the only light in the room. The black-clothed figure carefully traced out his plan onto parchment with pen and ink - he used this method for outlining all his most important plots.

 

The unknowing, but willing, confederates were quickly chosen. The method of releasing the necessary information to set the desired events into action was decided upon, as well as the amount and type of knowledge to be shared.

 

Two deaths would be necessary for his purpose to come to pass.

 

The first, his peer, he would take care of himself - he may have ceased active work, but he had lost none of his skills in the time since. The man was both skilled enough that the plotter would not entrust his death to anyone else, and the plotter also had enough respect for him that it would be an insult otherwise. Several prospective times and methods of death were considered and discarded, before the plotter settled on the most unobtrusive time and the hardest to detect method. If he were caught in the process, he would be condemned, and his colleague deserved a mysterious and elegant form of death.

 

The second, the wild animal, could be put down by one of the plotter's protégées. The animal was too arrogant to guard himself against one he thought of as lesser, and the plotter had sufficient information to hand that the death would be sanctioned swiftly, and the request would come from outside the house. In fact, it might be considered that the plotter was merely cleaning up the mess made by some of his more near-sighted superiors.

 

The plotter settled back in his chair, re-reading the words traced on the paper, making sure that all the eventualities had been planned for, including alternate courses of action. After the lattice of events had been finalised, the plotter leaned forward and fed the pages to the flames, one by one. Firelight glinted off glass, as each sheet was completely destroyed.

 

Such a simple, elegant, plan. He'd always had a talent for them.