Stolen Fate Read Online Free PDF

way the clothes moved on her body, clinging to curves and muscles, sent a jolt of lust through him. His palms itched to touch her. With an internal curse, he dragged his eyes away.
    He’d done everything he could to keep from turning into an animal in prison. No way he was going to let some tight trousers turn him into a slavering beast now that he was free.  
    I am no' an animal, damn it.
    But damned if she didn’t make him feel like one. He’d been going mad in prison, driven insane by the misery of repetition and constant toil. The lack of freedom to decide his fate had been nearly unbearable. Then she’d opened the door and let in the light. She’d led him out. Of course he couldn’t keep his mind off her.
    Finally, they reached the top floor and Fiona unlocked the door to flat 7A. It swung open and they entered the small space.  
    Ian glanced around. Kitchen and living room combination on one side and a small hall that led to a bath and two bedrooms on the other side. The kitchen was strange as hell and vastly different from the ones he’d seen before. There was a low hum of the electric appliances. The prison had electric lights, but other than that, not much had changed there since he’d been incarcerated.
    “No’ bad for a base,” Fiona said and dropped her bag onto the couch.  
    Though the hum of the appliances was unsettling, he liked how different it was from the prison. He could get used to modern conveniences. He followed her to the window. The view of the huge, ornate building that housed the Scottish Museum of Antiquities made his blood run faster. His fists clenched like a junkie’s in need of a fix.
    He’d missed the rush of thieving while he’d been in prison, more than he’d ever expected. It was the thrill that had sent him back to it time and again, even after his fortune had grown ridiculously large. On the black market, it took time to turn artifacts into money. Eventually he’d had such a backlog of artifacts that he knew he’d never need to steal again. Added to what he had in the banks, stealing was just an unnecessary risk.
    But he’d done it all the same. For the love of it. For the security his fortune brought him. His wealth kept him comfortable in the knowledge that he’d never have to return to his roots. Except he had, in a way. He’d been thrown into prison, and it had been worse than anything he’d suffered as a boy.
    He scowled at the memory. “We’ll go now. It’s after ten. The back alley should be empty at this hour.”
    “Agreed.” She walked to the bag she’d brought, pulled out two long daggers, and slipped them into sheaths that had been built into her tall boots. She shoved a small leather case into the pocket of her jacket.
    “Do you have another?” he asked.
    She raised a brow. “You expect me to give you a weapon? You’re a criminal.”
    “I’m good with a knife, lassie. If we run into the rogue gods or his demons, you’re going to want me at your back.”
    Her cool gray eyes assessed him. “Fine. I have a spare.”
    She dug another sheathed knife out of the bottom of her bag and handed it over. It was identical to the ones she’d slipped into her boots. It seemed Fiona liked to be prepared.
    He put it into the pocket of his jacket and asked, “Do you have lockpicks?”
    She gave him a don’t be an idiot look and patted her jacket pocket.  
    “Good.” He followed her out the door and down the stairs, his eyes glued to her arse. After so long alone in that miserable prison, his cock hardened just looking at her. Hell, all the protestations in the world that he wasn’t an animal wouldn’t keep his eyes in check around Fiona.  
    They slipped out into the cold January air. Biting wind cut through the black night. The museum loomed across the street, an ornate gargoyle of a building that contained the treasures of the ages. Anticipation and a sense of endless possibility zipped through him. The museum, his for the taking. A battle of wit