"Blood Seduction"

WhooHoo! Welcome, TygerTyger (Burning Bright!) and thank you for your comment. These three additional chapters are for you and gypsysiren...

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When they were back in the car, Sara exclaimed, “I’m starving. Shopping always makes me hungry. Is it time for lunch yet?” Pulling out into traffic, Ian glanced at his watch. It was already 1:30. He turned to her, flashed a dazzling smile, and said, “You’re timing is good. We have lunch reservations for 2:00 at Tavern on the Green.” She glanced down at her usual jeans and cropped sweater. “I’m not really dressed for a place like that,” she mumbled, embarrassed. She had always wanted to eat there but it was out of her price range. He shot her a quick look, surprised at her reaction. “You look fine,” he replied, “You’re perfect.” She smiled and reached out to caress his hand, where it rested on the gear shaft. “And you’re prejudiced,” she replied. Ian linked his fingers with hers and used their joined hands to shift the jag’s gear. “Yes,” he growled softly, “I am. I’m head over heels in love with you.” The casual way that he said it took her breath away. Her head reeled for a moment. “God, this is all happening so fast,” she thought, a bit dazed. He frowned at her silence. He had hoped to hear her own declaration of her feelings for him. His hand tightened a little on the wheel. “You better stop pushing,” he warned himself in his head, “Or you’ll push her away. Give her time. She only admitted it for the first time this morning, after all. Have some patience.” Ian forced himself to relax, venting a soft sigh. Hearing it, she turned her head a fraction to study him covertly. Was he expecting her to tell him she loved him? Why was that so hard for her to do? She was saved from further speculation when they pulled up to the restaurant in Central Park and handed the car off to the valet.

Ian was right. Sara wasn’t the least bit out of place. She soon relaxed and enjoyed their leisurely lunch immensely. Relaxing over her second post-lunch cup of coffee, she asked, “Where to now, O Great Master of Ceremonies?” He smiled charmingly and linked his fingers with hers in the middle of the small table. “Well,” he said, drawing out the word, “We could spend a couple of hours at the Met or the Guggenheim, if you like. It’s up to you. Or, we could go to the hotel right now. The room is reserved and waiting.” They stared at each other across the table. He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to the inside of her wrist. “Your choice,” he added softly. Looking into his eyes, she felt mesmerized, like she was being slowly melted in those molten pools of golden lava. No contest, she thought. Aloud, she said, “Hotel. Now.” Ian lifted a languid hand to signal for the check. Less than five minutes later, they were back in the jag, headed toward the hotel. “Where are we going?” she asked curiously. She wasn’t really concerned. She knew that he wouldn’t book them into a dump. All she really wanted was a bed, a private bath, and Ian.

Ian tried to keep the mischief out of his eyes when he casually replied, “Sherry Netherland.” Sara’s mouth dropped open. She finally squeaked, “You’re kidding.” He turned to her briefly, angling through afternoon traffic around the Park. “Is this the face of a kidder?” he asked. She looked back at him, her own visage blank with shock. “We can’t go to a place like that without luggage, dressed like this,” she whispered, “They’ll throw us out.” Ian laughed. “If you have enough money, Sara,” he replied, “No one throws you out. They would let us in stark naked, carrying a paper sack.” She was suddenly subdued. “I guess we’ve got the room overnight, huh?” she asked. Amused, he replied, “They don’t rent rooms by the hour, love.” Fidgeting in the seat, Sara said, “That place is like a palace, Ian. What possessed you to book us there?” Eyes still on the road, he stretched his right hand over to capture and still her hands in her lap. “Stop fussing,” he said softly, “You’re the Wielder of the Witchblade, a goddess come to Earth. No place is too good for you. If it seems to be a palace to you, then it’s a fitting place to take my queen.” She went quiet. Did he really see her like that? How was she supposed to live up to that kind of image? As they pulled into the turnaround for the elegant, five-star hotel, he turned off the ignition and faced her. With the eerie prescience born of their new connection, he answered her unspoken concern. “You’re not required to do anything, Sara,” he said, “You only have to be who you are.”

While Ian gathered their shopping bags and his backpack, like a grand lady, Sara allowed the doorman to hand her out of the jaguar. When she entered the lobby of the hotel, she looked around with awe. It was all glittering chandeliers, polished antiques, and sweeping arrangements of fresh flowers. The whole place reeked of style, taste, and wealth. Ian handed their shopping bags off to a bellman and, capturing her hand in his, led her to the front desk. The distinguished man behind the desk greeted Ian with a broad smile. “Welcome back, Mr. Nottingham,” he said, “So good to have you staying with us again.” He nodded politely to Sara and she nodded back. “I was able to secure the deluxe suite that you requested,” he added, handing a key card to their bellman. Ian smiled back pleasantly and said, “Thank you. I appreciate your trouble.” The man shook his head. “No trouble, sir. It was my pleasure. Enjoy your stay with us.” Sara studied Ian covertly. As ill at ease as he had been in Victoria’s Secret, he was comfortable in this environment. He fit here like a hand in a glove. That analogy made her smile. As they followed the bellman to the elevator, he leaned close to whisper, “What?” She whispered back, “Just thinking how well you fit in this setting.” He shrugged as the elevator doors closed behind them. It was all polished brass and mirrors. “I grew up staying in places like this all over the world,” he replied, “Mr. Irons only stays at the best. You soon learn the rules. It’s a lot less intimidating than it appears on the surface.” Sara was still cowed by the opulence of it all. “I’ll take your word for that,” she whispered, leaning close to rest her cheek against his shoulder.

Sara got another shock once they were in their room. It was huge and magnificent. There was a working fireplace. Fresh flowers, once again, were everywhere. The bathroom was black marble and luxury personified. There was a sitting room, filled with impressive antiques, and a bedroom dominated by a king-size bed. The windows offered a stunning view of Central Park. After a quick tour, she wound up in the middle of the bedroom, shaking her head. Ian leaned in the bedroom doorway, one dark brow lifted quizzically. She hugged herself to confirm that she was awake. “This is incredible,” she said. Ian grinned. “Wait until you sample the room service,” he teased. A thought suddenly occurred to her. “This isn’t the Honeymoon Suite, is it?” she asked. He dropped his eyes and color flooded his cheeks. He had actually considered that but didn’t think that she’d go for it. For his part, Ian believed that the Iunctura was a marriage of sorts. For his part, he believed that he and Sara were now mated for life. He was very aware, however, that she probably saw it differently. “No,” he responded, “This isn’t the Honeymoon Suite.”

She nodded, noticing the heightened color that her question had prompted. “This is ridiculous,” she thought, “Why do I suddenly feel shy with him?” Ian did it again; answered her unasked question. “It’s the surroundings,” he said softly, “It makes things seem new, different.” She nodded, watching him move toward her with that panther prowl of his. “Take a bath with me?” he asked, golden eyes glowing in the low light of the room, “The tub is big enough for a regiment. There are all kinds of lotions and bath salts to try.” Sara smiled. “You weren’t thinking of inviting company, were you?” she breathed as he moved nearer. He was so close that she could feel the heat coming off his body. “Absolutely not,” he purred, lips warm against her ear, “It’s only you and me this time. No one else can see, no one else can hear. I love you, Sara.” She dropped her head to his muscled shoulder and gave in to the inexorable pull of him. “I love you too,” she whispered. He sighed and pulled her into his arms, thinking, “Finally.” She dug her fingers into his silky curls, freeing them from the band that was restraining them, as he pressed his lips to hers. The leather band fell to the floor unnoticed. She felt his hot tongue teasing her lips apart and she opened her mouth to him. Ian moaned as they kissed deeply, their tongues tangling together. His arms tightened around her and then he was carrying her to the bathroom, his mouth still glued to hers. When he slid her down his body to stand again, their lips parted and they leaned together, both a bit dizzy from lack of air.

While she caught her breath, Sara looked around her. “This bathroom is bigger than my living room,” she observed. Ian smiled and bent over to begin filling the large, sunken tub with warm water. He picked up two artful bottles filled with delicately colored liquid. “Lavender or Strawberry?” he asked, reading the labels. She shrugged, starting to pull her sweater over her head. “Either one is a little flowery for you,” she said, “You’re more a Eucalyptus and Sandalwood kind of guy, aren’t you?” He caught her hand before she could remove the sweater and said, “Let me do that.” She dropped her hands back to her sides and watched as he poured pink lotion that smelled like fresh strawberries into the water. When the tub was filling to his satisfaction, Ian turned his attention to her. He pulled her sweater over her head and let it drop to the floor. Bending, he pressed his lips against the side of her neck, licking and sucking, while he rubbed his hands up and down her bare arms. Sara dropped her head back to give him more room to work. It felt really, really good. She sighed deeply when one questing hand moved to the hooks securing her bra. He was past them in a moment and her bra joined the sweater on the floor.

“Hey, you,” she murmured, her hands gripping his slender waist to keep herself upright. “Hmm?” Ian rumbled into her hair. Two long, warm fingers were slowly stroking up and down her spine. She shivered. “Time to lose your clothes too,” she said. He stopped, standing still. She lifted her head from his shoulder and looked up. His hair was loose around his face and curly from the moisture in the air. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were bright with desire. He looked so beautiful that she stopped breathing for a moment. Then, she asked, “What’s the matter?” He had the grace to look embarrassed. “I don’t want to just drop my new clothes on the bathroom floor,” he mumbled, “I want to hang them up.” She snorted, amused. “Okay,” she said, “Go ahead and hang them up – but you better hurry back or I’ll start without you.” She let him go, crossing her arms over her bared breasts. He cocked his head at her, curious as to why she was hiding herself from him. Losing patience, she said, “Go on. Hurry up.” Not wanting to break the momentum of what was happening between them, he didn’t hesitate any longer. After he had disappeared into the bedroom, Sara stripped off her jeans and panties. She tested the water with her hand before easing into the deep tub. When she sat, the water was already up to her shoulders. She turned the water off.

Sara looked up when Ian returned to the bathroom with a towel knotted around his hips. “Would you like a glass of champagne?” he asked, “There’s some in the bedroom.” She studied him standing tall above her, built like a god. “I don’t want champagne,” she said, “I want you.” His lips curved and he dropped the towel. He obviously wanted her too. Ian got into the tub slowly, careful not to displace any water. She shook her head, thinking that it was an exercise in futility because there was probably soon going to be water everywhere. Sara moved into his arms, loving the slippery, warm feel of him wet. “Remember the first time we were in a tub together?” she whispered in his ear. Pulling back, she looked in his eyes. They had darkened to deep amber. He nodded and leaned forward to rest his forehead against hers. “My first time,” he whispered back. That still amazed her. She smiled and pushed a stray curl behind his ear. “You’re an expert now,” she said. One dark brow lifted. “Am I?” he asked softly. She nodded, putting her hands on his chest. Sara covered each of his flat, dark nipples with one of her thumbs and began to stroke them in slow circles. Ian made a soft sound deep in his chest. His breathing soon quickened and his head fell back to rest against the rim of the tub.

Still caressing his hardened nipples, Sara lifted herself onto his lap, facing him. Ian was trembling now under her fingers. He raised his head and said, “Stop,” voice hoarse with need. She slid her hands upward to grip his shoulders, asking, “Too close?” He managed to nod while he fought to get himself under control. After a moment, Ian bent forward, forcing Sara to arch her back. His warm mouth closed hungrily over her right nipple. She shut her eyes and sighed as she felt him start to suck, then gently score her with his teeth. Mouth still busy, he moved his hand to tweak her left nipple between the pads of his fingers. Their position was now reversed. He was in charge and she was awash in sensation. Sara continued to clutch his broad shoulders, nails digging into muscle, as it they were anchors keeping her from flying off the edge of the world. His talented mouth traveled over to her left breast while his hand tickled its way down her belly, dipped briefly in the scooped button, and came to rest where she wanted it most. When Ian began to stroke her hard with two stiff, skillful fingers, she was so eager for him that a sudden, violent orgasm took her completely by surprise. Sara let out a piercing cry. Her body bowed backward like a pliant willow branch and the fingers of both her hands slipped higher to bury themselves in his tousled mane, pressing his face to her flushed chest. She clung to him, panting, until she was able to regain her breath. The whole time, Ian continued to caress her, keeping her taut without pushing her over again.

Sara pushed forward, causing Ian to bring his head back up. Grasping handfuls of his silky hair, she pulled his face roughly to hers. She ground her mouth against his hard, feeling him draw in breath sharply. Muscles shifted and tensed beneath her as he strained closer, passion igniting and building quickly. Nipping her lower lip, he opened his mouth wide under hers, gasping out her name with that sweet catch in his voice. She arched her tongue, sliding it sinuously against his, and felt Ian’s hands run over her hips to grip her bottom tightly. Water began to slosh out of the tub unnoticed as he lifted Sara up and backward, positioning her above him. Their mouths were still locked together, tongues tightly entwined, when he thrust deeply inside with one smooth stoke. He felt so wonderful, suddenly filled her so fully, that Sara’s eyes almost rolled back in her head. Strawberry-scented water was going everywhere but neither of them gave a damn. They were completely oblivious to anything but each other. She made a sound somewhere between a groan and a purr, body arching, hands returning to grip his shoulders for better leverage.

Ian was still clasping her cheeks, maneuvering her against him as he pushed his hips up off the bottom of the tub. Sara reached backward to cover his hands with hers. Releasing his mouth with a soft sigh, she hissed, “Stay still, baby. Let me do it.” He opened his eyes and she was held by the bright, feral lust simmering in the molten gold. It took her breath away. When he dipped his head in a quick nod, a single drop of sweat rolled slowly from disheveled curls down to his brow. She watched it rapt until he gasped, “Go,” breaking the spell. Releasing his hands, she latched on to the rim of the tub behind him. Sara felt Ian’s hands lift to encircle her waist. Clenching her inner muscles tight around him, she rode Ian like he was a wild stallion that she was trying to break. He was with her through every bucking plunge, willingly letting her tame him. They clung together, again kissing passionately as they moved in perfect synchronicity. Delicious, erotic pressure continued to build inevitably toward release. When the Witchblade pulsed with strobing, scarlet beams on Sara’s wrist, she pulled back from their kiss, startled, and they both froze for a moment.

Bodies on fire, they stayed still, halted in mid-stroke, staring at the flashing bracelet. They were both ready to bolt if the Object of Power began sprouting tendrils. When it remained in its compact bracelet form around Sara’s wrist, their relieved eyes met and they relaxed, allowing the passion to reclaim them. Caught up again in the sensual undertow dragging them toward climax, shocked golden eyes locked with green as they both felt the hot current of the Blade now added to the mix. Its influence wasn’t intrusive or directive, it was just suddenly and unmistakably a distinctive element coursing through their blood as they edged toward consummation. Sara pressed her sweaty forehead against Ian’s as their bodies writhed together. “What’s happening?” she gasped. She felt his head shake against hers. “I don’t know,” he whispered huskily, then suggested, “Let’s just go with it, whatever it is.” She snorted, pulling back a little. “Do we have a choice?” she asked breathlessly. A sharp wave of stunning erotic heat swept through them and a hoarse cry was torn from Ian. Sara spasmed around him where he was sheathed deep inside her, pushing him over the edge and making him come explosively. There was another vivid spurt of sensual heat and an exquisite orgasm struck Sara at the point where they were joined, with sweet, devastating shock waves slowly rolling along the whole length of her vaginal tunnel.

In the aftermath, bodies limp and enmeshed, they rested against each other, attempting weakly not to slip beneath the water. Their loud panting echoed off the marble walls of the ornate bathroom. Sara wrapped her arms loosely around Ian’s neck and dropped her head to his shoulder. “Whew,” she whispered. Ian let his head fall backwards to rest on the rim of the tub and lifted his arms to curl them about Sara protectively – though there was no threat. Eventually, she shifted a little on his lap but he tightened his arms around her body. He raised his head to lean his cheek into her hair. “Please don’t move yet,” he murmured into her ear. She stopped squirming and settled back against his warm, wet body. After another few minutes though, Sara noticed that her fingers were starting to prune. Worse, against her exposed back, the air began to feel chilly. She shivered. His eyes opened and he asked, voice sleepy, “Are you cold?” She shivered again before she admitted, “A little.” His hot tongue traced the curve of her ear. Ian released her, moving her gently off his lap as water lapped against marble. “Time to get you dry and warm and into that nightgown,” he suggested. That sounded good, Sara thought. When she stood to step out of the sunken tub, she got her first good look at the chaos they had created in the previously pristine bathroom.

The marble floor of the bathroom was awash in strawberry-scented water. There were soggy towels everywhere. Sara’s eyes went wide, visions of lawsuits and fines filling her head. “Oh, Ian,” she breathed, shocked, “We’ve made an awful mess.” He stood and looked around. Shrugging, he blithely dismissed the damage. “Go on into the bedroom and dry off,” he said, unconcerned, “I’ll clean up in here.” He didn’t have to ask twice. Covered in goose bumps, she grabbed the one towel she could find that was only slightly damp and took it with her into the bedroom. She dried off her body and then wrapped her wet hair in the towel. Sara carried the Victoria’s Secret bags over to the fireplace, where a blaze burned cheerily. She dressed in the slinky, sexy dark green gown, robe, and feathered mules then tossed the empty bags into the fire. Settling into a comfortable easy chair by the fireplace, legs tucked up under her, she unwrapped her hair and began industriously toweling it dry. Sara was dozing, lulled by the heavy silk against her body and the warmth of the fire, when a soft noise made her open her eyes. Ian was using tongs to shift logs in the fireplace, refreshing the blaze. She studied him appreciatively. He was clad in loose, white silk pajama bottoms. The tanned skin of his perfectly-muscled torso gleamed subtly in the soft firelight. His hair fell around his face in damp, shiny chocolate curls. He was very beautiful, she thought drowsily.

Sara yawned and asked, “Where did the pajamas come from?” He dropped the tongs back beside the fireplace before turning back to her. Smiling shyly, he replied, “I picked them up while you were looking at sweaters. I figured I’d try something other than black. Are they okay?” She nodded. “You look great,” she assured him. A touch of color blossomed in his cheeks. The effect that she sometimes had on him still amazed her. She lifted a hand to absently brush it through her knotted hair. His eyes warmed like small, golden suns. “Can I comb out your hair?” he asked eagerly. She could see that he really wanted to do this. She shrugged and agreed, “Sure.” Ian disappeared into the bathroom and came back in a few seconds carrying a comb. “Let’s sit on the bed,” he suggested. She bit back an amused smile. “He’s getting so into this,” she thought. Aloud, she acquiesced and sat in front of him on the huge bed. He pulled her back a little to rest comfortably against his warm, hard body. She took a deep breath and observed, “You smell wonderful.” She heard his snort behind her. “We both smell like strawberry puree,” he complained. She shut her eyes and gave herself over to the pleasure of feeling his hands in her hair as he gently combed loose her tangles. Sara sighed and whispered, “Good enough to eat.” The comb stilled for a moment and his deep rumble vibrated against her back. “I’ll remind you of that later,” he growled softly. She laughed.

When he finished, Sara’s hair fell in loose, chestnut waves about her shoulders. Ian put the comb on the nightstand and pushed back her hair to press a warm kiss to the side of her neck. She sighed and leaned back against the warm hardness of him. The lure of his sensual body was like a siren call. She resisted it with some difficulty. She bent forward, wrapping her arms around herself, and tried to dampen her raging hormones. Not helping, he moved with her, rubbing suggestively against her back. She sucked in a long, calming breath and decided, “We have to talk.” She felt Ian go still against her. “Is something wrong?” he asked warily. She turned her head slightly, pushing her fluffy hair out of the way to look at him. A tiny line had appeared between his brows. Sara put her hand on his. “Don’t get upset, baby,” she soothed, “It’s okay. Something strange happened between us this morning. We need to talk about it. Don’t you think?” The frown disappeared. “Yes,” he agreed softly, “We do.” Sara shifted around on the big bed to face her lover. She looked into the luminous, golden eyes and posed the question that had been haunting her since she knew that she had fallen in love with this man. “What happens now?” Sara asked Ian.

Ian dropped his eyes, veiling them under his thick lashes. He reached out to take her hand in his, stroking her palm with his fingers. “What do you want to happen?” he asked. Sara captured his fingers between hers and lightly dug in her nails. He winced and lifted questioning eyes at last. She met them directly. “Oh no, you don’t,” she said, “You’re not going to dump it all on me like that.” He tilted his head and asked, “What do you mean?” She took a deep breath and paused, thinking about the best way to direct this conversation. Sara sighed again and said, “I have a lot of questions.” Still watching her carefully, Ian replied, “I’m not sure that I have the answers you seek but I’ll try my best to answer your questions.” She nodded. She couldn’t really ask more of him than that. “This mating ritual of the Witchblade,” she started, “This Iunctura…” Sara stopped with an eyebrow lifted questioningly, not sure that she had gotten the word correct. He nodded and she continued, “What’s the purpose of it? What does it mean – in practical terms – between us?” Ian frowned. “That’s a very good question,” he responded, “We should probably do some research ourselves into the ritual throughout the history of the Blade; study the ancient texts,” he responded, “Maybe your friend Gabriel can help us. I only know the little I’ve picked up from my master. And, of course, he just tells me what he wants me to know.” Sara’s eyes narrowed. “So Irons was expecting this ritual to happen?” she asked. Ian took a deep breath and plunged in. “He was counting on it,” he answered.

The silence stretched out between them as they sat facing each other, eyes locked. “Why?” Sara asked, voice tight. Ian blinked slowly before he responded, “He wanted a second blood source holding the Witchblade’s restorative power. He wanted me to be that blood source.” Her lips thinned. “Okay,” she said, “That clarifies Irons’ motive. I can’t say that I’m surprised. What about the Blade? Why does It initiate the ritual?” Ian shook his head. “No one can know for certain what drives the Witchblade,” he said, “But I can make some logical assumptions.” He stopped, cocking his head again. She nodded for him to continue. “The Wielder is stronger when she and her Protector are paired, when they are mated. The history of the Blade has proven that,” Ian explained, “When the possibility presents itself, I believe the Witchblade will always try to entice the Wielder and Protector to mate. It enhances their chances of survival and that, in turn, enables the Witchblade itself; a strong Wielder allows the Blade to function more fully in the world.” Sara thought about that. It made a certain sense, especially in the skewed universe in which they lived. “Okay,” she accepted, moving on, “What exactly does it mean that we’re ‘mated’? What would happen if we split up? How tightly does this ritual tie us together?” He hesitated, the wide, golden eyes clouding and his head dropping again to mask his expression. “Is she already looking for a way out?” he wondered, gripped by a sudden ache.

Ian sighed and made an effort to pull himself back together. He couldn’t force her to love him, to want him and no other for the rest of their lives. That choice, as always, was hers to make. He lifted his eyes to meet hers directly. “You are not compelled to stay with me, Sara,” he said, “To my knowledge, the Witchblade cannot force you to become my mate or to remain so. It is my personal belief that we belong together, that we are fated to live this life with each other; that belief is meaningless, however, if you do not share it. Neither I nor the Blade can force you to remain mated with me if you choose to leave.” Wanting to keep her options open, Sara did not rush to reassure him. He was a big boy. He could take it. Besides, she had more questions. She cleared her throat, working her way up to the next question. It had been preying on her mind since they had first discussed the Iunctura. “Does this mating business have anything to do with having kids?” she asked, “Securing the line of the Witchblade by getting the Wielder and Protector together to make a baby?” Ian’s eyes widened. She could tell that she had startled him. He didn’t answer her right away because his mind was furiously considering the idea that she had just presented from every angle. Finally, he shrugged. “I don’t know,” he replied, suddenly wondering if this too was part of Irons’ plan, “It honestly never occurred to me until you mentioned it. What is it exactly that you fear?”

Now, Sara dropped her eyes, her fingers fidgeting nervously in her lap. “I use birth control,” she replied, “Because I’m not ready to have a kid yet.” Ian nodded, encouraging her to continue. “It has nothing to do with you, with us,” she said, “I like my job and my life as they are right now without adding that complication. I’m just not ready.” Her hands fidgeted some more. Ian reached out one hand to gently still them in her lap. “Okay,” he responded softly, “I understand what you’re saying. What’s worrying you?” She looked at him directly again. “What if the Witchblade has different ideas?” she asked, “A whole different agenda. It has already done screwy things to our blood. How hard would it be for the Blade to just circumvent the birth control that I’m using to help me get pregnant?” Ian studied her for a few moments before he released her hands to spread his own. “I don’t have an answer for that,” he acknowledged, “I have no idea whether the Witchblade is capable of manipulating us in that fashion. I agree, however, that if It chose to do so, we would probably be at Its mercy.” They were silent for a few moments, each lost in their own thoughts. Eventually, Sara sighed and asked, “So, what’s the answer?” Ian swallowed with some difficulty and said what had been running through his mind, “There is only one practical answer to that dilemma. We cease being lovers.” The silence lengthened again before he could bring himself to ask, “Is that what you want?”

Sara could feel the tension in him. He was coiled as tight as a spring. It all came back to that same question: What did she want from him? Was he to be a casual, admittedly delightful, lover to enjoy and then move on? Or, one day, was he to be her husband and the father of her future children? The man that she had much more than sex with – the man who shared her joys and tragedies; the little stuff as well as the big stuff; the one that she could count on for the long haul. If Ian was to be the one, there were changes that had to be made – big changes. The biggest change of all was Kenneth Irons. Sara stretched out her hand to Ian and he grasped it immediately with his long, slender fingers. “No,” she replied, “That’s not what I want.” She heard him release a long breath and wondered whether he had been holding it. “But there may not be a choice,” she added. Ian frowned, his fingers tightening around hers. “Why?” he asked. She searched the troubled, golden eyes for a clue to what he was thinking. She found none. Slowly stroking his hand, she replied, “You know why.” His eyes flickered shut and he sighed deeply. “My master,” he whispered. God, she hated that. She hated that Ian gave Irons that power over him. “He is not your ‘master,’ Ian,” she said a little harshly, annoyed with him, “You are not a slave unless you allow yourself to be. The man raised you. He may even be your biological father. I don’t know. But, even so, he is not your bloody master.”

Ian detached his hand from hers and rolled gracefully off the bed. She watched him stalk to the window like a big, dangerous cat. “He moves like a hungry tiger,” she thought absently. He stood now staring out the window, presenting his rigid back to her. “Have I pissed him off?” she wondered. He finally turned back to face her and say, “You don’t understand.” She frowned. “If that’s the tack you’re going to take, sport, we don’t stand a chance,” she challenged him. He pulled in a deep breath and unclenched his fists. “Alright,” he conceded. He returned to the bed and resumed his seat across from her. Sara reached out one finger to lift his chin. He looked back at her warily. “Is he your real father?” she asked. Ian blinked slowly, then said, “I don’t know.” She looked at him curiously. “You don’t know?” she repeated. He almost told her that she didn’t understand again, but caught himself just in time. Instead, he said, “It’s difficult.” She frowned. This was going to be like pulling teeth. “In what way?” she asked. “He sees all relationships as equations of power,” Ian tried to explain, “As long as he keeps me guessing about my parentage, he can use that uncertainty to his advantage.” Sara stretched out her hand to stroke his bearded cheek. He shut his eyes and leaned into the caress. “There’s no love, no caring, in the way that he treats you, Ian,” she whispered, “He doesn’t deserve to receive those emotions from you in return.”

Ian dropped his head, unwilling to look at her. “He’s all the family that I have, Sara,” he murmured, “The only parent that I’ve ever known. How could I let him die if I had it in my power to save him? Without him, I would be alone.” She wondered if he had purposely tried to box her into this corner. When she stayed silent, he raised his head to look at her. Okay, she thought. Aloud, she said, “What about me?” Now, the challenge was in his eyes. “What about you?” he repeated. She shook her head. “If you’re asking me for guarantees, Ian,” she said, “I won’t give them to you. Life doesn’t work that way – not in the real world.” He practically vibrated with frustration. She could feel the urge in him to move again, to get up and pace. Sara put a calming hand on his knee. He pulled in another long, deep breath before he asked, “What do you expect of me? What do you want me to do?” Here it is, she thought. This is the sticking point. “If you want a future with me, Ian,” she said, “You’re going to have to leave him.” There was a long pause before he responded dryly, “That’s the future that you won’t promise me. Right?” Her eyes narrowed. “It’s the future that any man I could want would choose for himself,” she stated. He was silent. She sighed and continued, “You have the Witchblade’s fountain of youth in your blood now too, Ian. I won’t let Irons take any more of my blood, but now he has you. If you stay with him, if you let him, he could lock you away and use you like some kind of endless human transfusion to keep him alive.”

“Are you telling me to let him die?” Ian asked. Sara shook her head. “No,” she corrected, “I’m asking you to walk away and let nature take its course.” He sighed. “You’re splitting hairs, Sara,” he said, “It’s the same thing. And walk away where? Where would I go? What would I do?” He had pulled back from her caress and she dropped her hand back to her lap. “You would build a life for yourself that’s your own, that could maybe become ours,” she replied. His molded lips twisted into a wry smile. “You make it sound so easy,” he murmured, “Just like that. Walk away from everything that I’ve ever known and recreate myself.” She shook her head again. “I’m not suggesting that it would be easy,” she argued, “I know how hard it will be for you to do this. All I’m saying is that it has to be done or we don’t stand a chance in hell together.” He drew in a ragged breath and ran jittery fingers through his already tangled locks. “You’re asking a lot of me,” he finally said. Sara met the smoky golden eyes directly. “I know,” she agreed, “But I think you’ll find that it’s worth it in the long run. And, more than that, it’s the right thing to do.” Ian dropped his head, shielding his face from her view with his long tousled hair. The silence lengthened until she finally said, “Hey, Nottingham.” He looked up, a frown warring with the tiny quirk at the corners of his mouth. “Hey, Sara,” he responded. She smiled at him. “I love you,” she reminded him. The frown disappeared. “I know,” he sighed, “I know. I love you too.”

Screwing up her courage, Sara asked the $64,000 question, “Enough to leave him?” Ian took a deep breath and nodded. “Yes,” he replied, “Enough to leave him.” She let out a loud whoop and flung herself into his arms. Caught off balance, he tumbled backwards on the bed, his arms full of Sara. In spite of the disquiet he was still feeling in the wake of his momentous decision, Ian had to laugh as she rained kisses on every patch of warm, bare skin that her lips could find. “Hey,” he finally complained, locking steel-hard arms around her to hold her still, “How about directing some of that attention toward my mouth?” Draped on top of him now, Sara looked down into laughing, dark amber eyes. She shifted against him and would have slid off his body if he had not tightened his arms around her. The green silk nightgown was lovely but very slippery. When she was stabilized above him like a warm, human blanket, Ian slid his hands slowly down her back until one cupped each firm butt cheek. His soft purr vibrated against her breasts. “I love the feel of this silk against me,” he rumbled. Amused, she watched his eyes darken further to a deep caramel color. “Better than skin?” she asked.

“Ah well,” he breathed in a sexy growl, “With that comparison, there’s no contest at all.” Against her bottom, she felt his fingers shift subtly, slowly gathering in silk. The nightgown began to climb up the back of her thighs. She smiled down at him and asked, “What are you doing?” Eyes bright, a wicked smile played around the corners of his lips. “Doing? Me?” he asked innocently. Bracing herself against his shoulder with one hand, she lifted the other to brush a loose curl back from his forehead. Twisting the lock of hair around her finger, she whispered, “You’re such a devil.” He had gathered the silk nightgown high enough now to slip his warm hands beneath it. One hand rested on each naked cheek of her derriere. They squeezed gently. The wicked grin got a touch more lascivious. “How can you say that?” he protested. Keeping one hand in place to hold her firmly against him, he angled his other hand further up under the heavy silk to slip it between their bodies. When he pressed a single long finger inside her hot cleft, he discovered that she was already very wet. He found her swollen nub and began to stroke it delicately; with just enough pressure to bring her close and keep her there without pushing her over. Sara shut her eyes, thinking that this man had the most magical fingers in the world. Blindly lost in sensation, she moved her hands to his shoulders and dug in her nails, then threw back her head and started to pant.

Ian kept applying that subtle stimulation until Sara thought she might explode. When she finally reached her limit, she keened, “Oh god, Ian. Please. I want you! I’ve got to have you! Right now! Are you…?” She shifted her body rather gracelessly, roughly pushing her hand between them to determine whether Ian was also ready to make love. The sharp movement dislodged his restraining hand and, courtesy of her slippery nightgown, Sara slid off of Ian to land on her back on the bed beside him. She lay there for a moment stunned, the air knocked out of her. Above her, Ian’s face came into her field of vision. He was laughing. If she had not wanted him so badly at that moment, she might have been annoyed. He gently pushed a shock of chestnut hair back out of her face and asked, “Are you okay?” Her brows knit just a little and she said, “I’m fine. Are you ready?” He was still grinning. “Are you kidding?” he asked. Taking her hand in his, he moved it down his body to where his erection pushed against the silk pajama pants. Seizing the moment, she grasped him in her hand and squeezed. His whole body tensed against her and he groaned deep in the back of his throat. “Lose the pants,” she growled. Fighting a swift jolt of lust, Ian arched his hips, shutting his eyes. “Right away,” he gasped, “As soon as you let go of me, love.” Sara released him, giggling, and said, “Oops.”

Ian grasped the waistband of his pajamas and pulled them down, easing them past his swollen shaft. Once over that obstruction, he shimmied the loose pants the rest of the way off and kicked them to the floor. Sara watched his sexy gymnastics with hungry green eyes. Now naked, Ian turned back to her with an equally ravenous light in his jungle-cat eyes. Sara lounged back on the bed, arms above her head, nightgown bunched around her knees, waiting to see what he would do. She didn’t have long to wait. He nudged her legs apart and moved between them to face her. Sitting back on his heels, Ian put one warm hand on each of her knees. Very slowly, he pushed his hands up the inside of her thighs, sliding the nightgown up as he went. When the satin was bunched at her hips, he paused to raise her right leg so that he could kiss and nibble the back of her knee. His hair brushed against her thigh, tickling it. His soft, warm lips felt wonderful against her sensitive skin. He gently dropped her leg back down and inched upward, lips now pressing hot kisses all along her inner thighs. She sighed, loving the feel of him, and dropped her hand to tangle her fingers in his thick curls. “You’re so beautiful,” she heard him murmur, voice muffled against the inside of her leg, “Your skin is softer than the gown. You smell like heaven.” Sara smiled, ruffling his wild curls. “I smell like strawberries,” she corrected him, “We both do.”

“Hmm,” Ian whispered huskily, “Do you taste like strawberries, I wonder?” Sara was about to answer him when she felt his firm tongue lick slowly from the base of her right up to her sensitized clit. Once there, he settled in and began to lick and suck her thoroughly. Waves of pleasure washed over her, so sudden and so intense that, for a moment, she thought she might actually pass out. Control lost, she pushed her hips high off the bed to press herself closer to his wonderful mouth. When he soon sent her careening over the edge of another killer orgasm, Sara yanked his hair convulsively. Startled by the sudden pain, Ian lifted his head with a soft yelp. She immediately released him, finding severed strands of his curly locks still gripped in her fingers. When she was able to catch her breath, she said, “Sorry,” contritely and pleaded, “Don’t stop now!” Ian sat back on his heels again, studying her warily and idly rubbing his head where she had pulled out his hair. Sara held out her arms to him and begged, “Please come back? I didn’t mean it. It was an accident. You just got me too worked up. You’re the most incredible lover I’ve ever had.” The big, golden eyes went huge. “Me?” Ian asked, genuinely surprised. For a moment, she almost expected him to look around to be sure that she wasn’t referring to some other lover lounging in a corner of the room. Her eyes softened as a wave of love for him swamped her. “Yeah,” she assured him softly, “You.” He felt it. She could tell by the way that those expressive eyes suddenly darkened and began to glow.

“Sara,” he whispered hoarsely, moving up the bed to stretch himself above her. Taking his weight on his arms, Ian rested that long, hard body full against her. She sighed deeply, loving the feel of him. He was all hot, caged power, like some beautiful, exotic creature. She moved her hands to his back and very slowly dragged them down the muscled length of him, from his scarred shoulder blades to his taut bottom, lightly scoring him with her nails. Ian arched a little against her in response. Where his face rested in the crook of her neck, she heard him loose a soft sound somewhere between a purr and a growl. Feeling the hot, heavy weight of his desire pressed against her belly, Sara suddenly wanted him inside her so badly that the absence of him was an unbearable ache. She turned her face to whisper in his ear, “Make love to me, Ian. Make love to me right now.” Without hesitation, he lifted his body, subtly shifting his position. A moment later, he entered her smoothly, thrusting deep inside her with one swift, powerful stroke. She wrapped herself around him, arms and legs clinging to him as they moved together in the perfect, ancient rhythm of mating. Ian bent his arms, resting with his elbows on either side of her head, so that he could lower his mouth to hers. He kissed her thoroughly, with all the simmering passion that she had woken and nurtured within him.

In a pattern that was rapidly becoming familiar, the Witchblade started to pulse like a second heartbeat on Sara’s wrist as the erotic pressure built between them and their bodies strained toward release. Soon, they both felt that eerie presence in the blood that had now become a sensual third partner in their union. They were looking deeply into each other’s eyes, their pace just short of frantic as climax beckoned, when the Blade sent Its jolt of pure sexual energy blasting through them. They both cried out as their bodies arched together in a spine-tingling, toe-curling orgasm. Sara shut her eyes to block the blinding ray of brilliant scarlet that flashed from the Witchblade as they came. For many long minutes after, they both lay still and sweaty, tangled together, utterly spent. Ian finally managed to lift himself free with a soft wet sound and roll on to his back by Sara’s side. Missing the warmth of him, Sara complained, “Aww.” She turned toward him to snuggle under his arm and press against his side. Slipping her leg between his, she slowly ran her foot up and down his calf. Eyes shut, he whispered, “That could become addictive.” Sara lifted her head. “My foot rubbing your leg?” she asked. Ian snorted. “No,” he replied, “Making love with the Witchblade.” She pouted a little, nuzzling against his cheek. “Should I be jealous?” she asked. He laughed, tilting toward her to catch her lips in a quick kiss. “Not at all,” he responded, “I’m making love to you not the Blade. It’s kind of like using a fancy sex toy to enhance the experience.” She lifted up to stare at him. “Really?” she said. He cleared his throat and added, “I assume.”

Sara smiled, settling back into her previous position. Trying not to dislodge her, Ian stretched down a long arm to grab the blanket folded at the bottom of the big bed and to drag it up over them both. With a soft sound of contentment, Sara snuggled nearer to Ian, who gathered her close. She yawned hugely. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and whispered, “Take a nap.” She yawned again before she said sleepily, “I hate to waste any of our time here by sleeping through it.” He shifted a bit to settle her more comfortably against his warm body. “There’s time,” he whispered, “Drowse a little, darling. I’ll wake you in a while and we can order everything on the room service menu. How does that sound?” In truth, she was already half asleep. Sara managed to murmur, “Mmmm. Good,” before she lost the battle and fell the rest of the way into a deep slumber. Ian had planned to use the time while Sara slept to nail down the final details of his annihilation of the clones on the following day. Lying there with her cuddled close, he tried to prod himself to get up and get working on his laptop. Instead, heaving a relaxed sigh, he stretched out his long legs and decided to shut his eyes for a minute. And, a minute later, he was asleep too.

When Ian woke, the room was dark and lit only by the flickering fire. He made a soft, contented sound, feeling warm and deliciously worn out with his love nestled close in his arms. He stretched a little, attempting to work out the kinks in his body without waking Sara. Ian tried to ease carefully out of her arms but Sara just let out a little groan and snuggled closer, pinning him to the bed. He made another try and, this time, was able to slide off the mattress horizontally without disturbing her sleep. He tiptoed into the bathroom and shut the door. Fifteen minutes later, he was ensconced at the desk in the sitting room of the suite, working at his laptop. He was dressed again in the white, silk pajamas – top and bottom. Ian had created a plan to remotely destroy the electrical system that was supporting the stasis chambers keeping the clones alive. Now, he had to finalize that part of his plan that kept the backup electrical system from kicking in as it was supposed to do. Finally, he needed to verify that the machinations he had devised to keep Dr. Immo away from the mansion until the next afternoon were still going to work. Half an hour later, when Sara stumbled out of the bedroom rubbing her eyes, he was just finishing up. She squinted at him as he shut down the laptop and said, “Ian?” He closed the screen with a decisive click before he responded, “Hey, sleepyhead. Hungry?”

As if on cue, Sara’s stomach growled loud enough to be heard across the room. Ian laughed. “I guess so,” he said. She dropped a hand to her tummy, mortified, and said, “Sorry.” He got up, returned his laptop to the backpack stowed under the desk, and joined her. Lifting both hands, he gently pushed her tangled hair back from her face. Hands still in her hair, he bent down to press his lips across hers in a slanting, teasing kiss. Sara draped her arms around his slender waist and dropped her head to rest on his chest. She was still half asleep. The strong, steady thump of his heart echoed soothingly under her ear. His warm hand moved in slow circles on her back. “Still tired?” he asked, “It’s okay if you want to go back to sleep, you know. I’m capable of amusing myself.” She lifted her head to look up into bright, golden eyes. “I’ll just bet you are,” she agreed, “But I don’t want to waste this time we have together sleeping. Also, I’m hungry. And, I still have some questions that I want to ask you without Big Brother listening in.” Ian frowned. “Yeah,” he sighed, “I thought you might. Let’s order some dinner from room service first. I don’t answer questions well on an empty stomach.” She stepped out of his arms and looked around. She spotted the large menu on an ornate, antique table across the sitting room. Licking her lips, she got the menu and took it with her to a chair by the fireplace in the bedroom. A moment later, she looked up at her lover, now standing by her chair, and said, “Wow. I can’t believe this menu. I bet it costs a fortune. They don’t have any prices on here.” Ian grinned. “If you need to ask then you shouldn’t be here,” he replied.

Sara shook her head. “I’m way, way out of my league, sport,” she said, “Why don’t you order dinner for us both.” Ian nodded and asked, “What are you in the mood for?” She eyed him for a minute before she replied, “Beef, I think. A salad and veggies would be nice. And I want something absolutely decadent for dessert.” He took the menu out of her hand. “Okay,” he said, “I can work with that. I’ll go put in the order. Would you like some champagne while we wait?” Sara stretched luxuriously in the chair and said, “I could really get used to living like this. Yeah, I would love a glass of bubbly.” Ian disappeared out of her sight. When there was a loud POP, she jumped. Not turning her head, she asked, “Did it gush out of the bottle and go everywhere?” From behind her, she heard his smooth, offended growl, “Please.” She shook her head. He probably had not spilled a drop. Then, he was back in front of her, elegance personified in the simple white, silk pajamas, holding out a sparkling flute of champagne. “My lady,” he said, offering it to her. “Thank you, my lord,” she replied, taking it from him. He stood there looking a bit startled. Sara took a long sip, sighed her appreciation, and looked up at Ian, who still staring down at her, wide-eyed. “Dinner?” she asked. He blinked. “Right,” he agreed and disappeared into the other room carrying the menu.

They had a lovely leisurely dinner of Caesar salad, followed by Beef Wellington, roasted baby potatoes, and asparagus in Hollandaise sauce. Ian had ordered Sara a whole pot of coffee to go with the crème Brule that he had selected for dessert. He had stayed with champagne and was now actually a little tipsy. Sara watched Ian, amused, thinking that he was absolutely adorable when he was a bit drunk. She grinned as he drained the flute he was holding and then licked the rim of the glass. He frowned into it as if wondering where the champagne had gone. “Hey, Nottingham,” she called softly, smiling. He swung his head around sharply to look at her and almost fell off his chair. He snorted, finding himself funny. “Hey, Sara,” he said, squinting at her. She wondered if he might be seeing two of her. “Are you in any shape to answer some questions now?” she asked doubtfully. He gave her a mock salute and said, “Do my best, sir.” She shook her head and sipped more coffee. Glancing down at her cup, she said, “Would you like some coffee, sport? It might help you to focus.” He waved his hand airily and said, “Giving coffee to someone who is a little tanked just gives you a drunk who’s wide awake.” She laughed. “Are you tanked, Ian?” she asked, enjoying this new view of him. He frowned as if considering her question. “My teeth feel soft,” he conceded. She laughed again. “Want me to rub them for you?” she asked. The frown deepened before it dissolved into a sunny smile. “I might bite,” he warned, wagging a long finger at her. Smiling, she got up and walked around the table. She settled herself on Ian’s lap, draping her arms loosely around his neck. She leaned down and nuzzled his neck, her cheek rubbing against his beard. “I’ll chance it,” she whispered into his skin, “You smell like strawberries.”

Ian shut his eyes and turned his face into her fragrant hair. “Not very manly,” he whispered back. Sara lifted her head, chuckling, forcing his head up too. “That’s not a problem you have, baby,” she assured him, looking into eyes the color of dark, warm honey, “You are all man.” As she watched, color rose in his cheeks. Amused, she realized that he was blushing. She reached out to push a stray curl back behind his ear. “Sorry,” she drawled, “Was that a touch too graphically sexual for you?” He shook his head, eyes lowered, hidden behind the lush lashes. “It’s just that sometimes this sense of sheer unreality hits me,” he murmured, “A couple of months ago, you could barely stand to be in the same room with me. And I thought that the only way I would ever know you – in the biblical sense, that is – would be in my dreams.” Sara pulled back a little. That was a sobering thought. So much had changed in such a short time. She started to get up, move off his lap, and Ian tightened his arms around her to keep her close. “Don’t. Please don’t,” he said, voice tight, “I’m sorry. When I drink, my brain gets fuzzy and my mouth gets stupid. Please stay.”

“I’m not angry, Ian,” she assured him, settling back down for a moment, “But I really would like to talk. I have a couple of questions that I need to ask before we go back.” He nodded and released her, saying, “I’ll drink some coffee.” She rubbed his bearded cheek with the back of her hand before she pushed herself up off his lap. “So that you can be tipsy alert?” she asked, smiling. He cleared his throat and stood, walking to the window to look out. “I’m sobering up quickly,” he said, his back to her. She watched him, wondering what was going through his mind. When he turned back to face her, his expression was bland, unreadable. “Why don’t we go sit by the fire in the bedroom?” he suggested, “Want me to bring the rest of the coffee?” She nodded and asked, worried, “Are you okay?” He stopped and looked at her quietly before he replied, “Our time here is almost up. I wish we didn’t have to go back. I wish the danger were past and we could just be together. This was such a good day and it’s almost over. Who knows when we’ll be able to spend time together like this again?” There was such a wistful note in his voice that it went straight to her heart. Sara immediately crossed the room to slip her arms tight around him. She felt his arms close around her too and felt his face nestle into her hair. She hugged him hard and he made a soft sound as the air was forced out of his lungs.

After a couple of seconds, Ian pulled back to kiss her forehead. “Thanks,” he whispered into her hair, “I needed that.” Sara rubbed his back a couple of times and then turned away saying, “I’ll get the cups.” He nodded, turning to pick up the half-full carafe of coffee before heading into the bedroom. She followed him carrying the two delicate china cups and saucers. When they were settled into the chairs before the fire, holding fresh coffee, Sara asked, “Do you actually own our building or does it belong to Irons?” Ian shook his head, took a sip of coffee, and said, “No. I own it. He signed it over to me. It’s mine legally. He couldn’t afford to have it on record as his if you or your partner checked into it. Why?” She held up a hand to forestall his question and asked, “Are you still on track to...,” she paused, searching for the word, “Neutralize the clones tomorrow?” He nodded and said, “It’s important that you be visible tomorrow morning. I’ll be at the mansion so he’ll probably put that Neanderthal Stephens on you. Don’t accidentally lose him. I want Irons to know where you are when the clones are taken out.” She frowned. “You’re going to be at the mansion when it goes down?” she asked, “Isn’t that dangerous? I thought you wanted to obviously be somewhere else when it happened.” He nodded again. “I did,” he replied, “It can’t be helped. It just didn’t work out that way.”

Sara was worried. This wasn’t the way that they had originally discussed it happening. They were both supposed to be in the clear when the clones were killed. Now, Ian was going to be right there in the mansion when it happened. “He’s going to suspect you, Ian,” she said. He shrugged negligently. “Probably,” he agreed, “But he won’t be able to prove anything. There won’t be any way to link either of us to it.” She studied him. “And what if he decides that you’re just too dangerous to keep around?” she asked, “What then?” Ian shook his head. “With the clones gone, he can’t replace me and I’m his only link to you,” he explained, “He can’t afford to get rid of me no matter what he suspects. He needs me.” Sara put down her cup and reached across the small table between them to take his hand. “Okay,” she said, accepting that he had things under control, “Here it is then. After you leave the mansion tomorrow, I don’t want you to ever go back again. You move into the loft for real and we both stay there together to start building a new life for ourselves.” He raised an arched brow. “And Big Brother?” he asked. She nodded. “That’s my last question,” she said, “Can you take out all the cameras and microphones, or find some way to block the feed so that we’re free of him?” He squeezed her hand. “I think so,” he responded, “I can think of a couple of things to try. I may have to reroute the building’s electrical connections if all else fails. In any case, I’m almost positive that I can do it and do it quickly.”

Sara breathed a big sigh of relief. That one had really been worrying her. She truly hated the thought of Irons watching her and listening to every word that she said. She smiled, cautiously optimistic that they both might just get out of this mess unscathed and be able to start a life together. “Good,” she said. He was watching her with that tiny line between his brows. She frowned too. “What?” she asked. His shoulder lifted a fraction. “You must know that he can’t just let us go like that,” Ian said, “This won’t be the end of it. It can’t be. This is life or death for him.” Sara sighed. “Okay,” she said, “I know the clones worried you because their abilities matched yours. Also, there was a large ‘creep out’ factor there for you, I think.” His lips twitched. “Well put,” he murmured. She managed a little smile. “Is there anyone else that worries you?” she asked, “Is there anyone else that he can send against us that you think you can’t handle?” He looked back at her a moment before he shook his head and said, “No.” She got up and went over to sit on his lap, slipping her arms around his neck. He embraced her, leaning his head against hers. “Then we’ll face whatever he sends at us together until he can’t send any more,” she whispered in his ear, “Okay?” Ian turned his face to brush his mouth against hers, teasing her lips apart with his tongue. When he pulled back, he looked into her eyes and whispered, “Okay.”