"Blood Seduction"

Tuesday night after work, Vicki Po was fighting with a clogged kitchen sink. Unable to find her plunger, which was still packed away somewhere in a box, and without any commercial product on hand to do the job, she was at a loss. She hated to bother her new landlord so soon but, at the moment, her sink held about three inches of dirty water. She wanted to cook herself dinner. She needed to use that sink. Heaving a sigh, Vicki pocketed her keys and prepared to head upstairs. She didn’t have far to go. She had just pulled shut her door and turned around when she ran directly into a tall man headed in the same direction. “Ian!” she said, startled. He looked back at her for a moment, equally startled it seemed, before he answered, “Yes?” She settled her most charming smile on her face. “You’re just the person that I needed to see,” she started. He grinned and asked, “Am I?” That grin had a seductive quality that drew a reactive flutter from the depths of her belly. She blinked, now noticing his clothes. He had on tight, black leather pants over boots of the same material. His shirt appeared to be red silk. Over that, he wore a long, narrow black leather coat. His hair was pulled back into a sleek queue, emphasizing the sculpted planes of his face. He looked a little dangerous and very, very hot.

Vicki was flustered. She reminded herself that this was her best friend’s lover. “Uhh,” she stammered, “My kitchen sink is stopped up.” His handsome face shifted into a playfully shocked expression. “No!” he exclaimed, “Well, we’ll have to take care of that right away, won’t we?” She watched him, fascinated. He seemed so different from the Ian that she had been with just a couple of days before. He indicated her door with a long, graceful hand. “Lead the way,” he said with a charming smile. She was suddenly nervous. “Maybe I could just let you in,” she said, “Then, I could go upstairs and visit with Sara while you work.” As if he knew he was pushing her buttons, the charming smile morphed back into the wicked grin. “Sara isn’t home yet,” he declared, “If I promise not to bite, will you let me in?” Vicki shook off her misgivings, chastising herself for being ridiculous. “Sure,” she said, turning back to open the door, “Sorry.” She opened the door and he followed her into the loft, just short of coming too close for comfort. He closed the door behind him. Vicki turned, after dropping her keys on a table she had set by the door. Her eyes raked over him again. “You’re not really dressed for this kind of work,” she observed. He shrugged elegantly. “I’m sure that I’ll emerge unscathed,” he responded, moving toward the first doorway he found. Vicki watched him, frowning. “It’s the kitchen sink, not the bathroom,” she reminded him. He flashed her that devilish grin again and veered toward the further doorway. Fighting that low quiver in her belly again, Vicki followed him.

At that moment, Ian was waiting in front of the precinct for Sara. He had brought the jeep, knowing that she found the black jag embarrassing. Lately, it was difficult to predict what would set her off. He was trying hard not to do that. Getting ready for her arrival, he meditated to calm himself down. They had not parted on a pleasant note that morning. Sara saw no need to accompany him to Danny’s dojo after work. Ian was adamant about not leaving her home alone. They had been at an impasse, neither budging an inch from their position, when Sara suddenly caved and gave in. He still did not understand what had prompted her capitulation. Ian sighed, glancing at his watch. She was late. He was pondering whether to go in and get her when Sara and Danny came out the front door together. Their heads were close and they were deep in conversation. Then, she suddenly looked up and smiled, seeing the jeep waiting at the curb. With a parting word for Danny, she headed toward him. When he started to get out of the car, she held up her hand to stop him. Sighing, Ian settled back into the driver’s seat to wait for her.

Sara tumbled into the jeep, immediately turning to say, “Danny is getting his car. He wants you to follow him to the dojo.” Ian nodded and said, “Hi. How was your day?” She seemed to realize that she was getting off on the wrong foot again. Her eyes softened and she stretched out a hand to grasp the back of his neck, pulling his mouth to hers. He didn’t resist. As soon as their lips touched, sparks ignited and, in seconds, they were straining together across the gear shaft, necking. Loud cat calls and hooting brought them up for air. A group of cops were gathered in front of the precinct building, leaning over to take in the show and acting as a cheering section. Sara’s cheeks flamed scarlet. She put a hand up to shield her face and said, “Oh, lord. I’ll never hear the end of this. We need to get out of here now.” Ian was still recovering from the mind-numbing on-again, off-again passion between them. “Aren’t we waiting for Danny?” he asked, confused, “I thought I was supposed to follow him.” Still keeping her face averted, Sara hissed, “Then wait for him in the next block. Get me out of here.” He sighed and turned the ignition. With admirable timing, Danny pulled up beside them and waved. “Thank god,” Sara breathed. On the sidewalk, their audience was still going wild and one loud, male voice suddenly overrode the others yelling, “Hey, Pezzini. Pucker up.”

As Ian pulled away from the curb to follow Danny, Sara put her head in her hands and moaned, “What the hell was I thinking?” Ian blinked, keeping his eyes on Danny’s dark green VW bug. “I thought you were saying hello. Telling me that you love me as much as I love you,” he murmured. She dropped her hands and turned her head to stare out the passenger window. “Don’t start, Ian,” she warned. His knuckles turned white on the steering wheel and his molded lips thinned, but he didn’t say another word. The rest of the drive was conducted in a strained silence. Fifteen minutes later, they followed Danny to park in a crowded lot next to a small, free-standing building on a busy corner. They got out of the jeep, Ian pulling a small bag from the back seat. Danny was waiting for them. He held out his hand and said, “Hey, Ian. How you doing? You nervous?” Ian took and shook the smaller man’s hand. “Should I be?” he asked. Danny grinned. He liked this guy. He never gave you an inch. “Not at all,” Danny replied, leading the way into the dojo, “I’ve told everyone that you’re a martial arts master and that they’re in for a demonstration of unparalleled expertise.” Danny heard the soft gasp behind him and wasn’t sure whether it had come from Ian or Sara. Before he turned back to Ian with that shit-eating grin, Danny added, “Wow. I’ve never seen this many people here before. You’ve really drawn quite a crowd.”

Ian’s eyes flicked over to Sara and she held up her hands in defense. “Hey,” she said to Ian, “He didn’t tell me any of this. I’m getting it for the first time too.” Ian cleared his throat. “I had hoped to simply sit in on your class, join your group as just another student,” Ian explained, “I had hoped to get a feel for the dynamics of the environment before making a commitment to teach.” Danny shrugged. “Yeah. Well, that sounds like a wise plan,” he said, clapping Ian on the shoulder, “Except that you’ve been outed, my friend. I’d guess that the best of the best are lining up to have a go at you right now.” Ian’s eyes narrowed. “Does that include you, detective?” he asked. Danny nodded, still grinning. “Oh yeah,” he replied, “That includes me.” Ian nodded. “I see,” he said, “So, this is an audition.” Danny tilted his head. “I suppose you might look at it that way,” he responded, “But we’re all friends here; there’s no pressure. Let’s get Sara settled and I’ll show you where you can change.” Sara caught Ian’s hand in hers and squeezed. “Are you okay with this?” she asked, “We don’t have to stay.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “I’m fine,” he assured her, looking into her eyes, “But I do appreciate your concern.” She smiled and gave his hand another reassuring squeeze. After finding Sara a front row seat in the visitor’s gallery, Danny led Ian off toward the changing room.

Meanwhile, back at the loft, Vicki was watching as water ran freely down her kitchen drain. “I’m so embarrassed,” she mumbled, “I never even thought to run the garbage disposal.” Devian casually wiped his hands on a kitchen towel. “No worries,” he purred, “I just naturally gravitate toward anything with a blade. That’s what prompted me to try it. Glad I could help.” Vicki licked her lips nervously. He had removed the long coat to work on her sink. The red silk shirt and black leather pants clung to his hard, muscled body like a second skin, leaving very little to the imagination. The reaction that he was pulling from her shook Vicki to her core. She ran a hand through her hair, making it stand up in endearing spikes. “Stop it right now, Vick,” she berated herself, “Stop lusting after Sara’s man. What’s the matter with you?” Dev headed back into the living room to get his coat. He glanced around curiously, wondering how similar the layout of Vicki’s loft was to the place Ian and Sara now shared. Their loft was substantially bigger, of course, because Ian had the whole top floor. Dev turned his attention back to Vicki Po. She was the first female that he had had the chance to interact with in person – not counting Irons’ servants. She did not disappoint. He knew that the petite coroner was Sara’s best friend. He actually knew a great deal more than that about Vicki, having compiled a rather extensive dossier on her when she decided to move into the loft that Sara had recently vacated.

Knowing that Ian and Sara would be gone for hours yet, Dev was in no hurry to leave. Halfway across the big, open room, he stopped and turned back toward Vicki. She stopped as if she had run into a wall. “Do you think I might get something to drink?” he asked, coughing a touch theatrically, “My throat’s a little dry.” Her mind went blank with panic from which she quickly recovered. “Sure,” she replied, “What would you like?” He tilted his head and a curl with golden streaks loosened and fell across his forehead. Vicki actually felt her heart skip a beat. Jake didn’t have this effect on her at all. She saw his golden eyes widen slightly. Dev was picking up some of the vibes that Vicki was giving off. He could sense her attraction. “All right,” he thought, mentally rubbing together his hands. Aloud, he asked, “Got any wine?” She had been getting ready to open a bottle of merlot when she found out the sink was clogged. It was still resting on the kitchen counter. She would bet money that he had seen it. What was Ian playing at, she wondered. “There’s some merlot in the kitchen,” she said carefully. He flashed that killer grin again and said, “I’d love some. Shall I open it for you?” Vicki frowned, stepping back as he swept past her on his way back to the kitchen. “Glasses?” he called, looking back over his shoulder. Dev’s grin broadened when he found her eyes glued to the way his naked butt cheeks flexed under the tight black leather. He couldn’t help the sexy chuckle that escaped him when her wary eyes finally moved slowly up his body to meet his gaze.

Dressed in traditional, loose-fitting white pants and shirt, both Ian and Danny were now seated cross-legged on mats in the center of the dojo’s large, main room. As Sara watched, they spoke quietly, waiting for the training session to begin. She wondered what they were saying, whether they were discussing her. She snorted, realizing how self-centered that thought had been. Most likely, they were talking about martial arts stuff. If Ian was nervous, he wasn’t showing it. His long, lanky body seemed boneless as he waited for the action to begin. Sara’s eyes were drawn to an older, Asian gentleman who seemed to almost glide into the room. His presence was so charismatic that he immediately commanded everyone’s attention and all conversation around the room went silent. Without appearing to raise a finger, he brought all the participants together in a loose circle at the center of the room. You could now have heard a pin drop. Sara glanced at the young woman sitting next to her. She was leaning forward avidly, her hands resting loosely on her knees. Sara whispered, “Excuse me.” The girl turned her head and lifted her brow. “Who is he?” Sara asked. There was no question as to who she meant. “That is Master Kuan,” the girl said, her tone indicating the utmost respect. Her head turned back toward the action as if she were loathe to miss even a moment, discouraging Sara from any further conversation.

Sara’s lips quirked. She actually knew no more now than she did before. That was alright. Danny could fill her in later. Master Kuan inclined his head toward the left side of the circle and said, “Chuang.” A tall, well-muscled man rose fluidly and moved gracefully to the center of the circle. There was a pregnant pause during which everyone’s eyes shifted subtly to Ian who sat quietly beside Danny on the right side of the circle. His head was down. His beautiful hands with their long, artist’s fingers rested loose and relaxed on his crossed knees. Into the weighty silence that now reigned, the old master softly said, “Nottingham.” Sara actually felt her heart stop for a second, before it speeded up to pound in her chest. Ian flowed to his feet and took his position across from his opponent as if he were made of mercury. Sara said a quick prayer to keep her lover safe; then added the suggestion that Ian be allowed to kick Chuang’s ass. Her prayer was answered in record time. Somewhere, someone struck a gong to signal the start of the match. Faster than she was able to follow, Chuang was on his back on the mat with Ian crouching above him. Ian stepped back to allow Chuang to regain his feet, which he did with great speed and alacrity. The man had a decidedly determined look on his face. He obviously thought that whatever Ian had done, however Ian had managed to get past his defenses, it had been a fluke. This man would not let it happen again.

And, just that fast, even as she was analyzing the determination on Chuang’s face, the man was flying through the air after connecting with a kick from Ian that had been too fast for the human eye to follow. She had known that Ian was good, of course, but watching him here and now in this controlled setting, she found that her mouth had dropped open in awe. Beside her, the young devotee whispered, “He’s incredible. He’s so fast that you cannot tell when or where he’ll move next. Who is he?” This time, Sara provided the information. “His name is Ian Nottingham,” she said, “And he’s with me.” She tried to keep the possessiveness out of her voice. It was a character trait that she didn’t much care for. For the first time, the girl beside her turned to take a good look at Sara. “Will he be taking pupils?” she asked. Sara smiled. “That’s what we’re here to find out,” she admitted. The girl turned back to watch Ian help the other man up. “I hope so,” she murmured, “Other than the Master, Chuang is the best that we have. Your man just bested him without even losing his breath.” Sara’s smile deepened. “Ian is one of a kind,” she replied. Then, her smile faded as she remembered the clone.

Devian handed Vicki a brimming glass of merlot and held up his own wine. “A toast,” he smoothly suggested. He was too close again and she stepped back, trying to catch her breath. “Sure,” she said cautiously, wondering what Sara would make of this whole situation. He clinked his glass against hers, a wicked gleam in his eye. “To living together,” he purred. She spilled some wine, moving back quickly so that it wouldn’t stain her white blouse. “What?” she squeaked. Dev swiveled to retrieve the towel from the counter, silk shirt gaping open to reveal his smoothly, muscled chest. He moved the towel toward her breasts and Vicki quickly blocked his hand with hers, taking the towel from him. His grin widened. “I meant in the same building,” he added. Vicki blushed, wondering if she were imagining the undercurrents that she felt shifting dangerously all about them. “Right,” she stammered, “Of course. I knew that was what you meant. What else could you mean?” Vicki pressed a trembling hand to wipe perspiration from her forehead. When did it get so hot? Maybe she should ask him about the heating. No, she decided, she should just get him out of here before something terrible happened. In desperation, she said the first thing that came into her head. “I’m sorry, Ian,” she said, “I have to go now. Someone is coming over. He’ll be here any minute.”

Devian laughed outright. He didn’t believe her for a minute. He could feel the delicious sexual tension thrumming through her. Dev knew that he was unnerving her and he loved it. “Detective McCartey?” he asked, indulging her in her lie. Vicki sucked in a deep breath and grabbed on to his suggestion. “Yes,” she agreed, “It’s Jake. Jake is coming over. He’ll be here any second.” He noticed that the time frame had gotten a bit more desperate. He shrugged. It was time to be getting upstairs anyway, he thought; time to start preparing to surprise Ian and Sara on their return. “I’ll be going then,” he said. Her relief was palpable. Dev walked to the door with Vicki trailing along at a safe distance. At the door, he swung around to face her. “You haven’t thanked me, Vicki,” he pouted, voice a deep, seductive murmur. She swayed a little where she stood. She felt held in the smoky, golden eyes – mesmerized like prey trapped by a predator. “Thank you,” she whispered. He shook his head, eyes dark amber now and sparkling. “Not good enough,” he objected. Between one second and the next, he had her in his arms and she was pressed tight against that hard, hot body. She was lost in the overpowering, musky scent of him, head swimming. With images from the tapes clear in his head, Dev shared his first kiss with Vicki Po. It was a tribute to his imagination and skill, that she had no idea he was a novice. As he had learned from watching Ian, Dev forced her lips apart and engaged her tongue with his. Vicki meant to fight, to push him away, but the kiss caught her up and she got lost in it.

When she found the strength to push him away, they were both panting. Vicki stepped back from him wide-eyed and cried, “What are you doing?” He grinned down at her, running two fingers slowly over his own lips like a caress. “Enjoying myself,” he responded. Now, holding a single long finger up to his flushed lips, he added, “Don’t tell Sara.” He opened the door and looked back at Vicki, whose face was slack with shock. “Night, love,” he said in parting, blowing her a little kiss, and shut the door behind him. The breath that she had been holding left Vicki in a noisy rush. With shaky legs, she made her way to an easy chair and fell into it. She sat still, staring into space and trying to get her head around what had just happened. Ian had kissed her. Sara’s Ian. Worse than that. She had kissed him back. Worse than that. She had liked it. She had liked it a lot. She shifted in the chair, then realized that she was soaking wet with arousal. “Oh, god,” she said aloud to the empty loft, “What am I going to do?” She pushed her hands into her hair. She wasn’t even aware that she had started to cry. “What am I going to do?” she whispered again, “Should I tell Sara what happened?” She put her head back in her hands and knew that she would never sleep that night.

Although other confrontations followed that of Ian and Chuang, they were anticlimactic. Even when the session ended and they bowed to each other in respectful farewell, the air was still electrified with Ian’s performance. As people slowly dispersed the Master signaled Ian over. They spoke for several minutes while Danny waited just out of earshot. Finally, she saw Ian nod and bow, taking his leave of the old man. She was dying to know whether Ian was now a teacher but, she imagined, she was going to have to wait a while longer. She was wrong. Intuiting her curiosity, Ian shaded his eyes and scanned the dark visitor’s gallery until he found her. Their eyes met, held, and he nodded. Then, he and Danny went to get changed, heads together, deep in conversation. Sara had forgotten about the girl sitting next to her. Now, she felt a hand on her arm and turned to her right. “Will he be teaching?” she asked. Sara nodded and said, “Yes. I guess he will.” The girl released her arm and turned to leave, saying, “I want to sign up for his first class right away. It will fill up fast.” And, that quickly, she was gone. Sara made her way to the main floor and was waiting when Ian and Danny came out of a door to the left, carrying their bags. Ian was only a few feet away from her when a young boy, perhaps seven years old, came to stand in front of him. Ian stopped, so as not to run over the child. The boy stood still and silent, looking up as if he were at the foot of Olympus and Ian were a god.

Ian dropped to his haunches to be on the same level as the child and said, “Hello. Who are you?” The boy stared at him from enormous, unblinking eyes. Finally, he said, “I’m Michael. I want to learn how to do what you did. You were awesome.” Ian’s face relaxed into his sweet, infectious grin and the little boy grinned too. “Thank you,” Ian said, “I’ll look forward to working with you.” He held out his hand and the child took it, his small hand swallowed in Ian’s much larger paw. They solemnly shook hands. Then, Ian stood again, and the little boy ducked his head and scampered away. Sara crossed the space between them and linked her fingers through Ian’s. “That was very sweet,” she said. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the inside of her wrist. “Let’s go home,” he said. As they walked out holding hands, someone ran up beside Ian to talk to him and she turned to Danny, who was at her other side. “What did you think?” she asked. Danny shook his head. “He’s amazing,” he said, “Scary good.” She nodded. That was pretty much what she had thought. “How many classes is he teaching?” she asked. Danny shrugged. “He’ll tell you,” he said, “Around here, they wouldn’t mind if he taught every day of the week and all weekend.” That was also pretty much what she had thought. Outside, they said goodnight to Danny and headed to the jeep.

On the way home, Sara asked him, “How many classes are you planning to teach, ace?” Eyes on the road, he shrugged. “I haven’t really got it all sorted out yet,” he said, “A couple of adult classes during the week, I think. Some classes for kids on the weekend maybe. What do you think? I don’t want to take too much time away from us.” She smiled. “Don’t worry about me,” she replied, “I was able to amuse myself before we lived together. I think I can manage. Do what you want; whatever works best for you.” He glanced at her sharply, then turned back to the road. Ian tightened his hand on the steering wheel, preparing to dive in. “I don’t want to leave you home alone until the clone is neutralized,” he said. That statement was met with a heavy silence. “Sara?” he asked softly. Her sigh was audible. “I’m not going to put my life on hold, Ian,” she told him flatly, “Clone or no clone.” He had expected her resistance. It was the same argument that they had been having, in one form or another, since he had told her that one of the clones had survived. When that had happened, all of his instincts as her Protector had kicked into high gear. On the other hand, when someone tried to push Sara in a direction that she didn’t want to take, Sara pushed with all her strength the opposite way as a matter of principle. It was just who she was. He knew he would never change it. Ian knew that, if he was very lucky, he might win a skirmish or two, but he would never win the war. So, if Sara refused to adjust her life for him, he had no choice but to adjust his life for her.

As they pulled into the garage of their building, Ian came to a decision. Until the clone was defeated, He would not leave Sara at home alone. If she would not come with him to the dojo, he would not begin this new teaching career. He would follow his calling instead, as the Wielder’s Protector. Typically, she immediately got out of the jeep, ignoring his wishes, to stand waiting for him by the elevator in the dark garage. He sighed and followed her. It was going to be a battle every step of the way until he managed to rid their lives of this damn, divisive clone. Ian stepped in front of her to open the elevator door. It was, of course, empty. Inside the elevator, Sara leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, lips tight. “I can feel your disapproval, sport,” she said, “Can it. I’m too tired to do the evil clone dance tonight.” He held up his hands in surrender, keeping his mouth shut. He was tired too – and he didn’t want to fight with her again. As they reached the top floor and he, once again, moved in front of her before he slid up the door, she pushed past him, saying, “Damn it, I can protect myself.” She stopped in front of their door, fumbling around for her key, as usual.

Ian grasped her upper arms and turned her to face him. “You watched me at the dojo tonight, Sara,” he hissed, “What did you think?” Green eyes met golden rebelliously. Her mouth was set tight in a thin, stubborn line. There was a pause before her eyes dropped. He felt her shoulders move under his hands in a shrug. “Same as Danny,” she conceded, “He said you were ‘scary good.’” Ian nodded. “I am,” he agreed without false modesty. Then, he added, “The clone is probably better.” Sara’s eyes rose again to meet his with a long, measuring look. He moved past her, key at the ready, to open the door. When it swung open, she watched his shoulders stiffen. “What…?” she started, but he immediately shifted his head to fix her with a tense, warning gaze. Her lips clamped shut. He pulled her into the loft, shielding her with his body and tipped his head close to hers. “Hannibal is not here to greet us,” he whispered. Her eyes widened. Ian was right. Something was very wrong. “Do you have your gun?” he breathed in her ear. She nodded and pulled it out, holding the big service revolver with the muzzle toward the ceiling. He nodded once and whispered tensely, “Please. Stay behind me.” She gave him one quick, staccato node of acceptance and shifted to cover his back, automatically falling into the defensive routine that she and Danny adopted when they were threatened.

If Ian had been impressive at the dojo, now, in the presence of real danger, he was absolutely chilling. Sara was suddenly sharply reminded that she was in the presence of a stone cold killer. The fact that he happened to share her bed almost put her off her game. Then, she realized that this Ian might be all that stood between her and capture. She did not fear death as much as she feared being “disappeared” by Irons to be slowly bled dry because of the miraculous regenerative powers in her blood. It was finally beginning to sink in that even the Witchblade might not be a match for the clone. She followed Ian, her back pressed to his, as he slipped through the shadows along the side of the loft. He searched each area thoroughly with his eyes before he moved on. He didn’t make even the whisper of a sound. Footage she had seen on the Discovery channel of a black leopard stalking a hapless Wildebeest cycled irrelevantly through her head. They were almost to the wall of bookcases that delineated the library and they had found nothing, no one. “Maybe it’s a mistake,” she whispered hopefully, turning so her lips were close to his ear. His dark head gave one decisive shake. Ian turned to look at her, his eyes glittering like jewels in the darkness. “No,” he whispered, voice flat, “He’s here. I can feel him.” She didn’t want to touch the fact that Ian apparently had a link to the clone that was in some way similar to the connection he shared with her. Sara licked her lips only to find that her mouth was dry. “Shit,” she thought, “I’m scared. I’m really, really scared.”

In a broad sweep, the rest of the loft stretched before them. There were a limited number of places that the clone could be hiding: the library, the master bath, or the roof. Ian turned his profile toward her and whispered, “There’s a fire. I can hear it.” Sara pulled in a deep breath. He was in the library then. Why did he build a fire, she wondered. Was he burning something? Ian inclined his head to ask whether she was ready. Sara took the safety off her gun and nodded. He slipped around the edge of the bookcase and stopped dead. She bumped into his broad back and gasped, quickly ensuring that her gun was pointed toward the ceiling. Ian didn’t move, didn’t make a sound. Frustrated, Sara leaned past his broad shoulder to see what had made him freeze. Her mouth dropped open in shock. A man that looked just like Ian – and not – sat by the fire in Ian’s favorite chair. Hannibal was at his feet, leaning comfortably against his legs, in doggie heaven as his ears were thoroughly scratched. Clarice was draped across the man’s leather-clad lap. His other hand rhythmically ruffled her scruff. He was the very picture of domestic tranquility. Ian started to move and the man said softly, “Stop!” He sounded just like Ian too. She found it incredibly disorienting. What must it be like for Ian? Sara wondered.

“I don’t want to have to hurt you,” the clone said, adding, “My name is Devian, by the way. You can call me ‘Dev’.” Sara started to step around Ian, but he held out a restraining arm to keep her back. From her vantage point behind Ian, Sara smirked. She surveyed Dev from head to toe, admiring the tight leather and red silk. “Nice getup,” she said. Devian returned the favor, raking her over insolently from head to toe with his golden eyes. He grinned back at her and said, “Your pictures don’t do you justice, Wielder. The session in the kitchen on the counter is my favorite.” Ian growled low in his throat and tensed to move. Sara stopped him, digging her nails in his arm and saying, “Wait!” With some difficulty, Ian got himself back under control. “What do you want?” he asked Dev, voice tight. With his wicked grin still in place, Dev replied, “Much more than you have to give me. Can we talk? Why don’t you make yourself comfortable?” Ian narrowed his eyes, not about to let his guard down. Devian rested his golden gaze on Ian. “Brother,” he said reasonably, “If I wanted the Wielder dead, her lovely skin would already be cooling. You are both far more useful to me alive and kicking. What’s the harm in hearing what I have to say? Can’t we declare a truce while we talk?” After a brief silence, Sara squeezed Ian’s arm. “Let’s hear what he has to say,” she suggested, adding, “I’m going to sit down now. Okay?” Ian gave a quick nod, never taking his eyes from Dev. Sara sat in the other chair. After another weighted moment of glaring at his double, Ian balanced himself on the arm of that chair. Waving his long-fingered hand, he silently suggested that Devian had the floor.

Dev nodded and gently pushed Clarice off his lap. She hissed with displeasure at being displaced and slunk across the room to curl up by the fire. Eyes down, brushing fur off of slick leather, the clone said, “There are ways that we can all profit from this situation that we are in. Though the old man thinks otherwise, my loyalties are only to myself. I have no desire to either take your blood, Wielder, or to harm you in attempting to do that, Brother.” There was another pause and Devian raised his eyes to look at them directly. “My desires are completely different and entirely my own,” he added. Ian couldn’t take his eyes off the man that looked just like him. The sensation was odd, bizarre; like looking in a skewed mirror. He gave his head a little shake as if to clear it, suddenly caught up in the warped Snow White imagery again. “Mirror, mirror, on the chair,” he thought, stifling a vaguely hysterical giggle that tried to escape from his throat. His attention was drawn sharply back to the conversation when Sara asked Devian what he had asked him before, “What do you want?” The clone gave his easy, engaging grin. “My desires are a lot more mundane, more practical than those of the old man,” he said, “I want Vorschlag Industries and Kenneth Irons’ other holdings. You two want the freedom to live out your lives unhindered by his machinations to leech your blood or snatch the Witchblade. If we work together, we can all get what we want.” Sara felt Ian shift beside her. He finally spoke again. “And Irons?” he asked.

Devian shrugged. “He has lived a long, full life,” he replied callously, “His time has passed. All men must eventually die to make way for the next generation.” He studied them from glittering, amber eyes. “That’s us,” he added waving a long-fingered hand to take them all in. Sara’s eyes narrowed. “Why should we trust you?” she asked. Dev turned the charming smile back on. “I’m a rather simple, self-indulgent creature, Sara,” he said, “I’ve been introduced to this world as an adult, without the benefit of all those formative, learning experiences a regular childhood gives one. I feel compelled to make up for lost time and to do it in style. Irons empire will give me the means to do that.” Sara studied him with narrowed eyes, wondering whether they could believe him. Devian leaned forward and Ian tensed. “Believe me,” he added, as if reading her mind, “I’ll be a very busy boy with all my new toys. My attention will be fully engaged elsewhere. I have no desire to meddle about in your lives.” Ian spoke up again. “He has no inkling of any of this?” he asked. Dev tilted his head and countered, “Do I look like a fool, Brother?” Ian frowned and the clone laughed. “Never mind,” Dev added.

“I assume that you have a plan or you wouldn’t be here,” Sara said. Devian nodded. “That I do,” he responded, “Unfortunately, it’s a bit tricky and I fear that you’re not going to like it much. It does, however, have one saving grace. It will work. Try to get past the mechanics of it to see the results.” Sara watched Ian tilt his head in the exact same gesture that Devian had used just a moment before. It was unnerving. “Which are?” Ian asked. Dev shrugged. “Irons dies,” he purred, looking at Ian, “I become a captain of industry. And you two fuck like bunnies until you’re too old to get it up any more.” Ian growled softly. Devian grinned. “Sorry,” he said disingenuously, “No disrespect meant, Wielder. It’s just my way. So, are we going to party?” They both looked at him, startled. Dev sighed. “Do we have a deal?” he asked. Sara shrugged. “Maybe,” she replied, reaching out to link her fingers through Ian’s, “We’re willing to listen. Let’s hear this plan of yours.” Devian rubbed his hands together and asked, “Do you think I might have some liquid refreshment? This evil scheming and insurrection is thirsty work.” Sara stood and reholstered her gun. “We have wine,” she replied, glancing at Ian. “Red or white?” she asked, moving toward the kitchen. “Red,” Ian and Dev said together, voices merging in an eerie echo of perfect harmony.

Sara returned to the library carrying a bottle of red wine, a corkscrew, and three wine glasses. She handed out the glasses, careful not to touch Devian’s outstretched fingers with her own. There was a brief, awkward moment when both men reached for the corkscrew. Dev backed off, hands raised, with that wicked grin on his face. Ian frowned; his lips pressed tight as he opened the wine. He poured wine for Sara and himself. Then, he passed the bottle to the clone. If Devian was insulted by the slight, he didn’t show it. He poured himself a healthy glass of wine, corked the bottle, and set it on the table beside him. When Sara had gone to get the drinks, Ian had settled into the chair across from his clone. To Sara, they looked like a pair of pretty bookends. She sat now on Ian’s lap and tipped her glass slightly toward Dev, saying, “Your plan?” Devian sighed. He knew that this was going to go over like a lead balloon. Even so, putting it off would not make it any easier. “It’s not my plan, really,” he began, “The old man came up with it and I haven’t changed it. I’ve just put my own spin on some of the details. Until he becomes too weak to use his power, Irons is dangerous. Even without me, he has the money to overpower you with numbers.” Ian just looked back at him and Dev said snidely, “Are you getting what I’m saying here, bro?”

Ian snorted, more amused than annoyed at the clone’s sarcasm. “I think so,” he replied with equal snark, “You’re telling us that, even if you stay out of it, Mr. Irons can throw enough bodies at us to ensure that we cannot win. Have I got it, bro?” Devian touched his nose with one long finger, like they were playing charades. Sara grunted. “Okay, sparky. We get that we’re not going to like the master plan, but that it’s going to roll over us whether we join forces with you or not. We get it,” she repeated, out of patience, “Now what is the fucking plan?” Dev laughed, enjoying Sara. “Alright,” he agreed, “Here it is. I’m to overpower Ian and take him to the old man. As I understand it, he will be kept sedated, under lock and key. He won’t be killed because he’s got the Witchblade mojo in his blood now. Yes?” Sara felt the hardness of Ian’s muscles beneath her, bunched with tension. “And Sara?” Ian asked. Dev studied the pair carefully. “He leaves her alone to go on about her business. He does, however, still need a transfusion of her blood once a week to recover his health and then maintain it.” Sara frowned. “But if he takes Ian away, how is he…,” she began. Reality suddenly dawned. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes went wide. “Oh no,” she gasped, “You’ve got to be kidding!” Dev shrugged, offering her his most charming smile. Sara snorted. “And I’m not supposed to know the difference between you and Ian?” she asked rhetorically, “Dream on.” Ian smiled. “Mr. Snuggles,” he whispered in her ear. Sara smiled now too, in spite of the situation. There was a pause and Dev frowned. “Did I just miss something?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Sara snapped, “The boat. You missed the fucking boat, sport.” Devian raised a negligent hand. “No matter, Wielder,” he responded, “I’m the cat that always lands on his feet. I may miss the boat but it is you and my brother there that are in over your heads. This will not simply go away. You deal with me on your terms or I deal with you on the old man’s terms. Pick your poison.” Ian surprised her by asking, “What are you proposing?” Sara turned to him, outrage written on her face. “Ian…,” she began. Now, he held up a restraining hand and said, “Let him speak, Sara. Let’s hear all of it before we dismiss it out of hand.” Dev fixed Sara with his golden gaze. “First, let me say, that this plan requires patience,” he warned. Sara snorted. It was obvious that his caution was directed at her. It was also obvious what she thought he could do with his concern.“Duly noted, Wielder,” he said, continuing, “I intend to switch Sara’s blood after Immo has tested it. The old man will think he’s getting the elixir of life. Instead, he’ll be getting some of his own blood that the doc keeps for testing purposes. The bastard will continue to decline until he slips into a coma and dies.” Sara’s eyes narrowed. “Why not just poison the blood and kill him outright?” she asked, “Save us all a world of trouble.” Dev smiled ingratiatingly. “I’d love to,” he agreed, “But there’s going to be an autopsy. It’s a stipulation of his will, suspicious old fart that he is. Immo is a weird duck but he’s no fool. Murder is too risky. I want to inherit. Anything that threatens that is a deal breaker.”

Sara looked surprised. “You inherit?” she asked. The clone shook his head. “No, of course not,” he said, trying to look pained, “Daddy never liked me best. My brother inherits. In payment for freeing you to live your lives in peace, Ian will sign everything over to me. So, you see, we have to trust each other. You trust me to switch the blood and free Ian to come home again. I trust you to sign my inheritance over to me when the old boy kicks.” Sara studied Devian, lounging seductively in his silk and leather. “You don’t actually expect to live here with me, do you?” she asked. His glance shifted to Ian whose golden eyes had hardened and narrowed. Dev tried to look innocent. It was a stretch. “Unfortunately, the old man trusts me about as far as he can throw me,” he said, “There will be watchers. I suspect that he’ll want me to reactivate the surveillance too. I think I can stall my way around that though. Bottom line? Yeah, I do expect to live here with you. And I’ll have to begin teaching those classes at the dojo – I assume that they asked you to teach, didn’t they? I’ll have to do whatever Ian would do, become Ian.” Green eyes flashed dangerously. “In a pig’s eye, you will,” she hissed. Dev cleared his throat. “Calm down, Lady Sara,” he replied, managing to make it sound more like a bawdy nickname than term of respect, “It will be for appearance only. I want to keep all my body parts intact. I’ve become fond of them in the short time that I’ve been using them.” Ian suddenly laughed, startling both Dev and Sara. “You honestly expect us to trust you?” he asked, “Are you crazy as well as arrogant?” Devian shook his head and said, “No, brother. I’m a pragmatist. I don’t see that you really have any other choice.”

Sara turned to look at Ian and was stunned to realize that he was actually considering Devian’s plan. “Ian, you can’t do this,” she begged, “You can’t put yourself back in that man’s yourself at his mercy. He might not kill you but there’s no telling what else he might do to you.” Ian shook his head. “The clone is right,” he replied, “We don’t have a lot of choices. Irons can still take me and use me to blackmail you for your blood. With five clones dead, if the last one’s loyalty comes into question, Mr. Irons will pull out all the stops because he has nothing left to lose. He has to win or he dies. At least this way, there’s the possibility of an end to it once and for all.” She clutched his arm, digging in her nails. “Are you saying that you trust him?” she asked, waving her other hand at Dev who was watching the conflict with interest. Ian tilted his head to study his smirking double. “I trust his greed,” he replied. Dev nodded. “A discerning man, Wielder,” he said, “You should listen to him more often. We are more alike than different, brother.” Ian made a hissing noise and the smile left Devian’s face as if it had been wiped away. “We are nothing alike,” Ian countered, “How much time do we have?”

Now, Dev tilted his head and Sara was struck again by the similarity of their gestures. “None at all,” he said, “I was sent here tonight to get you, bring you to the mansion, and then take your place. The only reason that we’ve had this much time to talk is that you canceled your dinner reservation. By the way, why did you do that?” Ian ignored the clone’s question. He had canceled their dinner reservation after he and Sara had argued that morning. It was none of Devian’s business. Ian nodded. “So, I would have to go with you now,” he said. Sara pushed off of Ian’s lap and faced him with clenched fists and green eyes hard as emeralds. “The hell you will,” she cried. Ian stood too, reaching out a soothing hand. “Sara, please…,” he began. “Don’t you try to finesse your way around this, Ian Nottingham,” she barked, “If you go back into that mansion, you’ll never get out of it again. I will not lose you that way. I will not let that happen.” Ian turned toward the clone and ordered, “Leave us alone for a few minutes.” Devian saluted and mockingly said, “Yes, sir,” unwinding his long body from the easy chair. “Is there really a roof garden with a pool and hot tub?” he asked. “Or maybe I should check out the bedroom,” he added, wiggling his eyebrows. There was a soft whoosh of displaced air and Ian was suddenly an inch from the startled clone. Ian stretched a long, stiff finger under Dev’s nose. “You lay one finger on her and I will know,” he hissed, “And when I get back, I will take you apart piece by piece. Understand, ‘little brother’?”

Sara cleared her throat, hiding the hint of a smile behind her hand. It was the first time that she had seen the clone lose his cool. Devian was thrown by the intensity of Ian’s sudden attack. He held up his hands and stepped back. “Easy, ‘big brother’,” he replied from a safe distance, “I was kidding. You have nothing to worry about. There are lots and lots of ladies in the world and I’m not afflicted with this Wielder obsession that holds you in its thrall. I can get my jollies elsewhere.” He almost grinned, remembering the feel of Vicki’s soft lips under his. He managed to repress it. He didn’t want to set Ian off again. Ian just stared at him and Dev frowned. His mobile face suddenly cleared and he said, “Oh, right. You wanted a few minutes alone with your honey. Making tracks now; heading for the roof.” Devian hastily departed in the direction of the spiral staircase, leaving the Wielder and Protector alone again. Ian held out his hand to Sara. She turned her back on him, saying sharply, “No!” He sighed. “What’s the alternative, my love?” he asked, “If you have one, I will give you my undivided attention. As for me, I see no other way out of the cage in which my master holds us.” A sound not unlike a soft sob escaped her. “He’s not your fucking master, Ian,” she railed. He moved close behind her, slipping his arms around her and pulling her back against his body. “Perhaps not,” he murmured, lips close to her ear, “But, at the moment, he holds all the cards. Devian is giving us the opportunity to turn that around. He is dealing us a better hand.”

Caught up in his imagery, Sara said, “Oh yeah? Well, guess what? I bet your little brother cheats.” Ian turned her around in his arms and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Oh course, he does,” Ian agreed, chuckling softly, “In this instance, however, it is not in his best interest to do so – which is the only reason that we can trust him to keep his word.” Sara rested her cheek against his chest, hugging him fiercely. “So many things could go wrong, Ian,” she murmured, “How would I get you out of there if something happened? How long is this farce supposed to go on? How long do you expect me to live with this thing while you’re exposed to all kinds of danger at Irons’ hands? I remember how he beat you right after I moved into the building. I cannot stand by and allow that to be done to you. You are mine now. You belong to me. I will not allow anyone to misuse you that way again.” Ian stood still, holding her close, allowing her to get it all out, to wind down. When she was done, he bent down and kissed her silly, letting his warm mouth convey all the love, need, and passion that he couldn’t begin to put into words.

They finally broke apart, both of them breathing raggedly. “Oh, god. Don’t go,” she gasped, “Please don’t go.” Ian kissed her again, just a hot, firm slant of his mouth across hers. “I have to, Sara,” he whispered, “You know I do. I don’t have any other choice. Don’t make it harder. Okay?” She pushed away from him violently and, swinging around, grabbed her half-full wine glass off the table. She flung it into the fireplace with great force, where it shattered with an explosive crash. Sara dropped her head into her hands and moaned, “Shit, shit, shit.” Hannibal, who had been dozing beside the chair Devian had occupied, was now standing stiff-legged looking around for the danger and barking his head off. Sara dropped into the chair and shut her eyes. Ian turned to the barking dog and yelled, “Hannibal, shut up!” Hannibal whined miserably a couple of times and then slunk behind the vacant chair to regroup. Devian stuck his head around the bookcase wall and asked, “Have the armies of hell invaded? What’s with all the crashing and barking?” Sara opened her eyes to fix the clone with a baleful stare. “You mean this isn’t a normal reaction to your presence?” she countered spitefully. Refusing to be baited, he grinned at her and suggested, “Don’t kill the messenger, detective.” He studied them and asked, “So, have you two come to terms? Said your farewells? Are you ready to go, brother?”

Tears rolled slowly down Sara’s cheeks. “No,” she cried, “We are not ready.” Ian knelt in front of her chair and took her hands in his. He bent his head to kiss the inside of her wrist and she pulled one hand free of his to dig her fingers in his thick, silky hair. Ian lifted his head and their eyes locked. “This is a good solution, Sara,” he said, “As long as Irons is alive, you will not be safe. The man raised me; he is the only parent that I have ever known. In spite of the danger, in spite of everything that he has done in the past and would do in the future, I do not think that I could kill him. With this solution, we are rid of my…Mr. Irons once and for all, and his blood is not on my hands. Instead, the bad seed will do him in.” Sara smiled and stroked his bearded cheek. “You’ve been watching old movies again,” she whispered. He smiled back at her and replied, “Guilty.” He lifted a hand to brush tears from her cheek. “Be strong,” he whispered, “I’ll be back before you have time to miss me.” She shook her head and shifted her gaze to the clone, lounging against the bookcases. “How long will this take?” she asked him. Devian shrugged. “Don’t know,” he answered, “I can’t exactly pull Immo aside and say: ‘Hey, doc. If I switch the old boy’s blood supply from high octane to regular, how soon will he croak?’ I think that might tip him off, don’t you?”

Sara made a face. “You’re a real smart ass, aren’t you, sparky?” she asked, “You’ve been around him, watching him. Give me a ballpark figure.” The clone shrugged again. “The old boy’s pretty weak,” he observed, “I’d say two weeks at the outside, sooner if we’re lucky. I will, of course, help him along in any non-incriminating way that I can.” She nodded. “You’re a real humanitarian,” she said, “I want a promise from you. I know you don’t have any honor, like Ian does, but I want you to give me your word – for what that’s worth.” Dev looked a bit pissed for a moment. Then, he replied, “You wound me, Wielder. A strong dose of healthy self-interest doesn’t make me Jack the Ripper, does it? What do you want?” She looked hard into the wide, golden eyes so like and yet so different from her lover’s. “I want you to look out for Ian. I want you to protect him. If Irons tries to hurt him, I want you to find a way to stop it,” she said. Devian took a deep breath, his eyes shifting briefly to Ian who was also watching him now. “I’ll do what I can,” he said, “That’s the best that I can do. I won’t promise something that I know I can’t deliver. I’ll do what I can without blowing my cover, without jeopardizing all of our interests. Will that satisfy you?” She grimaced. “No,” she replied, “It doesn’t ‘satisfy’ me. But I suppose that it’s the best that I’ll get from you. You give me your word?” He grinned. “I was afraid that you were going to ask me to give my word ‘as a gentleman’.” Sara snorted. “Are you kidding?” she said, “I know better than that.” Ian and Sara both stared at Dev until he responded, “Yeah. You have my word.”

Devian glanced at the Spiderman watch on his left wrist. “Time’s up,” he announced, “If we don’t get moving right now, the old man’s going to know that something is wrong. He could send reinforcements. That would complicate things. Let’s keep it simple. Yes?” Ian nodded and stood. Sara stood too. She went up on her toes, snaking her arms around his neck and pulling his mouth down to hers. She kissed him passionately, putting everything that she had into it. Ian gave back as good as he got. It went on and on until Dev finally averted his eyes, feeling the strong tug of carnality in his own untried body. When he impatiently cleared his throat, Ian gently pulled back. They were both breathing loudly in the still air of the room. He rested his forehead against hers and said, “I love you, Sara. Remember that when you get lonely. Think about the homecoming we will have. We’ll stay in bed for a week.” She touched his sensual lips with a single, trembling finger. “I love you too, my darling,” she said, adding, “Promise?” He kissed the finger. “I promise,” he vowed. Dev snorted. “This is really touching,” he observed, “But if we don’t get moving now, we’re all dead meat.” Sara turned away to stare into the fire. “Go then,” she said faintly, “Go quickly before I can stop you.”

When Sara turned around again, they were gone. There hadn’t been a sound. Hannibal started to whine softly, as if he knew that his beloved master had just walked off into danger. Sara dropped to the floor beside the big dog, putting her arms around him and burying her face in his fur. “Oh god, Hannibal,” she moaned, “How will I do this? I miss him already.” He gave a soft woof in commiseration. Not for the first time, she wondered about the intelligence of this animal. She nuzzled his head and he planted a slobbery, doggy kiss on her nose. “Ewww,” she breathed, pulling back out of his reach. “Your master does that a lot better,” she observed, then smiled at her own foolishness – sitting on the floor at eleven o’clock at night having a conversation with a canine. She decided that she had had enough of Devian for one night. When he got back, she intended to be safe in bed; not that she expected to sleep. She would be missing Ian too much for that. Suspecting that the clone might yet try to share her bed, Sara left him a note where she figured he would find it – on the refrigerator. It directed him to the guest bedroom that was next to the library. If he had trouble following directions, she would take great pleasure in making him very, very sorry indeed. She climbed up to the bedroom, got undressed, and stretched out in the big, lonely bed. She pulled his pillow into her arms and inhaled his unique scent. Drawing her knees up to her chest with his pillow still captured in her arms, she again succumbed to tears. When she had cried herself out, Sara fell into a fitful sleep.

After Dev and Ian left the building, they walked half a block until they reached the clone’s car. Ian laughed. Predictably, it was a red jag. Dev turned to his brother with a raised brow and asked, “What?” Still laughing, Ian said, “You’re going to go into auto withdrawal, little brother. I drive a jeep.” The jag beeped as Dev opened the doors. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he grinned across at Ian and said, “You mean when you’re not driving the black jaguar. Right?” Ian shook his head and replied, “Sara doesn’t like the jag. She thinks it’s too flashy.” Devian snorted. “She’ll get over it,” he observed. Ian sighed. If the clone intended to manipulate the Wielder, Ian wasn’t going to be the only one in danger, he thought. Dev was likely to come to a rude awakening the very first time that he butted heads with Sara. That realization cheered Ian up a bit. He just hoped that the two didn’t kill each other when he wasn’t there to act as referee. In any case, his money was on her. The clone might be stronger, but his Sara could wear down granite when she set her mind to it.

When they were a couple of blocks from the mansion, Devian pulled over, turned off the car, and faced Ian. “I have to knock you out,” he said, wearing an apologetic expression. Ian frowned. The manipulation done to his body chemistry when he was a Black Dragon meant that tranqs always gave him a horrendous hangover. “What are you using?” he asked. Dev shrugged. “Don’t know,” he responded, “Immo gave it to me. I’m supposed to shoot you with a dart. They didn’t figure that I’d be able to get close.” Ian gave him a chilly smile. “Do you expect me to run from you?” he asked. Dev smiled back. “Nah,” he replied, “Just need to put some distance between us when I shoot. Wouldn’t do to have them think that you let me get companionably close, would it?” Ian sighed and slowly eased out of the jag. He walked to a low wall beside the apartment building where they had parked and sat down. “Go ahead. Hit me,” he called, turning his back toward the jag. Still inside the car, Dev smiled. You had to admire the big guy’s bravado, he thought. Though emotions were still new to him and he was only learning, Dev thought that he might be starting to like his big brother. That was annoying. It made things more complicated. The clone swung gracefully out of the car and took aim with the tranquilizer gun. With deadly accuracy, he shot Ian in the back of the neck. Almost immediately, Ian slumped forward. By some miracle, he did not fall off the wall. Devian slung his unconscious brother over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, lugged him back to the jag, and carefully propped him up in the passenger seat. After he returned to the driver’s seat, Devian studied Ian’s relaxed features for a moment or two before he turned the ignition. So strange, he thought, like looking into a human mirror. Unaccountably, a talking mirror in something called “Snow White” popped into his head. Where the hell had that come from and what was it, he wondered – some old movie?

As expected, Sara had slept poorly. Up much earlier than usual, she had taken a grateful Hannibal out for his morning walk and had fed both animals. She was now sitting on the kitchen counter impatiently waiting for the first coffee of the morning to finish perking. That gave her a front row seat when Dev came ambling out of the guest bedroom, yawning and carelessly zipping up the skin-tight leather pants. It was clear that he wore nothing under them. At the moment, they were his only article of clothing; his chest and feet were bare. The light-streaked, chocolate hair was loose and tousled. If it had been Ian, Sara thought, he would have looked delicious and she would have had him for breakfast with her coffee. But it wasn’t Ian. Only God and Dev knew where her Ian was right now. Although she was aware that he had not put them in this situation – Irons had done that – he had certainly exploited it and she hated him for that. Halfway to the kitchen, Devian saw her perched on the counter and he grinned. It was quite obvious to her that he was remembering the tape of her and Ian making love in that same location. The clone was not making an effort to be subtle. If he mentions that, I’ll deck him, Sara thought. “Coffee ready?” he called to her. Sara narrowed her eyes at him as he approached her. “Tomorrow morning you better be up to make your own coffee, sparky,” she hissed at him, “This isn’t the mansion. You wait on your own ass here.” Dev held up his hands and said, “Yes, maam. No need to bite my head off. Just asking.” He leaned back against the refrigerator, arms and ankles crossed, to wait with her for the coffee.

The silence between them lengthened until she asked, “How is he?” The golden eyes so like Ian’s met hers. “He was fine when I left him,” Devian replied, “There was no immediate threat. Irons was already in bed asleep and Immo was, of course, gone for the day.” Sara rubbed her red, swollen eyes. “I’m so worried about him,” she murmured. He frowned, feeling a disorienting tug of sympathy. “I know you are,” he responded, “That’s why I want to get your blood and get back to the mansion early – before the doc gets in and the old man gets up. If I do, maybe I can run interference for Ian.” He turned to get a couple of mugs from the cabinet. He filled them both with the fresh, steaming coffee and handed one to Sara. Dev took a sip and winced. “You make lousy coffee,” he observed. She snorted. “Fucking critic,” she mumbled, then added, “That’s what Ian always says.” The clone grinned again, nodding. “Like his brother,” he suggested, “Ian is obviously a man of taste and refinement. I’ll make the coffee tomorrow.” Her lips thinned. She had no intention of getting too chummy with this little shit. “Look. Why don’t you just take the blood right now so that you can get going?” she asked, “I don’t want him there alone.” It was as if a curtain had dropped. The golden eyes went cold and the clone was suddenly all business. “Sure,” he agreed, “Whatever you want.” He headed back to the guest room to get the syringe and vial while Sara finished her coffee.

When he came back, he had added the red silk shirt to his ensemble, though it was unbuttoned. As he dabbed a cotton square with alcohol, she studied his clothing critically. Her lips quirked. Instinctively, she knew that she was about to piss him off and it pleased her. “If you’re planning to pass as Ian,” she began, “You’re going to have to give up the disco pimp getup.” Dev turned to her, holding the syringe and saturated cotton pad, eyes flashing. “The what?” he asked. Sara damped down her smile. “You know,” she clarified, waving a disdainful hand at him, “The leather and…stuff.” Sara frowned, belatedly realizing that it was probably the wrong time to make him angry. He was about to stick her with a needle and, boy, did he look pissed. “Take it easy with that needle. Okay?” she requested. The clone gave her a measuring look. “I’ll try,” he replied, “But, you know, we disco pimps are notorious not only for our leather, but for our shaky hands.” He treated her to a daunting look at his jittering fingers. She narrowed her eyes and said, “I have a gun.” Dev smiled politely, easing the point of the syringe expertly into the crook of her arm. “How nice for you,” he murmured. It was done in seconds and the clone wrapped the vial containing the blood with its rejuvenate gene. Turning back to Sara, he said, “I guess that you better dress me then.” Her eyes widened, then narrowed. “Hey, sparky,” she sneered, “I didn’t even like Ken dolls. Dress yourself.” Devian shrugged and said, “Alright. But if I get it wrong and your friends know I’m not Ian, it puts him in greater jeopardy.” She sighed theatrically. “God, you’re an annoying little shit,” she barked, “Do you know that?” He grinned back at her. “Absolutely,” he purred, “I’m told that’s part of my charm.” Sara threw up her hands and headed toward the sleeping loft with the closet containing Ian’s clothes, glancing back over her shoulder and calling, “C’mon, asshole.” Devian sauntered after her, chuckling.