"Blood Seduction"

Sara had come back from her lunch date preoccupied. Danny watched her covertly, wondering if she and Ian had had a fight. Briefly, he thought about broaching the subject with Ian when he saw him later at the dojo. He discarded that idea almost immediately. He would learn no more from Ian than he would from Sara. Finally, he sighed and let it go. If Sara needed him then she would have to come to him. Until she did, pressuring her would do no good. He knew that from past experience. She would just stonewall him. He gave it up and quietly went back to work. Sara sat at her desk, staring off into space. She was trying to get her mind around what she would have to do when Devian got back to the loft after teaching Ian’s classes. The fight didn’t worry her. She could handle that. It was how they would have to act before they started to fight that was bothering her. She would have to treat the clone as if he were the man she loved. Sara was not sure that she could be that good an actress. And Irons was not an easy audience to fool. This is pointless, she finally told herself. Stop obsessing. You’ll get through it somehow. You have to – for Ian’s sake. And Danny lifted his head again to watch his partner, his eyes clouded with worry. She sat at her desk with a faraway look, the fingers of her left hand rubbing, rubbing, rubbing the distinctive bracelet on her right wrist.

In the kitchen of the mansion, an old woman with careworn eyes pulled a small bottle from the pocket of her apron and stroked it thoughtfully. She knew that both of the young masters, Ian and Devian, were counting on her. She had no intention of failing them. In fact, they had handed her the opportunity that she had been patiently waiting for for almost forty years. Helga Strauss was a superlative cook and an inhumanly patient woman. Once, she had also been a mother. She firmly believed in old adages. One of them was: “Revenge is a dish best served cold.” Another was: “What goes around, comes around.” Her day of reckoning was finally at hand. It was time for her to bring to a boil the long simmering revenge in her heart and serve it round the master’s table. With a crooked, arthritic finger, she allowed herself to stroke the small bottle one more time before she slipped it carefully back into her apron pocket. There was a secret smile on her thin lips when she went back to work. She began to prepare a very special dinner for Kenneth Irons.

At a large, open table in the main branch of the New York Public Library, Devian sat hunched over his laptop, engrossed in research. For an hour that morning, he and his brother had brainstormed methods for eliminating Kenneth Irons that would be ruled a natural death. Ironically, at Irons’ own behest, Ian had been trained as a killing machine. Now, they were trying to turn that expertise back on its instigator. Even in his muddled state, Ian had been able to give Dev the names of a few possible poisons. The clone had been digging into the composition and uses of those poisons for most of the afternoon. He was camped out in the library to avoid the renewed surveillance at the loft. When he had left the loft after picking up his laptop, he had been followed by Irons’ watchers. He had intentionally led them a merry chase for the best part of an hour before he lost them. It had been a pleasant diversion but he had work to do. The events of that morning had convinced Devian that this situation had to be ended soon. He had to get Ian out of the mansion and they had to send Irons into the great beyond without bringing the law down on them. And, they had to do it soon. Both his visit to Ian and his attack on Devian had verified that the old man was deeply unstable. In his present frame of mind, he was capable of anything. He was simply too dangerous to allow him to live much longer.

Late that afternoon, Sara took some time off to meet her mechanic where she had parked the malfunctioning Buell. He checked it out and it turned out to be a minor problem. The part was available and it was fixed before she left the Precinct for the day around six thirty. With Devian teaching Ian’s first classes at the dojo, she had been looking forward to enjoying his absence. Now, of course, everything she did at home had an audience again. Worse, she had suddenly realized that, since her loft had been under surveillance too, poor Vicki was probably now also in the fishbowl. Once that had occurred to her, she began obsessing over whether to warn her friend. However, she could think of no way to do that without getting into things that she could not begin to explain to the curious Dr. Po. When she got to the loft, Sara decided that she could only deal with Big Brother by pretending that he did not exist. Putting herself in that mindset with some effort, she showered and changed into the green silk nightgown and robe. Then, she opened a good bottle of wine and carried it into the library with some glasses. She built up the fire, crawled into the chair, and poured herself a big glass of wine. If she were going to have to treat the rotten clone as if he were her lover, she needed to be buzzed. She set about getting herself to that state.

At eight thirty that evening, Devian was dressing to leave the dojo. He had taught three consecutive classes; two for adults and one for kids. They had gone very well and, surprisingly, he had enjoyed himself. He had the next night off and then would teach three more classes the night after that. Of course, if all went well, maybe Ian would be teaching those classes himself. As he had showered and dried, using Ian’s soap and scenting himself with Ian’s cologne, he thought about the fight that he and Sara were going to have when he got home. Dev winced as, in his head, he heard Sara say, “You have no home.” He shook that off. The clone had a home tonight, even if it was temporary. When he turned to go, picking up his small bag, Devian found that Danny was waiting to walk him out. The two men had gotten along famously and Danny had been pleasantly surprised by Ian’s relaxed, friendly mood and his wicked sense of humor. In fact, the detective had felt comfortable enough with the clone to ask whether he had had a fight with Sara when they met for lunch. Dev shook his head and asked Danny, “Why would you think so?” Danny shrugged as they walked to their cars. “She seemed distracted, worried, all afternoon,” he explained, “She just seemed off, you know?” Devian frowned. He knew all right. “I’ll see if she wants to talk about it when I get home,” he said. “Or yell about it,” he thought. Now, Danny looked concerned. “Don’t tell her I said anything,” he begged, “She’ll be pissed.” The clone assured him that his secret was safe and the two men said good night.

As Devian was driving home and Sara was drinking her second glass of wine, Helga Strauss was putting the final touches on the baked Alaska that she was serving the master for dessert. The rest of his meal had already been carried from the kitchen by the serving staff. She smiled that secret smile as she recalled each dish, every one of them a particular favorite of his. Mr. Irons must have thought it was his birthday, she thought. She glanced at the old watch on her left wrist. If Master Devian was correct, Irons would start to feel sleepy soon after he finished the rich dessert. She had no reason to doubt him. Even though his sudden appearance had been strange, Master Devian seemed as sweet a boy as her dear Master Ian, his twin brother. In her own way, she had helped to raise Master Ian, giving him the only fleeting touches of kindness that he had known throughout his childhood. And, though she had to be most careful not to show it, she loved the boy he had been and the man he had become. She was glad that Master Devian had come to her. She would not stand by and allow Master Ian to be abused again. One of the servers came back to the kitchen for the master’s dessert. Helga set the dish on the silver tray, lit the brandy, and watched as it was carried away, flaming.

When he opened the front door of the loft, Devian took his time resetting the security and relocking all the bolts. He was nervous. He told himself that that was ridiculous, but there it was. He was really nervous. Hannibal came barreling down on him from the library. Dev dropped his training bag before hunkering down to embrace the big animal. He took more time to wrestle a bit with the Rottie, talking to him softly while he scratched the dog’s neck and ears. A noise made him look up and there she was, walking toward him from the library. Sara was wearing a dark green silk nightgown and robe. She had to smile. Dev’s eyes had gone big as saucers and his mouth had dropped open. She stopped a hair breadth away from him, looking down and smiling. She held out her hand to him, offering him the wine she was holding. “Hi, baby,” she purred, “How did it go?” He started to get dizzy and realized that he had been holding his breath. Dev gulped in some air and stood up. Their eyes met and locked. He blinked and took the wine that she offered him. He gave her a tentative smile and softly said, “Thanks. It went well.” She grinned and asked, “Did you kick ass?” He laughed and nodded. “Yeah, I did,” he agreed. Their eyes met again and they both realized that this was awkward. They both knew they had to get beyond it fast or it wasn’t going to work. Irons would know that something was very wrong between them. Devian gave his head a little shake; the look in his tawny eyes a touch desperate. Remembering that he had virtually no experience with the opposite sex, she realized that he would never make the first move with her. She would have to take the initiative.

Sara closed the small distance between them and snaked out a hand to clutch the back of his neck. His eyes looked huge when she pulled his head down to hers and pressed her mouth to his. Dev gasped when their lips touched. He was wearing Ian’s clothes and Ian’s cologne. He smelled like Ian and he felt like Ian. She lost herself in the illusion. Her other arm slipped around his slender waist to pull his body close to hers. Where he had been confident and in control kissing Vicki, kissing the Wielder was something else entirely. Devian was stiff, tense, and still holding a glass of wine in one hand. Sara pulled back from him a tiny bit and whispered, “Relax. I promise not to bite.” That made him smile. She pushed the fingers of the hand that rested on his neck into his thick, silky hair and stroked his scalp the way Ian loved. His clone loved it too. Dev shut his eyes and made a sound like a deep purr. This time, when her mouth touched his, his lips opened under hers and his tongue slipped forward to brush against hers. The sensation was electric to both of them and their bodies pressed together in reaction. When she pulled back, she could feel him trembling and she saw the wine glass start to slip. Just in time, she caught his hand in hers. Devian opened glazed, amber eyes. “You better put that down,” she whispered. He just looked back at her, utterly dazed. “Sara?” he asked hoarsely. She shook her head, amused. “The wine,” she said, “You better put it down if you aren’t going to drink it.” He glanced down at his hand as if amazed that it held a glass of wine. “I’ll drink it,” he decided. He lifted the glass and took a big gulp. His hand was shaking badly.

Sara was surprised to find that this was much easier than she had expected it to be. When he didn’t talk, when it was just physical between them, he was amazingly like Ian. It was going to be alright. She was going to be able to get through this pretense that they were in love until they could logically move into the fight that they had planned. Devian had put down the wine glass on the hall table and he was nuzzling his warm lips against her ear. It felt really good. One of his hands was slowly stroking her back. The other was resting lightly on her hip. He was starting to relax and, typically, learning fast. She turned her face and his lips moved from her ear back to her mouth. This time, he initiated the kiss and it quickly became torrid. He worked her mouth with his, nibbling and sucking, until he finally pushed his tongue searchingly between her lips. There was nothing tentative about this incursion. Their tongues tangled while their bodies shifted to mold together perfectly. She could feel the long, hard-muscled length of him beneath his sweats. As usual, Devian wore no underwear. He smelled clean, scented with Ian’s soap and cologne. It flitted through her mind that he must have had a shower before he left the dojo. Her robe had been pushed open as they rubbed against each other and the thin silk of her gown was a flimsy barrier at best. Sara could feel the warm weight of his erection pressing against her belly. Even as she shivered, she felt sudden, contradictory flashes of heat in her groin and at her right wrist. They pulled back from each other a fraction as magenta beams shot up from the Witchblade to turn the white walls blood-red.

Dev had rested his face on Sara’s thick, soft hair. He was panting. When he was able to speak, he whispered, “What is it? What’s wrong with the Blade?” He still held her close. She brought her hand up between them from where it had clung to his hip. Their eyes were drawn to the large, red stone in the middle of her bracelet. It was flashing and swirling madly. Still breathless, Sara whispered, “I don’t know. I think it either really likes you or really hates you.” He made a soft, worried sound in response. A moment later, the question was answered as an intense wave of erotic intent captured them both. Devian cried out, lifting his head from where it rested against hers to look wildly into Sara’s eyes. “What?” he managed to gasp. Sara felt a sudden gush of arousal that left her soaking wet. Dev’s tawny eyes had darkened to smoky amber. Now, they fluttered shut as his hands slipped down to cup the cheeks of her derriere and pull her hard against his throbbing erection. “Sara,” he whispered helplessly, “What’s happening?” It was as if his will were no longer his own. He wanted her so badly that it hurt. Sara’s head was on his shoulder, her face was buried in his fragrant hair. The Blade burned on her wrist and her hands began to push up under his sweatshirt. She needed his bare skin under her fingertips. She turned her face to whisper against his neck, “I don’t know. I don’t know.” Her questing fingers found his nipples, and began rubbing and squeezing them. Dev made a sound like a soft growl deep in his throat, arching his body against her. “Please,” he whispered, not even knowing what he was begging for, just that he was in desperate need for something more.

Devian turned his head to find Sara’s mouth again. The kiss was deep and sensual. A desperate thought shot through Sara’s passion-drenched brain: “We’re supposed to be fighting. How did this happen?” Then, it was gone in a fresh wave of heat. There was red everywhere. Even with her eyes shut, it was splashed against the back of her eyelids. The need to have Devian inside her became almost painful. Their mouths separated wetly, both of them gasping for air. Sara turned her head to bite his neck where is smoothly bled into his shoulder. “Take me to bed,” she moaned. Dev struggled to fight the power that was driving him. He sensed that something was terribly wrong. Sara was obviously acting out of character. He didn’t want her to wind up hating him. He cared for her. This could ruin the possibility for any kind of relationship between them. The Blade pulsed crimson and a jolt of raw sexual energy overwhelmed him. All thoughts of caution fled from his mind. Dev stopped thinking entirely and bent to pick Sara up in his arms. Kissing her thoroughly, he carried her into the guest bedroom and rolled onto the bed still holding her tightly in his arms. It never occurred to him to go to the sleeping loft and, in any case, even a Nottingham could not have navigated the ladder with Sara in his arms. Sara pushed him far enough away so that she could drag the sweatshirt over his head. She pitched it on the floor and bent forward to suck his nipple into her mouth. Dev fell back on the bed, groaning. He dug his fingers into her thick hair, holding her head against his chest.

Devian’s head was thrown back and turned into the pillow. He was completely lost in a flood of sensation, all thought of control now gone in the welter of new feelings he was experiencing. Still being driven by the pulsating demands of the Witchblade, Sara worked her hand into his sweatpants and stretched out her fingers to encircle his thick shaft. His slender hips strained up from the bed in reaction, pushing him farther into her hand. “Oh god, Sara,” Dev gasped, “Touch me. Please touch me.” She tightened her hand around him and began to stroke him, quick and hard. He started to thrash on the bed, his hands gripping the bed sheets, until she hissed, “Lay still.” He struggled to obey her with only limited success. He wouldn’t have believed that anything could feel this good. It was incredible. Nothing like when he had done it to himself. In a few more seconds, he came hard with a sharp cry, his lithe body arching half a foot off the bed. A large, wet stain spread around the crotch of the sweatpants. Sara pulled her hand free of the stained garment and Dev pushed the pants down until he could kick them off to tumble to the floor. He rolled on his side to press his lips to Sara’s breast, his breath warm through the thin silk of her nightgown. As she had done to him, Devian sucked her nipple between his lips. He wet the gown as his tongue licked the now hard nub of flesh under the silk. As he had hoped, Sara began pushing at the hem of the gown, wanting to rid herself of it so that she could feel his warm lips and tongue directly on her bare skin.

Dev helped her pull the slippery green nightgown over her head. It landed on the floor with his sweats. There was now nothing between them. Sara wore only the Witchblade, which still pulsed with the carmine strobes of raw sensuality that were strongly affecting both their actions. He dropped his head again to capture her nipple in his mouth, his silky hair spreading out in a curtain of waves across her breasts. Sara’s breathing again went ragged as he used his teeth and tongue to drive her to distraction. She caught the hand that was sensuously stroking her other breast and drew it down her body to the dripping slit of her sex. Guiding Devian’s hand, she taught him how she wanted to be touched. He was a very quick study. In seconds, he was giving her exactly what she needed and she was lost in the luscious pull of a slowly building orgasm. When the climax washed over her, Sara cried out, “Ian,” digging her fingernails into Dev’s arm hard enough to draw blood. He was aware that she had called his brother’s name in the throes of her passion. It hurt. The thought that he should stop tripped again through his lust-fogged brain but he knew that his body would never obey him now; it was already too late to stop. If Sara asked him to, he would try; but he also prayed that she would not ask. He wanted her terribly.

Devian ached to know what it was like to be inside Sara, to be part of her, locked together as a single, joined entity. Although he had no basis for comparison, the clone thought that he might be falling in love for the first time in his short life. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at the same time. None of these thoughts were distinct or clear in his mind, rather they formed a jumbled background that was overlaid by the wild passion with which the Witchblade had first captured and then ensnared them. Sara rolled closer, running her hands all over his smooth, hard body as if learning it. There were no scars and that realization gave her such a jolt that she nearly pulled back; she might have even stopped entirely at that moment if the Blade hadn’t flashed, sending another shot of blind lust coursing through her system. She bent forward to give him one long lick with her tongue from balls to tip. Her action took Dev completely by surprise. He was suddenly assaulted by a whole new set of sensations that almost did him in. When she took him in her mouth, sucking and stroking with her arched tongue, he thought he might simply die of pleasure. His entire body quivered. He moaned her name over and over with the same desperate, little catch in his voice that Ian got. Finally, driven by her need to feel him within her, Sara straddled him, positioned herself, and pushed down.

Sara caught Dev’s hands in hers. Linking their fingers, she drew their joined hands up and held them down to the pillow at either side of his head. When she had taken him inside her, Devian had shut his eyes, his full attention focused on the place where they merged together. That first moment, the actual experience of it was so far beyond anything he had dreamed that the clone was lost, drowning in sensation. Now, as she began to rock on top of him, he opened his eyes to look up at Sara, his first lover. She was so beautiful that his heart actually skipped. Although she was leaning forward to hold his hands to the bed, her head was thrown back, hair cascading over her shoulders, eyes shut, lips parted. They were both breathing heavily, the sound of it loud in the small room. She tightened her muscles around him and he groaned deeply as the nearly unbearable pleasure intensified. He whispered her name a little desperately, lifting his head from the bed to kiss her and Sara opened her eyes to gaze into the smoky, golden eyes staring back at her. There was a sharp flicker of sudden awareness in her green eyes, followed by a slight widening as shock took over. Then, several things happened at once. Sara started to pull back. As Devian watched her begin to distance herself from him, pain and confusion edged the adoration from his eyes. The Blade erupted with a blinding, scarlet flash and stretched out long, barbed tendrils to wrap around the pair of lovers. And, once again, Sara was not fast enough to roll free before she was trapped. “No!” she cried miserably.

Having learned her lesson when she went through the Iunctura with Ian, Sara consciously loosened her muscles within their organic cage. Unlike his brother, Devian hadn’t a clue what was happening to them and he, on the other hand, immediately began to struggle to free them. That, of course, only made the Blade constrict them more tightly. This time, Sara found herself in the role of conciliator and guide. “Devian!” she said sharply. Wide, panicked golden eyes met cool green eyes. “Stop fighting it,” she whispered soothingly, “It tightens when you push against it. Try to relax.” She watched him make an effort to master himself. The blood-red vines surrounding them drew back a fraction. She saw the clone draw in a long, shaky breath before he asked, “What is this? What’s going on? This isn’t a normal part of making love, is it?” If he had read about something like this, he would have remembered it. There had been nothing remotely like this on any of the tapes that he had devoured so avidly – Irons had removed the tape recording Ian’s and Sara’s Iunctura. It now resided in Kenneth’s private collection, which was secured under lock and key. “Sara?” he asked, panic creeping back into his voice. She shifted a little against him, internal muscles clutching him again. Dev gasped, shutting his eyes. “Sorry,” she said blandly. His eyes flew open. “No,” he responded, not wanting her to pull away, “It feels…wonderful. Don’t stop.” There was a pause before he added, “What’s this other thing? What’s going on?”

Sara debated about what she should tell him. She didn’t understand why the Witchblade was doing this to her. She knew why it had happened with Ian; he was her Protector, her mate. Devian was neither of those things and never would be. She had not chosen him the way that she had chosen Ian. This whole situation had been forced upon her. The Blade had manipulated them into this position and she did not understand why. Was it simply because two Protectors were better than one? Was the Witchblade confused by Dev’s similarity to Ian? Perhaps it had mistaken the clone for Ian and it erroneously believed that the first ritual it had performed had somehow failed. Was it because Devian was wearing Excalibur? With those thoughts jumbled in her head, she was suddenly brought back when the clone let out a soft, startled cry. As it had with Ian, the Blade had just embedded itself under the skin of his right wrist to tap into his vein. “What’s it doing to me?” he whispered, a touch of horror in his voice. The horror was now hers as well. “It’s connecting us, the way that it connected Ian and me,” she whispered. Dev looked up at her with huge, golden eyes. “What does that mean exactly?” he wanted to know. She shook her head; her face only inches above his now that the Blade’s tendrils had wrapped them in Its tight web.” I know what it means for Ian and me,” she said, “I honestly don’t understand why It’s doing this with you though. It makes no sense. Ian is my Protector, my lover. I don’t need or want another.”

Any hope of staying with Sara, of creating an unconventional but satisfying relationship in which he shared the Wielder with his brother, fled from Devian’s mind. He had known that the chances of such a liaison were slender, but when she had taken him to bed, that hope had ignited and then blazed. As the Witchblade began to genetically alter his body chemistry, however, Sara’s most intense thoughts and feelings were suddenly open to him. Now, he saw that her attraction to him had been because of his resemblance to Ian, not for any of his own qualities. She was drawn to him because she missed his brother terribly. He also grasped that she never would have made love to him if the Blade had not intervened. He had fallen in love with a woman who did not really want him and certainly did not love him in return. She did not want this new connection that the Witchblade had decided she should have. When she wasn’t blinded by the lust that the Blade had used to draw them together, Sara was simply making the best of an incredibly awkward situation. She assumed that he was doing the same. Except, now that she was able to “see” inside him as well, she abruptly realized that somewhere along the line those brand new feelings of his had plunged deep into uncharted waters. Devian had moved beyond lust into something else; something that she wasn’t prepared to recognize or name. All of this introspection had taken seconds. Dev lay perfectly still beneath her, eyes shut, trying to reign in his emotions. Sara looked down at him, her green eyes softening with sympathy. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Devian opened the big, golden eyes so like Ian’s and she saw him trying to pull his flashy bravado back on like a tattered cloak. He couldn’t quite pull it off. Instead, he managed a tiny shrug. “I know you love Ian,” he began, “I never really expected…” He didn’t finish because at that moment, the Blade loosened the limbs with which it bound them enough to enable some movement and sent another erotic jolt through their bloodstreams. At some level, Sara felt surprise that Dev was still hard and filled her completely. Their eyes met and held. She began to ride him, able to move her hands to his shoulders now to get better leverage. His instincts kicked in and his hips pumped up in synchronicity with hers, pushing him even deeper within her. Sara couldn’t deny that the sensation was incredible. Her muscles spasmed around him and she moaned. Swamped with pleasure beyond anything he had ever imagined, Dev pressed his head back into the pillow, shutting his eyes and loosing a ragged, incoherent cry. A climax with all the speed and power of a rocket was now hurtling through them both. Still being orchestrated by the Witchblade, seconds later, a devastating orgasm exploded in them simultaneously. This time, they both cried out, their bodies straining together as if they could press themselves into a single being. Wrung out, Sara collapsed on top of Dev, gasping for air. He went limp beneath her.

Exhausted, they fell asleep in that position. While they slept, the Witchblade extricated Itself from Devian’s wrist and withdrew the long, barbed limbs with which It had bound them together. It became a somnolent bracelet once again on the Wielder’s wrist. It was morning when Sara woke, the sun already up. She found herself draped over Dev like skin. He was still inside her. A wave of revulsion rolled through her that was so strong she nearly retched. She fought it down and eased free of him carefully. She did not want to wake him. She didn’t think she could stand to deal with him right now. As she made her way to the small shower in the guest bathroom on the main floor of the loft, she picked up the discarded silk nightgown and robe. She showered in water so hot that it was almost scalding, scrubbing herself until her skin was nearly raw. Moving as if she was in a trance, Sara dried herself and dressed again in the gown and robe. It was a mark of how troubled she was that she did not even think about making coffee. Instead, she made her way to the library. Shivering, she wrapped up in the afghan that was folded on a footstool and curled up in one of the big easy chairs. She sat there quietly, staring off into space, hating herself and what she had done.

A little while later, she felt Ian reaching out to her, touching her mind. Feeling dirty, unworthy, Sara shrank from his touch. She felt his gentle, questioning push a bit longer and then it drifted away again. She had no idea how long she had been sitting there, unmoving, when she looked up to see Devian standing at the edge of the bookcases watching her quietly. He had pulled on a pair of blue jeans but hadn’t bothered to fasten them all the way. They gapped open at his slender waist and she could see his fine, dark hair amid the lowered zipper. It jolted her that she knew how silky that hair was under her fingertips, that she knew how he tasted. He must have picked up some of that thought because he tilted his head and started to reach out a hand to her. But before he could say or do anything, Sara dragged a hand from beneath the afghan and held it up, indicating that he should stop. She shut her eyes, not able to look at him, and shook her head. Dev sighed softly, understanding that she wanted nothing more to do with him right now. He turned and left the room without uttering a word. When she gathered the courage to open her eyes again, he was gone and she was, thankfully, alone.

Needing to do something, Devian went to the kitchen. He fed the animals and made some coffee. That was as far as his stockpile of strength got him. His back to the kitchen cabinets, he slid down them to sit on the tile floor. He bent his knees up tight against his chest and crossed his bare arms upon them. He dropped his head down on to his arms. Ian found him there, an hour later, in that exact same position. Sensing a presence, thinking it was Sara, Dev looked up. He blinked, wondering whether he was hallucinating. Ian was pale with dark circles beneath his eyes but, other than that, he looked none the worse for wear. “How?” Dev asked. The silence stretched while the brothers just stared at each other. Eventually, Ian said, “Irons is dead. Mr. Irons is dead.” Dev gasped and stood, none too gracefully. “What?” he cried, adding again, “How?” Ian’s eyes narrowed. “Mrs. Strauss, the cook,” he said, “You gave her the drugs to make him sleep, didn’t you? To put in his food?” Devian’s eyes had widened. “She was just supposed to use two fucking drops,” he hissed, “Just enough to make sure he slept through the night so that he left you alone.” Ian smiled. “She used the whole bottle,” he replied, “Don’t worry. She has no intention of implicating you in his murder. She had her own reasons for wanting him dead apparently.” Devian frowned, still worried. “How did you get free?” he asked, curious. “She called Immo and told him that Irons was sick,” Ian explained, “He was actually dead by the time the doctor got there. She held a gun to Immo’s head and forced him to take her to me. She freed me and I took over from there.” Dev nodded, asking, “Where is she now?” There was another pause as Ian stared at his brother. Then, he answered, “With the police. I’ve arranged for the best lawyers available. I’m sure she had a compelling reason. I’ll find a way to help her.” It got quiet as they stared at each other again. Finally, Ian said softly, “I know what you did. I felt it when it was happening. Get out.”

Devian’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, then they opened wide and he stared back unflinching at his big brother. The clone sounded very tired when he said, “As I recall, you threatened to take me apart ‘piece by piece’. Isn’t that right? Go ahead. Take your best shot. I won’t even stop you.” Ian studied him another moment and then shook his head. “I know how you feel about Sara, Devian,” he said, “And, I know how Sara feels about you. I think that’s punishment enough. Get out now.” Dev glanced down at himself and replied, “I’m not dressed. I can’t go out on the street like this.” Moving sharply, his carefully controlled temper starting to flare, Ian pulled off his jacket and threw it at Devian. The jacket was rapidly followed by his sweater and boots. They were, of course, the same size. Feeling fragile and barely holding himself together, the clone quickly dressed himself in his brother’s discarded clothing. When he was done, Dev swallowed hard and said softly, “I’m sorry.” Ian’s eyes narrowed. “Get out,” he repeated. Devian now had what he had believed he wanted. If they could stay clear of any complicity in Irons’ murder, the way was open for him to take over Vorschlag and the rest of the old man’s empire. He would soon have everything that he had desired. Why did it hurt so much? Why did he feel so empty? At this precise moment in time, he found that what he wanted more than anything was to have his brother smile and grip his hand in friendship, and to have Sara hold him close in her arms. Dev dropped his head and slipped past Ian. He left the loft, closing the front door quietly behind him.

Ian poured a mug of coffee and carried it to the library. He stopped at the edge of the bookcases, standing in the exact spot where Devian had stood a short while earlier. Sara’s head was down, her face in her hands; her body was a vague lump, covered entirely by the afghan. She was so distraught that she didn’t sense him there, didn’t look up. Ian moved to her chair and put the steaming mug on the table beside her. He knelt in front of her and gently pulled her hands from her face. Sara looked up. Green eyes met golden. “Ian,” she whispered, starting to cry softly. She reached out a shaking hand to stroke his cheek. “Are you alright?” she asked, “How did you get here?” He stretched out his arms, intending to carry her to sit on his lap in the other chair. She held up a hand and drew back. He let it go and answered her instead. “I’m fine,” he said, “But Mr. Irons is dead.” Her eyes went wide. “He’s dead?” she gasped. Ian nodded. “Did you kill him?” she wanted to know. This time, he shook his head. “It’s a long story,” he said, “I’ll tell you tomorrow.” She shut her eyes. “If you’re still with me tomorrow,” she thought, aching. She opened her eyes again and asked, “Devian?” Ian’s eyes flashed and the sensual mouth went hard. “He’s gone,” he replied, “Did you want him to stay?” This time, she shook her head. She blinked, suddenly noticing that Ian was shirtless and shoeless. “Where are your clothes?” she asked. He brushed a tear from her cheek. “I gave them to him,” he replied, “I didn’t want anything delaying his departure.”

They looked into each other’s eyes for a long moment before simultaneously Sara said, “Ian…,” and he held up his hand to stop her. She went quiet. He took her hands in his and said, “I know what happened between you and Devian. Because of our connection, I felt it when it was happening.” Sara shut her eyes. “Oh god,” she wailed softly. Ian squeezed her hands and said, “Open your eyes, Sara.” She shook her head and wailed, “I can’t look at you. I’m so ashamed.” Sara felt his warm lips press a kiss to her knuckles. “Open your eyes,” he repeated. She looked at him, deep into the beautiful golden cat eyes, and saw no blame. “It wasn’t your fault, Sara,” he said, “It wasn’t even Dev’s fault, although I’m not inclined to absolve him that easily. And I won’t share you.” She shook her head and responded, “You won’t have to, Ian. I don’t want him. I certainly don’t love him. I can’t explain what happened between us.” He shrugged. “I’ve been through the Iunctura with you, love,” he said, “I remember what it was like. You weren’t in control, the Witchblade was.” Her face crumpled and fresh tears rolled down her face. “Why did it want us connected to Devian?” she asked, “What possible reason could It have for putting us all through this?”

Ian shook his head. “I’m not sure,” he replied, “But now you have two highly-skilled, deadly Protectors to guard you. In spite of what this has done to all of us, I believe if Devian is called to defend the Blade and its Wielder, he’ll come.” Sara snorted. “Oh, he’ll come all right,” she responded sarcastically. He brought her hand to his lips and rubbed it against his bearded cheek. Ian said, “Come sit with me.” She studied his face, loving him, thrilled to have him back. Still, she held back, asking, “How can you be this understanding? How can you stand to look at me?” He stood fluidly and bent to lift her in his arms. This time, she didn’t fight him. He carried her to the other chair and sat with her on his lap. Sara burrowed her face into the sweet nook between his chin and neck. Her hand slipped across his bare chest to stroke the long scar that ran between his ribs. “I missed these,” she whispered, “I missed you. I love you, Ian.” He bent his head to kiss her forehead. “I love you too,” he whispered back, “Let the rest of it go. It’s over. We’re free. It’s time to think about the future.”