"Blood Seduction"

The clone blinked, wondering whether he was hallucinating. He squinted up at his brother as he rapidly crossed the room. “Are you real?” he croaked. Ian gave him a tiny smile and nodded, his head swiveling toward the camera in the corner. Dev followed his gaze. “It’s blocked,” he assured Ian, “The genius here killed it.” Ian nodded again, bending to help the clone to his feet. “Why?” Sara asked. Devian leaned heavily against his brother but turned his head immediately toward his siren’s song. “Why what?” he countered as Ian started to help him toward the door. “Why did he turn off the camera?” she clarified. The clone gave her a tight, hard grin. “He wanted some privacy to work on me,” he explained, “He wanted to ‘play’.” He turned his head back to glance at the pale corpse on the white, tile floor. His grin got rakish. “I like to play,” he added. Sara made a rude sound, carefully opening the door. “So I see,” she murmured. The hallway outside the door was deserted. Dev’s head lifted to study the two visible cameras high on the walls. “I redirected them,” Ian said softly, anticipating his brother’s question. Ian braced Dev against the wall outside the torture chamber and turned to Sara. “Stay here with Dev,” he ordered, “I’m going to go get Immo.” As Ian shifted away, Devian called after him, “Go easy on the old guy, bro. He really helped me. I would have been dead meat without him.” Ian’s eyes widened with surprise but he just nodded again before he disappeared around the corner of the hall.

The silence between Sara and Devian was uncomfortable. Finally, he said stiffly, “Thanks for coming for me. Or maybe you came for Immo and I was an afterthought.” She glanced at him, fighting the familiar annoyance that he always tapped so brilliantly. “Don’t be an ass,” she suggested, then asked, “How badly are you hurt?” He started to shrug nonchalantly and wound up gasping at the pain that immediately assaulted him. Sara was by his side in a second, her arm slipping around his narrow waist. Even broken and bleeding, he was gorgeous in his nakedness. As soon as she touched him, Sara became hyperaware that he was spectacularly overexposed. She stepped back again, clearing her throat nervously and slipping off her jacket. Eyes down, she held the jacket out to him, saying, “Here.” Not in the least uncomfortable in his nudity, Dev looked down at the proffered jacket, the corners of his sensual lips twitching. “What am I supposed to do with that?” he wanted to know. The color rose in her cheeks. “I thought maybe you could wrap it around your waist,” she offered. Holding his side, Dev snorted. “The only difference that will make is that I can flash you instead of mooning you,” he observed, “There’s nothing here that you haven’t seen and used liberally. Keep your jacket.” Just as she opened her mouth to reply, Ian came back around the corner, pushing Dr. Immo ahead of him.
The doctor’s eyes jumped to Devian. “Silk?” he asked. The clone managed a grin. “Dead,” he replied. Immo responded with a rare grin of his own and a single word: “Good.”

Fifteen minutes later, the four of them were piling into the van that was parked in the deep shadows along the back road abutting the mansion’s grounds. When they reached the van, Ian got behind the wheel and Sara got into the front passenger seat. Devian and Immo – who was being a very cooperative kidnap victim – piled into the back, where Vicki was waiting. As soon as they were settled and she got a good look, Vicki gasped, goggling at his bare body. Now, Dev was finally getting annoyed too. “Oh, for god’s sake,” he mumbled, turning toward the front seat and calling, “Ian, did you bring…” His question was cut short as a pair of dark sweat pants came flying into the back of the van, landing in a decorous drape over his head and shoulders. “Thanks,” the clone grumbled, pulling the material free of his face. Dev gingerly donned the pants, trying to move his body as little as possible in the process. Vicki came closer, saying, “Let me take a look at you.” He narrowed his eyes. “You just did, didn’t you?” he asked wryly. She had the grace to blush.
Then, she got past it by becoming a doctor again. Glancing down at his swollen hand, she asked, “Is the whole hand broken?” Devian gave his head a tiny shake. “Two fingers,” he replied. She nodded and asked, “What else?” He didn’t answer for a moment or two until he realized that the simplest way to deal with this was to simply get through it. “Ribs,” he responded succinctly, “Back.” Vicki squinted at him in the dim light of the van, realizing that his color was a bit high. “Are you having trouble breathing?” she asked. He tried to pull in another shallow sip of air that hurt like hell. “Some,” he acknowledged grudgingly. Vicki fought to control the sudden stab of concern as she called, “How much longer, Ian?” In the front seat, Ian turned his head slightly and responded, “Five minutes. Why?” Glancing back at the clone, who was now leaning to the left with his eyes shut and his arm wrapped around his side protectively, Vicki tensely ordered, “Hurry!”

After they got back to the safe house, it had been touch and go with Devian for most of the night as both Vicki and Immo worked feverishly to save him. The rib that Silk had broken during their final battle had indeed punctured his right lung and, by the time they got him to bed, his very survival had become precarious. When it came down to it, Vicki was out of her depth. If they had not had Dr. Immo to fall back on, they would have lost the clone. It was obvious to everyone that Dev belonged in a hospital; unfortunately, it was equally obvious that their fugitive status made it impossible to take him there. In this way, the little Band of the Witchblade learned why Kenneth Irons had put so much trust in his personal physician over all the years of their long relationship. The man was truly a genius; not just in genetics but in general medicine as well. Without any of the benefits of a modern hospital, the elderly doctor came up with his own unique way to reinflate the clone’s collapsed lung and to get him breathing with some semblance of normalcy. By morning, Dev was once again out of danger and sleeping peacefully. Sara slept quietly curled in a chair across from his bed, an afghan draped over her. Ian had covered her on his last trip into the room to check on them.

Since they had brought Devian back to the safe house, the Wielder had not left his side although the clone was unaware of her devotion. While the two doctors had worked on him during the frantic dash to save his life, she had hovered in the corner of the room like an intense, desperate specter. When the crisis was past and the other caregivers had left him to his rest, Sara had remained, hovering over Ian’s ailing twin as a watchful guardian. Eventually, the long night had taken its toll and her strength had given out. At that point, she had collapsed in the chair, her weary green eyes fixed on her sleeping sometime lover. But the soft chair had proved too comfortable, and she had passed from her vigil into exhausted slumber between one eye blink and the next. That was how Ian had found them before he had carefully covered her and drifted back downstairs. He, too, was exhausted; but he was too keyed up to sleep. It was his normal reaction after a mission, regardless of its success. This time, things had gone well. They had achieved all of their objectives and had sustained no casualties whatsoever on either raid. For Moby’s team, the element of surprise, the skill of his team, and the ineptitude of the functionary in charge of Irons’ offsite lab had all conspired to make his incursion an unqualified success. Not a single member of the former Black Dragon’s unit had sustained an injury and the enemy had been neutralized without any loss of life. Beyond that, Mobius had found some files and discs that sounded extremely interesting. He was going to bring them over that evening for Ian to see.

Their own rescue mission had also been ridiculously easy. They had entered the secret passage to the mansion without incident, finding the entrance overgrown but passable. Once inside, they did not encounter a single guard. The underground laboratory was quiet as a tomb. Ian had determined that there were several rooms in which they might be holding Devian. They found him in the third room that they tried; the other two rooms had been empty. The door was not even locked. Infiltrating Irons’ stronghold had been so simple that Ian was silent and tense; he had begun to wonder whether it was an elaborate trap. With characteristic modesty, he didn’t credit the fact that his plan had worked extremely well. Irons’ security guards had either been sent to the offsite lab to clean up after the raid or had been moved to fortify every known access to the mansion. Consequently, their path to Dev was clear. The only hitch had been the clone being hurt so badly in his climactic battle with his torturer. They had not been in time to spare Devian near death from the lung punctured when Silk cracked that final rib. On the other hand, the inclusion of Immo in their little band had saved his life. Overall, their mission too was a success.

As the sun came up, the rest of them were gathered groggily around the big kitchen table, eyes bright and unfocused with lack of sleep, hands wrapped around steaming mugs of coffee or tea; even Gabriel was still awake at that ungodly hour. Ian had just returned from his trip upstairs to check on Dev and Sara. As he dropped wearily into a chair, Vicki rose to make him some tea and Gabe asked, “How’s he doing?” Ian rubbed his tired eyes. “Sleeping,” he responded softly, “Deep; not moving a muscle.” Dr. Immo made a small movement and Gabriel glanced at the old man who sat at the table like a member of the team; not like a prisoner. “He will most likely sleep for a good while,” the doctor said, “He was in considerable pain so I sedated him. He is also in need of the rest. Do not be surprised if he sleeps through the entire day and night. It will do him good. Although he, like Ian, is bred to heal quickly, his body needs the downtime to allow that to happen.” Gabriel nodded and then turned back to Ian to ask, “And Sara?” Ian leaned back as Vicki put a mug of tea in front of him before resuming her seat. He smiled at her and said, “Thanks.” He took a sip, then added, “She’s sleeping now too. She fell asleep in the chair by his bed. I just covered her and left her there rather than wake her. I’m not sure that she’d want to leave him anyway.”

With a soft sigh, Vicki ran a hand roughly through her hair leaving a trail of spiky tufts. “I’m beat,” she murmured, “I’ve got to get some sleep too.” She stood and carried her empty mug to the already-full dishwasher. She managed to wedge it into the jammed top tray before she turned back to the table, cocking a dark brow. Gabe held up a hand. “Yeah, yeah. Okay, doc,” he protested, “I’ll run it in a little while.” It was his turn to do the dishes. Heading for the doorway, Vicki called back, “Goodnight, all.” An answering chorus of similar sentiments drifted after her departing form. Gabriel stood, picking up his mug, and asked, “Doc, you want more coffee?” Immo pushed his mug across the table to the younger man and replied politely, “Yes. Thank you.” As Gabe filled both of their mugs from the last of the pot, he mused, “All this stress can’t be very good for Pez in her condition.” Dr. Immo’s drooping eyes suddenly widened and he sat up straighter in his chair. “What condition is that?” he asked. Gabe swung around holding the full mugs, his eyes shifting to meet Ian’s abruptly sharp golden orbs. The young man looked chagrined, having carelessly let the cat out of the bag. Ian shrugged. It was bound to come out. Immo was now living with them in the safe house. It was inevitable that he would find out sooner or later. “Sara is pregnant,” Ian replied. The doctor absorbed that news with a slightly stunned expression. Then, a faraway look filled his eyes and he murmured, “Kenneth would have been thrilled by this development. I wish that he was here to offer you his congratulations. You have mine.”

As Gabriel sat back down, pushing the steaming mug across the table to Immo, Ian uttered a muted snort of disdain. The doctor turned to study him curiously. “I think we both know what would happen if my master were here and discovered that Sara was pregnant,” Ian replied, his voice hard, “I, for one, am glad that he’s not.” Immo’s shoulders slumped as he nodded. “Yes. You are right, of course,” he agreed, “He would try to take the child away from her so that he could raise it himself. And, I imagine that the Wielder’s welfare would not be his highest priority in such an endeavor.” There was a brief pause before Ian added, “I suspect that Kendall’s reaction to the news would be similar. In his case, however, Sara’s welfare wouldn’t even enter the equation.” Dr. Immo nodded in agreement. “Heaven help any child that falls into the hands of that abomination,” the doctor hissed. Ian tilted his head, eyes fixed on the old man. “Isn’t that what you called Dev?” he asked, “An abomination?” The doctor dropped his head, spreading his clever hands. “I was wrong,” he responded, “Your clone has proven to be a pleasant surprise. Unlike Kendall, who is driven by his desire for power, Devian seems to be motivated by his need for love. It is most curious.” Ian thought that he might as well let the other shoe drop. Watching Immo carefully, he said, “He may also be the father of Sara’s child.”

The doctor shook his head slowly, a small, melancholy smile touching his wrinkled lips. “No,” he refuted, “That is not possible. Devian is sterile.” Ian’s lips twitched in anticipation of the bomb he was about to drop. “Not any more,” he replied blandly. Dr. Immo choked on the coffee that he had been sipping. He coughed until his face turned red, accepting the paper towel that Gabriel handed him to pat up the spillage. When he was able to speak, he gasped, “How can that be?” Ian shrugged. “That’s a question that you would have to put to the Witchblade,” he answered. Immo went still, his face slack as his brain worked furiously. Finally, he asked, “There is also a possibility that the child could be yours?” Ian nodded. “The Blade initiated the mating ritual between Sara and both Devian and myself,” he explained, “I was first but Dev followed soon enough after that the paternity of the baby is in question.” The old doctor’s eyes were now bright, his attention fully engaged by this unexpected development. “Extraordinary,” he mused, “Then, the Witchblade has altered the genetics of you both to ensure that the Wielder conceives. Why? It does nothing without a purpose. Perhaps It decided that the time was right to procreate Its own dynasty? But why now? Because the Wielder has two Protectors rather than one for the first time in Its history? Or, is the reason something more sinister?”

There was silence while they all considered that. Finally, Gabriel cleared his throat and asked, “Like what?” Immo shrugged. “With the Witchblade, who knows?” he speculated, “It could conceivably be preparing a defense even now for an evil that will not rise until this unborn child reaches its maturity. Its motives are ever arcane, shrouded in mystery.” Gabe’s brows knit and his lips thinned. “Swell,” he mumbled. The doctor took a long sip of coffee before he set his mug back on the table and smiled. “All in all,” he said, “It is a fascinating development. How far along is she?” Ian and Gabe exchanged a look, causing Immo to frown. Ian shrugged again and replied, “We’re not really sure. The pregnancy also seems to be progressing a bit faster than normal.” Dr. Immo released air in a breathy sigh. “Do you think that the Wielder would let me examine her, run some tests?” he asked. Ian finished his tea before he replied, “Probably. She’s obviously as curious as the rest of us about the point of all this – more as it’s happening to her. It can’t hurt to ask.” Ian stood and put his empty mug into the sink. “I’m going to go get some sleep,” he said, then turned toward Immo, “Do you want me to show you where you can settle in?” Immo nodded, also standing and carrying his mug to the sink. “Please,” he replied. Standing still, Ian frowned and asked, “Do I have to worry about securing you in your room, doctor?” Immo gave him a tight smile. “Where would I go? I’m grateful that you freed me from the mansion. I could feel Kendall’s impatience with me. I don’t believe that I was long for this world,” he countered, then added, “And there are questions here to which I would very much like to discover some answers.”

Shooting the doctor a piercing look, Ian responded, “I will take you at your word, Dr. Immo – for now. Give me reason to change my mind, however, and I guarantee that you will regret it.” The doctor blinked, feeling a distinct chill sneak up the length of his spine. “I understand,” he murmured, subdued. Gabe stood now too. “Well, I guess that I’ll run the dishwasher before I get another tongue lashing from Dr. Po,” he said, “Then, I suppose that I’ll hit the sack too. Unless you think that someone needs to stay awake to keep watch.” Ian shook his head. “I think we’re fine,” Ian assured him, “Right now, I imagine the mansion is in a turmoil and Kendall is wondering what the hell happened in the basement lab. He will almost surely see you as a traitor, doctor. Although I’m sure that he’s also wondering who killed Silk. He would automatically exempt you, doctor, but he might also believe that Dev was too badly injured to do the deed. And, of course, he must be stymied as to how you both disappeared without passing any of his excessively guarded exits.” Gabe chuckled. “Yup,” he agreed, “That one must be driving the old boy crazy.” Ian grinned wickedly. “I hope so,” he concurred, “In any case, I’d guess that we have some breathing room; at least for several days.”

As Dr. Immo had predicted, Devian slept for almost 48 hours. During that long night, Sara only left his side to use the bathroom. If Ian hadn’t brought food to her on a tray, she wouldn’t have eaten. Although much of the fuel that was firing her actions was guilt, there was also a substantial amount of love thrown into the mix. The primary thought that kept repeating in her head was that Dev had almost died without ever knowing that she really did love him. Logically, she knew that the clone was Ian’s duplicate, his same chronological age, but Devian looked impossibly young and frail lying quietly on the white sheets. He was so pale that it seemed as if he was slowly fading away; as if she might turn away for a moment and when she looked again he would simply be gone, carried away by an insubstantial puff of air. It was nerve-wracking to see someone so full of life suddenly felled, inert as a stone. For long minutes at a time, she would stare at his barely moving chest to assure herself that he was still breathing. It was late morning of the second day after the rescue, when a soft sound startled her from her reverie.
Sara looked up to see Dr. Immo slowly crossing the room. He was carrying his old, battered medical bag, which he had dragged with him from Irons mansion as if it were a natural physical appendage of his body. Sara shifted in her chair, stretching her stiff body.

As he sat on the bed beside the drugged clone, Immo turned to look at her and said, “You should go lay down now. Get some rest. You do him no good by keeping this vigil. He is not even aware that you are here with him.” Sara shrugged sullenly, not ready to accept the doctor’s assessment out of hand; maybe Dev didn’t know she was there but, then again, maybe on some level, he did and it comforted him. In any case, she needed to watch over him for her own peace of mind. The doctor was taking Devian’s vitals. “How is he doing?” she asked. Immo nodded slowly and turned his head, folding up the blood pressure cuff and returning it to his bag. “He is very weak, but stable,” he replied, “He will need a prolonged convalescence. Another week in bed; a week beyond that of additional rest. His back will scar, but heal. With rest, the ribs will mend. The hand is something else again. The breaks were bad. He may never have full use of those fingers again.” She winced; hating the thought that Dev would be permanently crippled in any way, even if it wasn’t the hand that he favored. “What about surgery?” she asked. The doctor shrugged. “Perhaps,” he agreed, “At some point in the future when things are different. For now, it is the least of his worries.” Her lips thinned. She could hardly dispute that. They were all still trapped in this safe house while half the outside world searched for their whereabouts.
She suddenly studied the old man more carefully; maybe he was the key to changing that; maybe he was the means for neutralizing Kendall Irons so that they could all return to their normal lives – using that term very loosely, of course.

“Well,” Dr. Immo said, standing and closing his bag with a loud snap, “You, too, would be more use to all if you were rested; particularly considering your condition. However, I suspect, as always, you will do as you please.” Sara returned his gaze silently, challengingly. The old man shrugged and glanced at his watch. “The sedatives should be wearing off any time now,” he added, “He will probably wake soon. If he is hungry, some tea and chicken broth might be in order.” She nodded grudgingly. He gave her a tiny smile. “In spite of what you may think, Wielder,” he told her, “I am not your enemy.” Now, she shrugged; not yet ready to concede that point. “Maybe,” she responded, “We’ll see.” Without another word, the doctor shuffled across the room and out the door, shutting it softly behind him. Heaving a deep sigh, Sara pushed herself out of the chair and sat on the bed in the spot recently vacated by Dr. Immo. A half hour later, she jerked awake, her body straightening from the drowsing slump into which she had fallen. Blinking rapidly, she suddenly realized that Dev’s wide, tawny eyes were regarding her with speculative amusement. “Did you lose the coin toss and pull sick room duty?” he whispered, voice rusty. Sara reached out to gently push a stray curl back off his forehead.

The clone winced at her touch, pushing his head back into the pillow to evade it but there was really nowhere to go. Sara sighed. She had been expecting this reaction from him and pulled back her hand with resignation. “Something like that,” she murmured. His expression went carefully blank. “I figured,” he replied, voice a little stronger, “You look tired.” Some humor touched the green eyes and her lips curved into an easy smile. “I’m alright,” she disputed, adding, “You, on the other hand, look like hell, Sparky. How do you feel?” Experimentally, he carefully drew in a deeper breath, stopping when the pain caught him. “Better,” he responded, then asked, “How long have I been sleeping? The last thing that I remember was being in the van. I seem to recall that you ladies were unnerved by my attire.” She grinned. “Oh, yeah,” she teased, “You must mean that stylish birthday suit that you like to wear so much. Right?” He grinned back at her. Slipping easily back into the verbal sniping that was so much a part of their relationship, he baited her, “That’s the one. I only wear it because I know how much you like it. You didn’t say how long I’d been out.” She shook her head, amused in spite of herself. “Coming up on a couple of days,” she said and asked, “Are you hungry?” Dev considered that, dark brows knitting. “I could eat something, I guess,” he decided. She nodded. “Immo said that you could have some tea and broth,” she told him. The clone made a face. “Come on,” she urged, “I bet it will taste better than you think.”

Devian studied her with narrowed, golden eyes. “Why are you being so nice to me?” he asked. Caught offguard, Sara looked flustered. She stood abruptly, head down, hands busy smoothing out the wrinkles in her shirt. “Don’t be a goof,” she suggested gruffly, not looking at him, “I’m going to go get you some food now.” His sensual lips twisted wryly. “That’s more like it,” he observed. As she headed for the door, Sara threw back over her shoulder, “I liked you better drugged.” She heard his soft chuckle as he called after her, “Everyone says that.” When Sara got downstairs, she found her three other male housemates sitting around the kitchen table. They all looked up as she came through the doorway. “He’s awake?” Immo asked. She nodded. “And hungry,” she said. Ian stood and offered Sara his seat. “Sit here, love,” he said, “I’ll make him a tray.” Turning to Immo, he asked, “What should he have?” Dr. Immo waved his hand. “Just some tea and chicken broth to start,” he directed, then added, “One of you might want to go up to see whether he needs help getting to the bathroom.” Ian turned, the kettle in his hands. Gabriel stood, holding up both hands. To Ian he said, “You handle the food and I’ll be his bathroom buddy.” Ian went back to work as Gabe disappeared through the doorway. “Where’s Vicki?” Sara asked. As he removed the lid on a can of chicken broth and dumped it into a saucepan, Ian replied, “In the lab, working.”

Sara brought up something that had been running through her head since she had touched Dev’s hair. It was filthy; stiff with pain sweat, dried blood, and general gunk. Looking at Immo, she asked, “Can I give Sparky a bath? Would it hurt him in any way? I think it might make him feel a lot better.” Dr. Immo frowned. “Sparky?” he asked. She waved an impatient hand and supplied the translation: “Devian.” Immo nodded, comprehension dawning. “I see no harm in it,” he replied, “Of course, I will have to wrap his chest again afterward with dry bandages but that is not a problem. Try to keep his hand from getting wet if you can.” The doctor had applied splints to the broken fingers on the clone’s left hand. “Good,” Sara murmured, “I’ll bathe him then right after I feed him.” Ian poured the heated broth into a soup bowl on the tray that he had prepared. Very softly, he observed, “A nurse or a mother is not what Dev needs right now, Sara.” She looked up sharply and met his bright, golden eyes. Not for the first time, she thought, “He’s such a smart man.” She sucked in a deep breath. “I know that we have to talk about what he heard me say and how I really feel,” she admitted, “I figured it might go easier if I soften him up with some bubble bath and shampoo first.”

Ian gave her an understanding smile. “Couldn’t hurt,” he agreed, “How about I change the sheets while you’re bathing him? You don’t want to put him back in a dirty bed once you have him all cleaned up again.” Her eyes softened with the love that she felt for him. “Have I told you lately that I love you?” she said softly, then added, “Do I sound like a sappy song?” Ian grinned at her as he poured Dev’s tea. “It doesn’t sound sappy to me,” he assured her, “And I never tire of hearing you say it. I love you too.” Dr. Immo cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the intimate tone that the conversation had taken. The old man stood and said, “I believe that young Mr. Bowman brought in the newspaper a little while ago. I’ll just go in the living room and do some reading.” With that, he beat a hasty retreat from the room. Sara’s eyes followed his exit. “I think we embarrassed Dr. Frankenstein,” she remarked. Ian frowned. “Sara,” he admonished her, “We would have lost Dev without Immo. Take it easy on him.” She held up her hands. “I know. I know,” she agreed, “I’m sorry. I know that he saved Sparky’s life; but I still don’t trust him.” After a pause, she hesitantly continued, “I have something to ask you.” Ian sat in the chair across from her. “Sure,” he replied. She fidgeted for a moment and then plunged in to ask, “Would you mind if I spent tonight with Dev in his room?” He dropped his eyes for a couple of seconds before he lifted his head to gaze back at her directly. “No,” he responded, “I expected it. But I want equal time. Spend tomorrow night just with me. Okay? We’ll have a date. You and I haven’t had enough time alone together lately. What do you say?”

Sara gave him a wide, genuine smile. She was relieved that he was so understanding. “I would love it,” she agreed. “And as soon as Dev has healed,” Ian suggested, “We go back to the original plan for the three of us to share a bedroom.” She was quiet, eyes down, hands nervously moving together. “Do you think this whole thing we have between us will change once Dev knows that I love him too?” she asked, “Are you sure that I’m doing the right thing telling him how I feel?” Ian smiled and took her hand in his. “That’s just the coward in you trying to weasel out of it,” he replied, “Isn’t it?” She made a noise in the back of her throat. “You won’t let me get away with a thing, will you?” she growled. He laughed. “Not when it’s the right thing to do,” he agreed, “Devian is in a very precarious place. Unless we honestly offer him the connections that he so desperately needs – a lover, a brother – I think we could still lose him.” Sara nodded. “I hear you,” she accepted, “I won’t chicken out. I’ll come clean.” He picked up her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing her knuckles. “Good. Now you better take him his meal before it gets cold,” he suggested, “Do you want me to take the tray upstairs for you?” She took back her hand, looking at him askance. “Are you doing that fragile pregnant lady thing with me again?” she asked. He held up one hand in defense and pushed the tray across the table to her with the other. She smiled and stood, picking up the tray. “You better rest up, big boy,” she said, leering suggestively, “I want you wide awake and raring to go for our date tomorrow night.” The long-lashed golden eyes staring up at her went wide and darkened to rich amber.

When Sara walked into Dev’s bedroom, he and Gabe were laughing together. They stopped as if they had both suddenly been struck mute as soon as she came in the room. The two men looked at each other and some silent complicity passed between them. Then, Gabriel stood and winked at her. Without uttering a word, he left the room, shutting the door firmly behind him. Sara stood in the middle of the room, holding the meager dinner tray in her hands. “What was that all about?” she asked the invalid, who looked much sharper than he had when she had last left him. Dev gave her a bland expression. “Nothing,” he replied, adding, “Is that my food? I’m starving.” She narrowed her eyes but brought the tray over to the bed, sitting next to him. She put the food on the bedside table and asked, “Can you sit up a little holding on to me? If you do, I can push the pillows up behind you.” He studied her curiously before he responded, “Yeah. I think so.” She bent toward him and slipped her hands under his shoulders. “Put your arms around my neck,” she suggested. Giving her his cocky grin, he did as she asked. “Hold on,” she warned him. When she felt his arms tighten around her neck, she pulled him up off the bed toward her. She stopped as soon as she heard his soft hiss of pain. She was getting ready to lower him back when he said, voice strained, “I’m okay. Go ahead and fix the pillows.” While he held on, Sara reached behind him and quickly pushed up the pillows behind him. She lowered him back carefully on to the plumped up pile behind him.

Devian relaxed back into a semi-recumbent position, loosing an airy sigh of relief. “Better?” she asked. He nodded, cheeks a little flushed with exertion. Eyes softening, Sara reached up to brush a loose curl back off his forehead. Dev caught her hand a breath from the completion of the familiar gesture. “Don’t,” he whispered, immediately releasing her hand again. Her eyes widened as she stared at him, shocked, dropping her hand back to her lap during the long charged silence that followed. Sara blinked. This wasn’t the time to broach the wall that was between them. Right now, he needed to eat. She cleared her throat and picked up the mug of tea, handing it to him. He took it from her and sipped, shutting his eyes with pleasure. “Thanks,” he murmured. Feeling awkward, she nodded and asked, “Do you want me to feed you the broth or can you manage on your own?” His lips twitched at the image of Sara feeding him but he knew better than to tease her at the moment. “Maybe you could just hold the bowl for me?” he suggested. He gave her the empty mug and she set it back on the tray before handing him a soup spoon. Keeping her eyes down, she carefully held the soup bowl in front of the clone. With the spoon in his right hand, Dev tried to dip it into the bowl, but the position was awkward and apparently put a strain on his broken ribs. He stopped, eyes shut; a soft moan forced from deep in his chest. She took the spoon away from him and ordered, “Lie back.” He didn’t argue with her.

Holding a napkin beneath the spoon to catch drips, Sara carefully fed Devian broth until the bowl was empty. It was less awkward between them as they both concentrated on accomplishing the simple act of getting him fed. As she put the empty bowl back on the tray, Dev again said, “Thanks.” Relaxing into the pillows, he shut his eyes, looking sated. “You’re doing it again,” he murmured, “Being nice to me. It’s very unnerving.” She chuckled and the tawny eyes opened wide to study her. “What?” he asked warily. “If you thought that was something, I’m about to really throw you for a loop,” she predicted. Now, the golden eyes narrowed. “Oh, yeah?” he countered, “Well, do it carefully because I’m still fragile. Lay it on me.” She pulled in a deep breath and asked, “How would you like a bath – complete with a good scrub and shampoo?” He caught his breath at her suggestion and let it out in a long, slow hiss of air. Just the thought of it made all of the hard angles of his handsome face soften with pleasurable anticipation. “It sounds wonderful,” he acknowledged wistfully, “I would love it. I’m filthy. I feel all gritty and sticky.” Sara made a face. “More than I really wanted to know, Sparky,” she told him, “You’ll need to work with me. You’re going to have to let me wash you. We can get the bandages on your chest wet because Immo has agreed to wrap you up again but we’ve got to keep your hand splints dry.”

The feral jungle-cat eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why are you doing this for me?” Dev asked, “Why are you even bothering? What’s in this for you?” Sara fought the temper that flared in response to his questions regarding her motives. She realized that she had only herself to blame for the way that he was acting. She had taught him well that she didn’t care enough about him to treat him with either kindness or concern. She had proven to him time and again that her only interest in him was the hot, spontaneous sex that flashed between them like a raging forest fire. Beyond that, she seemed to have very little use for him. And, since he wasn’t really capable of performing at the moment, he was justified in wondering why she had fed him; why she was offering to bathe him. Sara sighed. Before she could come back at him, Dev jumped right in. “If you’re feeling guilty about what happened to me, don’t,” he told her, “I made the choice to lead Irons’ flunky away from the safe house and then was stupid enough to get caught. You’re not responsible for me getting hurt; I am. I don’t want either your guilt or your pity, Sara. I have no use for them.” She looked back at him, not sure where this was going. “Okay,” she responded evenly, “Maybe we can just leave it at me wanting to do this for you. How about that?” Devian shook his head. “Why now?” he asked, “Up until now, our relationship – though I’m sure you would dispute that term – has been pretty much slam, bam, thank you, sir. Take away guilt and pity, and lust is all that remains. I’m not really in a position to scratch that itch for you at the moment. So, again, I ask: why now?”

Sara sighed again, exasperated. As usual, the damn clone just wasn’t going to let her do it her way. “God in heaven,” she hissed, “You’re just as relentless as your brother.” Devian gave her his quirky grin. “Thank you…I think,” he responded, “But you still haven’t answered my question.” She studied his face, trying to let her heart respond to him instead of her temper. Asleep he had looked very young, free from the usual tension, peaceful. Now, in such a short time, he looked thin, tired, ill, and even a bit haggard. Her automatic reaction was to again stretch out her hand to him; this time to stroke his whiskered cheek. And, this time, he didn’t stop her. Instead, he closed his eyes. When she brushed his high cheekbone gently with her knuckle, she found that his skin was cool. A pained expression flickered across his face and he whispered, “Please…” The desperate little catch in his voice stopped her movement immediately.
The wide, golden eyes opened again and there was such desolation in them that she knew that she could wait no longer to make her confession. “Okay,” Sara said, her own voice shaky, “I have some stuff to tell you and it’s going to be really, really hard for me to say. So, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t interrupt me until I get it all out. Okay?” His eyes had widened slightly. In response, Dev simply nodded.

Sara began with her head down, watching her hands as they nervously wrung each other. “I’ve lost so many people that I’ve loved, Dev,” she murmured, “That I’ve become kind of stubborn and superstitious about it. There’s this belief deep inside me that as soon as I admit that I love someone, they’ll be taken away from me.” His heart stuttered at her obvious pain and he reached out to put one of his large, warm hands over hers, stilling her fidgeting. She linked her fingers through his and continued, “It’s very hard for me to let myself accept my feelings for someone, let alone to share those feelings with the person that I love. I denied my feelings for Ian for almost two years before I let him past all the barriers that I had erected to keep him out.” Now, she lifted her head to look directly into the clone’s beautiful eyes, which had darkened to molten amber. “Then, you came along,” she whispered. Sara pulled in a deep breath, struggling. Devian gave her a tentative smile, encouraging her to continue, while carefully keeping his mouth shut as requested. He still held her hand in his and he gently squeezed it now in a show of further support.

“At first, both Ian and I were sure that you could only be evil,” Sara remembered, “I mean, you came from Irons and we figured that you were following his agenda to make things difficult for us. But, then, so many things happened. Ian went to the mansion and you took his place. Then, the Witchblade pushed us together. I was beginning to feel things for you even then but I was ashamed and embarrassed by what had happened between us. It was so unfair to Ian. I mean, he was chained up in the basement of the mansion and I was getting it on with his clone; someone whose motives were unclear and who I barely knew. I was terribly confused. Do you get that?” His eyes never leaving hers, Devian nodded. Sara dropped her head again, unable to look at him when she continued, “But each time we were together, each time we made love, my feelings for you got stronger. I especially remember the night that we just cuddled, when you just held me on your lap in the big easy chair.” She looked up at him in surprise, feeling his tremors through their joined hands. “You’re shaking,” she observed. Dev gave her a lopsided, self-deprecating grin. “I know,” he whispered, “Go on.” She nodded, her eyes again locked with his. “This thing with Vicki, what I said to her about you, it was like my last defense,” she told him, “She tweaked me in some sensitive places and, as usual, instead of standing up and admitting what I really felt for you, I ran like hell in the other direction. I lied.”

Devian’s tawny eyes were dark and huge. Sara could actually see the fine tremors running through him now. “About what?” he asked softly. “Vicki can’t have you,” she replied fiercely, “If she or any other woman tried to take you from me, I’d rip her a new hole. I do want you. I’ve wanted you very badly for a very long time.” His eyes had gotten feverishly bright and she fervently hoped that he wasn’t going to cry. She didn’t know what she would do if he cried. Instead, he just said, “Oh,” in a soft, breathless whisper. What had happened to the master of the snappy comeback, she wondered. Smiling, she added, “There’s more.” This time, he actually shuddered. “There is?” he managed. She nodded. “Are you ready?” she asked. He nodded. He was now breathing audibly through parted lips. “I love you, Dev,” she whispered. His eyes were enormous and shining. A single tear escaped from the corner of each eye and rolled in zigzag tracks down his bearded cheeks. He dragged in a ragged, pained breath and let it out again in a soft gasp. He just stared at her, speechless. Now, she grinned. “Well,” she said, “I guess that I’ve finally found a way to shut you up. Problem is, I think it will only work once.” When he just continued to stare at her, tears rolling down his face, shaking like a leaf, and breathing like he’d just run a marathon, she finally exploded, “Jeez, Sparky. Say something!”

Devian dropped his head and his whole body convulsed in a soft sob. He mumbled something that she couldn’t understand. She put her fingers under his chin and lifted his face. His beard was wet with tears. “What did you say?” she asked. He drew in another ragged breath before he replied softly, “I’ve waited such a long time to hear you say that. I had given up hope. I was ready to go far away somewhere and drink myself to death.” She made a face at him and observed, “You’re such a drama queen!” The sharp laugh was dragged out of him like he hadn’t known it was there. It was as if the laughter cleansed him, healed him, and he started to regain control of himself. “Say it again,” he begged. Sara grinned good naturedly. “Okay,” she agreed, “But listen close because I don’t intend to make a habit out of this.” He nodded, grinning back at her. She took a deep breath, looking full into his eyes, and said, “I love you, you gorgeous, pain-in-the-ass clone. I do.” Then, more solemnly, she repeated, “I love you, Devian.” He bent forward, stretching out one long-fingered hand to grip her behind her neck and pull her mouth to his. He gave her a long, deep, achingly tender kiss. When they pulled apart again, breathless, foreheads still touching, he whispered, “I love you too, Sara, so much that I don’t have the words to hold it, to shape it into what I feel for you.” She pulled back to brush that same curl from his forehead and to ask, “So, can I give you a bath now?”

Sara wound up getting right in the bathtub with Devian. It was easier than trying to bathe him while leaning over the rim. Besides, at the moment, he couldn’t seem to get close enough to her and he bugged her until she joined him just to shut him up. No longer wary of rejection, Dev was practically melting at her slightest touch; his eyes molten reflecting pools of love, desire, and tenderness. Sara, on the other hand, wore a bemused expression as she dealt with this new side of the clone. She was so used to his wisecracks and their verbal sparring that this unguarded, sensitive aspect of him really threw her off her game. Until she could figure out how to respond, she simply went quiet and concentrated on making him clean. Dev was so closely attuned to her, however, that he immediately picked up the slight change in her attitude; he felt her reticence and sensed that she was reining in her emotions once again. Sara was gently scrubbing his chest above the tight swath of bandages with a soapy sponge when he lightly grasped her hand and held it. Her head had been down because she didn’t want to meet his heated gaze. Now, she looked up and was immediately swamped by the confusion in his tawny eyes. “What is it?” he asked, voice tight, “Have I done something wrong again?” When she stayed silent, his frustration erupted. “Shit!” he hissed, “I don’t even know how I’ve pissed you off this time. What did I do?”

Sara sighed. She couldn’t get away with anything with either Nottingham now. They were both so closely connected to her because of the links forged by the Witchblade that she wasn’t able to hide what she was feeling from either of them unless she erected a wall to block them out. For most of their prickly relationship, she had unconsciously built an impressive edifice between herself and Devian; not just to block her true feelings from him, but to deny those emotions to herself as well. Now that she had finally admitted to them both that she loved him, the barriers between them had crumbled. As a result, she was struggling to readjust. Her continued silence while she grappled with what she was feeling, let alone how to explain it, just made the clone more anxious. The vibrations emanating from his tense frame and flashing eyes were edging toward combustion. Sara squeezed the rigid fingers that were still holding hers. “It’s okay, Sparky,” she said soothingly, “Calm down. I’m just trying to find my way in this new place that we’ve stumbled into. Cut me some slack. Okay?” She could literally feel some of the apprehension drain out of his long body; some, but not all. Sara frowned, studying him curiously, wondering what he was thinking. As he did with her, she could pick up the broad strokes of his predominant emotions but the finer details, the nuances, still escaped her. With sudden comprehension, Sara realized that it was that extra distance, that finer level of communication, that Ian was trying to foster between the three of them.

For his part, Devian was trying to deal with disappointment while simultaneously berating himself for his naiveté. Foolishly, he had assumed that, if Sara did love him, their relationship would miraculously become idyllic; all ambivalence would disappear, all problems would be resolved. His sensual lips curved wryly as the trite phrase popped into his head: “And they lived happily ever after.” If he had had more experience – hell, if he had had any experience at all – he would have realized that, in real life, affairs of the heart never ran that smoothly. There were always difficulties of one kind or another. Just because Sara had finally admitted her love for him, didn’t mean that she was magically going to treat him the way that he had always dreamed that she would. She was not, after all, a figment of his fertile imagination. She was a living, breathing woman with a distinctly strong will of her own. Anticipating that Sara would now act toward him as he had fantasized was no more than the imaginative ramblings born of his innocence. Real women were not that malleable; they simply didn’t act that way.

The clone sighed. “Okay,” he replied, answering her request, “I didn’t mean to put you on the defensive. You need to be patient with me too. Because we’re finally together, I guess I expected something different, something…more.” He stopped suddenly, not really sure what he was trying to say. In spite of that, she nodded, finally getting the gist of what he was grappling with. Sara smiled wistfully. “You were looking for magic,” she replied. Dev dropped his head, assuming that she was patronizing him. “I guess,” he mumbled, embarrassed, “I’m not very clear what I was looking for.” He shrugged carefully, a tiny twitch of his left shoulder, before adding, “Something…else.” She nodded. Sara had to keep reminding herself of his innocence. Dev was, by nature, a highly sensual creature. He was innately comfortable in his magnificent body and delighted in all the lovely sensations that it provided both him and his lover. Although he had mastered the physical aspects of his sexuality with alacrity, having natural gifts in that area, the social aspects obviously continued to elude him. She suspected that he was probably feeling a bit foolish and very confused. His head was still down and she stretched out a hand to stroke his hair. As soon as she touched his gritty, filthy curls, she winced. “Time to wash that hair,” she decided.

Devian started to lift his head but she pressed her fingers against his matted hair. “No, Sparky,” she directed, “Keep your head down and your eyes shut.” He emitted a soft, frustrated sound but did as he was told. So, they were simply going to avoid the whole subject of their new relationship, he thought. That wasn’t surprising. It was just like Sara. Relieved at being able to concentrate on something as basic as giving Dev a shampoo, Sara threw herself into it, digging her fingers firmly into his thick hair and scrubbing his scalp. Predictably, a few moments later, the clone relinquished his train of thought to wallow in the sheer pleasure of responding to her ministrations. He pushed his head against the hot spray of water and her deeply stroking fingers with the soft growl of a very aroused male. In the big, deep tub, Sara was kneeling, facing Devian, wedged between his long, bent legs. His left hand rested along the rim of the tub. He had been ordered to keep it there so that the splints supporting his broken fingers remained dry. His other hand, however, was under no such restriction. Intent on getting the accumulated muck out of his usually silky curls, Sara was startled when she felt his warm, wet hand begin to sensually stroke the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. There was nothing remotely cryptic about the signals that Dev was sending out now; they were easily recognizable, blatantly obvious, in fact.

Sara was relieved; this was more familiar territory. She picked up the hose and rinsed his now clean hair; then, she angled the nozzle to spray water directly in his face. Sputtering, Devian lifted his head and removed his hand from her leg to push away the offending hose. “Hey!” he objected, “Cut it out!” She grinned, marveling at his resilience. Dev pushed the sopping mass of wet curls back off of his face to look at her. He grimaced at the pain the movement caused in his damaged side. “I’m glad that you find me amusing,” he observed sourly, “What’s so funny?” She shook her head. “You,” she replied, “You’re incredible. Here you are, banged up all to hell; the night before last your life was hanging by a thread. In spite of that, you’re trying to score with me. What makes you think that your body has healed enough for you to make love?” He tilted his head and gave her that sexy smile. “What makes you think that it hasn’t?” he countered. She made a rude sound. “How about not being able to hold a soup spoon?” she asked, “Screwing around is bound to prove a bit more physically demanding than that. All that is going to happen tonight is that we’re going to get you clean and comfortable for a nice long, restful sleep.” He sighed, resigned. “I don’t suppose that I can change your mind, can I?” he asked, carefully shaking excess water from his wet hair and stretching out that same adventurous hand to cup her breast teasingly. “You’re incorrigible,” she scolded, but she did it with a smile, covering his gently stroking fingers with her own.

Sara shut her eyes with a soft groan. His skillful caress felt really, really good. “See?” he cajoled, “No strain on the broken bones doing something like this.” His artful hand slowly traced a leisurely path down to settle between her legs, where his clever fingers got busy. “Or this,” he added in a seductive whisper. Her eyes still shut, she whispered back in a tone fraught with promise, “Keep it up, Sparky, and I’ll have to punish you…sometime.” When her heavy eyes opened, he gave her that killer grin and asked mischievously, “Promise?” Her green eyes, dark with passion, locked with his, rich amber and sparkling. “You’re so bad,” Sara murmured, voice tight with her building desire, “But you’re awfully good at that.” Devian laughed delightedly and went in for the kill, rubbing her harder and faster. There was no ambiguity here. In this area, he knew that he could please her. Sara’s body stiffened as an orgasm rocked her. She dug her nails into his skin where her right hand gripped his left shoulder and her other hand clutched at his right forearm. She released a high, thin wail and fell forward, dropping her head to rest against the smooth skin of his left shoulder. Dev turned his face to press his warm lips gently against her temple. They stayed like that, still, until after another moment, she shivered. “The water is getting cool now. Want to move to the bed?” he asked.

“I haven’t finished washing you yet,” Sara managed, finally finding the strength to raise her head. Devian pursed his lips. She frowned and asked, “What?” Tilting his head rakishly, he observed, “If you’re intent on washing anything below my waist, perhaps you could return the favor?” Her frown deepened. “I don’t really think you’re up to it, Sparky,” she pointed out. Dev took her hand and guided it under dwindling, rose-scented bubbles to rest on his nascent erection. “Guess again,” he purred. She quickly disengaged her hand and pulled it back. “If you start to breathe heavily, it could hurt your chest and side,” she argued. He impatiently shifted a little and lukewarm water lapped the sides of the tub. He was uncomfortable and wanted the release. He didn’t understand why they always had to play these games. He found that he was starting to get exasperated. “Then I won’t breathe heavily,” he logically replied. She snorted in disbelief. “Yeah, right,” she scoffed. Dev had seen his brother use a certain expression on Sara with great effect. He decided to give it a try. The clone adopted a woeful demeanor and filled his big, tawny eyes to brimming with sadness. “Don’t you want me?” he asked beguilingly. Sara’s eyes widened. Guilt automatically suffused her. “Oh, jeez,” she mumbled, “Don’t look at me like that.” She had no idea that she was being played.

Devian widened his own eyes innocently, amazed that it was working so well. “Like what?” he asked ingenuously. Sara released a puff of air and stretched out her hand to run it up the calf of one of his bent legs. Hard muscles jumped in reaction. “I don’t want to hurt you, Dev,” she stalled. His long fingers closed again over hers as he guided her hand back to his now full erection. “You won’t hurt me, baby,” he breathed softly, expectantly, “I promise.” When her fingers finally closed around him, a shiver that had nothing to do with the temperature of the cooling water ran through him. Her eyes narrowed. “Okay,” she agreed, “You win. But if you start to pant, I’m stopping.” Devian groaned softly from low in his throat. “If it will get your hand moving, I won’t even breathe,” he suggested. Won over, she chuckled as she tightened her fingers around the hot, silken hardness of him and gave him what he wanted. Dev groaned again, with more feeling and volume. Sara glanced toward the door, hissing, “Shhh. Pipe down or the whole house will hear you.” He nodded absently, shutting his eyes and moving his right hand to the rim of the tub where he clamped his fingers in a white-knuckled grip.
True to her word, as soon as his breathing started to get ragged, her hand began to slow down. Burning amber eyes shot open and locked with flinty green. Holding her gaze, Dev deliberately struggled to stop panting and bring his heavy breathing back to normal. With one eyebrow cocked sardonically, Sara finally accepted that he had it under control again and resumed caressing him both faster and harder.

Devian’s eyes fluttered shut and his head dropped back. “Oh, god,” he growled softly, “Sara…” She could tell by the muscles tightening and shifting in reaction all over his body that he was close. A moment later, his body arched and he climaxed with a harsh, muted cry. Still quivering, he slowly lifted his head and opened glazed, feline eyes. He expelled a long, shaky breath. She reached out a hand to brush against his bearded cheek. “Are you okay?” she asked. His lips twitched and he replied, “Yeah. See? Still in one piece.” Glancing down at his flaccid member, wreathed in water now murky with his ejaculation, Dev made a soft sound and quoted, “’The limp father of thousands…’” Sara’s eyes widened, startled. “What?” she asked. He gave his head a small shake and explained, “Leopold Bloom says it in ‘Ulysses.’” At her blank stare, he continued, “You know…James Joyce?” Sara looked flummoxed. “You’ve read James Joyce?” she asked. Forgetting that it hurt, he shrugged and then winced again with the pain. “I’m alone a lot,” he replied, “And I like to read. Why is that so surprising?” Now, she shrugged, her eyes dropping to the portion of his anatomy in question. She briefly wondered yet again whether he was the father of the baby that she was carrying. Then, she remembered that he had asked her a question. Her eyes lifted to his arresting face and she answered him honestly, “Because you don’t seem like the type. It’s hard to picture you sitting quiet with a book. Maybe you’re more like your brother than I realized.”

Devian wasn’t sure whether he had just been insulted or complimented. Instinctively, he felt that an inexplicable distance had suddenly grown between them. He didn’t want that. He didn’t want that ever again. “No guts, no glory,” he thought, grabbing hold of his courage. Ironically, something like this was infinitely harder for him than facing the albino torturer had ever been. Dev shifted his arm from the rim of the tub and stretched it out to her, asking softly, “Hold me?” A snarky response hovered just behind her lips for a moment but she fought it. For a second or two, they just stared at each other. Then, she came forward on her knees and put her arms around him, resting her cheek against his wet hair. Returning her embrace, Devian gratefully angled his face into the hollow beneath her chin and gave her neck a soft kiss with a nipping bite chaser. “I’m absolutely crazy about you,” he whispered lightly, rubbing warm circles on her bare back, “And, although I could hold you like this forever, we better get out of here sometime soon because this water is really nasty now and we’re both starting to prune.” Sara pulled back a little and he lifted his head. Back in a comfortable place, she accused, “Whose fault is it that the water is nasty?” His lips twitched wryly. Tenderness between them would probably always be fleeting, he thought. Oh well. He grinned. “Mine. For being such a dirty devil. I admit it,” he agreed disarmingly. Sara grinned back. The clone got on her last nerve but it was hard to stay mad at him.

“You’re clean enough,” she decided, “Time to get you dry and into bed.” Sara got out of the tub and grabbed a towel, quickly drying herself off so that she could see to her charge. Devian watched her every move with a heated, amber gaze. His tawny eyes suddenly widened and he blurted, “Wow. You’re getting a little belly. Is that the baby?” Sara froze in mid-motion, looking down at her slightly distended stomach in a kind of fascinated horror. With a rapt expression, she dropped the bath towel that she had been using and moved her hand to slowly touch her barely bulging tummy. She was so intent that she didn’t notice Dev awkwardly rise, lift himself from the tub, and kneel dripping on the discarded towel in front of her. When she saw him and started to step back, startled, he reached out with his one good hand to grasp her bare hip and hold her in place. “Don’t,” he whispered breathily, “Stay. Please.” She stood still, cautious, waiting to see what he was going to do. He bent forward to gently rub his bearded cheek against the little mound of her belly. The soft bristles of his whiskers felt like scratchy fur and were surprisingly erotic on her sensitive skin. Dev turned his face to press his warm, firm lips to the spot that he had just rubbed with his cheek.

Beneath his mouth, they both suddenly felt a vague, but surprisingly distinct, fluttery movement originate from somewhere within her. They both gasped loudly and Devian tilted his head back to look inquiringly up at Sara. Her eyes were huge pools of verdant green. “Did you feel it?” he asked in an awed whisper. She nodded, unable to speak. His big, golden eyes sparkled with unshed tears. “That was my daughter,” he stated with absolute conviction. Sara stepped back out of his embrace, her eyes suddenly hooded. “Maybe,” she replied. The clone got to his feet with some difficulty. Avoiding his gaze, Sara handed him a clean towel. Turning to let the water out of the tub, she asked, “Can you dry yourself?” He was subdued again, struggling with the let down of not being able to share the miracle of their child with her mother. Devian started to reach out to her but Sara avoided his touch; moving instead toward the closed bathroom door. “I’m going to go get Immo to change those wet bandages on your chest,” she called back over her shoulder, “Get dried off so that you’re ready for him. I’ll be right back.” Then, she was gone. The clone finished drying himself and wrapped the damp towel around his narrow hips.
Sighing he sat down on the closed lid of the toilet. “Why does she always have to make it so fucking hard?” he asked the steamy air of the little room, adding, “I would do anything to please her. Why won’t she let me?”

Devian still had no answer when Sara returned a few minutes later with Dr. Immo right behind her. She was wearing Ian’s old, white terry bathrobe. She had sewn up the rip that they had made in it after their last sexual escapade in a bathroom. For Sara Pezzini to take a needle and thread to anything was a testament to the sentimental value that it must hold for her. It baffled the clone, who was wondering why she didn’t just have one of the Notties go to the mall and buy her a new one – one of her own. That’s when it clicked for him. Sara wore it because it had originally belonged to Ian. A swift, irrational stab of jealousy zinged through him like a lightning bolt. Before he could tamp the envy back down, he turned to look at her with feral golden eyes and she took a step back, one hand clutching the offending garment tightly to her chest. Stifling a shiver, she stepped aside to let Immo past her and mumbled, “You don’t need me here. I’ll go wait in the bedroom. Call me if you need me.” Dev started to stand, to attempt to stop her, to tell her that he wanted her to stay – that he did need her – but a sharp pain in his side made him gasp, the color draining from his face as he dropped back to his seat. Immo came forward, clucking and holding up a restraining hand. “No, no, no,” he admonished gravely, “Sit down. Stay still. Sudden movements like this are not good.”
The clone’s lips twitched wryly as he panted softly, trying to regain his equilibrium. Some color edged back into his wan cheeks. “No shit,” he returned dryly. Giving the doctor a wary gaze, he asked, “What are you going to do to me?”

Dr. Immo studied the clone owlishly before he replied, “It is good that you are clean once again. Yes? But now the bandages around your chest are soaking wet. I am going to replace them with dry ones. That is all. Yes?” Devian frowned. His mood had taken a sharp nosedive. He sneered at the old doctor and growled, “You don’t have to talk to me like we’re in Mr. Rogers’ fucking neighborhood. I’m not a child. You try to do anything to me besides changing the goddamn bandages and I’ll show you just how mobile I am. Are we clear?” Immo took a step back from the clone, his grey eyes large with fear. “Would you rather remain in the wet bandages?” he asked, “It is all the same to me.” Dev sighed. If he went to bed with wet bandages around him, he would make the bed wet as well. Sara wouldn’t want to sleep with him. The bandages had to be changed. He fought down his irritation and tried for a more pleasant tone, “No. Go ahead. Just don’t get tricky.” Half an hour later, the clone was wrapped again in clean, dry bandages and Dr. Immo had taken his leave, all limbs intact.

When Dev stepped into the darkened bedroom, he saw a pair of Ian’s black, silk pajamas waiting for him on the side of the bed. Sara sat in the big, easy chair, her legs tucked up under her. She was trying to read “Ulysses,” which she had found on the table beside the bed. The corner of his lip curved up wickedly. He had to ask. “What do you think of it?” he ventured. She turned her head toward him. He was tall and dark in the low light of the room with the white swathes of the towel around his hips and the bandages around his chest making shocking counterpoints. She shut the book and tossed it back to the bottom of the table beside the bed. “I didn’t understand a word of it,” she predictably responded, “Did Gabe bring it to you?” He nodded. There was an uncomfortable pause before she waved a casual hand toward the bed and said, “Ian changed the sheets and left you clean pajamas while we were in the bathroom.” His face hardened almost imperceptibly and he said softly, “That was good of him.” Sara squinted at him, trying to read his expression, but the light was too dim and the change was too subtle. She was getting one of those vague, sensory things from him again. She could tell that something was there but it wasn’t clear enough to nail down; to identify it as anything concrete.
It was really irritating. “Yes. It was,” she agreed, annoyed, “Get dressed.” He shook his head. She noticed that his splinted hand was angled awkwardly at his side.

Like a shifty shell game, while Sara was watching his disabled hand, his other hand moved so quickly she missed it. Suddenly, Dev was just standing there naked and the towel that had been around his hips was pooled at his feet. “I don’t wear pajamas,” he informed her, adding, “Though I do appreciate the gesture.” Her eyebrow lifted as she studied his gorgeous body. Even the bandages and livid bruises that had emerged in spectacular Technicolor across its expanse did nothing to diminish its magnificence. “I’ll bet,” she observed dryly. Devian sighed, his shoulders slumping a little. All of a sudden, all of the fight seemed to drain out of him. He crossed the room and dropped to the side of the bed, facing her. He watched her carefully for a moment before he asked, “Will it ever be between us the way that it is between you and Ian?” Sara had been waiting for that question since she had admitted her feelings to Dev; in fact, she had expected it sooner. The problem was, she still had no good answer for it. She told him the truth. “I don’t know,” she replied. He dropped his head, not wanting her to read his eyes. His voice was very soft when he asked, “Is it me? Is there something wrong with me? Is it because of what I am?” Sara fought against the facile denial that sprang to her lips. Devian had been through so much for them. He deserved the truth. “I don’t know what it is,” she replied, “I do love you, Dev. Just not the same way that I love Ian. Maybe it’s just a matter of time. Maybe it will come to be the same some time soon; maybe it won’t. I just don’t know. I’m sorry that I can’t give you a better answer than that.”

Devian gave one of those tiny shrugs that made him gasp. He did it because the sudden physical pain was easier to deal with than the other pain inside him. “It’s okay,” he murmured, head still down, “At least you’re honest about it. I appreciate that.” Sara leaned forward to grasp his good hand in both of hers. It was cold. “I do love you,” she repeated earnestly, trying to ease the hurt that she could sense in him. He lifted his head and nodded. “I love you too,” he replied with none of his usual ardor. He looked and sounded very tired. Her eyes softened. “You’re exhausted, aren’t you?” she asked. He gently disengaged his hand from hers and lifted it to push silky, stray curls out of his eyes. “Yeah,” he agreed, “I guess I am.” She studied him carefully. He seemed aloof, distant. “Do you want me to stay with you tonight?” she asked, “Sleep with you?” The wide golden eyes were guarded now. “If you want to,” he replied, fighting against the desire to sway her because he wanted it very much, “I don’t want you staying with me for the wrong reasons. If you’d rather be with Ian, then go to him. I’ll be okay.” Sensing all kinds of conflicting emotions hanging in the still air between them, she came to a decision. “Move over,” she ordered. He gave her a small, dazzling smile as he eased across the clean sheets.

In the kitchen below, Ian turned back to focus on the man sitting across the table from him. For the last several minutes, his head had been tilted upward, his luminous, golden eyes glazed, as if he were listening to a distant conversation. The big man on the other side of the table had watched his friend with avid interest. Between one moment and the next, Ian had almost seemed to slip into some sort of fugue state. Although he did not fully understand the mechanics of the connection that the Witchblade had forged among his friend, the Wielder, and Ian’s clone, Mobius was aware that it had linked them together psychically, physically, and, possibly, spiritually. Now, something was happening in the bedroom above that had caught Ian like a hook baits a fish, snagging it and slowly reeling it in. It was different than the projected sensation that had shaken his brother earlier in the evening; that shared experience had been unmistakably sexual. Moby was a man of the world who had been around the track a few times; he knew the signs when he saw them. He found the whole situation fascinating. And, not the least past of that allure, were the changes that he had observed in his friend.
Ian had changed. He seemed more mature, more confident; he had finally come into his own as a leader. Mobius had discovered new depths in his old comrade the piqued his interest. He was very curious to discover the future that Ian had planned for himself; the direction that he had determined that this strange triumvirate would take over time.

The two men had not, however, discussed any of that yet. So far, the conversation had centered on the documentation and discs that Moby had confiscated during his raid on the offsite laboratory and how they might be used to the best advantage. Now, Ian’s tawny eyes again held awareness as he sat looking back at Mobius, blinking rapidly as if to clear the mist obscuring his view. “Are you well, my brother?” the big man asked in his deep, resonant voice. Ian lifted a long-fingered hand to his forehead and delicately rubbed the frown line between his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, “I spaced out on you again, didn’t I?” Moby frowned. Ever the warrior, he asked, “Do you have no control over these…” The big man searched for a word and settled on, “Possessions? If one of these episodes were to capture your faculties at an unpropitious moment, you would be dangerously vulnerable to all manner of attack.” Ian smiled wanly and replied, “I can block the connection when it is required. I’m more interested, however, in learning how we can shape it, use it to grow and strengthen our abilities.” Mobius studied his old friend with wise, dark eyes. “I am most impressed with how well you are able to master your emotions, Ian,” he observed, “You yearned for your lady from afar for so many, many years. Now, you finally have her and you are forced to share her affections with another. How are you able to accept that with such equanimity?” Ian’s smile recognized the irony of his predicament. “I had little choice in the matter, my friend,” he replied, “Between the machinations of my master and the designs of the Witchblade, the dynamics of my relationship with Sara was decided for me.”

Mobius took a sip from the glass of rich, red wine that Ian had poured for him. “You could always simply walk away,” he suggested; of course, already knowing his comrade’s answer to that option. As expected, Ian shook his head. “No,” he softly responded, “That I could never do. Only death will ever part me from Sara now.” Moby nodded, accepting that, knowing the complex loves and loyalties of his friend. “And this Devian, your clone, what is it that you feel for him?” he asked, “What is the nature of your relationship with an entity that is, essentially, yourself? What is it like to watch yourself as another from a distance?” Ian’s smile deepened. He suddenly realized how much he had missed this man who had shared with him so much of his difficult past; who knew him better than perhaps anyone else because he had always accepted him just as he was. Because of that, Ian had never tried to obscure himself behind the façade that he constructed for everyone else.

“It’s strange,” Ian admitted, “And difficult. Most often, I see him as the little brother that I never had. I keenly understand the struggles that he’s enduring and I empathize. Then, there are other times, that I want to tear out his beating heart and shred it.” Moby had felt that emotion himself a time or two and he understood it. He gave his fellow Black Dragon a bloodthirsty grin. “Because of the Wielder,” he surmised. Ian nodded. “Logically, I understand the dynamics of the situation that we’re in,” he explained, “But, viscerally, I have a jealous streak that sometimes gets the best of me. For the good of us all, to fulfill our destiny, I know what I have to do. Sometimes, though, it’s very hard.” The big man reached a long, muscled arm across the table to clap his friend heartily on the shoulder. “As I already imparted,” Mobius intoned, “I am very impressed with the maturity that imbues you, my friend. You are much changed. You have grown.” Ian pushed a hand distractedly through his loose, tangled locks. “Have I?” he asked, “I don’t see it. I certainly don’t feel it.” Moby waved an authoritative hand and replied, “Nevertheless.” Ian shook his head and murmured, “It gets better.” Mobius raised a questioning, dark brow. “Sara is pregnant,” Ian said. The rich, chocolate eyes widened perceptibly. “That is quite a complication,” Moby observed. Ian made a soft sound and replied, “Now there’s an understatement.” Moby studied him curiously before he asked bluntly, “Is it yours?”

Ian’s smile was complex, reflecting all of his inner turmoil. “I don’t know,” he said simply. There was a long pause; both men were lost in thought. Finally, Mobius asked, “Was this conception the direct result of the Witchblade’s manipulations?” Ian nodded. “It certainly looks that way,” he responded. Moby shook his large, shining head. “There are wheels within wheels within wheels here, Ian,” he suggested, “There is quicksand in every direction.” Ian smiled. “That may explain my frequent sinking feeling,” he joked, then added seriously, “I’ve missed you, my brother.” The big man smiled warmly. “As I have you, my friend,” he replied. A soft cough startled them both. They had been so engrossed in their conversation that neither man had heard anyone approach. Mobius had just enough time to find that disturbing before he turned his head to meet the eyes of the small, dark-haired woman poised in the doorway as if on the edge of flight. “I’m sorry,” she said in a slightly strangled voice, “Am I interrupting? I can come back later.” And, without even waiting for a reply, she started to turn to make her retreat. “Wait!” Mobius called in a commanding tone. His expression was a bit shocked; he hadn’t even intended to speak. She stopped as if a giant hand had suddenly gripped her and held her in place, turning to look at the big warrior expectantly, wide-eyed.

Ian had watched the whole exchange with a slight, bemused smile on his face. Now, he cleared his throat and they both looked at him with dazed, dark eyes. “Come on in, Vicki,” he said, “Sit down. Have some wine.” She came to the table like a reluctant child and sat in the empty chair between them. Once there, she folded her hands in front of her and dropped her head. Mobius was holding his wine glass a few inches from his face, frowning down at the red liquid as if it had offended him. Ian’s smile broadened to a grin. “Vicki Po,” he introduced, “This is Hector Mobius. Moby, this is Dr. Po, Sara’s friend.” Vicki lifted her head, studying the huge presence beside her from beneath her lashes. “Hi,” she mumbled, “I’ve heard a lot about you.” Moby looked at her directly and graced her with a charming smile. “Then I imagine that you must be in fear for your life being this close to the avenging Dragon,” he replied, “But be at ease, Po. I no longer breathe fire. I have foresworn it.” She lifted her head and looked at him, a bemused smile teasing her lips. “Thanks,” she responded, “That’s good to know.” He inclined his large, shining head and let the smile slide into a fullout grin. Vicki caught her breath and let herself be drawn into that snare, a willing fly stretching out gracefully along the sticky strands of an enchanting spider’s web. Ian cleared his throat again, feeling suddenly superfluous. Neither one of them looked at him. “Another bottle of wine?” he asked. No one answered. Smiling, he stood and went to get a fresh bottle and another glass. It looked as if it was going to be a long, interesting night.