Breathing Space

When the alarm went off way too early the next morning, Sara blindly stretched out a hand to turn it off and instead connected with a mug of hot coffee. Not even opening her eyes, she said huskily, "Thanks, baby." An amused, deeply feminine voice responded, "You're welcome, darling." Sara's eyes flew open and she launched herself backward across the bed, her right hand reaching automatically for her gun – which, of course, was on the coffee table. Sitting perfectly relaxed on the opposite edge of the bed was a woman that Sara had never before seen in her life. Yet, she knew without a doubt who it was.

She was very beautiful with jet black hair, dark blue eyes, and alabaster skin. Even though she languidly perched on the edge of the bed, Sara could tell that she was tall – just a couple of inches shorter than Ian. She looked as fit as he was too. She radiated good humored menace. "What do you want?" Sara asked. The woman smiled, showing perfectly matched, very white teeth, "Everything," she replied, in a sensual purr. "But I'll take him for a start. I'd forgotten how pretty he is," she added, smiling, as both women turned to watch Ian walk naked from the kitchen with two steaming mugs in his hands. Then, Sara blinked and she was gone.

Sara rolled from the bed and hurtled to the coffee table. She grabbed and cocked her gun, turning in a crouch. Ian froze in mid stride, looking around, confused. Sara, still in a shooter's stance, attempted to look everywhere at once. Ian didn't move a muscle. He tried a smile, "Are you going to shoot me for forgetting to turn off the alarm?" he asked, "It seems a little harsh, don’t you think?" "Where is she?" Sara asked. "Who?" he countered, still staying put but now looking in the corners as well. "The tall black-haired babe who looked like she could take you on," she responded. She saw something like recognition flicker in his eyes, but all he said was, "Put the gun down, Sara. If she was here, she's gone and and I'm starting to feel silly standing here like this."

Sara put the safety back on her gun but she carried it with her to the bed. Ian continued to the bed where he put the mugs on the table and turned off the still beeping alarm. Then, he went to the wardrobe where he grabbed a pair of sweatpants from a drawer and yanked them on. Sara smiled at his action. "It's a bit late for modesty, ace. She'd already taken a good look at the family jewels and expressed her admiration." Keeping her gun by her hand, Sara picked up her coffee and took a long swig. "You didn't see her at all, did you?" she asked. Ian sat next to her on the bed, shaking his head. "Well, that's an interesting way to start the day," she said drily, "How much do you want to bet that when I see her later today she acts like this never happened?" "No bet," he replied.

"Why didn't the Witchblade activate?" Sara asked. "Bee she she wasn't really here," Ian said, "She wasn't a physical threat to you." Sara ran a hand though her hair. "She certainly felt threatening enough," she said, "And physical enough too." Sara studied him through slitted eyes. Hemedemed pretty engrossed in drinking his tea. "Why didn't you mention that you'd met her?" she asked. He shrugged and said, "It was nothing very memorable. She was working as a bodyguard for one of Mr. Irons' competitors. I don't think we said more than ten words to each other." She raised an eyebrow. "Well, you certainly seem to have made an impression on her," she said, "She looked at you the way I look at Crème Brule." "Did she say anything?" Ian asked. "Nothing very memorable," Sara replied, flinging his own words back at him. "I'm going to take a shower," she added, already heading toward the bathroom.

He stayed on the bed, head bent, lost in thought. He'd just raised his head, shaking it a little, when he felt Sara. Rapt, he opened his body to the sensation. It wasn't like anything he'd experienced through his connection with her before. This was completely new. He felt that she needed him – not in an emergency, danger is immanent kind of way. Just that she was feeling worried and scared and alone, and she needed him close. Then, he felt a sharp mental tap from the Witchblade that pretty much said, "Get your ass in here, big boy." He gasped at the contact, which also had a new directness. He immediately stood and went to the bathroom.

Sara liked hot showers. When he opened the bathroom door, the steam was thick. He shut the door again to hold in the heat and kicked off the sweatpants that he'd just put on. He opened the shower door. Sara didn't hear him. She was standing under the shower spray with her hands braced on the wall in front of her, head down. Her shoulders slumped dejectedly. He stepped into the shower stall and shut the door. Moving close behind her, he slid his arms around her waist and pulled her tightly back against his body. "It's just me," he whispered. She'd had enough scares for one morning. Sara had to smile. She rested her head back against his shoulder and held his arms with hers. "Believe me," she said, "I'll never be so far gone that I'd ever mistake you for a woman." She felt the soft rumble of his laugh vibrate against her back.

She turned in his arms and pulled him under the shower spray with her. He hissed once at the hot water and then stepped forward, backing her up against the tile wall. She ran her hands up his now slippery chest to twine them behind his neck. Burying her fingers deep into the heavy mass of his soaked hair, she pulled his face down to hers. They found that hot kisses with open mouths and searching tongues don't work very well while standing under a heavy stream of cascading water. Sara pulled back coughing, having swallowed more water than Ian's tongue. Ian swung her around. The water still fell over their bodies but their heads were now clear of the torrent. "Are you okay?" he asked, "Want to try that again?"

Sara pulled him close and rested her head against his chest. "What is it?" he asked, stroking her back, "What's upsetting you?" "I hate people messing with my head," she mumbled against his skin, "She got into my head, didn't she? I also didn't much care for the way that she looked at you – like she could have you whenever she wanted." He brought her chin up with his hand and leaned down to gently kiss her lips. "You have no worries on that score," he said, "She can't. She couldn't before you were a real presence in my life. She certainly can't now. I love you, Sara. Only you. There will never be anyone but you for me."

She slid her arms back up around his neck and nuzzled his wet skin. "Yeah? What if she works some weird kind of mojo on you so that you love her instead of me?" she asked. She felt another vibration from his chest and realized he was laughing. She looked up into amused golden eyes. "You don't think much of my will, do you?" he asked, "Do I get to have any self-determination at all in this scenario?" Sara shrugged and dropped her eyes. "Oh, I see," he said, amusement still obvious in his tone, "I become some sort of sex zombie at her beck and call, is that it?" Now, a smile tugged at her lips too. She had to admit the image was sort of ridiculous and sort of appealing at the same time – just not with "X" as the mistress.

He saw the smile that she was trying to hide and really laughed. "Okay," he said, "I guess we have to add another costume to dress-up night besides the pirate gear. It looks like I'll have to invest in some leather too." She punched his shoulder lightly and said, "Stop trying to make me laugh. It's not that far-fetched. And when did you become so knowledgeable about bondage games anyway?" He leaned down to nibble at her bottom lip while his fingers slipped down between them to start rubbing her. "I told you before," he whispered, "Just because I wasn't a participant doesn't mean that I didn't know about what went on at the mansion. My sexual education was actually pretty eclectic, even if it was second hand and entirely theoretical."

Sara started to push against his fingers. "I guess that means that even if didndidn't do anything about it, you saw a hell of a lot," she panted. "Was I being hopelessly obscure again?" he asked, stroking her harder. "Oh, god," Sara breathed, digging her nails into his shoulders, "I'll let it go because you really are so very good with your hands," her final words rising into a cry as an orgasm overtook her. She leaned heavily against him and said, "Now I'm too weak to wash myself." He said, "I'll do that." Still trying to catch her breath, she replied, "Just wash though, Ian. I've got to get ready for work. I'm probably already going to be late." "No," he said, "I think you're still okay for time."

As he washed her back, she said, "Well, I guess you got me out of that funk that I was sliding into, didn't you?" "Did I?" he said, turning her to the spray to rinse off her back. "Yeah," she replied, "But it still bothers me that she can just get in like that." "Me too," he said, "I think the first thing we should ask Lazar is if there are some blocks that we can use to keep her out. There, you're done." "Want me to wash you?" she asked. "I think I can manage," he said, "You better dry off and get dressed or you will be late." Before she got out of the shower, she stretched up to give him a quick kiss on the lips and said, "Thanks." He gave her one of his hundred watt smiles and said, "My pleasure." The Witchblade flashed scarlet and he added, "You too." Sara looked back at him quizzically before shutting the stall door but he just shook his head. By the time he came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, Sara was dressed and ready to leave for work. "No breakfast?" he asked. "I'll grab something on the way in," she said, heading for the door.

"Hey," he called after her. She stopped and turned, hand on hip and eyebrow raised. "Don't I get a kiss goodbye?" he asked, "coulcould come home and find that I've become a mindless sex zombie. Then how would you feel knowing that you hadn't kissed me goodbye?" She walked back to him and jabbed her finger into his bare stomach. "Don't joke about that, ace," she said, "It's not smart to tempt fate." She leaned up to kiss his lips, grabbing the towel as she turned away. "Your friend said she'd forgotten how pretty you are," Sara said over her shoulder as she walked back to the door, "She's right. You really are primo sex slave material. You better watch your back, pal." Sara dropped the towel over the coat rack. "And you better watch your front, too," she finished, casting her eyes downward. She opened the door just as her elderly neighbor across the hall was also leaving. Through the open doorway, the genteel lady exchanged startled glances with Ian before he dove out of the sight. Sara closed the door, laughing, and said, "Sorry," to the wide-eyed wobefobefore she hurried down the steps.

When she got to the precinct, she found Danny going over the Moffett forensic reports that Vicki had just sen. Ja. Jake had worked the weekend shift and was off. Danny gave her a chance to take off her jacket, and spread out the coffee and muffin she'd picked up on the way in. Then, he asked, "How's Ian?" She looked blank for a moment before saying, "Fine." He looked back at her curiously and said, "You took Friday off because he was sick. Remember?" She slapped a hand to her forehead and said, "Man, that seems like a year ago." He was still looking at her, so she added, "He heals really fast. He was actually feeling better that night."

As she remembered their "living together" celebration, she added very softly with a smile, "Much better." Not softly enough, however. "And, thereby hangs a tail," Danny said. "Yeah," she replied, smile expanding to a grin, "But not one for your tender ears." "Hey," he protested, "Married isn't dead, you know." She snorted. After a moment of thought, she asked, "Did it change a lot – you know, you and Lee, the way you were together – after you got married?" Danny replied, "If you mean, did we stop jumping each other's bones every half hour, the answer is no – not for quite a while. Eventually, though the desire for each other eases off a bit. It has to or you'd kill each other. Right?" Sara looked dubious. He raised an eyebrow. "Then, again, maybe it doesn't. What do I know?" he asked. "And, of course, everything changes when the first kid comes," he added. Sara held up a hand. "Don't even bother going there," she said. He laughed.

"So," he said, "You and Ian thinking about tying the knot?" Sara choked on the coffee she'd just gulped. Before she could even answhe ahe added, "This is moving awful fast, isn't it, Pez? I mean, he just moved in with you less than a month ago. Don't let great sex cloud your better judgment." "And just who is it that told you that the sex was great, Dr. Ruth?" she asked. He grinned. "C'mon, you two melted the ice in every martini at Rosa's wedding," he said. The eyebrow went up. "Just the martinis?" she asked, "We must be slipping." "Okay, okay," he said, "I'll shut up about it."

After reviewing the forensic reports and finding what she expected – nothing, Sara looked up to find Danny watching her again. She ran a hand through her hair and said, "What?" He shrugged. "I don't know. You seem of of frazzled this morning. Is something wrong?" She shook her head and said, "You know me too well, partner." He waited. Finally, she asked, "So, are we going t que question Irons and his gal pal 'X' today?" "'X'?" Danny asked. "Ian says that's how she's known in the trade," Sara said. "That being the assassin trade, I presume?" he asked, "What else does Ian say?" "That she's a piece of work. Actually, those are my words, not his, but that was his implication," she replied. "She's also got pretty impressive psi talents," Sara added. Danny looked skeptical. "Like what?" he asked, "She levitates, reads minds, tells your future, all of the above?"

"Well, one thing she does I know from personal experience," she said, "She shows up in your bedroom looking real as life while her body's hanging around someplace else." "Yeah, sure," he said. When her face stayed serious, his mouth dropped open. "You're shitting me," he said. "I shit you not," she replied. "Wow, no wonder you look frazzled," he said, "What did she want?" "I think just to show me what she could do," Sara replied, "And maybe to try to get me nervous about Ian." "Ian?" Danny asked, "Do they have a history?" "He says no," she responded, "But I'm sensing that there's more than what he's telling me." He rubbed his hands and said, "The plot thickens." "Yeah. Goody," she said drily, "I just wanted to let you in on this because I'm just not sure what to expect when we go there today. You did you make the appointment on Friday, right?" Sara asked. Danny nodded. "We meet with both La Femme and Irons at the mansion at 2:00 this afternoon."

Promptly at 2:00, Sara and Danny were at the front door of the mansion ringing the ornate bell. The door swung open and Sara was face to face with the woman that had sat on the side of her bed that morning. Not a glimmer of recognition appeared in the midnight blue eyes. She nodded her head to each of them and said in that low, modulated voice, "Detective Pezzini, Detective Woo, I'm Xenobia Blaque, Mr. Irons new aide. He's waiting for you. Please follow me." She turned smartly and walked off without a backward glance, assuming that they would follow. They followed her to Irons' den. He sat in his wheelchair by the roaring fire. "X" went to stand behind his left shoulder.

A predatory smile lit Kenneth Irons' handsome face. "Sara, my dear," he said, "It's been much too long. How's my Ian?" Sara felt her right hand clenching into a fist. "Ian's fine," she replied, "But we're not here to discuss him. We understand that you sent your aide to discuss a bess ess matter with Harley Moffett shortly before his murder." "If that's your understanding, then you're mistaken. I've never heard of this – what was the name?" he asked, looking up at "X." "Moffett, I believe, sir," she replied, deferentially. "Of course, such a pedestrian name, isn't it?" Irons said. "So, you're denying that you had any business dealings with Moffett?" Danny asked. "I believe that's what I just said, detective," Irons responded a bit waspishly, his eyes never leaving Sara.

Sara looked directly at "X," seeing that same malicious glee she'd noticed that morning dancing in the depths of her eyes. "Ms. Blaque," she said, "Could you please tell me where you were last Wednesday night between 7:00 P.M. and midnight?" "I was right here doing some research with Mr. Irons," she replied, smiling. "And I, of course, can corroborate that," Irons added smoothly. "Yes, I'm sure you can," Sara said, "Well, I guess that's about all we're going to get out of this interview. Thanks so much for your time."

As Sara and Danny turned to leave, "X" said, "So you're the one who caught the brass ring. How was it?" Sara turned back to her and said, "I don't know what you're talking about." "Aren't you the one that finally relieved sweet Ian of the burden of his virginity?" she asked, "Or did someone else beat you to it. I have to admit that I was hoping to grab that prize myself." Sara narrowed her eyes dangerously but her voice was mild. "Were you?" she asked. "X" shrugged. "Life is just full of little disappointments, isn't it?" she added philosophically. "I wouldn't know," Sara replied, hating her and turning again to go. Irons voice stopped her this time. "Sara," he said, "Please tell Ian that I miss him and that he can always come home." She didn't turn back. "Fuck you," she replied, "He is home." As she walked back down that long, long hallway with Danny by her side, she heard Irons laughing.

When they were outside in the fresh air again, Danny turned to her and asked, "Are you okay?" "I hate that man," she said. "I'd say that you have good reason," he responded as they walked to the car. Inside the car, Danny glanced over at her, hunched down in the passenger seat. "Ian was a virgin?" he asked, "How is that possible in this day and age?" "It was part of Irons' discipline, as I understand it – 'virginity equals invulnerability' or some such crap. I don't know how Ian would feel about having that spread around so please just keep it to yourself, okay?" "Sure," he said.

They were quiet for a couple of minutes before Danny asked, "We don't stand a chance in hell of putting this case away, do we?" Sara shook her head. "We know who killed Moffett but we have no way to prove it. It will just join the increasing pile of our unsolved cases since the Witchblade came into my life." He glanced at Sara as he started the car. She was still way down. "Hey, I have an idea," he said, his voice playful, "Why don't we dump them all in a file drawer and label it the 'X files.' What do you think – innovative or too derivative?" She had to smile. "I think we both need a long vacation from all this lunacy," she said. But her mood had lightened a little.

Sara waded through paperwork in the office for several more hours before she headed home. As a result, she didn't open the door to the loft until after 7:30. She was surprised to find it dark. She figured that Ian would have been home long ago and would have dinner waiting for her. She shook her head ruefully, amazed at herself. "Boy," she thought, pulling off her jacket and draping it on the coat rack, "You've already been domesticated, haven't you? It sure didn't take long." She carefully made her way to the coffee table where she dropped her holstered gun. Then, she leaned over and turned on the lamp on the end table. As soon as the light came on, Sara jumped and let out a little yelp.

Ian was sitting on the sofa. He was sort of curled up against some bunched pillows and Sara could see right away that something was very wrong with him. He lifted his head and Sara gasped. His color was awful, his face gray and the muscles slack. He saw her expression and said with some difficulty, "I'm okay. Please don't get upset. I just need to rest a little and I'll be fine again tomorrow." His voice was wrong too – kind of slurry. She sat next to him and pulled him into her arms. His whole body was shaking and he dropped his head heavily to her shoulder. "What's wrong with you?" she asked. "It's temporary," he replied, trying and failing to put his arms around her. "I'll be fine again tomorrow," he repeated, "Really."

"Tell me what happened," she said. "We found out what effect strobe lights have on me," he replied, trying out a rueful grin that didn't quite make it. "And that is?" Sara asked. "They pretty much incapacitate me," he replied, "Which is good to know. They send me into convulsions." "Oh, my god," Sara said, looking deep into wide golden eyes that couldn't quite focus, "You had convulsions? Marx let that happen?" "It wasn't his fault, Sara," Ian said, "Neither one of us knew what would happen. We had to find out. At least this way, we did it under controlled conditions. And, now we know." "Yeah," she said angrily, pushing him back against the mounded pillows and dropping her arms, "Now we know. And you could have been turned into a vegetable or killed. Are you crazy?"

He shook his head, his molded lips thinning into a stubborn line. "C'mon, Sara, think," he said, "I'm an expensive investment. Irons wanted a means to neutralize me quickly, not destroy me." "Oh, I see," she replied, "Then, I guess if no one turns off the strobe light, you don't convulse yourself to death. Right?" He gave her a sheepish smile. "I guess you've got me there," he said softly, "I guess that could happen." He tried to take her hand, but she pulled it back. "Damn it, Ian," she said, frustrated with him and the whole awful day, "Do you want to die?" "No," he said, dropping his head, "Not any more. Not since we've been together." "Well," she replied, standing and walking to the kitchen, "Maybe old habits die hard."

"Please don't be angry with me," he begged, "We've got to know where we stand with my conditioning before we go to the cabin. I promise that I won't take any more chances than I have to. I love you. I want a future with you. Please, Sara, don't just walk away from me like that." He tried to stand to follow her and fell back to the sofa, his legs still not cooperating. She came back out of the kitchen, drinking a glass of water. "Okay," she said, "We can fight about it if you want because I can't really say I'm on board here, Ian. I think that you're taking big chances with your sanity and your life. I don't like it." "What choice do we have, love?" he asked, "What happens if your enemy can trip some switch inside me that turns me into a weapon against you in the middle of the battle? What happens then? Everything could be lost."

She ran her hand roughly through her hair seeing the logic in what he'd said. "Shit," she said morosely, "I just keep feeling like some asshole in the shadows that I don't even know is laughing his head off every time he boxes me into another corner." He managed to hold up his hands and give her a lopsided smile. "It's not me, detective. I'm innocent. I swear it," he said, "I'm on your side." She had to smile at his antics. "The last thing you are is innocent, pal," she replied. "Are we friends again?" he said, "I ask because I don't think I can fix or order dinner right now and I'm starving."

She looked at him, with her hands on her hips, and said, "You're a real pain in the ass, Nottingham. You keep making me mad and then you keep charming me out of being angry with you. You're very tiring." "If I weren't, I'd bore you to death." he said with a smile. She shook her head. "There you go again with your twisted logic," she said, "So what do you want to eat?" "You choose," he said, "Just make it a large." "How about pizza?" she asked. "Whatever," he replied, "My next challenge is going to be forcing my legs to carry me to the bathroom." An amusing image popped into her mind and made her smile. "Need help?" she asked. He blushed and frowned at her. "I think I can manage, thanks," he said. "Well, just let me know," she said airily, "I'd rather give you a hand now than clean up a mess afterward." He got shakily to his feet and headed slowly toward the bathroom, muttering under his breath.

By the time the large pizza arrived, Ian's motor functions were starting to return to normal. "Which is good," Sara thought, "Because I'm damned if I'll sit here and feed him pizza." They put the pizza on the coffee table, and used paper plates and lots of napkins. They turned the T.V. to a nature documentary that they were both half watching. "So, I went to see Irons and La Femme today. He gave me a message for you. Want to hear it?" she asked. Ian fastidiously wiped his mouth and fingers with a napkin. "Not unless you think it's something I need to hear," he replied, "My guess is that it was meant to bait you or me or both of us." She nodded. "That would be my guess too," she said. He shrugged and said, "Then, I'll pass." "Good," she replied, "Because that would piss him off." Ian laughed.

"But there's something else that we really do need to talk about," Sara said. At her tone, Ian turned away from the T.V. and gave her his full attention. "Okay," he said, "Shoot." "Don't tempt me, ace," she responded, "I want to know the whole story about your previous encounters with Ms. Blaque. I know that you haven't told me everything. Today, she rather blatantly mentioned that she was hoping to be the one to – I believe her words were – 'relieve you of the burden of your virginity.' I want to hear the rest of it right now." Ian winced. "She said that in front of Danny?" he asked. "Oh, yeah," Sara replied, "I asked Danny to keep it to himself." "Thanks," he said. "Your welcome," she responded, "Now, talk to me, Ian."

"I told you the truth about only meeting her once before," Ian said, "Mr. Irons and the man she was guarding were having a series of long negotiations over some business deal. She and I were sent into a private anteroom while they discussed some confidential sections of the agreement. We were there a couple of hours, alone." "I guess you said more than ten words to each other then, huh?" she said. "She – what's the phrase? – came on to me," he said, blushing and still embarrassed over something that obviously happened quite a while ago. Sara smiled. "That's it?" she asked. "She wasn't subtle about what she wanted to do to me," Ian said.

Sara began to enjoy herself. "Oh, yeah?" she asked, "What exactly did she say to you, baby?" "Do we really need to get into this much detail, Sara?" he asked, obviously very uncomfortable. "I think so," she replied, tongue in k, \k, "It might help me to better understand her. Know your enemy. Right?" Ian took a deep breath. "She knew that I'd never…," he said, substituting a wave of his hand for the words. "Hmmm," Sara said, "And how did she know that, I wonder?" "People who do what I did – it's actually a rather small community," he said, "She was friendly with some of the other Black Dragons. All of them except Hector treated my sexual inexperience as a kind of joke, a perversion."

Now, Sara frowned. "Maybe this isn\ometomething that I should play with him about after all," she thought. Aloud, she said, "You know what, sweetie? I don't really need to hear this if you'd rather not talk about it." "No," he replied, "You're right. I shouldn't keep this stuff from you. It always comes back to bite me when I do." He took another deep breath. "She described what she wanted to do to me in great detail and very explicit terminology," he said, "And then she actually started to stroke me through my pants. I think I almost broke her wrist." "Jeez," Sara said wide-eyed, "What did she do?" He winced again. "She tightened her grip. It was a stand off, her wrist versus a more private portion of my anatomy," he said, "We agreed to disagree. I was sore for a week, really sore." "Well," Sara said, "Speaking from a purely selfish standpoint, I'm very grateful that you fully recovered." "Thank you, Sara," he replied, "Now can we drop this topic forever?" "You bet," she said.

"So," she asked, "Where are we going on Wednesday night?" He grinned and said, "Thought that you'd catch me off guard, didn't you? Sneaky. It's a surprise. You'll just have to be patient." "C'mon, Ian," she pleaded, "You know that I don't do patience well." "Then let this be a learning experience for you, detective," he replied, "My lips are sealed." She snuggled back into his arms and nuzzled his neck. "I guess that means that my tongue can't get through," she said, pouting. "Your tongue can always get through," he said softly, pulling her into a long, hot kiss. Sara started to slide her hand down into his pants only to realize that he actually had on trousers rather than his usual sweatpants.

She slowly pulled back from the kiss and asked, "How are all the parts working now?" He laughed and asked, "Why?" "I thought that you might need some help to get undressed for bed. Why do you think?" she replied. He pushed some hair back from her forehead and leaned in to gently kiss her again. "I wouldn't refuse your help," he agreed. She stood and took his hand to lead him over to the bed. He didn't move. She looked back. "Are we just going to leave this pizza box and stuff here like this?" he asked, "We'll get bugs." She shook her head, dropped his hand, and started to gather the remains of their dinner to take it to the trash. "I'm losing my touch," she said, "I'm taking the man to bed and all he can think about is the clean up detail." While she took the trash to the kitchen, he went to the bed and sat. "I guess I'm a little compulsive, huh?" he asked. Finished, she came back to the bed and looked down at him. "Best not to go there, ace," she said. He smiled.

She pulled off his boots and socks. When she slipped his sweater over his head, she gasped. There was a huge, livid bruise that spread almost the complete length of his right ribcage. "Wow," she said, "This is colorful." He glanced down and said, "Yeah, there's probably going to be more." There were more – a lot more. She reached back and pulled the band from his hair, which fell in waves around his face. She looked at him with concern. "You must really be hurting, baby," she said. He shrugged. "I'm fine," they said together. Ian laughed. "You really think that you've got me down cold, don't you, detective," he said. She cocked her head to the side and looked at him, sitting naked and bruised on the side of the bed. "No, not really," she replied, "You surprise me all the time."

"Is that good?" he asked. She stood between his parted legs and pushed her fingers through the rich, soft mass of his hair. He shut his eyes, put his arms around her, and rested his head against her chest. "Yeah," she whispered, "It is good." "Come to bed," he said softly. She stepped out of his arms and quickly got undressed. She didn't even bother with her usual tee and shorts. She sat on the bed and turned out the light before she rolled into his waiting arms. She leaned in to find his lips in the dark and give him a gentle kiss. "What do you say we just cuddle tonight so that we give that banged up body of yours a chance to heal a little?" she asked. "Cuddling is good,"3ie said, snuggling up close to her. "I love you, Sara," he said sleepily. "Me too, baby, me too," she replied, already drifting off to sleep.

Tuesday passed quickly. Sara, Danny, and Jake picked up a new case that was refreshingly open and shut. They had both witnesses and evidence. All that was required was a bit of legwork and lots of paprk trk to close it out. Her mood improved considerably. At the loft, there were no unwanted visitors – either corporeal or incorporeal. Ian was moving very carefully, his whole body stiff and bruised. At the lab, though, they moved ahead. He and Dr. Marx houndound a key tonal frequency that could be used to trigger Ian to violence, and they had worked out a countermeasure to defuse it. It was significant progress.

When Sara heard the alarm quickly go on and then off on Wednesday morning, she very cautiously opened one eye. Ian was sitting he ehe edge of the bed, holding her steaming coffee mug. She relaxed and said, "Good morning, sunshine. Thanks," gratefully taking the mug from his hand. "Morning," he replied. "Why are you already dressed?" she asked. "Busy day ahead," he said, "Lots to do." She smiled and said, "You're a tease, Nottingham." He shrugged, not about to give her even the tiniest of clues. She glanced at the bedside table and said, "What's in the tin?" "What?" he asked. His mind was obviously elsewhere. "The tin?" she repeated, pointing.

His eyes followed her finger. "Oh," he said, "Chocolate chip cookies.\r eyr eyes went wide as she grabbed for the tin. "You baked cookies yesterday?" she asked. "Wow." He shook his head. "They're from Mrs. Miller." Sara opened the tin, grabbed a big, chunky cookie, and took a bite. Her eyes closed in ecstasy. "Who the hell is Mrs. Miller and where has she been all my life?" she asked. Ian smiled. "Across the hall," he replied. Sara finished the cookie and licked her fingers, already reaching for another. "What?" she asked. He started to get up, saying, "Let me get you a napkin." But Sara put a hand on his thigh to hold him in place. "Mrs. Miller is the lady across the hall," he said.

Now, Sara really laughed and it was Ian's turn to say, "What?" "I've lived here for two years and she's never done more than nod to me when we pass in the hall. You flash her and the next day we get cookies. Way to go, Ian!" She saw the color rising in his cheeks as he said, "She's a very nice lady." "I'm sure," Sara said, still laughing, "I wonder what you'd have to do to get us a pot roast." Now, he laughed with her. "Cut it out," he said, reaching for his tea and a cookie. She rubbed his thigh, where her hand still rested. "How do you feel?" she asked, "Still hurting?" He shook his head and said, "Much better today, thanks. By tomorrow, I should be back to normal." "Whatever that is," she answered. "In this case, it means that you can fondle me freely me again," he replied, "For which I'll be grateful. I'm in Sara withdrawal and need a fix badly." "I'll see what I can do about that tonight," she said. He leaned in to kiss her deeply. "Mmmm," she said when he pulled back, "Cookie lips."

"Can you be home tonight by 7:00?" Ian asked. "I guess so," she said, "Got the time frame all planned out, of course." He nodded. "I figure an hour and a half for you to wind down and get dressed, leat 8:t 8:30, and dinner at 9:00," he said. "I imagine that it's pointless for me to ask where we're going," she said. "Completely," he replied. "You remember what you promised. Right?" she asked. "I made no promises," he said. "You promised not to embarrass me in public," she said. "I believe what I said was, 'perish the thought.' What's embarrassing is a very subjective and amorphous area," he wavered, "So I don't feel honor bound to any such commitment."

"Now, just a minute there, pal," she said, "What did you just say and what exactly are you planning to do to me?" "You know that I'm not going to tell you that," he replied, "So, why don't you just relax and put yourself in my hands. Let your guard down and enjoy yourself. Why should you give a damn what some stranger thinks?" She leaned over to run a finger across his sensual lips right before she kissed them. "You know what, baby?" she said, "You're absolutely right. Tonight, it's your show. Do what you want. I'm all yours." He grinned at her. "That's the spirit," he said, "I'll try not to disappoint you." She slid her hand up under his sweater and over his warm, hard abs. "You haven't yet," she said, "And now, I better go take my shower." He started to put the lid back on the cookie tin but she stopped him, grabbing a couple more cookies. "Chips to go," she said, dashing off to the bathroom, cookies in hand.

Unlike the day before, Sara's day in the office dragged. In spite of herself, she was excited about whatever Ian had concocted for the evening to come. She couldn't wait to be with him again. She stopped, startled at that thought running through her mind. "Wow," she thought, "I must have it really bad. Now, I can't concentrate on the job because I want to be with Ian. I don't remember ever feeling that way about a man before." "Earth to Pez," she dimly heard. She snapped her attention back to find Jake staring at her from across the room. "Did you say something to me?" she asked. "Yeah. Twice," he said, "Do you want me to make the copies of yesterday's witness statements or are you going to do it?" "It's all yours, rookie," she replied, "Run with it."

Danny smiled as Jake left the room carrying the stack of paper and grumbling. "You seem a bit preoccupied today, partner," he said. Sara glanced up from the report she wasn't reading. "Is it?" she asked, "I hadn't noticed." He laughed. "Perfectly proving my point," he said. Now, her eyes met his. "Which was?" she asked. "That you seem a bit preoccupied, Sara," he repeated. She ran a hand through her hair and said, "Sorry." "You haven't had another visit from the X-woman, have you?" he asked. "No, thank god," she replied, "The bitch is keeping herself scarce." "So, what's occupying that busy brain of yours cause it certainly isn't this case?" he asked.

Sara realized that she really wanted to tell him all about Ian, his proposal, and the impending celebration. "Shit," she thought, "I can't. I just can't." Aloud, she said, "Nothing in particular. I'm having one of those days where my head's flying in a dozen directions at once, none of them very productive." "Uh huh, and I don't believe that for a minute. But that's okay. I know that you'll tell me when you're ready," he said. She shook her head and asked, "Does Lee ever tell you what a pain in the ass you are, Woo?" Danny smiled and said, "All the time, Pez, all the time."

Sara actually got home a little before 7:00. She saw a vase of beautiful scarlet roses beside the bed and smiled. Then, she saw the champagne bucket sitting on the table. She felt that sense of impending excitement bubble up inside her again. She knew that she must have a ridiculous looking grin on her face, but she also knew that she couldn't help it. "Where are you, Nottingham?" she called. He stuck his head out of the kitchen, looking surprised and said, "You're early." She hung up her jacket and dropped her gun on the coffee table. "How did it go at the lab today?" she asked. "We identified and neutralized another trigger," he said, out of sight again, "Dr. Marx is getting a feel for the programming pattern. He thinks he might be able to come up with a kind of generic blocker that would make me safe by the end of the week." "Good news," Sara said, coming into the kitchen.

Ian swiveled around smoothly to hide something behind his back. Sara's eyes twinkled. "Whatcha got there?" she asked. "Where?" he said, grinning. Sara tried to put her arms around him but he backed up out of reach faster than she could see. "You're a slippery devil, aren't you," she said, "C'mon, show me." "Stop trying to spoil the surprise," he said, "Just wait for me in the other room. I'll be there in a minute." Giving up gracefully, Sara left him in the kitchen. She heard the refrigerator door open and close. Then, he was behind her. She turned and practically flew into his arms. She slid her arms around his neck and arched up to kiss him passionately. He was surprised for about two seconds before he responded, giving back as good as he got.

When she was forced to breathe again, Sara pulled back giving his bottom lip a nip as she did. Ian opened dazed golden eyes and said, "That was not your normal everyday 'Honey, I'm home' greeting. Did I miss something? And, can we do that every night when you get home, please?" She smiled and said, "I missed you today." He smiled too, delighted. "Did you?" he asked. She nodded. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about you all day," she whispered, sliding her hands up under his sweater and over his warm, muscled back. He shut his eyes and all but purred, "Tell me more." "Instead of concentrating on my case files, I spent the day dreaming about you and all the things that I want to do to you tonight," she replied. "Really," he said. It was obvious that he was absolutely thrilled by her disclosure. "We'll have to be sure that we get home in plenty of time for you to do every one of those things. I promise to be a very willing partner in whatever you want to do," he said, leaning down for another long kiss.

She smiled wickedly and asked, "You're very accommodating, Mr. Nottingham. What if I want to bring Mrs. Miller over for a three-way that involves hot chocolate chip cookies and milk?" He laughed. "And what an image that put in my head. How about a glass of champagne instead?" he asked. She pulled her hands back out from under his sweater, dragging her nails lightly down his back as she did. He shivered and caught his breath. Sara walked over to the table where the champagne was cooling. It took Ian a moment to collect himself and catch up to her.

He expertly pushed up the cork with his thumbs, providing a satisfying pop but no spilled champagne. Then, he poured them each a glass before returning the bottle to the bucket. Sara held up her glass and asked, "Do you have a toast?" He nodded. "Just a very basic and heartfelt one. To the future Mrs. Sara Pezzini-Nottingham," he said, "There were times that I gave up hope that you'd ever want me in this lifetime. I'm very grateful to whatever changed your mind." The Witchblade flashed on her wrist. He smiled and took her right hand in his. He bent down to press his lips to the red stone on the bracelet. "Thank you," he whispered. When he raised his head, Sara asked, "Do you two want me to leave you alone?" He smiled and said, "This is the real three-way you were talking about." She looked shocked and said, "Listen to you." Then, thouchouched glasses and drank.

He grabbed her left hand to glance at his watch. "Now, we better get dressed," he said, "Or we're going to be late for dinner." Sara put on the green dress that Ian had given her the week before, with her new shoes and emerald earrings. The diamond heart necklace hung from her neck – she never took that off. Ian wore a black suit, white shirt, and conservative tie; his hair was pulled back tight. They made a striking couple. Just before they were ready to go, Ian went to the refrigerator. He came to her carrying a wreath of small, white flowers for her hair. Ian carefully placed it on her head, saying, "This is from the Witchblade." She looked at him closely to see whether he was joking. Apparently, he wasn't. "The Witchblade told you to get this for me?" she asked, wondering if he was losing it. He nodded and added, "I'll tell you about it at the restaurant." He held her coat for her, shrugged into his own, and they left.

It was a beautiful night – clear and cold, with lots of stars visible above. When Sara found out that they were going back to the wonderful Italian restaurant where they'd had their first and only public "date," she suggested that they walk. When they arrived at the restaurant and were led to their table, both of them felt the eyes following them. The waiter came and Ian ordered more champagne. They had another excellent meal. As she had been the last time that she was out in public with Ian, Sara again became aware that he was attracting the attention of just about every female in the place. By the time that there ere ready for dessert, Ian was a litbuzzbuzzed from his single glass of champagne. He was also visibly nervous and pale.

Sara looked at him, concerned, and asked, "What's the matter, baby?" He dropped his head, looking miserable, and said, "I don't think I can do it, Sara. I'm so sorry. I wanted it to be perfect for you." She frowned and said, "What are you talking about?" "I know I'm supposed to get down on one knee in front of you when I propose. Bll tll these people…all these eyes staring at me. I don't think I can do it. Will you be really disappointed if I don't kneel by your chair when I propose to you?" he asked. Now, Sara laughed and took his hand in hers. "Is that why you've been upset for the last hour, you goof?" she asked, "Of course I don't mind. In fact, I'm not thrilled with the staring either. We'll keep it between the two of us. You stay right in your chair and do it from there. It will be just as wonderful to me."

She watched as his whoody ody visibly relaxed. "Thank god," he said, "I didn't know how I was going to get through that part of it." He took a deep breath and reached out to take both her hands in his. "Sara," he said softly, "I love you with all my heart. I belong to you body and soul. You're the purpose of my being. I want to spend the rest of my life with you and die in your arms. Will you marry me?" Her heart was thumping madly in her chest and fel felt a tear roll down her cheek. She started to move her hand to brush it away but his hand moved first, caressing her cheek as his thumb brushed away the tear. She turned to kiss his hand and whisper, "Yes."

He moved back his hand and when she glanced down, a jeweler's box rested in front of her. She raised her eyes, surprised, "How did you…?" she started. He smiled and opened his hands, "Magic," he said. She laughed and picked up the box with shaking hands. When she opened it, Sara's gasp was joined with audible gasps from several tables around them. Nestled in the box, was a gold ring in the twined circle shape that matched the scars branded on both Sara and Irons. In the center of the ring where the circles crossed, was a Marquise diamond. "For the Triumverate?" she asked. He nodded and took the box from her hand, removing the ring. "Give me your hand, Sara," he said. She put her left hand in his and he slid the ring on to the fourth finger. It was a perfect fit. Everyone in the restaurant applauded.

Ian blushed and Sara felt another tear slide down her cheek. "Kiss her," someone yelled. The cry was immediately taken up by several more voices until the only way to shut them up was to do it. Still blushing, Ian stood and held out a hand to Sara. She rose and moved to him, sliding her arms around his neck and pressing her lips to his. Just before their lips touched, she whispered, "Just pretend we're all alone." The kiss was land and hot, giving the patrons the show that they wanted. When they finally parted to more applause, Sara caught the band holding back his hair and pulled it out, allowing the shining waves to fall around his face. She smiled gleefully as she heard several feminine gasps echo around her. She thought, "Eat your heart's out, ladies. He's all mine."

The owner of the restaurant sent over a bottle of free champagne and told them to order any dessert on the menu on him. As other diners lefhey hey stopped at Sara and Ian's table to congratulate them. One very elderly gentleman stopped at the table to give Sara a perfect red rose, first saying to Ian, "I hope you don't mind." By the time they were ready to leave, they were both very, very relaxed and had gone way past embarrassment into mellowness. They took a half full bottle of champagne and two glasses with them. Sara kept sneaking glances at her ring, surreptitioushifthifting her hand at all different angles so that it would catch the light in new ways. As Ian hailed a cab, she said, "This must have cost a fortune. How big is it?" Ian laughed and responded, "It's three carats but not too gaudy, I hope. It had to be big enough to balance the Witchblade on your other hand."

As the cab he'd hailed pulled up, she said, "We could walk." He shook his head and said, "We have another stop to make before we go home." Sara got in the cab, but Ian went around to the driver's window and ducked down to give him their destination. Then, he opened the door and slid in beside her, still managing to hold on the champagne and glasses. He balanced the bottle beside him on the seat so that he could put his arm around her. Sara rested her head back against his shoulder and said, "How about a kiss, big boy?" Ian bent down to give her what she'd requested. They never came up for air again until the cab stopped and the cabby said, laughing, "We're here, buddy."

Ian paid the cabby and they got out at the entrance to Central Park where all the hansom cabs were queued. Sara clapped her hands together excitedly and said, "You're kidding. We're going to go for a ride in one of these? How did you know I've always wanted to do this?" He smiled and said, "You mentioned it once." "I'll have to watch that," she said, "You never forget a thing, do you, ace." He shook his head, still smiling, and said, "Mind like a steel trap." One of the cab drivers waved to Ian and guided his horse-drawn carriage toward where they waited. When he reached them, he tipped his hat to Sara and said, formally, "Congratulations on the impending nuptials, Ms. Pezzini." Startled that he knew her name, Sara managed to say, "Thanks," before the driver turned to Ian. "Ready to go, Mr. Nottingham?" he asked. "Ready, Mike," Ian replied, stowing the champagne and glasses in a basket on the floor and handing Sara up into the carriage. Ian gracefully vaulted to the seat beside her and pulled a warm, lap rug over them both as the carriage pulled away from the curb.

While they drove through the dark trails of Central Park, Ian poured the last of the champagne into their glasses. Sara said, "This toast is mine. As I said before, you are the most perfect man, Ian Nottingham. I love you and I'm very glad that you're mine. Thank you for making thight ght so wonderful for me." As they touched glasses and drank, Ian said, "It's not over yet." Sara grinned and replied, "You bet it's not. I plan to thank you in a much more physical way before it's over." She rubbed his thigh under the cover and, in the dark, heard his breathing quicken. "You still haven't told me about the Witchblade giving me the wreath," she said. "What?" he asked, just a little drunk and obviously having difficulty concentrating because her touch distracted him.

She moved her hand to take his empty glass and put it, along with hers and the empty bottle, back into the basket on the floor of the carriage. "The wreath?" she asked again. "Ohght,ght, the wreath," he said, "Over the last few days, my connection with both you and the Witchblade has changed – deepened, for want of a br wor word." "What does that mean?" she asked. In the meager light, she saw him push his loose hair behind his ear. Sara remembered the female gasps when she'd freed that mane of his in the restaurant. She smiled at the memory now in the dark before she focused again on what he was saying. "I used to be abo seo sense only strong emotions from you and the Witchblade – fear, anger, passion," he continued, "But, over the last few days, I've started to pick up much subtler feelings and thoughts."

"Like what?" she asked. Ian shrugged and said, "Like when you're having a bad day, I can sense that you're a little down. And, if I don't pick up on it fast enough, then the Witchblade helps out by giving me a sort of mental nudge." "Really," Sara said, smiling, "So, you're being attuned to respond to all my needs. Wow, that's pretty cool. wn pwn personal mood enhancer and with magic fingers too." He laughed. "I told you before, Sara, that I'd do anything to please you," he said, "This is nothing new. It's just that now I have a little more help in figuring out how to do it." "The wreath?" she reminded him. "Right. I'm rambling again, aren't I? Forgive me. My brain's a little fuzzy right now. I don't drink. I've never had champagne before," he rambled, "What was I saying?" "The wreath?" she said again.

He laughed. "Oops," he said, "The wreath. Well, I was sitting making a list of the things that I needed to do for tonight when I heard the Witchblade tell me that I had to give you the wreath to mark our betrothal. I'm familiar with the sound of the Witchblade's \ce'ce' in my head now, so I knew who was talking to me. I guess I didn't add it to my list fast eh thh though because It gave me this sort of mental slap and showed me exactly how the wreath had to look, what kind of flowers should be used, the shape, all the particulars. Then, It showed me some scenes of the Wielder and Protector in other lifetimes where they've been lucky enough to meet, become lovers, and marry. The wreath was always part of the betrothal ceremony. So, I got the wreath and gave it to you, but it's really from the Witchblade. Does that answer your question?" Sara made a sound like snoring. He laughed again and said, "Hey, you're the one that asked."

They came out of the park entrance on the downtown side and started to head down the Avenue of the Americas. Sara looked around and asked, "Where the hell are we going?" "Home," he responded, nuzzling her neck. "Is it even legal to take a carriage on the streets like this?" she asked. "Anything's legal if you have enough money," he responded. "Hey," she protested, "Cop here, remember?" "Oh, sorry, right," he whispered, licking and nibbling her ear, "Just pretend that I didn't say that. I can't imagine what I was thinking." "I'm thinking that you're a little tipsy and it's kind of cute," she said, her voice dropping, "I also think that you're doing some nice stuff there with your tongue." "You mean this?" he asked. She arched her neck and whispered, "Oh, yeah. That's really nice."

"Hey, Nottingham," she whispered. He lifted his head a little. "Hey, Sara," he whispered back. "Give me your hand," she said. He put his hand in hers. She pulled it under the lap rug and then up under her dress. She saw him raise his head and turn to her when he realized that she wasn't wearing any panties. It was too dark to see the expression on his face. Because of the cover draped across their laps, which she firmly held in place with her other hand, no onlooker would have any idea what they were actually doing. She heard his soft, sexy laugh. Sara felt deliciously naughty doing something that was so out of character for her. Then she shut her eyes and dropped her head to his shoulder as his fingers started to caress her.

As the carriage turned on to their street, Sara curved her body tight against his and stifled a cry by turning her face into his coat when she climaxed. A moment later, she felt Ian gently pull his hand away, carefully arranging her dress back down over her legs under the cover. As they pulled to the curb in front of the loft, he bent to kiss her softly on the lips and said, "Want me to carry you up?" "That would be lovely," she replied. She felt him move from her side and heard him having a muted conversation with Mike.

In another few moments, he was back at the side of the carriage. "Can you stand up, detective, or are you too relaxed?" he asked, amused. "Of course I can stand up," she said, offended. She realized that the cumulative effect of the champagne was starting to hit her just as he was starting to sober up. She stood in the carriage, swaying dangerously. "Whoa, there," he said, laughing, "I've got you." He swung her out of the carriage and into his arms. She put her arms around his neck and buried her face in the hollow between his chin and shoulder, her face against his soft beard. She was still holding the single red rose given to her by the old man at the restaurant. "You smell good," she said, sniffing deeply. "Thank you, darling," he replied, carrying her into their building after only a brief struggle with the front door lock.

At the door to the loft, Ian let her slide to her feet so that he could disable the multiple security alarms and locks. While he did, Sara leaned against him. Once inside the loft, he deactivated the other alarm that was just inside the door. Sara shook her head and said, "Welcome back to the fortress." He pulled her into his arms and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "This will all get easier after the Convergence, I think," he said, "Then we can get married and have a more normal life." "Do you really believe that, Ian," she asked. "Yes," he replied, "I do. Don't you?"

She moved out of his arms and went to the end table to turn on the light. He still stood just inside the door, watching her carefully. He'd felt her mood change when the locks had reminded her of their current situation and the immediate future they were facing. Sara took the wreath off of her head and went to the shelf where she'd put the little statue of Sehren that Ian had given her. She put the wreath over the goddess and on the shelf, so that it surrounded her in a ring of flowers. Ian still hadn't moved. "You didn't answer my question, Sara," he said.

Her back was to him so he couldn't see the expression on her face, but he saw her shrug. "How long have any of the Wielders lived once they put on the Witchblade, Ian, or the Protectors, for that matter?" she asked. "I don't know," he said. She turned back to face him. "I bet you do," she replied, "I don't remember seeing any old Wielders in that gallery of portraits that Irons has, do you?" "That doesn't mean anything, Sara," he said, "It has nothing to do with us. We've already proven different than any of the others in the past. None of them have ever been part of the Triumverate." She shook her head. "We haven't pulled that off yet either. Who knows if we will?\e ase asked, "Abesibesides, doesn't that put us in more danger rather than less?" "It might also mean that, if we succeed, things will be quiet for a long time. Don't you think that's a possibility?" he countered.

She suddenly realized that she was cold sober again too. The giddy joy and magic of the night that Ian had tried to create for her had slipped from her grasp. "All gone," she thought, "so quickly." Ian's head snapped up and his eyes went wide as he actually heard what she'd just thought echo in his head. "No," he said, going to her quickly and pulling her back into his arms, "Don't throw this away. Nothing's gone, Sara, unless you throw it away." She reached up to touch his lips with her fingertips. He kissed her touch. "Wow," she said, softly, "You really are getting good at this attunement thing, aren't you."

"Yes, I am," he said, "And that's the other side of the coin. That's part of what makes what we have so special. That's what I want you to think about tonight, this amazing connection that we have. Tomorrow you can go back to thinking about what may happen, if you want, but tonight you're mine." She frowned and said, "That sounds awfully possessive." He lifted his shoulder negligently and said, "Maybe. Why don't you just indulge me for one night? It works both ways, you know. I'll be yours forever if you'll be mine tonight." She felt herself drowning in those smoky amber eyes. "Okay, ma," ," she said, "Where do you want me?" He winced and said, "Please don't call me that. I want you on the bed." "Sorry," she said, remembering too late that he used to call Irons his "master." She went and sat on the bed, beckoning to him.

"I have a request," she said. He followed her to the bed, grinning, and said, "I was actually in charge about a second longer than I expected to be. What can I do for you?" "Put on those red silk pajamas," she said, "I really want to see you in them." "Sure," he replied, "But what's the point? You're only going to take them off of me, right?" She smiled and ran her tongue over her lower lip. "Indulge me," she said. "That's my mission in life, my love," he replied, walking over to the wardrobe. Sara got comfortable, kicking off her shoes and tucking her legs up under her on the bed. Ian got undressed, hanging up clothes as he took them off. When he was nakhe ghe got the red silk pajamas out of the drawer and stepped into the bottoms. They settled around his hips about an inch below the navel. He slipped into the top but left it unbuttoned.

Ian turned and held out his arms for her inspection, "Happy?" he asked. "Well, you've certainly brought my attention back to the moment," she said huskily, "You're the female's version of a walking wet dream. Come here." He shut the wardrobe and walked to the bed. He moves like a panther, she thought. "My turn now?" he asked. When she nodded, he said, "Raise your arms so that I can take off the dress. I know first-hand that there's nothing more to worry about." She lifted her arms and he slipped her dress over her head. He was right; she wasn't wearing anything else. "It's a good thing I didn't know that earlier in the evening," he said, "Or I wouldn't have been able to think of much else." She smiled at him and asked, "Would you please hang up my good dress?" He took the dress to her closet and hung it up while Sara turned down the covers.

"Oh, how lovely," she said, "You changed to the silk sheets." On his way back to the bed, he lit several candles and then turned off the lamp. "Would you like another glass of champagne?" he asked. "No thanks," she said, "I've got work tomorrow and I'm probably going to have a hangover from what I've already had." "I can make what I'm told is a surefire cure for a hangover. So, let me know if you need it tomorrow," he said. She held out her arms to him and said, "I don't wan thi think about tomorrow any more right now." He went to her. He dropped his head to place hot, little kisses against her neck and across her shoulders.

Then, he lifted his head and asked, "So, what were these things that you were thinking about doing to me when you couldn't concentrate at work today?" She slipped a hand under the pajama top and ran her nails lightly all the way down his back. He shivered. "Lay down," she said. He stretched out beside her, arms above his head on the pillow and one leg bent at the knee. "You were wearing these pajamas," she said, running her fingers lightly over his bare stomach now. "What a coincidence," he said softly, smiling. "Isn't it?" she said, "But, of course, you're right – they soon got in the way." She lowered her hand and started to slowly stroke hirougrough the thin silk. He shut his eyes and his breathing quickened, his hips arching up a little off the bed.

"Red is a great color for you. You should wear it more," Sara said, picking up the pace. "But not right now," he panted. "Okay, okay," she said, "Go ahead. Take them off." He pushed the pajama bottoms down over his hips and kicked his way out of them. She held him in her hand, sliding her nails lightly along the underside of his erection. "Is that better?" she asked. "Much better," he breathed, "Please don't stop." "Let me get a towel," she said. "On the table," he managed. "You weren't kidding when you said you were in withdrawal. You're really close, aren't you?" she asked. "I'm sorry," he gasped, "I promise that my control will get better as the night goes on." She just managed to grab the towel and save the sheets, as his body boup oup off the bed and he cried out.

"Jeez," she said, as Ian's breathing started to normalize, "Mrs. Miller is going to think that I just killed you." He managed a breathy chuckle. "Mrs. Miller has been married three times," he replied, "If she heard me, let's hope she was lucky enough to know the difference and that I'm still alive and kicking." "You two must have had quite a conversation over the chocolate chip cookies," Sara said. "It was more of a dialogue," he responded, "She talked and I listened. She really is a nice lady though." "Hey, anyone who can bake like that gets my vote," she said, "Speaking of chocolate chip cookies…" "The tin is on the table next to you," he said, "But you might want to wait just a little while." "Why is that?" she asked. "Because…," he started, easing her back down on the bed and leaning down to kiss her very slowly and very thoroughly.

"That's a very good reason," she sighed when he pulled back, "You've convinced me." "Oh, I don't know," he said in that low, sexy purr, "I might need to give you a few more reasons." She raised her head to see him sliding down the bed. She shut her eyes and her breathing started to speed up just in anticipation of what he was going to do. She felt him slide his shoulders under her thighs so that his head was between her legs. Then, she felt his tongue, which was just as agile as his fingers. She gave herself a task. "I'll hold out for this orgasm as long as I can," she thought.

She felt him stop foromenoment to say softly, "You don't have to do that, love. I'll always be glad to give you another." She lifted her head and said, "You're starting to annoy me with this, Nottingham." "Sorry, darling," he said, his voice amused, "I only picked it up because you were so very determined. It's adorable." Her voice lowered dangerously as she said, "Did you just call me adorable, ace? Okay, let's see how strong that tongue of yours is." "You are an ass," he thought to himself, "When will you learn not to challenge her – even inadvertently?" "Hah," she said triumphantly, leaving him to wonder if she had actually heard his last thought as well.

He dropped his head back down and erased any thoughts of a contest from his head. He just wanted to give her pleasure so he set out to do that as best he was able. And he was very able indeed. Sara threw back her head into the pillows and tried to clear her mind, silently reciting the mantra that Ian had taught her. Her hands went from gripping the sheets to gripping handfuls of his hair, something she wasn't even aware that she was doing. Still, the incredible sensations swept up her body in waves with his wonderful tongue as the epicenter.

Sara was dimly aware that she'd started making sounds in the back of her throat. She knew that she was working her way up to an all-out scream – it was only a matter of time. Then he started to run his tongue along the length of her, slipping it inside her and then pulling it out to tease every sensitive spot he could find on his way back up. Past control, her body started to twist against the sheets and he moved his hands to her hips to hold her still. When he began pushing faster and harder, she knew that she was lost. The mantra had become a bunch of disjointed words that were rapidly reshaping themselves into that scream. The waves of pleasure coalesced into a tsunami that swamped her and she strained against him, letting out a terrific wail.

"Sara?" he said. All her energy had gone into that scream. At the moment, she wasn't capable of making a sound. "Sara, love?" she heard him say again, "Could you please let go of my hair? I can't move.\e mae managed a weak snort and let loose the death grip that she had on his now-tangled curls. She felt him shift up the bed to her side and she rolled weakly into his arms. He held her, kissing the top of her head and soothingly stroking her bare shoulder with his warm hand. "Well," she gasped, "Now, Mrs. Miller thinks that I only wounded you because you obviously still had enough strength left to kill me. She's probably calling 911 right now." He laughed softly and said, "She's a little deaf, Sara. It was a good, loud yell but I imagine that the sitcom she's watching covered it."

"I got your hair pretty good, didn't I?" she asked. She felt him shrug, as he said, "It'll grow back." She started to move to examine what she'd done to him but he tightened his grip, holding her in place. "I'm just kidding. You didn't hurt me," he said. She rose up on her elbow to study him in the light from the candle glowing on the bedside table. Ian wore only the unbuttoned red silk pajama top. Under it, his long sculpted body stretched out naked and relaxed on the bed. His thick, silky hair was a sexy, disheveled mess. He was gorgeous. "What?" he asked, shifting a little under her gaze. "It still amazes me that I'm your first lover," she said. He grinned. "I guess you're not counting my hand, huh," he replied. She punched his shoulder gently and said, "If hands counted, no one would be a virgin."

"Can I have a cookie now?" she asked. He said, "Sure. Take the whole tin. I can see that I'm going to have to learn how to bake to please you." "You please me fine the way you are," she replied as she opened the tin and took out three cookies, passing one to Ian. He took the cookie, frowning, and said, "We're going to get crumbs in the bed." Now, she laughed. "Let me amend my last statement," she said, "You are just a little fussy and so awfully neat." "I'm sure that I'll get over that in time living with you," he responded. She finished her second cookie and leaned over to kiss him. "One can only hope," she said. "Ummm," he said, "Cookie lips."

"I was careful not to drop crumbs," Sara said. "Thank you for indulging me yet again, my darling," Ian replied, tongue back in his cheek. "Yeah," she said, "You're just lucky that I have such a magnanimous nature." He couldn't help it. He laughed. She gave him a le ple punch in his rock hard abs, knocking his breath out of him in a sharp whoosh. "Smart ass," she hissed. "Hey," he gasped, "Stop beating on your future husband."

"Oh dear," she said, leaning over to lick his chest, "What's this? Looks like cookie crumbs to me." She slid her tongue over to lick his left nipple, bracing herself with a hand on his stomach, "In fact," she continued, "There appears to a whole trail of crumbs. Should I follow it, do you think?" "Absolutely. Who knows what you might find at the end," he whispered, eyes closing and breath hitching. "Here we are," she said, moving to his right nipple to lick and suck it. "That feels so good," he moaned. After a few moments, she raised her head a little and said, smiling, "Oh, no. It looks like I may have lost the trail right here." "Please find it again fast," he begged.

"You're in luck. It seems to pick up again right here," she said, licking his belly button and drawing her tongue down the soft pleasure trail of hair that led to the now erect shaft below. "What on earth are cookie crumbs doing here?" she asked. "I have no idea," he said, panting, "I'm just grateful that you found them." "I'll just lick them off it, shall I?" she asked. "Please do," he whispered, his words ending in a hoarse groan as her mouth closed around him. He stood it for as long as he could, fighting against his hips, which kept straining up off the bed in spite of him, and clutching the sheets until his kleskles turned white. Finally, he gasped, "Sara, baby, stop. Please. If you don't stop, I'm going to lose control and I want to be inside you. Please."

Sara stopped and Ian leaned down to grab her by the waist and lift her up along his body. When she was on top and face-to-face with him, he rolled her over to the side and on to her stomach. She felt him move in back of her and between her spread legs. He thrust into her from behind, sliding his left arm around her to pull her against him. His left hand snaked down to stroke her from the front. He stretched his right hand up toward hers and whispered in her ear, "Let's pledge ourselves to each other completely. Let's link through the Witchblade and Excalibur again." "That was awfully intense last time we did it," she whispered back, breathlessly, "Are you sure?" "I'm sure," he replied. Shutting her eyes and pushing back against his deepening thrusts, she reached out to his hand. Ian put his fingers around the Witchblade, connecting it with his ring.

Like the last time, for a few moments nothing happened. Then, she heard Ian gasp and say softly, "'Fasten your seatbelts, it's going to be a bumpy night.'" As she turned her head to look at him, she briefly wondered why he was quoting Bette Davis' famous line from "All About Eve." As soon as their joined hands came into view, she had her answer. Twin scarlet tendrils were sinuously curving froe Wie Witchblade to wrap around and around their joined, rocking bodies. In another second, she was back in that eerie but incredibly sensual limbo where she felt Ian moving deeply within her, as well as what it was like when her own muscles clenched and stroked him. She knew by the feel of his pounding heart against her back and the soft sounds he was making that he was sharing the experience.

When she opened her eyes, she saw that the Witchblade had again embedded Itself into Ian's wrist. It was the last coherent thought that she had because the level of pleasure was intensifying to the point where it was very nearly unbearable. When the joint orgasm washed over them this time, it was so unbelievably intense that she had a few incredible moments of utterly blinding ecstasy and then everything went black.

The first thing that Sara noticed when she opened her eyes was that the sun was just starting to rise. There was just the barest glimmer of amt lit light in the loft. The next thing that she noticed was that the candle on the table by the bed had burned itself out. She looked at her wrist. The Witchblade was once again a dormant bracelet. She turned her head to the other side. Ian was lying next to her, eyes shut. "That's strange," she thought, "The last that I remember he was behind me and inside me. How did he get over there?" She turned on her side to face him and touched his cheek. He didn't move a muscle. "He's so still," she thought.

That brought her fully awake. She moved her hand to his shoulder and shook him gently. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. "Ian?" she said, shaking him harder. She realized that he wasn't asleep, he was unconscious, and she started to panic. "Okay," she told herself, "Calm down. He's probably out the way you were and it's just taking him longer to wake up. Please god, let him be alright." "Ian," she shouted, shaking him hard. Finally, a little gasp escaped him and his dazed golden eyes opened slowly. She pushed his hair back out of his face and asked, "Are yoay?\ay?" He was still really out of it, not focusing, until his eyes settled on her and he said, "Sara?" She let out an explosive little laugh that was pure relief and asked, "Who were you expecting, ace?"

She felt a little chill as she heard him expel a long, slow breath and then watched his eyes widen in complete surprise. She was still watching him carefully when his eyes filled with tears that spilled over and ran down his cheeks. "Ian, what on earth…," she started, reaching out to brush away the tears. "It healed me," he whispered, his voice filled with awe, "The Witchblade healed me." "What?" she asked, completely taken aback, "Healed you how?" "It undid the conditioning. It took away the nightmares. It took away the pain – all the remembered beatings, all the loneliness, all the awful memories. It took it all away. It's all gone. It made me whole for you," he said, his voice soft and stunned. "Oh, baby," she said, overwhelmed by the look on his face. She gently pulled him into her arms and he clung to her, shaking.

In a little while, she pushed him back to look in his face again. "How are you doing?" she asked. His face lit up in an absolutely beautiful smile. "I'm wonderful," he said, "For the first time, I feel like I might be worthy of you." She leaned in to give him a reassuring kiss and, when their lips touched, he pulled her close and deepened the kiss until she was left breathless. "You were always worthy of me," she replied, gasping for air. He shook his head. "No," he disputed, "But everything's different now. I'm no longer a danger to you, Sara. Now, I can really stand beside you and protect you as I was meant to do. I'm no longer a liability to you. I've become an asset."

"Of course, you're an asset, you fool," she said, crossly, "It just took you a long time to get that thick head of yours around it, that's all." He laughed, a sound of pure joy. She realizeat sat she'd never heard him laugh quite like that. She shook her head, amused. She had to smile herself just hearing it. He vaulted out of bed, pure feline grace, and Sara pulled back saying, "Whoa, Nottingham. Have you gone nuts?" He knelt by the side of the bed and took her right hand in his, touching his lips reverently to the Witchblade. "Thank you, Goddess. I am your servant forever in all things." Sara frowned, "Hey, bub. What about me?" she asked. He raised his head, lips curving wickedly in a smile and eyes dancing with mischief. "What about you indeed?" he asked, his voice a sensual purr. Sara felt the heat from those golden eyes arrow right down her middle. Without even realizing it, she opened her arms. He was moving toward her before she finished the gesture.

After a glorious hourwhicwhich Ian showed her just how much better he was, Sara tried to catch a little more sleep before she had to get up for work. Ian, on the other hand, was bouncing off the walls and couldn't have gone back to sleep if he'd been pumped full of sedatives. He sat at the table making a list of the things that they had to get done before moving to the cabin, a mug of tea by his hand. When it neared 7:30, he went into the kitchen to brew Sara's coffee and to make her a full breakfast. He slid the last few feet to the bed, balancing her mug of hot coffee, to catch the alarm before it went off. After pressing the button on the clock, he glanced down at the floor. "Not a drop of coffee spilled," he thought. Then, he grinned like an idiot and laughed out loud.

Sara opened one eye and asked, "What's so funny?" "Me, the coffee, the floor, everything, nothing. I'm just happy, I guess," he said, still smiling like a loon. "No offense," she grumbled, "But all of this euphoria is a little hard to take this early in the morning." "Sorry, Sara," he replied, "I'm afraid you're just going to have to put up with me until the newness of what's happened eases off a bit. On the upside, here's your coffee and I made you breakfast. Do you want it in bed?" Her eyebrow lifted. "Now there's a leading question if I ever heard one," she said.

He laughed again, an open, joyous sound. She couldn't help it, she smiled back at him – his good mood was too infectious. "You can have whatever you want, my darling," he said, "Bacon, eggs, toast, me. You can have us together or you can have us separately." She snorted. "I must be losing it," she teased, "You're starting to sound like Dr. Seuss. Bring on the food. After all, I've had you once this morning already." "Once is not enough," he countered, bounding up off the bed and heading for the kitchen. She shook her head and sipped her coffee.

In a few minutes, he was back, carrying a filled tray that he set on the bedside table. Her eyes widened. "Wow. You really cooked," she said, "Oh my god, are those home fries?" He nodded. "They're not really nutritious but I know you like them so I….," he got out before she reached over him, saying, "Gimme." She shut her eyes and chewed fried onions and potatoes. They were heavenly. While Sara worked her way through eggs scrambled with cheese, crisp bacon, and toast with jam, Ian munched on a piece of toast and sipped tea. His foot kept tapping the floor as if all his excess energy had congregated there in its attempt to find a way out of his body.

Sara eyed the jittering foot and said, "You're kind of manic, baby. If it wouldn't make me late for work, I'd love to work off some more of that energy with you." He raised his head from where he was studying the floor, trying to decide whether it needed a new coat of polish. He smiled at her slowly and his eyes went dark. "Whoa," she thought, "There's steam coming off of that smile." "I can work fast," he replied. She felt a little quiver deep in her belly. She shook her head and thought, "He can do that to me with just his eyes. Amazing." "Was that a no?" he asked. She handed him her empty dishes and glanced at the clock. "Let's see what you can do with 20 minutes," she said.

Twenty minutes later, she lay limp beside him. She managed to turn to him so that she could rest her head against his shoulder. He slipped his arm around her, pulling her close. She could still almost feel the energy humming through him, like electricity. "I nee tal talk to you before I get ready for work," she said. For the first time, the good humor slipped a bit, "What is it?" he asked. "Nothing bad," she reassured him, "I just want to prepare you for the possible onslaught." "Onslaught?" he echoed.

She nodded. "Remember how I asked you to keep our engagement quiet?" she asked. "Sara, I promised you that I'd…," he stopped as soon as she held up her hand. "Not you - I can't do it myself," she said, "Now that you've put the ring on me, I don't want to take it off." His golden eyes glowed and the gorgeous smile came back. "I'm glad," he replied. She snorted. "Yeah," she said, "You say that now but wait. All hell is going to break loose as soon as I walk into the precinct wearinis ris rock. I can swear Danny and Vicki to silence, but I'd bet my Buell that Rosa and Lee still know by the end of the day."

"Okay," he replied, "What am I preparing myself for then?" "If they can't get me at the office – and I'm going to do my damndest to make sure they can't – they're probably going to call here. If you pick up the phone, you may get sucked into wedding plans." She said those two words like an epidemiologist might say bubonic plague. He lau and and said, "Fine." Sara looked at him like he'd sprouted horns. "Fine?" she repeated. He shrugged and said, "I don't mind. Really. I plan to enjoy every aspect of our wedding. I'm looking forward to the whole thing from beginning to end." "Are you nuts?" she asked. "I don't think so," he replied. "Okay, pal," she said, "It's all yours. Run with it. Here's the next thing."

He looked at her expectantly. "I'm worried about my friends. Not so much Jake, because we're not that close. But I'm worried about Danny and his family. I'm worried about Vicki and Gabriel. I'm worried about them being used as pawns during the Convergence." He asked, "You want to warn them to be on their guard?" She nodded. "It's the only way that I can think of to protect them," she said, "At least then they'll be – what is it that you always say? – forewarned is forearmed?" "I agree," he said, "They can't help us. They should protect themss sos so that they can't be used against you. You know, of course, that they're going to want to know all about the Convergence. Have you even told Vicki about the Witchblade?" Sara shut her eyes briefly before she said, "No. That promises to be a marathon talk session. She'll want to know everything, of course. It's just her nature." "Are you going to do this today?" he asked. "Danny and Vick, yeah," she replied, "I may have to go see Gabriel tomorrow."

"I have a quon fon for you," he said. She waved a hand at him to go on. "Where's the Lance?" he asked. She looked startled. "I'd forgotten all about that damn thing," she thought. "Why?" she asked. "Because I should pick it up today or tomorrow so that we can take it with us to the cabin. I can hide it somewhere safe until we're ready to go," he replied. "You ready to tell me about your potential Wielder yet, Ian?" she asked. He shook his head. "I'm still working on it. No point in raising your hopes until I get it worked out. It may still fall through. I should know by late this afternoon."

"Okay," she said, "I'll give you directions to where the Lance is being kept and a note for Smitty asking him to let you take it. If he needs confirmation, he can call me." "Smitty?" he asked. "The owner and barkeep," she replied. "It's in a bar?" he asked, incredulous. Sara smiled. "A workingman's bar – a cop's bar – the last place that Irons would look," she said, "It's hanging on the wall in plain sight." Now he laughed. "Have I mentioned that you're brilliant as well as beautiful?" he asked. "That's something that I can never hear too often," she replied, smiling.

Sara glanced at the clock. "Oh my god, is that the time? I have to get in the shower right this minute," she said. "And, no, I don't think it's a good idea for you to come with me," she added before Ian could open his mouth. He shrugged and started to gather the breakfast dishes. She stopped halfway to the bathroom and looked back to him. "Hey, baby," she said. Ian turned his head to look at her, the tray in his arms. "Thanks for the great breakfast," she said, "And for the lovely dessert too." He gave her a beautiful smile and said, "It was definitely my pleasure."

She was only a little late for work. She'd had to write Ian the note for Smitty before she left and that was just enough to make her late. She kept her left hand in her jacket pocket until she got in her office. She was grateful that Jake wasn't there. That meant she could talk to Danny alone. He lifted his head from the report he was scanning and she could tell that he was getting ready to razz her about being late. She held up her left hand to stop him. That stopped him cold. "Holy shit," he exclaimed, "Is that what I think it is?" "Probably," she said. "Man, oh man," he continued, "You could ice skate on that thing. How many carats is it?" "Three," she said. "Wait until the ladies hear about this," he said, "I don't think I'm ready for that. Are you?"

"Actually, no, I'm not," she replied, "We need to talk." She told him as much as she knew about the Convergence. "So you and Ian are going to disappear tomorrow and you won't be back until this thing is over, one way or the other?" he asked. She nodded. "I don't really know how my absence will be explained around here," she said, "Someone else is covering that for me." "And who is that exactly?" he asked. "Believe me, partner," she said, "The less you know about all this, the safer you, Lee, and the kids will be. That's the reason I told you. I need you to watch your own back while I'm gone." He frowned. "You think that someone might use me to get to you?" he asked. "It's happened before," she reminded him. "Donremiremind me," he said, suddenly having difficulty breathing. "No," she said, "You've got to remember it and you've got to be very, very careful. Okay?" Danny nodded. "Okay," he said, "And when you and Ian come home safe and sound, the festivities will begin." Sara snorted and said, "And that's scares me almost as much as the Convergence."

Around mid-morning, Sara's phone rang. When she picked it up, Vicki said, "Yo, Pez. Can you stop by the Lab sometime today? The results of Ian's blood work came back and there's something strange." Sara felt her heart speed up. "Is it something bad, Vick?" she asked. "I don't know," Vicki replied, "We need to talk. Can you come?" "Yeah, of course," Sara said, "Give me fifteen minutes." "I'll be waiting," Vicki said, "Bye." Sara said goodbye and hung up, frowning. Before Danny could ask what was wrong, Jake came in and the whole ring conversation began again.

A short while later, Sara nervously opened the door to the Lab. Vicki was in her usual position, bent over a microscope, oblivious. "Hey, Vick," she said, "What's up?" Vicki raised her head and looked at Sara with a raised eyebrow. "Strange doings, Pez," Vicki replied, "Very strange doings." "Okay," Sara said, "Just tell me." "Ian's DNA contains two sequences that no one in the know has ever seen before. Never as in no other blood that's ever been tested, Sara," Vicki replied, "According to both their analyses and my own, those sequences aren't human." Sara swallowed hard and said, "How's that possible." Vicki smiled, removing the cigarette from behind her ear and lighting it. "Wait. It gets better," she said.

"Because I'm basically a compulsive person, I followed a hunch," Vicki continued, "When I sent Ian's blood for analysis, I also sent along a sample of your blood. Remember when you cut yourself at that crime scene and we needed to eliminate your blood as belonging to the vic or perp?" Sara sat down and said, "Yeah, I remember. So?" "So," Vicki replied, blowing out a puff of smoke, "You have the same two alien sequences in your DNA that Ian has in his. How about them apples?" Sara cleared her throat. "I guess you'd like an explanation, huh?" she asked.

Wondering where to begin, Sara ran her hand through her hair. Vicki screamed. Sara pushed out of the chair and scanned the room hurriedly. She didn't see anything out of the ordinary. She turned back to Vicki, confused, and said, "What?" Vicki pointed to Sara's left hand, speechless. Sara frowned, looking down. "Oh, yeah," she said, "Ian and I got engaged." "And when were you planning to tell me that?" Vicki asked, "Does Rosa know? She'll die." "No. Rosa doesn't know," Sara said, "I didn't tell you because it just happened. He gave me the ring last night." Vicki started to reach for the phone and Sara said, "Vick, stop. You can't tell Rosa. We have to talk. Okay?" "Does any of this have to do with that pretty bracelet of yours?" Vicki asked. Sara shook her head. "You continue to amaze me, Dr. Po," she said.

Sara stayed in the Lab with Vicki for the next three hours, telling her the Witchblade saga from the shootout at the Museum through the impending Convergence. She left out some details – like how she and Ian joined through the Witchblade and the involvement of Lazar – but, by the time she finished, Vicki had a good idea of where things stood. "So you and Ian are going to disappear until this confrontation is over?" Vicki asked. Sara nodded. "I'm not sure that I'd believe any of this if I hadn't just seen the results of your blood work," Vicki said, "If I understand this correctly, one of those alien DNA sequences is the Witchblade and the other is Excalibur. Is that what you think?" "That would be my guess," Sara replied. "So these whatchamacallits have altered your DNA," Vicki said, "That would scare the hell out of me. Doesn't it bother you?" Sara smiled. "That's only a small part of what Ian and I have experienced since the Witchblade chose me," she responded. "Okay. I heard you, Sara," Vicki said, "I'll be careful while you're gone and I'll think of you both often. So, I guess there's only one thing left to say." "Which is?" Sara asked. "Can I throw a bridal shower for you as soon as you come back?" Vicki asked.

Sara didn't get home until almost 8:00. She'd called Ian to let him know that she'd be late. At the loft door, she realized that she'd forgotten the code for one of the three outside alarms again. She took the path of least resistance. She knocked. "Forget the code again?" she heard from beyond the door. "Just open the damn door, Nottingham," she growled. The door opened and a hand emerged holding a glass of red wine. She was forced to smile. "Is that a peace offering for being the instigator of all these lousy alarms?" she asked. "I hope so," Ian said, "You're not going to bite the hand that's about to feed you, are you?"

She came in and took the wine from his hand. While he reset the inside alarm, she noticed that lots of candles were burning again. "It does make the place look kind of mysterious and sexy," she thought, "Just like him." He had on jeans and a red sweater. She wondered if he was wearing the sweater because she'd said he looked good in red. He looks great, she thought. Picking up the conversation, she said, "I can't promise not to bite without knowing what you're planning to feed me." "Lasagna," he replied. "Oh," she said, "You're safe then. At least, until the food's gone." He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. She slid her arms around his neck, holding the wine behind his head and deepening the kiss.

"I missed you," he whispered, when the kiss finally ended. "I missed you too, baby," she replied, "When do we eat." He shook his head and went toward the kitchen, saying, "That's my Sara, ever the romantic. We can eat right now. Dinner's ready." Sara followed him to the kitchen to help carry the salad, lasagna, and Italian bread to the table. As soon as they started to eat, Sara asked him, "So what happened with the Lance?" He countered by saying, "Tell me first how Danny and Vicki took your warning. By the way, nobody's called yet to force me to decide between swan ice sculptures or pyramids made out of champagne glasses." "Very funny," she replied, "Okay, so maybe I overreacted a little. Maybe we'll be able to leave for the cabin before the bridal elves take over our lives."

"What did Danny say?" he asked. "Danny was cool," she said, "I reminded him that he'd been used against me once before. He'll be careful." Ian cleared his throat and looked down at the table. "It was a different life, Ian," she reminded him. "I know," he said, "What about Vicki?" "Vicki had some interesting news," she replied, "She got some pretty bizarre results from your blood test." His head came up sharply. She had his full attention now. "Vicki being Vicki," she said, "She also sent a blood sample she'd taken from me in for analysis. Apparently, your DNA and my DNA contain the same two alien sequences." "The Witchblade and Excalibur," he said. She nodded. "From the first night that we made love in the loft." he said. She nodded again. "You said we were more alike than any two on this earth," she said, "Now it's literally true." "It always was," he responded.

Sara finished her lasagna, watching him. He was deep in thought. When she put down her fork, she asked, "What are you thinking?" "Can't you tell?" he asked. She shook her head. "I'm too tired to play those games tonight," she replied. "I was thinking that there are lots of people who'd like to take lots of our blood for lots of their tests," he said. She smiled and said, "Well, they have to catch us first." "Amen to that," he replied, "More wine?" She nodded and said, "I'll have one more glass, thanks. Now, tell me about the Lance."

She was sipping when he said, "We have a Wielder." She coughed and asked, "Who?" "Hector," he replied. "Mobius?" she asked. He nodded. She looked at him, stunned. "I thought that he was dead," she said. Ian s his his head, smiling. "You should know by now that it takes more than that to kill a Black Dragon, Sara," he said. "He tried to kill us both," she said. "There were reasons for that," he responded, "We've made our peace." She looked worried. "I know that he's your friend, Ian," she said, "Maybe the only friend you've ever had but do you really feel that you can trust him? He was put through the same conditioning you were, wasn't he?" "Similar conditioning, yes," Ian said, "That's why he started working with Dr. Marx today. Hector won't join us at the cabin unless the Peter Marx can override his programming." "Does that seem likely?" she asked. "It actually seems probable," he replied, "Peter's close to a generic blocker based on the programming patterns that he found in me. There's no reason that it shouldn't work for Hector."

After a few moments of silence, Ian asked, "Are you done?" Sara didn't answer. She was staring at her plate, her thoughts chaotic. "Sara?" he asked. Her head came up and she said, "Sorry. What?" "Can I take your plate?" he asked again. "Oh, sure," she said. Ian picked up the plates and carried them to the kitchen. Sara gathered the silverware, following him. "What about the Lance?" she asked. "It's hidden near the orb," he replied. Her eyes narrowed. "How the hell did you know where the orb was?" she asked. He shrugged and said, "I don't know how I knew. I just knew." She dropped the silverware on the counter with a clatter. "This connection shit is starting to creep me out just a touch, Ian," she said.

He stopped filling the dishwasher and turned to face her. "Okay, Sara," he responded, "I understand what you're saying and I heard what you were saying last night. We're not normal. We never will be. When we get married, it won't be a normal marriage. When we have children, they won't be normal kids." He stopped for a moment, pushing down the quick jab of pain that he'd felt when he'd seen her flinch at the word "children." "Is it kids in general or just mine," he wondered. "That's reality," he continued, suppressing his feelings, "You either accept and learn to deal with it, or you run away from it. Which path are you going to take?" She shut her eyes, turning away from him, "I'm too tired to have this debate with you tonight, Ian," she said.

He caught her arm and swung her back around to face him. Sara's eyes flashed dangerously but she didn't retreat or advance. She held her ground. "No, you can't just walk away from this again, Sara," he argued, "We need to settle it right now. If there's a breach between us, our enemies can drive a wedge into it that pulls us apart. If that happens, everything's lost. Talk to me, dammit." "Don't you dare raise your voice to me, Ian Nottingham," she hissed. He stared at her a moment. Then, he slammed the dishwasher door shut so hard that the whole counter shook and he stalked into the other room without another word.

Sara stayed where she was, thinking, "Whoa, Mr. Nottingham is pissed." That's quite a sight, she thought, a tiny smile twisting her lips. She cautiously left the kitchen. He was sitting on the sofa abusing the remote control, flipping from one channel to the next. She could feel the anger and frustration coming off of him in waves. She gingerly sat on the edge of the sofa, keeping some distance between them. "Truce?" she asked, softly. "Fuck that," he growled, not really watching the screen where his attention was fixed. Her eyes widened and she realized that he was really turning her on. "That's pretty sick," she thought. "Okay," she said reasonably, "What do you want?"

Now, he turned to her and Sara caught her breath at the barely restrained violence that was crackling around him. "Wow," she thought, feeling herself suddenly go wet with arousal. "I want you to let me in without barriers – the way that I've opened myself to you," he said, his voice rough, "But whenever I get too close, you raise the walls again." "I see," she replied, "You want me to go against my nature for you, is that it?" "God forbid," he said sarcastically. "You want too much," she saidmedimediately afterward, she thought, "Why are you baiting him? Are you crazy?" Now, she saw his golden eyes ignite and she felt his frustration with her escalate to the danger level. She watched fascinated as he viciously hurled the remote control against the wall to shatter into fragments. "He's like a tiger in a cage," she thought, "Full of menace and danger but so, so beautiful."

In one lithe motion, he launched himself off the sofa and grabbed his jacket from the coat rack. "No," a voice screamed in her head, "Don't let him go." She wasn't sure whether it was her or the Witchblade. "Ian, wait," she cried out, "Don't go." He halted where he was by the door, his back to her and his hand near the alarm, ready to deactivate it so that he could get out. She went to stand behind him. She could feel the coiled anger still vibrating through him. "Be patient with me," she whispered, "This deep a relationship is as new to me as it is to you. I'm still trying to find my way too." She heard a soft, explosive breath escape him, as if he'd been sucker punched. He didn't move. Very carefully, she slid her arms around his waist and pressed herself against his rigid back.

"Damn you, Sara," he growled, pivoting to face her and crushing his lips against hers in one sinuous uninterrupted motion. He forced his tongue between her lips as her hands found their way under his sweater, drawing blood from his back with her nails. Without breaking the kiss, he picked her up and carried her to the bed. Ian dropped her unceremoniously on the bed. Still standing, he ripped off his clothes. Sara sat on the bed for a moment, stunned, and then she began pulling off her own clothing as fast as she could. When he rolled on top of her, she still wore her soaked panties. Ian pulled back slightly and reached down one hand to rip them off of her. Sara gasped.

She looked up into his eyes, which were now pure jungle cat. "Oh my goodness," she thought right before she felt him ram into her. She cried out and bit his neck, again drawing blood. Of their own volition, her legs raised and wrapped around him, locking him to her. He was moving at a brutal pace, driving them both toward the edge mercilessly. She knew that she was scratching him, leaving her marks all over him, but neither of them seemed to care. The walls of the loft danced with scarlet shadows, catching pulsating flashes and beams from the Witchblade. From the street, it looked like there was a conflagration burning in the loft. Ian's body felt so hot against hers that she briefly wondered whether they might not both just spontaneously combust and have done with it.

Instead, he kept up the pace, longer than she would have believed possible given the fevered pitch of their lovemaking. She felt his hand tangle in her hair to pull back her head roughly. He pressed his lips hard against hers, invading her mouth again with his tongue, where it battled with hers. When he pulled back a little to catch his breath, she bit his lower lip hard enough to again draw blood. They both realized at the same moment that the granddaddy of all orgasms was about to hit them. He turned his head and their eyes met, predatory gold and killer green. Then, iammeammed into them both like a sledgehammer. Her head arched back into the pillow and his head pushed forward into her shoulder. This time, they both let out yells that would wake the dead.

As they lay unmoving, totally spent, two things happened simultaneously. The phone rang and someone began to frantically knock at the front door. Sara put a weak hand against his soaked shoulder and pushed. He didn't move. "Hey, Nottingham," she said. He raised his head a little and dazed golden eyes found hers. "Hey, Sara," he managed shakily. Her lips twitched. So did his. "I'll get the phone if you get the door," she said. "Okay," he said. He eased off of her, wincing, and tried to stand up. He stumbled and caught himself on the bedside table. He tried to cover by taking the ringing phone from the table and handing it to her. She took the phone from him, her eyebrow raised. He lifted one shoulder a fraction before heading to the door.

Several minutes later, Ian shut the front door and reset the alarm. Sara hung up the phone. She looked over at him. "That was Mrs. Miller," he said, "I guess she's not as deaf as I thought. I told her we were fine." She nodded. "That was Rosa," she said, "I told her that we were humping our brains out and couldn't talk about the wedding right now." She studied him. He was glistening with sweat, bleeding from several scratches, and his lower lip was cut and swollen. He studied her. She was glistening with sweat, her hair was a tangled mess, and her lips had swelled to a bee-stung pout. Their eyes met and then they both started to laugh.

Ian came back to sit on the side of the bed. Sara touched his lip where it still bled a little and said, "I hurt you." He pushed his wet hair behind his ear and said, "Believe me, I didn't even feel it. All sensation was focused elsewhere." "You have a temper. Who knew," she said. He shrugged and looked directly into her eyes. "I lost control," he said, "You really got to me, Sara. And, of course, we didn't resolve anything, did we?" She leaned forward to rest her head on his shoulder and drape her arms around his neck. "Not tonight, Ian. Please, not tonight," she whispered, her lips against his throat. He sighed a little raggedly and hugged her. "Okay, you win," he said, "I'm too tired to fight with you over this now anyway. But we're going to have to deal with it sometime. And soon." "At the cabin," she assured him. "Okay," he agreed, "At the cabin."

He pushed back and said, "I've got to take a shower. I must smell like something feral." Sara raised her head from his shoulder and met his eyes. "You smell just fine to me," she said. Their eyes locked and he finally shook his head a little as if to clear it. "I'm all sweaty. I need a shower," he said again, "I'll be to bed in a little while." "I'll come with you," she responded, "I could use a shower too." He cleared his throat self-consciously and asked, "Are you sure that you want to be in a confined space with me right now?" She leaned in to gently kiss his swollen lips. "I'm sure," she said. As they walked to the bathroom holding hands, Sara said, "No more cookies, I guess." Ian shrugged and said, "Who knows? Maybe we'll get that pot roast that you wanted now." Sara laughed and punched his shoulder, but very gently.

In the shower, Ian stood under the spray with his head down and palms flat against the tiles, letting the hot water wash over him. Sara washed his back, carefully running a soapy washcloth over the many scratches that she'd put there. "When we're done here, I want to put some disinfectant on all these cuts that I gave you," she said. "Why bother," he responded, "They'll be healing by morning. Turn around and I'll do your back." She turned, passing him the washcloth. "Did it ever occur to you," she said, "That when the Witchblade healed you, you may have lost whatever gave you those amazing recuperative powers." She felt the soothing strokes against her back pause. "Now there's a thought," he said, resuming his ministrations, "I wonder if that's true. That could be a bit inconvenient considering what's coming. I guess we'll know tomorrow."

When they were face to face again under the spray, she rea up up to wash the blood from the livid bite mark on his neck. "Doesn't anything ever disturb you?" she asked. He gave a rueful snort and said, "Yes. You do. You've just had a rather graphic demonstration of how much." "Bend down," she said, "Let me clean up your lip a little." He bent his face down toward her hand and she gently rubbed the soapy washcloth against the cut on his lip. When he pulled back a bit, hissing softly with pain, she said, "Sorry." She lowered the cloth and pushed his wet hair out of his face. "No," she said, continuing, "I mean doesn't all this supernatural stuff ever disturb you – visions, dreams, tuning into someone else's thoughts and feelings. You never seem to be thrown by any of that." "I've lived with it all my life, Sara," he said, "I've been learning about it since I was a child. It's not supernatural to me. It's natural."

Sara nodded. "I guess that does make a weird kind of sense," she sai"Wan"Want me to wash your hair?" She felt guilty about what she'd done to him. Because of her, he looked like he'd been in a hell of a catfight, all claws and teeth. She knew that he loved it when she washed his hair, so it was a sort of apology; one that he wasn't about to turn down. "Sure," he said. In all truth, she enjoyed it as much as he did. She loved having her hands full of that mane of his. She poured the shampoo, he bent his head, and she gave his hair a good washing.

By the time they dried off, it was past midnight. As they approached the bed, Sara realized that the sheets needed to be changed. The scent and evidence of their frenzied coupling was apparent from several feet away. She stopped him with a hand to hisst ast and said, "Why don't you make yourself a cup of tea while I change the sheets? I want to disinfect those bites and scratches before we go to sleep," she said. "Okay," he responded, too tired to argue, "Can I get you anything?" She shook her head and said, "Give me five minutes." By the time the kettle boiled and he made his tea, she'd finished changing the sheets. He carried his mug to the bed and sat still while Sara put Mercurochrome on each scratch, and disinfected and bandaged the bite on his neck.

When she finished, she kissed him gently on his sore mouth and pushed back his clean hair. "You're a brave soldier," she said, smiling. "I'm an idiot," he replied, picking up his tea again, "I should never have let myself lose control like that." She put the first aid supplies on the table while he finished his tea. Dropping her eyes, she said, "Now, don't take this the wrong way but…," He stopped drinking and turned to her. "Go on," he said. "You losing your temper like that? It was…," she searched for an acceptable word before she settled on, "…exciting." He stared at her a moment, then he put his empty mug on the table with a snort of laughter. "Okay," he replied, "We'll add a little dominance to the bondage on our dress up and games night. How's that?"

"Not really it," she thought, "But I'm not going to pursue it any further tonight." "I bet the Witchblade enjoyed Itself," she said aloud. He eased himself into the clean bed and responded, "Probably. But I don't like being out of control. I'd never hurt you, but the loft and its contents could take a beating. I hope that I can find a way to be 'exciting' for you without slamming around appliances and breaking things." She curled up next to him and pulled up the covers. "You do excite me, Ian. I didn't mean it that way," she said, gently rubbing his stomach, "In any case, the biggest thrill that I want right now is some sleep." He leaned down to kiss her forehead, then made a little sound because he'd forgotten the cut on his lip. "Me too, love," he said, "Goodnight."

The next morning, things in the loft were very subdued. Although they didn't discuss it, they were both shocked by what had happened between them the night before. Before she left for work, Sara put fresh medicated salve on the bite on Ian's neck and re-bandaged it. She was concerned that it might get infected. She knew from the job that you had to take special care with human bites or they could become serious. When he'd gotten out of bed that morning, she'd also taken a good look at what she'd done to his back in the light. She was appalled by how badly she'd scratched him. Then there was his lip, which was still swollen and painful.

She'd fared a lot better. She had a bruise on her arm from where he'd first grabbed her in the kitchen, and her lips were still tender and a bit swollen. That was it. Even though they hadn't talked a lot before she'd left, Sara could tell that Ian was worried. None of his injuries had healed in their usual fashion and they were forced to conclude that his amazing recuperative powers had been lost when the Witchblade healed him. Ian found himself wandering through a maze of new conjectures. Did this mean that his IQ was going to drop? What would happen to his martial arts skills? What parts of him were programmed; what parts came from Excalibur; and what parts grew out of his own training and genetics? He had a lot of new questions buzzing in his head and no ready answers. For most of his life, he'd been told exactly who and what he was supposed to be. He was severely punished whenever he deviated from that design. "Now," he thought, "I've got to redesign myself without a guide. Just who the hell am I?"

Sara thought about Ian most of the way to work. Her head was still filled with him when she walked into her office. For once, she was the first one there. Before she could even sit at her desk, however, Captain Dante stuck his head into the corridor and called, "Pezzini. In here. Now." Just the voice did it. Sara's mouth pulled into a thin stubborn line. She rose slowly and took her time sauntering into his office. He didn't invite her to sit. Her body automatically rearranged itself into an insolent slouch. He eyed her disapprovingly and said, "It's beyond me why things like this happen. Apparently, your shootout at the Midtown Museum caught someone's attention. You've been requested for a special Federal Organized Crime task force. You're reassigned - effective immediately."

Sara knew that this was Lazar's doing but she decided that she'd play it out just for fun. She shrugged and asked "Why me?" Dante nodded. "My point exactly," he said, "I tried to argue that there were far more qualified officers in my precinct who deserved this opportunity. They want you." "For how long?" she asked. "Tentative roll off is December 1, but they'll be contacting me in late November with a status update." Sara smiled, thinking, "So, Lazar left a cushion to give me a little vacation time." "Something funny, detective?" Dante asked. "No," she replied, belatedly adding, "Sir." "Alright," he said, "Get out of here then. Someone's goingcontcontact you at your home." "I'll just wait until Danny gets in so that I can transition…," she began. "No, you won't," he interrupted her, "You were off my payroll when I hung up that call. You're out of here right now." She nodded. "Certainly," she said, belatedly adding, "Sir." She was halfway out the door when his voice stopped her, "Oh, and Pezzini," he said. She glanced back, raising her eyebrow. "Shut the door on your way out," he said.

Back in her office, Sara made a quick call to Gabriel to see whether he was going to be at Talismaniac for the next hour or so, and if she could stop by. He was there and said he'd share a late breakfast with her if she could get there in the next hour. Since she'd only had a cup of coffee that morning, she was glad to take him up on his offer. She jotted a quick note to Danny and left. As she threw her leg over the Buell, she glanced up at the precinct building and suddenly wondered if she'd ever see it again.

Half an hour later, Gabriel answered her knocd usd ushered her into his cluttered studio. As soon as she saw him in the dim light, Sara said, "You look like hell." He grimaced and said, "I was up half the night tracking down a lucky charm that a client needs by 4:00 this afoon.oon." "Why?" she asked. He yawned hugely and said, "Something to do with some horse race." She shook her head, smiling, "And he's going to pay you a lot of money for this, right?" That perked Gabriel right up. "You bet," he said. "Sometimes I do seem pretty normal," she mumbled. "Oh, I don't know that I'd go that far," Gabriel replied, grinning. "Another smart ass," she said. "So, what can I do for you?" he asked.

"To start, you can get me a cup of coffee," she replied. She could tell by the smell that he'd just made a fresh pot. When she was reaching to take the coffee from him, her ring caught the light. He almost spilled the coffee all over her. She quickly wrapped both hands around the steaming mug to steady it, saying, "Whoa, there." He turned away from her and asked, "Is that what you came to tell me?" Actually, she'd forgotten that Gabriel didn't know about the engagement. She'd come to warn him to be careful and to ask him to babysit the Buell until she returned. But she said, "Partly, yeah." "You're going to marry Nottingham," he said, quietly. Sara wished that he'd turn around so that she could see his face.

"This is silly," she thought, and she walked around Gabriel to sit in a chair, facing him. He didn't look happy for her. "Yes, I'm going to marry Ian," she said. He sat now too. "Why?" he asked. She laughed nervously. "Because I love him," she replied. Gabriel set his mug down so hard on the table beside him that a puddle of coffee spilled to its surface. "Sara," he said, desperately, "How can you love that guy? You know what he is, what he's done. How can you…," "Stop," Sara said, softly. There were a few moments of silence where they both carefully studied the floor. "Gabriel," she started calmly, reasonably, "We're living together. What did you think was going to happen?" He looked back up at her, clearly miserable. "I don't know," he said, "I guess that I thought you were giving him a place to crash to get him away from Irons – just until he could find a place of his own."

"I'm sorry that I've upset you," she said, "I honestly thought that you knew about my relationship with Ian. Otherwise, I wouldn't have sprung it on you like this." He shrugged. "I guess I'll learn to live with it. I mean, it's not like we were ever going to – you know," he ended, lamely. "Gabriel, you're my friend," she said, "I don't want to lose your friendship. Will you still be my friend? Even after I marry the big, scary guy; who would also like to be your friend, by the way." Now, he snorted. "Yeah, right," he said, disbelievingly. "Okay," she said, "What did you just answer?" He dropped his head and said, "Yes, I'll still be your friend. I'll always be your friend. Being best pals with the big, scary guy is something else again." "So," she said, brightly, "That's something for us all to work on then, yes? And, none of this is why I came here today."

"Want a bagel?" Gabriel asked. "Do you have cream cheese?" she responded. "Of course I have cream cheese," he said, "You can't eat a bagel without cream cheese." He swung around in his chair to pull a bag of bagels, a tub of cream cheese, and a knife to the table beside them. As he turned to hand her the knife, Sara asked, "Do you know anything about the Convergence?" The knife that he was holding dropped to the floor with a clatter. "I guess that's a 'yes,'" Sara said, picking up the knife and taking it to the sink to wash it off. "It's coming?" he asked. "So I'm told," she said, washing and drying the knife. As she sat back in her chair, she saw his eyes widen. "Of course," he said, "11/11/02." He swung around to the computer and started to put the mouse in gear.

"Before I lose your attention," she said, "I wanted to tell you that Ian and I are leaving tomorrow and we won't be back until the Convergence is over." He swung back to face her. "Oh my god," he said, "You're not going to try to form a Triumverate, are you? That's crazy - you'll be killed." "Your confidence is reassuring," she said, drily. He just looked at her, wild-eyed. She sighed and said, "There aren't a lot of choices here, Gabriel. This is end of the world type stuff." "Wow," he said, "Did you come here to ask me for my help?" "Actually," she replied, "I came here to ask you to be careful. This thing is going to bring out all manner of nasties. I don't want you to be dragged into the middle of the festivities again. Just stick close to home and keep your eyes wide open until it's over. Okay?"

"Yeah, sure," he said, "Okay. Did you want me to keep the Buell for you while you're gone?" "And, that was the other reason that I came," she said, putting the keys into his hand. "I'll keep your baby safe," he said, "She'll be waiting here for you when you get back." "Thanks," she said, leaning over to kiss his cheek, "Thanks for being such a good friend." He gave her a little smirk and said, "Yeah, well you haven't left me with a lot of options here. I'm working with what I've got." She stood and went to the door. He walked with her. "Take care of yourself, Sara," he said, smiling. "You too, Gabriel," she replied, smiling back. The massive door shut behind her and she walked out to the street to hail a cab back to the loft.

It was only a little after noon when Sara entered the last security code to reset the alarm just inside the door. With the fortress again secure, she hung up her jacket and dropped her holstered gun on the coffee table. She'd known that Ian wasn't home as soon as she'd entered the building. She didn't know how she knew that, any more than she knew where he was right now. Neither one of them had been inclined to talk much that morning, so she didn't know his plans for the day. He'd had one of his ever-present lists close to hand when she'd last seen him, so she assumed that he was running around taking care of things that needed to be done before they left for the cabin the next morning.

She went into the kitchen and made herself a pot of coffee. When it was ready, she poured a mug and took it to the table. Ian had left his pad and pen there. She drew them to her and idly reverted to an old high school pastime. Sara Pezzini-Nottingham, she wrote. Sara Nottingham. Mrs. Ian Nottingham. Mr. and Mrs. Ian Nottingham. She felt the air in the room change and the fine hairs on the back of her arms stood up. She knew what she'd see before she raised her head. Xenobia Blacque sat across from her in the chair that Ian usually occupied. She looked real as life. "So, he gave you a ring, did he," she said, laughing, "It's lovely, Sara." Her laugh had the same effect on Sara as nails running down a blackboard. "It's a shame that he won't live to put the wedding ring on your finger too," X continued.

This time, Sara was prepared. She knew that X wasn't really there and that an illusion couldn't hurt her. Sara raised an eyebrow and said, "I don't like you, lady, and I've got your number. You're a skanky bitch who's still pissed off because your clumsy advances left Ian cold. It's not your fault. He has taste. Now, why don't you give this lame intimidation shit a rest and suck your essence back into Daddy Dearest's pocket where it belongs." X's eyes flashed and her smile picked up a dangerous edge. "You've got a vicious mouth on you when you try, Pezzini," X said, "Ordinarily, I like that in a woman. On you, it just confirms what you are – street trash. You're not worth more than the little reminder I came to deliver. Now, Ian, on the other hand, deserves my attention. When I have him – and, I will – I plan on using him in every perverse little way that my perverse little mind can devise before I kill him." Sara shrugged. "Big talk," she said, contemptuously. "And a little action," X replied, leaning forward with lightning speed to whip three long red fingernails down Sara's right cheek before she disappeared. Sara touched her cheek, eyes wide. Her fingers came away wet with blood.

She was in the bathroom trying to clean up her face when she heard the front door open and close. There was no way to disguise the three long, shallow scratches that now marred her right cheek. "Sara, where are you?" Ian called, "I'm going to start packing the jeep. Is there anything that you want me to…?" As soon as she saw him, she just wanted him to hold her. She launched herself into him so hard that she knocked the breath out of him. His arms automatically came around her. She ducked her face under the collar of his leather jacket to touch his skin with her lips. She deeply inhaled his scent and thought, "Ian." He stroked her hair and said, "Hi. Are you okay? Look at me." She lifted her head. She watched the golden eyes widen. "How did this happen?" he asked, gently touching the raw marks on her cheek.

"X," she said. "There it is again," she thought, watching his eyes flash as if someone had just lit a furnace inside them. "How the hell did she get in?" he asked, "None of the alarms were tripped, were they?" Sara shook her head and said, "No. She wasn't really here. It was the same as before." Now, he looked confused. "Then how?" he asked, very gently stroking her cheek. With her arms around the solidity of Ian, she could smile again. "You got me, ace," she said, "You're the one that's into all this supernatural shit, not me. You tell me." He shrugged. "I don't know," he replied, "So, she can hurt us but we can't hurt her. We need to talk to Lazar. Maybe he knows some defense that we can use against her."

He bent to kiss her lightly. "Poor baby," he added, "Now we're both beat up. Did you disinfect those? Even her shade probably carries venom." Sara nodded. She saw that scary gleam come into his eyes again as he said, "Ms. Blaque and I are going to have a reckoning very soon." "Don't let her bait you into anything before we're ready, Ian," she said, "I think that must be the purpose of these visits of hers." "You're probably right," he agreed, "That and she's trying to rattle us." She snuggled even closer to him, holding him tighter and returning her face to his neck. "Hah," she said, her voice muffled, "Well, we don't rattle that easily, do we?" He rubbed her back, soothingly. "Are you sure that you're okay? Clingy isn't like you." She immediately started to pull back, but he held tight now. "No, don't move," he said, "I like it. I'm just concerned."

"I'm fine," she said, still wrapped around him like a garment, "I guess she did rattle me a little. I was so sure that she couldn't hurt me. It was a shock." "Yeah, well, when the time is right," he hissed, "I'm going to teach that bitch the true meaning of hurt." Sara shivered and it sure wasn't because she was cold. She raised her head to look at him, eyes wide. He'd felt her shiver. "Are you cold?" he asked. "Oh no," she replied, breathlessly, "Not at all." He apparently heard the raw desire in her voice because she watched his eyes darken to deep, rich amber and she felt his heart speed up under her hand. His warm fingers slipped up under her shirt to stroke the bare skin of her back. She began to tremble. "Dear god," she said, suddenly wanting him so much it was painful, "What's happening to us?" "I don't know," he whispered hoarsely, his face buried in her hair, "Do you want to stop?"

"Are you kidding?" she gasped, "I want to rip your clothes off and mount you right here. What the hell is wrong with me?" "Nothing," he breathed, pulling off his jacket and tossing it toward the sofa, "Try not to bite or scratch this time, okay? Other than that, I'm right there with you." They looked at each other for another dazed moment before hands went everywhere. She unzipped his jeans and tried to get her fingers inside but they were too tight. "Too tight," she growled. He dropped to the floor in one fluid motion and started pulling off his jeans. "Come down here," he said. She sat on the floor beside him and starting working on her own snaps and zippers.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him stretch up to drag the quilt off of the sofa and spread it on the floor. She'd finally managed to kick off her jeans and had her cropped shirt halfway up over her head when she felt it pulled the rest of the way off. He rolled her over on to the quilt and pulled his own sweater over his head. She watched as he rolled it up. "Lift your head," he said softly. She did and he slipped his sweater beneath it as a cushion. Sara turned her face into the luxurious cashmere. It smelled spicy, clean, and male – his scent. Desire washed through her. "Maybe this is a hormone thing," she desperately wondered. Then, his hot, hard body was angling against hers and his still swollen lips were guiding hers open. She stopped thinking.

She was straining against him with need; he didn't seem to be in any hurry though. He kissed her artfully, using finesse rather than force this time while his hand slowly caressed its way down her body. She ran one hand over his muscled back. Feeling the previous night's scratches under her fingertips, she kept her claws carefully sheathed. Her other hand slid over his hip and across his stomach. Almost drugged by his long, slow kisses, the thought ran through her mind that she now knew the contours of his body as well as she knew her own. She ran her hand through the crisp hair at his groin to hold and stroke him. He drew in a sharp breath and his hips arched a little, pushing him further into her grasp. His fingers had now settled lower too. He was rubbing her hard; his once leisurely pace edging into a more urgent rhythm. Sara let go of him, afraid that she'd hurt him, as she felt herself losing control. She grabbed the hand that caressed her as an orgasm swept through her.

Ian rolled her limp body over so that Sara was face down on the quilt. She hugged his sweater against her face, again inhaling deeply. He bit her ear lobe gently. His breath was warm on her neck as he asked, "How are you doing?" Her breathing was just starting to return to normal. "I want you," she said, "Can you pull down a pillow from the sofa?" She felt him shift behind her and stretch over to drag a pillow down from the sofa. "Where do you want it?" he asked. She laughed and he added, "The pillow, I mean." "Under my hips," she said, pushing up off the floor, so that he could slip the pillow under her.

She felt him move behind her again. And then someone pounded on the door. They froze. "Shit," Ian said, ungraciously, "Mrs. Miller is starting to get on my nerves." "Sara, are you in there?" she heard Jake say from outside the door. "When did you put in all these alarms? I really need to talk to you," he added. She rolled over and sat up. Her eyes met Ian's. The look in his golden eyes was murderous. He started to move and Sara put a hand on his hard shoulder. "No," she said, "I'll get rid of him." He smiled and Sara's stomach did a little flip again. "Let me," Ian said softly, "Please." "No," she said again, "He doesn't mean any harm, Ian." "Maybe not," he replied, ice cold, "But his timing is…annoying. He should be taught to use a phone." "Coming," she called out. "Not really," she heard Ian mumble.

Sara quickly put her clothes back on. Ian pulled on his jeans and boots. While Sara went to get the door, he grabbed the quilt, pillow, and his sweater off the floor in one swipe and pitched them on the sofa. She glanced worriedly over her shoulder at Ian, wondering if letting Jake into the same room with him wasn't like throwing a steak to a lion. She deactivated the alarms and said to Ian, "Behave," just before she opened the door. He raised his eyebrow. "Oh, shit," she thought.

Jake came in and stopped cold when he saw Ian standing by the sofa, shirtless, arms folded across his chest. Ian's eyes narrowed and Jake took a step back. "Oh," Jake said, "I didn't know he'd be here." "I live here," Ian hissed softly. Sara cleared her throat and said, "Now would probably be a good time to start packing the jeep, baby." Ian glanced at her but didn't move. For a moment, she thought he might not. Then, he grabbed his sweater and jacket from the sofa, and headed toward the door. "Don't go far," she called to him. "Don't worry," he replied, just before he slammed the door behind him.

Sara turned back to Jake and said, "What the hell are you doing here, Jake? Since when do you just show up on my doorstep without calling first?" He stretched a hand toward her and asked, "What happened to your cheek?" She looked blank for a moment before remembering the scratches. ""Nothing important," she replied, "Go on." "I heard about this Federal Organized Crime task force that you've been assigned to, Pez," he replied. She just stared again before she remembered Lazar's cover story for her absence. "So?" she asked, "What's it to you?" He dropped his head for a moment, clearly agitated, then said, "This assignment is bogus, Sara. Someone's setting you up." She laughed and said, "What? How on earth would you know that? You're a rookie, for god's sake."

"Not really," he replied, "I guess you won't just take my word that I'd know about any Federal task force that had been formed using people from our precinct, will you?" Her stubborn face appeared. "Why should I?" she asked. He nodded. "That's what I thought," he said. He pulled a small leather case out of his pocket and handed it to her. She opened it. It was his F.B.I. I.D. Her mouth dropped open. Then, her eyes narrowed. "What the hell is this?" she asked. "I'm undercover and I'm breaking all the rules telling you even that much. But I couldn't just let you walk into something blind. Someone's setting you up," he said again.

While her mind still reeled from his disclosure, it simultaneously raced to come up with some kind of validation of Lazar's fabrication. "No, they aren't," she replied, her mind still churning. "This is actually coming through my previous association with Kenneth Irons," she continued, "That's why Ian's coming with me. Irons has connections with some very high-level, secret government agencies. You were right – the organized crime task force is bogus, but the federal undercover assignment isn't. And I'm also breaking all the rules telling you that much." Jake's eyes had gone wide. "Wow, I had no idea," he said, "Sure. That makes sense. I can see it now." "So, are we okay?" she asked. "Yeah, we're cool," he said, "I just couldn't, you know, let you walk into an ambush." "I appreciate that," she said.

The door opened and Ian came in. "Still here?" he asked Jake, pulling off his jacket and hanging it on the coat rack. Sara would swear she felt the temperature in the room drop by ten degrees. Jake took a step back. "I'm going," he said. "Don't let me rush you," Ian purred, advancing slightly. "Ian," Sara said. He glanced her way and Jake used that distraction to make a beeline for the exit, giving Ian a wide berth. "Watch your back, partner," he called to Sara from the door. "You too, rookie," she called. There was a moment of silence after the door closed behind him. Then, Ian said, "Alone at last. Again." Sara's lips curved in a tiny smile. "You do menace very well," she said. Now, his lips curved up wickedly too. "Thank you. I try," he replied. "Jake's going to have nightmares tonight," she added. "That would be lovely," he said.

She walked over to him and slid her arms around his neck. He pulled her close. "Did you actually pack the Jeep?" she asked. He snorted and said, "I walked around the block a few times to stop myself from breaking something. Primarily, Detective McCarty." "Why do you dislike him so much?" she asked. "Because I don't trust him," Ian replied, "He isn't what he seems. He's also got the hots for you and that pisses me off." She laughed and said, "Where's the Ian Nottingham that only used to talk to me in cryptic verse?" He shook his head and his eyes briefly looked troubled. "Lost," he said, "Do you miss him?" "No," she rep, ", "This new you really turns me on. I'm still trying to figure out what's different since the Witchblade healed you." "You and me both," he said.

"You feel dangerous now," she mused. He smiled. "I was always dangerous, Sara," he said matter-of-factly, "Just not to you. And I'm still not dangerous to you." "But I couldn't feel the danger in you before," she continued, "Now, I can feel it coiled there, under the surface, waiting to spring." "How colorful," he replied. "You're a real smart ass, aren't you, Nottingham," she said, leaning closer. "Shall I menace you a bit?" he asked. "Couldn't hurt," she whispered. "Oh, but it could," he whispered back, voice menacing. "Nah," she said, pushing her fingers into his hair, "Doesn't work. I know that you're only playing with me." "Speaking of which…," he said, his fingers unsnapping her jeans.

She shrugged. "The mood's passed," she said. "Another good reason to kill Detective McCarty," he replied, then asked, "What were you going to do with that pillow?" "Smother you," she said, laughing. "Considering where you had it before we were interrupted, I might have let you," he responded. He leaned down and ran his tongue slowly around the outline of her lips. She slipped her tongue out just a tiny bit and their tongues touched. She made a little sound in her throat and pulled his face down to hers, opening her lips under his. His arms tightened around her.

Still kissing her, he bent down and lifted her in his arms. He carried her to the sofa and sat with her on his lap, kissing her all the while. Breathless, they moved apart – just a little. "Are we doing this again?" she asked. He shrugged. "I like to finish what I start," he said, slowly sliding down the zipper of her jeans. She dropped her head, nuzzling under his chin. He was forced to raise his head, exposing that sensitive spot on his neck where she could drive him crazy. Her lips and tongue found it and she felt him shiver against her.

"Sara," he said hoarsely, "You know what that does to me." "Of course," she whispered, between licks. "Oh," he said, breathing harder, "Well, you should stop in a while." "I will," she agreed, sliding her hand up under his sweater, "In a while." He tried to get his hand inside her jeans, but his hand was too big and the jeans were too tight. "Time out," he said. She raised her head and met his eyes. Her hair was disheveled and her lips looked swollen. Now, her breathing quickened as she watched his golden eyes darken again. He said her name with a little ache in his voice that made her heart lurch. Then, he said, "Lay back and lift up so that I can get these damn pants off you again."

She did as he asked and he removed her jeans with some difficulty. She now lay perpendicular to his body, across his lap, wearing only her cropped top. Her shoulders rested on the pillows stacked against the arm of the sofa. "You're staring," she said. "You're beautiful," he answered, "Shut your eyes." Sara shut her eyes. She felt his body shift on the sofa. He bent her knees and positioned himself between her legs. Then, she felt his hot tongue. She gave herself over to the delicious sensations, reaching down to tangle her fingers in his hair. Once again, she felt the pleasure rise and rise until it spilled over into sweet release. Her eyes opened, sleepy and sensual, meeting his. "I want you," she said again, "And the pillow's right here this time."

He pulled off his sweater and stood to unfasten his jeans. Then, someone pounded at the door. They froze, looking at each other. "Hey, Sara, are you there?" they heard Gabriel say from outside the door, "When did you put in all these alarms? I've got some information for you." "God damn it!" Ian exploded, "What the hell is this - Grand Central Station? Doesn't anybody use a phone anymore?" Sara felt nervous laughter bubble up into her throat. Seeing the look on Ian's face, she was able to stifle it before it escaped. She grabbed her jeans up off the floor where he'd dropped them and dashed to the bathroom to get her robe, calling over her shoulder, "Don't you answer the door. You'll send him into cardiac arrest. Let me do it." He zipped his jeans and pulled his sweater back over his head, all the while mumbling to himself.

"Sara?" Gabriel called. She hurried to the door fastening her robe. Right before she opened it, she looked back at Ian, standing once again by the sofa with his arms crossed on his chest. This time she just pointed at him and narrowed her eyes. "Is that supposed to be menacing?" he asked, eyebrow lifted, "It needs work." She opened the door and Gabriel hurried into the loft. "Jeez," he said, "I was out there forever. Whare yre you…," he skidded to a stop as he spied Ian smoldering by the sofa. "Oh," Gabriel said, "I didn't expect you to be here." Ian threw up his hands, grabbed his jacket off the coat rack, and headed for the door. "Ian," she said. He looked over his shoulder, already halfway out the door. "Don't go far, baby. This won't take long and we have unfinished business."

Ian's eyes shifted to Gabriel, who took a step back and said, "Sorry. I guess I should have called. I'll talk fast and leave soon." As he spoke, his hand unconsciously rose to stroke his neck. "That would be…appreciated," Ian growled before he shut the door behind him. Gabriel looked at Sara and swallowed hard, "Oh yeah," he said, "He wants us to be friends alright. What happened to your face?" Sara sat on the sofa and patted the cushion beside her. "Nothing," she said, quickly touching her cheek, "He does want to be friends. You stopped by at a really bad moment, that's all. Considering how this day has been, he was actually pretty restrained." Gabriel glanced again at the door, as if he expected Ian to suddenly materialize. "What happened to his lip?" Gabriel asked, sitting beside her on the sofa, "Did somebody take a bite out of the big, bad…?" He stopped when he saw the look on her face and said, "Never mind."

"What's this big news that you had to share?" she asked. "Oh, right," Gabriel said, pushing his hair out of his face, "I got some pretty reliable information about what's going to happen at the Convergence. Since I know that you're leaving town tomorrow, I thought that I better come over to pass it along." "And the phone was a problem because?" she asked. He shrugged. "Ever since the Cyberfaust thing, I've been kind of paranoid about sharing important information any way but face to face. I know that's probably silly," he said. Sara squeezed his shoulder and said, "No, that's probably very smart. So, what is it?"

"The Convergence occurs when the gate – you know what that is, right?" he asked. She nodded. "Go on," she said. "The gate opens at 11:11 P.M. on November 11, 2002. To keep the balance intact and stop the Convergence, the gate has to be held until midnight, when the new day begins," Gabriel continued, "If you – that is, the Triumverate – can do ththe the gate disappears again until the next time the parallel lines converge. The world, such as it is, goes on and the Destroyer goes slinking back to wherever He calls home to keep doing His dirty work from a distance." "If we can hold the gate for 49 minutes it's all over?" she asked. He nodded and said, "Until the next time." "And when's that?" she asked. "I have no idea," he replied, "I'd guess that it's not a frequent thing though since there's no record of another occurrence."

She ran a hand through her hair, looking worried. "Did this research of yours say how the Triumverate holds the gate?" she asked. "Yeah, it's really cool," he said, "At least it looked pretty cool in the drawing at the web site." Sara interrupted him to ask, "There's a web site?" He nodded. "Yeah. Convergenge.com. Not very inventive, I know, but what can you do. Apparently, the site originates from some Doomsday group in Arizona. You should take a look. I used other sources of course, but that one has really neat drawings." "I will," she replied. When he just sat there looking at her, Sara prompted, "And the gate is held how?" "Oh, sorry," he said, "The Triumverate creates this focused wall of energy – at least, that's what it looks like in the drawing – that puts like a force field across the gate until it closes on its own. Nothing from either side can get through to the other. Cool, huh?"

"Oh, yeah," she replied, "Way cool, as well as impossible. A force field. I'm supposed to create a fucking force field?" "Well, it may not be an actual force field," he said, soothingly, "Maybe I'm describing it badly." Sara sighed. "What do our enemies do while we're throwing together this fancy force field thingy?" she asked, "I bet they don't just sit and watch the pretty colors, right?" He dropped his head. "They, uh, try to break your focus, I guess," he mumbled, "So that the wall collapses or weakens and they can breach it. I'd guess that they attack with everything they've got while the gate's open." Sara dropped her head too. "Yeah," she mumbled, "That would be my guess too."

At that moment, the door opened and Ian returned carrying several bags. He stopped just inside the door, frowning at Gabriel. "Are you still here?" he said. Gabriel shot up off the sofa like he'd been launched from a cannon. "Just leaving, boss," he said, throwing up his hands as Ian had done. Ian's lips twitched. He studied Gabriel for a moment while Gabriel squirmed uncomfortably under his regard. "I got some food – Thai," Ian said softly, "You're welcome to stay and eat with us if you want." "Well, well," Sara thought, from her perch on the sofa, "It could have been more gracious but it's a start." Gabriel shifted from one foot to the other nervously. "Uh, thanks…Ian," he said, "But I've really got to get back. I've got a client coming over in a little while." Ian shrugged and said, "Another time." "Sure," Gabriel replied with a quick smile, before turning to Sara. "Bye, Pez," he said, "Good luck." She rose from the sofa and walked Gabriel to the door, squeezing Ian's elbow as they passed him. At the door, she hugged Gabriel and said, "Thanks for bringing us your information. You're a good friend. It will all be okay. I promise." He hugged her back, saying, "I hope you're right. Knock 'em dead." Then, he turned and was gone. Sara shut the door and looked at Ian. "I'm starving," she said.

As they dished up the Thai food, Sara said, "This is a nice treat." "I figured that we might as well take advantage of the last bit of civilization that we'll have for a while," Ian replied, "All that you'll get at the cabin is my cooking." She practically inhaled Pad Thai and Chicken Satay with peanut sauce. "God, that's good," she said, "All that I had all day was half a bagel at Talismaniac." "What did he want to tell you?" Ian asked. Sara passed along what Gabriel had told her about the Convergence and how the gate would be held. Ian looked thoughtful. "I'll check out the web site after dinner," he said, "It doesn't sound like it but 49 minutes is going to be a hell of a long time." "I know," she replied, "I thought that too."

How do you think they'll come at us?" she asked. "They'll attack our concentration," Ian said, "So, I suspect the brunt of the attack will be psychological, although I'm sure that they'll come at us physically as well." "Enter X," she said. He nodded. "She'll undoubtedly be a key component in their arsenal of weapons. She can't toy with anyone's mind if she's dead though, can she?" he asked, a feral gleam in his eye. "I guess not," Sara said, a bit taken aback, "You've really got it in for her, don't you. How come?" "She touched you," he replied, in a low, flat voice. Sara's eyes narrowed. "What is this?" she asked, "Some 'don't mess with my woman' kind of thing? If that's it, forget it. I can take care of myself, Ian. I don't need you wreaking vengeance on my behalf." She saw his eyes spark before he dropped his head. Her gaze shifted to his right hand, which was now clenched in a fist around his crumpled napkin. She watched as he carefully relaxed it.

He started to gather empty containers from the table. "I'm not up for your macho detective crap tonight, Sara," he said softly, "I'm your Protector. I'll do what I was bred to do whether you like it or not." "Macho detective crap?" she repeated, lips thinning, "Where the hell do you get off judging me?" "I'm not judging you," he said, stalking inte kie kitchen with an armful of trash, "It's been a long day and tomorrow is going to be even longer. I don't want to fight with you tonight." "How convenient for you," she said, following him into the kitchen, "A man's got to do what a man's got to do – end of discussion. Right?" His back was to her as he dumped empty containers into the trash can. Now, he stopped, standing absolutely still. "Don't push me, Sara," he said very quietly, "I had a shitty afternoon being cast aside for your entourage. It wouldn't be wise to bait me. I'm definitely not in the mood."

His words and the tone in which he said them did three things to her: they sent a chill up her spine, they sent a gush of arousal in the opposite direction, and they really pissed her off. She was momentarily distracted when she noticed the Witchblade swirling hotly on her wrist. Then, her attention came back to Ian. He'd turned when she didn't answer him. Even though the kitchen lights were off, she could see that his cheeks were now flushed and she could clearly sense his simmering, barely controlled temper. She thought, "What's going on here? This isn't like us." Before she could stop herself, what she said was, "Yeah, well just don't lead us into a trap because you want to get even with X for feeling you up." "What?" she thought, "What did you just say to him?" He clearly wondered the same thing. "What did you say?" he asked, moving a step closer to her. She felt the menace now all right, and he wasn't playing.

"Oh shit," she thought. "Nothing," she said, "This is stupid. I don't know why we're fighting anyway. Just drop it." She turned away, preparing to go watch some T.V. – something, anything to defuse this ridiculous, dangerous situation that she'd brought upon herself without even knowing why she'd done it. He went to grab her arm, but stopped remembering the bruise that she had from his touch the night before. Instead, he just followed her into the other room, saying, "Damn it, Sara, I didn't start this. You did. You say something like that to me and you just want me to let it go?" "Okay," she said, sitting on the sofa, "I'm sorry. You're right. It was a nasty thing to say. Now, drop it, Ian."

"No. Not this time," he said, standing over her, "Are you angry because I want to protect you? That's crazy. It's what I was born to do." Now, she started to get annoyed again and before she could censor herself, she said, "How much of it is protecting me and how much of it is getting even with her? And, maybe, there's even something else there, some kind of weird attraction. She certainly seems fixated on you." "I can't help how she feels about me. All I feel for her is revulsion and a strong desire to pull her spleen through her mouth for daring to touch you," he said, his voice raising. "Lower your voice," she hissed, "Do you want Mrs. Miller at the door again? You do get points though for the vivid spleen image." "Shit," he said, putting a world of meaning into the single word, "I can't talk to you when you're like this. It's like you've lost your ability to reason." "I beg your pardon?" she said, icily. "Forget it," he said, turning his back on her. He stomped over to the window and deactivated the alarm, moving faster than she could see. In another second, he'd opened the window to climb out onto the fire escape, shutting it again behind him.

Sara sat on the sofa stewing for another five minutes. She replayed the entire argument in her mind, coming up with witty retorts that she hadn't thought of during the heat of battle. Then, she started worrying about him hunched over out there on the fire escape. It was cold and he hadn't taken his jacket with him. She ran her hand through her hair. "Idiot," she thought, "He'd probably freeze solid out there before coming in on his own. He's waiting for me to make him come back in. Isn't this just like a man? He's so damn stubborn that he'll probably make himself sick again. And just when I need his help too." She held out for another five minutes. Then, she caved, getting up and going to the window.

She struggled a moment to push up the heavy window. He didn't even turn his head. "Ian, she said, "Get in here. It's freezing out there and you don't even have your jacket on." "I'm fine," he replied. She could have hit him. She gritted her teeth and said, "Please. Come in now. I need you for something." He turned his head to study her face. "Well?" she asked. He vaulted gracefully in through the open window and turned to shut it behind him. "What do you need?" he asked, poised by the bed. He wanted to know before he came any further into the room. "You," she said, walking over to him. "He's not going to give an inch," she thought, "Okay. Let's see how determined you are, buster."

She slid her hand up under his sweater. Seduction changed to concern when she found that his skin was ice cold. He was shivering and trying to hide it. "God, you're freezing," she said, "Sit down on the bed." "Why?" he asked, teeth chattering. She gave him a stiff armed push. He wasn't expecting it and lost his balance, sitting down on the bed hard when the back of his knees connected with the bed frame. He started to get up and she pointed one finger at him and said, "Stay!" He remained seated, a sullen look on his face. She knelt and pulled off his boots. She rubbed his cold feet between her warm hands. Glancing up from under her lashes, she saw that his eyes had shut and his hands were gripping the bed frame. He didn't look quite so sullen any more.

"Stand up," she said. "You just told me to sit down," he complained. Her eyes narrowed and Ian stood. She pulled his sweater over his head and dropped it to the floor. She unsnapped his jeans and started to pull down the zipper when he caught her hands, saying, "I can do that." She slapped his hands away and now his eyes narrowed. "You're still shaking with cold," she said, "Stop fighting me. Let me get you warm." She pushed his jeans over his slender hips and down to the floor. He stepped out of them and kicked them away. "Get in the bed," she said. She saw his mouth set stubbornly. "It's early. I don't want to go to bed yet," he said. "Just until you warm up," she replied, "And stop being such a pain in the ass about it." She went over to the sofa to get the quilt while he got under the bed covers. She brought the quilt back to the bed and threw it over the blanket already there.

She got in bed next to him and started rubbing the cold skin on his chest and stomach. He turned toward her and said, "What are you doing?" "Trying to warm you up," she said. "There are better ways, you know," he said, voice husky. "I'm still mad at you," she said. "I'm still mad at you too," he said, slipping his cold hand inside her robe to tweak her nipple. "Your fingers are freezing," she hissed. He pulled back and rubbed both his hands together to warm them up before he resumed his caress. "Is that better?" he asked. "Maybe," she responded, "If I wanted you to be doing that." "Stop me then," he challenged. "He has me there," she thought, because it felt really good. "Why don't you take off the robe?" he asked. "Why should I?" she countered. "Suit yourself," he said, "It doesn't make touching you impossible. It just makes it harder." She wriggled out of the robe and pushed it off of the bed.

"You're so damn stubborn," she said. "You deliberately provoke me," he responded. Then, they came together across the bed like a pair of magnets. When they plastered themselves against each other, Sara let out a little cry. Ian pressed his lips to hers hard, deliberately ignoring the pain in his swollen lip because his need was greater. The kiss was feverish. Sara's fingers dug deep into his silky hair, holding his face against hers. Ian's hands grasped her bottom to pull her tight against him. When they finally separated, panting, Sara dropped her head to his shoulder and Ian buried his face in her hair, saying her name over and over with that soft ache in his voice. Her breathing had barely normalized before she felt his hands move to either side of her face, raising her head to bring her lips back to his. This kiss was longer, slower, and deeper.

When they broke apart, gasping, Ian breathed, "God, you make me crazy. I love you so much." Sara stroked his hurt mouth gently with her fingertips and said, "You make me crazy too. I adore you." His hands, warm again, slid down her shoulders. One stayed at her waist to pull her closer; the other slid down over her stomach and nestled in her wet folds to rub her hard. "More," he whispered, parting her lips with his and sliding his tongue between them again. She kissed him back, pulling his head closer with the hand still buried in his hair. She slid her other hand between them to find the line of soft hair that started right below his navel. Her fingers followed that trail downward until she found his already hard shaft. She grasped him in her hand, gently squeezing and drawing a low moan from deep in his throat. She started to stroke him, her hard pace matching his.

When they again separated to catch their breath several kisses later, Sara said, "I want you. Right now." He moved his hands, rolling her over on her stomach. "Want a pillow?" he teased. "As a matter of fact…," she said, pulling one of the pillows from the top of the bed and pushing it under her hips. She felt his warm breath on her neck. "Fair warning," he whispered, "I'm not stopping even if an earthquake brings this whole place down around our ears." "Make an earthquake, baby," she whispered back. Sara felt his now hot body move against her back. She cried out as he pushed into her hard, going impossibly deep because of the way that the pillow angled her body. She tightened around him, locking him to her so that he had to strain to keep moving.

The Witchblade suddenly flashed on Sara's wrist, a vivid blood-red light that made them both blink, and they felt any remaining semblance of control slip away. Ian began moving within her so hard and fast that Sara thought smoke must be rising between them. Completely lost, she pushed her body higher against him to force him deeper and at the same time clutched him tighter inside her. Ian was making desperate little gasps with each thrust, every corded muscle on his body standing out in sharp relief. Sara was clinging so tightly to the pillow under her head that her knuckles had gone white. She heard Ian moan, "I can't…," and knew that he was losing it. As if a switch had been flicked, she felt the tremor begin deep inside her that she'd only felt once before. She couldn't stop the wail pushing up from her throat, so she just buried her face in the pillow and let loose. Ian tried to bully his hoarse int into silence so as not to disturb their neighbor but he wasn't able to do it either. Instead, he pushed his face into her neck and let out a stifled cry that vibrated through her. She felt him come hard deep inside her.

It was several minutes before his dead weight even began to bother her. She pushed back into him a little and whispered, "Ian?" Her whole body was still tingling from the intensity of the orgasm that had spiraled through her. He really had made an earthquake, she thought. She tried to turn her head a little to look at him. She could feel his ragged breath against the side of her neck. "Ian?" she said again. She felt a tiny shiver run though him where he stretched against her back. "Are you okay?" she asked. "Sara?" he whispered, sounding dazed. "I'm right here, honey," she said, "Can you move please?" He eased off of her and dropped to her side, where he lay motionless. She rolled to face him and gently touched his shoulder. He was soaking wet. She pulled the covers up over him so that he wouldn't catch a chill. Of course, he immediately tried to push them down again. "Stop," she said, grabbing his hand, "At least keep the sheet over you. You're all wet." "Hot," he said. "I know, baby," she replied, "Keep the sheet on anyway."

When he was finally able to function again, Ian asked, "Is it like this for everyone? Is this normal?" Sara shook her head. "I think a lot of this is the Witchblade," she said, "I don't know why it didn't occur to me before. I think that the Witchblade may be instigating some of the strange stuff that's been going on between us since It healed you." The corner of his mouth tipped up in a little smile. "The Witchblade likes it rough," he said. Sara smiled back at him. "As usual, Mr. Nottingham, you nailed it. I don’t think It was able to mess with us too much before because of your conditioning. Your subservience was so ingrained that it couldn't – pardon the term – get a rise out of you. Now, it's using me to push your buttons so that we'll go at each other like animals."

"I thought I saw It flash," he said, "Right before I felt myself start to really lose it. Then the sensations swallowed me whole. I couldn't stop. The need just kept building and pushing me further until everything exploded." Sara said, "I saw It flash too. Well, I guess this presents us with an interesting dilemma. Do we let the Witchblade go on using us this way? And, if we do try to fight it, how will It react to our resistance?" Ian frowned and said, "It's not the best time to annoy the Witchblade, is it?" "You mean right before we need It to help us hold the gate?" she asked. Ian nodded. "How do you feel about being the Witchblade's stud until after the Convergence, Ian?" He laughed and said, "If I'm anyone's 'stud,' it's yours, Sara, and I can live with that."

"I don't like the fighting, though," she said. "Neither do I," he replied, "So, we just have to figure out how to get the effect without the cause. Give the Witchblade what It wants without ripping each other apart to do it." "Yeah," she said, snuggling up against him, "I like that plan." She yawned and added, "Well, now that I've been fed and serviced by my stud, I find that I'm rather sleepy." He grinned and pulled her closer. "Your stud is also worn out from his efforts to service you properly. But he begs to be cuddled and petted a little before you go to sleep."

She frowned. "Did he pack the car like he was supposed to?" she asked. "Alas, no," he replied, "He failed in that duty. But he'll do it first thing tomorrow. He'd suggest punishment but he fears that might stimulate the Witchblade and another request for service right now could damage him permanently." She yawned again and said, "Well, we can't have that. All right, punishment is deferred at this time. I suppose a little cuddling is permissible, but he doesn't deserve to be petted." "You're a truly benevolent mistress," he whispered, kissing her forehead. "And you're laying it on a little thick," she whispered back, "A stud should be seen and not heard. Go to sleep before I'm forced to discipline you in spite of the consequences." His soft laugh was the last thing she heard as she drifted off to sleep.

When Sara woke the next morning, she was alone in the bed. She glanced at the alarm clock to find a note propped there that read: "Mistress, Coffee's fresh. Packing the jeep. Petting required when finished. We should leave about 9:00. Yours." She smiled and went to get herself some coffee. In the kitchen, next to the coffee machine, she found an apple coffeecake with another note that read: "It seems Mrs. Miller isn't mad at us after all. I know it isn't pot roast yet, but we're getting closer." This time, she laughed out loud. She had her coffee and a big piece of the fresh pastry. After that, she showered, dressed, and packed the bags that she'd be taking with her to the cabin. By the time she finished, it was 8:45.

Five minutes later, she was in the kitchen packing up the coffeecake to travel and washing out the coffee pot when she heard the front door open and close. She stuck her head around the corner ready to tease him, but stopped at the look on his face. Ian hadn't seen her yet and he was looking around the loft as if he wanted to memorize every inch of it. The unguarded emotion on his face was devastating. He finally dropped his head and Sara would have spent a lot more than a penny to know what he was thinking. "Enough," she thought, "We'll be back." She cleared her throat and his head came up. "Jeep all packed?" she asked. He nodded. "Report for petting," she said. Now, he grinned and walked into her open arms.

She had time to appreciate him as he covered the short distance. He had on that dark gold cashmere sweater that did amazing things to his eyes. He wore it with tight jeans and the brown leather bomber jacket. His hair was loose. "Nice," she thought, "Very nice." Then, he was in her arms and her hands were full of cool leather. As he leaned in for a kiss, she felt his beard, velvety and scratchy, touch her cheek and his soft fragrant hair brush against her. She smelled his shampoo, a clean herbal scent – Eucalyptus and something else. His lips pressed and teased, while his tongue found its way through to slide against hers. "Wow," she thought, "His lip must be healing cause he sure ain't holding back any more."

When he broke the kiss, she was breathless. "Hey," she said, "Petting is passive, not aggressive." He smiled. "Not when I do it. Coffeecake lips," he said, "I bet you packed it for the cabin, didn't you?" "Of course," she said. "Well, guess what?" he said, "She made us about two pounds of Oatmeal Raisin cookies too." "Yum," she said, "Do I get to try those on the road?" He shook his head. "I don't know where they're packed right now," he replied, "Look at it this way. You'll have a treat at the cabin." She slid her hand up under the sweater to rub his warm, muscled chest. "I'll already have a treat at the cabin," she said, her meaning clear. "What?" he asked, "This old stud. Nothing new here." "Ah, but this old stud is very inventive," she replied, "I'm sure he'll come up with some new ways to entertain me." "That's pretty clever," he said, "Throwing the gauntlet, are you? Challenging me to come up with some new games for you?" She raised her eyebrow. He gave her a smile that should be prohibited that early in the day. "We'll see what I can devise," he promised her.

"Is everything packed?" she asked. He nodded and said, "Except for whatever personal stuff you want to take." She waved at the three suitcases that she'd packed and said, "Just these." He leaned in for another quick kiss. "I'll put these in the jeep and leave you a few minutes to check just to be sure you didn't forget something," he said, "Okay?" He didn't fool her. He was giving her time to say goodbye to the loft too. "Okay," she replied. He effortlessly lifted the three bags that she'd had to drag across the floor one by one, and headed out the door. "I'll come back to get you when we're ready to go," he called over his shoulder. "Right," she called back.

She walked around the loft, idly checking to be sure that all the appliances and lights were turned off. She felt a tear run down her cheek. She hadn't even realized that she was crying. She brushed her cheek roughly with the back of one hand. "C'mon, Sara," she said out loud in the empty loft, "This is stupid. It's only a place and you'll be back in it again soon enough. Stop this shit right now." Her pep talk didn't do any good. An ache had settled in the pit of her stomach and she wondered if she'd ever see this part of her life again. Her head shot up as she suddenly realized that Sehren, standing within the wreath of now-dried flowers, was still on the shelf across the room. "Oh my god," she cried, hurrying over to the little goddess statue, "What's the matter with me. How on earth could I forget about you?" She looked around for some way to protect her during the journey. She settled on a towel from the bathroom, carefully wrapping both the wreath and statue inside it.

As usual, Ian moved like he had paws rather than feet. He'd returned soundlessly and she almost dropped her toweled treasure when his arms slid around her from behind. "Jeez," she said, startled, "I'm going to get you a collar with a bell on it." His rich laugh warmed the back of her ear. "Kinky," he teased. He turned her in his arms and held her tight against him. "Are you okay," he asked, lips brushing a soft kiss to her forehead. She dropped her head against his chest, holding Sehren between them in one hand and raising the other to grip his solid shoulder. "Yeah," she said, voice muffled against leather, "A little melancholy maybe." "We'll be back," he said, "And when we come home, you get to start planning our wedding." That broke the mood all right. She snorted. "Oh, goody," she said, sarcastically, "Okay, ace. Let's blow this pop stand and hit the road."

Sara stood in the hall, cradling her goddess and Mrs. Miller's wrapped coffeecake in her arms, while Ian reset all of the alarms. Just before they started down the stairs, he turned to her with a frown. "Did you turn off the coffeemaker," he asked. "Yes, mother," she replied. "Sorry," he said, "Give a stud a hand?" He held out his hand to her and she linked the fingers of her free hand with his. When they got to the Jeep, she saw that it was packed to the roof – only the driver and passenger seats were clear. "What is all this stuff," she asked. He shrugged and said, "Groceries, entertainment, clothes, weapons, silk sheets, other necessities." Her lips curved. "Silk sheets, huh," she said. He turned his head to her and smiled back, golden eyes twinkling, and started the ignition. As they drove away, Sara turned her head back to watch the windows of the loft recede in the distance.

"You're awfully quiet," Ian said. They'd just turned on to the turnpike and still had a very long drive ahead of them. "Thinking," she replied. "Of…?" he asked. "The last time that we made this trip. How much has happened since then. How different our relationship is now than it was then. Lots of stuff," she concluded. "A lot has happened between us since then," he agreed. He glanced at her quickly before returning his eyes to the road ahead. "You really didn't like me much, as I recall," he added. "No," she said, "I didn't. But the attraction was there even then." He snorted. "You could have fooled me," he replied, "You concealed it masterfully." "Of course I did," she said, teasingly, "After all, I couldn't afford to let you get the upper hand, could I?" "Believe me, darling," he said drily, "I did not then nor have I ever since had the upper hand in this relationship." She sighed and said, "Exactly. And that's just as it should be."

Sara saw Ian pull ahead of several cars, weaving in and out of lanes with skill. She settled back to watch him drive. After a few minutes, she realized that he was very good at it – surprise, surprise – and that he was exciting her without even being aware of it. Or, maybe he was. She smiled as he shifted a little in his seat. Without even turning his head to her, he asked, "What?" "Nothing," she responded, "You're just getting me hot with this driving display, that's all." "Driving display?" he asked. She shook her head and said, "You don't even know you're doing it, do you?" "I guess not," he said, before adding, "Hot?" "Got your attention now, haven't I," she said. "I'd say we could pull over among some trees and use the backseat," he said, grinning, "Except we don't have a backseat." She glanced back at the packed car. "I think that I can manage to control myself, ace," she replied. "With difficulty, of course," she added. "Of course," he agreed.

A couple of hours later, Sara felt his lips on hers and realized that she must have fallen asleep. When he moved back, she yawned and asked, "Are we there yet?" He grinned and said, "No. We've got another hour and a half of driving to go. We're in the parking lot of a fairly decent diner. I though that you might be hungry." "Starving," she said, opening her car door. She stood and stretched. "Also, I need to hit the ladies room," she said. He nodded, unwinding himself from the car as well. "I usually have salad but they're supposed to have good burgers," he told her, "I often stop here on my way to the cabin." As they walked to the diner holding hands, she said, "You didn't stop here either way when you brought me." He frowned. "If you recall," he said, "On our way to the cabin, we were dodging bad guys and I was bleeding." She nodded, remembering. "And on the way back?" she asked. "I was hurting in a different way and didn't even think about it," he replied. She looked at him curiously as he opened and held the diner door for her. She sensed strong feelings but didn't pursue it. She did, however, file it away for later as one more thing to talk about at the cabin. They'd be alone together with lots of time on their hands.

As soon as they got in the door, Sara said, "I'm going to the ladies. I'll meet you at the table." Ian nodded and went in the opposite direction. When Sara came out of the ladies room a few minutes later, shticeticed that there was a commotion over by the kitchen, which she had to pass. All of the waitresses seemed to be gathered in a group, talking excitedly. When one latecomer joined them, Sara heard one of them say, "He's back." She followed their covert glances to confirm her suspicions and, sure enough, once again Ian was utterly oblivious of the female attention that he was attracting. She kept going to the table. Ever the gentleman, he stood when she arrived, sitting again only after she did.

"Well, stud," she said, "The waitresses seem to be fighting to the death over there by the kitchen for the privilege of serving you." He was looking at the menu and it took a couple of seconds for her comment to sink in. He lifted his head, eyes wide. "What?" he asked. She shook her head ruefully. "In some ways, it's probably good that you were sheltered in Ironsworld," she said, "On your own out here, the ladies probably would have chewed you up and spit you out long ago. You're just too tasty a morsel to leave untouched." His brow furrowed. "I haven't the vaguest idea what you're talking about, Sara," he said. "I know," she replied, "That's the beauty of it."

Sara felt a presence and looked up to see the waitress who had won the contest. She was young and dreamy-eyed, and only the side of their booth and her desire to keep her job kept her from taking Ian's order from his lap. She was as close to him as those obstacles permitted. Sara watched as Ian unconsciously inched a bit closer to the wall. She shook her head and smiled. "What are you having, baby?" she asked him. The waitress' eyes shifted briefly to her. "Whoa," Sara thought, "If looks could kill, I'd have been buried a week ago." Ian said to Sara, "I'm going to get a cheeseburger, fries, and water." Turning to the waitress, he smiled and added, "Please." With eyes glued to his lips, the waitress responded, "Anything." Ian frowned, looking at her, and said, "I beg your pardon?" Sara laughed at the look on his face before she turned to the waitress and said, "Hey," in a commanding voice. The girl's head snapped around. "I'll also have a cheeseburger and fries, but I want coffee. Got it?" she asked. The waitress nodded and glumly left.

Ian looked confused. "Did I do something?" he asked. Sara smirked. "A couple of things come to mind," she said, "Loose hair and tight jeans. Make that three – the gold sweater with your eyes is another killer. However, I suspect that you could be wearing a burlap sack and you'd still grab every female eye in the place." He shook his head and said, "I'm sorry." Sara reached across the table to take his hand. He linked his fingers through hers. "Don't be silly," she said, "Why should you be sorry? It's not your fault." They made small talk about what had to be done when they got to the cabin while they waited for their lunch. Then, a squeeze bottle of ketchup hit the table hard right by their joined hands and both of them pulled back, startled. "Ketchup for your fries?" the waitress asked. She put their plates in front of them, managing to rub Ian's arm with her breast as she did. He didn't even notice. "I'll be back with your drinks," she said, leaving in defeat.

Sara tore into the burger. Ian was right. The place might have pushy waitresses but the food was great. He was eating with his usual delicacy, using his napkin between bites. Sara smiled at him. "He uses a fork for fries, for god's sake," she thought, picking a fry up with her fingers and dragging it through the ketchup she'd squirted onto her plate. He happened to glance up from his food to see her smiling at him. "What?" he asked. "How come you're not eating your usual healthy, nutritious meal?" she asked. He shrugged and said, "It's weird. Since the Witchblade healed me, I find myself craving meat. I have no idea why. Now that we'll have some time to ourselves, maybe we can figure out what It did to me and what it means from a practical standpoint." She took another big bite of burger and grinned at him. "Crave meat, huh?" she said, chewing. He blushed a little and said, "Stop." The waitress brought their drinks. This time when she leaned over to put down his water, Ian leaned back. Sara heard the girl's deep sigh as she left.

"You're a killer, Nottingham," Sara said, adding when his startled eyes met hers, "Metaphorically speaking." "You bat those long lashes," she added, "And the women just drop like flies." "You better stop teasing me, Sara," he said, folding his napkin carefully by his plate, "Or your stud service might go on strike." "Which of us would that bother more, do you think, stud of mine?" she asked. He grinned and said, "You have a point. Ready?" She nodded and said, "I want a cookie." He laughed as he got out his wallet to leave the tip and pay the check. "You sounded just like a little girl," he said. She raised her eyebrow. He sighed. "Okay," he said, "Before we leave, I'll see if I can find the cookie tin in the Jeep." They slid out of the booth. Sara grabbed his hand again and leaned over to kiss his cheek as they walked to the cash register by the door. "You're so good to me," she said. He turned his face to plant a light kiss on her lips. "And don't you forget it either," he replied. The female wait staff of the diner, congregated in a group by the kitchen and watching Ian's every move, collectively sighed.

Back at the Jeep, Ian dug around for five minutes before he unearthed the big tin of Mrs. Miller's Oatmeal Raisin cookies. He got back in the driver's seat, handing the tin over to Sara like a trophy. "Thank you, baby," she said humbly. He just grunted, annoyed at the delay and pulled back on to the highway. Sara wrestled open the tin and then sat happily munching a huge, chunky cookie. "Want a cookie?" she asked. Now, he felt bad that he'd been so cranky about digging out the cookies. "Sure," he said. "Don't take your eyes off the road. I'll feed it to you," she said. "You'll what?" he asked. "You heard me," she said, breaking off a chunk of the cookie, "Open up." He opened his mouth and Sara slid the piece of cookie in. He chewed, obviously enjoying it. "Wow," he said, "These are really good." "I know," Sara replied, "Want more?" He nodded.

This time when Sara gave him the cookie, he licked her fingers. She said, "Hey, watch that tongue action, ace." "Sorry," he said, contrite. She knew that he was playing. She smiled and said, "Cookie coming in." He opened his mouth, this time nipping her fingers with his teeth she she fed him the cookie. He startled her and cookie crumbs went cascading into his lap. "Shit," she said. "What?" he asked. "I dropped crumbs in your lap. Here let me get them," she said, leaning over to dig around on the seat between his legs. She heard him draw in a sharp breath. Then, he said, "Sara, don't." "What?" she asked him, having no idea of what she was doing. "I can't think when you touch me like that. You need to stop that while I'm driving. We'll get the crumbs later. Okay?" "Okay," she replied, "But I wasn't touching you. I was just brushing the crumbs from the seat." "You were close enough to start a chain reaction," he said, "I'm really sensitive to you. It doesn't take much." She thought about that a minute and decided that it wasn't a bad thing at all. In fact, it brought another smile to her face.

They pulled on to the long, wooded path to the cabin about 4:00 in the afternoon. She'd forgotten how isolated it was. When they finally reached the cabin itself, there was barely room to maneuver the car through the thick stand of trees surrounding it. It was smaller than she remembered. When they'd left here, she thought, she'd been determined that Ian wasn't going to be a part of her life. He'd been a pleasant treat on the floor by the fire, but she didn't want him as a lover and she couldn't trust him as a friend. Now, she couldn't imagine her life without him, as both a lover and a friend. She shook her head to clear it and realized that Ian was already unpacking the Jeep. She got out to help him.

In another hour, they had everything unpacked, and Ian had chopped a lot of wood to start a fire and replenish the storage box. He was kneeling by the fireplace now, getting a good fire going. "What can I do?" she asked. "You can change the sheets if you want," he said, "The ones on the bed are from when we were last here." She knew the sheets wouldn't be stained from their lovemaking – that had happened on the rug in front of the fire. Still, clean sheets would be nice. "Maybe I'll use the satin sheets," she thought, "Our first night back here should be special. This place is full of memories for us – not all of them good." She put the satin sheets on the bed.

When she came back into the living room, Ian was crouched by the blazing fire, staring at the rug and lost in memories. It suddenly hit her fully and she said, "That was your first time." He lifted his head to look at her. The look on his face was unreadable. He nodded and said, "I was terrified. I knew I'd never have another opportunity like that one. Stuck out in the middle of nowhere alone with you. At the same time, I had no idea what I was supposed to do – how to approach you, how to make you want me. I was just as terrified of what might happen if I could manage to seduce you. I was so afraid that I'd disappoint you." "You did just fine," she said, "I never knew it was your first time until you told me later at the loft." He shrugged. "Blinding love can work miracles," he said, "When it happened, I was so lost that I wasn't afraid any more. The reality of the experience hit me like a steamroller. It was so much better than anything I'd dreamed or fantasized. I wanted it to go on forever."

"Oh, baby," she said, holding out her arms to him. He rose gracefully and went to her. She slid her arms around his neck, burying her fingers in his hair, while his arms circled her to pull her close. He kissed her deeply and when they pulled a little apart, he whispered into her hair, "I wouldn't have believed that I could love you any more than I did that night. I was wrong. It keeps getting stronger every day. There doesn't seem to be any end to it. It just keeps growing." She touched his cheek. "I was still in denial then. I think that I did love you even though I wouldn't admit it to myself. I'm sorry for that because I hurt you badly. I wish I could have spared you that," she said. He hugged her tighter and said, "It's okay. It worked out in the end."

Ian felt her body stiffen in his arms. "Oh my god, Ian," she said, "I completely forgot about the orb and the Lance. Where are they?" "Tucked away out in the woods," he replied, "I've got a safe place that I created a long time ago. I moved them there when I went to get the firewood. They'll be fine until we need them." "Do you think that we'll be using them – practicing with them – before the Convergence?" she asked. "I guess that's up to Lazar," he said. Sara sighed. "I need another cookie," she said. He laughed and replied, "Kitchen counter." Sara went to get the cookie tin. "Want some tea?" she called from the kitchen. "That would be nice, thanks," he responded.

He heard a soft exclamation from the kitchen and her head came around the corner. "You got a new coffeemaker," she said, "A fancy one." He said, "We can't have you stuck out here in the wilderness without decent coffee, can we?" "I love it," she said, "Except now you have to come here to show me how to work this thing." "Sure," he said, going to the kitchen. As he took her through the basics of fancy coffee making, she asked, "What other surprises did you have jammed in the Jeep?" "I can't tell you that," he said, grinning, "I figure that I'll bring out a new treat each time that you get bored with me."

She slipped her hand up under his sweater to rub his bare back. "I told you before, ace. You're my biggest and best treat," she said, "In fact, you never finished paying off that bet that you made with me. Remember? You were going to be my Scheherazade, telling me a secret for seven nights. I think we got to three. You can entertain me by telling me the other four secrets that you promised, starting tonight." He shifted under her hand and said, "I was hoping that you'd forgotten that." "Not a chance," she said, smiling at his discomfort. "Okay, it's a date," he said, "I'll give you another secret by the fire tonight after dinner. I was thinking of making something light – like an omelet – because lunch was so heavy. What do you think?" "Sounds good," she said.

They had a leisurely dinner of cheese omelets and salad, and did the few dishes. Ian carried the bottle of white wine that they'd had with dinner and their glasses to the table by the sofa. There was about half a bottle left. He crouched down to build the fire back up while Sara curled up on the sofa under their trusty afghan. Sara sniffed the edge of the afghan and said, "You know this thing needs a good washing." Ian snorted, his back still to her. "I know," he replied, "We gave it quite a workout the last time we were here. I'll wash it tomorrow. In the meantime, I brought something new. Here's your second cabin treat."

He rose smoothly and went to a bunch of bags that were piled across the room by the bookcases. He took something out of one of the bags and came back to her. He pulled the afghan off of her and tossed it onto the chair. Then, he covered her with an enormous black fleece throw. Sara pulled it up around her and almost purred. It was incredibly soft and warm. "Oh lord," she said, "This is wonderful. This is so good it might even replace you." He turned back from stuffing the soiled afghan in his laundry bag. "Hey," he said, "No fair. That thing doesn't have any fingers, lips, or tongue. Still think it can replace me?" "Not to mention an even more vital portion of your anatomy," she added. "Here, here," he said. "Okay, you win," she said, "I guess that I have to keep you after all."

He came back to the sofa and poured them each a glass of wine, putting the filled glasses on the table. He looked at Sara and asked, "Can I share your sofa?" He waited while she gave that some thought. She sighed. "It's just that I'm so comfortable now," she said, "I hate to move." "If that's all it is," Ian said, picking up both her and the throw. He sat back down on the sofa and stretched out, pulling Sara and the throw she was holding against him. She squirmed around getting comfortable and covering them both with the warm fleece. Her head was now against his shoulder and she could turn her face into the soft cashmere of his sweater. "Comfy?" he asked, reaching for the wine and handing her a glass. "Yeah, tell me a secret, Ian," she said.

"All right," he said softly. He was silent so long that Sara was getting ready to prod him again when he said, "When I was a child, I had dreams about you." She tilted her head back a little to look at his face. He was serious. "You're kidding," she said, even though she could see he wasn't. He shook his head. "I didn't know that it was you then, of course," he continued, "It was just the same girl in all my dreams. Soon after I met you at the museum, I made the connection."Why"Why are you so sure it was me?" she asked.

She felt the shoulder she was leaning against lift a trifle. "You had a doll named Helen that didn't have any eyes," he said, "You named her after Helen Keller. You were a bit perverse even as a child, weren't you, my darling." Sara almost dropped her wine. He was ready though and reached up to steady her hand. "Christ, what are you, Nottingham, a witch?" she asked. "It's warlock," he corrected, "And that's precisely why I never told anyone about the dreams. You had a friend named Tommy."

Sara gasped and said, "Stop. Okay, you're right. It was me. Why didn't I dream of you?" "I don't know," he responded, "Maybe you did and don't remember. Maybe you didn't need a friend as badly as I did. I don't know. I think I fell in love with you a little even then. I kept hoping that I'd meet you but I never did. Of course, I didn't get to mingle much." "You're a master of understatement, aren't you, ace," she said, taking a big gulp of wine. "Have I upset you?" he asked mildly, "Are you sure that you want more of my secrets? Most of them aren't this pleasant." "They're certainly not dull though, are they," she replied, "How old were you when these dreams started?" "I don't remember exactly," he said, "Very young. They went on for years, until we were in our teens."

"You're kidding," she said again. He snorted and said, "You keep saying that, Sara. You went to your Junior Prom with a Joey somebody. Your dress was yellow." Sara shivered and said, "Stop. Okay, Ian? Just stop. You're spooking me again." "Sorry," he replied, casually sipping his wine, "You asked." The Witchblade flashed on her wrist and both of them looked down at it. "It senses when you're upset with me and tries to push you into making me angry," he said. His lips twitched and he shifted his head a little to look down at her. "Are you getting ready to piss me off?" he asked. "You're picking up all of my favorite phrases," she replied, "Yeah. It's really pushing me to push your buttons. I'm fighting it."

"And all of this is just so we'll – what did you say to Rosa – hump our brains out?" he asked, "I think that the Witchblade needs a date." "Oh, I suspect that the Witchblade gets a rush when we fight too," Sara said, "I think it will feed on whatever strong emotions we provide." She smiled and added, "But maybe we could set the Witchblade up with the Lance. What do you think?" He laughed. "Might work," he said, "The Witchblade needs to get a life." There was a flash of red accompanied by a sharp mental slap. "Ow," Ian groaned, reaching over to stroke the bracelet with his left hand, "But until then, I'll be honored to be your stud. Tonight, though, I need to beg your indulgence, Mistress. I'm beat." "Are you talking to me or the bracelet?" Sara asked. "Both of you," he replied. "It's okay with me. I grant you a dispensation, stud, because I'm tired too. Also, Lazar will be coming to meet with us tomorrow and I want to be rested."

The Witchblade stayed quiet and they began to feel fairly confident that the fireworks were over. Sara stretched and sat up, putting her empty glass on the table. She stood and made a beeline for the bedroom, still hanging on to the new fleece throw, calling, "Last one in bed is a rotten egg." He didn't move a muscle. "You win," he said calmly, "I'm definitely a rotten egg." In another minute, he unwound his long body from the sofa. He built up the fire so that they'd stay warm through the night. Then, he strolled to the bedroom. In half an hour, they were both sound asleep, curled up together on the satin sheets, back in the cabin where it had all started between them.

When she first opened her eyes, Sara had a moment of blind panic, having absolutely no idea where she was. Then she remembered – the cabin. Her hand wandered on to Ian's side of the bed. It wasn't even a little warm. He'd probably been up for a while. She could still see the impression that his head had made on the other pillow. She rolled over and buried her face in it, smelling his shampoo and the male scent of him. "Where is he anyway?" she thought. She could tell by the light coming in the bedroom window that it was still early. Then, she heard a small sound from the other room and she smelled fresh coffee. That combination was enough to get her moving. When she sat up, she saw her robe at the foot of the bed. That made her smile. He'd anticipated her again. He'd found her robe in the unpacked bags so that she could schlep around in it to get her coffee – the way she started the morning at the loft.

Sara shrugged into the robe and padded barefoot to the bedroom door. She stopped there, transfixed. Ian was in a clear space between the two seating areas. Clad only in a pair of loose black silk pants, he executed a ritualistic series of katana movements with deadly precision and balletic grace. She watched fascinated as her lover smoothly pivoted and lunged from one lethal position to another. "Mesmerizing," she thought, "Like a cobra coming out of a basket." A light sheen of sweat covered his chest and back. Out of nowhere, a quote popped into her mind: "'Tyger, tyger, burning bright, in the forests of the night. What immortal hand or eye hath framed thy fearful symmetry'?" She frowned. "Who wrote that?" she thought.

"William Blake," he replied, his back still to her. She crossed her arms and smirked. "A little early in the day for mind reading, isn't it, ace?" she asked. He dropped the sword and turned to face her. "I felt you watching me," he said, "I only got the piece of poem and your question. I didn't pick up anything else." She smiled and asked, "Were you trying?" He shook his head. "I have no idea why I caught that," he replied. "Well, don't stop on my account," she said, "I was just passing through to get to the coffee." "I'm done," he said, "I'll sit and have some tea with you before I shower." He hesitated and then added, "Unless you'd rather be alone." "Nah," she replied, heading toward the kitchen, "Come keep me company while I wake up. By the way, thanks for finding my robe for me." He shrugged and smiled a little shyly. "I know you like to wear your robe in the morning."

As she poured her first cup of coffee, she said, "I'm a real creature of habit, aren't I?" He put the kettle on to boil, then turned to watch her sit at the table. "I wouldn't put it that way. You've got a strong personality. You know what you want, what you like. You're just Sara through and through," he finished, lifting one shoulder a little. She looked at him curiously as he sat across from her and asked, "And are you Ian through and through?" He studied her for a moment before he shook his head and said, "No. I'm only beginning to learn who I am. And it's all confused with destiny, Excalibur, Mr. Irons, the Witchblade, you. Trying to find me within that mix is daunting." His head dropped and he added, "I'm not even sure that there is a me."

She reached across the table to take his hand. "Of course there's a you," she said. He raised his head and lifted one eyebrow skeptically. "Okay," she asked, "What do you like?" The kettle screeched and he got up to shut it off and pour his tea. He turned back to her and said, "I don't know what you mean." She took a big gulp of coffee and then said, "Give me a list of some things that you like. Wait, I'll make it easy for you. What's your favorite color?" "Black," he said immediately, sitting back down at the table. She frowned. "Ah, I'm beginning to get what he's saying," she thought, "Does he like black because he was trained as an assassin to blend into the shadows or does he just like the damn color?"

"Okay," she said aloud, "Let's try something simpler. What's your favorite food?" "I think right now I'd have to say Mrs. Miller's Oatmeal Raisin cookies. They're really incredible," he replied. She smiled, triumphant. "See," she exclaimed, "That's all yours. That is, unless my feeding them to you and scavenging around sensitive places for crumbs influenced your decision." "Although I acknowledge your effect, I'd have to say that I'd love the cookies anyway," he responded. She nodded. "Great," she said, just getting warmed up, "What's your favorite book?" "You know that," he said, "The Count of Monte Cristo." "What's your favorite music?" she asked. He frowned. "That's hard," he replied, "It's a tie between Rimsky-Korsakov's Scheherazade and Puff the Magic Dragon." She laughed as he'd intended. "Okay, smart ass," she said, "Now you're starting to play with me, aren't you." "Why would you think that?" he asked, a delicious smile curving his lips.

"So, I guess we've just had our first session of Nottingham Soul Searching 101," she said, "We can pick this up again tomorrow at breakfast. Speaking of which, what happened to the rest of that apple coffeecake?" "It's in the refrigerator," he replied, "Want me to heat a couple of pieces for you?" "Yeah," she said, adding as an afterthought, "please." Sara finished her coffee and got up to get a refill. Ian got the pastry out of the fridge, cut Sara a couple of generous slices, and warmed them in the microwave. They were bumping around each other in the tiny kitchen until Ian pulled her into his arms, saying, "You never did kiss me good morning, you know." Sara put her mug on the counter and slid here arms around his neck. "As a habit, I don't kiss men that are dancing around with swords," she replied, "Just one of those strong personality quirks of mine."

"No sword now," he said, rubbing noses with her. She pushed her pelvis forward against his groin and felt the immediate startled quiver of his response through the thin silk pants. "I guess that's a matter of opinion," she said, laughing. "Stop," he said, his cheeks flushed, "Lazar could come at any time." "That would be a good trick," she said, grinning. He looked shocked for a moment at her sacrilege. Then, he shook his head and moved back to sit at the table again. "Okay," he said, "I give up. Forget the morning kiss." She put her coffee and pastry at her place before moving around the table to sit on lap lap and slip her arms around his neck. "I'm sorry, baby," she apologized, "You're just such fun to tease. You're so cute when you're frustrated." He snorted. "Then I should be cute most of the time," he replied. "You are," she said, leaning in to kiss him. He pulled her tight against him, deepening the kiss.

When she pulled back, she planted a light kiss on his forehead and said, "Now let me up so that I can eat my coffeecake." He released her and she went back to her chair. Once there, she gleefully dug into Mrs. Miller's excellent pastry. Ian finished his tea. He said, "I know that I don't stand a chance competing with coffee and pastry for your attention so I'm going to go get a shower." Mouth full, Sara waved a regal hand in his direction. He smiled and put his empty cup in the sink before heading for the bathroom. Left alone with her thoughts, Sara pondered what Ian had said about finding himself amid all the conflicts that had formed him. "He's come a long way," she thought, "But he's still got a helluva journey ahead of him before he becomes his own man, if he ever does."

She was on her third cup of coffee and still lost in her thoughts when Ian came back to the kitchen. His wet hair was slicked back off of his face and held tightly with a band. He'd changed into black sweats and was still barefoot. He tried to squeeze past her chair to grab the empty coffeepot so he could wash it. She pushed back her chair, trapping him against the counter. She tilted back her head to rest it against his stomach and inhaled deeply. "God, you smell good," she breathed. He leaned forward to kiss her upside down. "And you taste good," he responded, "Coffeecake lips." He straightened up and she let him pass. "Yeah," she said, "Well, soon it's going to be coffeecake hips unless I start getting some exercise again too."

"I have an answer for that," he said, "It's your cabin treat for the day." "I've got it," she said, "You're going to lock me in the bedroom and make frantic monkey love to me until the calories melt away." He smiled. "That actually sounds a lot better than what I had planned," he replied, "Let's go with that." "No, no," she said, "I'm sorry. Tell me your surprise." "I brought a punching bag and gloves for you. I'm going to hang the bag up in the corner over by the bookcases for you this morning," he said, "What do you think?" "I think that you are wonderful and that you may get a bit of that monkey love tonight anyway if you play your cards right," she responded. "I'm not really sure what that means," he said, "But I'm willing to learn." "Thank you, baby," she said, standing and kissing his cheek, "You really are very good to me. I'm going to go get my shower now and get dressed."

An hour later, Sara came out of the bedroom after having showered and changed into burgundy sweats. Her wet hair was pulled back into a long, tight braid. She'd also unpacked as much of the contents of her suitcases as would fit into the meager drawer and closet space afforded by the cabin. She found that Ian had almost finished installing the punching bag for her. She grinned at the bag, her hands forming into fists that itched to hit it. "It's going to take a while to break in a new pair of gloves," she said. "No need," he replied, "I have your gloves." She frowned. "I keep my gloves at the precinct to use in the gym there," she said. "I know," he said, "I got them from Danny." She shook her head. "You have been a busy boy, haven't you," she said, "It must be all those little lists that you make." "They help," he said, smiling.

"There's something else that I've got to do to make this place seem more like home," Sara said, going to the table by the front door. Ian watched her pick up a towel-wrapped bundle from the table. She walked to the mantle above the fireplace and cleared space right in the middle. She carefully unwrapped the towel and removed first the betrothal wreath of dried flowers saved from their engagement night. She placed it gently at the center of the mantel. Next, she placed the statue of Sehren at the center of the wreath. She touched the head of the goddess with one fingertip and said, "Bring us luck and victory, my Sister." "Amen to that," he said.

He started to walk back to her when he let out a little yelp and lifted his foot up off the floor. She couldn't help but snicker. He looked like an unhappy stork with one bare foot up in the air. "What's the matter?" she asked. "Scrabble tiles – they're all over the floor here," he replied. Their eyes met as they both remembered how the tiles had gotten there. "I'll pick them up later," he said, his voice having dropped into a lower, sexy register with the memories that were now running through his head. "That's what you said last time," she teased, her voice matching his. Now he grinned, "Yeah, well, you distracted me." She grinned back at him, "Is that what you call it?"

Ian was moving toward her, his eyes glowing dark amber with desire, his intention clear, when Lazar appeared between them. He glanced between them and frowned. "Am I interrupting something?" he asked.

Ian cleared his throat and attempted to collect himself. It took him a few moments to shift gears. Sara recovered more quickly. "You didn't interrupt anything we can't pick up later," she said to Lazar. "Right, baby?" she asked Ian. Ian blushed, embarrassed. He dropped his head, still obviously in awe of Lazar. "Sure," he mumbled into his chest, "Later." Lazar turned his head from side to side to study both of them again, then said, "Good. We have a lot of work to do." Moving toward the fireplace, he said, "Come over here and sit with me." They followed him. Ian sat beside Lazar on the sofa and Sara curled up in the chair across from them.

"First," Lazar said, "Tell me your concerns." Sara nodded. "There's this bit…woman named Blaque. She's able to project herself anywhere apparently and that 'projection' – for want of a better word – is able to inflict physical damage," she added, touching her scratched cheek. Lazar nodded. "Is there some way to keep her out?" Sara asked. Lazar frowned and said, "Do you both see her or is the projection selective?" "If I get what you're asking," she replied, "She seems to be targeting me for her visits. The first time she came, Ian didn't see her. I was alone the second time that she showed up." "Is there a reason that the woman is avoiding you, Protector?" Lazar asked.

Ian shrugged. "There's bad blood between us," he said, "But I don't think that would stop her. I think she's attempting to play Sara and I off against each other. She's tried to make Sara jealous – which, of course, is ridiculous." Lazar smiled. "Of course," he agreed, "Did it work?" Ian and Sara glanced quickly at each other and then both dropped their eyes, not answering him. "Ah," Lazar said, "I see. You should be aware that your enemies approach you in many different ways. If they can drive a wedge of any sort between you, they succeed. There is no one line of attack; the paths are legion. Be wary." "That's comforting," Sara replied, "So, how do we fight this bitch? She can hurt us but if we retaliate, we're slapping thin air."

"If you believe that she is solid, she is solid and you can harm her," Lazar said, "Conversely, if you believe that she cannot touch you, she is insubstantial and cannot touch you." Sara looked frustrated. "Congratulations. I think you just won the Nottingham Cryptic Crap of the Month award," she told Lazar. Ian gasped. "Sara," he hissed, "Show a little respect." But Lazar only chuckled and lifted his hand toward Ian. "I understand that the Wielder means no disrespect," he said, "I've watched over Sara since she was a babe and I've become used to the colorful way that she turns a phrase." Sara threw Ian a smug look before she asked Lazar, "So, what exactly does that mean in practical terms?" "In practical terms," he replied, "It means that I'll teach you how to fight the bitch." Sara grinned and said, "Cool." Ian looked over at her, shaking his head, but he couldn't help grinning back.

Now, Lazar focused on Ian and said, "Protector, something rather remarkable and unprecedented has happened to you. The Witchblade has taken upon Itself to heal you – not once, but three times. This last time, in ways that I wouldn't have believed possible." A beautiful smile illumined Ian's face. "You have been accorded more favor than any Protector in my long memory," Lazar added, "This strong bond you have with the Witchblade brings me greater hope for our success in what lies ahead."

Lazar frowned. "On the other hand," he said to Ian, "I believe that you are experiencing some of the trials that a new Wielder endures. The Witchblade has, essentially, also chosen you and your conditioning no longer blocks your deeper emotions. It is testing your connection; determining how far It can stretch your will to achieve Its own desires. Yes?" The color rose in Ian's cheeks. He was uncomfortable discussing what happened between he and Sara in the bedroom with Lazar. Ian cleared his throat and said, "The Witchblade has certain tastes that are a bit darker than ours." Sara snorted. "Ian's being delicate," she said, grinning at his discomfort, "I think his initial observation was closer. I believe you said, 'The Witchblade likes it rough,' didn't you, baby?" His cheeks got rosier.

Lazar nodded, not a bit taken aback. "Wielders commonly remark about their struggle with the Withblade's bloodlust," he said, "A less common, but equally intense struggle can occur with It's eroticism – which, of course, is still coupled with elements of the bloodlust. I imagine that you have found this too?" Sara nodded. "We started having fights so that we could make up…," she paused, searching for a word, "enthusiastically." Now, Lazar cleared his throat and Ian dropped his head. After a pregnant pause, Lazar said, "This situation is both unique and more intense for you as Wielder and Protector because the Witchblade is trying to control you both. I believe that you have already begun to regain control. The key lies in being aware of what's happening and exerting your own will to change it."

"So is this push for frenzied monkey love going to slacken off any time soon?" she asked. Lazar coughed. She heard Ian make a little sound. She couldn't tell what it meant because his head was too low to see his face. "If I understand you correctly, the answer is 'no,'" Lazar replied, "The essence of the relationship with the Witchblade is a balance of wills. There is a constant accommodation, a continual shift, to find a common ground that works for you both. And, of course, in this case, for the Protector as well." "I wouldn't worry, though," he continued, "The Witchblade only chooses those with wills that can match Its own. It enjoys the contest. That is why it does not suffer pretenders gladly and turns them into drained husks of what they were before they usurped the privilege."

"Here is a riddle for you to ponder, Protector," Lazar said to Ian, "Kenneth turned your will back on itself, using it to stifle rather than enforce your desires. However, that will must now be both strong and free or the Witchblade would never have chosen you as Its consort. Take heed of that fact because it's important. The Witchblade has chosen you as Its own lover, not just acknowledged you as the mate of the Wielder. As far as I know, that has never happened before." Ian's head came back up, golden eyes wide. "What does it mean?" he asked.

"I cannot begin to guess the Witchblade's motives," Lazar replied, "From a practical standpoint, it means that the connection of feminine and masculine elements – of Wielder/Witchblade and Protector/Excalibur – between you is stronger than any other I have known. We will attempt to strengthen it even more before adding the catalyst of the orb as the wildcard." "How?" Sara asked. "By teaching you how to connect with the Witchblade in ways that are still unknown to you," he responded, "By training you to communicate so seamlessly with each other that it is effortless and automatic. Our goal is to enable you to function in the heat of battle as if you were one entity rather than two." Ian and Sara looked at each other, their eyes locking. "Like we do in bed, baby," she said, her mind to his. She felt a strangely sensual mental caress that was unmistakably Ian as shtchetched his eyes darken again.

The odd sound of Lazar's chuckle caused their eyes to shift to him. "Frenzied monkey love," he said, shaking his head. Their eyes met again, bemused. When Lazar clapped his hands, Ian and Sara blinked then looked back at him. "Right," he said, now all business, "Time to begin." For the rest of the morning, Lazar took them through a series of exercises that were designed to teach them to see their world from the Witchblade's perspective. As he told them, "If you are able to alter your perspective, you are able to alter your reality." Because the Witchblade "saw" their world from an alien perspective, the normal laws and rules of nature held no meaning. Space and time became fluid concepts rather than linear progressions. In short, anything was possible.

Sara was struggling to move beyond her literal mind set. Ian, however, was able to easily grasp the paradoxes inherent in the Witchblade's perspective. To help her understand, Sara began using Ian as a translator through their connection. Although they made progress, it was mentally exhausting for all concerned. By mid-afternoon, Lazar could see that they'd advanced far enough for one day. Ian sat on the floor before the blazing fire, his back resting against the sofa, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. As soon as Lazar called a rest, Sara crawled across the floor to nestle in Ian's arms, which he wrapped around her protectively. His face dropped to nuzzle her hair.

Studying them benignly, Lazar thought, "They are so much in love with each other, these two. I hope that they are able to enjoy it for a while this time." Shaking himself out of his reverie, he said, "Remember, children. If your friend the projectionist reappears, 'see' her from the Witchblade's perspective and she will pose no threat to you. Moreover, if necessary, you can do her harm – even though she's mere vapor. Sleep well. Tomorrow we will work on this some more and you will begin to learn how to focus your power." So saying, in his typical fashion, Lazar disappeared.

Sara snorted, cuddling closer to Ian. "Guy makes a hell of an entrance and exit," she said, voice muffled against his chest. He rubbed her shoulder and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. "Tired?" he asked. "My head hurts," she replied, "And I'm starving." "Me too," he said, "I wish we could order pizza." Sara laughed. "God, listen to you," she said, "I've really corrupted you, haven't I, Nottingham?" She felt his shoulder lift. "Whatever changes you've made in me have been for the better, Sara," he said, "How about peanut butter and jelly sandwiches? I'll make us a big dinner tonight." "Ummm," she sighed, "That sounds wonderful. I also want more coffee and a couple of aspirin."

She slid her hand up under his sweatshirt to stroke warm muscle. "I also want you," she said, her voice dropping. She heard his grin. "What's the order of those requests?" he asked. She slipped her hand back out. "Aspirin, coffee, food, you," she replied. He made a rude sound in the back of his throat. "Well, I guess that put me in my place, didn't it," he said. "I'm sorry, ace," she said, pushing up and away from him to head toward the bathroom, "My head is really throbbing." "It's okay, love," he replied, also getting up and heading toward the kitchen. "Why don't you lie down while I make the coffee and sandwiches?" he called back to her, "I'll bring them in when they're ready and we can eat by the fire." "That's sounds good," she said, swallowing the aspirin and praying that they'd work soon.

She veered into the bedroom to grab the fleece throw from the bed. When she came back to the sofa, she plumped up the pillows under her head and stretched out under the soft, warm throw. Sara lay there staring into the dancing flames within the fireplace. Suddenly, she was in that featureless, ethereal realm that she thought of as the Home of the Witchblade. She faced another version of herself who was clad in shining breastplate. She thought of this haughty and proud lookalike as a visual representation of the Witchblade. It was not very haughty now though. In fact, both of them were crying. "I'm sorry," the Witchblade said, Its voice raw with grief, "I can't change this. To save him, you must lose him."

The light changed and she was in a cold forest on a night bright with flames. She saw Hector Mobius thrust the Lance of Longinus through a feral and loathsome creature while Vicki Po crouched by his side. Vicki called out a warning as another creature leaped on to Mobius' back. The scene changed again and she was facing a shimmering wall of crackling power. The wall spanned a tear in the world, the two sides of which were slowly coming together. On the other side of that gap, chaos twirled madly. Standing before it, arms wide spread was a figure that she'd last seen on the balcony above Irons' great room when she'd fought with the effigy of her father. Just as the two sides of the hole were about to come together, the wall fell. In that instant, a searing bolt of light shot forth from the figure beyond the gate. It came straight at her, blinding her. Before it hit her, a wall of black blocked her vision and she woke.

Sara sat up with a loud gasp, hands to her mouth, eyes wide. Ian was only a few feet away, holding a tray with sandwiches, mugs, and a coffeepot. He quickly set the tray on the table beside the sofa and sat beside her. She flew into his waiting arms. He held her tight, stroking her back. "What?" he whispered soothingly, "What is it, baby? Did you have a bad dream? Shhh, it's okay. I won't let anything hurt you. You're safe." She tightened her arms around his neck and buried her face in the hollow between his chin and shoulder. "God, you're shaking," he said, shaken himself, rocking her, "Everything's alright, love. It was just a dream. You're here. I've got you. I won't let anything hurt you."

In a little while, she stopped shaking and her breathing eased. She pushed gently back from Ian who seemed reluctant to let her go. He touched her cheek, still concerned, and she caught his hand, kissing it. "I'm okay now," she said, a little raggedly, "Can I have some coffee, please?" He smiled, relieved, "That sounds more like Sara," he thought. "Sure," he said aloud, turning to pour her a mug of coffee. He eased the mug carefully into her hands, saying, "Take it easy. It's hot." She took a sip of coffee and sighed gratefully. He looked at her expectantly. "Give me a minute," she said. "You can have as much time as you want," he replied, still tense, "Are you okay? Do you need anything?" She smiled and touched his cheek. He turned his face into her palm to kiss it. "I'm okay now, Ian," she said, "You can settle down too."

Ian wedged himself into a corner of the sofa and pulled her carefully back into his arms, folding the throw around them. He held her tightly and she held the mug of coffee in both hands, taking several small sips. Finally, she sighed and said, "I think I dreamed parts of the Convergence." Against her back, she felt Ian's heart speed up. "And it scared you that much?" he said, "That's not good." "None of it was good," she replied, "Some of it was really bad." "Can you tell me?" he asked, "Or is it still too fresh." "I saw Mobius fighting off some awful looking beasties with the Lance, and Vicky Po was with him," she said. "Vicky?" he said, "How is that possible. She doesn't even know Hector and what would she be doing here?" Sara just shook her head. "I haven't a clue," she replied.

"What else?" Ian asked. "It looked like Irons' mentor, that thing that was watching from the balcony when I fought with my 'father,' was directing the action from beyond the gate," she continued, "Just as the gate was closing, our wall collapsed and, through a little opening, that thing shot some nasty light beam thingy at me. It was coming straight for me when I woke." "Okay," he said, "This is good." She turned her head a little to look at him like he was nuts. "What is it that I always say?" he asked. She couldn't help it. The edges of her lips turned up. "Forewarned is forearmed," she quoted. "Give the lady a cigar," he teased. This time she laughed. "You can keep the cigar, ace," she replied, "Unless that's one of your tricky metaphors." Now, he laughed.

"More coffee?" he asked. "Yeah, thanks," she said, "Did I see sandwiches? I'm starving." "That's my baby," he said, "I know you're okay when your appetite kicks in again. How's your headache?" Sara looked startled, then said, "All gone. I guess my dream adventure knocked it right out of me. That and the aspirin." "Good," he said, adding, "Unfortunately, you need to let me up if you want more coffee and some food." "Oh, sure," she replied, sitting up so that he could move to get the tray. Ian poured more coffee into Sara's mug and handed it back to her. Then, he handed her a plate with two PB&J's on it. She dove into them like she hadn't eaten in days.

He watched her as he delicately nibbled on his sandwich. "I know," she said, "I've had nothing very healthy today – just the coffeecake and now this. If you make them, I'll eat some veggies tonight." He frowned. "Are you reading my mind now?" he asked. She smirked and said, "Nah. I just know that look you get. Are you going to eat the last sandwich?" He shook his head and handed her the plate. "So, what are you going to do with the rest of the afternoon?" he asked. "I'm going to make use of that wonderful punching bag you got me," she replied, "How about you?" "I need to chop more firewood and bring it in. Then, I think I might read for a while," he said.

They did just that. Sara had a good, long workout with the punching bag and felt deliciously exhausted afterward. She took another shower and changed into clean sweats. Ian restocked the firewood and built up a roaring fire before settling into the chair with the first book of the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Sara found herself drowsing back on the sofa, wrapped in the throw, content to admire Ian and the fire. About 7:00, he put the book aside to start dinner. She picked up the book while he was cooking and had almost read to his bookmark when he came to tell her that dinner was ready. They had chicken parmesan, green beans, and salad. Sara ate all her veggies. Once again, they carried the rest of their bottle of white wine and glasses back to the fire with them after they'd cleaned up the dinner dishes.

"Why don't I make us a nest on the floor here by the fire and we can sleep here tonight?" Ian said. "A nest?" Sara repeated, smiling, "Better line it with a rubber sheet." "I'll be sure to use washable materials," he said, "What do you think?" "I think that I'd love to nest with you by the fire again," she said, "As I recall, the last time was pretty spectacular." He started toward the bags by the bookcases and she called, "Watch out for those pesky Scrabble tiles." He'd taken off his boots as soon as he'd returned from his firewood foray and he was barefoot again. "Thanks," he responded, "I was just about to do it again. I need to get those damn things up tomorrow." She snorted. "Yeah, I know," he replied, moving gingerly, "You've heard that before."

He returned to the fire carrying a large, white bundle and another black fleece throw. Her eyes widened, "We've got two of them?" He nodded and said, "Three actually – but they're all washable." "What's that other thing?" she asked. "A featherbed," he replied. She raised one eyebrow. "Just give it a try," he said, "I bet you'll like it." She watched as he spread out the featherbed on the floor in front of the fireplace, between the sofa and the chair. He covered it with one of the black fleece throws. As he went into the bedroom to get the pillows off the bed, Sara dropped from the sofa down into his nest, pulling the other fleece throw with her. It was heavenly soft and warm. Just, in fact, like a nest. She shivered, imagining what that warm, soft fleece was going to feel like under and over bare skin.

As she was lost in her sensory daydream, a pillow hit her in the face. "Hey, Nottingham," she growled. "Hey, Sara," he replied, his voice full of love, gently throwing her the second pillow. She looked up at him, standing tall and lithe above her, etched in firelight. "Do me a favor?" she asked. "Anything," he said. "Strip for me," she said, her voice husky. He didn't respond for a little while. She could see that his deep desire to please her and his innate shyness were fighting it out. "Okay," he said, "But I need some wine first. Want some?" She nodded. He poured two full glasses of wine and handed one to her. He took two very healthy swallows before setting his glass on the table. She smiled at him, thinking that he was adorable. "Take it easy, baby," she said softly, "You'll knock yourself out. And if you do, I'll be really pissed."

She pushed up on one elbow to get a better view. He was still just standing there. "Want me to hum a tune?" she asked. He made a rude hand gesture. She laughed sensually. "Just shut your eyes and think about what we're going to do once you get those clothes off," she told him, "But, please, don't hurry. Take it nice and slow." She heard him let out a shaky breath before he reached back to pull out the band holding back his hair. His wild, shiny mane tumbled around his face, tipped with firelight. Sara felt the first little quiver in her belly. "Good start," she whispered, "Go on." He held the bottom of his sweatshirt and very, very slowly began to pull it up, first exposing the well-defined abs, then his hard muscled chest – nipples standing erect under her gaze. Sara smiled and thought, "Okay. He's starting to get off on this too." When his torso was uncovered, he arched his body up as if to meet a lover's hands and pulled the shirt over his head. It dropped to the floor from one languid hand.

He looked down at her, dark amber eyes glowing hot in the lambent light. She could see that he was trembling. "I want you very badly right now," he whispered, voice husky. "Finish it," she breathed, wanting him just as badly. He latched his thumbs under the band of the sweatpants and started to ease them down over his hips, his eyes locked with hers. First the sweet crater of his navel appeared, followed by the soft pleasure trail that disappeared into the band of his briefs. The steady downward motion stopped, impeded by the full erection straining against his briefs. A tiny moan escaped him as the elastic band of the sweatpants rubbed over his sensitive shaft. Freed from any further restrictions, he let go of the pants and they fell to the floor, pooling around his feet. He stepped out of them gracefully.

Another sigh escaped him and he suggested, "Why don't you take these off me?" She studied his long, beautiful body possessively. Lit by the flames, he looked like something Michelangelo might have sculpted. "Alright," she responded, rising to her knees and crawling over to him across their nest. She rose up on her knees so that her face was even with his belly. He buried his shaking fingers in her hair. His breathing had gone deep and ragged. Now, she hooked her thumbs under the band of his briefs and started to slowly pull them down. It soon became clear that she'd have to hold him to ease the briefs away from his swollen shaft.

As soon as she touched him, he let out a little cry and his body arched against her hand. "Easy, baby," she said softly, "Hold on." She got the briefs past him and he sprang free. She licked away the glistening drops at the slit on the head of his shaft, and Ian's fingers dug deeper into her hair, pulling her toward him. He was panting now and making soft, needy sounds deep in his throat. She ran her tongue down the length of the hard column, feeling it dance against her lips. He cried out her name with that little ache in his voice. She moved back up and took him fully into her mouth, using her teeth and tongue against him, picking up the tempo. Out of control, Ian's hands and hips joined their movement to hers. In another few moments, he climaxed with a wild cry, throwing his head back, his long hair streaming behind him.

Just as Sara sat back on her haunches, Ian's knees gave way and he dropped to the floor facing her. He bent forward to rest his head on her thighs and slip his arms around her waist. He was still panting and shaking. She leaned over him, one hand running through his damp hair and the other stroking his back. "You always come so hard," she said softly. "Do I?" he whispered breathlessly, "I guess you just pull everything out of me." She chuckled and said, "Well, I do hope that there's something left for me." He nuzzled his face against her thighs and said, "I'll manage. Just give me a couple of minutes for the blood to return to my brain." "That's no fun," she replied, ruffling his hair. "Don't worry," he mumbled, "I'm sure it won't stay there for long."

She gave his hair a little tug and said, "You should get under the covers before you get chilled." "Okay," he responded, "And you should get out of those clothes." "Okay," she agreed, "Want to help me?" He lifted his head and the jungle-cat gleam was back in his golden eyes, "Oh, yes," he purred. She smiled and inched back toward the pillows. Ian followed her, crawling forward on all fours like a big, beautiful cat on the prowl. He slipped between the two fleece throws and stretched his long body, shutting his eyes and making another soft sensual sound like a purr. "Nice," he breathed. She smiled and shook her head. "My clothes, Ian," she reminded him. His eyes flew open and he sat back up. "Sorry," he said, grinning mischievously, "The fleece momentarily seduced me." They both stopped, just looking at each other. Then, she reached out a hand to push his hair back off his forehead. "Kiss?" she asked. He nodded and asked, "Would you mind if I got rid of these clothes of yours quickly? I want to feel your skin against mine." She raised her arms and he pulled off her sweatshirt, tossing it to the chair. Her pants and panties followed.

Now, he said, "Kiss?" She wriggled under the throw to stretch out facing him. They moved close against each other, hands stroking and caressing as their lips met. Their tongues dueled and her leg found its way up over his hip. Finally, they pulled apart, breathless. Ian rose up above her a bit and pushed Sara over on her back. He worked his way slowly down her body – licking, teasing, nibbling – until every part of her was primed and ready for action. When he settled between her legs, Sara's fingers reached down to nestle in his hair. He went to work on her with his clever tongue, while he slid two fingers inside her, stroking in time with his licks.

In a little while, she felt the steady build of sensation moving toward a climax. Her hips started to thrust against him, in rhythm with his tongue and fingers. When he picked up the pace and pressure, it was only moments until exquisite pleasure exploded through her, causing her to cry out while she watched white lights explode behind her eyelids. She gently flexed fingers stiff from clutching his hair. "Did I snatch you bald?" she asked weakly. She heard his soft, sexy laugh from somewhere below. "There's plenty left," he said, "No worries." "Where are you?" she asked, eyes still shut. "Right here," he said, next to her on the pillow again. She jumped. She hadn't even felt him move. Her eyes opened to stare directly into his smoky golden gaze. "Keep it up," she warned, "And that leather collar with the bell is an inevitability." "I'll wear as little or as much as you want," he replied, running his warm hand up and down her hip. "Now that presents some interesting possibilities," she said, smiling.

His hand slipped down across her stomach and he began to stroke her again with one finger, hard and fast. He got an immediate response. Ian knew the exact spot to rub and in minutes she was again straining against him, aching for release. He stopped and moved over her, bending her knees and pushing them up against her chest. As he thrust hard inside her, he returned his finger to that sensitive spot and resumed his caress. When Sara put her arms around his body to pull him closer, they both saw the Witchblade flash bright scarlet on her wrist. "Oh, boy," Ian gasped, "Here we go again." Sara just had time to think, "I should try to exert my will like Lazar…," before all further rational thought took a ten minute vacation.

She opened her eyes to see Ian balanced above her, arm and shoulder muscles straining. His eyes were shut tight and he had fierce frown of concentration on his face. His finely curved lips were slightly parted and he was expelling tiny explosions of breath with each push of his hips. Because her own hips were tilted forward by the position of her legs, he was once again sheathing himself deep inside her. All the muscles inside her were welcoming the intrusion and inviting him to stay a while. The full orchestration bore the stamp of the Witchblade as its conductor. Still, as the intensity of the pleasure grew and grew, neither Sara nor Ian was inclined to do anything but go with it and let it wash over them.

Just when Ian thought that his heart might burst inside him, he felt that now familiar sensation of everything in him gathering to give itself over to his Sara. And he once again came very hard, crying out with the intensity of it. Sara also felt the sensations that she was learning to crave start deep inside her. Familiar now, the orgasm exploded way inside her, sending its shock waves all the way back out. She too let out a pagan cry with no care for disturbing Mrs. Miller.

When she was again able to move, Sara stretched her bent legs a little and Ian rolled off of her, falling on to his back beside her. She carefully turned on her side to curl close to him, sliding her arm around his waist and resting her head against his shoulder. She felt his arm tighten around her. His eyes were still shut. "How are you?" she asked. "Used and abused by my lady's Lady again," he replied, a touch of humor in his weak voice, "What was it you said? Ridden hard and put away wet?" She shivered and he pulled up the throw, turning a little to wrap it around her more tightly. "How are you?" he asked. "Getting addicted to those monster orgasms that you're giving me," she replied. He made a little sound and said, "If that means that you're also getting addicted to me, I guess I can live with the manipulation, maybe even welcome it."

She stretched her body against the fleece and hooked her leg around his. "I like your nest," she whispered, getting sleepy. He turned his face to nuzzle her hair and whispered, "It has a couple of advantages you probably haven't considered." "And they are?" she asked. "You can't fall out," he said, sleepy now too, "And, you're closer to the coffeemaker in the morning." "Way cool," she replied, "Goodnight, baby." "Goodnight, my love," he whispered back, already half asleep.

Sara stretched, murmuring a long sigh of contentment. She was deliciously warm, resting on lovely soft feathers. Her body was twined around the smooth but gentle hardness that was Ian. "The love of my life," she thought, "My soul mate. And I used to make fun of that phrase – that such a thing could really exist. Here I am holding him in my arms." He made a little noise in his sleep, just a vibration really in his chest, and she wondered whether he'd picked up her thoughts. He was getting so good at that; he was doing it now without even trying. She was on her left side, facing him. She lay tight against his side, his right arm curved protectively around her. Where his hand rested on her hip, Excalibur glinted in the early morning light. He slept on his back, with Sara's right arm draped across his chest, the Witchblade quiescent. Her leg had created a hollow for itself between his long ones. Her head lay against the muscled hardness of his shoulder. No matter how they started the night, this was how they always met the morning light. It was familiar and comfortable now, but then it had been right from the start.

Sara tilted her head back a little and opened her eyes. His face was turned toward her and angled down a little. Their lips were actually only a few inches apart. She looked at the sleeping face of her lover. "Ian," she thought, studying his face, "God, you're so beautiful." She felt that tiny vibration rumble through his chest again and she smiled. There were individual masterpieces of course – the beautifully curved, sensual lips; the adorable nose; the thick, black eyelashes; the high cheekbones; the perfectly arched dark brows; and the killers, those big, expressive eyes that changed color with his mood, going from honey gold, to dark amber, to rich caramel, to deep chocolate brown, depending on what was going on inside him. Then, there was his hair – long, thick, silky, a midnight sea lit with golden waves – how she loved to fill her hands with it. All together, the effect was glorious.

"That's just above the neck," Sara thought, "There's a whole lot going on below the neck too." She lifted the throw a little just to remind herself how fine that was. Yes, it certainly was fine. Long, lean lines, all padded with sleek, hard muscle. Not in a body builder sort of way, she thought, but more real and deadly – grown from a lethal artistry rather than for display. Strangely, the many scars dit mat mar the beauty of him, but added to it. They gave texture to the design and hinted at a history that had left its evidence. Just enough hair, she decided, pushing her fingers gently through the soft fur on his chest – not too much, not too little – and she loved the way that line traveled downward from his chest, to his cute little scoop of a navel, to his... "That tickles," he said, voice sleepy. She stopped just shy of the treasure at the end of the trail. "And that's a discussion all by itself," she thought.

She looked back up. His eyes were open but still dream-dazed, muted gold in the pale light filtering into the cabin. "Hi," he said, trying to stifle a yawn. She watched his eyes shut again, too heavy yet to stay open for long. She smiled, leaning in to place a kiss on his chest, his hair tickling her nose. Another of those soft, sensual purrs rumbled under her lips. "What happened to that hand?" he asked, eyes still shut, "Its pess ess pulled me away from a great dream that's gone now too. Are you going to leave me entirely bereft?" The hand in question had moved back to his stomach, where it was drawing lazy circles. "How do you know it was a great dream if you can't remember it?" she asked, logically. "Because, detective," he replied, golden eyes finally opening wide and a sexy grin lifting those lips, "I can still feel its effects. Which is why I was kind of hoping that hand of yours was going to do more than play etch-a-sketch on my belly."

"You were, huh," she said, her own lips curving playfully, "Well, life is just full of disappointments, isn't it, ace?" Ian rolled on to his right side to face her, catching her leg between his and causing her hand to slide right down to the member in question as a result of his unexpected movement. Both of them watched the path of her hand until it rested in the curling dark hair at his groin. After a moment, their eyes met and his grin broadened. "Sometimes the fates are kind," he said. "Yeah," she replied, matching his grin, "And sometimes sneaky bastards help them along." His shoulder lifted a fraction. "Don't you believe in rewarding initiative, detective?" he purred. "You're pretty cocky for this early in the morning, Nottingham." she said. Now, he laughed, genuinely amused at her delicious double entendre. "Oh, you sexy devil," she thought, as their eyes inevitably dropped again to where her hand held his growing interest.

Ian moved his left arm around her to pull her closer. He made a soft, appreciative sound as her fingernails skimmed along the underside of his hardening erection. Then, he leaned down to press his lips to hers, tongue pushing through them to meet hers. Sara lost herself in the kiss and both her hands eventually found their way back up his body to tangle in his hair and pull his face tighter to hers. They necked shamelessly until she pulled back to take a breath, rubbing the sole of her foot against the calf of his leg. She angled her mouth under his chin to lick that hot spot on his neck. His breathing deepened. "That kind of friction starts a fire, you know," he whispered. "I know," she whispered back, "I was a girl scout." He dropped his chin, forcing her to raise her head and meet his smoky amber gaze. "That's a little hard to picture. What kind ofges ges did you earn?" he asked mischievously. "Want me to tie you in some knots?" she asked slyly. "Yes, please," he breathed, as he lowered his lips back to hers.

The sun was up before Sara decided that she wanted a mug of coffee more than she wanted Ian. He was on his back again, breathing deeply and trying to regain his equilibrium when she started to get up. He reached out to grab her hand. "Don't go yet," he said. "Sorry, baby," she replied, "Coffee calls. Not to mention that last piece of coffeecake that I hear whispering my name. See? If you're really quiet you can hear that sugary little voice saying, 'Sara, Sara,' over and over." He smiled. "Of course," he said, "How could I have missed it? But, now that you bring it to my attention, I'd swear that the coffeecake is actually saying, 'Ian, come get me.'"

Their eyes locked for about two seconds and then they both made a dash for the refrigerator. He was faster, but she mor more ruthless, elbowing him in the stomach when he got there first. She knocked the breath out of him but it didn't slow him down. In one graceful motion he opened the fridge, snagged the right covered dish, and spun around to put it on the counter. If the last piece of Mrs. Miller's pastry hadn't been at stake, she would have truly admired his athletics. At the moment, however, there were more important things to do than gawk at Nottingham in motion. Sara wanted that coffeecake. Although she was pretty sure that he'd give it to her if she asked him, what if he didn't? She couldn't take that chance. Sara brought out an untried weapon in her arsenal. She tickled him.

Apparently, no one had ever tickled Ian Nottingham before. And, he wasn't just ticklish; he was supersensitive to the slightest, playful touch anywhere around his rib area. Thrilled with this new power that she suddenly possessed, she tickled Ian until he was doubled over, laughing helplessly, and begging her to stop. "Still hear the pastry calling to you, Nottingham?" she asked, wondering how to test the soles of his feet. "Not a sound," he gasped, "It's yours. Take it. Just stop. Please." "Well, since you've asked me so nicely," Sara replied, withdrawing from her attack and taking her pastry to the table. Ian slid down the cabinet to sit on the kitchen floor, hugging his arms closeinstinst his heaving sides. She sat, unwrapping the coffeecake. She picked up the pastry and took a bite, closing her eyes in bliss.

Sara glanced at Ian, sitting on the linoleum and still trying to catch his breath. Shaking her head, she observed, "First a temper and now ticklish. You're just a bundle of surprises, ace. It's a good thing none of your opponents ever discovered that fatal flaw." Ian smoothly pushed himself up off the floor and headed toward the other room. She stared after him, mouth open. "Is he mad?" she wondered, suddenly concerned. "Hey, Nottingham," she called, "Where are you going?" "To put on some pants," he called back, "I suddenly realized how absurd I'd look if Lazar chose this particular moment to pop in." She frowned. "Good point," she replied, "Could you please get me my robe while you're in there?" There was no answer and she wondered if he'd heard her or if he was holding a grudge. He soon came back to the kitchen though wearing his black sweats and carrying her robe.

She took the robe he proffered, saying, "Thanks, baby." Then, she pushed the plate that still contained half the piece of coffeecake across the table for him. "For me?" he asked, smiling. "Yeah, well, don't make a big thing of it or I'll take it back," she grumbled. "So now that I've made such a great sacrifice," she continued, "Will you make the coffee? Yours always tastes so much better than mine." "Ah, I see," he responded, lifting an elegant brow, "The pastry was a bribe, not a gift." "Hey," she said, frowning, "If you're going to be a pain in the ass about it, I'll just take it back." He put his hand firmly on the plate and said, "Over my poor, ravaged body, you will." She grinned. "Get your role straight, ace," she replied, "You're the pirate in this bodice ripper, not me." "Oh, yeah?" he asked, "Who took who's virginity?" She shut up, thinking, "He's got me there."

Ian made a pot of coffee and put the kettle on for his tea. When they had their drinks and he was seated at the table again, he halved the coffeecake and shared it with her. As they ate, she asked, "Do you think Lazar might be able to tell me something about my dream?" Ian shrugged. "Maybe," he said, "Like any future event, it can be changed. The tricky part is not making things worse while you're trying to make them better." Sara raised her eyes from dissecting her remaining sliver of pastry and said, "Huh?" He shook his head. "Never mind," he said, "It won't hurt to ask him about it."

Sara's eyes dropped back to her plate. She said softly, "There's a part of the dream that I didn't tell you about yesterday." Ian felt a cold chill travel up his spine. He shook it off and said, "Okay. Why don't you tell me now." She stretched her hand across the table for his and he linked his fingers through hers. "I was in that void that the Witchblade uses as a chatroom. The Witchblade and I were facing each other, both of us crying," she said, her voice tight, "It apologized to me for not being able to change whatever had happened. Then, It said, 'To save him, you must lose him.' What do you think it means?" He was quiet for a moment or two, his face unreadable. Then, he lifted his shoulder a trifle. "I don't know. But nothing in thtureture is absolute, Sara," he said, soothingly, "If it hasn't happened yet, lots of things can change it."

She looked into his golden eyes, her own green eyes flirting with tears. "You think it means you too, don't you?" she asked. This time, the shrug was more pronounced. He hesitated, but then said, "I won't lie to you. Yes, I do." "Well," she said, trying for humor and failing, "I'd really appreciate it if you don't put me in the position of having to make that choice." He smiled and squeezed her fingers. "I'll do my best," he replied. "I guess you won't promise me not to put yourself at that kind of risk, will you?" she asked. He met her eyes directly and said, "You know that I can't do that, Sara." She dropped her head and said, "Shit." He smiled. "Well put," he said. Then, added, "There's no point in either of us dwelling on your dream, love – other than being aware of the possibilities it suggests. The choice won't exist until the moment when it occurs. That's the only time that action can be taken."

Ian took a deep breath, trying to shake off the sense of foreboding that now filled him. "I'm going to go do my katas. Try not to dwell on this, Sara. There's no point in worrying about it. It will only make you miserable. Instead, why don't you think about something fun that we can do after our training with Lazar is over." Their eyes met and Ian grinned. "Besides that," he said, "That's a given." Sara got up to refill her coffeg ang and said, "You're the inventive one. That's why I leave the entertainment to you. If I were home, I'd probably just order out and watch a movie, but since there's no delivery and no TV or VCR, those options are out." He leaned down to kiss her and said, "Maybe, maybe not," before he turned and left the kitchen. Sara just stared after him.

She heard him folding up and putting away their "nest." As she lingered over her second cup of coffee, she remembered his reluctant striptease of the night before. He'd become so uninhibited in their lovemaking, she thought, but in many ways he was still very shy. Although he'd walk naked around the loft without a thought, if he realized that she was watching him, she'd see a look edge into his eyes – like he'd suddenly remembered he was exposed and wanted to hide himself. It was curious to her. His body was so beautiful. She didn't understand why he'd be ashamed of it – he he was. Another one of Irons' marks on his soul, she thought.

It had gotten quiet in the other room and she knew that he'd started his ritual. Strangely, this was something that he didn't seem to mind her watching at all. "Maybe because he's so zoned out when he gets into it," she thought, "Or maybe because Irons used to watch him so he's used to spectators." Whatever the reason, she was glad because she loved to watch him do it. She quietly pulled the chair closer to the kitchen doorway. Ian came into view in the same spot he'd occupied the day before. He'd pulled off his sweatshirt for greater freedom of movement and his back glistened with a thin sheen of sweat. The lethal looking katana glittered as the thin light glanced along its shifting length. She'd watched Danny go through a similar routine but the effect was entirely different. Danny was compact and graceful, probably more classically suited to these movements. Ian always made her think of something wild and deadly – but also strangely compelling and incredibly sensual. The tyger analogy of the day before prowled through her mind again.

He moved with eerie grace for such a big man. She shivered and thought, "God, I love him so much. If I lose him now, it will destroy me too." She saw the tiny hitch in his sinuous movement and realized that he'd picked up at least some of her thoughts. "This is no good for either of us. I need to stop it right now," she chastised herself mentally. She got up and rinsed out her mug. Then, she went around Ian to the other side of the room and took out her worries on the punching bag. She was still slugging it out when he disappeared into the bathroom for a shower. A little while later, she knocked at the bathroom door and Ian called to her to come in. He was standing by the foggy mirror, a towel tied at his waist,vingving and trimming his beard. Sara leaned against his back and put her arms around him, deeply inhaling the clean smell of him – Sandlewood soap, Eucalyptus shampoo, and his own spicy scent.

Their eyes met in the mirror. She saw concern in his golden eyes. "Are you okay?" he asked. Sara dropped her head against his warm, damp back. "Yeah," she replied, voice muffled against his skin. He put down the little scissors that he used to trim his beard and turned in her arms. The motion caused the towel to loosen and it dropped to the floor. He started to bend to pick it up but Sara stopped him with a hand against his stomach. "Leave it," she said. She smiled as she watched the jungle-cat eyes darken to deep, rich amber. As her hand slid slowly down to hold and stroke him, he shut his eyes and his breathing fluttered. He buried his face in her hair and whispered, "Sara, Sara, I love you so much." "I know, baby," she replied.

When he started to pant, he caught her hand to stop her. She raised her eyes quizzically to his and he slipped his warm hands under her sweatshirt to push it up and over her head. Her sweatpants followed. He picked the towel up off the floor and spread it on the top of the vanity that surrounded the sink. Then, he lifted Sara up to sit on the towel. She laughed and said, "You get a prize, ace. You've found somewhere new. I thought that we'd done this everywhere." She saw amusement fill his golden eyes as he answered, "You are my prize. And there are possibilities that we haven't even begun to explore. I can think of enough new ways to keep you busy for the rest of our lives." She giggled, delighted. "Promise?" she asked. "Try me," he breathed in her ear, as he sucked the lobe.

Sara pushed her fingers through his still wet hair as he left a trail of hot kisses from her neck to her breast, where his lips fastened around her nipple. As he sucked and nipped one taut nub, his fingers caressed and rubbed the other. Her knees separated to either side of his hips as he moved in between them. He slid his hands down her back to her bottom and pulled her forward so that she was poised on the very edge of the vanity. Sara tightened her grip on his head, forcing him to raise his face from her breasts. She pulled his face to hers and caught his lower lip gently between her sharp teeth. She felt his hot, heaving breath against her before she pushed her tongue between his parted lips. Just as their tongues touched to slide against each other, she felt him enter her with one strong thrust that made her moan.

Sara wrapped her legs around him tightly, locking him against her body. When he pulled back a little from their kiss to breathe, he dropped his head to her shoulder and chuckled breathily. He rubbed her back with his warm hands and said, "Sara, love, relax your legs a bit. I can't move." She nuzzled her lips against his neck and said, "Sorry. You just feel so good in there." He kissed the tip of her nose. "It'll feel even better if I have some room to move," he said. Sara loosened her grip on him a little and he began to move inside her, deepening each thrust as their lips came back together in long, feverish kisses. Because their eyes were shut, neither one of them noticed the Witchblade start to swirl in fast, intricate scarlet patterns on Sara's wrist.

She was so wet that they were meeting with slippery, moist slapping sounds. Ian increased the pace even more, his movements less controlled. Sara felt that sense of abandon take her as well and she started to grip him tighter again. It didn't seem any hindrance to him now though. He just pushed harder and she just gripped him tighter, inside and out. He started to feel that roller coaster buildup – like he was moving slowly up a steep hill to roll crashing over and down the other side – when the Witchblade flashed a hot magenta that turned the tile walls of the bathroom blood red. "Sara…," he managed to gasp in warning. "I know," she moaned in reply, caught in the throes of her own impending orgasm.

When the climax hit them both, they strained tautly against each other as though they were trying to merge themselves into a single being. Sara threw back her head and cried his name and Ian made a sound like a sob as he buried his face against her neck. Everything was still for a couple of moments. Then, Sara went limp against Ian, and he pressed his palms hard against the vanity counter to stay upright because his knees suddenly felt weak. She slipped her arms around his neck and leaned close to whisper in his ear, "How you doing? Do you have enough strength left to stay inside and move us into the shower?" He turned his face to press his lips against hers in a soft, warm kiss. "I think I might be able to manage that," he replied a little raggedly.

He slid his hands under her bottom and she tightened her legs around him once again. Picking her up off the vanity counter, he turned and walked into the shower with Sara still joined to him. He turned to balance her back against the wall of the shower stall while he closed the door and turned on the water. When the water heated up, he moved them under the spray, still leaning her against the tiled wall to get greater leverage. She pushed back his heavy, wet hair and leaned in to find his lips with hers. The kiss was slow and lazy like a summer day, getting hotter the longer it lasted. Sara sighed softly with pleasure as he grew fully erect inside her again. "Lazar's going to wonder why you're so tired today," she whispered in his ear, a laugh in her voice. "Just me?" he asked. "You're doing most of the work here, baby," she said, "I'm just reaping the rewards."

His voice was husky as he started to move inside her. "You're not the only one being rewarded, believe me," he said, "I wish I could spend the whole day in bed with you." She shifted a little and he slid deeper inside her. She bit her lip at the wonderful sensation it created. "We'd cripple each other in no time," she sighed, pulling her muscles in to surround him. He groaned in the back of this throat. "I don't care," he gasped, burying his face in her hair, "I want to be with you all the time. I can't get enough of you. You're my whole world, Sara. You're everything." He sounded a little desperate and she pulled her head back to look at him. As she did, she felt the inexorable pull of another orgasm overtake her. Staring into his wide, glazed amber eyes, she could see that he was caught in the same undertow. "Please…," he sighed. Sara started to ask, "What?" but then her senses short circuited as another devastating orgasm swamped her.

This time Ian couldn't keep his feet. Sara felt him slide down to the floor of the shower, still holding her against him. His head had dropped, face obscured by curtains of dripping, dark hair. She gently pushed back the sodden mass to look at him. His eyes were shut and he really looked done in. "Are you okay?" she now asked him. He nodded weakly, slitting his eyes to peer back at her. "You don't look so good," she said, stroking his cheek. He turned his face to kiss her palm. "I just need to catch my breath," he whispered, "I'll be fine in a couple of minutes." Sara disentangled herself from him and got to her feet. "Here, let me help you up," she said, extending her hand to him, "We better get washed up and dressed before Lazar gets here."

"You go ahead," he replied, ignoring her hand to stay where he was on the floor of the shower, "I'll be along in a minute or two." She watched him anxiously as she soaped and then rinsed herself. During that process, he just sat unmoving under the warm water, eyes closed. As she got ready to leave the shower and dry off, she asked, "Are you sure that you're alright, Ian?" He opened his eyes and lifted his head, giving a fair approximation of a smile. "I'm fine," he said softly, "Go ahead. I'll be along in a minute." He stood a bit awkwardly and began to soap himself. He was just getting ready to rinse off when she left the bathroom to get dressed, throwing a pensive glance back over her shoulder. He turned off the water and got out of the shower. He quickly dried off, trying hard to let go of the feeling that he hadn't shared with Sara. As they were making love in the shower, he'd suddenly felt that he was going to lose her. It was a terrifying sensation that had shaken him to the core. Ian knew that Sara had changed him irrevocably since they'd become lovers. He could never go back to that half-life he'd lived before she had touched him. He also knew with absolute certainty that he could no longer live without her as a constant presence in his life. Ian was frightened.

Sara had returned to the kitchen for more coffee when Ian finally left the bathroom. He dressed quickly and thoughtlessly in clean black sweats, his mind fully engaged elsewhere. He tried to remind himself that his fear, in and of itself, could color his actions – perhaps sending him in the very direction that he desperately wanted to avoid. For a brief moment, he did what he always cautioned Sara against. He wished for a normal life – a life in which he could marry Sara; they could work at normal jobs; and they could settle into a nice house, have a couple of kids, and grow old together still as much in love as they were today. Then he closed his eyes and ran a rough hand through his damp hair. He opened his eyes again and snorted, disgusted with himself. "Get a grip, Nottingham," he thought to himself, "Wishful thinking is a waste of time that may already be too short. Deal with reality. Watch your back and protect the love of your life from harm. That's reality. It's all you really have. Deal with it and stop obsessing about things that you can't change."

From the other room, Ian heard Sara greet Lazar. He took a deep breath and consciously attempted to pull his fragile emotions back together so that neither of them would pick up how he felt. Then, he turned and left the bedroom to join them.