Breathing Space

Sara continued slamming herself against the punching bag until her hands were swollen in the tight boxing gloves. Curiously, such mindless pummeling often had the useful side effect of clearing her head. When she finally pulled back, exhausted and panting, one action was locked in her brain: "I have to find Ian and talk this out." Sara didn't let herself question her decision. Instead, she showered, dressed warmly, and left the cabin in record time. She avoided the path beside the cabin, choosing to walk through the woods to its right. She didn't want to run into Vicki and Mobius now. She wanted to keep her focus on Ian and the quicksand that was the primal connection they shared.

Ironically, the one major fight that they'd had in their relationship had occurred back at the loft and over this same issue – except then Ian had accused Sara of holding back, of being skittish about opening herself fully to him. Well, she thought, anyone could see that she'd come a long way since then. She'd allowed herself to link with Ian in ways that she'd never have believed were possible – merging their energy to create a solid wall, shifting from one dimension to another, sending him love or comfort on the wings of a thought.

Sara frowned, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jacket and kicking up dead leaves from the forest floor. She had to admit that what she'd done to him this morning crossed a line that they had implicitly drawn with each other. Yes, they were uniquely connected, as were no other two on earth. But they were still and always would be two distinct individuals. She'd had no right to creep into his thoughts and lurk there, listening. If Ian had done that to her, Sara would have torn him a new hole – and that was for starters. She completely understood why he was upset. Considering how she might have reacted under the same circumstances, shoughought that his response had actually been rather restrained.

That was the psychic side of their connection. The physical pull of their union had also become an issue between them. Sara was drawn to Ian physically with an intensity that occasionally terrified her. She knew that it was the same for him. In some ways, Ian accepted their sexual energy as normal because she had always been the single-minded focus of his adoration. But Sara had some basis for comparison. She was aware that the physical need and desire that existed between them was anything but "normal." So much so that Ian too had finally begun to question whether her feelings for him went beyond that incredible sexual electricity that drew them together like a pair of erotic magnets.

Sara suddenly wondered whether she'd treated Ian so badly for so long simply because the latent intensity of their connection scared the shit out of her and she had to keep him at a distance to manage her fear. The way that she'd grown to crave him made her feel out of control and, if there was one thing that Sara hated, it was feeling out of control. With sudden insight, Sara pondered whether she might not occasionally punish Ian for making her want him so much. For Sara, their hypnotic attraction had created a fear of losing herself. For Ian, that same attraction had created a fear of losing her. And, unbelievably, their desire for each other seemed to grow stronger all the time. They were like a pair of cats on a hot tin roof that was slowly melting beneath their ardor. They had to be heading toward a hell of a tumble when the bottom fell out.

Sara realized that she could hear the stream. She knew that was where Ian had gone; she could "feel" him there. She stopped to collect her thoughts before confronting him, sitting on a convenient rock in the forest. From the beginning, she and Ian had been more likely to touch than to talk. It was, after all, so much easier and it felt so good. Too many things had gone unsaid between them and Sara genuinely doubted that they would be able to voice them now. Then, too, they'd had a lot to overcome just to be together – Irons, Ian's conditioning, conflicting ethics, Ian's desperate need to be loved, her equally desperate fear of losing someone she loved, Ian's self-hatred, her need to control. When she looked at them objectively, it was fucking amazing that they'd finally managed to fall in love and stay there this long.

And that brought her tangled web of thoughts back to what she'd done that morning and to why she'd done it. She'd done it because he was hurting and he wouldn't tell her why. She'd done it because she loved him so completely that his suffering was her own pain and she had to find a way to make it better because Sara fixed things. If she was brutally honest though, Sara had to acknowledge that her feelings for Ian were ambivalent. Although she loved him deeply, as she had no other man, the very depth of that emotion also made her want to run from him. Sara had touched Ian's mind, she'd felt his soul, and she'd merged with his body so utterly that they'd literally become one entity. How could any other relationship – before or after – hope to match that? The answer was that it couldn't. It would be impossible.

What if she lost him? Sara instinctively felt everything inside her flinch away from the very thought. The Witchblade flashed molten on her wrist and Sara swayed shutting her eyes. Behind her eyelids, a kaleidoscope of images rolled by – Daniel impaling himself on the Witchblade, Conchobar bloody in her arms, Ian dropping to his knees in a garage amid a hail of bullets, Danny crumpled boneless on a stage, Ian cradled close with an arrow deep in his chest, Danny silent and covered in grave dirt, Conchobar comatose in a hospital bed, Ian but not Ian first choking Jake then snapping Gabriel's neck. She bent over at the waist and dropped her head between her knees, chest heaving. "Oh god," she gasped.

Sara heard Ian calling her name and realized that he had probably shared the slideshow that had just flattened her and knew she was close. "Yet another sweet side effect of our connection," she thought ruefully. Sara managed to lift her head. "Here," she called to him. In typical Nottingham fashion, she didn't hear him coming. He was suddenly just there. Ian dropped to his knees in front of her and caught her chin with his hand. Searching her dazed eyes, he asked, "Are you alright?" She tried to fix him clearly in her gaze and failed. Shutting her eyes again, she leaned forward to rest her aching head on his sturdy shoulder. "More or less," she reassured him. Stroking the back of her neck, he said, "I'll take you back to the cabin." That got her attention. Sara raised her head. This time, there was only one of him. "No. Not yet," she said, "I need the fresh air. And, we need to talk."

Sara couldn't help but smile when she felt him predictably try to raise the walls. She shook her head, immediately regretting the movement as the dizziness returned. "That won't work this time, Ian," she said. He tried his most innocent look. "What?" he asked. His expression was indeed fetching but she wasn't buying it. When she didn't answer, he added, "If it's about what happened this morning, I've cooled down and I realize that it was an accident." Sara studied him until he began to fidget, then she said, "Good; because I don't want to fight with you. I want to talk to you." "About what?" he asked. "About us," she answered. "What about us?" he asked. She watched as that little anxiety line that she knew so well appeared between his eyebrows.

Sara sighed, reaching out to caress his bearded jawline with her hand. "Would it help if I started off the discussion by telling you that I love you?" she asked. Ian smiled hesitantly and caught her hand in his. "It never hurts," he replied, "I love you too." She nodded. "I know you do," she said, "Want to go back and sit by the stream? It's peaceful there." "Alright," he agreed, standing, "Can you walk?" Sara stood, swaying a little. Ian's hands immediately cupped her elbows, steadying her. "I can carry you," he offered. She stood still for a moment longer until she got her footing. "No thanks," she said, "I'm okay now. Did you catch the Witchblade's grim reaper follies too?" Ian nodded. "Some of them," he said, "I got the gist of it."

Sara turned to look at him curiously. "Which was?" she asked. "That it's unhealthy to get too close to the Wielder if you happen to be a member of the opposite sex," Ian replied. Sara snorted, appreciating his dry wit. They started walking back toward the stream, side by side. "So, why aren't you heading for the hills, ace?" she asked. He suddenly grinned and said, "Because for me, leaving you would be tantamount to committing suicide. I'd rather stay and get murdered like all the rest." She nudged his hand to link her fingers through his; they were warm. "You're so perverse, Nottingham," she murmured. She felt him shrug. "Blame it on my questionable upbringing," he said.

Reaching the stream, they sat next to each other on the large, flat rock that Ian had claimed as his own. Sara leaned companionably against Ian's shoulder, enjoying the sound of water tumbling over rocks. When she felt him start to relax, she asked, "Are you afraid about what might happen tomorrow?" Ian let his breath out in a quiet puff and rested his head against hers. "Yes," he said softly. "What are you afraid of?" she asked. "You first," he replied, stalling. "Okay," she said, "The thing that I'm most afraid of is failing. If I fail, the consequences are unthinkable." Ian turned her face to his and looked deeply into her eyes. "You won't fail, Sara," he said with absolute conviction. She smiled at his sweet sincerity, feeling some of her trepidation evaporate. "How can you be so sure?" she asked. "I'm sure of you, Sara," Ian said, "I'm sure that you were destined to be the Wielder just as I am destined to be your Protector. Together, we're formidable. You won't fail. Believe that."

After a moment, Ian asked, "What else are you afraid of?" Sara's breath hitched a little and she whispered, "Losing someone that I love." Ian slipped his arm around her shoulder. "I've got that one too," he said. Sara sighed. "We've already been through that nightmare with Vicki," she said, "And even Mobius has grown on me. But you…" Sara turned to Ian and lightly stroked her fingers across one high cheekbone. "I've seen firsthand how reckless you can be, Ian," she continued, "Your potential for disaster terrifies me. Tell me that I'm being foolish." Ian dropped his eyes, shuttering them with his thick lashes. "You're being foolish," he responded. Sara wasn't buying it. "Please try that again and look at me when you say it," she asked. Ian took a deep breath and lifted his eyes to meet hers directly. "You're being foolish," he repeated.

But Sara knew him too well. There was a shadow there behind those clear golden eyes, something that chilled her to the bone. When she'd accidentally touched his mind that morning, Sara had picked up on the broad stroke emotional content of his thoughts but before she'd been able to gather any details, their mutual shock of discovery had driven her out again. Understanding Ian the way she did, Sara knew better than to approach what he was hiding head on. "What else are you afraid of, baby," she asked, throwing his own question back to him.

Ian was silent for quite awhile before he drew his arm back from her shoulders and cleared his throat. Sara could sense him pulling back emotionally as well. "I'm afraid of failing you," he said softly, "I'm afraid of being assaulted by some mind game where Mr. Irons has the starring role. I'm not sure how I'll react to that if it happens." He seemed to be drawing in on himself. "Is that all of it?" she asked. There was another long pause. "No," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "You know my worst fear. I've told you often enough. I can't conceive of living without you now. If you left me, stopped wanting me…" He shut his eyes, not able to finish the sentence.

After yet another long pause, he continued softly, "For a long time, being your Protector was enough for me, Sara. I could make do with it. But I can't any more. Too much has changed between us. I can't go back." Sara sighed. She didn't try to argue with him. "When you can't go back, you go forward," she said. Ian's lips twitched. "Well, isn't that just cryptic as hell," he replied dryly, "You sound like me – the old me, that is. The one before you saved me from myself." "So, does that mean that you're safe now, ace?" she asked. "I guess," he said, "For the moment." "You don't sound very sure," she observed. Ian shrugged. "Things change," he whispered. He felt so far away, she thought.

Aloud, Sara quoted, "'…the centre cannot hold.'" Ian turned toward her, surprised. She looked into his beautiful eyes. "Last night, I was trying to remember who wrote that, what it was from," she said, "I figured that you'd know. It's Yeats, isn't it?" Ian nodded. "Yes," he replied, "You never stop surprising me, Sara. It's from 'The Second Coming'." "Do you know the whole poem?" she asked. He nodded again and softly recited it.

"Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all convictions, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?"

Sara grinned ruefully. "Well, that's certainly cheery," she said, "No wonder I haven't been able to get the line out of my head. Do you suppose he knew about the Convergence when he wrote it?" "I hope not," Ian replied, "As you said, it's not wildly optimistic, is it? I'd rather not think too long about the 'rough beast' that's straining just beyond our little wall." Sara grunted softly in agreement, lost in thought. She was startled when he took her hand in his warm fingers, lifting it to his lips. "We should probably go back to the cabin now," he said, "Lazar will be here soon to put hrouhrough our paces." When he started to stand, she put a hand on his shoulder.

He dropped back down to the rock, his face turned toward her. She tried to pierce those golden veils. "Did we settle anything?" she asked skeptically. Ian sighed. "Sara, I must protect you," he said, "I'm incapable of not being your Protector. Don't ask it of me." Sara frowned. "It's a matter of degree, Ian," she said. "What do you want from me?" he asked, frustrated. "How about a nice, strong will to live?" she asked. "How about a guarantee that you'll never leave me?" he countered. "Done," she said, then grabbed his ears, pulling his face to hers and giving him a sound smack of a kiss on the lips, "Okay?" He leaned forward to brush his lips across hers again. But his eyes said that he didn't believe her for a minute when he answered. "Sure. Ready to go now?" he asked, standing and offering her his hand.

Sara took his hand, running her nails across his callused palm. "Ready," she agreed. Ian pulled her to her feet and they began walkiack ack to the cabin, fingers intertwined. Sara decided that she felt a little better for their having shared their fears. Mingled with that, however, was the near certainty that she had neither divined nor altered Ian's intentions in the least, whatever they might be. She glanced sideways at her tall lover from the corner of her eye. "You're a tough nut, Nottingham," she mumbled. She watched his sensual lips curve. "So I've often been told, Detective," he acknowledged, "But never so nicely or by such a beautiful lady." She snorted. "Don't push your luck, ace," Sara snarled gently.

When they got back to the cabin, it was still empty. Sara chuckled as she went into the kitchen to see if there was any coffee left in the carafe. "Vicki's going to be a regular sharp shooter by the time they're done," she called to Ian. He had gone to put another log on the dwindling fire. "That would be helpful," he murmured. Sara managed to eke half a mug of coffee from the carafe. She brought it back into the living room and collapsed on the sofa. Sara absently watched Ian jab at the burning logs with fire tongs to reposition them. Her eyes narrowed as she appreciatively studied his long, muscular frame. His present crouching position showed some of his more notable assets to advantage.

After putting back the tongs, Ian rose fluidly and turned. Sara smiled up at him, patting the sofa cushion beside her. "C'mere, big boy," she said. He looked back at her, lifting one arched brow. Answering his unspoken question, she said, "I need those strong arms around me for a while. Come cuddle a little." When he didn't move immediately, Sara added, "Please." Ian sat beside her on the sofa and drew her into his arms, resting his chin against the top of her head. She dropped her head to his shoulder and slipped her arms around him to hold on tight. Sara sighed deeply. "You okay?" he asked softly, stroking her back. She shut her eyes and nuzzled his neck. "Umm, I'm swell," she whispered. "Lord, he smells good," she thought, snaking up a hand to catch the cord holding back his hair and tugging it free. She buried her nose in the loosened silky black waves that now tumbled against her face.

One of Sara's hands had ventured beneath Ian's sweater to slowly rub his molded abs when the door to the cabin opened, letting in a sudden flood of chilly air. She regretfully drew back that hand to rest innocently on his shoulder and snuggled closer to Ian, shivering. Vicki roared through the door like a human tornado, cheeks flushed pink from prolonged exposure to the cold. Her excitement was barely restrained. "Guess who hit the target five out of five?" she crowed. Sara's lips twitched as she studied her hyper kinetic friend. "Annie Oakley?" she ventured. Vicki's lips pursed. "Ha, ha. That's a real corker, Pez," she replied. Vicki turned her face up to look at Mobius, standing like a warm wall behind her. "I did good, didn't I?" she asked him. He smiled down at her. "You have improved greatly, Po," he rumbled.

Sara grinned at her friend. "Now we just have to get the demons to pretend that they're trees, standing still while you aim and fire," she said. Vicki frowned. "In other words, don't get cocky?" she asked, "I guess trying to hit a moving target as opposed to a tree bole might not be quite the same." "I guess that you might be a master of understatement, Vick," Sara replied. "Okay, Pez," Vicki said, "The wind is now out of my sails. Any more advice?" Sara nodded. "Use high-impact bullets that will cause a lot of damage. Don't shoot at one of the fuckers until you can't miss. Aim for the head or the heart – their anatomy mimics ours," she directed. Vicki nodded, wide-eyed, then turned toward the kitchen. "And, Vick," Sara added. Vicki froze in place but didn't turn. "Remember that, even though we've neutralized their venom, they still have claws and fangs that could shred you like coleslaw," she said, "Just something to keep in mind."

Vicki turned back toward the little group. "Speaking of demon venom," she said, "I'd like to test your reaction to my antitoxin while I've got you all here. Nobody move." So saying, she immediately disappeared into the kitchen to get the vials of serum from the refrigerator. Sara stood and began pacing the floor in front of the fireplace. She didn't like needles. She really didn't like needles. Neither, of course, did Ian and Moby – who had been subjected to enough injections during the Black Dragon experiments to last three lifetimes. Vicki returned with her medical bag in one hand and a carrier containing several small vials of pale yellow fluid in the other. Vicki sat on the other end of the sofa from the corner where Ian still sprawled. "Mobius, could you please bring over the small table?" she asked.

In minutes, Vicki had an impressive array of implements spread across the table in front of her. Three pairs of eyes followed her every move with growing horror. Sara cleared her throat and Vicki looked up at her, oblivious to the anxiety that she was causing. "Uh, Vick," Sara said, "Why is it again that we need to do this? Why can't you just give us the damn shot tomorrow and be done with it? This isn't some sort of mad scientist crap that you're playing around with. Right?" Ian sighed softly, relieved that Sara had voiced his exact thoughts. Vicki looked from Ian to Sara, then swung around to pin Moby with her eyes. "You want to jump in here too?" she asked. Moby held his hands up in front of him as if to stave off an assault and wisely kept his mouth shut, though his eyes were also wary.

Vicki turned back to face Sara directly and said impatiently, "We're doing this because I don't intend to inject you with the antitoxin tomorrow and watch you drop dead at my feet. The scratch test will tell me whether you're likely to have an allergic reaction to my little concoction." "And what happens if one of us does have a reaction?" Sara asked. Vicki shrugged. "Then you're on your own, baby," she replied, "You get to face those scaly buggers au natural, without the protection that the antitoxin provides." "No needle today?" Sara asked, cautiously eyeing the medical paraphernalia. "No needle today," Vicki confirmed, "Needle tomorrow." "Hmmph," was Sara's ringing endorsement. Vicki scanned each of them, grinning and rubbing her hands together. "So," she said, "Who wants to go first?"

A half hour later, everyone had been tested. Returning to the living room after putting the antitoxin back in the refrigerator, Vicki let out a muted yelp of surprise as Lazar suddenly appeared in the chair by the fire. She pointed her finger at him. "You get off on doing that to me, don't you, Weird Master?" she accused, "I bet you wait until the exact moment when you know you're going to really scare the shit out of me – then poof, presto chango, here's Lazar." Lazar grinned. "My dear, Dr. Po," he replied, "What a vivid image, and what a vivid imagination, as well. I'm afraid that you give me too much credit." From the tone of their frequently barbed exchanges, one would never know that Vicki and Lazar had developed a strong affection for each other.

Lazar turned to face the rest of his army. Sara and Ian were sitting side by side on the sofa, holding hands. Moby was standing behind them. Lazar inclined his head and said, "Good morning, Wielders, Protector." The men both nodded back at the old man. Sara said, "Hey," then added, "You seem awfully cheerful for the Eve of Destruction." He met her eyes. "Perhaps that is because I am confident that the Defenders of Light will overcome the encroaching Darkness." Nobody said a word. Lazar smiled. "In case I was unclear, I was spea of of you." Sara snorted. "It wasn't unclear," she replied, "Just blindly optimistic." Vicki sat down on the end of the sofa opposite Ian and Sara. Moby moved to stand behind her, dropping a hand to rest possessively on her shoulder.

Lazar studied the tense group and chuckled. "Ah, I see," he observed, "Everyone has a bad case of opening night jitters." Vicki grinned back at him. "I like a man who can be glib in the face of annihilation," she said, "Did you get into the cooking sherry this morning, Lazar, or does the end of the world always give you the giggles?" His face relaxing into a gentle smile, Lazar pointed out, "It is only the end of the world if we fail, Doctor. And, we will not fail. I believe that and so must you. All of you." Feeling the regard of his protuberant blue eyes, Sara raised her head. "I'm trying," she replied, "But I don't have your confidence. So much is riding on me. Shit, I'm just an NYD detective with a symbiotic bracelet that has a mind of Its own and two really big guys watching my back. Not a very impressive array against the Prince of Darkness himself."

"I have some advice for you," Lazar said. The Pezzini eyebrow lifted. "Of course you do," she sighed, "Okay. Let 'er rip." "Stop dwelling upon your inadequacies," Lazar said, "Rather, focus your energy on perfecting and achieving the task at hand." "Which is?" she asked. "Creating the wall and blocking the Gate for the duration of the Convergence," he answered. "Do we also get to focus any energy on not being dead at the end of this party?" Sara said dryly. "Absolutely," he assured her, "I expect to walk you down the aisle and give your hand in marriage to the Protector." Sara's mouth fell open. A moment later, her eyes filled with tears and she dropped her head to hide them. "Yeah," she mumbled, "I'd be honored to have you give me away. It just never occurred to me that you'd want to do something like that."

"Why would you think that?" Lazar huffed. Sara just shrugged, uncomfortable with the sudden emotion. Ian hugged her closer to him, before he said to Lazar, "Thank you, Sir. Since you are the closest thing to a true parent that either of us have left, perhaps you could give us to each other?" "Although the gesture is largely redundant, I would be delighted," Lazar agreed, "Before I can dance at your wedding, however, we must ensure that life goes on unscathed. Yes?" "Yes," Ian confirmed, the brightness dimming a bit in his golden eyes. Sara cleared her throat and raised her head, emotions back under control. "So," she asked, "What's the game plan for today?" "Today we will conduct a dress rehearsal for the Convergence," Lazar declared.

A short while later, they were congregated in the clearing behind the cabin preparing to rehearse how they hoped to save the world. The Triumverate was in place – Sara, Ian, and Cleopatra's orb. Moby had positioned himself to Sara's right, holding the Longinus Lance. Vicki sat in the dead grass to Ian's left, the pistol resting in her lap with the safety on. Lazar had once again perched on the rock at the edge of the clearing, from which he was directing the action. "Mobius, Dr. Po," Lazar called. Vicki and Moby both turned to look at the Watcher. "It is your responsibility to protect the Bladewielder and Protector from any physical threat," Lazar continued, "As far as we know, that means the demons which you have already come to know. Fortunately, with Dr. Po's antitoxin, their poison is no longer a concern. They do still, however, have rather unpleasant claws and fangs. Consequently, the goal is to neutralize them before they get close enough to use them. If we are successful in quickly erecting the wall, no larger danger should be able to get through to menace you."

"Larger danger?" Vicki asked, eyes wide. The balrog from "The Lord of the Rings" suddenly stalked across her mind. Moby's voice washed over her like a warm bath, "Do not worry, Po. No great beasty will get through but, if it does, I will dispatch it with alacrity. I would not let you come to harm." Vicki smiled at her champion. "Who's worried?" she said. The balrog had morphed into a slightly smarmy hobbit. "Wielder, Protector," Lazar called. Ian and Sara turned their heads attentively. "You must maintain your connection and focus your energy to erect and then hold the Wall for 49 minutes; from 11:11 P.M., when the Convergence begins, until 12:00 midnight, when the new day begins. During that time, the Enemy will send you visions that are designed to break your will and concentration. Falter for even a moment and all is lost."

"We'll be hit wherever we're weakest," Sara said, almost to herself. But Lazar heard her. "Very perceptive, Wielder," he replied, "Which is why I suggest that you and Ian take tomorrow to prepare yourselves. Meditate upon where your weaknesses lie, acknowledge them, and have a defense readied for when they are used against you." "That's it?" Sara asked sarcastically, "No sage words of wisdom?" Lazar didn't rise to the bait. He shook his head. "These demons are of your making, Sara; yours and Ian's. Only the two of you can discover the antitoxin that will render them harmless."

"The visions," Sara continued, "They'll seem real?" Lazar nodded. "I have no doubt that they will seem very real to you and the Protector," he said. Sara sighed a little raggedly and thought, "It sounds like an interactive, highly dangerous therapy session with good old Dr. Satan Freud." There followed a few moments during which everyone was lost in their thoughts. Lazar cleared his throat to regain their attention. "Now," he said, "Shall we try building and holding the wall for the full 49 minutes?" Ian pulled Excalibur from his pocket and slowly slipped it on his right hand. And the fun began.

By the time Lazar left them, Sara and Ian were both shaking with exhaustion. Still, they had managed to hold the Wall for a full 60 minutes, 11 minutes beyond the requisite 49. Of course, Sara blearily thought, the Lord of Chaos hadn't been assailing them with debilitating visions while they did it either. So, how true a test it had been was anybody's guess. Lazar had expressed his pride in their accomplishment, however, before he had taken his leave of them. Tomorrow, they were to meditate on their weaknesses, their vulnerabilities, so that they would be prepared to combat the visions while holding the Wall. Lazar would come back to them in the early evening and would keep them company until the Convergence began. Once it did, he was not permitted to interfere in any way. He was, after all, a Watcher.

When they returned to the cabin, daylight was waning. Ian was almost fully supporting Sara in his own shaky arms, both of them having refused Moby's offered help. They barely made it to the sofa, where they collapsed inoneloneless heap. Vicki put away her gun and then came over to stand by the sofa, hands on hips. She studied the exhausted pair critically. Sara was draped across Ian, her head on his chest. She was already asleep. Ian gently stroked her hair, his own eyes barely open. "How's your head?" Vicki asked, "Do you need a painkiller?" Ian looked up, trying vainly to appear alert. "No thanks," he said, "I'm fine. I think we both just need a nap." Vicki frowned. "Okay," she said, "But you'll let me know if you change your mind?" Ian nodded and immediately regretted doing it, wincing.

Vicki's eyes narrowed and Ian quickly asked Moby, "Could you please help me get Sara settled, my brother?" Moby nodded and gently lifted Sara to allow Ian to get up. He eased Sara back down on the cushions and Vicki fussed around, tucking her under the throw. Ian wasn't very steady on his feet. When he swayed, Moby quickly put a supporting arm around his shoulders. "You also require rejuvenation," Moby said, "What is it that requires your urgent attention?" Ian blinked, visibly pulling himself together. "I have put the orb and Lance back in their hiding place. Then, believe me, I'm going to come back and lie down with Sara." Worried for him, Moby asked, "Perhaps I could undertake this endeavor for you? You do not look well, Ian." Ian put his hand on Moby's arm. "It's best if only one of us knows where the objects of power are hidden. I'm fine. It will only take a few minutes."

A look passed between Vicki and Mobius. They both knew that Ian was stubborn as hell. There was no point in arguing with him. They'd let him do what he felt he had to, secrete the Lance and orb, watching him carefully to make sure that he didn't collapse while he was doing it. Vicki made a shooing motion at Ian with her hands. "Go on then and do it," she said crossly, "The sooner you finish, the sooner you get back here and rest." Ian awkwardly picked up the Lance in his left hand. The orb was already in his jacket pocket. Giving them a tentative smile, he slowly made his way to and out the cabin door. Moby squeezed Vicki's shoulder. "I will follow him and make sure that he comes to no harm," Moby said. After a moment, he went to shadow Ian.

Vicki dropped into Lazar's chair to wait for the men to return. Watching Sara sleep, she realized that her friend looked older and worn to the breaking point. The strain of being the Bladewielder in dangerous times was taking its toll. A short while later, the cabin door banged open and Moby came in carrying Ian. Vicki flew to his side, shutting the door behind them. "What happened?" she asked. "He fainted," Moby said. Vicki's lips twisted. "But only after taking care of what he set out to do, I bet," she said. Mobius smiled. "You know him well," he observed. Vicki nodded. "I've come to know him," she said, "Put him in the r. Hr. He'll want to be with Sara but I want to be sure that he's alright first." "Of course," Moby agreed. Moby gently transferred Ian to the chair while Vicki delved through her medical bag. She finally pulled out a small bottle, which she uncapped and held under Ian's nose.

Golden eyes flew open, wide and startled, and Ian's hand flailed out to push away the bottle from beneath his nose. Vicki caught his chin in her hand, even as he struggled to pull away. "Look at me, Ian," she said sharply. Ian stopped moving and made a concerted effort to look Vicki in the eye. Eventually, he pulled it off. Vicki sighed, relieved, and said, "That's better. How do you feel?" "I'm fine," he predictably replied. Vicki snorted. "Why do I even bother?" she asked, "I suppose you want to go lay down on the sofa now with Sara, don't you?" "Yes," he said hesitantly, "Is there some reason I shouldn't?" "Not that I can think of," she replied, "You certainly need the rest as much as she does. This power drain from the orb's energy field seems to hit you even harder than it does her."

Ian blinked, still struggling to get his focus back. "It's just that the Witchblade is more powerful than my ring," he said, "It channels the energy more easily. It's a better buffer." "Whatever," Vicki agreed, "The result is that you need to rest for a few hours to build your strength back." He nodded before turning his head carefully to look up at Moby. "Do you think that you could pick up Sara without waking her, my brother?" he asked, "So that I can join her on the sofa?" Moby smiled. "Most certainly," he said. While Moby carefully lifted the sleeping Sara up off the sofa, Ian shakily got to his feet. He made his way to the sofa and stretched out, molding himself against the high back to create a space for Sara to rest against him. Moby put Sara back down into Ian's waiting arms. Through the entire process, she never stirred.

When they were settled, Vicki rearranged the throw to cover them. "Pleasant dreams," she said before she realized that Ian was already asleep. Her gaze shifted to Mobius. "Tea?" she asked. He nodded. They went to the kitchen. Happily bumping bottoms in the small room, he brewed a fresh pot of coffee for her while she put the kettle on to boil for him. When that was done, they sat across from each other at the table. Simultaneously, they stretched their hands across the table to meet in the middle, linking their fingers tightly. Vicki studied Moby intently for a moment and then dropped her eyes. "The day after tomorrow this will all be over and we'll be on our way back to the city. Back to our normal lives." Moby's lips twitched. "I do not know whether it is possible to describe my life as 'normal,' Po," he said, "At least, I am unsure that a normal person would describe it so."

Stunned, Vicki realized that she didn't even know what Mobius did for a living; if, in fact, he did anything at all. "Do you work?" she asked him bluntly, "Or are you just filthy rich like Ian." He chuckled softly. "Yes and yes," he said. She looked confused for a moment and then she asked, "You work but you're also filthy rich?" "I work because it gives my life purpose, direction," he said, "But it is not required because, like Ian, I am financially comfortable." "What do you do?" she asked. "Both Ian and I were trained to be warriors. In times of peace, those skills lend themselves to protecting the wealthy from people like us," he responded. Vicki smirked. "Are you saying that you run a protection racket?" she asked.

Moby softly boomed out his deep laugh. "Ah, Po," he said, "You are an endless source of delight to me." Vicki wiggled her eyebrows. "Is that a clever way to evade my question?" she wanted to know. "Not at all," he replied, "I do many different things, having a markedly low threshold for boredom. I design security systems when they are intricate enough to provide me a challenge. I have hired myself out as a bodyguard when the client and the job intrigue me. I have taught the art of self-defense when it suited me. I also write." Her eyes went wide. "What do you write?" she asked. "I have written several mildly successful espionage novels," he replied. "You write spy stories," she echoed, stunned by this new disclosure. "Indeed," he said.

The whistling kettle had them both jumping up from the table to silence it before it woke their sleeping friends. Vicki touched his arm and said, "Sit. My coffee's ready. I'll pour your tea at the same time." Mobius settled back in his chair and covertly watched Vicki bustle around the kitchen. Back at the table, sipping her coffee, she studied him through lowered lashes. "You're a man of many parts, Mobius," she said, "I'm beginning to realize that I barely know you." He fixed her with those warm, chocolate eyes. "That is not so, Po," he said, "You know the true man, the one that I rarely show to others. The face that I present to the world is most often a mask. You have communed with the man that lies beneath it."

"Have I?" Vicki asked. "What causes you to doubt that it is so?" Moby wondered. She shrugged. "It's just that this whole situation that we find ourselves in is so bizarre," she reflected, "I have to wonder what our relationship will be when the Convergence is over and we've gone back to the lives we had before." "What would you choose to have our relationship be?" he asked. "Whoa," she thought, "I walked right into that one." Aloud, she backpedaled, shifting the gauntlet to him, "You first," she said. But Mobius had no qualms. He looked her directly in the eye when he said, "I would wish for us to remain lovers wou would hope that, over time, our union would grow into something even deeper. And you?" Her cheeks flushed with pleasure, Vicki replied, "I want that too." Pleased, he gave her one of his megawatt smiles.

Feeling more secure in their post-Convergence future, they spent the next two hours really getting to know each other. They talked of work, hobbies, music, movies, books, friends, and their pasts among other things – all the topics that they hadn't touched on before they became lovers. Surprisingly, they found that they had several tastes in common. About that time, Vicki's stomach loudly began to protest its emptiness, making them both laugh. "Time to heat up the Chinese takeout, I guess," she said, suddenly shivering. Moby nodded. "It has grown cooler," he observed, "The fire must be waning. I will freshen it."

While Vicki reheated the contents of the many cartons of Chinese food that they'd brought back from the city, Moby put more wood on the fire, building it back to a cheery blaze. He then brought the small table over to the area between the sofa and the chair so that it could be set for dinner. When the aroma of Moo Shu Pork began wafting through the cabin, Sara started to stir. She struggled to sit up, rubbing her eyes. "What is that smell?" she asked, her voice still raspy with sleep. Her movement had also woken Ian, who hadn't yet moved but was blinking rapidly, trying to get his bearings.

Vicki came into the living room carrying plates and utensils. "Hey there, you guys," she said, "How are those energy-blasted noggins doing?"a yaa yawned hugely. "I feel good," she said, "Ravenous, but good." Vicki grinned. "Chinese takeout coming up," she promised. "How do you feel, Ian?" Vicki asked, setting him up. "I'm fine," everyone in the room said in unison. Ian blushed and dropped his head. Sara leaned back against him, brushing his lips with hers. "It's okay, baby," she said, "Predictability isn't always a bad thing." The corner of Ian's lips turned up. "I'll remind you of that next time I piss you off," he murmured. She gave him a light punch in the abs and said to Vicki, "Need any help?"

"Someone could open the wine," Vicki said, putting spoons into cartons of heated Chinese. "I'll do that," Ian responded, angling his long body around Sara to rise and head toward the kitchen. Moby came back to the table carrying bottles of water and a plate of fortune cookies. Distributing the water, he slid down to the floor beside Vicki. Sara was already digging into the assortment of cartons, a look of rapture on her face. She squealed as she discovered a particular favorite. "Vick, you're a prince!" she declared. Vicki smiled. "We aim to please, Pez," she replied, "After all, this is by way of being the Last Supper. I don't imagine anyone is going to be up for a big dinner tomorrow."

Sara halted with spoon in midair. "There's a sobering thought," she said. Vicki grimaced. "Taking my foot back out of my mouth now," she said, "Just ignore my inappropriate comments and continue to happily pig out on Chinese." Ian returned to a suddenly quiet room. He stopped just inside the doorway, holding an open bottle of Pinot Noir and four glasses. "Did I miss something again?" he asked. Sara's troubled expression cleared and she resumed her treasure hunt among the plundered cartons. "Not a thing, ace," she said, "Get over here with that wine." He raised an eyebrow but didn't push it, setting the bottle and glasses on the table before dropping gracefully next to Sara.

Ian grinned at Sara's heaping plate. "Did you leave anything for the rest of us?" he asked fondly. Sara finished a forkful of Sweet and Sour Chicken, eyes closed, before she said, "Hey, pal, this is good Chinese food. It's every man for himself. Dig in or miss out." Ian dug in, taking his usual modest portion of a couple of items. Vicki stopped cutting up an egg roll to watch Sara with amazement. "How the hell do you stay so buff?" she asked her. Sara shoveled in and chewed a helping of Moo Shu Pork with relish. "It might have something to do with heaping portions of cosmic energy channeling through me and burning off excess fat," she suggested. "Yeah, well, if that were it," Vicki objected, "The captain there would be a wraith because he channels twice the energy that you do and eats about half as much." Sara shrugged. "Clean living," she replied. This time Vicki just snorted derisively.

When they'd all eaten their fill and the dirty dishes had been carried to the kitchen, they lingered at the table by the fire, drinking coffee or tea. A white bowl holding four wrapped fortune cookies sat in the center of the table. Considering the immediate future, nobody was anxious to break open the first cookie. Finally, Vicki put down her coffee mug with a firm clunk and, daring the fates, took the first fortune cookie from the bowl. She ripped open the wrapper and, feeling three sets of eyes upon her, split the cookie down the middle. With two careful fingers, she pulled the crisp white paper from within the broken cookie. Smoothing out the paper, Vicki squinted to read her fortune in the fitful firelight. Everyone watched her tensely. "Wow," she said. They waited. Vicki silently reread the fortune, drawing out the suspense. Sara thought about giving her a sharp smack. "What?" she asked crossly, patience at an end.

Vicki lifted her head, a sweet look illuminating her features. "'True love has found you. Do not be afraid of it'," she read. Her eyes met Moby's and his handsome face creased into a lovely smile. Sara snorted. Vicki shifted her gaze, eyes narrowed. "Problem, O Great Bitch Goddess of the Galaxy?" she asked. Sara raised her hands in a gesture of surrender. "Okay, then," Vicki challenged, "Why don't you go next?" Unable to resist the dare, Sara grabbed and quickly opened another cookie, too impatient to build the suspense as Vicki had. Sara leaned toward the fire, trying to read the writing on the small slip of paper. Her three friends watched her face change, saw her brows knit together and her eyes lose their focus. Ian reached out to gently touch her hand. "What is it?" he asked softly. She turned back toward him, briefly searching his wary golden eyes.

Dropping her eyes, Sara made a rude noise in the back of her throat and held up her fortune to read, "'A momentous decision will soon be placed before you. Do not be ruled by your fear.' Isn't that helpful?" Ian stroked her hand soothingly. "Not very," he agreed. Sara turned to look at him again. "Okay," she said, "Your turn, ace." Looking like he was about to have a tooth drilled, Ian took one of the two remaining fortune cookies from the bowl and carefully unwrapped it. He took a deep breath, cracked open the cookie, and removed the furled paper. Ian bent his head to read, his dark curls falling forward to mask his face. When he raised his head, he had lost some color and his eyes were shut. Sara rubbed his back, saying, "Hey, it's only a stupid fortune cookie. Let me see,"ing ing the slip of paper from his clenched fingers.

Sara's eyes narrowed as she peered at the paper, reading, "'Strength grows from pain as a Phoenix rises from ashes. Do not despair.' Well, that's cryptic as hell but not so bad. Don't you think?" Ian's lips curved into a bitter smile. He thought he knew the pain that was coming and it was very, very bad indeed. He had no intention of growing beyond it to rise from the ashes. He'd rather just leave the agony behind in one final, flaming moment. "Hey, Nottingham," Sara said, bending to look into his face. Ian focused on his love, golden eyes softening with adoration. "Hey, Sara," he responded, "No, not so bad." Vicki frowned. She thought that Ian was lying like a trooper. Moby too had known Ian long enough to think that something sharp and destructive had bitten into his soul and wasn't letting go any time soon.

Sara was about to see if she could get something more out of him when Ian picked up the bowl and held it out to Moby, saying, "Only your fortune remains, my brother." Mobius studied Ian for a moment before dipping his large hand into the bowl to scoop out the remaining cookie. Vicki leaned her shoulder against his companionably as Moby tore open the wrapper and split the cookie. He cleared his throat and read the fortune in his deep voice, "'The treasure you have long sought now lies within your grasp. Do not lose patience'." Vicki shifted considering eyes up at the tall warrior beside her, wondering about the nature of his "treasure." "You don't seem at all impatient to me," she said. Moby smiled down at her. "I have, on occasion, been known to be hasty, Po," he replied, "It is sage advice and I will take it to heart."

"I'll do the dishes," Ian volunteered. He wanted some time to himself to try and shake the mood that the fortune cookie had brought on. He didn't want anything to intrude on his last night with Sara. "I'll help," Sara and Moby said simultaneously, both intending to use the time to dig a bit deeper into whatever was bothering Ian. "Pinky link," Vicki chimed in. Sara and Moby did, a bit self-consciously. When that ritual was over, Ian said, "No thanks. I don't really need any help. There's hardly anything to do. It will take no time. Why don't you all get comfortable. Maybe we can watch a movie?" Sara sighed, thwarted again. "What do you want to watch?" she asked. "How about 'The Lord of the Rings'?" Vicki suggested. It seemed appropriate to her considering that they would be facing their own epic battle with evil on the morrow. "Oh, yeah," Sara said, "Good choice." She loved that film.

While Ian did the dishes, Moby rebuilt the fire and straightened up the living room, putting away the table and getting out the freshly laundered featherbed and throws. Sara and Vicki retired to the bedroom to change into their pajamas. While Sara exchanged her sweats for an old tee of Ian's and her own briefs, Vicki dug her froggy flannels out of hiding. "What's wrong with Ian?" Vicki asked, voice muffled by the pajama top that was currently over her head. "I don't know," Sara responded, pausing in her quest to find a pair of warm socks to put on, "He's sort of moody by nature." "It's more than that," Vicki said, sitting on the bed. Sara sighed. "Yeah, I know," she said, dropping beside Vicki to pull on the socks that she'd finally found, "But I can't get him to talk to me about it." "Maybe in bed tonight," Vicki suggested, "Catch him when he's off guard." Sara punched her friend lightly in the shoulder. "Good idea, Doctor," she said, "Sneaky, but good. Is that when you pump Mobius?" "Define pump," Vicki replied.

Moby opted to stay in his sweats until he was ready to go to bed, just pulling off his shoes and socks and stashing them beside the chair. He'd just settled on the featherbed, leaving the sofa for Ian and Sara, when the women returned from the bedroom. Vicki immediately began digging through the stack of DVDs. Sara headed toward the kitchen, asking, "Would anybody like more wine?" Vicki looked up. "I'd love some, thanks," she said. "Ian? Mobius?" Sara asked. Ian turned at the bedroom door, where he was headed to change into his pajamas. "Yes, please," he called back before disappearing and shutting the door behind him. "Might I help you?" Moby asked. "Nah," Sara replied from the kitchen, "I got it."

Just as Sara came back with a tray holding another open bottle of the Pinot Noir they'd had for dinner and four glasses, Ian was reemerging from the bedroom in a clean pair of the black silk pajamas, modestly covered with a matching robe. Moby rose to take the tray from Sara and put it down on the featherbed. While Moby poured the wine, Sara and Ian settled themselves on the sofa. Ian rubbed her upper arm and then lifted the hem of the tee shirt she wore. "This looks familiar," he whispered, his warm lips against her ear. Sara flushed, a little embarrassed. "I like the way it smells," she mumbled. He sniffed her shoulder. "It smells like me," he observed, his mouth still close to her ear. Sara dropped her head back to lean against his shoulder. "Yeah," she said softly, "I know." Ian grinned and bent forward to brush his lips across hers.

"Hey, you two. None of that," Vicki said, holding their wine and waiting for them to finish, "Keep it clean for the kiddies." Sara reluctantly ended the kiss and lifted her head from Ian's shoulder. She took the wine from Vicki with narrowed eyes. "You ain't been a kiddy for years, Vick," she said, passing Ian his glass and holding his gaze for another long moment. "Look who's talking," Vicki shot back, leaning back against Moby's shoulder and clicking the remote control to start the movie. They were all soon caught up in the film. As they were watching the Fellowship of the Ring struggle to cross the snowy mountain pass, Sara shivered and Ian pulled the clean throw down from the back of the sofa, wrapping it around them.

On the screen, the quest continued and, under the cover of fleecy folds, Ian's hand slipped under Sara's tee shirt to slowly rub her stomach. When she sighed, arching back against him, his fingers crept higher to sensuously caress her breast. Her breath caught when the callused pads of his fingers languorously stroked her nipple, pinching and rolling it maddeningly between his thumb and middle finger. Sara shut her eyes and thought, "Oh, Nottingham, you devil. God, that feels good." She felt his other hand, shift the hair covering the back of her neck. Goose bumps rose on her arms when his hot breath touched the exposed skin, closely followed by his wet tongue and firm lips. Sara was barely able to stifle a fevered moan.

After regaining control with some difficulty, a dangerous gleam appeared in Sara's eyes. "Okay, ace. You asked for it," she thought. In retaliation, Sara pressed her bottom back until it firmly connected with Ian's silk-covered groin. Aided by the slippery material, she began to rhythmically rock against him. Sara heard his soft gasp and felt the rush of expelled air against the nape of her neck. A moment later, he drew her ear lobe into his mouth, sucking it slowly and making her shiver. He released it with a gentle nip and a sexy, breathy chuckle. "Be careful how far you push," he whispered in warning. "Oh yeah?" was her immediate thought as she pressed against him a little harder. She smiled evilly when she felt his growing arousal quiver in response.

Ian's magic fingers, which had shifted from pleasuring Sara's right breast to her left, now began to travel on a feather-light downward trajectory. Her eyes widened slightly as she anticipated what he was going to do next. Sara's whole body tensed when his hand eased under the waistband of her briefs. But just to tease her, his fingers maddeningly played hide and seek with her belly button, sliding in and out, making her shiver again. When she leaned back and turned her head to give him a verbal jab, Ian captured her mouth in a searing kiss, pushing his tongue aggressively between her open lips. Sara felt a hot lick of flame ignite and shoot straight to her core as his arched tongue sinuously slid back and forth against hers.

Sara was feeling lightheaded when Ian eventually pulled back, catching her bottom lip gently between his teeth. "Umm," he whispered, "Delic." ." She fought the smile that tugged at her lips. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction. His teeth let go of her lip, only to be replaced by that talented tongue. He licked her bottom lip very slowly, soothing his love bite. Sara's eyes opened wide to meet Ian's steamy gaze. She felt lost, sucked down to drown in those twin pools of molten amber fire. She was so distracted that he took her completely by surprise when his fingers deftly pushed into the wet folds between her thighs.

A soft sound of shocked surprise escaped Sara before she could curb it. The oblivious Vicki assumed that Sara was reacting to the action on the screen rather than that on the sofa. "I thought you'd already seen this," Vicki said, turning her head slightly back toward her friend. After a brief battle to control her voice, Sara replied, "I did. That part just gets me every time." She felt rather then heard the muted rumble of Ian's laughter against her back. "Does it?" he whispered slyly in her ear. Her barbed reply died on her lips when Ian began to skillfully tease her slick center of sensation. He kept varying the pressure and speed of his touch whenever the tension in her body told him that she had started to flirt with an orgasm. So, he held her on the edge without allowing her to tumble over.

Sara's body was on fire. Beyond that, she feared for her sanity because Ian was driving her crazy. Fooling around like this within inches of Vicki and Moby was a double-edged sword. On the one hand, it felt dangerous, and was ridiculously erotic and exciting. On the other, Sara was fighting a major battle to keep the waves of passion that were now continuously washing over her private. Her breathing had become erratic – that she couldn't help. But she had managed to restrain herself from panting out loud – barely. As Ian caressed her, Sara had pushed back against his body, turning toward him until they were now almost facing each other on the sofa. She looked into his glowing golden eyes and lifted one shaking hand to bury her fingers in his thick, silky hair. "Please," she begged.

Ian leaned forward to kiss Sara deeply while he increased both the speed and the pressure of his stroking fingers. In seconds, she felt a climax of epic proportions overtake her. Her whole body went rigid. Her wild cry was muffled against Ian's mouth and covered by a fortuitously loud action sequence in the film. Sara lay completely still for several moments, then stretched languidly against Ian's hard, muscled length. She sighed deeply and went limp, draped along him like a second skin. She was exquisitely relaxed, even her teeth felt soft. She sighed again and looked up to see Ian studying her, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "Wine?" he asked, offering her a filled glass. "I don't think my fingers can grip yet," she murmured. He carefully held the glass to her lips, allowing her to sip and then easing it back. "Thanks," she said, looking into his eyes. It was clear that she meant more than the wine. "My pleasure," he said, voice like crushed velvet.

When blood had returned to all of her extremities, Sara managed to shift back around to face the television. The Fellowship had just left Lothlorien and was approaching Rauros Falls. "Almost over," she thought, "Almost time for bed." A little frisson of heat rolled back through her belly at that thought and she shivered delicately. Where his arm was now draped across her waist, Ian pulled her back, closer to his warmth. She held his hand, her fingers linked through his – oh, those fingers, she thought. She gave them a little squeeze and he returned it. "If that was only the appetizer, I might not survive the whole meal," she thought, dropping her head and grinning like an idiot. She couldn't wait.

Next thing Sara knew, Vicki was clicking off the television and tucking the DVD back in its case. Moby was gathering up the wine bottle and glasses to carry them into the kitchen. That soft voice by her ear asked, "Ready for bed?" Sara tried to keep her smile from turning lascivious because Vicki had picked up some vibes and was watching her curiously. "Oh, yeah," Sara agreed, only leering a little. "You okay?" Vicki asked her. "Oh, yeah," Sara repeated. Ian cleared his throat. Sara turned to look at him, taking in the lazy eyes, tousled hair, and swollen lips. The heat cranked up a notch. "What?" she asked hoarsely. "You have to get up first, detective," he said. "Oh," she said, mesmerized by his eyes. Vicki snorted. "Pez, what the hell's wrong with you?" she asked.

That broke the spell. Sara stood abruptly and almost fell, her knees being weaker than she remembered. Ian smoothly swung to a sitting position and caught her hips between his hands, holding her steady. "Thanks," she said again, looking down at him. He smiled up at her, complicity in his eyes. "Sure," he said. Vicki looked at Moby, back from the kitchen. Her own mind began to wander. "Maybe we should all sleep in tomorrow morning," she suggested. "Maybe we should," Sara agreed. Ian stood and caught her hand, starting to pull Sara toward the bedroom. She followed him obediently, turning back toward Vicki, her eyes bright and slightly gazed. "Night Vick, Night Mobius," Sara said, raising a hand like a benediction, "Sleep well…or not. Whatever," her voice trailing off in a delighted chuckle as the bedroom door shut.

Alone now in the living room, Vicki and Moby just stared at each other for a moment. Vicki cleared her throat nervously. "Are you wearing those to bed?" she asked, staring at his sweats. Moby looked down as if to remind himself what he had on. He gave her a quick smile and said, "Most certainly not," catching the hem of his shirt and beginning to pull it off. "Wait," Vicki said. He stopped, watching her and raising a questioning brow. "Can I do that?" she asked. The other brow went up. "You wish to disrobe me?" he attempted to clarify. Color flooded Vicki's cheeks. She ducked her head, suddenly embarrassed. "That's okay," she mumbled, "Just pretend I never said it." She dropped back down on the featherbed and began furiously smoothing out wrinkles and fluffing up the pillows.

Moby looked down at her, smiling fondly. He fell to his knees beside her. "Po," he said, covering her small, busy hands with his large, steady ones. Effectively stilled, Vicki turned her head to look at him. "I am at your mercy," he said, releasing her hands and opening his own in a comic gesture of supplication, "Please be kind." Her lips twitched, then she grinned full out. He grinned right back at her. "You're sure," she pressed, still wearing her quirky grin. Moby gave her a mock frown. "Do I have cause to be worried?" he asked querulously. She slipped her hand under his sweatshirt and dragged her nails slowly across his hard stomach. She felt muscles jump under her fingertips. "Maybe," she breathed. His eyes half closed, Moby hissed, "I surrender. Do your worst."

"Nah," Vicki said, rising to her knees facing him, "I think I'd rather do my best." Her hands still resting on his stomach, she put her palms flat on his silken skin and slid them slowly up his torso, dragging the shirt up and over his head. She studied his gleaming muscles in the firelight. He was a work of art worthy of Michelangelo, she thought. Some of the pathetic specimens that she'd dated over the years flitted through Vicki's mind. They'd all been leading here, she mused, a slow crawl up the evolutionary ladder. "I would give considerably more than a penny to know what is on your mind, Po," Moby rumbled softly, raptly watching expressions chase each other across her face. She leaned closer, sliding one arm around him to splay her fingers across his broad back. She rested her other hand on his shoulder. "Why don't I just show you," she whispered.

Mobius shut his eyes. He had gone hard at the tone of her voice and the look on her face, before she'd even seriously touched him. The power of it took his breath away. Vicki was close enough to feel his reaction. It thrilled her. She bent down and took one of his flat, hard nipples between her teeth and gave it a soft nip, followed by a long lick. A subdued shudder rippled through him. She followed that up by sucking in earnest. Then, she switched sides. Moby was trembling. She could feel him trying to lock it down, regain control, but it didn't appear to be working too well for him. "Po," he breathed, a little desperately. "Shhh," she replied, not stopping what she was doing.

They were still both kneeling on the featherbed, facing each other. Moby's hands had been resting on her hips. Now, they moved. He began to unbutton Vicki's pajama top from the bottom up. Vicki's head rose from his chest. "Wait," she said again. His hands dropped back to his sides and he looked at her questioningly. "Just let me play for a while. Okay?" she asked. His lips twitched. "As you wish," he murmured, "Am I permitted to respond?" She smiled at him saucily. "You bet," she agreed, "But let me take us where I want to go." His eyes shone bright in the firelight. "And where is it that you wish to take me, Po?" he asked. Her quirky grin returned. "I'm going to drive you crazy with desire," she said, "At least, that's the plan." "I see," he replied, slowly taking a deep, shaky breath, "Well, you are off to an excellent start." "You ain't seen nothin' yet," she assured him.

Vicki moved closer now, sliding both hands up his sides, running her nails lightly over his ribcage. Her hands came to rest in the small of his back. Angling her face under his chin, she left a trail of hot, wet kisses from his neck down to his quivering stomach muscles. Moby's breathing had become both audible and fast. Slipping her fingers under the waistband of his sweatpants, Vicki pushed both sweatpants and briefs down past his taut cheeks. The pants stopped there because they were stuck in front. She pulled back a little and looked down. "Oops," she said, smiling devilishly, "There seems to be an obstacle here." "You did instruct me that it was permissible to respond, did you not, Po?" he replied huskily, amused.

"I did," she agreed, bringing her hands back to his shoulders and raising her head to find his mouth. Moby met her lips eagerly, pulling her closer and deepening the kiss. Their tongues licked and twined, teeth nipped, until they were forced to separate, breathless. Looking in his glowing eyes, Vicki lowered her hands to the front of his pants, carefully easing them over his full erection and releasing the material to fall to the floor around his knees. He dropped his head to brush his lips against her forehead. "You are overdressed," he whispered, "May I remedy that?" "You may," she consented. Moby eased Vicki down on to the featherbed so that she was lying on her back with her head toward the fire. As he stretched out beside her, he absently kicked his pants the rest of the way off.

Resting on his side, balanced on one elbow, Moby slowly unbuttoned the pajama top. When all the buttons were undone, he pushed the flannel aside, exposing her breasts to the firelight. Leaning forward, he pressed a warm, soft kiss on Vicki's collarbone before moving his mouth to her breast. She put one small hand on his smooth skull. "Hang on there, chief," she said a little breathlessly, "You were just supposed to be handling the duds. Remember? Then, it's my turn again." He raised his head to meet her laughing eyes. "My apologies, Po," he murmured, "I forgot myself." "No problem," she told him, magnanimously waving her hand, "Carry on." He nodded, slipping his fingers under the waistband of her pajama pants. He pulled them down to her ankles, slowly dragging the rough pads of his fingers along the full length of her hips, thighs, and legs. She shivered at the lingering touch.

Taking a deep breath, Vicki sat up and shrugged the open pajama top off her shoulders. She looked in his eyes. "Lay down," she said. He boldly returned her gaze, lifting one eyebrow. "Please," she added. Moby stretched his long body out full length on the featherbed, bending his arms under his head and watching her expectantly. He didn't have long to wait. Vicki tossed back her hair and bent over to flick her tongue over his button of a navel. The sharply indrawn breath told her that she'd found one of his hot spots. She did it again with the same result. She smiled and pressed warm kisses to the sharp hollows at the insides of his hips, feeling another long tremor ripple through his body.

Vicki became aware of the gentle brush of his hand against her hair. She pressed her lips to the crisp hair guarding his arousal as her fingers lightly traced the etched muscles of his thighs. She felt the play of sinew under her fingertips. She lifted her head and their eyes met over the long, length of his magnificent body. In one of those strange moments that life offers, she suddenly pondered the chain of events that had partnered her with this strange, wonderful man, someone who was as far removed from her normal existence as the sun was from the earth. His eyes glowed in the firelight like simmering embers.

Looking deeply into those wise and adoring dark eyes, Vicki had an epiphany. “I love him,” she suddenly thought, stunned, “I’m head over heels in love with Hector Mobius.” Seeing the look on her face, Moby pushed his fingers deeper into her hair, stroking her scalp sensuously. “Po?” he asked, “Are you well?” And then another lightning bolt hit her. “One or both of us could die tomorrow night,” she thought. Vicki blinked. She realized that he was waiting anxiously for her answer. She smiled. Her gaze locked on his, she said, “I’m very well, thank you. And I love you, Mobius.” His full lips parted and his eyes widened. With a dazzling smile, he replied, “I love you too, Po, so much that it is a bit daunting.”

Vicki’s smile turned rueful. “Yeah,” she said, “I’m familiar with the daunting part. But right now, I’d rather concentrate on the pleasure part.” She leaned forward and engulfed the head of his erection in her mouth, running her tongue along its sensitive slit. She tasted the sour sweet tang of his need. Moby hissed softly through clenched teeth as his long body bowed up off of the featherbed. Continuing to lick and suck, Vicki moved both small hands to his substantial shaft and began to simultaneously stroke him. Struggling to keep control, he moaned raggedly, pressing his willful hips back down. His hands moved to his sides and his fingers clutched at the featherbed as if looking for an anchor in the wild sensual storm that she was creating.

“Po, please,” Moby gasped, “I need you. I need to share this with you. Though the pleasure is great, it is lonely. Please share it with me.” Vicki gave him one long parting lick and lifted her head. “Yes,” she agreed. He rose up a bit, leaning forward, and caught her firmly beneath her arms. His muscles smoothly coiled as he drew her slowly up his body to settle straddled across his belly. She stretched forward to lay down flat against him, molding her body to his and reaching out to cup the back of his smooth skull in her hands. She pressed her lips to his, pushing her tongue between his parted lips. Moby held her to him tightly, one hand rubbing her back and the other kneading her bottom. His tongue passionately grappled with hers.

Their mouths still fused, Vicki moved one hand down between them to grasp him. Lifting her bottom and shifting her hips, she guided him slowly inside her. She drew her knees higher and pushed herself back, forcing him deep within her. Grasping her waist in his hands, Mobius arched his body, sheathing himself in her completely. They both gasped loudly at the sudden sensation. Vicki pressed her hands down on his chest and pushed herself upright. Gripping his hips tightly with her thighs, she began to rock slowly. As the ecstasy built, their pace quickened. Vicki bowed her body backwards with a low cry, digging her hands in her own hair. The next moment she fell forward, scratching his chest with her nails in the throes of her passion.

With a low guttural groan, Mobius rolled them over and pushed their lovemaking up yet another level. Vicki twined her arms and legs tightly around him and surrendered herself to the newest wave of pleasure washing over her. “Oh god, Mobius,” she keened. “I know, my love,” he whispered, his breath warm on her ear, “Let down your barriers and come with me.” “I’m here,” she breathed, “I’m right here.” The intensity of what they were now experiencing could only be briefly endured. In what seemed like just another moment, they were grinding desperately together in the clutches of a mutual orgasm, their lips locked together to muffle their cries.

Moby rolled over on his back again, holding Vicki to him, keeping them enmeshed. For a long time after that, neither of them moved, merged in a sweaty tangle of limp limbs. Vicki nuzzled her lips against Moby’s neck, her head comfortably tucked between his chin and shoulder. “Oh my,” she gasped. “Indeed,” he responded hoarsely. After a short silence, she asked, “Am I too heavy? Should I move?” Moby chuckled, a light rumble that vibrated through them both. “Po, you are a zephyr,” he said. “Is that heavy?” she asked. “Not in the least,” he assured her. “Good,” she replied, “Because I’m too comfortable to move right now.” “Then do not,” he said, “Stay where you are, joined with me forever.”

Now Vicki giggled. “In the long run, that could prove a bit difficult for us both,” she said. He sighed as she finally eased herself from him and slid down to his side. “Practical Po,” he said wistfully, already missing the feel of her around him. "Maudlin Mobius," she countered fondly. She folded her arms on his chest, resting her chin on them. Staring directly at his face, Vicki studied its planes and angles, as if memorizing him. "Have I grown a third eye perhaps?" Moby wondered aloud. "Now that would be something," she said, grinning wickedly, "Don't worry, though, I'd tell you right away if that happened." He shut his eyes, both of them. "That is a comfort," he assured her.

Vicki leaned up to lightly bite Moby's neck, just under the chin. He responded with a very soft growl. "Are you sleepy?" she asked, running her tongue along his collarbone. "The answer to that is not absolute," he murmured, "It is contingent on the reason for the question." Vicki laughed. "Was that a 'yes'?" she asked. There was a long pause before he said, "That was a 'probably not, depending on why you are asking and especially considering what you are doing'." "Probably not is good," Vicki said, stretching forward to press her mouth to his.

Moby's response was immediate. He pulled her back atop him, wrapping his arms tightly around her. Using those amazing stomach muscles, he sat up, raising his knees simultaneously. The result was that Vicki was now on his lap, her chest against his and her back resting along his thighs. As he deepened the kiss, engaging her tongue with his in a sinuous tangle, she locked her arms around his neck and wrapped her legs tight around his hips. When they parted to draw in air, Vicki stretched against him and nibbled his ear lobe. "Umm," she whispered in his ear, "This is a new and interesting position that you've put us in. What could you be up to, I wonder?"

"I have no ingenious plan, I fear," Moby murmured,zlinzling against Vicki's neck, "I simply wanted feel you against me in this way." He slid his large, warm hands slowly up her sides, pushing her back against his bent knees. As he teased the nipple on one breast with his thumb, Moby leaned forward to capture the other between his lips and teeth. He nipped her oh so gently. Vicki's breath left her in a soft whoosh. When she could speak again, she hissed, "I really like this plan you don't have." She felt the soft rumble of his laughter vibrate against her body. Soon, all of Vicki's sensations were centered on where he was relentlessly arousing her with fingers and tongue. She thought that at any moment she might burst into flame and the need to have him inside her again was becoming all consuming.

Vicki grasped the smooth globe of his skull in both her small hands. She gently pushed his head back from her chest and their eyes met. Hers were darkly glazed with need. His were lambent with desire. Gripping his shoulders, she raised her hips and shifted to settle herself back against him. He slipped smoothly inside her, filling her completely. Looking into each other's eyes, they began to rock in an instinctual rhythm. The intensity built again until their bodies were rigidly straining skin to skin. Her fingernails dug shallow crescents of need into his shoulders. Vicki felt the inexorable pull of her orgasm building within her. Fixing on his expressive, dark eyes, she could see that he was caught in the same primal tide. "Together – now," she whispered. He barely nodded before his body started to arch, his eyes going opaque. Moby's pulsing release deep inside Vicki triggered her own shuddering orgasm, sending slow shock waves from her center all the out to the swollen bud that his fingers had been teasing.

Gasping for air and slick with sweat, they were still – amazingly – upright. Vicki was draped across Moby like a wrung out washcloth. The thick muscle of his shoulder muted her strangled giggle. A breathless "What?" was all Moby could manage. "I'm surprised there's no reaction from the bedroom," she sighed, "They must have heard us in DesMoines." "Perhaps," he gasped, followed by a long pause while he attempted to catch his breath, "They are preoccupied themselves." Vicki emitted another weak giggle. "I'd say that's a good bet," she agreed. After a long pondering pause of her own, she added softly, "Maybe re are all trying like hell to run away from the Convergence. Maybe we're all trying like hell to drown our fear in a torrent of sensation. What do you think?"

Moby breathed deeply to regain some equilibrium. He was still sheathed within Vicki. He tilted back his head and grasped her chin in his hand, raising her face from his shoulder. "Perhaps we are moving toward our future, not running away from the Convergence," he suggested, "Fear like regret is a waste of time. With regret, one is consumed by the past. With fear, one is consumed by the future. In truth, we can experience nothing in either time. We can only live in the present, here and now. You are with me in this moment, Po, and the Convergence does not exist here." Vicki leaned forward to nip his bottom lip. "In other words," she observed, "Lighten up. Right?" He frowned. "This is the sentiment that I just expressed?" he asked. Her lips twitched. "More or less," she confirmed, "In your own inimitable way, of course." He nodded. "Po," he said, "Lighten up."

Vicki laughed. She couldn't help it. That admonition sounded so strange coming from Mobius. She shifted her body on his lap and drew a startled gasp from her partner. She shifted a little more and had to chuckle. "We're sort of really glued together here," she said, "Why don't you lay back down and let me see whether I can dismount you? Okay?" As he stretched out flat on the featherbed, she felt his laugh vibrate through their joined bodies. "And if you cannot?" he asked, "What then?" Vicki snorted. "Then I guess we call for the Jaws of Life," she said, "Anything but calling Sara – that isn't an option. She'd never let me live it down. Here goes." Vicki put her hands on his chest and tried to lever herself from him. Nothing happened. Then, she felt Moby's large hands settle on her hips to lift her away from him as she pushed against his chest. They came apart with a loud, wet sucking noise and Vicki tumbled beside Moby on the featherbed, giggling uncontrollably.

When Vicki had subsided enough to speak again, she curved against Moby, looking up into his amused, chocolate eyes. "Well," she said, "That was a narrow escape. We almost became a footnote in Ripley's Believe It or Not." He slipped his arms around her to pull her closer, settling her more comfortably against his body. "This would indeed have been a truly intimate degree of closeness," he agreed, "'Joined at the hip' pales by comparison." Vicki snorted, cuddling closer. Moby pulled up the throw, tucking it around them. She arched up to press her lips to his. His firm mouth slanted across hers, teasing and warm, both sweet and sensuous. She slowly pulled back to look into sleepy, glowing dark eyes. "I love you, Mobius," she said again, still surprised by the depth of that emotion. Moby tightened his arms around her possessively, molding her to him. "I love you, darling Po," he whispered, "Sleep well."

As soon as the bedroom door closed behind them, Ian swung Sara around and pinned her against it. With her whole body still tingling from their foreplay on the sofa, she immediately started to pant when he pressed himself close to her. Her hormones shifting into overdrive, Sara frantically pushed the silk robe off of Ian's shoulders and ripped open his pajama top, buttons pinging as they flew across the wood floor. As her busy fingers moved to his pants, Ian caught her wrists and brought her hands up to either side of her head, against the door. He held them there. "Sara, stop it," he commanded. Sara's eyes narrowed at his tone. Ian's molded lips fleetingly hardened into a stubborn line. If this was his last night as Sara's lover, he was determined to control it. He wanted to leave her with an impression of him that would be hard to forget.

"What's going on, ace?" Sara asked, a touch of belligerence in her voice. Still holding her wrists, Ian dropped his head to plant soft, sucking kisses behind her ear and along the side of her neck. Sara tilted back her head as he whispered hotly, "Let me show you how much I love you. Let me please you tonight. I promise you won't be disappointed." Whatever minimal resistance she'd been ready to exert turned liquid at his touch and the smoky eroticism of his voice. She moaned softly as he released one of her hands so that he could slowly run his fingers up the inside of her thigh to settle against the now soaking crotch of her panties. Through the thin barrier of fabric, he skillfully rubbed her swollen clit. "Go for it," she gasped. Ian smiled against her neck. He intended to.

Ian moved both hands to grasp Sara's hips. Pressing her back against the door, he pushed forward, grinding his groin into hers. He was rock hard under the thin, silk pajama bottoms. Ian lifted his head to lock his mouth on hers, slanting his firm lips slickly across hers before darting his tongue between her lips. Sara groaned, her heart pounding, as his agile tongue sinuously stroked hers. He kept rubbing his erection against her sensitized sex, teasing her through the barrier of material until Sara came violently, her whole body straining rigidly against him. Finally pulling back from his kiss, panting as if she'd run several miles, Sara grabbed his shoulders to keep herself upright. She was shaking like a willow in a windstorm. "Dear God, what are you doing to me?" she breathed. "I haven't even warmed up yet," he responded in that silken purr.

Sara's eyes widened. "Who are you and what have you done with my sweet Ian?" she asked. "I am your Ian," he assured her, "But I think the sweetness was overrated. We're trying something different tonight. Wait and see. You might like it better." Before she could respond, he swept her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. He dropped her on the mattress, rolling half on top of her, sliding his leg between hers to part her thighs. As her brain started to steam up again, Sara had a moment to register surprise. At some point during the evening, Ian had put clean satin sheets on the bed. Then, his mouth was on hers again, hard and demanding, and all further thought fled. He sucked and nibbled on her bottom lip like a child worrying a piece of candy.

Sara tried to keep up but he was on fire. His kisses were intoxicating, warm, firm lips slanting and pressing against hers. His tongue traced the outline of her lips before plunging past them to plunder the inside of her mouth. He tasted of wine and cinnamHis His long, slow kisses made her head swim. Sara finally pulled back, breathless and trembling. "Whoa, baby, hang on," she whispered, "Give me a minute to catch my breath." Ian lifted his head and studied her. "Sure," he agreed. While she drew in shaky gulps of air, Sara studied him back. His eyes were like amber flames, his hair was adorably mussed, his lips were red and swollen. He lounged back on his elbows, waiting for her, sleek and dangerous as a panther. Clad only in the black, silk pajama bottoms that flaunted rather than hid his arousal. "Jeez, you're so hot," she murmured. "Am I?" he asked, grinning roguishly.

Her eyes narrowed. "You know it too, don't you?" Sara said, "You're enjoying it." Ian shrugged negligently, thinking about that. For the first time in their relationship, he was consciously and aggressively taking control. He intended to spend this last night with Sara fucking her brains out, leaving her wanting more. He intended to brand himself on her body and soul. If she was going to leave him, he wanted to make it the hardest thing that she had ever done. Another devastatingly sensual smile curved his lips. "Yeah," he thought, "For the first time, I do feel sexy." He focused back on his lover who seemed to be breathing normally again. "I think you've rested long enough," he decided. Her hand fisted on her hip. "Says who?" she asked. Catching that fist in his hand, he pulled it to his mouth. Opening her fingers, he bent to suck each of them slowly into his mouth, smoldering amber eyes locked on hers. Finally drawing her thoroughly sucked little finger from between his lips, Ian answered her, "Says me." Her pulse was galloping again. At a loss for words, Sara responded, "Oh."

His long leg still between hers, Ian nudged her thighs further apart. Leaning over, he began stroking her right lower leg and foot with his talented fingers, kneading the muscles of her calf deliciously, running feather light fingers over the arch of her foot. At the same time, Ian kissed and licked the sensitive skin behind Sara's knee, giving her tiny love bites with careful teeth. Thinking that he'd just found another erogenous zone that she didn't know she had, Sara's eyes almost rolled back in her head. A steady, pulsing ache was rising in her groin. She knew the cure for that malady. Considering the leisurely pace of hiseplaeplay, Sara didn't think that Ian was going to allow her relief any time soon.

Ian had finished giving the same attention to her other leg. Now his mouth was working on the volatile skin of her inner thighs, edging higher at an infuriating snail's pace. He'd worked his hands beneath her to dig his fingers deep into the taut muscles of her bottom. Just to drive her crazy, he'd slip an occasional finger tauntingly under her panties, running it close to her dripping center, only to pull it back again a second later. Sara was beginning to want him so badly that she thought she might scream. Unable to help herself, she reached down to push shaking fingers into his thick mane. Clutching and pulling his hair, Sara tried to urge his mouth closer to where she desperately needed it. His breath warm against her sensitized skim, she both felt and heard Ian's soft, gratified chuckle. "Not yet, love," he whispered, "Be patient." His sensual lover's growl was as erotic as his tongue and caused another hot gush of arousal to escape her.

Sara cried out when Ian suddenly rolled over. Now, he laid on his stomach, looking up at her with those jungle-cat eyes, his whole body resting between her legs. He smiled again, slow and easy, as his fingers hooked over the waistband of her panties. All rational thought had fled; there was only need, written in capital letters. Sara tugged on his hair, trying to urge him closer. "Please, baby, please," she begged. Ian drew her panties down, pulling them off her in one long, lingering slide. His warm hands went back to her butt, fingers digging in to raise her up to his lips like a golden chalice. He bent his head, chocolate curls brushing against her thighs, to press a firm kiss on her swollen, aching nub – his tongue slowly flicking across it. Sara immediately climaxed hard, her whole body arg upg up off of the bed.

Sara fell back to the mattress, sweaty, limp, and shaking. "Dear God, Ian," she whispered, "What are you trying to do to me?" Ian still held her intimately close to his lips. "Please you," he whispered back, his warm breath ruffling her damp curls. He kissed her again, lightly, teasingly, before his arched tongue began to seriously stroke htilltill throbbing clit. Sara moaned, her head starting to thrash against the pillows and her fingers gripping the sheets. He kept it up until her whole body was quivering. Then, Ian took her whole throbbing nub into his mouth, sucking on her like a treat and gently scoring her with his teeth. It was too much for her. Sara came again, bucking, keening, and clutching handfuls of his hair.

Ian gently disengaged her fingers from his hair. He sat back on his haunches, still between her legs, and soothingly stroked her trembling thighs. Sara was slowly coming down but was still hyper-aroused. A rosy glow bloomed on her chest, neck, and face. Her hair was tangled and sweaty. Her eyes were glazed and half-open. She panted through parted lips. Ian decided that he'd better give her a little rest before he started again. He hadn't even taken his tee shirt off her yet. They had a long way to go and he didn't want to push her too far too soon. He leaned forward to press a hot, wet kiss to her belly button, followed by a few licks of that agile tongue. He sat back again and asked, "How are you doing?" Sara still looked ridden hard and put away wet. "I want you," she managed to croak.

Ian grinned at her, looking like the cover art on a romantic potboiler. "You have me," he pointed out, "I'm going to spend the whole night giving you pleasure." Sara stretched out her hand but he was out of reach in his current position. "Come lie beside me for a little while, baby," she wheedled, "Where I can touch you." Warning lights came on. He'd have to be cautious. Ian knew his lady. Sara liked to be in control and he had just made her lose it. "Alright," he agreed, shifting over to lie beside her, facing her, propped up on an elbow. Still breathing heavily, Sara curved toward him, her hand firmly grasping his silk-covered erection. A jolt of desire shot through him and his rigid shaft jumped in her hand. Ian took a deep breath. He captured her distracting hand, pulling it to his lips for a quick kiss, and said, "I think it's time to lose the tee shirt."

"But…" Sara began. Ian grinned and, catching the bottom of the tee shirt, dragged it up over her head and pitched it across the room to land on the chair. He rolled closer again, sliding his leg back between hers. "You're like a drug, Sara," he whispered, "I want you all the time." Sliding his arm around her, Ian pulled her hard against him and kissed her passionately. His tongue dove between her startled lips and engaged hers in a slippery duel. Sara put her arms around him, nails digging into the warm muscles of his back. He kept kissing her until they were straining together and panting. Sara's eyes were still shut when he moved his lips to her neck. He picked a sensitive spot just under her ear and began gently biting and sucking until she let out a soft, explosive gasp.

Her fingers moved from his back into his thick, silky hair as Ian left a trail of hot, wet kisses from her neck to her breast. When his mouth closed around her nipple and he sucked hard, gently scraping his teeth across its aroused tip, Sara let out a strangled cry. Her eyes fluttered open, glazed with passion, as his clever fingers drifted like a silken whisper across her hip to settle back among her soaking curls. She was so sensitized there that his first caress made her hips lift off the bed. He pushed two fingers deep inside her while his thumb stroked her still swollen clit hard. At the same time, he stretched across her chest to suck her other nipple into his hot mouth. Sara moaned, her hips beginning to pump against him. She clutched his head against her breast. Sara could feel another wrenching orgasm building quickly inside her. "Oh, Ian, Ian," she keened, "I can't." He rubbed his bearded cheek lightly against the sensitive tip of her breast. "Shh, love," he whispered, "Of course you can. Just let go. I'll catch you."

This time, the pleasure that grabbed and ravaged her was so intense it was almost painful. Her wild cry was muffled when his mouth covered hers in another hard, possessive kiss. When Ian finally pulled back, she stared into those beautiful golden eyes, veiled with thick black lashes. "I could drown there," she thought, her whole body craving him. Sara loosened her fingers from the death grip she had on his hair. He bent to capture her lower lip in his teeth, giving it a gentle nip. "I love you so," he said softly, lifting his head to look into her eyes. She wanted to devour him. "I love you too," she replied, "Please. Make love to me now." He leaned forward to sweetly rub noses with her. His smile was a heart stopper. "My pleasure," he said. She managed a subdued but sassy grin. "It's about time," she replied.

Ian leaned in for another steamy, seductive kiss. His firm mouth slanted and seared against hers before his tongue teased her lips apart. The kiss became slow and lazy, with his sly tongue finding new hot spots to explore. The effect was mind numbing, sending her senses reeling yet again. Desperate to touch him, Sara managed to get one hand inside the elusive pajama pants. She felt like she'd won a prize when she finally got her fingers firmly around his silken shaft. Lips still locked, she felt his body stiffen against her. Holding tight, she took up the hard, fast stroke she knew he liked. He finally broke the kiss, groaning as an almost imperceptible tremor ran through him. Ian slid his fingers down the length of her spine, splaying his hand in the small of her back to pull her closer. With his other hand, he pushed off his pajama pants. Sara never stopped caressing him as he did it.

Ian captured her hand and gently eased it away from him. He rolled her over on her stomach, grabbing the other pillow and pushing it under her hips. Sara shivered as she felt him move behind her. She could feel the heat radiating from him against her back. She wanted him inside her so badly that her whole body was shaking in anticipation of his entry. "Hurry," she gasped. Ian soothed her with a soft wordless murmur as he positioned himself. He balanced on his right arm and snaked his left arm around Sara to raise her hips and pull them back against him.

Sara cried out when Ian entered her smoothly with one strong thrust. He shifted his body a little and pulled almost out before pushing himself hard and deep once again. She automatically arched and clenched around him, gripping him tight inside her. They both gasped. When he drew back, the friction was electrifying. He rammed forward yet again, and Sara simultaneously pushed her hips high and hard back against him. That action caused him to stroke the spot inside her that set off a fierce chain reaction of such exquisite pleasure that, for a moment, they both froze, stunned. They had found their rhythm and they stayed with it. Ian managed to increase her pleasure even more by sliding his fingers down to stroke her in cadence with his thrusts.

They had never reached quite this level of lovemaking before – at least, not without the addition of the Witchblade – and they were both caught up in the sensations that were assaulting them. As if the act had taken on a life of its own, their tempo and pressure kept gradually but steadily increasing toward the explosive climax they both knew was inevitable. Sara was making soft mewls of ecstasy every time Ian stroked deep inside her. Her muscles were gripping him so tightly that he wouldn't have been able to move if she hadn't been so slickly aroused. Every time he rubbed achingly against that glorious spot within her, strong waves of unbelievable pleasure would shiver out through them both.

Ian's face was buried in Sara's thick honey-brown hair and he was blindly breathing in the scent of her. He was so aroused that his whole body was quivering with each stroke. Panting as if lost in a dessert, consumed by the heat, rivulets of sweat rolled slowly down his arching bto pto pool in the dimples of his pumping cheeks. His eyes were shut tight and he was utterly lost in Sara. There was no world but her. He no longer knew where he ended and she began. They'd become one fusion that existed to mate. And Ian mated for life. Although he hadn't thought it through clearly, he knew that this was his final gift to the love of his life. To give her everything he was, to pour himself into her, so that when she left him, he'd still be with her. So that even when he lost her, he'd still be part of her.

Gradually, 'd 'd been moving faster and faster, their bodies coming together harder and harder, flesh erotically slapping flesh. Like an arrow being inched to shooting tension in a bow, they'd been stretching slowly toward the point of release. Sara snapped first. This time, when Ian pressed against that center of sensation within her, she went careening over the edge screaming. She strained rigidly back, molded to him, while the center of her exploded, pushing seismic tremors from her core to her tip and back n. Bn. Behind her closed eyes, starbursts of red and black shot like fireworks across the night sky. The rippling spasms of her muscles around him pulled him right along with her seconds later.

Ian came hard, crying her name. Straining forward to Sara as she had strained backward to him. The connection they shared was strong, a subconscious desire to dissolve one into the other until all boundaries were blurred. He clung to her tightly as his hot semen shot into her with such force that it left him breathless and trembling. He too had aftershocks. A series of lesser spasms loosed more spurts of cum as his hips continued to buck against her. Finally, all the tensed muscles of his body relaxed and Ian went boneless on top of Sara, pressing her into the mattress, his hot breath ragged against the side of her neck, his arm still wrapped around her. Sara was too dazed to find the sudden dead weight draped across her back uncomfortable.

Neither of them moved for several minutes. Slowly the world began to intrude again on Sara's consciousness. She became aware of Ian's warm mass covering her. She tried to pull in a deep breath and felt stifled. She could hear his soft, hitching gasps against her ear. She wondered why he was still out of breath. Sara squeezed the arm that was wedged under her body and whispered, "Hey, baby. Could you roll off now? It's getting kind of hard to breathe." At first, she didn't think he'd heard her because there was no response. She was just getting ready to try again when she felt him pull out of her and drop beside her. When she rolled on her side, she saw that Ian was facing the window and his broad back was to her.

Ian was lost, trying desperately to find his way back from the soul-deep pain that had blindsided him. He'd still been limp from the intensity of their coupling, still sheathed inside her, when the realization had suddenly hit him that he might have just made love to Sara for the last time. That thought was immediately followed by a pain so wrenching that it dwarfed to insignificance any of the many tortures that his master had devised for him over the years. Ian had fought to struggle back. He was with Sara now. He didn't want to taint that and he didn't want to burden her with his weakness. He lay across her with unheeded tears rolling down his cheeks to dampen her hair while he stared into the black abyss that had suddenly opened inside of him.

When Sara first spoke, Ian still couldn't move. He was immobilized by the force of the emotion wracking him. It took almost more strength than he could command to get himself to part from her. Ian finally managed – just – to roll away and try to pull himself together before she could sense how badly he was hurting. With his back to her, he tried to shore up his crumbling façade and raise a wall to block his torn emotions from her prescience. She was too fast for him of course. Sara turned on her side. She stretched out a hand to soothingly rub his back. "Are you okay, baby?" she asked. He felt hysterical laughter threaten to burst free at her question. He could feel all his carefully controlled barriers quaking, starting to tumble down.

Ian used every ounce of discipline he had ever learned to clamp down on the fear, pain, and loss that was trying to overwhelm him. After another few moments, he wove the scattered remnants of his control into new temporary armor. Again, he wasn't fast enough. Sara said, "Ian?" a new note of concern in her voice. He took a deep breath and rolled over to face her. "I'm fine," he said hoarsely, "Just a little done in, I guess. That was pretty intense." "For me too," she admitted, reaching out a hand to stroke his cheek. She froze, then asked, "Are you crying?" He hadn't realized that he had been. "Something's wrong," Sara said, "Tell me."

God, he wanted her to hold him, just hold him and never let him go. Ian struggled to control his weakness. "Nothing's wrong," he said, "I just got caught up in what happened between us when we made love. I didn't even know I was doing it." Sara studied his face in the moonlight as she wiped away his tears. "Are you sure?" she asked, still feeling the shadow of something else lurking behind his explanation. Ian forced a smile. "Yeah. I'm sure," he replied. Then, he cuddled closer to her, pulling her against him. "Just hold me for a minute," he whispered. Sara slipped her arms around Ian and hugged him tight. She idly ran her hand around in circles on his warm, muscled back. He let out a shaky sigh and buried his face in her hair.

Worn out with their sexual gymnastics and his emotional meltdown, Ian was drifting off to sleep when he heard Sara ask, "Are you tired?" He struggled to drag himself back from the oblivion that beckoned to him. Ian had promised himself that he would be everything and more than Sara wanted tonight. "I'm awake," he murmured, "What did you have in mind?" He sensed her hesitation and that peaked his curiosity. Gathering himself together, he was soon fully alert. He pulled back from her embrace to study her. "It's okay," he said, "Go ahead and ask. You know that I'll do anything to please you." She still paused before saying, "You'll tell me truthfully if you don't want to do this. Right?" He smiled, thinking, "What did I just say to you, Sara." But aloud he said, "Sure."

"Tomorrow night is the Convergence," Sara said, "This is our last night together before we go into battle. I thought that to strengthen our connection we might make love using the Witchblade and Excalibur. What do you think?" An image of the Witchblade that was and was not Sara riding him to climax skittered across Ian's mind. New pain flashed through him. "How could she love me and ask me that?" he thought, "Knowing how I feel." Ian lay still, breathing deeply, again fighting for control. A moment later another thought occurred to him. "Maybe she couldn't," he thought, "Maybe it doesn't bother her to share me any more." That suspicion brought a hurt so quick and sharp that he let out a soft gasp.

"Ian?" Sara said, "I know what the Witchblade did before but I know that it won't do that again. Don't ask me how – I just know it. Otherwise, of course, I wouldn't suggest this." Ian barely heard her explanation. Finally pushed too far, some part of him had just shut , go, gone numb to protect his flayed emotions. It was a defense mechanism he had learned to deal with the various forms of pain that Irons had used to manipulate him. Alright," he said flatly, "If that's what you want. I'll do whatever you want." He said it in the same automatic way that he used to say, "Yes, master."

Sara frowned. She could sense strongly that there was something badly wrong with Ian. She knew that her lover would never tell her what was eating away at him. She could ask him until she was blue in the face but she would never get a true answer. When they made love mingling the two objects of power, they truly became one. She was open to him and he was open to her. They merged body, soul, heart, and mind. All the walls fell and all was revealed. They would soon face a great enemy and they needed to shore up any weakness that It could exploit. This had been the only way that Sara could devise to get past Ian's defenses and to find out what was tearing him apart. She, of course, could never tell him that or he wouldn't do it.

Filled with trepidation at what she might find inside Ian, Sara closed the short distance now between them. She ran her hands lightly over his smooth chest, watching as his nipples hardened at her touch. Ian was on autopilot. His body was, as always, responding to Sara but he was far away, still locked in that safe place inside himself where no one could hurt him. She leaned in to cover his mouth with hers, teasing his lips apart with her tongue. He kissed her back, tangling his tongue around hers, but there was none of the usual fire. Confused, Sara pulled back to look in his eyes. When they opened, they were a shiny, rich gold and very glazed. He looked like the sex zombie that they'd once joked about X turning him into. Rationally, she knew that X was gone; had watched as Ian killed her. On the other hand, she'd seen too much stuff since the Witchblade had adopted her to now accept anything at face value.

With that whole train of thought scaring the bejesus out of her, Sara grabbed Ian's shoulders and shook him, crying, "What the hell's wrong with you, Nottingham?" In the safety of his retreat, Ian heard the panic in the Wielder's voice and the Protector in him asserted itself immediately. He came back to her in a heartbeat. His head swung around as he searched the shadows of the room. "What's wrong?" he hissed, instantly alert and ready to defend her. "You tell me, ace," she said, still shaken, "I looked in your eyes and you'd taken a vacation. They were empty. Are you okay? Is some weird ass supernatural shit hitting us again from the outside?" Her fingers were digging into his shoulders so hard that little crescents of blood had begun to well around the nails.

Ian relaxed against her, understanding what had happened. The threat wasn't from the outside; it was from the devastation within. But, of course, Sara couldn't know that and he certainly wouldn't tell her. Another thought suddenly struck him quite clearly. It was: "What am I doing? There will be plenty of time for pain tomorrow. Why spoil tonight?" After all, what did it matter if the Witchblade did use him again when he and Sara joined? He'd had his time with her. He'd actually been able to share more with Sara in the last few months that he'd ever dreamed would be possible in this lifetime. He should be content with that, able to just let go. Realistically, though, he knew that he couldn't do that. He was simply too much in love with Sara to ever just let go. No matter how it was accomplished, letting Sara go was going to be like ripping off a piece of his soul. And, he was going to bleed.

Ian sighed softly, resigned to what he believed was coming. He pulled Sara's hands from his shoulders, kissing the knuckles of each in turn. He gazed into her eyes. Sara was relieved to see that they were once again deep, rich amber. She started to speak but he stopped her with a finger to her lips. "Make love with me," he whispered, "Join with me using the Witchblade." When his mouth slanted across hers in a passionately bruising kiss, any concerns that Sara still had evaporated in the sudden steam. "I'll talk to him about it later," she thought, right before she willingly threw herself back into the fire.

Marshaling his considerable will, Ian narrowed his focus to the present moment and the woman in his arms. He knew that he was the product of his past – knew that his master’s manipulations had damaged him in so many ways – but he would not allow an unknown future to further destroy this night with his love. He nuzzled her neck; lips warm and tongue hot against her tender skin. Sara’s breath caught in her throat and deepened with need. “How do you want me?” he whispered in her ear, teeth achingly sharp as he lightly scored her earlobe. He no longer had the strength to master her, to control their lovemaking. She buried her fingers in his silky curls, damp now from their coupling. “I want to look in your eyes while we make love,” she whispered back. Ian shivered, feeling another little tug inside him at her words. He lifted his head to look at her. “I love you so much, Sara,” he said softly, “Too much maybe.” She met the adoration in his eyes with her own and touched his bearded cheek with trembling fingers. “I love you too, baby,” she told him.

Ian slipped his leg between hers to gently spread her thighs. Eyes locked on hers, he drew the tips of two fingers very slowly from the center of her breastbone down her chest to her stomach and on into the moist heat of her curls. Her breathing quickened again. Rubbing her still swollen nub, he positioned himself between her legs, taking his weight on his knees. He bent his other arm to bring his mouth to hers, licking, nipping, and then sucking her bottom lip. Sara moaned softly. He pressed harder, forcing her lips to part in a searing, open-mouthed kiss. As he thrust his arched tongue deep inside her mouth, he entered her, straining forward to fill her completely. Breathless, panting, they broke the kiss. Still stroking her with one hand, Ian pushed up on his other arm so that he could watch her face. Below, they were locked together, moving in a slow, steady rhythm of shallow thrusts that felt incredibly good. Sara gave a deep purr of pure pleasure.

Ian moved his right hand, palm up on her chest. “Give me your right hand,” he said. She released a soft sigh. “Are you sure, Ian?” she asked. Not trusting his voice, he nodded. He couldn’t help it. He saw it again inside his head. Stretched above him, green eyes gleaming with a history that was more than human, Witchblade Sara casually took him and used him. He shook off the image, dragging his concentration back to the true Sara. As she stretched her right hand toward his, the Witchblade flashed and the walls of the room turned blood red. Sara briefly linked her fingers through his before Ian shut his eyes and pressed Excalibur against the Witchblade. This time, the transition was not the gradual shift that they had come to expect. Instead, between one second and the next, reality altered. Both lovers gasped as the Witchblade flung them into a vision.

Ian lay in the same bed in which they continued to make love. He was badly hurt, very pale, weak from loss of blood. The sheets of the bed and the bandages wrapped around his body were liberally stained with it. It was clear that he was in great pain and struggling not to show it. Vicki sat on the bed beside him, palm outstretched. Sara’s engagement ring sparkled in her open hand. She was filthy and exhausted. Slow, sluggish tears rolled down her cheeks and dropped off her chin. “I’m so sorry, Ian,” Vicki said, her voice filled with pain, “I hate this. I don’t understand it either.” He stared at the ring with glazed eyes, as if hypnotized, a snake watching a mongoose. Then, suddenly, his face crumpled and he turned his head away, toward the window. Vicki reached out to sympathetically stroke his shoulder but hesitated, stopping just short of touching his bare skin. Ian stiffened, as if he had been touched after all, and stifled an agonized sob.

Ian pushed into Sara and the vision changed.

Sara sat in an uncomfortable-looking chair in an anonymous motel room. The kind where innocuous pictures were permanently affixed to the walls. Her body was bent forward, curved around the pillow that she was clutching to her. She was sobbing as if her heart had broken. Leaning forward, she pushed her face into the depths of the pillow to muffle the sounds that she was making. When she finally lifted her head, her face was splotchy and her eyes were swollen almost shut. Suddenly, she went still, eyes fixed on her bracelet, its large red stone pulsing steadily, like a heartbeat. With a low growl, she yanked the Witchblade from her wrist and hurled it viciously across the room. “You bitch,” she hissed, “What good are you to me? Where were you when we needed you? Why couldn’t you help us?”

Ian pulled back within Sara and the vision changed.

Ian stood hunched in a cemetery. It was raining; a thin mist, enough to dampen but not to drench. He was very thin, cheekbones painfully prominent with deep hollows beneath them, clothes hanging from him as if they had been made for a larger man. His face was so haggard that he looked like he had aged ten years. Dark shadows haunted the skin under dull, brown eyes. He bent stiffly to scoop up a handful of wet, muddy earth. With a soft grunt, Ian threw the dirt he held at the ornate tombstone. The perspective shifted and they could see the marker as if through his eyes. It read “Kenneth Irons” and was followed by a date of birth that was obscured by a gob of dripping mud. The date of death was “2003.” Beneath that spare prose was a poem by Shelley they both instinctively knew was Ian’s contribution to this monument to his master:

I met a traveller from an antique land,
Who said—Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert . . .Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal, these words appear:
My name is Ozymandius, King of Kings,
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.*

Ian pushed into Sara and the vision changed.

Two people were locked in an embrace outside the door to Sara’s loft. The man’s broad back was facing them. When the woman lifted her head from his shoulder, they saw that it was Sara. She was smiling. The man turned to her and his profile became visible. It was Conchobar. For a man who had spent the last several months in a coma, he looked remarkably well. They seemed comfortable with each other, intimate even. Their conversation was not audible but it appeared easy, relaxed. They leaned close together, laughing. She dug about in her bag for keys and found them. He took them from her and gallantly unlocked the door to the loft. With a theatrical flourish, he opened the door and stood back, sweeping out his hand to offer her entrance. The couple went through the open door. But, no more than a moment later, Sara was back in the hallway alone. Eyes wide and desperate, she gazed into the empty corridor at a point ahead and a bit above her. “Ian,” she cried to thin air, “It isn’t…”

The other visions had unfolded in a misty kaleidoscope, one bleeding into the next as Ian and Sara rocked together in their bed. But this last vision was abruptly cut off as though someone somewhere had flicked a switch. Still wrapped in the throes of the Witchblade, Sara could feel Ian’s distress. He was trying to break free and the joined objects of power refused to release them. Embedded deep within her, Ian tried to pull out. It was to no avail; he was not able to break the contact between them. The vision changed.

Gabriel sat by his computer at Talismaniac, but he wasn’t looking at the screen. Instead, he was turned away from it, his full attention focused on the man who straddled the turned-round chair facing him. As he had in the earlier vision at the cemetery, Ian looked like he’d been dragged through hell. It was obvious that he wasn’t taking care of himself and that he was ill. “Tell me more about him,” Ian said hoarsely. Gabriel’s clever face had held a look of concern as he covertly studied Ian. Now, his expression changed to that avid look that Sara knew so well. It was the look he got when he expounded on a subject that fascinated him. “He lived during the reign of Claudius Caesar and was born in Gitta in Sameria,” Gabriel said, “He was reputed to be a very great sorcerer. Few textual passages remain describing the properties of the ring, but they all credit him with its creation.” Ian glanced down at his hand – his left hand, not his right. Gabriel stretched out his own hand and said, “Let me look at it again.” Ian hesitated briefly, then extended his left hand toward Gabriel. Giving him a cocky grin, Gabe pointed out, “Might be easier if you just take it off.” Ian’s fingers clenched into a fist. “I never take it off,” he growled, “I’ve worn it since Sara first put it on me. I’ll die wearing it and it will be buried on my finger.”

Ian pushed into Sara and the vision changed.

Sara and Vicki tensely faced off against each other in the corridor outside the morgue. They were both quite obviously angry. Flashing green eyes narrowed furiously when Vicki caught Sara’s shoulder in her hand, to keep her from turning away. “Get your hand off me, Vick,” Sara hissed. Vicki dropped her hand but still blocked Sara’s exit. “This isn’t right, Sara,” Vicki said forcefully, “What you’re doing is wrong in so many ways.” Sara turned away from her friend and mumbled, “It’s really none of your business, is it.” Now, Vicki’s eyes flashed. “None of my business, huh,” she barked, “Damn it, you’re my best friend. Ian and Mobius are like brothers. I’m fond of Ian myself. I’m making it my business and if you don’t like it, you can just go fuck yourself.” Sara swung back to point a stiff finger in Vicki’s face. “Let it go, Vicki,” she said, her voice low and hard, “Or you put that friendship in serious jeopardy. It’s not your concern. I’m through talking about this now.” Sara turned and left. She was halfway up the stairs when Vicki called after her, “You love Ian, Sara. You know you do.” Sara stopped on the stairs, her back stiffening. She did not answer Vicki or turn around to face her accuser. A moment later, Sara was gone.

In a curious trick of disassociation, although Ian and Sara were being bombarded with some distinctly disturbing visions, their bodies continued to engage in the delightfully sensual stimulation of each other. As had happened before when they mated through the objects of power, they each felt the sensations that the other was experiencing as well as their own arousal. Whatever they were seeing in their mind’s eye, physically they were giving each other glorious pleasure. And, as they were pulled inexorably toward climax, the visions came faster, keeping pace with the intense coupling of the bodies in which they were housed. In rapid succession, the continuing visions appeared with the fleeting after burn of a flashing strobe light…

FLASH: In what looked like the drawing room of a Renaissance Italian palazzo, Ian faced Lucrezia. They were both dressed appropriately for the environment, as was the tall woman that stood shoulder to shoulder with Ian facing the Pretender. She turned her head to whisper in Ian’s ear. It was X. Through the archway at Lucrezia’s back, a phalanx of soldiers appeared – her soldiers. “Affrettarsi!” Lucrezia cried. The soldiers sped forward. Ian and X drew their swords and prepared to fight.

Ian and Sara, locked in their amorous embrace, felt the shock of revelation slam through them both. The Ian in the Renaissance palazzo was NOT a past-life Ian. It was this Ian – Sara’s Ian – the man in this bed.

FLASH: Sara stood in Witchblade Land facing Witchblade Sara. The goddess was in full warrior mode, wearing her shining breastplate. Their faces were alike – not only in their terrible beauty, but also in the desolation that ravaged them. The same eyes, dark and deep with pain, shed tears that traced weaving paths down their cheeks. “I’m sorry,” the Witchblade said, Its voice raw with grief, “I can’t change this. To save him, you must lose him.”

FLASH: A dark street by a canal – Venice maybe, long ago. Ian crouched, his back against the side of a crumbling building. A small woman looked down at him. Her bright eyes burned with intensity. Vivid, dark red hair fell in wild disarray around her shoulders. She was not beautiful but her face was mobile, captivating. She bristled with intelligence. They were dressed in the manner of Renaissance Italy. The woman raised fisted hands, shaking them above Ian’s head. “You drive me crazy, Nottingham,” she hissed, her voice a quirky whisper, “Damn your fucking Sara Pezzini all to hell. I hate her. I can’t help it. Just as I can’t help loving you, you great oaf.” Ian stood slowly, towering above her. He was obviously uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, Kat,” he softly replied, “I really am.” She turned away from him sharply. “I know,” she growled, “It’s my misfortune.” She sighed deeply and added, “I’ll do some spying and meet you by the quay at midnight. Don’t be late.” Then, between one second and the next, the small woman morphed into a long, gray cat that slunk off into the deep shadows.

FLASH: On the sofa at the loft, Sara huddled within Danny’s embrace. He was talking in a low voice, the words unintelligible. It was plain that he was trying to soothe her, provide her with solace. Her head was down on his chest, her shoulders heaving with the sobs shaking her slender body. Danny stroked her hair tenderly, his voice having taken on the low, almost crooning, tone one uses with a crying baby. Dragging air into her lungs with a deep, ragged breath, Sara finally raised her head and eased herself from his arms. “What am I going to do, Danny?” she moaned. Danny gently wiped tears off of her cheeks with the tip of his finger. “You don’t have to go through this alone, Sara,” he replied, “Tell him. He’s a good guy. He’ll be there for you.” Sara sighed deeply and slowly shook her head. “I can’t,” she whispered, “I wish that I could but I can’t.”

And suddenly they were at the end of it. They had reached the limits of their endurance. Ian cried out and came, pushing into Sara so hard and so far that her body was lifted and nudged higher on the bed. Almost simultaneously, Sara’s keening wail sounded when both his orgasm and her own ripped through her. Her muscles gripped him tightly and his steaming seed ed hed her. The intensity of the experience – pleasure to the point of pain, visions hinting at impending separation and torment – sent their senses into overload and they both blacked out. For several minutes, they were absolutely still, looking like a grim tableau of lovers claimed by death at the height of their passion. Sara was first to stir. She came awake gasping and struggling against Ian, who was limp, dead weight on top of her. It took a visible effort for her to catch hold of herself and control the wild panic that had accompanied her back to the light.

Ian’s face was nestled between Sara’s chin and shoulder. His breathing was so faint that, for a moment, she was terrified. When she calmed down, however, she could feel the barest stirring of warm air escaping from his parted lips. She grasped his inert body tightly and rolled them both to the side. Their bodies separated and she gently eased Ian onto his back. He was still out cold. “Maybe it’s just as well,” she thought, “Gives me some time to think.” Her eyes widened as her mind ranged back over the string of visions that the Witchblade had shown them. A soft sound, somewhere between a cry and a sob, escaped her. She covered her mouth with both hands and stared out into the darkness of the bedroom. “This is what he’s seen for weeks,” she thought desperately, “That I was going to leave him. That we’d be separated. And I kept telling him he was crazy. How can this be?”

Sara’s mind was a welter of disturbing images – Conchobar, Ian time walking, Lucrezia, X, a shapeshifter, Irons dead, separation, loss, misery. She pressed a cold hand against her aching head. “I won’t lose him,” she thought fiercely, “I love him with all my heart. I won’t give him up without a fight.” She looked down at his beautiful face, relaxed now, as if asleep. With shaking fingers, she brushed a gold-streaked, midnight curl back from his forehead. “I can’t accept that I would leave you,” she thought. As if he’d heard her, Ian drew a deep breath in sharply and thick-lashed, golden eyes opened wide. Looking into his eyes, Sara wasn’t sure what he was seeing but she didn’t think it was the room that they were in. He expelled the air just as sharply and sat straight up in the bed. Still breathing deeply, he swung his long legs over the side of the bed and bent forward at the waist, cradling his head in his hands.

Sara said, “Baby?” She stretched out a hand to carefully touch his bare shoulder. Ian flinched away. “Don’t,” he whispered. She pulled back her fingers as if she’d been burned. She studied his broad back. “Ian, please,” she said softly, “I love you. I do. You’ve got to believe that.” Ian shook his head as if he was trying to clear it. “Maybe it’s been the Witchblade all along,” he croaked, his voice low and raspy. Her brows knit. She was obviously missing something here. “What do you mean?” she asked. He shivered before he explained, “Maybe the Witchblade made you love me so that we would connect as we have for the Convergence. Maybe once the Convergence is over, once it no longer matters, you won’t…” He stopped, unable to continue. Her mouth dropped open, appalled that he could even consider such a thing. Then, she laughed. Ian flinched again, shutting his eyes. “That’s ridiculous,” she scoffed, “You can’t possibly believe that!”

Ian turned his head slightly, not looking at her but not looking away either. “The visions have never been false, have they?” he asked softly. Sara felt tension crawl up her shoulders into her neck. “No,” she replied, just as softly, “They haven’t.” He shrugged. She could feel despair coming off him in waves. “Then you’re going to leave me,” he said. Sara had never heard so much pain in a human voice. “You’re going to leave me to go to him,” he added. He didn’t have to say the name. They both knew who he meant. Sara slipped her arms around his waist, resting her cheek against his bare back. He turned his head away again. His whole body was rigid. “I don’t love Conchobar,” she stated firmly, “I love you, Ian. I want you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” He didn’t move or respond. She tightened her arms around him and shook him. “Damn it, Ian,” she said, frustrated, “Talk to me!”

Ian tried, unsuccessfully, to pull away. Sara just gripped him harder. “What do you want me to say?” he asked, “Do you want me to say that I don’t want to lose you? I don’t want to lose you. It means nothing. Fate will win. I don’t know what to do, Sara. I don’t know how to stop this. And, it will kill me because I can’t live without you.” As Ian had spoken, Sara had felt the level of panic intensifying within him. She tightened her grip once again, afraid that he was getting ready to bolt. “Stop!” she cried, “Settle down and listen to me. Please, Ian. Please.” He took a deep breath and fought to bring his emotions under control. His instincts were all screaming at him to find a place where he could be alone to give in to his pain. Although his body was still rigid in her arms, she felt him stifle that primal impetus to crawl away and hide. He turned his head back toward her and responded softly, “I’m listening.”

Sara took a deep breath and tried to organize her thoughts. “I won’t just give in. I’m going to fight this. No, we’re going to fight this,” she said. A tiny flicker of hope appeared in the wounded golden eyes. “How?” Ian asked. Her mouth thinned into a grim, stubborn line. “Let’s assume that, for whatever reason, I leave you after the Convergence is over,” she said. He sighed and dropped his eyes; the thick lashes hiding his feelings. “If I do that, Ian,” she continued, “It won’t be of my free will. It will be because I’ve been forced to do it for some reason. I swear that to you. You must believe it.” His eyes flicked back up to lock with hers. “Okay,” he agreed, “Let’s say I let myself believe that. The effect is still the same. You’re gone and I’m alone.” She nodded. “That’s why we have to make a pact right now – you and I. We promise each other that we’ll do whatever is necessary to come back together again,” she said, “I don’t know what that will be or how long it will take but I know that we must do it. We belong to each other.”

“What if our connection is broken?” Ian asked, “Will you still want me then?” Sara looked directly into his eyes. “What I feel for you goes way beyond the connection that’s between us, Ian,” she replied. He stared back at her grimly. He wasn’t ready to let this one go. “Don’t underestimate the impact of that connection on our relationship, Sara,” he said, “The depth of it, its importance in everything that’s between us – from knowing when you want your morning coffee to merging our energy to save the world.” She tilted her head, studying the perfect planes of the face that she loved so well. “And what about you?” she asked, “Would you want me if our connection was broken?” For the first time in hours, Ian laughed. “Nothing in heaven or hell or anywhere in between could make me stop wanting you, Sara,” he said without the slightest hesitation. Sara laughed with him. “Yeah,” she said, “Well, right back at you, baby. I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Sara angled her body around Ian to sit on his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. Ian automatically put his arms around her, pulling her closer. Face to face, she studied the depths of his luminous golden eyes. “Do we have a deal?” she asked. Ian gave her a slow smile that curved his molded lips and finally reached his eyes, filling them with warmth like glowing embers. He leaned forward to slant his lips across hers in a hot, loving kiss with just a hint of tongue. When Ian pulled back and opened his eyes again, he met her gaze and answered, “Yes. We have a deal. I give you my word that I’ll do whatever it takes to bring us back together.” She frowned a little, pushing her fingers into his silky curls. “You might have to do it on your own, baby,” she said, “I honestly don’t understand why I seem to be acting that way. Always keep one thing in mind – no matter how it seems on the surface. I love you. No matter what I say or do. I love you and I want to be with you. Okay?” He leaned forward to nuzzle his face into her hair. “Yes,” he whispered.

Sara touched his chin to lift his face. They looked deep into each other’s eyes. “We’ll get through it, Ian,” she said, “Nothing can keep us apart now for long. We won’t allow it.” Ian smiled and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “I believe you,” he said, “But it’s going to be terrible, isn’t it?” She sighed, touching a finger to his lips. He kissed it. “Yeah,” she agreed, “Looks that way.” He nodded, then dropped his head. “When I start to think about no longer feeling your hands on my body, your lips on mine,” he breathed, voice tight with pain, “When I think about your thoughts no longer brushing mine, of not feeling your warmth close to me at night, I do not know how I will survive it.” Sara shut her eyes. She understood completely what he was telling her. Although she wasn’t as open in showing it as he was, she felt the same way. Ian had become part of her, as essential to her as the heart that sent the blood coursing through her veins. She craved his touch, as she required air to breathe. Losing him, even briefly, was agonizing. Losing him forever was unthinkable.

“Look at me, Ian,” Sara said. He lifted his head and met her eyes. “We can’t let ourselves get swallowed up in the pain of being separated. Let ourselves become immobilized by it,” she continued, “We’ve got to put all our energy into finding our way back to each other. Do you understand?” A tidal swell of love for her almost swamped him. Ian had to swallow hard before he could speak. “Yes,” he replied, “I understand. I’ll try to find enough strength within me to get by, even if it can’t match your own.” Sara snorted but it came suspiciously close to a sob. She blinked and a single tear ran down her cheek. Ian drew in a sharp breath and pulled her into the warm circle of his arms. He whispered her name, stroking her hair. Head snug in the hollow beneath his chin, lips against his neck, and arms tight around the hard, warm solidity of him, she whispered, “I’m just whistling in the dark, baby. It’s false courage. I’m terrified of everything that’s ahead of us. Every time I start to think about it, my blood runs cold.”

“Shh, my darling,” Ian whispered against her hair, “If you weren’t so afraid, how could you be so brave? That’s why you’re a champion of the light; that’s why you’re the Wielder.” Sara clung to him, flicking out her tongue to lick his smooth, salty skin f tof to reassure herself that he was real and that he was still hers. He shivered at the unexpected caress. She inhaled the scent of him deeply, immersing herself in it. Now that she had shown her weakness, he had found his strength. As always, when she needed him, he was there. He was, forever and in all ways, her Protector. She felt his warm breath against her hair. “Come lie down with me,” he said, “Let me hold you close. We’re together now and you need to get some sleep.” She nodded, giving him a quick, tight hug. He was right. They needed to sleep. She was exhausted and he must be too.

Ian stretched back down on the bed pulling Sara into his arms. She nestled against him, head on his shoulder, leg and arm draped possessively across his muscled length. He tucked the covers carefully around her and she smiled softly, secretly. His protective instincts were still aroused; her wild warrior in the trappings of a mother hen. “I’m alright,” she whispered, already half asleep, lulled by his warmth. “I know,” he whispered back, pressing a gentle kiss against her hair, “But let me fuss. There’s little enough that I can do to ease your burden.” Before the words were out of his mouth, she was asleep. He lingered longer, trying to savor each moment that they had left together. Eventually, though, he lost the battle and also drifted off into a troubled slumber. The light of dawn on the day of the Convergence found them sleeping, locked in each other’s arms as if nothing in heaven or hell or anywhere in between could sever them one from the other.

* From “Ozymandius” by Percy Bysshe Shelley

As it turned out, everybody did sleep late on the morning of the Convergence. Mobius was the first one awake; blearily opening his eyes around 10:00 A.M. Vicki was still out like a light, snoring softly, wrapped snugly around him. His rich chocolate eyes warmed as he studied her sleeping face. Such a strange turn that his life had taken, he mused, to have fallen so ridiculously in love with this diminutive, pragmatic woman. If they survived through the day to come, they were on the threshold of an entirely new life the they would share together. He would not have believed that it was possible. He had always been so solitary. Even among his brother Black Dragons, he had been slightly separate. Though he would never think it of himself, he had been a colossus among giants – just the slightest bit beyond the rest, just a little bit stronger, smarter.

It isolated him. re Pre Po had tumbled haphazardly into his life, there had only been Ian who was the brother of his spirit if not his blood. But they were military men and, close as they were, there was always a layer of reserve between them. There was only so much they felt comfortable sharing before a wall was raised. One didn’t burden one’s brother with every emotional weakness after all. One shouldered such things in silence. And now, there was Po. Po, who would not allow him to hide behind thoslls lls of reserve when emotion threatened; Po who had wedged her delicate, clever fingers around the deepest parts of him and shook them loose from their moorings. With the trials that they were to face this night, he was certainly more afraid for his lady than he was for himself or, truth be told, for his friends or the fate of the world at large. Losing Po would be the fabled fate worse than death. He knew because he’d had one awful scare with her already. He could not continue without her now. She had become the best and truest part of him. She had taught him joy and love and hope.

Moby blinked, his generous mouth curving into a smile. There, she had done it to him again and she was not even awake. She had set him off on another long reverie when he should have been up preparing the morning tea and, most especially, coffee. As their ladies had admitted themselves, when they did not get their coffee, they became “mean as a snake.” Moby shrugged, still smiling. Truth be told, he was rather fond of snakes himself. Very carefully, he extricated himself from Po and eased her back down to the featherbed, covering her gently. She made a soft sound of protest, causing his smile to blossom into a dazzling grin. Yes, he definitely needed to have the coffee ready for his lady when she awoke. He stood fluidly to find and pull on the sweats that Po had divested him of the night before. The memory of her small hands sliding up his body to push the sweatshirt over his head made his blood quicken. His heart raced, as he retasted the lovemaking that had followed that simple gesture. Moby stood still taking a couple of deep, meditative breaths to bring himself back under control. When he had mastered his libido, barefoot and moving like a wraith, he made his way to the tiny kitchen.

Mobius was deceptively quiet for such a big man. He barely made a sound as he started the first pot of coffee perking and put water on for tea. That done, he sat at the table in the hushed cabin to continue his ruminations on Po. In the meantime, the object of his absorption had begun to stir. “Coffee,” she thought, as the rich smell began to circulate through the air. One heavy eye opened to half-mast. She sniffed delicately. Turning her head slightly, she saw that her lover was no longer beside her in the featherbed. “Yup,” her sluggish mind confirmed, “The little darling has gotten up and made me my coffee.” That thought was immediately followed by a stifled giggle. The image of the imposing Mobius as “her little darling” had tickled her. Yet, that’s exactly what he was. Vicki rolled on to her side and pulled his pillow into her arms. She inhaled his scent and sighed, remembering the night before. “This is nuts,” she thought, “Here we are teetering at the end of the world and I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my life.”

Vicki stood and stretched. Looking around, she found the scattered piecf hef her flannel bunny pajamas – idly praying that Ian stayed shut in the bedroom while she did. She was back to the bunnies because her froggy p.j.’s were in the laundry basket. Fully decked out once again, she made her way toward the sweet scent of coffee and the sweet gentleman who had made it. When she reached the kitchen, Moby’s back was to her as he prepared his tea. She studied him appreciatively before she cleared her throat to let him know she was there. He turned his head and gave her a lovely smile. She hadn’t surprised him, of course. He had heard her get up and stumble about as she dressed. “Good morning, darling Po,” he said, “May I offer you some coffee?” She saw now that it had already been poured and was waiting for her on the table. She sat and picked up the steaming mug with two hands. After a quick sip and a little lip smacking, she said, “Can’t sneak up on a Black Dragon, huh?” He sat across from her at the table. “Had I known that was your desire,” he replied, “I could have appeared to be startled by your presence.” His face took on the appropriate look of shock. Her lips quirked. She loved it when he played with her. “Nah, that’s okay,” she said, magnanimously.

“No sounds from the bedroom yet?” Vicki asked. Mobius shook his head. “It may have been a restless night for the Wielder and her Protector,” he said, “I sense great disquiet within Ian.” Vicki nodded. “Yeah,” she agreed, “Even I could pick that up. Something is really bugging him. Not the greatest time to be all bent out of shape.” Moby raised bro brow and cocked his head. “’Bent out of shape’?” he asked. Vicki waved an airy hand. “Despairing, depressed, dysfunctional,” she clarified, “You know.” Understanding now, he nodded and reached across the table to gently grasp one of her hands. “I see,” he said, “Do not worry, Po. Even ‘bent out of shape,’ Ian is a superlative warrior. He would die before he would ever fail the Wielder.” Vicki frowned. “If that was meant as a comfort, Mobius, it needs work,” she said nervously, “The goal is to get through tonight without anyone dying. Got it?” Moby smiled and squeezed her hand. “I do, yes,” he assured her, “The Convergence will occur and we will each play our part as we are fated to do – what is meant to be, will be.” She sighed, wondering how he could be so accepting of the vagaries of fate, although she realized that her characteristic struggle against it accomplished nothing.

Vicki finished her coffee and stared into the empty mug for a moment. “I can’t quite believe that it’s finally here,” she murmured, “This time tomorrow, it will all be over – one way or another. We’ll be going back to our regular lives or…” She stopped, unable to really contemplate the alternative. “What the hell,” she thought with a sudden burst of bravado, “If we fail, there won’t be a tomorrow so we won’t have to worry about it anyway.” As if he had read her mind, Mobius said, “There will be a tomorrow, Po. And you and I will begin our lives anew, together. More coffee?” She looked into those deep, dark eyes, wondering if anything ever fazed him, disturbed that unflappable calm. He frowned and said hesitantly, “You do still wish to remain together after the Convergence, do you not?” That one was easy. Vicki grinned full out. “You bet,” she assured him, “And I’d love more coffee.” Mobius let out the breath that he had been holding and returned her grin. He stood, refilled her mug, and turned the kettle back on for another cup of tea.

As Vicnd Mnd Moby were sitting down to their second cuppas, Sara was just opening her eyes. She and Ian were still wrapped around each other like two halves of one whole. His long leg was wedged between her thighs. His shaggy head was resting on her chest, dead center of her breasts. One muscled arm was looped across her, the veins looking like abstract art in the late morning light. His long-fingered hand loosely gripped her hip. She couldn’t see his face, which was tucked against the side of her left breast, his warm breath raising goose bumps. Her arm was draped over his scarred back. She lifted her head a little, trying to see his face. It was still hidden from view. Sara carefully shifted her arm so that she could sift his silky hair through her fingers. Ian made a soft sound in his sleep. He stretched his spine a little, like a cat, and turned his head. She could finally see him. There were large, dark circles under his closed eyes. Still stroking his hair, Sara reached out with her senses to touch his mind. He was deeply asleep. She could feel his utter exhaustion.

Sara guessed that Ian had remained awake long after she had fallen asleep the night before, haunted by the visions that they had seen. She wanted to let him sleep as long as possible. They were both pretty ragged emotionally, but Ian had been operating under so much pressure for so long – the ordeal with the Witchblade, followed by X’s deception had been more than enough to knock him off balance. And the visions and dreams of her abandonment that he had been having for weeks now had certainly taken their toll on him as well. She dug her fingers deep into his tousled mane, caressing his head gently. He made another soft sound like a low purr and cuddled closer to her, pressing his warm lips against her breast. Sara rested there, quiet with her love, gently stroking his hair for another quarter hour or so. Then, Ian finally woke and big, sleepy golden eyes opened to regard her with such love that it stole her breath.

Ian nuzzled the side of her breast before he lifted his head. “Morning of the day,” he whispered, “I guess that time didn’t stand still like I asked it to, did it?” Sara smiled, still running her fingers through his tangled locks. “He needs a trim,” she thought. Aloud, she said, “It hardly ever does that.” The Witchblade flashed scarlet and she was given a brief, weird vision of Lazar standing on a street in the city, holding a giant clock. She blinked and the image was gone. Sara shook her head, disoriented, and found Ian doing the same thing. “You saw it too?” she asked. He nodded, one dark brow raised. She held up a hand before he could say a word. “You know what?” she said, “I don’t want to deal with it right now. Not until I’ve had some coffee.” A tiny smile pulled up the corners of his lips. “The one constant in a universe gone crazy,” he said. She gave his hair a tug. “Are you telling me that I’m predictable?” she asked. “No,” he replied, pulling himself up to slant a firm kiss across her lips, “I’m telling you that you’re wonderful and that I love you with every fiber of my being.”

“Oh,” Sara answered, the flip reply she had been readying defused. She studied him again. God, he looked so tired, so worn. Her heart lurched. “I love you too, baby,” she said, pulling him to her for another long kiss, “But you look like hell.” His smile broadened a little, just shy of a devil-may-care grin. “Wait till you see me tomorrow,” he scoffed. And, as the words left his mouth, it hit him – the visions of the night before came rushing back in. Sara watched all the color drain out of Ian’s face. Gripping his chin with both hands, she forced him to look at her. “No,” she said emphatically, “You can’t think about it today, Ian. It will do no good. It won’t change anything. It’s only likely to distract you and make you more vulnerable. We talked about this last night, made our decisions. Now, you have to let it go.” He was still for a moment, then turned his face to kiss the palm of her hand. “You’re right,” he said softly, “I’ll try.”

Sara sat up and glanced at the light coming in the bedroom window. “It’s late,” she said, “I bet everyone’s waiting for us. I wonder if Lazar is already here.” Ian gently pushed her back down on the bed. “So, they’ll wait,” he said, “It’s our last day here. Let’s take it slow. Don’t go yet.” She looked up at him. He was resting on an elbow, looming over her, watching her eyes. He stretched out one long finger to push the sheet down just enough so that he could slowly rub the now bared nipple of her left breast. “What are you doing?” she asked, her stomach muscles quivering in response. “Giving us something more pleasant to think about,” he replied, leaning down to lick the other nipple with his tongue. A sharp jolt of liquid heat slid right down her center to pool between her legs. She shut her eyes and arched toward his touch. “That’s nice,” she breathed, the sound sharpening as he started to suck, nibble, and tweak. Sara reached down to stroke his bearded cheek. “Kiss?” she asked. He lifted his head from her breast. “As my lady commands,” he purred, eyes already darkening to smoldering, deep amber.

Ian gently nudged her thighs apart with his leg and moved between them to rest his warm body full length against hers. He balanced most of his weight on his arms so that he wouldn’t be too heavy above her. Sara slid her right hand down his back to grip one firm butt cheek, slowly kneading it. She plunged her other hand into his tousled hair to clutch his head and pull it down to hers. They teased each other with a score of light, butterfly kisses, licking and nipping lips already swelling with passion. Sara gave a little cry and tightened her fingers in his hair, pulling his closer. At the same instant, they both opened their mouths wide and thrust their tongues together to tangle and twist slowly and sinuously. Breathing began to quicken. Sara hooked her ankles around his hard-muscled calves and rolled them over. Although passion had definitely begun to build between them, their pace was languid, dreamily sensual. Now above him, Sara lifted up on her hands and bent down to take his flat nipple between her teeth. Ian shut his eyes and hissed, his hips pushing up off the bed just a bit. As she laved and sucked on the hardening nub, she rolled his other nipple between her thumb and index finger, pinching it hard. He shivered and moaned softly.

Sara felt Ian’s hands glide slowly up her back, leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake. A moment later, he had rolled her over and was back on top. She laughed, his quick shift catching her unawares, only to have it cut short by his mouth claiming hers for another deep, wet kiss with lots of tongue. They parted, panting. Ian gazed down at her, expressive eyes wide and vulnerable. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he asked breathlessly, “What you make me feel?” She did. It was written all over him. “Yes,” she answered, stroking his bearded jawline, “The same thing that you do to me, make me feel.” He pushed his face hard into her caress. “I won’t lose you,” he growled desperately, “I won’t let anyone separate us.” Her touch was gentle, calming. Catching his chin, she forced him to look deep into her eyes. “No one can,” she assured him, “You belong to me and I to you. Nothing can change that. Nothing.” With a soft cry, he buried his head in the warm hollow between her chin and shoulder. His arms tightened around her, hugging her body to his. She wrapped her arms around his head, holding him to her, murmuring softly, wordlessly, to reassure him.

When Ian raised his head again, a glint of humor had returned to the soft, golden eyes. “I know our lives will never be normal,” he sighed, “But it has to get easier than this, doesn’t it?” Sara’s face lit with a grin. She loved him more in this moment than she would ever have dreamed possible. “You’re right,” she agreed, “It can only get better.” He leaned down to nuzzle and nip her ear. “We’d best not tempt the fates,” he whispered, “We’ll keep our foolish optimism to ourselves. Okay?” When he pulled his head up again and looked at her, all her love for him was right there in her eyes. He stopped breathing for a couple of seconds, stunned by the depth of it. Then, he gave her his killer smile. Now, Sara was breathless. “Okay,” she said weakly. Eyes still locked with hers, he ran the fingers of one hand reverently down the side of her face. Then, he bent forward and kissed her silly. When they drew apart, gasping, she giggled and he grinned. “What are you laughing about, detective?” he asked, pressing his hips down to pin them together intimately and then doing a slow grind. Sara’s breathy giggle abruptly turned into a long, low moan of desire. His erection was rubbing hard and hot against her swollen clit.

Sara looked up into the steamy jungle-cat eyes now staring boldly down at her. “More,” she begged. Ian gave her a slow, wicked smile and she felt his hand slide down between their bodies. He grasped himself in his hand and rubbed against her slowly. She was so slick that he was able to move easily in the slippery channel between her sensitized nub and the entrance to deeper delights. Arching up off the bed, Sara gripped his shoulders and raised her legs to lock them around his hips. She kept straining to capture him, aching to have him fill her. He kept teasing her with each caress, each near entry. Out of control, her overloaded nerve endings gave way before he entered her and an orgasm blindsided her. Sara cried out, digging her nails into his shoulders then fell back to the mattress, limp. Before she could begin to recover, Ian entered her with one quick, deep thrust. Her eyes shot open and she gasped. His hand now moved into the breach, caressing her in a matching cadence as he pumped in and out. And Sara began to spiral slowly upward toward another climax.

She wrapped herself around him to ride with him to the finish. Ian bent his head to press his open mouth to hers for another torrid kiss. Their lithe bodies strained together, as if they were trying to mold themselves into a single creature that could not be separated. But they could not change nature, or hold it back for that matter. Sara arched her back and let out a piercing shriek as she came. A moment later, Ian gave a soft, hoarse moan before relaxing bonelessly above her. Before his weight became oppressive, Ian tightened his arms around her to keep them joined and rolled on to his side. Sara slid her leg up over his thigh so they could rest together more comfortably. Lying face to face, they studied each other. A single drop of perspiration slowly ran from his hairline down to his dark brow and Sara lifted a finger to carefully capture it. She licked her finger and his lips parted. She grinned at him. “You know,” she observed, “If they weren’t already awake, they sure are now.” He grinned back. “They were awake,” he replied, “Can’t you smell the coffee?”

Sara took a deep breath and sighed. “How the hell did I miss that?” she asked. Ian wiggled one arched brow. “My charms obviously dazzled you,” he said, tongue in cheek, “I’ve finally beaten out coffee to capture your attention.” Sara snorted. “Dream on, baby,” she replied, “Moby must have just made it or I would have smelled it before and you wouldn’t have had a snowball’s chance in hell.” There was a brief pause before he dropped his eyes, concealing emotion behind thick lashes. She could literally feel his mood shift. “Shit,” she thought, “When will I learn to keep my mouth shut?” Ian eased her leg from his hip and gently pulled out of her. He rolled away to sit on the side of the bed, his face to the window and his back to her. “We’ll have a clear night tonight,” he said softly, “Crisp with lots of stars overhead.” She studied his scarred, muscled back wistfully. “That’s good,” she said, not even wondering how he knew, “Bad weather would just make everything that much harder.” He nodded absently. Turning his head to glance back at her, he asked, “Do you want me to get you some coffee or are you ready to come out?”

His words made her giggle. Sara had a sudden vision of mild-mannered (ahem) Detective Sara Pezzini “coming out” of the closet as the caped and gauntleted Witchblade Wielder. Ian frowned. “Did I say something funny?” he asked. She shook her head, still giggling at the absurd image in her head. “You had to be there,” she said airily, adding, “I’m ready to come out. Thanks though.” Before he turned his head away, she felt him close himself off a little more. “Oh fuck,” she thought, “I did it again.” Ian stood and went to the door, where he picked his black, silk robe up from the floor. He felt the scattered buttons from his ripped pajama top grind under his feet. Sara had torn it off of him the night before. Ian slipped on the robe and tied it, sighing. He bent over to gather up the buttons. She watched him from the bed. He went back to drop the buttons on top of the bureau, then turned and said, “I’m going to go get a shower.” Sara saw a way to redeem herself. “Can I share it with you?” she asked. He looked surprised. Hiding a smile, she bent down to retrieve Ian’s tee shirt from the floor – the one that he’d pulled off of her the night before.

Ian smiled. “Sure you can,” he replied. Sara slipped the tee shirt over her head. Taking his hand, she led him out of the bedroom. The featherbed was empty and they heard soft voices coming from the kitchen. Sara’s nostrils flared and she looked wistfully toward the kitchen before continuing to the bathroom. Ian stopped and she bumped into his stationary back. “What?” she asked, eyes wide. He shook his head, grinning. “Why don’t you go in and get the water running and I’ll get you coffee,” he said. Sara raised up on tiptoe to press her lips lightly to his. “Thank you, baby,” she said and disappeared into the bathroom. Ian stood quietly in the kitchen doorway for a moment before Moby’s eyes lifted to acknowledge him. Mobius and Vicki had been holding hands across the table, deep in conversation. Ian smiled at them. “Good morning,” he said, “Sorry to interrupt but the Wielder needs her coffee.” Vicki looked up at him, smiling. “Hey Ian,” she said in welcome, then added, “Where is the Scourge of the Universe?” Ian poured a large mug of coffee for Sara. “Running a shower for us,” he replied. She eyed Ian in his skimpy silk robe. “There’s goes the hot water,” she thought resignedly, figuring whatever was about to happen in the bathroom wasn’t going to be quick.

“The water has recently boiled if you would like to partake of tea, my brother,” Moby said. Ian nodded his thanks and pulled another mug from the cupboard. After fixing his tea, Ian turned and started for the bathroom, a mug in each hand. He turned back in the kitchen doorway to ask Moby, “Maybe we could work out together later? Do some katas?” Mobius nodded and said, “Of course. I would be most pleased.” Ian smiled and disappeared. When Ian was gone, Vicki said, “How do you two do that anyway?” Moby lifted an inquisitive brow. “You both weigh twice as much as Sara and I, and neither one of you make a noise when you move,” she explained, “Sara and I sound like a couple of pregnant elephants by comparison.” The corners of Mobius’ eyes crinkled and he whispered, “It is a Black Dragon genetic enhancement, Po,” he said seriously, “Ian and I both have a touch of pixie dust in our DNA.” Her eyes went round with shock until she saw the twinkle in his rich, chocolate eyes. “Right,” she said drolly, “And I’m the spawn of Madame Curie.” Moby laughed. “Truly, Po,” he replied, “Such must be the source of the fetching manner in which you titillate a teste, me, manipulate a microscope.” Vicki snorted. “How can you still manage to be such a smart ass when I can barely understand what you’re saying?” she asked. “It is a talent,” he agreed.

Although the coming night was a constant presence in everyone’s minds, the day unfolded slowly and uneventfully. Sara and Ian took their shower. They leisurely cleaned each other, taking their time to touch, stroke, and fondle with gentle affection. Afterwards, Moby and Ian sparred with each other for a couple of hours while Sara and Vicki sat in the kitchen talking. Vicki and Moby went for a long walk while Sara worked out with the punching bag and Ian read. When everyone was together again, Vicki checked them all to see whether anyone wasergiergic to the demon antitoxin that she had created. To her great relief, no one evidenced a reaction. Turning a blind eye to their dubious expressions and barbed comments, she gave them all inoculations. “Well,” she said, giving a cringing Sara the final shot, “You’re all safe now from the beasties’ venom. Unfortunately, it doesn’t do anything about their nasty fangs and claws.” Late in the afternoon, they shared a light lunch by the fire of grilled cheese sandwiches, tomato soup, and a nice Chardonnay.

At twilight, after the dishes were cleaned and they were all settling in by the fire, Lazar appeared in the chair that they had left vacant for him. As usual, he made everyone start with suse. se. Vicki stood over the large, smiling elf of a man, her hand held dramatically over her heart. “Scare me to death,” she said to him, “And I can’t be of any help to your protégés.” Lazar folded his hands in his lap. “My dear Dr. Po,” he said, “I do apologize for any unintentional shock to your system. I had expected that you would be used to my method of arrival by now.” Vicki put her hands on her hips, frowning. “How am I supposed to get used to you suddenly appearing if I never know when it’s going to happen?” she asked. He shrugged. “By always being prepared,” he replied with perfect Lazarian logic.

His customary wrangle with Vicki now completed to their mutual satisfaction, Lazar turned to the others. “How is everyone this evening?” he asked, shifting his bulbous eyes to Sara, “Are you well?” Sara sat on the end of the sofa closest to the fire. Ian sat on the floor at her feet, his back against her legs, his arm across her thighs. One of her hands rested on his shoulder, her fingers entwined in his hair. Sara frowned at the older man. “As well as can be expected on the Eve of Destruction,” she said. After a pause, she added, “I’m terrified.” Vicki turned to look at her friend, surprised. She hadn’t expected Sara to admit it. Lazar smiled. “Only a fool would not be afraid,” he said, “And you, Wielder, are no fool.” Lazar turned his focus on Ian. “You are troubled, Protector,” he observed. Ian briefly dropped his head. When he lifted it again, his wide, golden eyes were dark with suppressed pain. “We have had visions, Master,” he said softly, “They showed us separation and pain.” Vicki and Mobius, now sitting together at the opposite end of the sofa, looked at the other couple with concern.

Lazar simply nodded. “Did these visions show events occurring after the Convergence?” he asked. Sara squeezed Ian’s shoulder and nodded. “Then they showed you both surviving through the night,” he suggested, “Did they not?” This time, Ian nodded. Lazar’s thin lips curved in his enigmatic smile. “Then take that blessing from them,” he said, “And temper the pain with this thought. It is an old saw but a true one. ‘Where there is life, there is hope.’” Ian frowned, unconvinced. Lazar leaned forward in the chair to rest his hand lightly on Ian’s shaggy head. “Narrow your focus to this night and its events, my boy,” he advised, “Protect yourself and your lady. Come through it alive. Let tomorrow take care of itself. Nothing is immutable. Forewarned is forearmed.” Lazar sat back and Ian turned his lips toward Sara’s stroking hand, kissing it lightly. Vicki cleared her throat and Sara turned to look at her. “So, were we okay too in these visions of yours?” she asked, “Or didn’t you see us?” Sara smiled at her friend, giving Ian’s shoulder a quick, cautionary touch. “Yes,” she confirmed, “You were both fine.”

Vicki snorted, annoyed. “It didn’t occur to you to pass along that little tidbit of useful information?” she asked Sara. Sara shrugged and said, “Sorry, Vick. I’ve been trying not to think about what we saw. Most of it was pretty disturbing. I didn’t really see it as an acknowledgement that we were all going to survive the Convergence. But, as Lazar has pointed out, of course, it is that too.” Vicki fidgeted, aching to ask Sara about the visions that she and Ian had shared. At the same time, it was very clear that neither of them wanted to talk about it in any greater detail. Just as Vicki was getting ready to ask anyway, Mobius leaned close to her ear and whispered, “Cease, Po. Please. Do not press them further.” She sighed, seeing the wisdom in his counsel and relaxed quietly back into his embrace.

In the sudden silence, Lazar objectively studied the demeanor of the Wielder and Protector of the Witchblade. “You look tired,” he said to them. Nervous under his scrutiny, Sara pushed a hand roughly through her hair. “We’ll hold up,” she replied, speaking for them both. Lazar graced her with a gnomish grin. “I have no doubt of that,” he said, “It was merely an observation.” Wrapping his aura of enduring, ancient wisdom around his tiny band of warriors, Lazar continued, “Perhaps it would ease your anxieties if we talk again about what is going to happen in the woods this night – what you can expect and what is expected of you. Do not mistake my purpose. I have no misgivings regarding your abilities. You are ready. I onlygestgest one last rehearsal, a verbal walkthrough. Is that acceptable?” Sara and Ian both readily agreed, grateful for the opportunity of one last lesson with their Master.

And so, over the next two hours, Lazar guided them one last time in a soothing and measutonetone. He spoke of the nature of the Convergence and their role in it. He spoke of the balance of power, of the Triumverate, of the objects of power, and of the evil that they were fated to face and guard against this night. He spoke of what was at stake. Vicki sat raptly listening, mesmerized, hearing much of Lazar’s discourse for the first time. When he finished speaking, she turned to look at Sara and Ian with a kind of awe. She had suddenly realized that she was in the company of mythic champions, warriors of the light. “How the hell did I wind up here?” she wondered a bit forlornly. At that moment, Lazar’s kind eyes fell on her and she sensed his assurance that she was not an outsider, she was one of them. She smiled at him, grateful.

At last, Lazar stood, his squat body highlighted by the flames behind him. “It is almost time for you to go,” he said softly, “As a Watcher, I am not permitted to accompany you to your trial. I will, however, return to congratulate you when it is over. Allow an old man one last conceit.” He cleared his throat and recited:

“The hum of either army stilly sounds,
That the fixed sentinels almost receive
The secret whispers of each other’s watch;
Fire answers fire, and through their paly flames
Each battle sees the other’s umbered face;
Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs
Piercing the night’s dull ear, and from the tents
The armourers, accomplishing the knights,
With busy hammers closing rivets up,
Give dreadful note of preparation.”*

“I am very proud of you,” he said, shifting his piercing gaze first to Ian and Sara, and then to Vicki and Mobius. His protuberant eyes came back to the Wielder and her Protector. “You are the children of my soul, if not my body,” he said to them, “You have met and exceeded my every expectation of you. I know that you will prevail.” With that, his form winked out like one of the shifting flames in the fireplace behind him. Vicki jumped. “Damn,” she whispered affectionately, “That evil old elf got me again.”

It was time. There was one last, brief moment of normalcy as they all got into their coats. As Ian had predicted, the night was crisp and clear with the galaxies ranged bright above them. Vicki got her gun, cleaned and ready from the kitchen table. Mobius hefted the Longinus Lance from the mantel above the fireplace. Cleopatra’s Orb rested uneasily in the pocket of Ian’s leather jacket. The Witchblade was, as always, in its place on the right wrist of Its Wielder. They left the cabin, Ian in the lead with Sara, hefting a big flashlight to guide them. They walked down the long path to the clearing, each couple holding hands. When they reached the chosen place, they waited while Ian lit four large standing torches that he’d placed earlier in the day to mark their battlefield. It was a little after eleven. Ian situated the orb in its designated spot. Before taking his place beside her, Ian went to Sara and embraced her. They kissed deeply, completely opening in that one moment to all the love each felt for the other. Then, Ian took his place facing away from the orb. Sara stood facing toward it.

Gripping the big gun awkwardly in her hand, Vicki stretched up on tiptoe to kiss Moby. Instead, he caught her up in his arms, holding her off the ground as they kissed. “Be careful. I love you,” she whispered as he set her back down. “I love you, darling Po,” he replied, “You must also have a care. Do not be foolhardy.” As Vicki moved to take her place beside Ian, she touched first Sara’s and then Ian’s hand. Standing like a bronzed god in the torchlight, Mobius rumbled:

“In peace there ’s nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility;
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger:
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood.”*

Ian, feeling the call of the warrior, turned toward his friend and called, “We few, we happy few, we band of brothers.”*

It was 11:10 P.M. and the Convergence was nigh. Sara summed it all up nicely in her inimitable style. “Let’s kick some demon butt,” she cried. The minute hand moved. Ian slipped Excalibur onto his right hand and stretched it out to connect with Sara. The power blasted to life and the Convergence was upon them.

* From King Henry V by William Shakespeare