By Anne Fraser and Barbara Zuchegna
With assistance from Sharon Pickrel and Jean Lamb
Copyright 1999

Chapter Twenty-Four

It was the music that woke Richard.

He rolled over onto his back and lay still for a moment, listening. From the quality of the light and the location of the slender bars of sunlight lying across the wall, he understood that it was late afternoon, very near sunset, and that the villagers of Sa'idi must have begun taking the narcotic, scarlet crowfoot, some time ago. Below the pipes and the stringed instruments playing in the square outside, tambourines and drums had set up a rhythm that was already growing insistently wild, a sound far more African than Middle Eastern. And breaking over the music, over the low background sound of voices, there was the occasional rising squeal of laughter.

He sighed heavily. Wars without people.

He should have foreseen this. That he hadn't was because he had allowed himself to become too tired to think entirely clearly ... and that was as much because of the loss of blood as because of the length of time he had gone without sleep. He had issued instructions to Ardeshir, and he had no doubt they had been carried out to the letter. But he had not forbade anything ... and the people of Sa'idi had interpreted this to mean that what they had chosen to do was within the boundaries of the instructions he had issued. So be it.

He lay there, studying the low ceiling above the narrow bed. He had dreamed of Liliana again. Just remembering it now brought the vision of her back into his mind ... her hair, in all its shades of gold, spread across the bed beside his head, the scent of her when he turned his face in against her, the silken warmth of her small body fitted all along his as his arm tightened and pulled her in against him. He had not made love to her. Exhausted beyond thought, he had simply sheltered in her, holding her, taking in the scent of her with every breath, grateful beyond words that he had been able to conjure her presence in his dreams again. But he had not made love to her.

Unbidden, the dark, challenging face of T'beth came back into his mind, and with it the memory of those moments in her cell, when her mouth had fastened to his wrist like a lamprey's, and he had felt the immediate, powerful surge of sexual arousal that had distracted him for that one dangerous moment. He felt it stir again, now, and laughed at himself with a kind of hopeless exasperation. He had much more to do tonight than to seek out an interesting bedmate.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up. Will had left his clean clothes draped over a chair and he dressed, planning. As soon as the Sa'idi vampires were awake and aware, they were going to receive a lesson they probably would not appreciate ... a lesson they should have received long ago. And then they were going to assume the role that should have been theirs in this place from the beginning ... if he had to horsewhip them into it.

Ed Perry and Jake were awake, sipping coffee in the main room of Ardeshir's house, along with their host and two women Richard recognized as those who had attended to these two particular guests from their first night here. Will, he was told, was still asleep ... in the women's quarters, which Ardeshir seemed not to mind. He had fallen asleep there, and no one knew quite how to move him elsewhere. It was Ed who whispered a short aside to Richard that no one had tried too hard ... one of Ardeshir's nieces had taken a liking to Will a few nights ago, and had been determined to tend to him herself. What, precisely, she included in her definition of "tending" to him was probably best not gone into.

Richard turned a dissatisfied eye on Ardeshir. "From the sound in the square outside, it would seem that your people are enjoying the process of reawakening the Exalted."

There was a strange glitter in Ardeshir's eyes, and a new mellowness to the smile he gave to Richard. "Vaje-ye," he said simply, "it can do no harm if the people celebrate while they provide for the Exalted. It is a..."

"I know. A great day for Sa'idi." Richard sighed. "Has the reawakening begun?"

"No, vaje-ye. We wait for the sun to set."

It had been broad daylight when T'beth awoke at Khelat. Richard said, "Begin at once. Send to me when the first of the Exalted is revived."

Ardeshir thought about it for a moment ... or maybe he was just thinking of the best way to get to his feet and to navigate once he got there. But he managed, with a little steadying hand from Jake, to stand, and even to bow rather woozily, with a small, "It shall be done, Vaje Richard." With great dignity, he propelled himself from one piece of furniture to another, and out through the door to the square. The noise, for the moment that the door stood open, was almost deafening.

Richard wasn't happy about this turn of events. He ordered one of the women to bring coffee, then followed Ardeshir out. If the headman's condition was indicative of what was happening to everyone in town, someone considerably more sober would have to oversee their work tonight.

Into the silence left by his departure, Ed Perry said suddenly, "He is, isn't he?" But it was more a statement than a question.

Jake looked up from his coffee. Lafeeta was urging him to hurry; she wanted to get to the party. She was already nicely tipsy. "Is what?"

"Who you said he was."

Jake shrugged. He was regretting that he'd ever said anything to Ed, but then Ed had been there in the cell in Khelat. He had seen the fangs and glowing eyes of Bahram and his cohorts. And he had seen T'beth feed from the dead guard. If he didn't believe in vampires by now, he never would. And if he was accepting that, then he was re-thinking the possibility that Richard might actually be exactly who Jake had said he was. But Jake only said, "Why not just forget about it, Ed? It doesn't matter who he is, does it? So long as he does what he came here to do?"

Ed shook his head wonderingly. "I've been taking orders for the last couple of weeks from a ghost ... and it's not supposed to matter?"

"Richard isn't a ghost." Jake set his cup down and let Lafeeta pull him to his feet. "Alexis is a ghost," he said. He didn't bother to elaborate, and the look on Ed's face didn't invite him to do so. What he was most aware of at the moment was that Lafeeta had little bells attached to the delicate golden chains around her ankles, and she was moving in time to the drums, smiling up at him. "Trust me," Jake told Ed as he gave in and let her drag him toward the door, "when this is all over, you'll know everything you ever wanted to know about it ... and it won't matter at all."

It wouldn't. Because Ed wouldn't remember any of it.

There was one other little problem Richard should have foreseen, and hadn't. When you feed heavily narcotized blood to a vampire, a really hungry vampire, he may awaken ... but he won't be in much shape to listen to a lecture.

This was something Zanjani, who was understandably preoccupied at the moment, had neglected to mention. Richard watched as the first few of the vampires of Sa'idi were revived ... first with a slow trickle of blood dripped into their open mouths, and then, as they became aware, from their own enthusiastic sucking at the bleeding wrists offered to them. And one by one he watched them either stand and begin to stagger disorientedly around, or sit in one place and giggle, or give their donors a woozy smile and pass out ... according to their individual natures.

The village elders, arrayed on throne-like chairs in the main room of Farjad Dulabi's house, overseeing the happy line of volunteer donors that stretched across the room and out the door, accepted this state of affairs with great serenity ... and no surprise whatever. One of the triplets, beaming at Richard with sublime happiness, told him, "Tomorrow night, the Exalted will express their gratitude, Vaje Richard."

Tomorrow night. Richard was remembering the promise Alexis had made to the women in Zanjani's harem. What was happening to those women now, shut up in the palace with guards who must be nearing desperation as they tried to find a way out of the situation in which they now found themselves?

With the vampires of Sa'idi, who could not be harmed by normal gunfire, Richard would have been able to attack the palace tonight. But with the men he had available, it was impossible to mount a successful assault on a fortified objective that had only two entrances, and inside of which were barricaded men who had nothing to lose by fighting to the death. Together, he and Adrian could probably get inside, as they had before. But there was no way to move several dozen women, some of whom were pregnant, out of the palace undetected.

"This, Vaje Richard," Foroud announced, as another of the revived vampires was led into the main room from somewhere deeper in the house, "is the Exalted One, Kanum Niloufar."

This was a younger woman, one who had become "Exalted" in her mid-thirties, and she was quite beautiful. Richard had not missed that most of the female Exalted were unusually good-looking women, which undoubtedly said something about their male counterparts' reasons for exalting them. Niloufar was mostly African, with the huge, dark eyes, the chocolate skin, full lips and widespread nose of her race. She swayed slightly on her feet as she was led forward by the reverent Foroud, but it might have been her normal way of walking. She came to a halt directly in front of Richard, looked up into his eyes with an almost feral interest, and reached out with one slender hand to stroke his face. Richard did not draw back, but only watched her intently.

Niloufar said something in her own language in a low, musical voice. Richard didn't understand, and Foroud didn't immediately translate. Richard turned to look at him as the woman repeated herself, more imperiously. Foroud looked stricken.

"What does she say?" Richard demanded impatiently.

"The kanum is not herself, vaje-ye..."

"What does she say?" As Richard repeated it, Niloufar herself almost growled at poor Foroud.

Foroud swallowed noisily. Two pairs of ferocious eyes were leveled on him, and both were waiting with no good grace at all. He said, finally, "The Kanum Niloufar says she finds the Vaje Richard beautiful and has decided to exalt him. He is to accompany her to a place of privacy, where he will earn his exaltation."

Richard turned to look at the woman again. He bowed. His eyes were on hers as he spoke to Foroud. "Tell the kanum that I am deeply honored, but that I am unable to comply at present."

Niloufar didn't wait for the translation. She knew "no" when she heard it ... in any language. Storm clouds gathered in her great dark eyes and she reached out, suddenly, with both hands and with her unnatural strength, shoved Richard to his knees before her. Holding him with her hands dug into the fabric over his shoulders, she bent toward him, her fangs sliding into place and her intention clear.

Foroud's hands reached for Niloufar, as if to restrain her, but she shrugged them off as if an insect had landed on her. The man was at least eighty years old; he couldn't have stopped her with a baseball bat. Fortunately, Richard tended not to depend on anyone's help ... and he didn't give a damn that this was, or had been, a woman. The fist he sunk into her stomach might have hurt her less than it startled her; the one that he drove into her jaw knocked her ass over teakettle across the room.

Richard scrambled to his feet, silver-plated dagger in hand, prepared to deal with a very angry vampire. But Niloufar, unhurt, raised herself to a dignified sitting position on the floor tiles ... and giggled. She said one word only before her eyes rolled up into her head and she settled gracefully into unconsciousness.

Richard, rubbing his fist with irritation, said, "What did she say?"

Foroud was staring at him as if he was afraid Richard was going to hit him next. As Richard turned on him, sighing with exasperation, Foroud said quickly, "The kanum said, 'Pretty,' vaje-ye."

One of the ancient triplets cleared her throat, attracting Richard's attention before Foroud had to bear the anger snapping in Richard's eyes. She said, "Perhaps the Vaje Richard should leave the restoration of the Exalted in our hands." Her smile was sweet reasonableness itself. "Tomorrow, the Exalted will be better able to express their appreciation."

"Tomorrow," Richard said pleasantly, bowing to the tiny old lady, "it might be best if the Exalted are informed, before they are moved to do so, lady, that I choose to forego the honor offered by the Kanum Niloufar ... and that I will enforce that decision with silver weapons if I must."

She inclined her head graciously, while her sisters beamed at Richard. "It will be done, vaje-ye," she said. Her wise old eyes were actually twinkling with ill-concealed merriment.

It was clear that she and her sisters found the whole incident vastly entertaining. Richard did not. He spun on his heel and stalked out. Wars, he was thinking, would be better fought not only without people ... but without vampires as well.

The party appeared to be in full swing in Sa'idi. Lafeeta had urged Jake to join her in quaffing wine mixed with scarlet crowfoot extract but it had only made him sick. Alarmed that she might lose favor or be punished for this, Lafeeta whisked him quickly off to bed and set about administering succor.

Ed Perry, on the other hand, was getting pleasantly high and had forgotten about his wounds.

None of the other heroes of Khelat were participating, however. Will was sleeping; his wounds were bothering him and Richard had told him to go to bed. Richard himself sat, watching everything, but especially T'beth. Adrian nursed a cool cup of straight wine and watched T'beth, too. He was afraid she was going to disappear again.

She was looking better; massive quantities of blood had restored her. Her color was back to cafe au lait (or maybe a moccachino), the blue in her lips and eyelids was gone, and no gray showed in her short black hair. She had shed Bahram's green tunic for her own clothes, kept reverently by Hanan, uncaring how out of place she looked in a tank top and leather pants. She was in one hell of a bad mood for having had to be rescued.

She tolerated Adrian's scrutiny for just so long. "If you don't stop staring at me, Talbot," she growled, for his ears only, "I'm going to smack you."

"Promises, promises," he leered at her. Yes! T'beth was back.

She rose, with an exasperated "Tcha!", but she made no move towards Adrian. Instead, she turned and went into Ardeshir's house.

Adrian decided it was the better part of valor not to go after her. He doubted she'd stop at just one smack if he followed her.

T'beth had noticed the other, speculative eyes on her. Even though Richard was doing his furniture imitation, he had been watching her. She was fairly certain he would follow; they still had "unfinished business" after all.

In the shelter of the day-proofed room she was forced to share with Adrian, T'beth lit a taper even though she didn't need the light. He would. She heard his footsteps in the hallway and prepared her welcome.

He didn't knock. Kings don't knock. He simply pushed the door open.

"Lady?" he asked, and found himself staring at a drawn crossbow, with a proper steel-headed, fletched quarrel on the string.

"The first Richard died of a crossbow bolt," T'beth purred. "Feel lucky?"

He smiled with an unexpected gentleness. "Once, in my life," he said. He turned his back to her and closed the door, then leaned his shoulders against it, his arms crossed in an attitude of serene patience, and looked at her across the drawn bow. "On that occasion, I was wrong," he said. "Are you going to kill me? You will have to, you know."

"I never miss what I aim at," she replied, fingers tensing on the trigger. "Are you so eager to die?"

Richard seemed to be considering the question seriously for a moment, but then he said, "Ask me again tomorrow night." His smile had not wavered, but the gentleness was gone. He pushed away from the door and started toward her. His voice was softest silk in the dim little room. "There is no battle here, lady, to be won or lost."

He was in no hurry; the decision was hers. But he was not going to stop now.

"Is there not?" she asked, but her finger loosened on the trigger. She knew that if she were going to fire, it would have been when he first moved.

Amused at herself, at him, at this situation; T'beth lowered the bow and eased her grip on the stock and trigger. "You have me there, Your Grace," she admitted. "But it is not every man who would willingly risk his life to discover whether or not I meant to kill."

"Lady," Richard said, drawing ever closer, "I would not doubt for the worlds your intention to kill in any other circumstances. But I have no quarrel with you. There was no reason to aim your weapon at me."

"There is the unfinished business," she challenged.

He was so close she could feel the heat of his body on her skin. His callused fingers touched her cheek. In his eyes, the reflected wavering flame of the taper could have been the fire burning inside him. "Rest," he said softly. He took the crossbow from her unresisting hand and set it carefully on the bedside table. She was not aware of him moving closer, but when he turned back to her, his arm brushed across her rigid nipples. "Rest," his whispered again, and lowered his head to brush his lips against hers. "There is nothing here for you to fight, lady." His hands moved on her breasts, his thumbs applying gentle pressure through the thin knitted fabric, circling, teasing. His kiss was slow and undemanding. Against her mouth, he said, "We make this journey together."

T'beth allowed him to kiss her. Standing there, arms limp at her sides, her legs slightly spread, the bed where she had meant all along to lead him pressing against the back of her knees, with a long moment's cool detachment she examined his kiss, the movement of his mouth on hers, the gentle pressure of his hands ... and her own body's growing response. This was careful, practiced, highly skilled workmanship, and T'beth recognized it for what it was ... the exercise of his mind and body, but not of his emotions. There were limits on what he was offering, and they were her limits, too ... had been her limits ever since she had been freed from Carrock, who had mastered her and casually destroyed her fiercely-held independence of mind and body. Through the long years of experimenting with every sensation of which her body was capable, she had rigidly maintained those limits. She belonged to no one but herself, and no use of her body would ever again be allowed to cross the barriers she had raised around her heart.

He wasn't trying to. His lips moved lightly down over her throat, his hands found their way under the thin shirt, and their warmth on her skin was dizzying. He made a small sound of irritation and lifted the shirt, and she raised her arms languidly to allow him to pull it up and away. His hands, his tongue and teeth found her straining nipples and she swayed, luxuriating in the intensity of the swelling heat spreading outward from her groin.

The tight leather pants were a problem; they always were, and she had enjoyed forcing her lovers to deal with them. But surprisingly, he raised his head, smiling, and murmured against her mouth, "I have some experience of these." She didn't know what he meant, and a moment later didn't care, because he had resolved the problem enough for his hand to close over her sex and she felt the first, unexpectedly violent waves of orgasm take her. Her head fell forward against his shoulder; his arm supported her as her knees gave way, and as it subsided, he said into her ear, "Lady, you are magnificent..."

T'beth lifted her head to look up into his eyes. He was fully aroused and would not wait much longer. She made a small, hopeless sound, and then said clearly, "Oh, shit," and had just a moment to hear his surprised shout of delighted laughter before she threw her arms around his neck and set her mouth against his ferociously. She wasn't even aware of falling ... only of the weight of his body on hers. Far more eagerly than she had ever expected, she struggled with him to free even one leg from the damnable clinging leather, and when she had, and he came into her at last, her body strained up to his, urging him deeper even as he drew the next, and more powerful orgasm from her.

Sometime later, while he caught his breath and his hand drifted lazily over her, her mind cleared long enough to realize how much she had needed this ... the release of sex, yes, but also the cool and intellectual manipulation of her body and his, with no demand on the emotions. He would not allow her to dominate him, had laughed at her smallest attempt. But he was not trying to master her, either, and when she realized it, she relaxed and gave her full concentration to simply enjoying what he was so skillfully creating between them.

At one point, he said something, breathless, into her ear, and when later she recalled it and asked, he laughed and said, "Your skin is cool to the touch, lady, and I had wondered ..." He raised his head to look down at her, smiling. "I know too little of your race ... but learning is its own delight." He leaned down to kiss her, and incredibly, he was ready again and she felt him move over her, sink into her, and his voice, suddenly strained, whispered, "This part of you is not cool, lady..."

But if he said anything else, she didn't hear it ... and didn't care.

Adrian, sensing the coming dawn, decided the time was nigh to return to his room. The villagers of Sa'idi had been celebrating throughout the night; the entire adult population over sixteen and under sixty had drunk the scarlet crowfoot extract and had been honored by the recovering Exalted Ones. Richard and T'beth naturally had been excluded from this general orgy, but had undoubtedly conducted a more private one of their own. Likewise Jake and Lafeeta. Hanan hadn't approached Adrian, nor had any of her so-willing friends. They were all off being honored by their own local Exalted.

Well, fine. Adrian was tired of the almost incessant pressure on him to honor silly girls. The appeal of group sex, gratifying as it was, had worn off. If nobody wanted him, he would just mosey along to bed, though having to share a room with T'beth after what she'd been doing with Richard wasn't appealing. Wrinkling his nose in anticipation, Adrian moseyed into Ardeshir's house and down to the blacked-out room.

The door was locked. He rattled the knob angrily. Breaking down the door would be a horrible breach of manners, a show of extreme ingratitude to Ardeshir, a really stupid thing to do as it would negate the room's use as a daytime shelter, and it would earn him a good thump from T'beth and extreme courtesy from Richard.

"T'beth!" he called out. "Open the damned door!"

"Go away!" she called back.

"It's nearly dawn!" he protested. "Let me in!"

He heard Richard's voice, slightly muffled, "Is there other shelter he might find?"

"Sure," was T'beth's reply.

"Go away!" Richard commanded Adrian.

"Dammit!" Adrian kicked the door, not hard enough to break it. "This isn't funny!"

"Kick that door again, and I'm coming out there," T'beth growled. "You can find somewhere else to go."

Totally dejected, Adrian slouched back out of the house.

Only a few stragglers remained in the town square of Sa'idi. None of these were Exalted Ones, so Adrian couldn't ask the locals where they holed up. There were always the caves, but those were a good hike out of town, the night was ending, and there might be bears.

Oh, peachy. Adrian hadn't come all this way, risked his butt, played the hero, and helped rescue T'beth just so that he would fry in the desert sunrise!

He stormed back into Ardeshir's house, rooted through the packs, pulled out the black silk tent, found a corner where the sun would not reach him, and rolled himself up in it so that he resembled a black cocoon.

Neither Richard nor T'beth had better cross his path when darkness fell...

When darkness fell, Richard and T'beth were busily engaged in Round Two ... or maybe it was Twelve.

She was not happy. T'beth was used to being the dominant partner in any affair she conducted, whether with male or female, and Richard was simply not allowing her to take control. She could have forced the issue, certainly, but if she had used force she would have had to kill him. He was far too intriguing to kill, and it would have seemed ungracious to kill her rescuer.

But it was, slowly, driving her wild. He could make her lose control of herself, but try as she would, she could not do the same to him. He was considerate and attentive, carefully learning her body and taking the time to give as much to her as he was taking ... but not for one moment was she able to gain the upper hand. He led ... and took her with him, and if he was not forcing her, he was at the very least making it damned well impossible for her to say no.

She stood it as long as she could. She knew she had no reason to be angry with him; he was far more caring and giving than most male lovers she had taken. But, dammit, this was her body, and she was damned if she was going to allow him to coolly use it ... not matter how much he gave in return. So T'beth did the one thing she knew of that would take him outside of his own control: she bit him.

She was careful. She didn't want to do him any serious harm. But she would establish just who controlled whom if it killed her. And as she took his blood, she felt the overwhelming arousal growing in him, as she had intended … but oh gods … growing in her, as well...

They went at each other like animals in heat. Once she started it, T'beth couldn't stop it, and if she had released Richard's careful control of himself, she had also abandoned any hope of containing herself. They rutted with fierce, driven energy ... and no consideration for each other whatever. And when he had climaxed, Richard, gasping for breath, panted into her ear, "That was fun ... and grand exercise, surely, lady ... but it lacked something of the subtler nuances, didn't it? Like this one..." and, laughing at her, he sent her over the edge again, "... or this...?"

So, as much as it galled her, T'beth took his suggestion. She rested. Richard's hands and lips were working on her again, making her forget the abuse she had endured in Khelat, making her body respond in ways that almost embarrassed her.

But what went on in the king's mind while his body made love to hers? T'beth couldn't resist the chance to have a quick peek...

The back of the lady's hand connecting sharply with his ear made Richard pause in considerable surprise. It had been a very long time since anyone had dared raise a hand to him -- and lived to tell about it, except for one occasion he preferred to forget.

"Have I offended you?" he demanded, noting that T'beth had taken advantage of his confusion to not only pull away from him, but to hastily don the nearest clothing she could find. As this happened to be Bahram's gem-encrusted white kaftan, she ended up looking far more attractive than she knew or intended.

"Forget it!" she snapped, seeing the reawakened lust in his eyes. "Damn it, where did you put my crossbow?"

He came to his feet and, reaching for her hands, seized her wrists in an ungentle grasp. "You don't need it," he said, his tone now whip-crack stern. "And if you strike me again, lady, I will repay you in kind." The crossbow, during their most athletic endeavors, had been knocked down behind the bedside stand ... but he wasn't going to let her know it.

Her eyes sparked, but she made no attempt to free her wrists. Now was not the time for a wrestling match that would most likely lead to either sex or serious injury.

"Second fiddle is not an instrument I play," T'beth stated. Her voice would have frozen running water.

Richard's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"There is another woman on your mind." Ice formed on each word. "Even while your body joins with mine, your thoughts are with her." She flicked her wrists sideways and freed them from Richard's now unresisting grasp. "It's not very flattering, king, not to have a man's full attention while he is making love to you."

"You have had the full attention of my body," he said quietly. "I offered nothing else ... nor have I taken anything else from you. I did not give you leave to examine what may be in my mind ... nor does it in any way concern you."

"The hell it doesn't! If all you want is to jackoff, Richard, you can damned well do it without me!"

Richard's eyes flickered while he worked out the modern slang, and then grew even harder. But before he could say anything, T'beth spat into his face, "It isn't me you're thinking of! It isn't me who leaves the love bites on your throat or the stench of her perfume on your skin!"

Now she'd hit him where it hurt, and T'beth exulted in it. "Come on, Richard ... fight back!" she said, sneering. "Shall I tell you her name? Your little blonde goddess who comes to you when you sleep?"

"What are you talking about?" His voice had changed. It was lighter, and curiously uninflected. His eyes had become hooded and unreadable.

"Liliana!" she said triumphantly. "Her name rings inside your head like a tocsin." She shook her head at his dumbfounded expression. "I wouldn't give a damn what you think or feel, but I will not have you pretending that I'm her! If what you want so much is your willing little Liliana, then what the hell are you fucking me for?"

Richard's voice had become every bit as icy as hers. "Forgive me if I misunderstood, lady. I seem to be losing my ability to detect indifference in my partners. I could, perhaps, avoid such mistakes in future if you would but tell me at what point in these last hours your own behavior changed from eager participation to unwillingness. I will confess that I failed to understand when opening your legs so wide and begging me to thrust deeper inside you indicated distaste on your part."

If he thought she had hit him hard the first time, he was disabused of that idea now. T'beth hit him harder by far this time than any man had ever struck him, even in the heat of battle, and it drove him to his knees, his senses reeling. When his sight cleared, she was bent over him, pouring invective over his sagging head with a vocabulary most sailors ... and certainly most kings, would have blushed to understand. Richard understood, but he wasn't blushing.

In all fairness, he had warned her. He didn't have her strength, but Richard was fast. He came up off the floor, his arm swinging in a long arc, and backhanded her across the face hard enough to cause her, too, to lose her footing. Before she could get disentangled from the folds of the kaftan enough to scramble to her feet, he was on top of her ... and he had pulled the damned silver-plated knife from his boot beside the bed.

T'beth froze instinctively at the almost-touch of silver against her throat, her eyes locked on his, faintly reddish ... and then she smiled. "Son of a gun," she said. "I can't remember the last time a man knocked me down."

"We're even," he said, in a surprisingly friendly tone. "No woman has ever struck me to the floor."

"If that's how you usually talk to the women you've just screwed, more of them ought to take it up. Put the damned knife away, Richard. You're not going to cut me ... and you don't want to hurt me."

He thought about it for a moment, weighing her expression and her tone of voice, and then pulled the knife away and drove it, point first, into the floor beside her head. He pushed himself up and reached down to her with one hand. "I don't want to hurt you," he agreed. "And I don't want to be forced to defend myself." He smiled down at her. "Friends?"

She had pushed herself up on her elbows, but she didn't take his hand. "Are you sure?" she said. "I don't think you fuck with your friends, Richard ... in any way."

"No," he said, quite honestly. "But I have had far fewer friends than bedmates."

T'beth grinned. "Me, too," she said, and took his hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet.

He turned away from her and, reaching down behind the bedside stand, retrieved the crossbow. She took it from him, and watched while he sorted through the tangle of bedding, searching for the clothing he had discarded so precipitously so many hours ago. She said, "What I said was true, though." With his clothes in hand, he turned to look at her, and she said, "You've got it bad, Rick. You're in love with the lady."

He didn't even notice what she had called him. He said, not angrily, "The lady ... prefers someone else. It is her privilege."

"Then she enjoys a bit of extracurricular activity on the side." Her fingers reached out to touch the marks on his throat he had never seen. "Richard, I don't know what this woman is, but she's not biting your throat from half a world away. And she isn't leaving her perfume all over you when you think of her."

He had understood what she was saying the first time, and the knowledge had shaken him. But he could do nothing about it now, and he had things to do here, still, that would not allow him the luxury of trying to understand if Liliana had actually come to him ... and if she had, why. "Thank you," he said soberly. "It is something I will attend to when I have finished what I set out to do here."

"I wouldn't waste time, if I were you," T'beth said. She couldn't resist. As he bent to step into his pants, she reached out and smacked him a good one across his bare backside ... and then danced quickly back out of his reach, grinning. "Friends, remember?" she said. "And I've been wanting to do that since I first saw those tight little buns in the skin-tight hose in Hoolihan's that night."

The flash of anger faded and he smiled, the small, self-deprecating smile that drove Jake up the wall just when he was about ready to bat Richard one himself. "I suppose I can hardly object," he said, "since I have spent these last hours doing what I have wanted to do since that same night. I hope, lady, that you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed that."

"Oh, stop fishing for compliments." T'beth, reasonably sure he wasn't going to hit back, found her own leather pants among the disordered bedclothes. "Men ... if you ask me if the earth moved, I'll be rethinking using the crossbow on you."

But when he was dressed, and about to leave, she went up on tiptoe to brush a small kiss across his lips. "Friends?" she said.

His eyes had become very serious. "Friends," he agreed.