Hungry Like the Wolf

by Pairaka

The caravan rolled into Ammarca three weeks later as the sun was westering low. Stacia and Zaira both groaned with relief at the thought that soon they would be in a real room with real beds and—more importantly—a bath house. Gaav had to admit that he would be thankful for a long, hot soak himself.

He rode beside the wagon as the caravan pulled into the lot on the western side of the city. Fulgar went to report to the merchant company that they'd arrived, and the drivers started unloading the wagons. The goods had to be inside the city and stowed in the warehouses before dark. After a quick consultation with the caravan master, Gaav hired a cart to take their trunks and other things to one of the nicer inns in the city. Soon their possessions were being transferred from the wagon to the cart.

"I can't believe we're here," Zaira breathed, looking at the walls of the port city with eyes glittering with hunger. "Is the ocean really just over those walls?"

"It is," he said, swinging her down off the wagon and setting her on her feet. She gripped his arm and nearly danced in her excitement.

"Oh, let's go see it!"

"Now?" he asked, swinging down their bags and handing them to the cart driver, then took Remy's carrier from Stacia as she handed it down. "Don't you want to go get cleaned up first?"

"No, that can wait. I want to go see the ocean."

He laughed softly. "Okay, if that's what you want to do."

"Good!" She looked up at Stacia, still on the wagon and handing down her bags. "Coming?"

"No, I think I can wait until I've had a chance to wash my hair, thanks." She swung her leg over the side of the wagon and climbed down.

"Okay. If you're sure." Zaira was tugging on Gaav's coat sleeve and trying to drag him along behind her.

"Hey, wait a minute!" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a brown leather bag. Tossing it to Stacia, he said, "Get us some rooms, will you? The cart driver knows which inn."

She caught it and stared at them. "Gee, thanks! Stick me with the chores while you two run off and have fun, why don't you?"

Zaira grinned and waved at her friend while continuing to tug at Gaav's coat. "I asked if you wanted to come, Stacia! We won't be long, I promise. I've just got to see it now!"

"All right, all right. Go!" she said, waving them away. She turned to the cart driver and started yelling at him to be careful with her cat.

"Come on, Gaavan!" Zaira tugged one last time and he relented. Striding quickly along in her wake, he let her lead him through the gates and into the bustle of Ammarca's main market. She drew up at the center of the market, marked by a large fountain. "Which way?" she yelled over the din of voices and animals noises. Taking her hand, he assumed the lead, so thoroughly was he caught up in her simple pleasure at the prospect of seeing something new--even if it wasn't new for him. He had no difficulty in threading his way through the evening crowds that were congregating in the market as the sun slipped closer and closer to the western horizon and the heat began to dissipate from the streets and mud brick buildings. Moving through the press, he headed north and out of the market before turning east towards the coast. The main road wound down, through the city and then out onto the cliffs that formed the harbor.

At the top of the cliffs, Zaira stopped, pulling her hand out of Gaav's, and just stared at the expanse of blue-green water that spread out to the horizon in front of her, darkening to a deep, blackish green where the sky was already darkening. Gaav stood behind her curious as to what her reaction would be.

"It's...I can't see it well from up here," she said, eyes traveling to the coast below. "I want to touch it."

Grinning lopsidedly, he took her hand and turned to the road that wound along the edge of the cliff to the north. "This way," he said, and led her down a narrow track that traced its way back and forth across the face of the cliff. To the south, the cliffs were lower and there was a natural harbor, but to the north of the city, the cliffs rose nearly straight up and formed a narrow beach below them. The headland curved back on itself further to the north, and a series of broken rocks and underwater shelves made it impossible for ships to get close to the coast so the beach was mostly untouched.

Finally, they reached the bottom and stepped off the rocky path and onto the soft, white sand of the strand. The cliffs loomed high above them, completely blocking out the last of the sun's rays, and they found themselves in an eerie twilight: The western sky above the cliffs was still aglow, and the water before them sparkled with both the reflected light from above and a strange phosphorescence, almost as if it were lit from within.

Zaira stumbled in the soft, white sand a bit, then with a hearty laugh, she kicked off her slippers (which were full of sand now anyway) and sank her toes into the cool, damp sand. "Oh," she breathed, picking her way across the strand from the bottom of the path towards the water. Gaav looked down and picked up her slippers and shook them out before he followed her. She was watching the waves roll in and wash back with a fascination he found strangely compelling. His easy grin fled quickly, however, when she put her foot down, then pulled it back with a small yelp.

"What?" he called, increasing his pace to catch her up. However, her attention was on the smooth, wet sand that stretched out to meet the incoming tide. Without warning, she laughed and pounced on something in the sand, obviously missing the first attempt because she scrabbled around for a moment before letting out a cry of triumph and cupping something in her hands.

Laughing, she straightened and carefully opened her cupped hands and peered inside. "What is it?" she asked, holding it out for him to see.

He looked, and managed to catch a glimpse of something dark, with lots of legs and a hard, dark shell but only about an inch long. Grinning, he caught it as it took a dive off the edge of her hand towards freedom. "It's just a sand crab," he said, carefully dumping it back into her hand. "You're lucky; these don't have pincers big enough to hurt."

Carefully picking it up between her thumb and forefinger, she peered at it in the soft light. "It's trying its best," she said with a low laugh as it moved its tiny pincers over her thumb trying to gain a purchase on it. Its legs, amazingly strong for such a tiny creature, pushed against her fingers and elicited a light laugh from her. "It tickles," she said, bending down to let the little crab escape back into the sand. She watched it scurry away, along with dozens of others just like it, then, slipping her hand into Gaav's, started to stroll along the beach just above the waterline.

"Well, what do you think?" he asked her, burying his other hand in his pocket and matching his long stride to hers.

She nodded, staring out over the expanse and just watching the waves roll in and listening to their never-ending whispers. "It's so...so peaceful."

"You wouldn't say that if you saw it during a storm." Gaav reached down and picked up a smooth stone and tossed it into the waves. "The ocean is a killer; more inhospitable than any desert."

Zaira looked up at him strangely. "You don't sound like you like the ocean much."

He shrugged. "I don't like it or dislike it. I just prefer having solid ground under my feet. But sometimes it's necessary to venture out on it." He turned and took both her hands and looked down at her. "Which we'll be doing just as soon as I can find a ship."

She looked up at him with delight clear in her eyes. "I'm looking forward to it." She turned and leaned against him, looking out across the ocean to the east. "To think, we'll be crossing the ocean for some place I've never even knew existed a few weeks ago. Some place halfway across the world."

Gaav put his arms around her and looked out across the ocean. "It's not so different from here."

"Oh, it's got to be a little different..."

"Well, over there the sun comes up over the desert and sets over the ocean."

She smiled; he could hear it in her voice. "Sunset over the ocean? Oh, I'll bet that's nice!"

"It is." He pulled her around and leaned down to kiss her. "I think it's about time to get back to the inn, don't you? I'd like a bath." He grinned suddenly and plucked at the shoulder of her caftan. "Unless you want to go swimming..."

"No, I don't want to go swimming. I don't have anything to wear."

"Neither do I," he murmured, tugging harder at her caftan.

"I know what you want," she said. "And you can wait until after we've both had baths."

Chuckling, he nodded. "Okay. I doubt taking a tumble on the beach would be very...comfortable anyway."

"No. All that sand getting in places..." Her voice trailed off and he could tell she was blushing even in the darkness.

"Let's go find the inn, then. Stacia should have everything settled by now. We can have our baths and then we can get hot and sweaty again."

"You are—" She paused, considered it, then gave him a seductive grin. "Absolutely right."

Chuckling, he took her hand and pulled her towards the path up the cliff. "I knew you'd see it my way."

Laughing, she ran after him to keep up with his long strides. "No, I think you saw it my way! Hey! Give me my shoes!"

Pausing, he tossed her slippers to her and held still while she used his arm to steady herself to wipe the sand off her feet before slipping her shoes on. Deciding she was taking too long, he took her hand and swung her up into his arms and started up the path.

"Hey!"

"Hey what?" he asked, grinning.

"Oh..." She looked up the steep path and put her arms around his neck. "Nothing. Except that it's very nice of you to offer to carry me to the top so I won't get worn out." She winked at him.

For a moment, he just stared at her then he grinned. "Of course not. Can't have you tiring yourself out here and be too tired when we get back to the inn."

"Exactly." She leaned forward and kissed him. "Better hurry," she whispered. "I feel the need to take advantage of that nice mattress and private room."

"Don't need to tell me twice," he said, stealing one more kiss from her as he nearly sprinted up the path. At the top, he swung her down and set her on her feet, but kept hold of her hand. Fingers laced with hers, he turned onto the road that ran alongside the top of the cliff and headed back into town with his flame-haired dancer jogging alongside him to keep up, holding tightly to his hand and laughing up at him.

* * *

The next morning saw Gaav up and dressed before dawn. He was pulling on his patched coat and about to sling on his sword when Zaira rolled over and called out to him. "Gaavan? What are you doing?"

He set his sword down and crossed the room to kneel next to her. "I'm going to go see about finding a boat to Gehn."

"But..." She pushed her hair back and looked out the window; their room faced east across the harbor, and the sky was just barely starting to glow, "It's so early."

"I want to get an early start. The tide will be high in about an hour; Anyone leaving will be getting ready to sail with it. And they'll be the people to ask about getting to Gehn."

"Oh. Okay," she murmured sleepily, covering a yawn with her hand.

He leaned down and kissed her brow. "Go back to sleep. I'll be back in a few hours, hopefully with some news."

"Okay..." She settled back down in the nest of covers on the pallet and was immediately asleep again. Gaav grinned to himself as he watched her a moment, then he got up, slung on his sword, and left. As the door closed behind him, he laid his hand on it and wove his seal into the wood. With a bit of extra energy, he modified it so that no one save those he wished could enter the room. Having done that, he was about to leave when he passed the door to Stacia's room (who had insisted on a room at the opposite end of the hallway). After a quick internal debate, he laid his hand on her door and embedded his seal into it, as well. If something happened to the woman, Zaira would be devastated and besides, Zaira might go in there and would need the protection. Pleased with his rationalization, he proceeded down the steps and out of the inn. Turning south, he headed towards the docks to find the ship captains who were leaving with the morning tide.

"Gehn?" the grizzled deck hand asked. He straightened and pushed his back into place with his hands and stretched out the muscles strained by carrying a heavy bag of grain. "Th' only way yer gonna get ta Gehn is ta sail to Pirdellen an' catch a ship from there. Ain't no ship's captain will sail direct ta Gehn from Ammarca. Too dangerous."

"Okay," Gaav said, inwardly grinding his teeth over the delay--but telling himself he'd suspected this might be the case. "Do you know anyone sailing to Pirdellen soon?"

"Yeah, jus' so happens that I do. Cap'n Shayne over on th' Tears of Phaeton is sailin' to Pirdellen in about a week's time. Ye kin go ask her." He turned and pointed down the dock. "The Phaeton is berthed down that way. Can't miss it; Gots a figurehead all the guys like to ogle. Ain't no storms ever bothered that ship." He gave Gaav a lewd wink and bent down to pick up his sack of grain. "Now, I gots ta get back ta loading th' ship."

The tall red-haired man nodded and muttered a word of thanks. Turning, he made his way further along the dock, looking for what he supposed would be a rather distinctive figurehead in some way, but he had no idea how. So he trudged along the dock, feeling a bit foolish as he peered at the figureheads. Most were ordinary: Mermaids, fantastic sea creatures, half-clothed women. He was beginning to wonder if the old seadog had sent him on a fool's errand when he caught sight of the figurehead of the second to last ship along the wharf—and his eyes nearly bugged out of his head: Gracing the prow of this ship was a larger-than-life representation of a wild-haired woman baring her bosoms to the elements—and what bosoms! They were perfectly round and since the figure was roughly twice the size of a real woman, each was larger than a washtub. And painted extremely life-like, too. In fact, one of the crew was hanging over the edge on a rope and applying a fresh coat of paint to them. Gaav jerked his gaze away as he noticed that the paint the man was using at the moment was a rosy pink—not the same color as her flesh.

Ripping his attention from the brazen figurehead, he sought out the gangplank. A lean, wolfish-looking woman was checking off boxes that were being brought down the plank and stacked on the pier nearby. "I'm looking for Shayne," he called to her over the din.

"Won't find her here!" the woman shouted back. As she turned to look at another crate, he saw she wore a mate's knot on her shoulder.

"Where can I find her?"

"What do you want with Captain Shayne?" she called back, lowering her checklist and looking at him.

"I want to book passage for three (and a cat) to Pirdellen!"

"Ah! Then you'll find her at the Waterdeep Inn ," she called, while pointing back towards the dock. "Just at the end of the wharf here!"

He raised his hand in thanks and turned back towards the town. As he passed the old salt who had directed him to the Phaeton , the captain waved and Gaav could hear a lecherous snicker over the sound of the waves. "Some ship, innit she?" he called.

"Yeah," Gaav responded, raising his hand and only half-grinning. Sighing, he hurried along the dock to the row of taverns and inns that catered to the ships and their crews.

It took no time at all to find the Waterdeep Inn ; it was one of the better inns along the waterfront (which was not saying much). It had a tavern located on the ground floor that was already seeing a brisk business even though it was still early. He was hit by the sound and smells as every table was filled with seamen either leaving port soon and trying to get in a last good meal before they left, or those newly arrived and looking to start spending their pay as soon as possible. The smells were overwhelming: Unwashed bodies, salt, stale beer, piss, blood, pipeweed and tar—among other, less savory scents. However, he pushed all that aside and scanned the crowded room for someone who could have been the Captain of the Tears of Phaeton .

"Hey, Red!" A well-known drawl and a hated epithet cut through the commotion. Blinking slowly and with much irritation, Gaav turned to see the now familiar visage of the Czarnian seated at a table in the corner of the room. He was sitting at a table in the corner of the room, a mug of frothy ale raised in a mocking salute. With a twist of his lip, Gaav dismissed him and went back to scanning the room. Shaking his head, he shoved through the crowd (nearly upsetting a serving girl and her overloaded platter of food), and descended upon the landlord at his station behind the bar.

"Can I help you, sir?" the landlord asked jovially. He picked up a mug from behind the counter and filled it with a dark brown ale. "Ale? Food? A room?"

"I'm looking for someone," Gaav replied, pulling a few coins out of his pocket and dumping them on the counter before picking up the tankard. "One Shayne, Captain of The Tears of Phaeton . I was told I could find her here."

The landlord, a pleasant-looking fellow, smiled and scooped up the coins. "You were told right. She's over there—at the corner table with Callum." He pointed with a nod of his head.

Blinking at the mention of the merc's name, Gaav turned and sought out the Czarnian. Indeed, the merc was sitting with a woman as lanky as he was muscular. The wild-haired merc could have made three of the woman; however from the muscling on her arms, Gaav didn't doubt that this woman was far from meek.

Sighing, he took a long pull at his tankard then left the bar and made for the corner table. The woman saw him coming first, and looked at him levelly as he made his approach. She said something and Callum turned. As he did so, Gaav was struck at how much the woman and the wild-haired merc resembled each other. It wasn't anything he could put his finger on; just something about the eyes...

Callum watched him approach with a smarmy grin on his face. As he got closer, the merc leaned back in his chair and stuck his long legs out under the table and remained silent as Gaav pulled a chair around, turned it and sat on it backwards. Resting his arms on the back of the chair and ignoring Callum, he addressed Shayne directly. "I've been told you're sailing to Pirdellen in a week."

Shay looked him straight in the eye and he now realized what made her look so much like Callum: She had his eyes. Even though her face was not tattooed in the characteristic Czarnian fashion, it did have a pale cast that marked her as a Czarnian, and her hair was the same dusty black as Callum's (and just as unruly where it escaped her braids). "Aye, I am," she answered, her drawling accent reminiscent of both Callum's with a seaman's brogue laid on top. "I'm sailing to Pirdellen week next."

"I want to book passage on your ship," he said, still not looking at Callum. Instead, he surreptitiously examined the lanky captain: She was tall for a woman, over six feet, with long, dusty black hair that hung in dozens of braids around her face. Her eyes had the same red irises as Callum's; although her face was leaner, the bone structure was similar. And she certainly had the same sense of style: She wore tight, black leather pants and an equally tight leather vest, also black, with a heavy belt in which she carried several wickedly curved daggers. Her feet, encased in heavy leather boots, were resting on the table, and she looked at him from under thick black brows as she sized him up.

"How many?" she asked.

"Four: Myself, two women and a cat."

Callum leaned forward and gave Gaav a wide grin. "My, my...Looks like Lady Luck just came in and sat on my lap."

"What are you talking about?" Gaav asked, acknowledging the other's presence for the first time.

"It just so happens that I'm sailing with Shayne here to Pirdellen. Ain't that so, Shayne?"

"It is." Shayne took her feet off the table and leaned her arms on it to look at Gaav.

"Shit," Gaav said before draining the rest of his ale. "And here I thought I was finally rid of you."

The merc shook his head. "Ain't gonna be so easy, Red."

"How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?" Gaav asked, looking straight at him and pinning him with a dangerous look.

"It will probably take more than just telling him to make my uncle remember something like that," Shayne said, taking a pull from her own mug. "He tends to use his brains more for keeping the inside of his head warm than for thinking."

"Hey!" he said, glaring affectionately at her. "Izzat any way to talk to your favorite uncle?" he demanded.

"You're my only uncle and you wouldn't have it any other way," she replied without missing a beat. Looking back at Gaav, she raised one eyebrow at him. "You're the one that helped Cal fight the Mazoku, right?" Gaavan nodded. She returned the nod before speaking again. "Cal was just telling me about that fight, and how you beat him in the bet as to who could kill the most. Which means you're good. It isn't just anyone that can beat my uncle when it comes to killing Mazoku." She looked straight at him. "Are you willing to use your sword to help protect my ship should we run into trouble?"

"If it means helping protect myself and those under my protection, yes," Gaav said easily. "Don't ask me to help you play pirate, though."

"Oh, no," she replied with a sideways glance at Callum. "We don't do that, do we?" Callum coughed and sat up straight and mumbled something under his breath. Turning her attention back to Gaav, she nodded. "Okay. If I can count on your help to protect the ship if we're attacked, I'll take you on."

"How much?" he asked.

"Three hundred gold," she said without hesitation.

He shook his head. "Too much. That's a hundred gold a person.

"Well, what do you expect? I've got to make a profit. And there are supplies and—"

"None of which would cost you a hundred gold per. Twenty-five."

"Now you're just trying to rob me," Shayne retorted quickly. "I wouldn't get any profit out of that! And I couldn't guarantee that Cal wouldn't eat the cat. Eighty."

"Still too much. Thirty-five."

"Callum is awfully fond of cats," Shayne said with a wicked grin. "I'm going to have to bribe him to stay away from it—"

Gaav shook his head. "Uh uh. 'Cal' knows the woman the cat belongs to. If he tried to eat her cat, he'd find his insides run up the mainmast."

Shayne opened her eyes wide and leaned back to look at Callum. "Is this true?" she demanded. Grudgingly, Callum nodded. "You're getting soft, Uncle," she said, a disgusted look on her face. "And you just lost me a bartering point. Sixty gold a piece."

"Fifty," he countered. "After all, you are getting another sword in the bargain. Both Zaira and Stacia have other talents that can be put to use— Not what you're thinking, Callum," he snapped at the merc when he showed his pointed teeth in a smirk. "They do...mending. That sort of thing."

Sighing, Shayne held out her hand. "Fine. Fifty apiece. In advance."

"Done," he said, and pulled a bag out of his pocket. He quickly counted out the full price and pushed the coins across the table to her. "Here."

She took the gold and dumped it into her purse and pulled the strings closed tightly. "We'll sail with the first high tide of the day in one week. Be sure you and your women—and the cat—are on board in plenty of time or we sail without you. You'll have to stay at an inn until then; 'the passenger quarters'"—He could hear the quotation marks in her voice—"have to be cleaned and aired."

Nodding, Gaav levered himself out of the chair. "We'll be there," he said. He glanced at Callum, who appeared to have regained his good humor.

"Nice to see that the trip to Pirdellen isn't going to be as dull as I'd thought," he said.

"What does that mean?" Gaav snapped, glaring at Callum.

In response, Callum gave him a predatory grin while commenting, "Just that I was looking forward to a long, boring trip, and now...I know how I'll be spending my time."

Gaav gave him along, level look before responding. "Just remember this: Zaira is off-limits. I will kill you if you try anything with her."

"Gaavan!" the other man said, mocking him. "As if I'd try to take another man's woman—" A snort of laughter from Shayne made him break into a sly grin. "Okay, so I would, but that's another matter altogether. You don't have to worry about me trying to woo your woman from you, not when there's such a nice, juicy tidbit for me to chase."

It was Gaav's turn to snort. "Chase that skirt and you'll end up in a body cast."

"Nah," Callum drawled. "My charm and wit will win her over."

Shayne choked. "Charm and wit? You?" She broke into gales of laughter. "This coming from the man who thinks the way to win a woman's heart is to grab her ass?" She nearly fell out of her chair she was laughing so hard.

Turning, he directed a deadly glare at his niece. "You aren't so big I couldn't put you over my knee and give you a whuppin'!" he yelled.

"You wouldn't because I'd tell Mother."

"I ain't scared of her!"

"Sure you are," Shayne said, pulling herself upright and holding on to the table to keep from falling over. "Everyone is scared of her, including you."

Callum opened his mouth to make a biting remark when Gaav gave a short, sharp bark of laughter. The merc rounded on him, his red eyes alive with indignant fire. "You got somethin' to say?"

"Not me," Gaav said smoothly. "Just that I'll see the Captain on the boat in a week." He gave Shayne a sketchy salute, snorted in Callum's direction, then headed out of the tavern and headed out to make a quick round of the city before returning to the inn.

* * *

"Zaira, what exactly are you looking for?" Stacia followed the shorter woman as she marched purposefully into the marketplace.

"Gaavan needs a new coat."

"You think you're going to find something for him here? I wouldn't count on it!"

The red-haired woman sighed and paused at a stall where there were bolts of fabric stacked. "I know. I think I'm going to have to make him one."

"You mean I'm going to have to make it for him, don't you?" Stacia said, pushing aside the bolts and running her hands over the fabrics. "Oh, this is nice! I need a new skirt." She pulled out a bolt of a deep scarlet cotton and eyed it hungrily.

"Get it," Zaira said, looking at it. "It would look gorgeous on you." She smiled at her friend.

"Do you think so?"

"Of course. Go on; get it."

"Okay," Stacia said brightly. She tugged the bolt out of the pile and carried it to the proprietor to haggle over the cost. Zaira laughed a bit as she heard Stacia ruthlessly beat the poor man down in price. She was distracted, however, as something across the way caught her eye. Curious, she crossed the main thoroughfare and found herself in front of a leatherworks stall. There were goods made out of all sorts of leather: Belts, gloves, gauntlets, bags, boots, anything one could imagine, but the one thing that caught her eye was a long coat sewn from supple leather that had been dyed black. She stood gazing at it, amazed at how perfect it would have been—had it been made for someone of Gaavan's impressive size.

"Can I help you?" the shopkeeper asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

"I...I'm just looking right now," Zaira said, her mind whirling with ideas and possibilities.

The shopkeeper nodded and went to the other side of the counter, but she didn't completely take her eyes off the young woman staring a bit idiotically at the leather coat.

"What are you staring at, Zaira?" a voice behind her asked, making her jump suddenly.

"What? Oh, Stacia," she said. "Did—did you get your cloth?"

"Yeah, I did. What had you so entranced?"

"Look," the red-haired girl said, pointing at the coat.

Stacia looked and nodded. "That's nice. It's too big for you, though."

"Not me. Gaavan."

"No, it's too small for him."

"Not that one!" Zaira huffed. "I mean make him something like that?"

"You want to make him a coat out of leather?" Stacia turned and stared at her friend. "You want to ruin my hands, don't you?"

"It wouldn't be so hard, would it?" Zaira stepped up close and caught the hem of the coat. "The leather is soft and quite thin." She turned it over and pulled the lining away to examine the wrong side of the leather. "In fact, it's rider bird leather. Feel how thin it is." She held out the skirt for Stacia to feel.

Sighing, knowing that she was going to lose this battle, Stacia stepped forward and felt the leather. She was impressed despite herself. "It is good stuff. And light and thin, too."

"What do you think?"

Rolling her eyes, she nodded. There was no way she could resist her friend when she got that look in her eyes. "I suppose I could do it..." Sighing, she nodded. "Yes. If they have the leather, I'll give it a go."

Zaira threw her arms around her and hugged her hard. "Thank you!" Turning to the shopkeeper, she waved her hand to get the woman's attention. "Do you have any of this leather? The kind this coat is made out of?"

The woman nodded. "We do. That's the best bird leather we've got." She bent and pulled out a large roll from underneath the counter. "How much do you need?"

"Great Ceiphied, I have no idea," Stacia muttered.

"You won't need more than you needed for the robe, will you?"

"Oh, hell, yes I will," the brown-haired woman said. "There's a lot more to this. I'll need enough for the lapels, the skirts are done differently..." She started unrolling the leather to reveal that it was actually several large sheets of finely tanned and dyed leather rolled up into together. Taking one and spreading it out, she made a few quick mental calculations. "Just to be sure I have enough of this, I'd probably need at least ten of these."

"Are you sure?" Zaira fingered the fine leather; it was lighter than cow leather and more supple, too; it weighed and moved more like heavy cotton canvas rather than leather, but it had a rich suppleness to it that made it feel and flow like water to the touch.

Nodding, Stacia started counting the sheets. "Yeah. If we're leaving, I'll need to make sure I've got enough to finish it. And then I'll need some heavy thread, and something to line it with. Do you have any silk?" This last was directed at the shopkeeper.

"A whole bolt of it. It's heavy stuff, too," the woman said, going to fetch the bolt quickly, her eyes bright at the prospect of such a large sale. She brought it to the counter and unrolled it a bit. "This is the same silk that my daughter used to make the coat you were looking at." She nodded towards the black coat that had caught Zaira's attention.

"I'll need the whole bolt." She laid it down on top of the leather. "They've got just enough leather here and silk to line it." She turned to Zaira. "Do you want to do this?" she asked her friend.

Zaira nodded vigorously. "Yes, I do."

"I'll need some help. You won't be able to make this a surprise like you did the robe."

"Oh, I know. I told Gaavan that we'd get him something new once we got here, so he knows I'm planning on making him one to replace his old coat."

The shopkeeper had been following this conversation with interest and felt she just had to break in here. "Excuse me, but this is an awful lot of leather for just a coat. Do you really need this much?"

"You haven't seen the guy it's for," Stacia said. "Think big. Then think bigger."

"Just how tall is he?" the woman asked, her eyes going wide with amazement.

"Well, he's over seven feet tall and has shoulders as wide as a draft horse's chest," Stacia said.

The shopkeeper's eyes bugged. "He must be gigantic!"

"That doesn't even begin to describe him. Of course, it's only appropriate since he's one of the biggest pains in the ass—"

"Stacia," Zaira scolded softly. "He's not that bad."

"He doesn't like my cat," Stacia confided to the shopkeeper.

"Oh, come on. He hasn't said anything bad about Remy for weeks."

"Okay, to his credit, he hasn't. I'll admit that. But he's still a pain in the ass."

"Never mind that," Zaira said. To the shopkeeper, she said, "We'll take the leather and the silk. What about the thread, Stacia?"

"I've got the same heavy thread that was used for the other coat," the woman said, pulling out a huge bobbin of it.

"We'll take that, too, I suppose."

Beaming at them, the woman nodded happily. "Wonderful! I'm sure he'll love this coat when it's finished!" She pulled a book towards her and started figuring the sums. "Let's see: Because you're buying so much of it, I'm giving you a discount on the price of the leather from thirty to twenty-five gold per sheet. Another fifty for the bolt of silk. I'll throw in the thread. That comes to three hundred gold."

Zaira paled. "Three hundred! I..." She turned to Stacia and whispered, "I don't think I have that kind of money!"

"Well, how much do you have?" the woman whispered back.

"I've only got about fifty!"

"Well, give her that and tell her she'll get the balance when this stuff is delivered to the inn. Let Gaavan pay for it."

"I can't do that!" Zaira said.

"Why not? It's for him, isn't it?"

"But...It's so expensive! I didn't think about how much it would cost."

"It's a good price for this. It works out to be about thirty gold per sheet of leather. That's a good price for rider bird leather and you know it. Stuff not nearly this good sold for nearly forty in Carana."

She fingered the fine leather and fought with herself over this. She really wanted to make Gaavan a new coat, but she wasn't certain how he'd react to her spending so much on the materials for it. Not that he'd said anything about money—but then again, she hadn't tried to spend this much before. And she just couldn't bring herself to spend that much precious money without at least consulting him about it. Sighing, she shook her head. "I'm going to have to ask him."

"Come on, Zaira," Stacia started to say, but the red-haired dancer was adamant.

"It's not my money."

"But it's for him."

"Yes, it is, but he's the one providing the funds." Turning to the shopkeeper, she pulled out her purse. "I'm going to have to get the rest of the money, but here's enough for a deposit. There's fifty gold in there. I'll have the rest to you by the end of the day today. Will you hold it for me?"

The shopkeeper looked a little disappointed that she wasn't going to be able to make the sale right at that moment, but she also knew that fifty gold and the possibility of another two hundred and fifty was nothing to sneeze at. She nodded and held out her hand. "I'll hold it. Until tomorrow."

Zaira handed her the purse and nodded. "Thank you."

"If you end up not wanting the leather, though, I'll need to keep at least half of this."

"I understand. Come on, Stacia."

"Fine," Stacia said, clutching her red fabric tightly. "I still think you should just get it. Let's go find something to eat. I'm hungry."

"That sounds like a good idea." She linked her arm through Stacia's and turned to enter the market place. "We'll get something to eat and drink then we'll go look for Gaavan."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever."

Zaira smiled and led her friend around the square and towards the booths selling food on the other side of the fountain. "What shall we get?"

"Oh...I don't know. Something spicy."

Grimacing, Zaira shook her head. "You know that spicy food upsets my stomach."

"Hey, doesn't mean I can't have some." She gave her friend a sly look. "How are you going to pay for lunch? You gave all your money to the leather dealer back there."

"I..." She stopped and Stacia pulled away to look back at her. "I did, didn't I? I guess I'll have to go back to the inn and wait for Gaavan to come back and ask him for some money..."

Stacia rolled her eyes. "Come on. Like I'm going to let my friend starve while I stuff my face. I'll buy you lunch." It was her turn to link her arm with Zaira's. "But we get what I want to get." She flashed the other woman a wicked grin.

"Stacia..." Zaira groaned.

"Oh, you're such a wimp."

"I can't help it! I have a sensitive stomach!"

"You'd think that eating Derry's slop for so long would have cured that."

"I think it made it worse," Zaira muttered.

"Hmm..." Stacia pulled her to a booth in which small game birds were being roasted over a fire. "These smell good." She leaned over the fire and inhaled deeply. "Oh, yeah...That will clear your sinuses." She pulled away from Zaira, who was trying not to cough as the pungent spices assailed her nostrils.

"Don't you mean eat holes in them?" She backed away and waved a hand in front of her nose.

"Of course not," Stacia threw over her shoulder. "Can I have a sample?" she asked the man behind the counter. He nodded and sliced a thin piece of meat off one of the birds and handed it to her on a small bit of bread. Stacia gingerly blew on it to cool it before she took a bite. "Oh, this is delicious! I'll take some. And some bread." She looked back at Zaira, who was gazing around at the other stalls. "You want to try this?" she asked, holding out the last bit of meat.

"Is it spicy?" Zaira asked, eyeing it suspiciously.

"Not much. Just a little."

"No thanks. I'll get something else."

Shrugging, Stacia popped it into her mouth. "Suit yourself." She handed some coins to the cook, then took the meat and bread from the man. "What do you want?"

"I think that fish over there smells good," Zaira said, pointing to the booth next to them.

"Well, take this," Stacia said, holding out her purse while balancing her lunch in one hand. "Get yourself something to eat and I'll grab us a table."

"Okay." Taking the purse, Zaira went off in search of something to eat. Paying for and collecting some fried fish from the stand nearby, she joined Stacia at the table. The other woman had already gotten them tankards of ale.

"You should really try this," Stacia said. "It's good."

"That's all right. I'll stick with my fried fish. I can smell the spices all the way over here and they're burning my eyes."

"Oh, it's not that bad."

"Maybe not to you, but to me it is." Zaira took a swallow of her ale and let her eyes wander around the marketplace. Ammarca was several times the size of Carana and had a greater variety of races coming to do business here. She watched as a group of dark-skinned women walked by and listened, fascinated, to their sing-song voices speaking in a language she'd never heard before. She also eyed their colorful robes with envy; she could tell from here that they were woven from the finest silks.

That group soon passed out of sight around a corner and she was about to look away when a flash of pale skin caught her eye. The tall merc from the caravan strode into the market and headed straight for the ale peddler. Grinning, she nudged Stacia. "Hey. Look who it is."

"Huh? Who?" Stacia licked her fingers and turned to peer through the crowd.

"It's Callum." She leaned forward and said in a stage whisper. "Do you want me to call him over here?"

Stacia turned around and made a face at her friend. "Why would I want you to do that?"

"Because he likes you." Zaira said, examining the fish she was holding and not looking at the other woman except to give her a sly look through her lashes.

The dark-haired woman snorted and tore a piece of bread off to eat. "Come off it. That skirt-chaser likes all women."

"They why did he pay so much attention to you during the trip?"

"Because he's an ass and a jerk, that's why. You were taken and the only other two women in the caravan aren't interested in men, so that left me."

"Oh, come on, Stacia, 'taken' doesn't mean anything to someone like Callum unless he's talking about his toys." She watched the merc lean against the bar and the way his eyes seemed to take in everything. "It was more than that," she said, not taking her eyes off him.

"Zaira, I think you've had too much ale; it's addled your thinking." She finished up her bird and wiped her hands. "There's absolutely nothing about Callum that I find attractive."

The red-haired woman's eyes snapped to her friends. "I didn't say you found him attractive. I said he found you attractive."

"Uh...I mean, there's nothing about me he finds attractive."

"You think so?" Zaira leaned an elbow on the table and braced her chin in her hand. She looked at her friend and grinned.

"I do."

"Then why are you blushing?"

"I'm not blushing!"

"You are."

"I am not! It's...hot."

"Sure." Zaira smirked and peered around Stacia to look at the merc. "He's looking at you." And indeed he was; he caught Zaira's eye and gave her a little wave then pushed against the counter and started towards them. "He's coming over here," she whispered to her friend.

"So?" Stacia had regained her decorum and ignored Zaira's digs until she felt a heavy hand fall on her shoulder. Looking up, she managed to plaster a look of extreme distaste on her face.

"Hey there, Sweetcheeks," he drawled, giving her shoulder a squeeze. He raised his mug in Zaira's direction by way of greeting, but kept his eyes on Stacia.

Who gaped at him. "Just what the hell did you call me?" she asked, unable to believe her ears.

"Sweetcheeks," he repeated, straddling the bench and leaning towards her and patting what he could reach of her derriere. "'Cause you've got the sweetest ass I've seen."

"Get your hand off my ass," she said in a low, dangerous voice.

"Aw, c'mon, Sweetcheeks," he said, giving her a squeeze. He pulled back quickly, however, when the pointy end of a dagger appeared under his nose.

"Don't ever touch my ass without asking first," she said, her voice still low and deadly. "Or you'll find yourself singing soprano."

"Stacia!" Zaira exclaimed from across the table.

Callum simply grinned, showing his sharp canines, and spread his hands wide and palm outward to show he was no threat. "No need to get violent, now," he said, low and smooth as he looked at her along her arm and over the glittering edge of her dagger. "Someone might get hurt."

"Yeah. You if you don't keep your hands to yourself," she growled.

"Izzat any way to treat your admirer?" he drawled, lowering his hands to his knees.

"I think so."

"Stacia! Put that away, please!" Zaira leaned over the table and was whispering loudly as she scanned the crowd around them. Several people had noticed the knife and were either backing away to leave them in the center of a large open area—which brought them under the scrutiny of still more people—or were looking around for one of the City Guards. Several men, a few of them obviously drunk, were watching with more than passing interest. "Stacia!" Zaira's voice cracked as she fought to keep herself under control.

"I think you'd better do what she says." Callum's warning was quiet but forceful.

"I'll put it away when I'm ready." She turned the knife this way and that, still under his nose.

"I think you're ready right now." Faster than anyone could follow, he snatched the knife out of Stacia's hand.

"Hey! Give me my knife back!" She lurched at him, trying to reclaim it. Overbalanced, she ended up sprawled across him as she reached for her knife.

His grin widened as he put an arm around her waist. "Well, now, if this isn't a pleasant turn of events."

"Let me go!" she shouted, nearly screaming at him. "I said let go !"

"Is this bum bothering you, miss?" A new voice cut across her; the words were slurred and distorted. Stacia twisted around to see who it was and found herself sitting on the bench again as Callum deposited her on her bottom not ungently, but with a certain amount of force. He stood up and swung his leg over the bench to face the drunken man who stood over Stacia.

"This ain't none of your business, understand?" he said to the drunk. Zaira bit her lip as two others joined the drunken man, two of them coming to stand right behind her. She could smell the sour beer on their breath and feel their sweaty heat radiating off their bodies.

"Oh, it 'pears it is," the first drunk said, poking his finger into Callum's chest. The wild-haired merc stood at least a foot taller than the other man, but the beer appeared to have given the drunk a false sense of bravado. "This here lady doesn't seem to enjoy you being near her, and it's our duty to make sure you leave her 'lone." He belched loudly after he finished his little speech.

"Just because I don't want him touching my ass doesn't mean I need your help," Stacia said sarcastically at the drunk who had come to defend her.

"Well, now...That's not th' proper way f'ra lady in distress to act towards her knight in shining armor," the guy said with a bleary grin at her. He leaned in close, practically on top of her, and peered at her through rheumy eyes. "How's about a kiss for th' guy that saved ya."

"Yuck!" She leaned back and fumbled for her knife, only to realize that Callum had taken it from her. Before she could do more than that, however, the drunk was yanked backwards as the pale-skinned merc grabbed him by the back of the belt and casually threw him across the market square. The crowd scattered as the drunken man crashed through first one wall—leaving a hole shaped like him—then another before coming to rest at the base of a cart loaded with fruit. The cart overturned and the whole load of ripe melons rained down on him, splitting open as they landed.

"She said leave her alone!" Callum yelled after him. Snarling, he turned to Stacia. "He didn't hurt ya none, did he?"

"Just my sense of decency," she muttered.

"Hey!" The drunk's partners finally managed to comprehend what had happened to their cohort. "You can't do that!"

Callum turned on them; any sane man would have gone running the other way. Zaira, even though it wasn't directed at her, felt the need to hide from the rage plain on his face. These two, however, were unaware of anything except the need to defend their friend.

"You're in for it now," the one closest to Stacia growled. He reached out and grabbed her arm to pull her away, but didn't quite manage to connect as Callum's hand shot out and grabbed the thug's neck. The surprised drunk found himself dangling a foot off the ground at the end of the merc's arm.

"Touch her and your dead," Callum growled.

The third drunk started around the table, but Zaira, not really thinking about what she was doing, grabbed up her tankard, brought her arm back, and slammed it hard into his knee. He went down with a scream and clutched at his leg.

"Zaira!" Stacia screeched, whipping around to see what had happened. Zaira sat there with a bemused look on her face while staring at the tankard in her hand: She'd hit him with such force that the metal had bent.

Callum also twisted around and stared. "Zee? Did you do that?" He seemed as shocked as both Stacia and Zaira.

"You fucking bitch!" the downed man screamed, reaching for the dagger in his belt. He tried to stand, but his injured leg buckled under him, but that only lent him momentum as he drove his knife towards her. She froze, unable to move, as the dazzling knife slashed towards her. Somewhere, she was aware of someone screaming. Then a huge hand wrapped around her arm and literally dragged her across the table. The knife hit the wooden bench where she'd been sitting and buried itself in the smooth, worn wood.

"Here," Callum said to Stacia as he shoved Zaira into her lap. He was still holding the second of the drunken trio in his other hand. He turned and balled his free hand into a fist and punched the man in the gut, dropping him as he did so. Drunk Number Two turned blue in the face and he curled himself around his arms, which were in turn wrapped tightly around his midsection.

"Hey!" Drunk Number Three, still favoring his injured leg, ripped his knife from the bench and heaved his bulk across the table towards the two women. Before Callum could react, Stacia had grabbed up her tankard, and she and Zaira, in perfect unison, proceeded to clock the guy on either side of the head. His eyes rolled up into the back of his head and he slumped across the table before sliding off to sprawl in the dirt.

All of this had taken mere seconds, and yet the marketplace had nearly emptied in that time. The fruit vendor, whose load of melons had been demolished, shouted obscenities at Drunk Number One, who was starting to move. "Shuddap!" he growled at the vendor, glaring hatefully at the merc who'd sent him flying. Shoving himself up, he yanked the dirk out of his belt, wiped his face on his sleeve, and started for his attacker.

Callum, however, was standing over Drunk Number Two, arms crossed over his chest and a heavy boot on the man's ribs. "That'll teach ya to mess with ladies that're too good for ya. Who are smarter than ya, too." He got a hateful glare in return as the downed man grabbed his boot and twisted, sending him diving into the dirt.

Drunk Number One lurched across the square towards Callum, knife gripped tightly in his fist. Someone shouted at Callum to watch out; however he couldn't respond since he was sprawled in the dirt half under the table. Stacia and Zaira both looked up, saw the man coming at them, and scattered under the table with Callum.

"Get up, you oaf!" Stacia shouted at him, pushing at him.

"Wha—?" he muttered; a rapidly forming lump on his forehead evidenced that he must have hit his head on the trip down.

"Good for nothing—Argh!" Stacia looked around, found an orange that had rolled under the table (one of many), snatched it up and threw it at the man coming after Callum. It hit him square in the face and made him stagger backwards to trip over his friend who was trying to push himself to his feet, still with an arm wrapped around his midsection. They both went tumbling to the ground; the first man's knife skidded halfway across the square.

Zaira, realizing she was still holding her tankard—and it still had some ale in it by some miracle—promptly tipped it over Callum's face. "Wake up!" she shouted at him.

"Feetal's Gizz!" he shouted as the tepid ale hit him full in the face. "What didya do that for?"

"You were out cold and we need your help!"

"Like hell we need his help!" Stacia shouted, grabbing up more oranges and pelting the two men as they tried to untangle themselves. Most of them missed, but occasionally one would find its mark (usually in the head) and they'd lose what upward progress they'd made. "We're doing just fine without him!" She tossed her last orange, which went wide of its mark. The aerial fruit assault halted, the two drunks managed to clamber to their feet. OLE_LINK214">OLE_LINK215">They turned murderous glares on the trio under the table; Stacia gulped and grabbed Zaira's hand to yank her further under the protection it offered. "Well, maybe we do need his help. Get up and go help!" she shouted at Callum , shoving at him with her sandaled foot.

"All right, all right!" he shouted back. He put his arms under himself to lift himself up, only to have the table overhead thrown clear of him and two sets of hands reach down and grab him. "HEY!" he shouted as they hauled him to his feet.

"You're in for it now," the angry drunk Callum had thrown across the square snarled. His buddy, the one who'd been punched in the gut, grabbed Callum's thick arms and held them tightly behind his back.

"Go ahead," he said with a sneer. "Hurt him good. My buddy here has got the meanest punch in Ammarca," he snarled in Callum's ear.

"Yeah," the other one said, cracking his knuckles in front of Callum's face. "Payback time."

Callum just grinned. "You might have been the meanest punch—before I came ta town," He whipped out a foot, caught the other man behind the leg and jerked him forward off balance. At the same time he bent over, throwing his captor over his shoulders—and colliding heavily with his friend—and once again they found themselves in a tangle on the ground. "I'm gonna teach you both a lesson for trying to mess with me," he said with a twisted grin before reaching down and grabbing them by the back of the tunics. Lifting them easily, he brought them together, knocking their heads together, then dropped them into the dust. They landed and did not move again. "Well, now, that's that," he said, dusting his hands off. "Nice little fight—"

"Damn you!" a familiar voice shouted from behind him. He whirled around and found that the third drunk had regained consciousness and had managed to pull the two women from their hiding place. He held each by an arm and grinned nastily at Callum.

"Seems ya forgot about someone," he drawled.

"Shit," Callum swore, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "You ain't learned your lesson yet, have ya?"

"I ain't," the man shot back. "I s'pose you're gonna try and teach me?"

Callum snorted. "Not me," he said. "Those two are."

"Damn right," Stacia growled. "Zaira! Do it!"

The red-haired girl nodded and with a fierce look on her face, she shouted: "SING, Stacia!"

Stacia pulled back her elbow and sent it back viciously into the drunk's midsection. The other woman raised her foot and brought it down hard on the man's foot as she brought her free hand around and dealt him a sharp blow on the nose with the heel of her hand. Stacia delivered the coup de grace by bringing her knee around and driving it hard into his groin.

For a moment he couldn't do anything but hunch over, his eyes crossed and a slightly bewildered look on his face. Then he let out a low groan, and slowly collapsed into the dirt at their feet. Stacia whooped and put a foot on his rear-end and struck a victory pose.

"We bad, girl!" she shouted at Zaira, who simply stood there looking a little bewildered at what she'd done.

"What's the meaning of this?" an authoritative-sounding voice shouted. A tall man with blue hair and wearing an official looking uniform pushed his way through the press of spectators and strode purposefully down on them.

"Ah, frag," Callum muttered and ran a hand through his hair. "It's the Guard. You two be quiet; let Cal handle this pencilneck."

"I asked what was the meaning behind all this!" The Guard glared at Callum. "I demand an explanation!"

"It was like this, officer," Callum started. "These three were botherin' the ladies here and I put a stop to it."

"That's not true!" someone shouted. "He was bothering them first!"

"He was not!" Stacia shouted back, ignoring Callum's frantic gestures for her to keep quiet. Rolling his eyes, he threw up his hands and decided to give up.

"It is!" the accuser retorted. "Then you pulled a knife on him!"

"Is this true?" the Guard asked Stacia.

"Well...I might have done. But it wasn't because he was bothering us!"

"Then why did you pull a knife on him?"

"Because I like stabbing people and he likes pain!" she screeched.

"Stacia!" Zaira shouted. "That's not true!"

"Er," Stacia said, looking at the Guard's shocked expression. "It isn't. True, I mean. About me stabbing people, that is."

"So...did you or did you not threaten someone with a knife?" the Guard asked, visibly trying to keep his temper in check.

"Well...maybe I did." She looked away and rubbed the back of her neck. "But it wasn't like I was really going to hurt him with it."

It was the Guard's turn to roll his eyes and look at Callum. "Did she threaten you?"

"Threaten? Nah. We were just havin' a discussion, weren't we?"

"Yeah, that's right. My friend and Callum were just discussing, uh...how to hold a knife," Zaira said quickly.

"That's not true, Officer," one of the drunks said from where he lay on the ground. "He was botherin' the ladies and when we tried to help, he attacked us."

"Shut yer trap!" Callum hissed and lifted a foot to aim a kick at the downed man.

"Stop!" the Guard snapped, slapping a hand across Callum's broad chest. "Do it and I throw you all in jail." When he was sure that Callum wasn't going to assault the other man, he lowered his arm and gave them all very serious looks. "I need to know what happened here. And I want you two—" he looked from Callum to Stacia "—to keep silent. Now." He leaned down and dragged one of the three men on the ground up. It was the first drunkard, the one that had picked the fight with Callum to begin with and who had gotten thrown into the melon cart for it. "What happened?"

"You're going to listen to him?" Zaira demanded.

"What did I say?" the Guard snapped.

"You didn't say anything about her being quiet," Stacia shot back. "Why don't you ask her what happened?"

"I will—in time." He set the man he was holding on a bench and leaned back. "Talk."

"Well, we were over at the bar there," he said, rubbing his head. "Just minding our own business and having a bit to drink. We'd been watching those two since they came into the square—"

"Why?" the Guard asked.

"Well, look at them. Two good-looking women? Who wouldn't watch 'em?"

"Not an excuse!" Stacia threw in, but subsided when the Guard turned his stony stare on her.

"Go on," he said.

"Well, we were just admiring the view when this bastard comes over to them and sits down. It's obvious to us even over where we were that they didn't want him around, so we took it upon ourselves to make him leave them alone. When we came over, he attacked us." He looked at Stacia and Zaira. "I guess we must have broken in on a disagreement between him and his whores, cuz they attacked us, too."

What happened next happened in the blink of an eye:

"YOU BASTARD!" Stacia screamed, unable to contain her indignity and leapt at him, fingers crooked like claws and ready to scratch his eyes out.

"Stacia!" Zaira shouted, dashing forward to grab her friend and pull her back.

"Don't you talk that way about her!" Callum's face twisted into a snarl and his hand snapped out to grab the other man's collar while the other one pulled back in preparation to swing at him with killing force. Unfortunately, his elbow met with the side of Stacia's head as she tried to get past him to tear at the drunk. The impact was enough to send her head snapping back and whirl her around to slam heavily into Zaira who was right behind her. She clawed blindly for support and caught the material of Zaira's caftan before she slipped into unconsciousness and slumped to the ground. The sound of ripping material accompanied her as she fell on top of Zaira who was in turn forced backwards. Her head connected painfully with the Guard, who was trying to catch her and break her fall. Dazed she landed with Stacia on top of her, and lay still.

"Feetal's Gizz!" Callum shouted and dropped the man he was holding and knelt by Stacia's side. "Sweetcheeks!" he shouted, rolling her off her friend and taking her hand and gently patting her cheek. "Speak ta me!" He looked at Zaira, dazed and unmoving next to the dark-haired woman. "Red's gonna shit a brick," he muttered.

"Do you see?" the man who'd accused Callum of attacking him and his friends said. "She's dangerous! She and her friend helped him after he attacked us! She just tried to kill me right here, in front of you!"

The Guard looked as if he really wanted to be somewhere else at the moment. "Shut up! All right! All of you are under arrest until I can figure out what happened here!" He took out a large whistle and blew several long notes on it. "Just stay where you are!"

"Like they're gonna move," Callum barked. "They're both out cold!"

"It was your fault," the drunk said.

Callum turned an angry look on him. "If you hadn't offended her by calling her a whore—"

"Enough!" the Guard shouted, drawing his sword. The crowd backed away as he stood looming over the drunken man, who was feeling entirely too sober at the moment and wished he were still drunk. Several pairs of booted feet sounded from different directions as other Guards came running to help. "Just...be quiet. All of you. You." He gestured with his sword at Callum. "You carry the red-haired one. I'll take her. You, help your friend." He motioned to one of the just arrived Guards to help with the third man, the one that Stacia and Zaira had done their little routine on. "Take him. We'll settle this at the Guard House."

Gently laying Stacia's hand on her stomach, Callum rose and stepped over the two of them and gathered Zaira into his arms. Her head lolled back and her red haired cascaded over his arm. The movement brought her around a bit and she peered up at him. "Callum? What are you doing?" As she realized that he was holding her, she started to struggle. "Put me down!"

"it's okay, Zee," he said in a low voice. "I got ya. You took a fall and got a nasty bump on your pretty head. It's best to let me carry you 'til we get it checked out."

She looked around as they walked through the city towards a part of it she hadn't yet seen. "Where are we going?"

"Well, seems the Guard up there has decided we're all under arrest until he can figure out the other guys are the ones in the wrong. Sorry," he said, his voice sounding as sincere as she'd ever heard it.

"Under...arrest?" she groaned and leaned her aching head against Callum's chest. "Damn...Oh great Ceiphied...When he finds out, Gaavan is going to—"

"Shit a brick," Callum finished for her. "I know.

She nodded her head against his chest. "How about knocking me unconscious until it's all over with?"

"And miss all the fun? Never." He managed to give her a crooked grin despite being marched to the Guard House.

"What fun?" she said. "I think him shitting a brick is going to be more painful for us than it is for him."

Sobering, Callum nodded. "Now that I think about it, you're probably right."

* * *

It was late afternoon by the time Gaav finished his rounds of the city; he'd decided to make a complete round since they were going to have to spend more time in Ammarca than he'd planned. Better to get it done before trouble came calling. The seals he'd placed were more intricate than those he'd put in place in Carana; these had an alarm spelled into them so that if any Mazoku wandered close to them, he'd know about it well in advance. As a result, he'd had to work carefully to avoid raising any suspicions.

Now that he was through with that, he was looking forward to a bit of dinner, a bath, and a tumble with Zaira. Depending on how she felt, not necessarily in that order. He chuckled to himself; it still amazed him how responsive she'd become in their time together. She was just as likely to suggest the idea as he was—which he enjoyed immensely. The very thought made him step up his pace in anticipation of the evening's activities.

He was still a couple blocks away from the inn when he came to the market square and was forced to slow because of the crowds. Not really noticing, he simply pushed his way through the press of people; they tended to get out of his way quickly once they saw him. However, he was forced to detour around a large knot of people gathered around an overturned melon cart and a pile of ruined fruit. Nearby, a table had been overturned and the benches scattered; a guard was arguing with the owner of a pile of kindling that most likely had been his stall before it had been destroyed. As he tried to get through the tangled knot of people, snatches of conversations floated towards him, only half heard and none of them registering...

"...damn pale-skinned freak busted up my stall..."

"...the women were worse than the guy..."

"...shouldn't have called them whores, I think..."

"...they threw my fruit at them! Who's going to pay..."

"...I heard they're gonna hang 'em in the morning..."

"...always said a woman with red hair was a dangerous thing..."

"...nothing but trouble, those pale-skinned freaks..."

Finally, he was frustrated enough he ducked into the nearest alley (little more than a lane to dump garbage and other unmentionable items into), and followed its twists and turns to the next street. Taking that street, he managed to avoid most of the market, even though he had to backtrack around and down the other side of the market square to get there.

Once at the inn, he hurried through the crowded common room and took the stairs to the second level two at a time. He was grinning to himself as he envisioned how much he was going to enjoy the evening, so when he put his hand on the door and found it locked he was a bit startled. Shrugging, he fished his key out of his pocket; he figured Zaira had probably gone out to get dinner or something else from the market. He let himself in and shut the door behind him.

Finding himself at a bit of a loss as to what to do, he hung his coat and sword on a peg and went to the wash basin to freshen up a bit; Zaira would probably be back any time and he wanted to look presentable for her. To his surprise, it hadn't been refilled since this morning, probably when Zaira had used the last of the water.

Frowning, he caught up his robe (the black one that Zaira had given him) and proceeded to the bathhouse for a proper bath. Perhaps Zaira and her friend would return while he was bathing. Then he'd need another bath, he thought to himself with a lecherous grin.

Twenty minutes later he climbed the stairs that connected the bathhouse with the inn's second level, his hair wet and his robe wrapped tightly around himself. Opening the door to his room, he looked around. Still no Zaira. Glancing out the window, he noted that the sun was fast disappearing below the horizon. It was getting late and she should be here already.

"Damn," he muttered to himself. Maybe she was with her friend down the hallway. He strode purposefully (and a little faster than he normally would have done) to Stacia's room and knocked. "Zaira?" he called through the panel. "Stacia? Are you in there?"

There was no response.

Growing more and more concerned by the moment, Gaav tried the handle. It was locked, but that posed no hindrance to him. The lock clicked softly and he let himself in. The room was dark and cold; it was obvious that no one had been here for several hours.

"Mrowr?" came a mournful voice from the vicinity of Gaav's ankles. He looked down and found Stacia's cat twining himself around his legs and looking eagerly up at him. "Mrowr?" he repeated, standing up and reaching for Gaav's hand.

"I don't know where she is," he said, absently leaning down to stroke Remy's head. "I haven't had my dinner, either." He looked around, idly wondering where the women could be when suddenly sharp teeth sank themselves into his hand. "Ow! You damn feline!" He drew back as Remy ran across the room and crouched down on the middle of the pallet to give him a long, low growl. "Same to ya," Gaav said, pulling the door shut behind him and using a bit of his power to lock it.

Thoroughly worried by now, Gaav hurried back to his room and dressed quickly. He caught up his sword, wondering where he was going to start looking (and what he was going to do when he finally found Zaira) when a bit of half-heard conversation from the marketplace floated up from his memory:

...damn pale-skinned freak busted up my stall...the women were worse than the guy...always said a woman with red hair was a dangerous thing...

Then, another bit shouted above the others: ... heard they're gonna hang 'em in the morning...

"SHIT!" he shouted, slamming open the door as he nearly ran out of the room. He sprinted down the hallway and down the back stairs, which put him out in the street behind the inn. Ignoring the angry shouts and curses of the people he nearly knocked over, he hared over to the marketplace. Once there, he made directly for the stall that had been demolished. The owner was sorting through the wreckage, most likely trying to salvage what he could.

"You," he said in a commanding voice. "What happened here?"

"What the hell does it look like?" the merchant (who was a wrinkled little man who could have been anywhere between eighty and eight hundred years old) shot back completely unintimidated by either Gaav's size, presence or the tone of his voice. "And don't talk to me like that, sonny. Have a bit of respect for your elders!"

Gaav snorted. "I'm older than I look," he said; however, he moderated the tone of his voice. "What I meant was who did this?"

"You deaf?" the old man asked. "The whole story's been all over the marketplace!"

"Pretend I just got here," the former Dark Lord asked with more patience than he knew he possessed.

"Well, it all started when this pale-skinned guy started hitting on a woman. She didn't seem to like it much. Pulled a sword on him and threatened to run him through."

Eyebrows arching, Gaav nodded. "Yeah? Was this guy tall with wild black hair and red eyes? With strange tattoos on his face?"

"Yeah! That's him! At least eight feet tall if he was an inch. Had hands the size of shovels and when he groped her rear, they damn near covered it!"

"And is that when she threw him through your stall?"

"What? No! She didn't do this; the guy did. Y'see, when she told him to get his hand offa her, three drunken sailors decided they were going to help defend her honor. Only this tattooed guy picked one up and threw him clear across the square. He went through my stall and landed there." The little man pointed at the pile of quickly ripening melons that had been abandoned by their owner. "Right in that pile of melons."

"Why would he do that?" he asked. Not as if Callum needed a reason to throw someone into a cart of melons, but surely even he needed some sort of provocation.

"Well, they tried to get fresh with the two women, see. One of them tried to steal a kiss and that's when the big guy threw him into the melon cart. And that's when the fun began." He paused to whistle in grudging appreciation. "Those two girls sure know how to handle themselves."

Gaav had heard enough. "Where did they go?" he asked.

"The City Guard came and took them all down to the Guard House. Holding them until they can figure out what to charge them with, I s'pose." He eyed Gaav. "Why're you so interested?"

"No reason you need be concerned with," he growled, gripping his sword. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a handful of coins and dropped them on what was left of the counter in front of the man. "Thanks," he said.

"Thank you!" the merchant said brightly, waving after Gaav's quickly retreating figure.

The tall man didn't notice; he simply hurried through the market square and to the center of town where the Guard House was located. As he approached the steps that led up to the building, he found himself reaching over his shoulder for his sword and had to force himself to stop and take several deep breaths before he went charging into the building, sword swinging, to physically take Zaira out of there. That wouldn't do anyone any good. There were other ways to go about this. Ways that wouldn't mean they'd have to high-tail it out of town.

Calming himself, he schooled his features and mounted the steps two at a time. A Guard was stationed at the top by the door, but Gaav spared him no more than a glance as he shoved open the door and ducked under the lintel. Inside, there was a long table behind which sat a portly man in a Guard uniform with sergeant's stripes on the sleeve. He looked up from his paperwork as Gaav approached—and nearly fell out of his chair as he had to keep looking up.

"Yes?" he said, pushing the chair back and levering himself up with his hands flat on the table surface. "What can I do for you?"

"I've come to get my woman out of here," he growled, trying to keep his voice civil.

"And who would that be?" the round little man asked. "We've arrested several...ladies...today. Give me her description and I'll see if her hearing has been set yet."

"No, you don't understand," Gaav said, leaning over and planting his hands on the table so he could look this little paper-pusher in the eye. "I'm taking her out of here."

"I'm afraid you can't do that. You see, there's paperwork and proper chains of command—"

"I'm only going to say this once more: You've got my woman locked up in here and I've come to get her." He leaned forward until his nose was a mere inch away from the little man's and stared into his eyes. "Understand?"

The sergeant broke into a sweat and nodded. "I...I...I'll...just get the Captain," he stammered. Backing away, he nearly tripped over his chair then turned and hurried into an inner office. Gaav stood, arms folded over his chest, and waited. He could hear raised voices inside the office, then the sergeant and another man came out of the office. The other man, tall, lean and grizzled, marched up to him and looked Gaav up and down.

"My sergeant tells me you're here to see a prisoner."

"Not just see. I've come to get her out."

"And what makes you think you can do that?"

"Captain," he growled, "We're both reasonable men. Let's discuss this."

"There's nothing to discuss. Come back in the morning and you'll see your 'woman' after the judge is through with her." He turned his back on Gaav and had taken two steps back towards his office before Gaav could even react. Clenching his jaw, he shoved the table aside and started after the Captain. The other man turned and casually placed his hand on the hilt of his sword which he wore by his side.

"Now wait just a fucking minute," Gaav growled. "I want to know exactly what charges you've trumped up against her and why you think you can keep her in here."

"If there are charges against her, they are most certainly not 'trumped up.' And I'm not going to be cowed by a hothead like you into dropping them." The Captain's jaw twitched as he stared at Gaav. "She was probably picked up for solicitation. Next time make sure your women aren't stupid enough to get arrested."

Gaav felt his body go hot as he realized what the Captain was saying. He tensed and shoved the table even further out of his way, cracking a leg as he did so. "She's not a whore, and if that's what you're charging her with, I will personally gut you."

The Captain stared at Gaav and seemed to read something in his eyes. He turned to his sergeant. "Did you find out who this man has come to see?"

"Uh..." The little man shook his head. "I...I just assumed..."

"Cohen..." the Captain sighed through clenched teeth. He turned back to Gaav. "I apologize. We get a lot of angry...men...in here demanding that we release their women." He directed a glare in the sergeant's direction. "Now, who are you here to see?"

"Her name is Zaira," he ground out. "She's probably in here with her...sister, Stacia."

The Captain turned to the sergeant. "Cohen? Sound familiar?"

OLE_LINK330">He nodded nervously and grabbed up some paper from the floor and shuffled through them. He handed a single sheet to the Captain. "Y-yes. They were brought in with a tall, pale-skinned merc by the name of Callum, and three other men. They were involved in a disturbance in the market place today."

"That's who you're here for?" The Captain didn't even glance at the report before handing it back to Cohen. "Cohen, take...our guest to get the women. I'll go get the paperwork." He turned to Gaav. "I'll join you in a few minutes. Maybe we can get to the bottom of what happened today."

"We'd better," he muttered, still angry. He followed Cohen through a door in the back of the main room and down a flight of steps. "What's this? A dungeon?"

"Of course not," Cohen answered indignantly. "We're civilized here. We don't throw people in a dungeon. The cells are in the basement."

"There's a difference?" Gaav growled.

"Er, well...Yes. It's a basement, not a dungeon."

Gaav snorted and followed the other man to the bottom of the stairs. Cohen took a set of keys from a ring on his belt and fitted it into a huge lock on a massive door that barred their way. It swung open with a loud creak, one good enough to come from any dungeon door. Gaav looked at Cohen with one eyebrow raised and a frown on his face that clearly said, "And this isn't a dungeon?"

Coughing a nervous little cough deep in his throat, Cohen replaced the keys and pushed open the door. He stepped through and peered into the gloom. A long, dark corridor led out from behind the main door; on either side were other doors that led into what had to be the cells. Cohen bustled up to the left-hand door and made a great show of unlocking it.

"Come on, ladies," Cohen said, pulling the door outward. "Move aside." He waved his hands at them to get back from the door.

"Why should we do that?" a tall, black-haired woman in a bright red dress asked. "You haven't asked us nicely, Cohen."

"Yeah, Cohen, love. Ask us nicely." Another one, a blonde, leaned forward and puckered her lips at him. "Give us a kiss, guv."

"Now, now, you know I can't do that. First, I'm a Guard and second, if Missus Cohen found out, I'd be on short rations for a month. Now be good and back away."

"Fuck," Gaav muttered under his breath. "Can we get on with this?"

"Language!" Cohen snapped at him, then remembered that the man behind him was nearly twice his height and looked very, very dangerous. His jaw worked, but he remained indignant, though less forceful about it. "There are ladies present!"

"I don't fucking care!" he shouted at the little sergeant, pushing his way past him and into the cell. The women scattered like hens before him. He looked this way and that. "Dammit, where is she?"

"Who are you looking for?" the blonde asked, standing in front of him with her hand on her hip. "If you're looking for a good time—"

"He's looking for the two that came in this afternoon," Cohen said. "The red-head and the brunette."

"Oh, them! Poor things," the blond said. "They're over there." She pointed to the far corner and the women moved away allowing him to see: In the heavy shadows that hung like curtains, he could just barely make out two shapes. One was leaning against the wall, her head lolling to the side; the other was sprawled on the floor.

"Damn," he swore as something contracted in his chest. She was lying there so still—He shoved several women out of his way as he hurried to their side. He went down on one knee next to Zaira, who was sitting up against the wall, though she looked ready to slump over at any time; Stacia was lying with her head on Zaira's lap. Gently, he took Zaira's chin in his hand and lifted her face. He smoothed her hair back with his other hand. "Zaira..." he said softly. "Wake up, Zaira..."

Her eyes fluttered open and she looked up at him with eyes that were clouded and confused. "Gaavan? Is that you?"

"It's me," his voice rough with relief. He pushed his hand through her hair, feeling her scalp. She winced as he found a lump the size of a hen's egg. "What happened to you?"

"Ugh..." She put a hand on her head and winced. "We..." She looked at him, her green eyes wide and frightened. She swallowed hard and lowered her eyes. "We got into a brawl..."

"So I heard." He looked down at Stacia, who appeared to be asleep. "What's wrong with her?"

"I...Oh, Great Ceiphied!" Zaira leaned over her friend and shook her shoulder. "Stacia! Wake up!"

"What happened?"

"She...Well...She got hit."

"Who hit her?"

"Callum."

"WHAT?" he roared. It was then he noticed her caftan was torn. "Cohen!" he snapped over his shoulder. "Bring me a light!"

"Y-yessir!" The Guard nabbed a lantern from outside of the cell and hurried over with it. Gaav grabbed it from him and held it up so he could see Zaira's face. She squinted against the suddenly bright light and he moved it away. The light threw Stacia's face into sharp relief—and clearly showed the swiftly darkening bruise around her eye. The lines of his face went hard as his eyes moved upwards and he saw how Zaira's caftan was ripped nearly past her breasts. She looked down, reddened, and pulled it shut.

He stood quickly and shoved the lantern into Cohen's hands. "Help her out of here. I've got something to do." Before the other man could protest, Gaav took several quick steps out of the cell and over to the men's cell. He yanked the door open without bothering with the key. He stormed inside, shoved the men who had gathered around the cell door to listen aside and marched up to Callum.

"Red! Nice of ya to come spring m—HEY!"

Holding him by the shirt, Gaav pulled the merc up and glared dangerously at him. "You hit her," he said.

"I didn't hit your wo—"

"I'm talking about Stacia!"

Callum's eyes went wide. "I didn't! Well, I did, but—GAK!!" He broke off as Gaav twisted his shirt around his fists, drawing it tighter around Callum's neck.

"You son of a bitch," he growled. "I'll kill you—"

"Gaavan!" The sound of Zaira's voice from the door to the cell. Gaav whirled around, still holding Callum as the other prisoners made catcalls and rude remarks as Zaira appeared in the doorway. She leaned against the wall with one hand supporting her and the other holding her caftan closed at her neck. Her cheeks were flaming, but she kept her eyes on Gaav.

Dropping Callum like a stone, he hurried over to her, shoving the men out of the way and casually punching one who had said something a little too fresh. "Zaira," he said, putting himself between her and the men. "Get out of here. Go with Cohen upstairs while I deal with—"

"You don't understand, Gaavan! It was an accident. Callum was going to hit the guy that called Stacia a whore. She got in the way and he hit her with his elbow."

He gave her a long look then turned to call to Callum. "Is this true?"

"I give ya my word. I would never hit a woman. Let alone my Sweetcheeks."

Even in the throes of his fury, Gaav managed to blink in surprise. "Sweetcheeks?" he mouthed in stunned silence. "What the hell?"

"Callum has decided he likes Stacia's, er, rear," Zaira said softly.

"Oh, for the love of—" He broke off with an exasperated snort. "Figures. Come on, Zaira. Let's get out of here." He took her by the elbow and led her out of the cell, glaring at the other men.

"Hey! You gotta get me out of here!" Callum shouted, picking himself up and rushing to the door. Cohen slammed it shut and wrenched the broken lock into place. The whole door threatened to fall off its hinges as the big merc gripped the bars.

"You get back in there!" the sergeant shouted. "I have orders to let the women go with this...er...gentleman, but they don't say anything about you! So you just...calm down!"

"Zee!" he shouted. "Tell them I didn't start it!"

Zaira fidgeted nervously as everyone looked at her then nodded. "It's true. He didn't start it. It was the other three who started the fight. Callum was just trying to protect us."

"That's a load of bullshit!" one of the other prisoners yelled.

Gaav turned and looked at the man. He was lounging against the wall with two others, all three of them were in chains. "Who the fuck are you?" he growled.

"They're the men that were harassing us," Zaira said quietly. Her green eyes were hard as she stared at them.

"We wuz not harassing you; we wuz tryin' to protect you. That one," he pointed at Callum. "He was gettin' fresh with the other one. The dark-haired one."

"That's right. She even pulled her knife on him and asked him to leave her alone and he kept touchin' her ass. So we went over to see that he kept his hands to himself. Then we gets attacked for our troubles!"

Callum growled at him. "You were pokin' yer sorry nose inta things that didn't concern ya."

"She obviously didn't want your hand on her ass," one of the others snapped back.

"That was between the Sweetcheeks and myself. We were just having a discussion."

"With a knife?" Gaav drawled.

"That's just her way of talkin'," Callum said with a shrug.

"Seemed ta us that she wanted you ta get yer hand off her ass—"

"All right! We've established that Stacia wanted this shithead to get his hand off her ass. Can we stop belaboring it and move past that particular point?" Gaav shoved his hand through his hair and wondered exactly when he'd lost control of the conversation and how the hell he was going to get it back. Shaking his head, he moved Zaira towards the stairs; he just wanted to collect Stacia and get out of here now.

"You gonna let me out, Sarge?" Callum asked.

"I can't do that. I have my orders." Cohen pulled a piece of chain and a huge lock from a peg and wrapped it around the door and the frame to secure it.

"Damn it!" The merc gripped the bars on the door and shook it. Cohen stepped away hurriedly.

"Calm down, Callum. I'll talk to the Captain," Gaav said. Taking a deep breath, he pushed Zaira towards the outer door. "Go on up. I'll get Stacia. Where is she?"

"She's still unconscious," she said, stumbling a bit. Sergeant Cohen caught her arm and helped her to the door. Gaav waited a moment to be certain she was on her way before he went back into the women's cell. The women moved aside for him as he approached the still unconscious Stacia and scooped her into his arms. He carried her out of the cell and headed up the stairs as Cohen locked the door behind him. Zaira was waiting for him; the sergeant squeezed past him and motioned for them to follow him. He led them to a room at the back of the building that obviously served as a courtroom on some occasions. Gaav set Stacia on the long table and Zaira pulled up a chair and sat next to her friend.

"Could I get a cloth and some water?" she asked.

The Captain, who was seated at the other table, nodded to Cohen who scurried out of the room.

"She might need a doctor, too," the red-haired girl said, looking intently at her friend. "I'm worried. She's been out for so long."

The Captain nodded and stepped up to the door. They could hear him ask one of the other Guards to go fetch the doctor. He returned to his seat at the table and picked up a stack of papers.

"Look," Gaav said, sitting on a nearby table. "Can't we just...forget this all happened?"

"I'm afraid we can't," the Captain said, shuffling through the papers. "There's damage to several stalls in the market place, tables damaged, assault charges..." He raised his eyebrow as he looked over at Zaira. "The three of you managed to get into a lot of trouble."

"It wasn't our fault!" Zaira shouted. She stood up, shoving her chair back, and leaned her hands on the table as she glared at the Captain. "It was those thugs down there! The three drunken ones, not Callum." She glanced over at Gaav and went pale. "What?" she asked. He was staring at her chest and going very red in the face. She looked down and went red herself as she remembered her rent caftan. She quickly pulled it together and sat back down.

"How did that happen?" he asked, voice low and tightly controlled. "Did one of—"

"No," she said. Cohen returned at that moment with a bowl of water and a cloth. Keeping one hand at her throat, she dipped the cloth in the water and dabbed at Stacia's forehead.

"Then how?"

"Stacia."

Both the Captain and Gaav stared at her. "Is there something you're not telling me, Zaira?"

"GAAVAN!" she shouted, going bright red. "It's not like that! She—when Callum hit her—I mean when she ran into Callum's elbow," she amended quickly with a glance at the Captain. "She fell backwards and I was behind her. She grabbed at me when she started to fall and ripped it." She gave Gaav a glare then turned her full attention to her friend and continued to dab at her forehead one-handed.

The Captain shuffled the papers on the table in front of him. "So, you're telling me that it wasn't your friend that started this?"

"No. I mean, yes, that's what I'm telling you."

"So your friend—Stacia—didn't pull a knife on..." He consulted his paperwork. "Callum?"

"Well, she did, but it wasn't why you think! That's not what started it!"

"Then what did start it?"

Sighing, Zaira put down the cloth and related the whole story, from beginning to end.

The Captain was silent for several long minutes when she finished . Gaav started getting fidgety and found himself wondering how far he could take the three of them out of here with his power. He hadn't tried long-distance dimensional travel for a long time; for all he knew, he couldn't go very far. Especially not carrying two passengers. Plus he would have to explain how he was able to do that to Zaira and he wasn't sure he'd ever be ready to tell her exactly what he was.

He was spared that necessity, however, when the Captain took up his sheath of papers, carefully tidied them into a square pile, then carefully and slowly ripped them up. "Get out of here," he said, tossing the pieces over his shoulder. "Just...get out of here."

"What—" Zaira started to say but was cut off by Gaav's sudden movement towards the table.

"Quiet, woman," he said softly as he scooped Stacia into his arms. "Let's get out of here before he changes his mind. It's late and I haven't had my dinner yet."

She nodded and stood up and followed him. He was at the door and practically through it when Zaira shouted, "Wait!" behind him. He turned and stared at her.

"What?" She ignored him and hurried back over to the Captain. "Zaira!" he shouted.

"What about Callum?" she asked.

"What about him?"

"You're going to let him go, aren't you?"

The Captain put his hand over his eyes and nodded. "Yes. He's an embarrassment to me if I keep him here without you two. And you two are even bigger embarrassments. I don't know who to charge with what any more. Cohen!" he shouted without looking up.

" Captain!" the sergeant said as he snapped off a smart salute.

"Go let...Callum out of the cell."

"Aye, Captain!" Cohen turned smartly and marched out of the room.

"Now, get out of here. All of you. If I see you back in here for whatever reason..." He looked up and fixed her eyes with his own. "I'll throw whatever I've can come up with at you. From streetwalking to jaywalking to walking without a license! That goes for all of you! Now get out!"

Zaira grinned and nodded. "Thanks," she said.

"OUT!" he bellowed. She turned tail and ran quickly out of the room. She passed Gaav and led the way out of the Guard House, holding the door for him as he followed, carrying Stacia in his arms.

"Come on," he said as he passed her and hurried down the steps. "Let's get back to the inn; your friend is starting to get heavy."

"Don't be mean, Gaavan," she said as she hurried along by his side. "Stacia's no bigger than I am."

"Yeah, but if you were dead weight you'd be heavy, too."

"Gaavan, you bastard! What an awful thing to say to me!"

He snorted and grinned down at her. "I'd probably just drag you along by your hair."

She glared at him and reached out to smack him. Unfortunately, she was having to lift the skirts of her caftan up to keep up with him, and for a moment she forgot the rip she was holding closed. She immediately snatched her hand back to pull it closed. "You'd better watch it, or you'll find yourself sleeping alone."

"Sorry," he said without even a smattering of sincerity. She merely rolled her eyes at him.

"Hey! Red! Zee! Wait up!" a voice called from behind them. They stopped and turned to see Callum hurrying down the road towards him.

"Ah. You're just in time," Gaav said. The Czarnian gaped at him as he suddenly found his arms full of unconscious Stacia.

"What...?" He stared down at the woman lying limp in his arms.

"You knocked her out; you carry her." Gaav shrugged his coat back on and resettled the harness that held his sword strapped to his back. "By the way, nice shiner you put on her. I wouldn't want to be you when she wakes up." He flipped Callum a bastard grin, turned, took Zaira's arm, and started along the street on the way back to the inn.

Heavy footsteps hurried up behind them as Callum drew abreast of them. "What am I s'posed to do with her?"

"Whatever the hell you want—"

"Gaavan! Stop that!" Clutching her caftan shut, she turned to Callum. "If you could just bring her back to the inn, I'll take care—"

"Oh, no you won't," Gaav declared, jerking her along quickly. "He can look after her, too."

"What?" Callum and Zaira said in unison.

"Why do I gotta—"

"Gaavan, I can't leave her with him!"

"Of course you can," Gaav said and firmly steered her down the street.

"But what if she wakes up? And...and needs something?"

"Then he can get it for her, whatever it is."

"Hey, can I say something—"

"No." This time it was Gaav and Zaira speaking in unison. Callum glared at them both and twisted his lip.

"I simply cannot—"

"You can, and you will," he said firmly. "I'm tired, I'm hungry and my plans for the evening have been seriously altered, so I'm making new plans: We eat, we have a bath, then we make good use of the mattress. And I don't mean for sleeping." He leered at her.

"Gaavan!"

"What? It's what we're going to do, right?"

"Yes, but you don't have to announce it to the world!" She was blushing bright red.

"Why not?" he said with a grin, pulling her closer.

"Cuz I don't need to be hearing it," came a disgusted mutter from behind.

"We weren't talking to you," Gaav said, directing a glare over his shoulder.

"Doesn't matter," Callum shot back. "I can hear it anyway."

"Then quit listening." Deliberately, Gaav paused and pulled Zaira up to kiss her.

Callum rolled his eyes and hurried past them. "No offense to Zee there; I can imagine bedding her quite well; it's you doin' the bedding that scares me."

"Bastard," Gaav muttered with crooked grin as he pulled out of the kiss. Zaira just rolled her eyes at him and pulled away to follow the dark-haired merc to the inn.

"Come on," she said. "Let me get Stacia settled then we can go see about these 'plans' you've got."

He sighed and followed her. "Fine, fine. Just don't take too long." He followed along slowly as she raced up the stairs after Callum. He trudged on past the open door to Stacia's room on the way to their room. He pulled open the tie to his coat and was unbuttoning it when Zaira pushed the door open and entered.

"She's settled," she said, coming towards him to help with the buttons.

"Already?" He raised his eyebrows at her. "That was quick."

"Well, there's not a lot to do. She's still out cold. I told Callum I'd send some beer and something to eat up, and to just sit with her until she woke up and to come get me when she did. I also told him you'd skin him if he left."

"Thanks," he muttered, shrugging off his coat and going to hang it on the peg near the door.

"I really need to make you...a...Oh, gods!"

Gaav turned and looked at the woman behind him. She was standing frozen in the middle of the room, staring at his coat as it hung on the peg. "What's the matter?" he asked; she'd gone pale and her eyes wide. "Dammit, woman, what's wrong?"

"I..." She looked at him, her green eyes pleading. "I need two hundred and fifty gold pieces."

He stared at her. "What the hell for?" Worry and surprise made his voice harsher than normal.

She winced. "For a new coat for you."

"Two hundred and fifty gold for a new coat? Are you out of your fucking mind?"

Her eyes hardened and narrowed at him. "You don't have to talk to me that way. It's not for the coat itself, but for the materials to make a new one. And it's not as if I've ever asked you for money before." The glare she directed at him was positively poisonous.

"I realize that, but that's more than it's going to cost us to sail to Pirdellan!" He knew he sounded foolish; it wasn't as if he really cared about the money. He was just feeling off-balance and that made him argumentative.

"Fine. Lend it to me and I'll pay you back. For that and for everything else I owe you." Her eyes flashed angrily at him. "How much do I owe you? There's Neime , my horse, the passage on the caravan here, the passage on the boat to Gehn, other incidentals like the room and food; have I left anything out?"

"The hell—? You don't have to—"

"Well, I wouldn't want it said I was taking advantage of you—"

"Don't even start that," he snapped.

"Well, it seems—"

He held up his hand to cut her off. "Zaira, just stop." Anger made his voice rough, and he saw her press her lips together into a thin line. He lowered his hand and tried to modulate his voice. "I'm sorry. You just surprised me, that's all."

"How?" She wasn't feeling particularly gracious about the whole thing.

"I thought something had happened to you or...something." Realizing how lame that sounded, he took her hand and pulled her close. He slid a hand into the torn neckline of her caftan and used the tips of his fingers to lightly outline her shape of her breast. "It's been a long, tiring and stressful day." She remained stiff and unresponsive with her green eyes still flashing angrily, exactly the opposite of what he wanted her to be. He wanted her soft and yielding and pliable under his hands, but he knew he had his work cut out for her. "Look, I don't care about the money; you can have it and as much as you want. What I have, you can have, and I have enough money to last us for a very long time."

She glanced up at him out of the corner of her eye then sighed. Leaning against him, she murmured, "I guess that wasn't the best way to ask for it, was it?"

"Well..." he said in a low voice, grinning to himself as he put his arms around her. "Maybe not." He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the beat-up leather purse he carried with him. A quick tug on his power drew a good quantity of coins from their astral hiding place into the little bag. He placed this in her hands. "Here," he said.

She stared at it in her hands, feeling the weight of it. "There's...there's got to be more than two hundred and fifty in here."

He shrugged. "Keep the rest. There's plenty more where that came from."

Not for the first time, she eyed him suspiciously. "Gaavan, where do you get your money?" she asked.

Gaav grinned and stroked her cheek with a large finger. "Here and there."

"You're not doing anything...illegal or morally wrong, are you?"

Chuckling, he shook his head. "I amassed a lot of gold over the years. I didn't have a lot of expenses and so it just sort of piled up. This," he said, indicating the purse, "is barely a drop in the bucket."

"But..." she persisted, clutching the bag in her hands. "Where do you keep it? I've been through your coat pockets and I never see any coins and yet...every time you need money, it's there."

"Is that all?" he asked, his chuckle turning into a laugh. "It's simple. I keep it in a safe place, and draw it to me when I need it." Zaira had already surmised that he had some sort of powers, so there was no risk in telling her this. "See?" He held out his hand, palm up. It was empty. He closed his fingers over it and without moving or looking away from her, he pulled a single gold coin into it. He opened his fingers so she could see the coin, then tossed it to her. "It's a lot easier than trying to carry a lot with me. Lot less likely to attract thieves that way, too."

Zaira turned the coin over and over in her hands before looking up at him slyly. "And it's real?"

Smirking, he took the coin from her and slipped it into his pocket as he drew her close once again. "Real enough. Now, about my dinner?"

"We could go get something from the tavern downstairs," she suggested, setting the bag of gold on the table by the door.

"Sounds like a good idea," he said, reaching for his coat. "And when we're done it's a bath then bed."

She'd already been on her way to the door when she stopped, turned and looked at him. "You know, Stacia once compared you to a cat."

Startled and nonplussed by this, he stopped in the middle of shrugging on his coat. "Huh? Why did she do that?"

"Because you like to take so many baths."

"I like to be clean. Hot water is a gift from the gods."

She shot him a wicked grin. "Although, right afterward she did add that it was probably because you used the time to...satisfy yourself."

His eyebrows went straight up. "Did she now?" he growled as he settled his arms into his coat. "And what gave her the idea that I needed to take a bath to do that ?"

"Oh, this was before we started sleeping together," she shot airily over her shoulder as she pulled open the door and danced into the hallway, but not so fast that he didn't see the blush on her cheeks.

"You keep swaying those hips of yours like that and we'll have to skip the bath," he growled, catching her hand and pulling her back into the room. "Don't you think you should change? I mean, I like the revealing neckline, but the problem is that it reveals just a little too much to people who have no right to be looking."

"Huh? Oh. OH!" This time she turned bright red and hurried to her trunk and pulled out another caftan. "I forgot!"

"Obviously," he said with a twisted grin as he watched her pull her torn garment off then replace it with the new one, taking the opportunity to take a nice long look at her and the play of light and shadow upon her nicely shaped body. "I'm thinking about skipping dinner, too, and going straight to bed."

"Now, Gaavan," she said as she straightened the material over her hips and stomach. She was nicely flushed from changing in front of him and he liked it when she blushed. Not only did it make her cheeks rosy, but it deepened the red of her lips and made him want to kiss them. "I'm starving. I haven't had anything to eat since before mid-day. Stacia and I had an early lunch and then...well...they didn't give us anything in jail."

He was about to respond when his stomach growled loudly and Zaira laughed. "See?" She stepped up close to him and poked him in the stomach. "Come on, let's get you something to eat before you get really grumpy."

Catching her hands, he grinned down at her and pulled her close. "You're right. We do need food. But I'm serious about skipping the bath."

Zaira pulled her hands from his and encircled his waist and looked up at him with a hungry gleam in her eye. "I think the baths can wait until the morning."

Gaav's grin deepened as he leaned down to kiss her. "Oh, you're so good at reading my mind. Come on, let's go." With that, he caught her hand and dragged her out of the room, determined to get this eating thing over as soon as possible so he could get her into bed that much sooner.

* * *

"Frag," Callum muttered. How long was he going to be stuck here? Not that he minded being here , per se; he would just rather do it while his saucy, brown-haired Sweetcheeks was conscious. If he had his druthers, he would be lying with her on the pallet instead of just watching her sleep.

Plus—and he had to agree with Red here—it wasn't going to be fun being around when she finally woke up. Not after what he'd done.

Sighing heartily, he took the heavily masticated end of his cigar out of his mouth and flicked it out the window. At least Zee had come through on her promise and he had a pitcher of ale and a tray of food to keep him company while he waited. He poured himself a mug of ale and picked up the roasted turkey leg. He settled down against the wall as the only chair was a hard stool with one leg shorter than the other . He took a long pull at the mug of ale then ripped a huge chunk of juicy flesh off the turkey leg; meat juices mixed with ale dribbled down his chin and he used the back of his free hand to wipe them away. "Ah, that hit th' spot," he said as he leaned his head back against the wall and chewed in almost feline satisfaction. He raised his mug in a silent toast to the tiny woman who had seen to it that he was fed then drained the rest of the ale in one, long gulp.

Silently chewing, he looked over at the woman he was sitting with. She was sprawled on her pallet; although Zee had tried to make her look comfortable, she had that boneless appearance of people who were either unconscious or dead. Just the gentle rise and fall of her chest (which he watched for a few moments, as it did interesting things to the flesh just above the neckline of her caftan) gave any indication that she was just asleep and not dead. He took in the dark spill of her hair over the mattress, the line of her neck, the gentle curve of her brows and the way her dark lashes lay on her cheek. Of course, this last was a harsh reminder of his shame as he saw how the bruise that darkened her eye had spread to her cheek and how her eye had swollen. She'd probably not be able to open it when she woke up.

He looked away, distraught (as distraught as Callum could be). He never—NEVER—hit a woman; at least he didn't hit women he was hoping to woo into his bed.

Rolling his eyes, he muttered to himself. If she hadn't tried to go after that bastich, she wouldn't have gotten in the way and he wouldn't have hit her. Albeit with his elbow, but still...Even if it had been unintentional, it wasn't the best way to ingratiate himself with her.

Not to mention that she'd probably kill him when she woke up.

There was nothing for it, though. No matter how he felt about it, he was stuck here. He'd given his word to Zee that he'd stay until she woke up, and he never went back on his word. It was a sort of personal honor with him. Still...He was grateful he at least had some good ale to back up his resolve. He had a feeling he'd need it.

A groan from the pallet drew his attention out of himself. Moving quietly, more so than a man of his bulk should have been able to, he shifted closer to her. Leaning over her, he watched her carefully for a moment.

"Hey, Sweetcheeks," he said softly, and more than a little nervously. Casting around, he saw the cloth that Zaira had left near the basin. He picked it up and laid it across the woman's forehead; he didn't exactly know why he was doing this, but like boiling hot water for delivering a baby, putting a wet cloth on an unconscious person's head was just something you... did .

She groaned and raised her hand to her head, dislodging the cloth. "What...What the hell happened? I feel like I've been run over by a wagon."

"Er, well..." he hedged. "Something like that happened, actually..." He picked up the cloth and tried to cover her forehead with it .

"What's this for?" she asked, plucking it up and staring at it. "Why does my eye hurt? And..." Her voice trailed off as she tried to blink and found she could only blink one eye. The other was swollen shut. "I remember now..." she said, her voice harsh. "You!" She pointed an accusing finger at him. "You hit me!"

"Now, now, Sweetcheeks," he started, backing away on his knees a bit to get out of her immediate reach. "It wasn't exactly like that—"

"If it wasn't, what was it?" she demanded, looking around for something to throw at him. She grabbed up the bowl and, ignoring the fact that it was full of water, she sent it sailing through the air, aimed perfectly at his head. He threw up an arm to deflect it and the bowl went bouncing off into the corner. It left behind its contents, however, drenching him.

Several other objects followed the bowl, mostly small objects that came to her reach quickly. "Hey! Would you stop throwing things at me long enough to let me explain?" he demanded.

"Why should I?" Stacia shouted. "I don't let men who hit me explain their actions!" She tried to scramble up, but immediately fell back onto her pallet with a loud groan and a hand to her head. "I've got the worst headache."

"First, I did not hit you," he said, staying well out of range in case this turned out to be a ruse to lure him within striking range. "I don't hit women," he said matter-of-factly.

A disgusted snort was his answer.

"Second, I was aiming for the guy that bad-mouthed ya. You got in the way and I clipped you with my elbow."

"And that's different from hitting me how?"

Exasperated, he ran his hands through his hair. "Sweetcheeks—"

She pushed herself up and looked at him from under her hand. "And that's another thing: Who told you you could call me that? I don't recall saying you could call me that!" Her voice rose with each word and she snatched up the cloth that had fallen near her and threw it at him.

Catching it without thinking, Callum couldn't manage anything but a sheepish look. "I guess technically, I did hit you—"

"More than technically!"

"—But I didn't do it intentionally!"

"That really doesn't make my eye feel any better," she muttered. "Hand me that cloth," she ordered, holding out her hand and waving it around while she waited for him to pick it up from where it had fallen. He snatched it up and put it tentatively in her hand and jerked his hand back as she snatched it. She put it over her eye, sighed heaving, then held it out again, waving it like a flag of truce. However...

"It needs to be wet. And clean. This one is dusty."

"Uh..." Callum looked around and spotted the pitcher on the table. There was still some water in there, and there was a clean cloth that had come with his food. He picked it up, examined it, and figured it was clean enough. He hadn't touched it, at least. He took the cloth, dipped it on the pitcher (since she'd broken the bowl when she threw it at him), wrung it out and handed it to her.

"Thank you," she said; her voice had lost the waspish edge to it. She peered at the cloth as she folded it and placed it like a compress on her swollen eye. Taking a deep breath of relief, she turned and peered at him from her uninjured eye. "How long have you been here?" she asked.

"I dunno. Red and Zee gave ya to me to take care of—"

"Zaira did that?" Her voice sounded hurt.

Callum rubbed the back of his head as he leaned against the wall near her and slid down to sit with his back braced against it. "Well, it was more Red's idea. Zee was all set ta sit up with ya, but he put his foot down and said as I was the one that laid ya flat, I could sit with ya. But I'm supposed to go let her know when you wake up. Er, I guess I should go do that." He pushed away from the wall and was about to climb to his feet when she put out her hand.

"Wait," she said and peered out the window. The sun had long gone down and the moon was starting to peek over the bottom edge of the window. "How late is it?"

"Late. Probably a couple hours to midnight. You've been out for a long time."

She groaned and put her hand back to her head. "Don't wake Zaira up. Let her sleep—or whatever it is she does in the same bed as Gaavan."

"Er, that's an image I don't need," Callum said, settling back against the wall.

"Neither do I." She rolled over and looked at him. "So what happened? After you put my lights out?"

"Uh..." The pale-skinned man looked at her in the darkness; he could see her clearly even in the dim moonlight that filtered in from outside but knew she probably couldn't see him very well.

"Tell me. You're not leaving until you do," she said sternly.

"Oh, all right. It's not like nothing bad really happened. Other than we all got arrested—"

"Arrested?" Her voice was shrill with disbelief.

"Yeah. The Guard took us all down to the Guard House and put us all in jail until he could sort it out. Turned out they couldn't manage that until Red came barging in looking for Zee. He was hopping mad and soon had you and her out of there."

She stared at him. "Gaavan? You mean he didn't just grab Zaira and take off?"

"Uh uh. 'Parently, he went to get Zaira outta the women's cell, took one look at you, found out I was the one that cleaned your clock and came rushing in ready to rip my guts out and shove 'em down my own throat."

"Well, well, well..." Her tone was thoughtful. "What do you know?"

"He may be a bastard, but he knows how to treat a woman right. I'd 'a done the same thing to him."

"You would?"

"Sure. Ain't no need to go hitting a woman," he drawled, putting his hand to his mouth to take the cigar out. He changed that gesture to run his hand through his hair when he realized he didn't have a cigar at the moment.

"I'm surprised you think that," she said softly from the shadow in which she lay. "You don't seem the type to care."

"Ya wound me, Sweetcheeks," he said in a voice that sounded genuinely hurt. "I ain't never hit a woman in all my life. Well," he added, looking around nervously. "That ain't exactly true. I did hit a girl once."

"Once? Who?"

"My sister. She walloped me so hard I thought I was gonna end up in next Tuesday."

Stacia laughed softly. "You're kidding."

"Nah, I'm not." He grinned into the darkness; if she felt good enough to laugh, she was probably not feeling as homicidal as earlier.

"Maybe you have some good points after all. What happened after that?"

"After what?"

"After Gaavan got us out of jail. What about you?"

"Oh, yeah, that. Well, they let me outta jail, too, seeing as how we were all causing them a bit of embarrassment."

"How's that?"

"Well, because it appeared I was just protecting you and Zee, and it was the three drunks who were doing the troublemaking. So, the Cap'n let us go. Zee was gonna come sit with you, but Red put his foot down. Said as how I was the one that put you out, I should be the one to sit with you." He paused and spread his hands helplessly. "And that's where we are."

"So I see." She paused as her stomach grumbled loudly. "You wouldn't happen to have anything to eat, would you? I'm starved."

He grinned and reached for the platter. "Sure. Zee sent me some food and there's plenty for both of us. Help yourself." He put the platter on the floor next to her pallet.

"Oh, Zaira, you are a lifesaver." Stacia tried to sit up and fell back woozily. "Damn, my head hurts."

"Here. Let me help ya." Callum scooted over and helped Stacia sit up. He was a bit clumsy about it, but he managed to get her upright so she could lean against the wall.

"Thanks," she said, giving him a weak smile as she pressed her hand to her head.

"No problem," he said, grinning crookedly at her as he passed her a plate with some food on it. She took it silently, feeling suddenly just a bit awkward and more than just a little shy; after all, he was a man and he was in her room in the middle of the night. As suddenly as her hunger had come, however, she found herself feeling nauseous and shaky.

"I think I want to lie down again," she said as she handed the plate to him.

"You okay?" he asked, taking the plate and moving everything to the table as she settled on the pallet.

"Yeah. My stomach just decided that just looking at food was enough to make it unhappy."

Callum pulled the blanket up around her shoulders against the night chill. "Pr'bly the knock on the head ya took. They can do that to ya. Best thing for ya right now is to get some sleep." He absently patted her shoulder as he settled down near her head.

"I've been asleep all afternoon, though," she complained only half-heartedly.

"Not asleep; out like a light." He leaned against the wall and looked down at her as he pulled one knee up and rested an arm on it. "Don't count."

"Oh. Sorry. Didn't know there was a difference."

"'Course there's a difference. How many people ya know have woken up from a fight saying, 'I feel all nice and refreshed!' huh? Cuz they don't. Disturbs yer dreams and sleepin' patterns 's what it does. I should know; done it enough."

Stacia smiled in spite of herself at that. "I'm sure you have." Unable to fight his twisted logic or the lethargy that was rapidly overtaking her, she closed her eyes and within moments was fast asleep. The big Czarnian merc sat there in silence for several minutes while he listened to her even breathing. In the darkness, he grinned a wicked, self-satisfied grin and stretched out his legs and put his hands behind his head. Things were turning out just fine, he thought to himself. She hadn't told him to get out; that was a good first sign. Just a little more work on the trip to Pirdellen and he'd be right set—

A noise made him turn his head to the high wardrobe: With a start he realized that there were eyes watching him from the top of it. "What th' frag?" Moonlight glinting in the window turned two large eyes into glowing orbs of green light. They blinked as he leaned forward, reaching for the knife he'd set on the table.

"Mwowr?" came a low, feline voice.

Callum stared a moment, then leaned back with a low chuckle. "Ah, I'd forgotten about you. What was yer name? Renny?"

"Mrow!"

"Thought so." Callum settled himself back against the wall again and looked down at Stacia. "You been up there all evenin'?"

The cat shifted, going to the edge of the wardrobe near the table and jumping down. He wandered over to investigate the remains of the chicken, nibbled at a piece, then continued on to the floor. Callum watched him wander over to Stacia and investigate her, nose and whiskers working frantically.

"Hey, she's gonna be okay," the dark-haired merc whispered as Remy stood up with his front paws on her shoulder and sniffed her bruised eye. Remy turned his dark gaze on him as if in accusation for damaging his human companion. The cat made a soft mewling deep in his throat and licked her cheek, then jumped up and settled down on her hip, positioning himself to keep a watchful eye on the perceived intruder.

More than a little unnerved and uncertain as to why, Callum watched the cat as he made himself comfortable. When he'd settled, he tentatively reached out a hand; the cat stretched out his neck and sniffed the proffered fingers a moment before licking at them. The big man grinned. "See? We're gonna get along just fine, aren't we?" he said, growing so bold as to reach out and scratch the cat behind his ears.

Remy let his eyes narrow to slits with pleasure and a deep rumbling sound came from his throat for a few seconds and it appeared that they were indeed going to get along swimmingly. He pushed his head against Callum's hand one last time before turning and sinking his teeth into his finger.

"Gah!" Callum sputtered, pulling his hand back and sticking his finger into his mouth. He glared at the cat, who returned the glare full measure. "Damn cat," he muttered, tasting blood. "What's yer problem?" The grey cat merely slitted his eyes and rested his head on his paws and growled, low and soft, in his throat. Snarling, Callum curled his lip at the cat and leaned his head back against the wall. "Yer as bad as yer Sweetcheeks, ya know?" he muttered softly as he put his hands behind his head. "We're just gonna have ta work on that, ain't we?" he said, the snarl turning into a wolfish grin. "Like I always say, I love a challenge."

* * *

The next morning, Gaav trailed along behind Zaira as she hurried through the marketplace. She'd been up at dawn, bustling around and checking on her loud-mouthed friend. He'd tried to sleep through it, but she'd been in and out of their room, getting dressed, rushing about to get food to bring to her friend, scolding Callum for something, and finally, when she'd announced that she was going to head to the marketplace to get the leather she'd bought yesterday, he'd finally sat up, thrown back the covers and told her to wait for him. He wasn't about to let her go roaming about the market alone, not after yesterday's debacle. So here he was, following along behind her, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his overcoat (which was starting to look decidedly worse for wear despite Zaira's careful mending), sword hilt riding high over his shoulder, and a gruff scowl plastered across his features. Normally he didn't mind rising early, but yesterday had been a long day, made longer by finding Zaira and her friend in the city jail. He wouldn't have minded sleeping in for a few hours today to make up for it all; after yesterday, he felt he deserved it.

"You know, Gaavan," Zaira said, throwing him an uneasy glance over her shoulder. "I could have come alone."

"I told you no," he growled. "You're not going out alone."

"I'm not going to—"

"Stop arguing and just go get what you want so we can go back to the inn." He knew he looked more baleful than he should from the way her lips pressed together into a thin line and she turned and hurried on ahead of him. He let out a growling sigh as he pushed through the early morning crowd after her. As she hurried, he caught some hostile looks thrown her way from merchants who recognized her from the brawl yesterday. On more than on occasion he made it a point to catch their eye and by look alone make it clear that he was with her and he would step in the moment anyone caused any trouble. The hostile looks quickly cooled as they found other places to direct their attention.

Zaira stopped by a stall that sold fabric and quickly bought several yards of red cotton. He peered down at her curiously. "You don't usually wear red," he said.

"It's not for me," she said, tucking it into her basket and heading off again. "It's for Stacia. She lost the fabric she bought yesterday in all the...fuss."

"Oh." He rolled his eyes and shifted his shoulders to resettle the weight of his sword as he trailed along behind her. "I thought you were coming here for leather."

"I am, but I wanted to get this for Stacia, too. The leather goods stall is right over here." She pointed and indeed they were at the stall.

"Ah! You're here! I was wondering if you were going to come or not." The shopkeeper hurried over to greet the red-haired girl, pulling out a large package wrapped in brown paper. She placed it on the counter and looked expectantly at Zaira. Her gaze slid past her and up to Gaav as he stopped behind her. "Is this who the coat is going to be for?"

Blushing and smiling, Zaira nodded as she pulled out the purse and started counting out gold coins. "It is. See why we need so much leather?"

"I do indeed! Well, he's going to get a magnificent coat! My mother made my father one very much like that," she said, nodding towards the coat that had drawn Zaira's attention yesterday. "For a wedding gift. He's still wearing it." She glanced towards Gaav again then leaned towards Zaira. "Are you sure you're going to have enough?"

"I hope so. My friend is the seamstress; I do mainly embroidery and a little mending. She said it should be enough..." She also glanced back at him. "I am worried about running short, and having enough to correct for mistakes..."

"I know how to fix that," the woman said, her face breaking into a smile. She reached beneath the counter and pulled out another of the large sheets of leather. "Here. Take an extra sheet. My gift to you," she added as Zaira reached for her purse.

"But I can't—"

"Yes you can," the other woman said, carefully rolling the leather and tucking it around the rest of the package. You've bought more leather than I usually sell in a season. I can spare an extra piece. I would hate to see you run out. And if it turns out you have extra, make something for yourself." She smiled and patted the dancer's hand. "No arguing now." She pushed the heavy roll towards Gaav. "Here you are."

Before he could pick it up, Zaira stepped forward. "I'll take it," she said and hefted the unwieldy roll into her arms. She hurried away before he could do anything more than blink. Grunting at the woman at the stall, he stomped off after her.

"Hey," he shouted as she sped up to keep just in front of him. She was trying to balance the heavy roll and her basket while winding through the crowd. People kept jostling her and the heavy roll kept threatening to topple her over backward. "Hey!" he repeated as she stumbled and nearly lost the bundle. He quickened his steps and caught up with her just in time to catch the roll as it went over backwards over her shoulder.

"I can manage," she snapped as he lifted the weight away.

"Oh, yeah?" he growled as he hefted it to his shoulder, taking her arm and firmly steering her through the crowd. "Didn't look like it."

"If you'll just give it back—" she snapped, grabbing at it.

He neatly lifted it out of her reach. "Leave it. I'll carry it. You'll end up dropping it and ruining the leather and I'll be out both a coat and the gold." That remark earned him a nasty look from her and he sighed. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Then what did you mean?" She jerked her arm out of his grasp and pulled her shawl closer around her shoulders.

"Damn, woman," he muttered, in no mood for her over-sensitive pouts. "Would you stop acting like this and just let me carry it?" Th e

She stopped and rounded on him. "Then would you stop acting like it's such a lot of trouble for you to have to come with me to get it?"

That made him stop and stare at her. "I'm not—It's not—" His brows drew down and he glared at her. "What gave you the idea that it's a lot of trouble?"

"You did! You've done nothing but stomp around after me and glare!" She put her hands on her hips and met his angry gaze with her own, glaring up at him. The air around them seemed to sizzle and the people in the marketplace started edging away from them. "If you don't want to be here, then just go back to the inn and I'll meet you back there when I'm through!"

Gaav's lips pressed into a thin line. "I told you—"

"I know what you told me, but I don't see why you have to act like it's such a damn chore!" She turned away from him. "I'm sorry I'm such a burden to you—"

"Burden? Zaira, what the hell are you talking about?" He took her shoulder and firmly but gently turned her back to face him.

"I'm talking about the stomping and the glaring and the not letting me come to the marketplace alone!"

He rolled his eyes and heaved a heavy sigh. "Is that it? Because I wouldn't let you come alone?"

"No—yes...Mostly." She wouldn't look at him. "I'm sorry I'm so much trouble—"

"You're not any trouble, Zaira. Get that idea out of your head right now."

"Then why are you being so disagreeable with me today?" She finally looked up at him her eyes bright and her lip trembling. "What did I do? Is it the money for the leather?"

Taking a moment to step back away from his confusion and anger to calm down, he studied her face and saw real distress there. "I'm not angry with you, Zaira," he said softly, his voice no more than a low rumble. "No matter what you think. And you aren't a burden. Don't ever think that."

She blinked at him a few time then turned and wiped at her eyes. "Then what is it? What are you so angry about? Don't you trust me to come to the market and not start a fight again?"

It was then he realized she had no idea why he wouldn't let her come to the market alone; no idea of the wealth of ill will directed towards her, Stacia and Callum for the brawl yesterday. "That's not the reason at all." He pulled her close and started back towards the inn. "Yesterday when you didn't come back to the inn and I came looking for you here and found...the damage, you can't imagine what I heard. There were people talking about the fight and there were rumors flying that they were going to hang you all."

Her fair skin paled another notch. "Hang us? For what?"

"I don't know, and I don't care. I was all ready to storm the Guard House, sword swinging and ready to lop off some heads to get you out; I wasn't going to let them hurt you." He paused and shifted the roll of leather on his shoulder. "Do you really think I'm going to let you come back into the same marketplace alone after hearing that?"

"I'm sure it was just—"

"I don't care what it was. Rumors or not, I'm not going to take the chance. You didn't see the looks directed at you as you went by this morning; I did." He stopped and looked down at her, taking her chin in his hand and tilting her head back to force her to look at her. "When I asked you to leave Carana with me, I promised to protect you and take care of you. So I'm only doing what I promised." He rubbed her cheek with his thumb. "If I'm angry, it's not with you, but with these bastards that want to hurt you."

"Oh," she said softly, wiping at her eyes again. "I...I thought you were still angry about the gold."

"Why? I told you that you could have whatever you wanted. I meant it. It's all part of that 'taking care of you' thing I was talking about. And besides, it's not as if you wanted it for something extravagant like new clothes or food or something else ridiculous like that." He gave her a lop-sided grin.

She stopped and craned her head back to look at him for a long moment before she turned into his arm and buried her face in his coat. He put his arm around her and held her close until she moved away. "I'm sorry. I guess I must have still been feeling anxious about asking for so much money and...thought that was why you were being so pissy."

"Pissy?" he growled. "I'm never pissy."

That made her laugh. "You're always pissy," she said, linking her arm with his and tugging him back into a slow walk again. "You're pissy in the morning, in the afternoon and at night."

He grinned down at her. "Exactly. What made this morning any different?"

She shook her head. "I don't know...I just..." She shrugged. "I don't know."

"I don't know if I should be insulted or merely annoyed."

"No, don't be," she said suddenly serious. Zaira hugged his arm tighter and laced her fingers with his. "I'm sorry."

"That's better," he muttered, lips curling up into his usual crooked grin. "Now, can we go back to the inn and get something to eat? And maybe a few more hours of sleep?"

She flashed him a grin and nodded, her ire forgotten. "Sounds great. Let's go. I want to show you the leather and tell you about the coat I want to make you." Together they hurried back to the inn and while Gaav took the heavy roll up to their room, Zaira stopped in the kitchen and got them a basket of food.

As he shrugged off his coat, he heard her stop in to check on her friend down the hallway. He pulled the chair out and settled in it, stretching his arms out behind his head and his legs out in front of him. He stared at the roll on the table in front of him for a long moment before he moved. Leaning forward, he unrolled the extra sheet of leather and laid it over the table. His fingers felt the leather; felt the fineness of the grain and how smooth it was; how well it had been cured; how flexible it was. It was thin and light and the dye was dark and even. It ran through his fingers like butter.

The door swung open and Zaira appeared with the basket. "Here we are! Breakfast!" She put it down on the table and removed her shawl. "Ah, you saw the leather." She picked up the piece and ran her hand over it. "Isn't it beautiful?"

"Yeah," he said, grinning at her.

"It's going to make a magnificent coat." Zaira smoothed out the leather so that it lay flat on the table next to the roll. "Don't you think?" She looked at him sideways, hopeful.

He took her hand and pulled her around so that so was sitting on his lap. He put his arms around her and pulled her close to give her a deep, heartfelt kiss. "It's going to be more than that," he said, his voice rough and raw. "Much more."

She smiled as her lips played against his. "I hope you like it. As soon as she's feeling better, Stacia will help me get some measurements and lay out the pattern and start cutting it out. It's going to be different from your old one; I hope you don't mind..."

Gaav grinned and stroked her hair back from her face. "I don't care what it looks like; I'll love it." He sobered a little while he took her hand in his and laced their fingers together.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said with a shrug. "Just...I just now realized that I've never gotten you anything."

She smiled and shook her head. "Nonsense. You bought Neime for me," she said, meaning the little white mare he'd bought for her when they'd left Carana. "And you've paid for the caravan and the inns and food—"

He laid his fingers on her lips to silence her. "That's not what I meant. You made that robe for me, and now this coat—"

"But you paid for the leather—"

"But you're making it for me." He moved his hand to the back of her head and pulled her face down so he could kiss her again. "I'm going to have to get you something."

"You don't have to..."

"No, not because I have to, but because I want to." He dropped his eyes to her neck above her caftan as he tugged at the fabric. "Maybe I'll get you some caftans with plunging necklines so can have a better view." Hooking a finger over the edge, he pulled it down as far as he could to place his lips against the soft swell of her breasts.

"Ah!!" she hissed. "Gaavan! I thought you were hungry!"

"I am," he muttered, kissing her flesh. "In more ways than one." He kept on, tugging at her caftan harder and harder. Zaira put up only a token resistance until she heard a seam rip.

"Hey, hey!" she scolded lightly, gripping his hand in a vain attempt to make him loosen his grip. "I've already had one ruined; I don't need another one done the same way!"

Making a deep growling noise in his throat, he released his hold on the fabric, but not on her. "You're going to have to do something about these high necklines. That or start wearing your dancing outfits." He grinned as a blush crept into her cheeks. He gave her one last kiss then let his hands drop to her waist. "Let's eat."

Zaira blinked at him, her eyes a bit glassy. "Now?"

"Yeah. I haven't had breakfast yet." He gave her a cheeky grin. "Why? Aren't you hungry?"

A sort of exasperated mew escaped her lips as she rested her forehead against his chest while she clutched the lapels of his shirt tightly in her fists. "And they used to call me a tease," she muttered into the fabric.

He chuckled, not altogether kindly, as he took her shoulders and pushed her back. "Later, minx," he said. "We've got to start making preparations to leave. And I'm hungry."

"Oh, all right, fine. But you'd better be prepared to make amends later," she growled, giving his shirt a sharp yank.

"You know it," he said with a nod and a wink.

* * *

For the second time that day Gaav found himself wandering around behind Zaira. He kept to the background, acting merely as an escort and the "muscle" should anyone take it into their heads to get stupid about the damage done during the brawl the previous day. Most were dissuaded with a stern look from the tall red-haired merc; the rest needed only to look past the look to the pommel of the huge sword displayed prominently over his shoulder to suddenly remember they had other things to concern themselves. Fortunately they were not among those merchants Zaira and Gaav were required to deal when procuring supplies for their journey to Pirdellen and then on to Gehn.

As they proceeded purposefully from stall to stall, merchant to merchant, Gaav was struck by a suddenly familiar sensation. He glanced over his shoulder nervously, scanning the crowd for familiar faces (and using his othersight to look for telltale auras of Mazoku), but there was nothing out of the ordinary. And yet there was something...Something odd about this. Almost as if he'd experienced it all before. He was glancing around nervously, uneasy at this feeling, and worried that it boded ill, and happened to glance at Zaira as she lifted her shawl from her waist to cover her shoulders against a sudden cool breeze that blew in off the harbor it struck him: This was like the first time he has wandered with her through the marketplace in Carana. Only with a major difference: No one here was trying to cheat the girl simply because she was different.

Intrigued, he paid closer attention as the girl bartered and bargained for the things they'd need: Warmer clothing woven or knit from warmer, heavier fibers; socks, new boots for all of them; cloaks, scarves, gloves, undergarments in various shapes and sizes (and uses he couldn't begin to describe), and trunks to hold all these new purchases. It was amazing to see how well she carried herself; gone was the oppressed half-breed outcast and in her place she had become a strong, capable woman. She still needed protecting, he thought with a wry grin (thinking about yesterday), and that's where he came in.

"There," she announced at length, dusting off her hands and smiling with pleasure at a job well done. "I think that's everything on your list," she said. "And I got everything at good prices, too."

"You sure?" He pushed away from the pole against which he was leaning as she approached him and fell into step with her.

"Of course I'm sure." Her spirits were riding high as she smiled up at him and tucked her arm through his.

"Get the cloaks?" he asked, teasing.

"Yes."

"Boots?"

"Yes."

"Gloves."

"Yes!" Her response this time was a little sharper.

"Warmer clothing? Don't want you to freeze your shapely rear off, you know."

"Yes! I got it all! Everything you told me to get!"

"Get enough for your mouthy friend?"

"What did I just say?" This time her response came from between gritted teeth.

Unable to resist teasing her more, he pushed even further. "Did you get the extra trunks for the sea voyage?"

"You saw me get them, didn't you?" she growled, obviously trying to reply politely but he could hear the temptation to shout at him held in check in her voice.

He grinned and nodded. "Sure I did."

She glared at him, and stalked off. "Go away," she threw over her shoulder at him.

He didn't even have to hurry after her. Still grinning, he called, "Have it all sent to the inn?"

Zaira stopped in her tracks and he had to sidestep quickly to avoid running into her. "What is your problem?" she demanded, eyes flashing.

Giving her a shrug and a crooked smile, he replied in a joking tone, "Just making sure you're doing everything right." Immediately, he wished he could retract his words as the look she directed his way was positively frightening. "Er, I mean...Nothing?"

"Fuck you." She pushed past him and stomped on her way. The former Dark Lord shivered and pulled the collar of his coat up around his neck to ward off the sudden chill that had nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with the cold shoulder Zaira just turned on him.

"Hey," he called after her, hurrying this time since she was doing a power walk out of the marketplace. "Where are you going in such a hurry?"

"Away from you," she snapped. "You are such a pig , you know that?" The venom in her voice caused him to take a step back.

"Oh, c'mon." He put his arm around her—or tried to. She shrugged it off and stomped away. "What did I do?" he called after her in a bewildered voice.

"Plenty! I'm going back to the inn to check on Stacia. Don't bother following me; I can make it to the inn on my own, thank you very much!" With that she stormed off, leaving him quickly behind. He stared after her, open-mouthed, wondering what the hell had just happened.

"Fuck," he muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets and stomped off towards the inn himself. He barely noticed as the people in front of him scattered to get out of his way as he made his way purposefully down the road to the inn. He paused as he saw a mass of red curls up ahead of him; Zaira had stopped at a stall and was bargaining for something he couldn't see. Again, he just stood back and watched her: The way she moved, the way she carried herself, the way she flashed the merchant a disarming smile as she turned whatever it was she was looking at over in her hands. His lips twisted a bit, but he remained where he was, not interfering, and watched her put down the trinket with a shake of her head and a rueful smile before walking away. Once she was clear, he moved towards the stall and looked along the rows of trinkets. It was a jewelry merchant; he should have known.

"Can I help you, sir?" the merchant behind the main display shelf asked.

"Yeah. The woman with the red hair that was just here. What was she looking at?"

"Ah. This." The merchant picked up a pendant of a finely sculpted dragon hung from a thin, fine chain. The dragon had outspread wings, clutched a small jewel in its delicate claws, and small rubies formed its eyes.

Gaav picked it up and examined it; it was pretty impressive workmanship. "Why didn't she buy it?"

The merchant shook his head. "She said its eyes were the wrong color. I asked why that was so important and she said it just was. Something about burning and sympathetic magic."

Gaav growled and tossed the little dragon in his huge hand back to the merchant and stomped off to the inn. A kick of the door sent it open and he trudged his way up upstairs. As he passed Stacia's room, he could hear two female voices talking animatedly. He was sure he heard his name and the words "bastard" and "pig" used several times in close conjunction. Snarling, he ran his hand through his hair and slapped the door to the room he shared with Zaira open and kicked it closed.

"What the fuck is her problem?" he demanded of the air as he slung off his sword and hung it carelessly over the back of a chair. His coat joined it in a heap of cloth as he pulled the thick silver torc from around his neck and tossed it onto the table where it landed on the sheet of leather, still spread out from earlier. There was simply no pleasing her, was there? What the hell did she want from him? All he'd done was tease her a little bit. Why the hell would that piss her off so much?

"Shit," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Who the fuck can tell with women." Catching a chair with his foot, he dragged it close and dropped heavily into it, rubbing his neck where the torc had rested against his skin. He supposed now she expected him to make some sort of elaborate overture and apologize to her or something. Well, he wasn't going to. Not until she told him what had pissed her royal bitchiness off this time.

He let out a breath in a huff and looked down to find he'd been unconsciously twiddling the torc he habitually wore between his fingers against the black leather. More to keep his fingers still (he hated being twitchy) than anything, he brought it up to the light to examine it better. He'd worn a similar one when he'd been actively opposing the Mazoku—before Hellmaster had destroyed him. One of the first things he had done when he'd found himself reborn in this human body had been to create this torc. He'd fashioned it from a large lump of pure silver using nothing but his power to shape the metal—a testament to the fact that he was alive and still breathing and still had his power more than any attachment to the likeness of the torc he'd worn. Still, it was comforting around his neck: The weight and feel of it against his skin reminded him he was alive as his blood warmed it and it the air cooled it by turns. Not to mention that he thought it looked...handsomely masculine the way it lay against his bronzed skin.

And, as a last resort, the heavy silver band could always be used as a weapon.

Dropping the torc to the tabletop, Gaav put his fingers to his eyes and rubbed them. "Shit," he muttered. "What the fuck am I going to do?" This was one thing that he could never get used to: This type of emotional turmoil was a lot harder than physical fighting. Already he felt that he'd been running non-stop for hours and it had only been, what? An hour? Less? Taking a deep breath, he put aside his anger and tried to reason through Zaira's reaction to what he'd thought had just been a bit of teasing. He teased her constantly; usually her reaction was to flip shit right back at him. It's what they did. What was so different about this time?

Rubbing a hand over his face, he set his elbows on the table and picked up the torc again and ran it through his fingers as he went over the events: They'd been shopping, she'd just gotten the last of the supplies they'd need for the voyage to Pirdellen and he'd been admiring her and how she'd changed from the timid half-breed who skirted the edges of people's tolerance and good graces in Carana. She'd turned to him, looking proud and pleased with herself at having gotten everything and at good prices...

Slowly realization came to him. "Aw, shit, Gaav...You really put your foot in it this time." Tugging at his bangs, he slammed the torc down on the table. She'd come to him full of pride at being able to fit into and be a part of society and be accepted and what had he done? He'd shot her down by insinuating she was incapable of handling the arrangements on her own. Unintentionally, of course, but still, his constant nagging if she'd remembered all the details must have hurt. No wonder she'd been so pissed.

"Good one," he muttered to himself, leaning back in his chair and staring at the ceiling in the hopes the answer to this incredible fuck-up was written above him in huge, red letters. Sighing, he felt his anger at her drain away to leave him feeling empty and hollow. Now he was going to have to come up with an elaborate overture to get back in her good graces. The question was: What? What could make up for his horrid behavior earlier? And coming so close on the heels of their earlier confrontation just made it that much worse. Not to mention yesterday's brawl...

"If I just had something that let me keep track of where she was," he muttered as he ran a hand through his hair and leaned back in the chair, "That problem would at least be taken care of." Even as he said the words, an idea was forming: Something that would let her come and go as she pleased but would let him know where she was at all times...But what sort of something?

Again, he snatched up the torc from the table. Why not? He had made it for himself; why not make another one for her? It would need some modification as the one he'd made for himself had been simple and masculine, but that was easily taken care of. Shoving himself out of his chair, he crossed the room to her trunk, flung it open and pulled out a box that was carefully stowed among her skirts and caftans. Taking it back to the table, he set it down and opened it to reveal Zaira's most treasured possessions: Her jewelry. His little firebird may be practical, modest and pragmatic in most things, but she had a jaybird's love of shiny things.

Grinning at that, he carefully lifted out several pieces and laid them side-by-side on the black leather next to his torc: One of her more ornate bangles; a pair of earrings composed of a series of metal loops of twisted wire from which dangled drops of iridescent glass; a many layered beaded necklace, braided and twisted back on itself, strung with polished beads of semi-precious stones; and finally an elaborate, many-tiered collar made of jointed sections inlaid with colored glass and stones.

Closing and setting the box aside, he scanned the separate pieces, picking out details: The way the bangle was carved to pick up and reflect the light to lend it sparkle; the way the twisted wire of the earrings fell inside one another; the colors that dominated across the pieces (blues, greens and purples); the play of light on this piece or that piece...

Rubbing his chin, he picked up his torc and looked back at her jewelry as ideas formed in his mind. Something not as heavy, and not solid, either. She needed something delicate resting about that lovely neck of hers. More details; his thoughts went back to the little dragon pendant she'd been examining in the market.

Without really thinking about it, he carefully picked up the pieces of jewelry and put them back in the box; his thoughts were already on what he would need. Once the space in front of him was cleared, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a few coins and placed them on the black leather: Copper and gold. He had his metals; now...to attune it to her. His eyes locked onto her brush resting on the windowsill and he stretched out a long arm to bring it to the table. Carefully, he untangled several of her long, red hairs from it and stretched them out next to the pile of coins. They shone like red-gold against the black leather as the sun hit them. To make the connection complete, Gaav reached up and yanked a few of his own hairs out, broke them off into manageable lengths and laid them across Zaira's hair. His were darker, more the color of blood when compared to hers. He grinned as one of her hairs curled around one of his; he liked that imagery.

He would need something to bind it to him. He reached out and grasped the hilt of his sword. Pulling it out of the scabbard in one smooth, easy movement, he laid the blade against his palm and drew the edge along it. A thin line of scarlet appeared along the edge and pooled in his cupped hand as he lifted the steel away. Carefully laying his sword aside, he gathered up his other materials, gold and copper. He picked up the lengths of hair and laid them across the metal and the blood. His vision had already sunk deep into the otherworldly astral vision as he looked around for one last basic element. In the glowing swirls of color that was the astral world, he found it. Rising and crossing the room to the fireplace, he scooped up a small piece of wood that had not burned completely but had been turned into charcoal—Carbon. This he crumbled into his hand.

Now he had his materials; he stood and held his hands out at arm's length and brought up his power. The hand that he had sliced had oozed enough blood to cover the coins he held in his palm. Taking his other hand, he covered the coins, hair, blood and charcoal and sent a sharp, concentrated surge of power into the materials. The power went deep into their very structures, changing them, disrupting bonds, realigning them, changing the carbon from one form to another; the gold in the coins softened and melted, snaking along the lengths of protein in the hair, coating them, becoming thicker and taking their form. He worked quickly, directing the processes of forming the gold and copper-plated wire that formed the base of the torc from the straight coarse hairs he'd contributed; the hairs from Zaira's brush were thinner and finer and wrapped around these with a purer gold so they were brighter. Bands of gold bound them at intervals and the last lumps formed delicate dragon heads at the terminals.

Now that the basic structure of the torc was formed, it was time to embellish it. He took the carbon from the charcoal and with his power compressed it under the simulated force of such pressures needed to form gems. Small blood colored gems formed around the wires at evenly spaced intervals and winked in the light. He formed another four tiny eye-shaped gems, this time drawing the oxygen out while they were forming so the iron in the blood caught in their structure would be deep steel blue; these he set in the eye sockets of the dragon heads.

He let the power dissipate; an impartial glance at his hand showed that there was no blood, no cut. The wound had been healed during the creation process. Grinning, he held up the torc and inspected it in the fading light: No bigger around than one of Zaira's long, thin fingers, it had a delicate air about it. The detail on the dragon heads was exquisite; the grin on Gaav's face quirked a bit as he realized he'd formed tiny busts of his draconic form in gold. The deep blue eyes stared back at him and twinkled with an inner light; for a moment he thought he saw one of them wink at him.

Nodding to himself, he held the torc in both hands and let his sight slip deeper into the world around him again. The torc glowed eerily among the shifting aether currents; it glowed with the signature that was present in his power and his blood which permeated this thing. Pushing his consciousness out a bit, he could feel it like an extension of himself. Setting it down on the table, he pulled reality around himself and took himself to the roof of the inn and tested it. Yes, he could still feel the torc's presence. Down and to the right. He didn't even have to think to know exactly where it was; it was like knowing where his hand was.

Returning to the room, he picked it up again and grinned to himself. "Perfect," he growled deep in his throat. "And she won't even know it." Setting it back down on the leather, he ran a hand through his hair and scrubbed at his face, suddenly tired; it had been a long time since he'd used so much power with such finesse. Blinking away the last vestiges of astral sight, he picked up his sword, used his power to wipe away the thin line of blood on the edge and sheathed it. Once that was done, he turned to face the door. "Time to go make up with your woman, Gaav," he muttered as he headed for the room down the hall.

At the door to Stacia's room, he didn't even bother to knock. Instead, he just pushed it open and barged in, startling the two women in the process. "Don't you know how to knock?" Stacia snapped as she jumped up.

"No," he snapped. He pushed her out of his way and grabbed Zaira's wrist. Hauling her up off the pallet where she was curled up with Remy on her lap, he turned and headed out of the room.

"Hey!" she yelled, pushing at his hand. It was no use; it was like pushing against a rock. "Let me go!"

"No," he repeated, once again shoving Stacia out of the way. "We've got to talk."

"Let me go, damn you!" she screeched, clawing at him as he dragged her down the hallway and into their room. "I don't want to talk to you!"

"Too fucking bad." He turned, grabbed her other wrist, held them together effortlessly in one big hand, planted the other one firmly on Stacia's chest as she tried to follow them and shoved her back into the hall. "This is private," he snarled and slammed the door shut in her face. He threw the bolt home before turning his attention to the other woman in his grasp. "Now, you're going to listen to me and you're going to listen good." He looked down at her: Her eyes were blazing with the promise of a painful death while her chest heaved with her quickened breathing. Anger flushed her cheeks; her hair seemed to have acquired a life of its own and danced around her face.

"Like hell I'm going to listen to you, you bastard! Not when you burst in, grab me and drag me down the hall like something you own—" She didn't get any further as he released his hold on her wrists, cupped her face with both hands, tilted it up, and pressed his lips against hers, effectively stifling anything else she had to say.

"Mmmmph!" She tried to continue her protest, clutching at his wrists and dragging at them, but his hold was unbreakable. Try as she might, she could not resist him and within moments found herself succumbing to that kiss. Her hands clutched at his wrists to support herself as she felt her knees go weak and her protests died away into soft murmurings behind his kiss as his lips moved against and his tongue pushed against hers. "Mmmm..."

After several moments, he pulled away. His hands dropped to her arms to support her as she leaned against him. "You're a fucking bastard, do you know that?" she said, words slurring as she rested her forehead against his chest.

He grinned and put his arms around her and stroked her hair. "What makes you think that?"

"Because you don't fight fair. How am I supposed to stay angry at you when you do that?"

His grin widened. "That's the whole point. You're not."

She looked up at him; her eyes were still bright with anger. "But that's not fair."

Chuckling, he pulled her over to the chair near the table and sat, drawing her into the circle of his arms. "I never, ever fight fair. It's how I've stayed alive."

"I'm still mad at you. You were horrible—"

"I know," he said, laying his fingers against lips still reddened from the roughness of his kiss. He turned that into a caress and traced the outlines of her lips as he looked into her bewitching eyes. "I'm sorry. I honestly didn't know what I was doing to piss you off. I thought I was just teasing you. It was wrong of me. And I'm sorry." He leaned forward and kissed her—softly this time.

The red-haired girl sniffled and kissed him back as she laid a hand on his cheek. "Now you've gone and made me feel bad about all the nasty things I said about you to Stacia."

"You'd better be," he said with a grin.

She grinned back. "And if I'm not?"

"Then I just won't give you this." Gaav reached out and picked up the torc he'd just made and brought it around so that she could see it.

Her eyes went wide and her mouth made a large "O" as she caught sight of the torc. She held up her hands and carefully he laid the circlet in them. She turned it over and over, examining the incredible detail, running her fingers over the twisted wire and fingering the embedded jewels along its length. As she came to the ends she made soft cooing noises. "Ooh...How beautiful. Where did you find this?" She ran her fingers over the tiny figures.

Gaav gave her his habitual lopsided grin and shrugged. I found it in the market."

"Where? I'd love to see what else they had." She couldn't stop running her fingers over the little draconic heads.

"Er, well...this was the only thing like it they had," Gaav hedged. "I only came across it by accident. So I was lucky to find it."

Zaira didn't seem to be listening to him, however. She was staring at the two sentinel heads in rapt fascination. "The eyes are blue," she whispered.

"Yeah..." Suddenly nervous that he'd done the wrong thing, he rubbed the back of his neck. "Something wrong with that?"

She shook her head vigorously and lifted her eyes to meet his: Green into blue. Her eyes were shining and bright as she said, "No, it's perfect. Thanks."

Feeling more relieved at that than he ever thought possible, he mumbled, "Good." Gently, he took the torc from her with one hand and lifted her hair with the other. Slipping the torc around her neck, he brought the two small dragon heads around so they nestled securely against her throat. "There,' he said in a low rumble. "Now they'll always be there to watch after you." He let his fingers linger, caressing her skin at her throat a moment before trailing them upwards to cup her chin.

She brought her hands up to clasp his: Tiny and fair and soft and shapely against his large, bronzed, callused, squared one. Engulfing one shapely hand around his, she ran the other up to his neck and behind his head to pull him down. "You..." She couldn't think of anything else to say so she just stretched up and kissed him hard.

Unheeded in the background—and for the past five minutes—Stacia beat furiously upon the door. "Hey! Open up! What's going on in there? Don't you two ignore me! Do you HEAR ME?!" Her voice rose to a screech as Gaav held Zaira close and they did their very best to ignore her.

The day the Tears of Phaeton was due to sail for Pirdellen dawned clear and bright and cool. High summer was winding down into autumn. Cool nights warmed into pleasant days as the sun climbed into perfect blue skies.

By the time the sun was casting its long golden rays over the cliff and into the port town of Ammarca, Gaav, Zaira, and Stacia had already been up for hours. They'd moved their trunks from the inn onto the ship the night before and now Zaira and Stacia were overseeing the loading of the last of their things while Gaav settled their bill at the inn. He strode out of the inn's common room and down the wharf to where the Phaeton was berthed and slowed as he spotted his tiny lover facing down a large, burly sailor. As he watched, he watched her sweetly bully him into carrying her personal traveling trunk on board for her. The sailor (who was not the meanest of the men that Gaav had seen in his life, was certainly not the most the most pleasant to look at either or the most well-dispositioned), swung the trunk up onto his shoulder and carried it up the gangplank and then belowdecks for Zaira, who smiled prettily after him and followed. As her coppery hair disappeared, Gaav gave a short bark of laughter and shook his head in amazement as he climbed the gangplank. It didn't seem so long ago that she would have gone scuttling in fear away from the seadog. "Life can be interesting," he muttered to himself as he looked around the busy ship.

"Hey, Red, wait up!" Gaav froze and snarled at both the sound of the familiar voice and the hated moniker. He turned and found Callum hurrying up the plank behind him, a trunk on one shoulder and a wicker cage tucked under the other arm. Stacia followed behind him as if she had no choice in the matter.

"Damn you, give me back my cat!" she shouted, trying to keep up with his relentless pace.

"No problem, no problem," he said, stepping onto the deck and handing the wicker cage to her. "Jus' tryin' to help." Callum turned to Gaav. "You got your stuff on board yet?"

"Yeah," Gaav drawled, his eyes going from Callum to Stacia and back again suspiciously. "Zaira just went belowdecks with the last of her stuff." He gestured towards the door leading to the quarters belowdecks.

Callum grinned. "Good. Shayne says we'll be sailing in a hour so we'd best be getting' a move on." He gave Stacia a wink, saluted Gaav quickly then headed belowdecks with the trunk still on his shoulder. "C'mon, Sweetcheeks! Gotta get you all settled and ever'thin'!"

"Damn his white ass!" Stacia hauled Remy's cage higher and directed a steely glare at Callum's back. "Just who the hell does that bastard think he is? I never asked him to help!"

Gaav chuckled and shoved his hands deep into his pockets, leaned over and winked and gave her a nasty grin. "He thinks he's yours."

She pulled back and her eyes went wide behind her glasses. "What the hell does that mean?"

Thoroughly enjoying the opportunity to pull her chain for once, Gaav straightened and grinned down at her from his full height. "Or rather," he amended. "He thinks you're his—Sweetcheeks." With that, he strode off to find Zaira to see if she needed help with anything—or even if she didn't need help with anything—and left a startled looking Stacia gaping in his wake.

"Hey—HEY! You come back here and explain that comment, you fuck!" she shouted at his back. "And don't you call me that!"

Gaav grinned and raised a hand to give her a lazy wave without looking back at her just before disappearing down the stairs to the quarters belowdecks. He somehow managed to squeeze himself down the narrow corridor to the cabin that would be home for the next month while they sailed to Pirdellen. He found the door standing partly open; pushing it open, he spotted Zaira making herself busy unpacking. He grinned and caught her hand to pull her to him. "Hey, good looking," he drawled.

"Hey!" she laughed, pulling against him but only just a bit. "I'm busy!"

"Not too busy, I hope." He fingered the torc that lay nestled around her neck.

"Busy enough," she said. "But not for long." She leaned forward to give him a kiss. A kiss that promised more later.

Gaav laughed at her enthusiasm and settled onto the bunk to wait—until later.

——

To be continued...Later...