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Date Posted: 19:11:08 02/02/05 Wed
Author: Slally
Subject: "Blood Seduction" - Chapter 64 (R)
In reply to: Slally 's message, ""Blood Seduction" - Chapter 61 (**** NC-17 ****)" on 21:35:30 10/29/04 Fri

Hello Faithful Readers, I've been fighting my muse who wants to spend the winter in Tahiti; meanwhile, I'm stuck here in the cold and snow sans inspiration. Here's the next chapter. I'm in dire need of some motivation so if you read, please respond...

***********************************************************

Gabriel had finished dressing and was just about to head to the kitchen for coffee when he heard a soft tap on his bedroom door. He was at the mirror where he was trying to comb his unruly mop into submission. Without turning, he called “Come.” The door opened about a foot and Devian stuck his head through the opening to ask, “Can I come in?” Gabe put down the comb and faced his friend. He frowned, dropping his hands to his hips. “That depends. Are you going to hurt me?” he asked, only partially in jest. The question and the manner in which it was asked brought the ghost of a smile to the clone’s lips. “I wasn’t planning on it,” was Dev’s amused response, followed by, “Why? Do you want me to?” Gabe ambled over to the bed and sat. He waved the clone into the room and over to the single chair by the window. “I think there’s enough kink going on in this house right now without me adding another perversion to the mix,” Gabriel replied drolly. When the hint of humor abruptly fled Devian’s face, leaving his expression tight again, Gabe realized that he must have said the wrong thing. On the heels of that realization, came the thought, “Sara! What has she done to him now?” He studied the clone’s pale, drawn face more carefully before asking, “So, what’s up?”

Dev perched on the edge of the chair. He looked as if he might bolt at the first sign of conflict. His long-fingered, artist’s hands were clasped so hard between his parted knees that the knuckles showed white. Recognizing the signs of extreme tension, Gabe pitched his voice into a low and soothing register – it was the tone he would have used if he were trying to calm a cornered wild animal. “Relax, Dev,” he said, “I’m not going to go off on you. Unless I’m wrong, you’ve already had a pretty shitty morning.” Unexpectedly receiving sympathy where he had anticipated condemnation, the clone was abruptly thrown for a loop. Before he could stop it, his carefully constructed façade began to crumple. He quickly dropped his head, overcome with embarrassment. Gabe gave him time to collect himself. In a couple of minutes, Devian cleared his throat noisily and lifted his head. “Sorry,” he mumbled self-consciously. Gabe waved away the apology and asked again, “What can I do for you?” Dev was silent for another couple of minutes while he struggled to find words. He finally settled on the bare bones of what he wanted to tell this man who had offered him unconditional friendship. “Neither one of us are much for mush, I know,” the clone began, voice soft, “And I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. But I do want you to know how much I value your friendship, Gabe. I was way out of line last night. I’m really sorry.”

Gabriel studied the clone before he replied, “Apology accepted.” He hesitated briefly before adding, “I figured that it wasn’t me that you were angry with anyway; the person who had really pissed you off was you.” The big, tawny eyes looked very tired. Now, they narrowed just a trifle. “Is that so?” Devian asked, his voice deceptively mild. In counterpoint, Gabe’s dark orbs widened a touch. He had picked up the slight undercurrent of renewed tension in his friend’s voice. “Let it go, Bowman,” he thought to himself. Aloud, he backpedaled, “Never mind. It’s not important. You’re probably sick to death of having other people tell you what you think.” The long body visibly relaxed back against the chair cushions. “You have no idea,” the clone murmured, his eyes flickering shut. Gabriel peered at his friend more closely. Devian looked exhausted. “Do you want to talk about what happened last night?” he asked. Dev’s eyes opened slowly and his shoulders hunched. “I don’t know what else to say,” he started hesitantly, “I’m sorry…” Gabe waved an impatient hand, interrupting, “No, man. I’m not talking about what happened in the kitchen. I mean what happened last night between you, Ian, and Sara.” The clone pulled in a deep breath, then released it in a long, breathy, “Oh.”

Gabriel shook his head and continued, “You don’t have to. I just thought it might help you to talk about it. If you don’t want to, it’s okay.” The clone sunk deeper into the chair and lifted his broad shoulders slightly. “It’s not that I don’t want to share what happened, Gabe,” he began hesitantly, “It’s just that I’m still trying to get my head around it myself.” Gabriel smiled. “Now that’s just cruel,” he complained, “You peak my interest and then clam up. You know that’s going to drive me crazy, don’t you?” Dev managed another fleeting smile. “Don’t tell me that,” he murmured, “You’re my beacon of sanity in this loony bin. I don’t know who or what to believe any more – least of all, my own instincts. I’ve learned to count on that unflinching, gritty objectivity of yours. You’re about the only person around here that doesn’t have an agenda. Please don’t desert me now.” Gabriel frowned, suddenly seeing clearly just how close Dev was to a total meltdown. He came to a quick decision. The clone needed to talk; he needed someone to listen to him. However, it was obvious that he would only unburden himself in his own way and time. Getting comfortable, Gabe lifted his long legs off the floor. He stretched them out on the bed, crossing his feet at the ankles. Next, he mounded the pillows behind him, slouching back against the headboard. Now the picture of relaxation, the young man crossed his arms loosely across his chest and observed, “You look like hell, Dev. How do you feel?”

Devian emitted a sort of choking snort. Raising a shaking hand to try to bring some order to his tangled curls, he mumbled, “About the way that I look. Last night was…awful and wonderful – both at the same time. It drained me. This morning, however, wasn’t ambivalent at all. It just sucked.” Gabriel stifled a smile at the clone’s colorful vocabulary. “Sucked how?” he asked blandly. Gabe saw the tawny eyes darken with pain before the clone dropped his head. “I don’t want to sound like I’m whining,” he muttered. Gabe stayed silent and waited his friend out. Eventually, Devian lifted his head again to ask, “Is there something really wrong with me, Gabe? Please be my friend and tell me the truth. Compared to normal people, am I different? Am I some kind of freak?” The clone’s long, lean body was so tense that it hurt to watch him curl it into the chair. The young man saw that the self-doubt and misery that had been percolating inside his friend for such a long had finally imploded. Gabriel realized that Dev was poised right on the edge; a tiny nudge could push him in either direction. Despair was pouring off of him in palpable waves. Unlike Ian and Sara, Gabe was not connected to Devian psychically; but in this instance he did not need to be. The clone’s self-loathing and fatalism was so pronounced that it would have been obvious to anyone.

A sharp blast of anger struck Gabriel, taking him by surprise. At that moment, he could have cheerfully wrung Sara’s neck. She was so enmeshed in her power struggle with the Witchblade that too frequently she acted like a callous bitch; Dev, being an easy target, had become her favorite whipping boy. Gabe sucked in a deep breath and, this time, managed to hold his tongue. With eerie prescience, however, the clone protested anyway. “This has nothing to do with Sara,” he objected, “I want to know what you think.” Gabriel swung his legs back over the side of the bed, his intensity pulling him upright and forward toward the other man. “You must know what I’m going to tell you, Dev,” he replied, “You must know that I don’t believe that the way that you were created ‘damaged’ you in any way. I think of you as I know you now – no different from Ian; no different from me. At least, not in any meaningful way.” The clone stared directly into Gabe’s dark eyes for a full two minutes. He seemed to be trying to read some truth that was written there. Finally, he whispered, “You really believe that, don’t you?” Gabriel nodded before he responded, “Of course I do.” Devian’s muscles loosened and his taut body went limp in the chair. His shaggy, dark head dropped back, eyes closing. Gabriel smiled ruefully. After a moment, he took a chance and said what he was thinking. “But it’s not that simple, is it, Dev?” he probed, “It still has everything to do with Sara, doesn’t it? My acceptance doesn’t take away the pain, does it?”

A long silence followed before Gabe asked again, “Does it?” This time, the silence lengthened until it grew heavy. Devian finally broke it to whisper, “No. It doesn’t take away the pain.” Gabriel observed his unhappy friend covertly. How could he begin to explain to the clone the difference between the unrequited adoration he showed for Sara compared to a deep, rich love that was reciprocal? More than that, how could he make this child in a man’s body comprehend emotions that were new to him; feelings that had no basis in prior experience? Devian had only existed for a few months. In that time, he had received a crash course in overwhelming sensations; extraordinary interactions; and volatile emotions. The clone had come to Sara a virgin – in a purer sense even than Ian – and the Witchblade, in a single night, had made him the Wielder’s mate and given him a devastating sexual primer. The Blade had stirred sensual depths in an emotional innocent before he had a chance to understand such yearnings; before he could protect himself from the damage that such a relationship could inflict on his psyche. Predictably, Dev had stumbled and then fallen into a hopeless, destructive love affair that was eating him alive like some lusty, remorseless piranha.

Gabriel Bowman’s agile brain cast about for a way to talk his friend off the ledge, to pull him back from the emotional precipice where he teetered. He knew that he had to approach Dev carefully because he did not want to repeat last night’s confrontation. Where Sara was concerned, the clone was neither objective nor rational. Determined to at least try, Gabe cleared his throat. Dev slowly opened his wide, golden eyes. In the early morning light, they were framed in dark circles. His eyelids looked puffy. But it was the dull, listlessness of those usually sparkling mirrors that drove Gabriel to take the plunge. “I have a theory about the way that Sara treats you,” he said carefully. He saw the clone’s chest rise and fall in a long, shaky sigh. When no reply was forthcoming, Gabe asked, “Want to hear it?” Now, that he had decided to push the issue, regardless of the outcome, he was damned if he would back down. Gabriel let the silence lengthen until it was uncomfortable. A small, tight smile eventually tugged at the clone’s sensuous lips; there was grudging admiration in it. Devian waved his hand to indicate that the other man should proceed. The casual nature of the gesture was belied by the trembling of that hand. “Could I stop you?” Dev asked sarcastically.

The smile that Gabriel gave his friend was wary. He shrugged. “Sure,” he replied, “You could if you made it physical. We both know that you’ve got it over me there.” The clone gave a rueful snort. “If you think that I’m only able to best you physically,” Dev teased, showing some of his old spark, “Then you’re really kidding yourself, Bowman.” Now, Gabriel grinned full out as he prepared to parry. “Thanks, Sparky,” he shot back, “That makes it easier. Because it’s time that you faced some unpleasant truths.” The smile was erased from the clone’s face as if it had been wiped away with a rag. He sat back, watching Gabe tensely from those huge, honey-colored orbs. Gabriel gave a little nod, took a deep breath, and said, “Sara has been at war ever since that pushy hunk of metal staked Its claim on her,” he began softly, “From what I’ve learned of her, she’s always been the type of woman that prided herself on her independence; her ability to guide her own destiny. She’s not a clinger and she doesn’t like to be told what to do.” In spite of himself, Devian’s lips twitched. “Now there’s an understatement,” he thought ruefully. “But when the Blade claimed her, joined Itself to her – not just physically, but psychically and emotionally, as well,” Gabe continued, “Sara was literally forced to turn her prized self-direction over to a stronger will.”

“Put yourself in her place, Dev,” he suggested, “What kind of strain do you think that placed on her? To live, day in and day out, with the Witchblade in control. Can you imagine it?” In the charged quiet of the room, the clone’s ragged whisper sounded harsh. “Yes,” he breathed, “I can.” Gabriel nodded. “Can you picture the animosity that she must feel toward this alien force that has become part of her; literally, joined with her genetically?” His eyes hooded, the clone gave a sharp, curt nod. He could picture it alright. He knew exactly what it was like when the Blade was in the driver’s seat; he had experienced that subjugation firsthand. He remembered what it had felt like and how much he had hated that feeling. “Go on,” he murmured, caught now by the web that Gabe was weaving. The young man suppressed the satisfaction he felt at having captured and directed the mercurial mind of his friend. It was time for the coup de gras. “She must be filled with so much anger, such frustration,” he suggested, “She can batter a punching bag until the seams burst, but it doesn’t fight back – there’s no interaction; no push and pull. It’s not a very satisfying release.” Devian’s own hands fisted where they rested on the arms of the chair. He gave another small, quick nod.

“Sara’s a survivor,” Gabriel pointed out, “Instinctively, she knows better than to turn that anger inward, even though the root of it is an essential part of her. For her own self-preservation, she’s got to reverse the trajectory, send it outward. To some extent, I imagine that the perps that she encounters in her work have found harsher retribution at her hands since she became the Wielder. But her real targets have become the enemies that the Blade draws to her. And, because most of them operate outside the strictures of civilized justice, the Witchblade’s vengeance can be more primal.” Devian was listening to him raptly, his golden eyes narrowed into glowing slits. “Are you still with me?” Gabe asked. The clone stiffly loosened one of his fisted hands to wave impatiently. This time, Gabriel did smile. He inclined his head and said, “As the Wielder, Sara’s most consistent, formidable enemy was a billionaire megalomaniac named Kenneth Irons. And, although she leveled a considerable amount of virulent anger at Irons, he had a henchman who was a much easier target for her bile. The bodyguard’s response to her disdain was much more satisfying; she could clearly sense it every time she wounded him. It became a safe release for her. It helped her stay sane.”

Devian cocked his head and fixed his big cat gaze on Gabe. “Ian,” he hissed softly. Gabriel nodded. “Ian,” he agreed. After a pause, he asked, “Shall I continue?” The clone didn’t play with him this time. He wanted to hear the rest of it. He wanted to see how all of this worked its way back to him. So, his clipped response was simply, “Yes.” Gabriel blinked, realizing that the sun was now all the way up and in his eyes. His knees cracked when he stood. He crossed to the window and closed the blinds until the light in the room was muted again. He heard Dev shift impatiently in the chair. His back still to the clone, Gabe smiled again. Then, he turned and went back to perch on the edge of the bed. “By the time you came on the scene, Dev,” he said, looking the clone directly in the eyes, “Ian had made the startling transformation from Sara’s scapegoat to her lover. She was itching to find a new target for all that anger.” The wide, golden eyes went suddenly wider. “Me,” Devian whispered. Gabriel nodded before continuing, “Like Ian, you came from her sworn enemy, Irons. And there was even an added bonus with you.” A dark brow lifted and he bit. “What was that?” the clone asked. Gabe shrugged and replied, “Here’s some armchair psychology for you; a couple of things that I recall from my college psych classes. Humans use a nifty coping mechanism called “resentiment.” We displace our anger from the target that has control over us to the target over which we have control. To cope, we become bullies.”

“And it can often be a one-two punch,” Gabriel continued, “Because, to make ourselves feel better about what we’re doing, we also need to dehumanize the target of our hate; to make ourselves feel better about our actions, in our thoughts and our words, we turn the abused from a person into a thing. After all, no one is hurt when you abuse a thing. Morally, you remain unimpeachable, spotless.” The clone watched his friend from hollow eyes. “I was already there,” he murmured, “I was already a thing. No mental gymnastics were necessary.” Gabe frowned. “Crap,” he barked, immediately disputing Devian’s bald assessment, “With Ian and Sara, I think assumptions were made in the beginning; neither of them really knew what to expect. It was easy to jump to conclusions when you were nothing more than a replicant in a stasis chamber. They simply figured that you would be Irons’ evil tool. In reality, you turned out to be a whole lot more than anyone bargained for.” Dev leaned forward, clasping his hands together in his lap. “Did I? I don’t understand,” he responded, frowning, “What do you mean?” Gabe chuckled. “From what I’ve been told,” he said, “Right from the beginning, you went your own way. You were the poster child for free will. You weren’t the loyal, perfect weapon that Irons wanted to create for himself. You weren’t the deadly, soulless assassin that Ian and Sara were expecting. You were someone entirely different and, at first, I don’t think even you had any idea what you really wanted or what you would do next. You were completely unpredictable. And, that, buddy, may be the essence of humanity.”

The clone looked thoughtful. “But Sara still needed a focus for her anger,” he murmured. Gabriel nodded. “More and more,” he replied, “As more and more pieces of her life spun out of control, courtesy of the Witchblade.” Devian relaxed back into the chair again and rubbed his burning eyes with the heels of his hands. “What you’re saying,” he croaked, “Is that I serve an essential function in Sara’s life. I am the outlet for her rage against the Blade’s control. Her abuse of me allows her to stay sane and function in the Witchblade’s wacky world. Is that it?” Gabe did not suffer fools gladly and this was one of many reasons that he and Dev had become fast friends. The guy was sharp and he was gutsy. He didn’t ask for sugar coating; he took his reality straight. “That’s part of it,” the young man responded, “It’s the other part that has kept you and Sara on an emotional rollercoaster since you first became lovers.” Gabriel had peaked the clone’s curiosity again. Dev’s molded lips curved in a soft smile. “Is this more bad news?” he asked. Gabe shrugged. “I guess that depends on your point of view,” he observed. The clone laughed. “Could you be any vaguer?” he asked rhetorically. Gabe laughed with him. “Yeah, probably,” he replied.

“Okay, Bowman,” Devian challenged, “Let me have it.” Looking at his friend directly, Gabriel said, “Although Sara wants to objectify you, turn you into a thing, she’s also drawn to you. Sara is no fool. She’s an expert at analyzing facts to reach a logical conclusion. She can’t convince herself completely that you are not very human, regardless of your origin. And there’s something else too; Sara is attracted to you – whether on her own or because of the Blade – I don’t know and she probably doesn’t know either. Which, of course, adds yet another level of conflict.” This time, the clone’s smile was sad. “Conflict,” he murmured, “There’s been plenty of that; on both sides.” Gabe tilted his head. “Well, sure,” he observed, “You respond to her based on the way that she treats you. You say that you love her and I don’t doubt that you think you do. Again, there’s strong attraction there regardless of who or what is initiating it. On the other hand, nobody likes to be treated like shit. You’re not happy with yourself for crawling back to her each time she kicks you in the nuts.” The clone chuckled mirthlessly. “No. I’m not,” he observed dryly before asking, “So, what’s the answer?”

Finally, here was the bottom line. Gabriel took a deep breath. “There is no answer,” he said, “The relationship will never work. For Sara, it will always be suspended between those two poles: her need to abuse you and her attraction to you. There will always be conflict, never resolution. Whenever you are together, you wind up making each other miserable.” The sexy mouth thinned stubbornly. Gabe knew that look. “A lot of people live their whole lives in that kind of relationship,” the clone observed. Gabriel’s eyes narrowed, his mouth also thinning. “Is that what you want, Dev?” he asked, “Is that what you want your daughter to see as she’s growing up?” Devian winced as he pictured Sara’s newly distended belly. “I would think that you would want more than that for yourself?” Gabriel finished. Devian looked conflicted: unsettled, rebellious, unhappy, and still stubborn. He pushed a rough hand through his tousled curls, mussing them even more. “Of course I want more for myself,” he protested, “But I also want Sara.” Gabe shook his head and sighed loudly. “Haven’t you been listening to me at all, Devian?” he asked, “You will never have Sara, not the way that you want her. It’s not going to happen – ever. Let it go. Move on.”

The clone bent his long torso forward over his knees, dropping his head into his hands. His voice was so muffled that Gabriel could barely hear him when he replied, “Move on? To what? What else is there?” Gabe waited until he lifted his head again. He waited until the clone met his eyes. “There’s a whole world out there, Dev, and you haven’t even begun to explore it,” he encouraged his friend, “You’re going to be a father soon. You are going to have a career that will allow you to travel and meet new people. There are thousands of women that you have yet to meet. What else is there? There’s a hell of a lot.” Devian sighed softly. “Perhaps,” he conceded, before adding, “And perhaps not.” Now it was Gabriel’s turn to sigh; he had, apparently failed to even dent the clone’s fixation with Sara. “Can I put a couple of questions to you now?” Devian asked his friend. Gabe had given it his best shot; he figured that he owed Dev the opportunity of a rebuttal. He shrugged a bit ungraciously and Devian’s lips twitched. “I’ll try to be brief,” he said. Standing, Devian began to pace and Gabe was struck again by how gracefully the clone moved for such a big man.

“There are a couple of elements of my relationship with Sara that you haven’t mentioned,” Devian murmured, “The first stems from my connection to Ian actually. Being Ian’s clone, it seems logical to assume that I have at least some of the same genetic imperative to be the Wielder’s Protector that he has; some of the same inclination to bond with her as well. To compound that, the Witchblade Itself has mated us, initiating the Iunctura that I shared with Sara. In the eyes of the Blade, I am her mate as much as Ian. Those things might lead me to expect that a significant and mutually supportive connection should be possible between Sara and me. Don’t you agree?” Gabriel spread his hands wide. “You can’t force Sara to love you, Dev,” he pointed out, “In spite of genetic links or the Blade’s machinations, if she won’t let you in, you will be left out in the cold – you will be alone for as long as you persist in this obsession.” The clone blinked and then gave a quick nod, acknowledging the point that Gabriel had made. “Which brings me to my second question,” Devian said, dropping lithely back into the chair and peering intensely across at his friend. “What would happen if Sara mastered the Blade, controlled it instead of allowing it to control her?” he asked, “What if she no longer felt that resentiment that she had to displace to stay sane?”

Gabriel stared back at the clone quietly for several seconds before he answered, “Then it would be a whole new ballgame I guess. Do you really see that happening any time soon?” The clone dropped his head, carefully folding his hands together in his lap. “If you were about to point out that patience is not my strong suit,” he said, “I admit that. But there are some things that are worth waiting for.” Gabriel frowned. “You have no guarantee that she will ever make that leap, Dev,” he pointed out. The clone shrugged nonchalantly. “Most things in life don’t come with a guarantee,” he countered, “Isn’t that true?” Gabe sighed. He had one final point to make before he accepted defeat. “Okay,” he replied, “Let’s say all that you hope for comes to be. Sara stops using you as her emotional punching bag because she no longer needs that outlet. She accepts you as her mate and discovers that she loves you too. Even with all of that, you will still have to share her with Ian. Do you want to spend the rest of your life with a woman that can only give you half her love? Do you want a relationship where you always have to share your woman with your brother?” This time, Gabriel could see by the expression on Devian’s face that he had stopped him cold. This aspect of any union that Dev would ever have with the Wielder was not mutable. Changing circumstances would not alter it. It was true that he would always have to share Sara with Ian.

Dev’s head had dropped and Gabriel could tell that the clone was thinking deeply about what he had said. There was one more thing that he wanted to say. “And, Dev?” Gabe said, demanding the clone’s attention. The jungle-cat eyes lifted and fixed on him. “In that relationship?” Gabriel continued, again pausing before adding, “You will always come second. Always.” Devian winced slightly but did not dispute what Gabe had just said. He knew that it was true. Unable to let it go, Gabriel asked, “Is that what you want?” The clone made a harsh sound in the back of his throat before he growled, “You made your point, Gabe; now let it go. Okay?” Feeling that he had finally had some impact, the young man graciously responded, “Okay.” The two friends sat in companionable, if charged, silence for a few minutes before Gabriel asked, “Why don’t you tell me what happened last night between the three of you?” Still trying to calm down, Dev tilted his head and asked with a cocky smile, “You want a blow by blow?” The innuendo and the visual that it put into Gabe’s head made him blush. But young Mr. Bowman could give as good as he got. With a sly smile, he suggested, “How about just hitting the broad strokes?” The clone laughed. However, he sobered quickly as he began telling his friend the saga of Banrighinn, Eion, and Coinneach.

On the floor below, still sitting at the kitchen table, Ian and Sara confronted the Devian issue from a different angle. Ian had been shocked to discover that Sara still doubted the clone’s motives. From his perspective, Dev had proven himself over and over again; he had no reservations at all about his brother’s loyalties. The next revelation had surpassed even the first. In spite of everything that had happened between them, Sara still saw Dev as some kind of monster. Worse yet, because of the clone’s origins in Immo’s lab, she was worried about the nature of child he had fathered. Remembering how that had dropped like a bomb during their discussion of Sara’s unnatural pregnancy, Ian winced. He wished that she had not revealed her dark thoughts about Devian in front of him. She had treated him as if he had no feelings; as if he would not be affected by what she said. Of course, that was ridiculous. Ian had seen the stunned hurt in the clone’s tawny eyes; eyes that were so much like his own. The only way that Sara could have missed Devian’s reaction was to deliberately deny it to herself. It also quite naturally occurred to Ian that his own experiences in Dr. Immo’s laboratory had hardly left him unblemished. If Sara knew all the gory details of the things that had been done to him in the name of science, would she think him a monster too? Ian raked his long fingers through his loose locks, sighing.

Ian was torn. While he instinctively wanted to comfort his mate, who he knew was struggling to comprehend all the change that was literally assaulting her, he strongly disagreed with both her opinion and treatment of his brother. And, there was something more. As resistant as Sara might be, they needed Devian. The Witchblade had made it clear that their joined sexual energies were required to produce the visions that It was using to teach their children. Although he couldn’t be positive, Ian suspected that the psychic connection between them would no longer be necessary after the twins were born. Until then, however, their amorous triumvirate seemed to be a crucial element of the Witchblade’s plans. If It was, he knew from past experience that the Blade could drive them to near insanity until they conformed to Its desires. Ian sighed again softly and said a silent prayer that Immo had alleviated the worst of Sara’s fears and that she might be in the mood now to listen to reason. That part of him that was beginning to lose patience with his lover’s treatment of his double snickered skeptically in a corner of his mind. Ian ignored it.

He reached across the table to engulf Sara’s hands in his. Watching Ian warily, she linked her fingers through his and waited for him to tell her what was bothering him; his disquiet was broadcasting to her like a beacon. Her full lips twitched with a quirky smile and she blurted, “Just spit it out, Ian. What is it? What have I done now?” He smiled too, ruefully, at her ability to read him. When he didn’t respond fast enough, she answered her own question. “It’s Sparky, isn’t it?” she ventured, “You think that I’ve treated him badly.” Ian frowned. “You have treated him badly,” he replied, “He’s done nothing to deserve it that I know of.” Also frowning now, Sara disentangled her fingers from his and made a quick, dismissive gesture with her hand. Ian took a deep, calming breath before he said, “We need Devian, Sara.” Her lips tightened rebelliously and her hands curled into loose fists. “Why?” she asked. Ian smiled, shaking his head slowly. “Ask the Witchblade that,” he suggested. Flinty green eyes shifted to glare at the bracelet that seemed to silently smirk on her right wrist. His voice was low, soothing. “You said it yourself,” he pointed out, “There are probably going to be more visions. What do you think the Blade will do if we resist coming together again – all three of us?”

“I hate this,” Sara hissed. Ian shrugged. It annoyed her that he was less than sympathetic. “When the visions are done, Ian,” she snapped, “I want Devian out of our bed. I want him to finally go build a life of his own. I know that I will always have a daughter in common with him but that’s it. I want the damn clone out of our lives for once and for all.” Her vehemence seemed out of proportion for anything Dev might have ever done to her. His eyes narrowed as he studied her. Sara fidgeted under his scrutiny until she finally asked, “What?” He stretched out one long finger and drew it slowly from top to bottom down the center of the Blade’s crimson gem. “I have to wonder,” Ian whispered. His voice was so soft that Sara had to strain forward to hear him. “Whether the intensity of your emotion toward my brother,” he continued, “Comes from genuine dislike or from the denial of feelings that are much gentler and truer.” Sara shut her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, Ian could see that she was angry with him. “Shit,” she responded dismissively, “Like I said – I hate this. I need a shower. I don’t want him in our bedroom unless we’re forced into another vision orgy. Will you tell him?” Ian sighed. That was a conversation that he was already dreading. “Yes. I’ll tell him,” he murmured. Pulling his old, white robe tight around her ungainly body, Sara got up awkwardly and left the room without sparing Ian another glance.

Ian’s smile was one of rueful amusement when he realized that he was not faring much better than his clone at the moment. Like an imperious queen, the Wielder had just ignored his counsel and dismissed him as if he were her lackey rather than her lover and Protector. She had left him with his orders: slap his brother back down; get him out of their bed and into his own place again. “Poor guy,” Ian mused. They had been moving Devian around like he was the pawn in a game of chess. He bristled suddenly with irritation and rebellion ruffled the edges of his normally calm demeanor. Sara had begun to careen out of control. She was pushing everyone around; perhaps it was time that someone began to push back. Ian stood abruptly, grinning, and went to find Dev.

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