Part 2

The next weeks passed uneventfully for Gaav. A few days following his rescue of Zaira, the thug and a few of his friends showed up in the alley, lying in wait for him; in order to teach him a lesson, they said. He didn’t even work up a sweat as he calmly and efficiently took care of them in less time than it took him to draw a dozen breaths. His blood sang with bloodlust as he fought, but there was not quite the same enjoyment he would have once derived from the kill. For one, these were hardly worth his time and effort. And another—with each life he took, something of himself seemed to disappear, too. Something small and hardly noticeable, but missing all the same. He wondered if he had finally developed this “conscience” he’d heard humans talk about so often. If so, it was damned inconvenient.

After about a month of avoiding the flame-haired Zaira, one night he found himself outside the tavern where she danced. He hadn’t been back here since that first night, but it was late and he was hungry. He looked up at the sign and noticed for the first time the name of the place: The Dancing Ki-riin. He snorted. Figured.

Deciding that there wasn’t any place better to get something to eat, he entered the tavern even though he risked crossing paths with the bitch queen. It was more crowded than before, but he managed to snag himself the last unoccupied table. He ordered food and listened while drinking his beer and waiting for his food to arrive.

A group of men at the table next to him were huddled together in a group. “Is she really that hot?” one was saying to the other rough-faced and mannered men.

“Is she hot? They say she’s part Pari,” another replied with a leer.

Gaav rolled his eyes and tried to ignore them. They had to be talking about Zaira and he didn’t want to think about her. But he couldn’t seem to stop once he started listening.

“Pari?” the first one responded. “Really? I’ve heard their women are irresistible.”

“They gotta be if this half-breed can turn on the entire place just by dancing.”

“Look!” another of the group said. “There she is now!” They pointed towards the curtained opening as the musicians came out to set up. Behind them, Zaira appeared and started dancing. “Damn…”

Though he tried not to watch, Gaav found himself being drawn into her dance, both by the untamed melody of the music and her sensuous movements. So instead of trying to fight it, this time he paid more attention to her as he tried to determine just what it was that drew men in droves to this tavern just to watch her dance.

He could understand the attraction; she was certainly nice to look at. She was slim and muscular, well defined in every area from her shapely hips, flat stomach to her rounded breasts. Her arms moved with a fluidity that belied the strain he knew it took to hold them up for so long; they were nicely rounded and formed, too. Leaving aside her physical looks, he had to admit that her dancing was one of the most sensuous things he’d yet encountered as a human. It didn’t take a lot of effort to study her movements and watch in wonder at how she manipulated her body to best show off her smoldering sexuality. Not even he was immune to her charms, try as he might to deny them.

Trying to take his mind off those reactions, he gazed around at the crowd. They were all transfixed as she made her way around the room, coming tantalizingly close but never once letting one of them touch her. It didn’t matter to them; they enjoyed the show anyway. A great number of lewd comments flew back and forth across the room as they encouraged her; quite a few of them came from the group seated at the table next to Gaav. He turned his steel-blue gaze on them disapprovingly, but not one noticed. He looked up as she danced close to his table and right into her eyes. She had that same dazzling smile pasted on her face the first night he’d seen her dance, but from her eyes he could tell that she hated this. Hated having to perform for this crowd of lewd and filthy lowlifes.

Then she was gone, twirling around, her hair hiding those haunted eyes. He wondered at that hollow, haunted look. He leaned his elbow on the table and wondered if she didn’t enjoy the power she held over these men. Even as he thought this, his thoughts went back to her comments that other night. He realized she had no power at all—and that’s what she hated. Scowling, he drained his beer and leaned against the wall to wait for the end of the performance.

She danced off and on for a little over an hour before she finally disappeared through the curtained doorway again. Still, he waited as the crowd began to thin. For what, he didn’t know, just that he should…wait. And when he overheard the conversation struck up by the group nearby, he knew he’d found a reason.

“Damn,” one said. “You guys were right. She is hot.”

“Yeah,” one, a mousy-haired man with a sharp nose and a wandering eye said with an evil grin. “And ya know what? I’ll bet she’s hot in the sack, too.”

“Well, you’re not going to find out,” another said before taking a long pull at his beer.

“Shit. Why d’ya say that?”

“A friend of mine told me. He tried to make her an offer and ended up sore in the crotch.”

They laughed. “She that bad?”

“No. She kicked him in the balls.” He put his tankard down and looked at his buddies. “She’s a real man-hater. Won’t let herself even get touched. And you know Paris got magic; who knows what she could do ta someone who pissed her off.”

There were murmurs from around the table. The mousy-haired one grinned again, and patted his friend on the back. “She just ain’t found the right one, ‘sall.”

“And you think you’re it, Mez? Shit, no woman likes you!” There was a round of laughter as Mez glared at them all.

“Shut up! No, what I meant was p’raps she just needs some convincin’ we’re the right ones.” He grinned again. “Can’t say no to all us, now can she?”

The laughter turned to sounds of approval. “Yeah. We’ll just meet her outside and—persuade—her to give us some.”

“And you know what the best thing is, boys?” Mez asked. “We won’t even hafta pay her.”

The rest agreed with evil, lecherous comments and grins all around. They gathered up their weapons and headed outside to lay their trap.

Anger, hot and icy, formed in Gaav’s stomach, turning the beer he’d just had sour and he shoved his tankard away. He threw a few coins on the table, picked up his sword and followed them.

He found them outside clustered around a darkened doorway a short distance down the street. He could feel them looking at him as he stood there a moment letting his eyes adjust. Sticking his hands in his pockets, he sauntered down the lane towards them. They watched him warily, not moving until it was obvious that he was headed for them. When it was, they ranged up in front of him, blades drawn and ready. “What do you want?” Mez shouted.

“I couldn’t help overhearing your plans inside.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder to indicate the tavern. “Just wondering if I could get in on the action.”

Mez grinned and lowered his sword. “Hey, I’m sure there’s enough to go around. What d’ya say, boys?”

The others grinned nastily. “But you ain’t going first,” one quipped. “You’ll ruin her for the rest of us.”

Disgust filled him, but he controlled himself. “Sure, sure. I can wait.” He’d drawn up even with Mez and looked down at him. “Nice little plan you came up with: Lie in wait for an unarmed woman and rape her. Nice. For someone who had pay his own mother to let him suck at her tits.” His mouth twisted into a sneer as he lashed out and caught the shorter man under the nose with the heel of his palm. The bone shattered and the force behind the blow drove the splinters up and through Mez’s skull into his brain. He was dead before he hit the ground.

“Hey!” The others drew back as Mez collapsed. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Riding the world of some trash.” He struck out again and grabbed two more. He brought them sharply together, bashing their skulls in. He let them drop, grabbed another by the neck and gave it a savage twist. The last was dispatched by a sharp blow to his breastbone that fractured it and sent the bone shards into his heart.

“Fucking bastards,” he muttered as he stooped and quickly rifled through their clothes for what little gold they had on them. He poured it all into one purse, added a few coins from his own pocket, then slipped it into his coat. He stood and kicked Mez. “That was for Zaira.” Stepping back, he used some of his power to incinerate the bodies until there was nothing left. Nothing left for anyone to find; not that he cared, it was just simpler to deal with it this way.

Once they were disposed of, Gaav turned and spat on the pavement at his feet. He was surprised at the bad taste this whole deal had left in his mouth. Rape hadn’t been an unknown tactic to him, but it had never been one of his favorites. Too coarse, too rough and lacked finesse. He drew no enjoyment from forcing himself on someone weaker than himself; it killed whatever pleasure he would have drawn from their horror and pain. He preferred different kinds of conquest.

Turning back to the tavern, he leaned against the wall next to the door to wait and try to sort out his confusion. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was waiting for until she appeared. The door opened slightly and he could see her peer into the darkness and look both ways up and down the street before moving into the shadows. He watched her pick up her skirts and step out into the moonlit street like some wild and exotic bird keeping an eye out for snakes.

Pushing against the wall, he was about to follow her when she whirled and peered into the shadows cast by the tavern’s porch. “Who’s there?” she called. Anyone else would have missed the tremor in her voice. But he heard it. And could sense her fear as she clutched her cloak at her throat. “Don’t come any closer,” she said backing away. “I’m armed…”

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said, remaining motionless in those concealing shadows, as he gauged her reaction.

She turned her head towards him but still couldn’t see him. “What for?”

“I think you know.” He didn’t know why he was doing this. It might have been something he would have done as a Mazoku; he was sure her fear would have been exquisite had he been able to feed off it. As it was now, he was simply curious to see how she would react.

She backed even further away, glancing over her shoulder to check the distance to the inn. Unfortunately, he knew she had to go all the way around the stables to get to the back stairs. Her fear was a sour stink on the night wind but she stood her ground. “Sorry, but you’re looking to buy something that’s not for sale.”

“What about for the right price?” He drew the money purse containing the would-be rapists’ gold out of his coat and threw it into the street at her feet. It jingled with the sound of coins.

He could she her eyes fill with disgust. She glared into the darkness. “I am not a whore. I’m a dancer, that’s all. I don’t sell myself—for money or anything else. Find someone else.” She took another step back towards the inn and he could see a flash of light on metal. Satisfied, he stepped out of the shadows into the moonlight.

Zaira’s green eyes went wide. “You!” she shouted.

“This happen often?” he asked, repeating the question he’d asked her on their previous meeting.

“What?” She’d forgotten her fear and had found anger instead.

He leaned against a pole and looked at her. “You know what I mean.”

Still glaring at him, she drew herself up. “I already answered that once.”

They were silent a moment, both sizing the other up. Zaira gripped her dagger in front of her and he finally shook his head in disbelief. “Who taught you how to hold a dagger?”

Startled, she pulled back, holding her dagger in front of her. “No one. I had to learn it myself.”

“That explains your appalling lack of technique. Don’t hold it like that; hold it like this.” He pulled a dagger out of his pocket and demonstrated for her, holding it blade downward. “You get more force using the weight of the downward swing behind it. Even someone as short as you can do a lot of damage that way. Aim for the arteries in the neck, here and here.” He demonstrated on his own neck, drawing two long lines down the sides.

For the first time since they’d met, he saw her confused and speechless. Her jaw dropped open as she stared at him. Slipping the dagger back into his pocket, he pushed against the pole and walked past her on his way towards the inn. “Better close your mouth. You’ll catch flies.” The look of outrage on her face was a sweet victory.

“You—“

“Bastard. Yes. We both know how you feel about me. I’m getting just a little tired of hearing it, though.” He nodded towards the purse that still lay in the dust of the street. “Take it.”

“I told you—“

“I didn’t say anything about wanting to buy you, did I?” he said, suddenly very serious. “You just assumed that’s what I meant. It’s not even from me. It’s from a group of—gentlemen, and I use the term loosely—that I convinced not to hang around waiting for you.” Again she was nonplussed and didn’t move. “Go on,” he urged. “Take it. It’s yours.” When she still didn’t move, he shrugged and started towards the inn. “Whatever.”

Her voice stopped him. “Why?”

“Why what?” he turned to look at her curiously.

“Why—why did you do this?”

He didn’t answer right away, and when he did, he had a question for her, “Tell me, why do you do this?”

“What—what do you mean?”

“Why do you put up with this abuse? If you don’t like being treated like a whore, why do you act like one?”

Her green eyes glittered in the moonlight. “How dare you ask me that! You don’t know anything about me! I do what I can to survive and the only thing I can do is dance! I’ve finally found a place that will let me dance and keep at least some of my tips. It may not be much, but it’s better than dancing in the street. At least here I get enough to eat. If these bastards think that dancing equals prostitution, that’s their damn fault.”

“And you get these when you refuse.” Before she could react, he reached out and grabbed her arm, pushing back her cloak to reveal the dark bruise. It looked like a handprint where someone had gripped her tightly. “Do you enjoy being abused?”

“Let go of me,” she rasped as she pulled away from him. Suddenly, she was more afraid than she’d been previously. Afraid of him. Afraid of being touched.

He released her slowly so she wouldn’t lose her balance. “I’m sorry. I just wonder why you put up with it. Why don’t you do something else?”

She pulled her cloak down to cover herself and refused to look at him. Instead she bent down to pick up the purse. She straightened and it disappeared into her cloak. At first he didn’t think she was going to answer him, and was ready to storm off in disgust when she did.

“There’s nothing else I can do. Everyone knows who and what I am here. The only thing they let me do is dance.”

“There’s got to be something.”

She shook her head. “No. I sew a little and do the mending at the inn, but other than that, no one will give me work. I’ve been trying for over ten years now and no one will even let me be a scullery maid. The men want me for my body and the women don’t want me near their men.”

“So you dance and get treated like a common whore.”

She nodded. “But I refuse to be that. I refuse to let men use my body for their pleasure. Bruises heal and if that’s what it takes to keep them away from me—“

“But it doesn’t,” he interrupted. “Can’t you see that? It just makes you a bigger target.”

She glared up at him. “So you’re saying I should sell myself? Will that change their behavior?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying.” He returned her glare threefold. He ran his hands through his hair as he let out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t know what I’m saying. Hell, I don’t even like you; I have no idea why I’m even bothering.” With that, he dismissed the subject and headed for the inn.

“Wait—“ she called after him.

He stopped but didn’t turn around this time. “What?”

“I—I don’t even know your name,” she said quietly.

He twisted around to peer at her. “Gaavan,” he said, giving the name he’d used in Gehn.

“Gaavan,” she repeated. “I’m Zaira.”

“I know.”

“Then…thank you. For tonight and…the other night, too.”

He thought about it and grinned suddenly. “Don’t mention it. Come on,” he said, jerking his head towards the inn.

“What?” Her eyes went wide and she backed away from him.

Praying to anyone who would listen for patience, he said slowly, “We’re both headed in the same direction, right?”

She nodded.

“Then there’s no reason we can’t walk together. Is there?”

“Oh. OH.” She nodded and came to join him. Together they walked around the inn to the back stairs and entered the inn together. At their doors, they stopped. Gaav watched her unlock her door and step inside. Before she closed the door, she smiled shyly at him. “Good night.”

He muttered something and turned the key in the lock of his own door but stopped abruptly. He reached out across the way and laid his hand on her door. The same seal he’d marked his cabinet and door with flared on the wood then faded again. Smiling, he pushed open his door and entered.

Later, as he was lying in bed thinking about his actions, he wondered why he’d done what he did. Then he smiled as he realized she reminded him a lot of himself: Doing what she had to do to survive. Though she confused him, too. Try as he might, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. As he slipped into his dreams, he was pleasantly surprised to find them dreams of her dancing for him—and only for him.

Slayers copyright 1991-2000 by Hajime Kanzaka/Rui Araizumi/Kadokawa Shoten/TV TOKYO/SOFTX/Marubeni.
The other characters copyright Wendy W Lee.