Part 5

 “Zaira!” Gaav yelled after her. She didn’t turn and soon she was out of sight. “Damn girl,” he growled, anger welling up hot and bright inside him. He clenched his fists at his sides and felt the power gather around himself. His hair shifted in a non-existent wind and he looked around for an outlet before it consumed the landscape around him. Turning to the river, he threw out his hand, directing the gathered power into the water.

The resultant fountain was both spectacular and satisfying. The water exploded upwards in a column of steam and sent waves to crash against the banks, capsizing some of the barges. Feeling better for this wanton bit of destruction, he took a deep breath and let it out again.

“Damn it,” he grumbled, putting his fingers to his cheek and looking at the blood that came away on them. Red blood. It still surprised him. A small surge of power healed the scratches on his cheek and he wiped the flaking blood away. “What a splendid ass you’ve made of yourself, Gaav,” he said as he hefted the basket and shoved his hands into his pockets. He started towards the inn, but stopped before he’d gone more than a few steps. That probably wasn’t the best place to be at the moment; Zaira obviously needed some space and he didn’t want to intrude on her any sooner than she was ready. He should have known that he was pushing his luck with her. Shaking his head, he blew out his breath in a huff. She was strong and her spirit attracted him, but obviously she had a lot of issues to deal with. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t tried, though.

Wandering aimlessly down the lane, he finally came to the inn but instead of going upstairs, he pushed open the gate to the courtyard. He was about to slip inside when something drew his attention to the shadows across the way. He stared into them, but could see or sense nothing out of the ordinary so he shrugged it off and entered the courtyard. He sought out one of the benches that were set about under the trees and sat, putting the basket on the seat beside him. Leaning forward, he rubbed his face with his hands, feeling tired and worn out for some reason.

“If only I hadn’t kissed her…” he muttered aloud, but knew that wouldn’t have solved anything. He’d wanted to kiss her then; he wanted to kiss her now. He wanted to hold her and feel her skin against his, feel her hands on him…

He blinked in surprise at himself. When had this happened? When had he started wanting her? Last he’d known, she’d just intrigued him. But now…Intrigue wasn’t enough any more. He wanted her. With every fiber of his being and more, he wanted her.

He wanted her to feel the same way about him.

“This is getting nowhere,” he said under his breath, pushing his hands through his unruly hair. Something tickled his face and he found a few lengths of reddish-gold hair twisted around the top button of his coat. They were too crimson to be his; they must have gotten caught when she started struggling. He sighed as he remembered the panic and revulsion he’d felt so clearly from her; would she ever be able to accept his advances?

Gaav suddenly surged to his feet in a fit of frustration. Damn her for being so attractive; damn himself for being attracted to her. Damn her and her fears; damn himself for not knowing how to handle them. Grabbing up the basket, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the courtyard and around to the back stairs.

Outside his room, he paused and looked at her door, wondering if he should knock. He shook his head, no. Leave it. He set the basket down outside her door then retreated into his room. Gathering up his things, he headed down to the bathhouse on the first floor of the inn. He needed a good soak to wash the tension away. And at this time of night, he was sure to have it all to himself. Which is just the way he wanted it.

As he’d hoped, he found the bathhouse deserted. Slipping out of his coat, he hung it on the back of the door then slid the bolt home. He hit the spigot that would fill the huge wooden bathing tub with hot water before sitting on the bench, and stripped off his shirt and slacks. Sighing deeply, he dropped his arms to rest on his legs as he curved his back into an arch, then threw his shoulders back to do the opposite stretch. His muscles were tight and sore from the strain earlier; they protested when he stretched them out.

Standing, he looked over at the tub; there was enough water to get in now. Gathering up his hair, he removed the ring that held it gathered together and twisted it all into a rough rope before he climbed into the tub. Throwing the whole thing over the edge so that it spilled like blood on the tiled floor, he settled back in the hot water, gasping as the heat hit his sore muscles.

Sinking down further so the water covered his shoulders, Gaav stared at the ceiling as he thought back over the events of the evening. It’d been going so well, too. He’d actually gotten her to open up to him a bit, and she felt comfortable enough to banter with him, so something must have been going right. What was he going to do about her? He wasn’t sure he wanted to do anything about her…and yet when he told himself that, he knew he was lying to himself.

“Damn girl,” he muttered, shoving his wet hands through his bangs. How was she going to respond to him? He didn’t know how to handle women; why was he bothering? She was confusing him again and he didn’t like being confused; he was used to being in complete control of everything. Losing control frightened him more than anything else that could happen to him. So much so that his stomach was churning hard enough to make him feel queasy and nauseous.

“Shit,” he mumbled again as he closed his eyes leaned back. His thoughts drifted back a couple hours and replayed in vivid detail what had happened: The way she felt in his arms, the press of her body and lips against his, her taste, her scent…Naturally, such thoughts lead to visions of her dancing for him and him alone. Unknowingly, his lips twisted upwards in a smile as he followed her imaginary antics, watching her twirl around endlessly. With each revolution, parts of her costume faded away, until she was left wearing only in her hair—

His eyes flew open as he was suddenly, painfully, aroused. Gritting his teeth, he arched backwards and gripped the sides of the tub so hard, the polished wood groaned under the pressure even as the veins in his arms popped out with the strain. Water sloshed over the sides of the tub and sluiced across the tile, carrying his hair into bloody swirls. Gasping for breath, Gaav sought to regain control.

Still his body threatened to betray him, but he refused to surrender the one thing that remained totally within his power. Snarling, his lips pulled back to expose long, pointed canines. A lip suffered, trapped between those teeth and a line of crimson welled up, staining the white ivory of his teeth. Unawares, he dug in harder, using the pain to focus, seeking it out, desiring icy control, but found only more fire to consume him.

Tears of pain leaked from beneath his lashes. Sweat beaded his upper lip and brow, collecting in small pools on his skin and in the hollow of his neck. Blood from his ruined lip welled up out of the corner of his mouth, spilled over and collected with the tears and sweat before dripping down to mark the line of his chin. The scarlet line continued down over the corded muscles of his neck before pausing to gather briefly in the hollow of his neck. Overflowing that, the thick fluid streamed in ruby rivulets down his chest, swirling in russet whirlpools as it mingled with the heated water, water heated by his power and evaporating fast.

Slowly the tension left him, beat back to manageable levels. With an audible creaking in his muscles, he forced himself to relax, settling back down into the tub. His hands stung and he looked down, surprised to see that the wood had splintered under his death grip. “Damn her. Damn her!” he grated, his low growl causing hairline fractures in the tiles of the floor, fanning out like spider webs from the nexus formed by the tub. How dare she do this to him? How dare she make Gaav, the Chaos Dragon King, lose control just by thinking about her?

He sat up and wiped the mix of gore and saliva from his mouth. Swearing and wincing as his fingers brushed against his torn lip, he quickly healed it. Disgusted with himself, with Zaira and with the whole damn situation, he levered himself up out of the now empty tub, grabbed a towel and quickly dried himself off. He wrapped it around his waist, snatched up his clothes and exited the bathhouse with the intention of going to his room and getting about twelve hours of sleep. He’d sort out things with Zaira later.

Time. That’s what he needed. Time to calm down, get himself under control, regain control of the situation. Time to convince her she wanted what he wanted.

Nodding to himself, he settled onto his pallet and put his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. Time was one thing he had plenty of. He wasn’t going anywhere.

Give him enough time and he’d figure this human thing out yet.

* * *

The dancing girl was unaware of the passage of time as she sat huddled on the floor by her door, staring into the dark shadows that formed the ceiling of her room. Her mind was a frenzy of images: Horrible memories of the night her mother died; thick scarlet blood running over her hands; the blood turning into long, heavy locks of scarlet hair as she longed to run her hands through Gaavan’s hair, to feel its silky weight against her skin; his warm, strong lips against hers; the memory of another man’s mouth, the taste of wine strong in hers as he tried to force himself on her. Drawing in on herself, Zaira hugged herself harder as she fought her confusion and the fear that came with it.

Disgusted with herself, she pushed herself up and went to sit on the bed under the window. The crescent moon was high above her now, and it cast a bright enough light that she could see. She sat staring out the window at the river (and wondered a bit at the strange mist that covered the surface in pale white streamers) for several minutes before she got up and started undressing. She was exhausted emotionally, but she needed to get some sleep. She had a lot of work to do tomorrow before she went to dance at the tavern. She would deal with this…later. Not now. She’d go talk to Stacia in the morning; she’d know what to do.

Right now…Zaira turned her thoughts to the tall man who lived in the room across from hers. For some reason she felt safe when he was around, even when he was being a bastard. She smiled to herself as she lied down on her pallet and pulled the covers over her. It wasn’t long before she slipped into an exhausted sleep, one in which her dreams were too vague and disjointed to be remembered.

* * *

Outside the city, a shadow flitted silently across the moonlit desert floor. It drew up short as it felt a surge of power nearby; someone had just released a great amount of power. Hackles raised, the beast lifted its snout into the air and sniffed, trying to determine from whence it had come.

As it turned about, it caught the spoor and followed it to a low hill. Cresting this, the creature looked down upon a town built along a river. The spoor of power drifted over the river inside the town’s walls like moonlit fog, colored with the scent of water.

Curious, the shadow creature loped down the slight incline and up to the West Gate—closed now in the darkness. This didn’t phase the beast any as it simply walked through the iron-bound gate as it followed the spoor trail. Nose close to the ground, the creature picked up an old trail among the myriad patterns. Its ears flicked forward and it worked its jaws in confusion. There was something familiar about the track, but it could not determine what that was. Agitated at this discovery, it easily picked out the trail and followed it to an open area about a quarter mile from the gate. Several oblong-shaped blocks of stone stood in rows here; they thrummed with power. The shadow slipped among them, hackles raised and a low growl rumbling in its throat.

Then it found it: The mark. It sat and looked at the shining thing, knowing that it only shone in its Astral vision and not in the material world. There was something familiar about it and that familiarity nagged at the thing as it sat on its haunches and studied the mark. This simply confused the Mazoku as it sensed that it should know the shape of this spoor, but it smelled wrong. All wrong. The power was like nothing it had ever encountered, and powerful. Very powerful. It carried the scent of water about it. That, too, was wrong.

Confusion pulled the great beast’s lip up and back from its teeth, baring them in the night. It would have to report this to its Master. She would not be pleased with only partial information, however. Whining a little at the thought of the beating it would receive if it did not have more to report.

Rising, the wolf-like creature padded back out into the street and tried to sort out the many trails, seeking the one that matched the mark on the stone. It found it and followed it a ways, but soon the scent grew cold and muddied. Also, the great fog hanging over the city was starting to disperse and further confused the scent.

Reluctantly, the Mazoku returned to the stones and sat on its haunches to consider its next move. It looked at the mark on the stone again; it was fresh and showed signs of being reinforced recently. That meant that whatever created it was still in the vicinity. With that in mind, the shadow creature rose and padded silently across the lane where it found a dark hole that led to a bricked-over and forgotten basement, squeezed inside and settled down to wait until this mysterious power returned.

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