Part 7

The sun was already far down the western sky by the time Gaav returned from his daily prowls around the city. Usually he did only a small section of the city every day, each area overlapping so that every few days he made a complete circuit. But today, he’d been restless, so he’d patrolled the entire eastern half of the city, checking his wards and reinforcing them. That done, he’d taken himself to the training yards near the garrison and had put two dozen soldiers through the hardest workout of their careers.

“Damn slackers,” he muttered to himself as he entered the bathhouse and shrugged off his coat. Even attacking him in twos and threes, the soldiers hadn’t been able to touch him. “Not a decent fighter in the lot.” Setting their fighting prowess—or lack thereof— aside, they had still provided him with a diversion, given him a good workout, and kept his mind busy and his thoughts off issues he wasn’t ready to sort through.

Now, however, they would no longer be ignored. As he bathed, his thoughts turned towards the red-haired enigma that plagued him. “Most likely she’ll call me a bastard, tell me to go to hell and never come near her again,” he said as he scrubbed himself clean. “So what? It’s not like I owe her anything.”

Taking a deep breath and hunching over, he stared at the water. Even though he may not owe her anything, he still wanted everything she had to offer. His temper had cooled since last night, but his ardor had not. He just…He had no idea how to approach her; he wasn’t sure she wanted him.

“That’s it,” he said aloud, standing and letting the water sluice back into the tub. “Forget her for now. When she’s ready, she’ll come to you. If she doesn’t, then…” He didn’t finish that though because secretly he was hoping that he wouldn’t have to face that particular turn of events. A larger part of him was afraid she would tell him to fuck off and mean it.

However, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. So much so that twenty minutes later when he emerged from his room dressed in clean clothing, freshly shaved, and hair still damp, he couldn’t have looked more dejected. Shoulders rounded and hunched, he walked along with his collar pulled up and his hands thrust deep into his pockets. His steel blue eyes were nearly black with shadows. Hungry, he left the inn by the back stairs and immediately turned and headed towards the center of town. Away from the tavern where Zaira danced every night.

“Gaavan!” came a voice from behind him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Confusion, his dark mood, and the fear inside him twisted suddenly into anger. Lip twisting upwards in a snarl, he stopped but did not turn around. “I’m going to get something to eat,” he growled to the dark-haired serving wench as she drew abreast of him.

“You usually eat at Derry’s,” she said, hands on her hips. “It’s that way.” She pointed behind him.

“Not tonight.” He started forward again, but her hand on his arm stopped him.

“Why?”

The glare he directed at her smoldered with latent anger. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.” He’d be damned first before he admitted to this wench that he was afraid.

She glared back at him just as hotly. “I told you once that I’d kill you if you hurt Zaira.”

“This has nothing to do with her,” he snapped, temper flaring out of control at the fact that she’d been able to read him so well.

“Of course it does,” she snapped back.

“Would you care to explain that?” he asked, putting his hands on his hips and looming over her.

Not in the least bit intimidated by his size or stance, she looked up at him. “You’re afraid she’s angry with you.”

“Excuse me?” he said, half-barking with laughter at the absurdity of her statement. “Why should I care if she’s angry with me or not?”

“Because you do. And don’t try to lie about it either. I’ve seen the way you look at Zaira. When she walks, when she dances. And don’t forget that I’m the one you pay to make sure she gets enough to eat. You wouldn’t do something like that if you didn’t care what she thought.”

Rattled, he groped for a comeback. “Look, if anyone should be angry, it’s me! She’s the one that ran off last night!”

“You poor thing. You kissed her and she got scared of her own feelings for you. I thought you were different.” Giving him a hateful look, she turned on her heel and started back towards the inn. “But you’re just like all the rest.”

Something cold and sharp stabbed through his chest. He shot out a large hand and caught her on her shoulder, turning her back towards him. “I’m not,” he said. His voice was low and serious, the anger quenched by her comment.

“You’re not what? And get your hand off me before you lose it.”

Ignoring her threat, he repeated, “I’m not. Like all the rest, I mean.” The strength of his reaction to her words surprised him; why he should be confiding in this sarcastic serving wench, he had no idea. Perhaps it has to do with being human, a part of him thought. They always seemed to be confiding in one another. And then he realized that it was something he’d done when he’d recruited Valteria; that act had been at least partially motivated by the need for companionship, the need for a confidante. “I know she’s frightened. Of me and of her own emotions. But I’m not like them.”

Stacia looked into his eyes for a long moment before she responded. “You’re frightened, too, aren’t you?”

Knowing she spoke the truth and refusing to lie to himself, he still refused to admit it to someone else. “What do I have to be frightened of?” he demanded.

“Of Zaira.”

Glaring at her, he straightened up, dropping his hand from her shoulder. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You are frightened. Frightened of her telling you to leave her alone.” The girl had the audacity to smirk at him as if she knew she was right. Which she was, but he wasn’t about to let that be known.

Leaning closer to her, he narrowed his eyes and said in a low, deadly voice, “You don’t know when to stop, do you?”

Folding her arms over her chest, she pinned him with a sharp look. “I know when I’m right. You two are being such children,” she scolded. “You’re both afraid of the other.”

“Damn you, woman!” he shouted at her. “I am not afraid! Of Zaira, of you, of anything!”

Calmly she said, “Then why aren’t you eating at Derry’s tonight?”

That brought him up short. If he insisted on going someplace else to eat, it proved her right. And yet…What the hell was he supposed to do? “Look,” he began, lifting a hand to run through his hair. “I…don’t know. Zaira…I don’t know if she even wants to talk to me. I…” I wouldn’t be able to handle it if she turned me away, he thought to himself but didn’t say aloud. Instead, he added, “She needs time, as do I. Time to sort things out, figure out where we stand with one another. I…” He sighed as he ground to a halt then tried again. “I want her to trust me—because until she does, we can’t sort this out.”

Stacia cocked her head and looked at him curiously. “You aren’t as stupid as you look,” she said.

Growling, but controlling his anger, he managed to get out, “Thanks for noticing.”

“But you’re making a big mistake,” she went on, unmindful of his response. “Give her enough time and she’ll convince herself that you are like all the rest. That you care nothing about her and want only one thing, and are ready to go your own way as soon as it seems you’re not going to get what you want.” She paused and fixed him with a penetrating look. “Go over to Derry’s, just like you’ve done every night for the last couple of months. Give her reason to believe you’re different. If you’re there, she’ll realize she’s afraid of nothing.”

Gaav looked at Stacia, considering her words carefully. What she said made sense and not even he could argue with it, especially since so much of what she’d just said applied to him as well. His thoughts, which had been a whirl of confusion since the night before, seemed to shift into more coherent patterns. Nodding, he said, “All right.”

She smiled at him. “Good. Derry’s got roast chicken tonight. I’ll make sure you get one of the better ones.” She turned and hurried back to the inn just as someone bellowed her name. Watching her go, Gaav shook his head while smiling ruefully. Humans were so complicated, much more complicated than Mazoku. But he preferred it over the alternative.

And so he made his way across the street to Derry’s. He was still trying to sort out his feelings as he approached the door to the tavern. The portly little proprietor was standing out front, and he bowed as Gaav approached, but he couldn’t contain the flash of resentment in his eyes. Catching this, Gaav’s lip curled as he remembered why he’d started eating here regularly. He nodded to the little man, but did nothing to hide his disapproving sneer. Derry backed up against the doorjamb to let the larger man pass.

It was still early, so he had his choice of tables. He headed towards the one he usually sat at, but Zaira’s friend hurried up to him and pulled him towards one of the tables that defined the stage area. “You sit here,” she said, slipping a tankard brimming with Derry’s thick, yeasty beer in front of him.

“But I sit back there,” he said, pointing towards the table by the wall and feeling like an idiot for some reason.

“Not tonight. Tonight you sit here.“ She flashed him a cheeky grin before disappearing into the kitchen.

Sighing, Gaav unslung his sword and laid it upon the tabletop. “Pushy woman,” he muttered under his breath as he settled on the bench.

A moment later, Stacia appeared with a platter bearing a whole roast chicken, half a loaf of steaming bread, and a bowl of vegetables. “Here you go,” she said as she set the meal before him. Wiping her hands on her apron, she looked at him quizzically. “Don’t you ever get hot wearing that coat all the time?”

He froze and gave her a suspicious look. “No. Why?”

“No reason,” she said with a shrug. “Just curious.” She nodded towards his dinner. “Better eat it before it gets cold,” she said as she turned away.

Gaav watched her disappear into the kitchen again. “Correction: Crazy woman,” he said to himself as he tore a drumstick from the carcass and began devouring it.

A few minutes later, he heard a familiar voice behind him. “So you did come.” He twisted around and looked into those beautiful emerald eyes.

“You didn’t think I’d go someplace else to eat, did you?” he asked, relieved that she was still talking to him.

“Well…no…But I thought that maybe you…Wouldn’t want to come here tonight. Because…”

Guilt leapt up and tried to strangle him, but he kept his face under control. She didn’t need to know that he’d considered exactly that. He had a feeling that Stacia wouldn’t say anything.

Something in his face must have shown, however, because she hurried around his table and sat across from him. “No! No, I mean…” She blushed and looked down. “I was hoping you’d come but afraid that you…Well, after last night…”

He shrugged. “Last night was last night. Today is today. It’s as simple as that.” He tore a piece of meat from the breast of his chicken and held it out to her. “Here.”

She stared at it a moment before taking it delicately from his fingers. “Thank you.”

Smiling, he nodded and tore another hunk off his drumstick with his teeth. “No problem. Got to make sure you don’t faint from hunger.”

She shook her head in amazement at him. “You are too good to me.”

Grinning widely at her, he nodded. “I know. Now, why don’t you get me more beer?” He shoved his empty tankard at her.

Eyes wide, she stared at him. “What did you say?”

He tapped the tankard. “Beer. More.”

The look she gave him was priceless. “You really expect me to get you more beer?” she demanded.

Nodding, he answered, “Yes. Is there a problem with that?”

“Yes, there is!” she exclaimed. “I’m not a serving girl!”

“Really now, I knew that. But my tankard is empty and I want more beer. And your mouthy friend isn’t here to ask her, so why don’t you get it for me?” He smirked at her.

“You’re a bastard, do you know that?” she said as she mock glared at him.

“I know. You keep telling me that.” His smirk didn’t slip.

“Oh, damn you.” She grabbed the tankard, got up and stormed into the kitchen. Gaav watched her with a self-satisfied look on his face. That went better than he could have hoped. He’d regained control of the situation with just a little maneuvering on his part. Maybe he should be grateful to her friend for waylaying him and talking some sense into him.

He thought about that for a moment, then grinned and shook his head as he ripped another piece of meat off his chicken. “Nah.”

* * *

“That arrogant, presumptuous, over-bearing, no good—man!”

Stacia turned from the cooking fire where she was tending another chicken on the fire. “Who?”

“Gaavan,” Zaira said as she stormed up to the barrels where Derry kept his beer and refilled the tankard she held.

“What did he do?” the other girl said quickly, dropping the ladle into the pot of basting liquid and hurrying over to Zaira’s side. “Did he say something because I swear if he did—“

“He asked me to get more beer for him!” the dancing girl exclaimed, holding up the now full tankard.

“Oh, is that all?” Stacia said as she turned away. “Good grief, Zaira. I thought he’d done something horrible to you.”

“It…It’s the idea of him thinking that he can ask me to get him beer and expect me to do it.”

Rolling her eyes and pushing a loose strand of hair back from her face, her friend gave her a mocking smile. “And just what is that?” she asked, pointing at the tankard.

“This? It’s a tankard.”

“And what’s in it?”

“Beer.”

Eyebrows raised as if to say, “My point,” Stacia gave her friend a significant look and turned back to the chickens.

Zaira blinked, not catching on at first, then blushed deep red. “No! It’s not like that! I mean…What was I supposed to do? Tell him to get his own beer?”

“You could have. Or you could have told him to wait for me. No, instead you come in here and fill his tankard like a good little serving wench.” Stacia paused a moment. “Hey! If he tips you, it’s mine!”

“Stacia,” Zaira managed to get out.

“Oh, come on, Zaira,” her friend said, leaving the chickens and coming over to the red-haired dancing girl. “You’re so much fun to tease, especially about Gaavan.” She smiled, not unkindly. “It’s so easy, sometimes, though. Not much of a challenge.”

“Oh, thank you,” Zaira said sarcastically.

“You’re welcome,” the other girl replied, ignoring the sarcasm. Instead, her eyes lit up and she tapped the tankard Zaira was holding. “Here’s the answer to how we’re going to get Gaavan’s coat.”

“What?” Nonplussed by the sudden shift of subject, Zaira could only blink at her friend as she tried to shift mental gears.

“You take this to him, and spill it on him.”

“I couldn’t do that!”

“Sure you can. It’s easy. Just point and pour.” At Zaira’s indignant look, she shook her head. “Zaira…You don’t need to spill the whole thing on him. Just enough to make him take it off. Then you can bring it back here saying we’ll clean it up. While I’m doing that, I can measure it.”

“I…” Suddenly, Zaira started to laugh softly. “It might work, mightn’t it?”

“Honey, of course it will work. I thought of it, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did.” Smiling at her friend, Zaira nodded. “It will work. I’ll be back soon. With a large trenchcoat for you to measure.”

“Hey! Wait a minute!” Zaira stopped and turned as Stacia hurried towards her. “Here, take this off,” she said, taking the tankard from her and setting it down on a table before attacking Zaira’s caftan.

“What? Why? I don’t usually take it off until I’m ready to start dancing! Stacia!” she exclaimed, trying to keep her from slipping the high-necked caftan from her shoulders.

“Zaira, you’ve got to distract him or he’ll know immediately that you’re up to something.” Stacia pulled the caftan off her and slung it over her arm. “There. That’s better.” She turned the other girl around and shoved her towards the curtained doorway before she could protest. “Go on! Go on! Don’t keep him waiting for his beer!”

Zaira stumbled through the curtain, sloshing some of the beer over the brim of the tankard and onto the floor. Gracefully avoiding the splash, she stepped over the puddle and looked up. She was acutely aware of Gaavan’s eyes on her, but she took a deep breath, lifted her chin up and sauntered over to his table, holding the tankard in front of her.

“Your beer,” she said, holding it out in front of her.

He gave her a grin that was positively lecherous as he let his eyes wander down the length of her body, stopping to take a good look at her exposed cleavage. “This place has good service. And the serving wenches are definitely easy on the eyes, too.” He reached out to take the tankard from her, giving her a wink as he did so.

She felt her cheeks flame at his overly familiar look, and while anger was the first emotion she felt (mostly out of habit), she also felt a certain thrill go through her. But that in itself threw her off-guard. Blushing furiously, she was about to slam the tankard down on the table in front of him, not noticing that he had already reached out to take it from her. As a result, there was a collision that resulted in most of the yeasty brew splashing over the table top and onto his lap.

“Gods dammit!” he hissed, teeth clenched and eyebrows down into a bushy scowl as he jumped up, the bench scraping backwards loudly as he shook out his sopping trenchcoat. “What the hell did you do that for?” he demanded, turning his beetling glare on her.

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” she said tightly, grabbing the towel she’d brought from the kitchen and shoving around the table to try and dry him off. “If you weren’t such a lech, this wouldn’t have happened.” Zaira scrubbed at his coat vigorously. “This is no use,” she said, tugging at the soaked knot that held his coat closed. “Take this thing off and I’ll have Stacia clean it up for you.”

Gaavan shoved her hands away. “That’s not necessary. It will dry.”

She refused to give up; this was the perfect opportunity to get it off him. “It’s going to stain unless you let me get it cleaned up right away. Besides, you don’t want to sit around with a wet lap all night, do you?”

His lip curled and for a moment it seemed as if he was going to refuse, but relented. He jerked open his sash, roughly undid the buttons and shrugged it off his shoulders. “Here. Go on. But you still owe me a beer.”

Zaira took his coat from him (having to double it up to drape it over her arm so it wouldn’t drag the ground) and turned her own fiery gaze on him. “I brought you a beer,” she said simply before turning away and heading towards the kitchen.

“And you spilled it on me!” he yelled back at her.

“It was your own fault!” she called before she ducked into the kitchen, cutting off any comeback he might have shouted at her. Stomping over to Stacia, she thrust the sodden mass of coat into her friend’s arms. “Here. Although, I’m tempted to forget the whole idea. That man is such a jerk!”

Stacia gave her a surprised look as she shook out the coat; holding it up by the shoulder seams, arms stretched upwards, several inches of the skirts still dragged the ground. “Damn, Zaira, what did you do?” she asked as she examined the soaked garment.

“I spilled his beer on him, just like you said.”

“I meant a little bit, not the whole tankard!” Then she noticed exactly where the majority of the liquid had been spilled. “Zaira, what did you do? Give his grapesnake a cold shower?”

“STACIA!”

“Zaira!” Stacia winked wickedly at her and bundled up the coat. “Since it’s my night off, I’ll take this and get it cleaned up—and get the measurements at the same time. I’ll be back before closing.” She disappeared through the back door of the kitchen, leaving Zaira staring open-mouthed at her.

“Dammit,” Zaira grumbled as she yanked another tankard down from the shelf, filled it, and took it to Gaavan. “I don’t know why I put up with you,” she said as she put it (carefully) down on the table in front of him. “Either of you.”

“What are you carrying on about now?” he demanded, pulling the tankard towards him to take a long pull at it.

“You. And Stacia. You both exist to torment me, don’t you?”

The red-haired man gave her a roguish grin over his tankard. “I don’t know about your friend, but I certainly enjoy it.”

She narrowed her eyes at him but said nothing, instead turning on her heel and storming back towards the kitchen.

“Hey!” he shouted after her. She paused in the doorway and gave him a glare from across the room. He was still grinning and saluted her with his tankard. “Nice view.”

Zaira had had enough. Deliberately, she turned her back on him and slowly did a figure-eight with her hips. She would have done more, except the other patrons of the tavern started applauding and cheering her. She hadn’t realized they had been watching, so she quickly slipped through the kitchen door and hid.

Ten minutes later, Ahmed, the drummer of the little band that Derry had found to provide accompaniment for his Pari dancer, hurried in through the back door to the kitchen.

“Ahmed,” Derry called from across the room. The portly little man hurried over to him. “Where’s Omar and Hassein?”

“They’re in jail,” Ahmed said simply with a shrug.

“Damn it,” Derry swore. “What for this time?” This was getting to be a commonplace thing with his musicians.

“The usual. Omar had too much to drink and got into a fight. Hassein tried to help.”

“There’s nothing for it, then,” the landlord of the Dancing Ki-riin said, taking Zaira and Ahmed by the arms and steering them towards the common room. “You’ll have to make do. I’ve got paying customers out there that have come to see Zaira dance and see Zaira dance they will. Go, go, go!”

“Derry! Wait a minute!” the girl protested, tugging against him.

“Wait for what?” he demanded. “You’re not going to tell me you can’t do this, Zaira. You were wonderful the last time—“ he started to say.

Twisting out of his grip, she rounded on him. “No, of course not. I…” Actually, that had been exactly what she was going to say, but she wasn’t going to let him know that. Besides, Stacia’s words earlier that day came back to her, about the effect she had on men. And…suddenly, she wanted to know more. Specifically what sort of effect she would have on that red-haired bastard who had the nerve to ogle her…

A sly grin spread over her face as she grabbed for her bag and dug out her zils. “I just wanted to get these first,” she said as she slipped them onto her fingers. She looked at Omar and he nodded, holding up his drum. “You go out first,” she said. “I’ll follow you.” He nodded and slipped through the curtain. As he did so, Zaira turned to Derry. “I want to do this differently tonight,” she said, then whispered her plan to him.

* * *

Gaav looked up from his study of the dregs in his tankard as the drummer appeared through the curtained doorway. Grinning, he leaned forward, eager to see what the red-haired vixen had planned for this evening. Even though he’d gotten a wet lap for it, he’d enjoyed baiting her earlier—and found he enjoyed it when she baited him back. When she was baiting him, she forgot she was supposed to be afraid of him.

Surprisingly, only the drummer appeared. He settled down to the side, set his drum on his knee and started beating out a complex rhythm. He drummed for several minutes and still there was no sign of Zaira. The audience started getting restless as several of the serving wenches came out and started extinguishing the lamps that lit the room. They left only a few and those they turned down low so that the room was left in near darkness.

And still the drummer kept up his beat, eerie and compelling at the same time.

“Hey!” one of the men called. “We want to see the woman dance! Not listen to some guy bang on a drum!” Several other voices were raised in agreement. Gaav glared at the nearest one, who didn’t notice him.

Just as the crowd seemed ready to ignite, the drummer shifted his rhythm and a pair of finger cymbals joined in. Everyone looked around to find where they were coming from, only just now noticing that Zaira was standing in the doorway leading into the tavern and not the curtained doorway where she usually made her entrance. Everyone turned and watched transfixed as she stood there, lit from behind by the lanterns that burned outside and her hair forming a fiery halo around her. She stepped through the doorway, beating her zils in counter time to the drum, and moving sensuously through the crowd to the cleared area where she danced. As she did so, she had to pass by Gaav’s table, and she looked directly at him, her green eyes shimmering with an impish inner light.

A thrill jolted through him as she moved closer to him. He was dimly aware of his trousers binding in certain areas as he caught a whiff of her scent, warm, spicy and exotic. This time he didn’t care. He leaned forward slightly as she leaned in close. She held him captive with those bright green eyes, eyes that teased him, eyes that met his with a strength he’d only glimpsed previously. Enthralled, he had no choice but stare slack-jawed as she performed.

When she turned away, he felt as if something had been physically ripped from him. He leaned forward, reaching out a bit as if to pull her back. But she danced away, out of his reach, taking that piece of him with her as she went, leaving him aching and empty.

She moved on to the table next to his, where there were several rough-looking men. Gaav went cold as he watched her dance for them; in that brief moment when they had connected, he had forgotten they were in the crowded tavern and she wasn’t dancing for him alone. Narrowing his eyes at these men, he watched them carefully, his tankard clutched so tightly that it creaked in his hand. She was having a similar effect on them, and several reached out as if to pull her close. He started to rise, but was relieved to find she stayed carefully out of reach of their dirty, reaching paws, so he settled back. As they protested and tried to call her back, she gave them her plastered-on smile that was so devoid of emotion, and yet so dazzling that none of the other men noticed. Only Gaav could tell the difference, because he had seen one of her real ones, and there was no comparison. He noted with more than passing interest that as she danced for the other patrons, her face looked empty and soulless. Secretly, he was pleased she reserved her true beauty for him.

Even as he thought this, she looked up and caught him looking at her. She flashed him a brilliant smile and gave him an impudent wink before moving on to the next table.

Zaira continued this, dancing close for the men gathered at the tables surrounding him. He watched her closely, ready to come to her aid at the first sign of trouble. As she neared his table again, completing the circuit she had started, she caught and held his eyes again. She approached him cautiously, timing her steps to the beat of the drum, staring him down with a seductive light in her eye. He smiled and leaned back to watch her, a smug grin pulling his lips upwards in a crooked grin. Her demeanor changed as she danced around him, pulling a scarf from her belt and draping it over his shoulders and leaning in close to whisper something unintelligible in his ear as she circled him. Like the others, he reached up to take her hands, but like the others, found her dancing away from him.

She twirled, sending her hair and skirts flying wildly about her as the drummer stepped up the beat. She settled into a series of gyrations that sent the internal temperature of every man in the room. The red-haired Pari was concentrating on Gaav now, gently teasing him with her proximity, but not allowing him to do anything more than touch her with his eyes. He grinned and it became a game between the two of them. Zaira would dance close and he’d try to catch her only to have his hands close on empty air.

“Wench,” he growled softly as he reached for her again. “Stand still!”

Flashing him a cheeky grin, she backed away. “No touching,” she whispered with a wink. Her grin turned into a look of horror as she was pulled bodily around to face the roughest, dirtiest and basest of the patrons. He grabbed her wrists and hauled her towards him. “Stop teasin’ us, slut, and show us some action.” He grabbed a handful of her hair and tilted her head back while he leered down at her, his rotten, fetid breath washing over her and making her sick to her stomach.

With a roar, Gaav stood up, shoving the table aside and reaching for the brute holding Zaira. “Let her go,” he said in a low voice more deadly than a shout. The walls vibrated with the power he put behind that demand as he grabbed the man’s neck and squeezed hard.

Immediately, her attacker released Zaira, who scuttled back behind Gaav, not wanting to move very far from him. The man’s companions all stood and went for their swords as they watched Gaav slowly throttle the life from their cohort. “Let him go,” one said, slowly drawing his sword. The others followed suit.

The little gang found themselves facing a larger ring of swords as several of the other patrons formed a line behind Gaav. The tall man glanced behind him, surprised at this sudden show of support.

Sneering, Gaav lifted his captive off his feet while the other man struggled and turned purple, then calmly threw him into the crowd. “Take this scum and get out,” he said, still in that low threatening voice, dismissing them. He turned to Zaira who stood shivering behind him, giving his supporters a grateful nod. The leader returned it silently and they all saw the attacker and his friends out the door before their swords were put away.

“Are you all right?” he asked softly.

Zaira nodded and hugged herself. “Yes. I…I think I’m going to go home now,” she said, looking a bit ill.

“But, you’re not finished performing!” Derry protested. He pushed throught he crowd towards his star attraction.

Gaav looked at Derry, his eyes cold and hard as steel, with a dangerous glint in them, too. “She’s through performing for the evening.” Grabbing up his sword from the table, he took Zaira by the arm and gently but firmly led out of the tavern.

In the chill night air, Zaira shivered. “I forgot my cloak and my bag—“ she said, turning to head back into the tavern.

Taking her arm firmly, he pulled her against his side. “You can get them tomorrow. Or I’ll come back for them later. You’re not going back in there.”

There was no arguing with his greater strength, and she didn’t seem inclined to try. Nodding, she let him guide her across the street to the inn. They entered by the common room door, and Gaav quickly led her through the crowd to the upper story and to her room. She stared at her door a moment before realizing she didn’t have her key. “I…My key is in my bag…” she said quietly.

Gaav put his hand on the door and, with a small surge of power, forced the lock. He swung it open and stood there waiting for her to enter. “Are you going to be all right?” he asked, his voice still rough with the rage he’d felt when he saw the other man holding her.

She looked up at him, her once sparkling eyes now dark with fear. Nodding, she put her hand on his arm. “Yes. I think so,” she said unsteadily. “I…Thank you, Gaavan. Again.” Through the fear, he could see genuine gratitude in her eyes.

He repressed the urge to shrug it off, instead lifting a hand to her cheek and brushing away a lock of hair that had strayed. “I don’t want to see you getting hurt,” he said softly, his deep voice sounding even more gravelly as he tried to keep his voice low. “You’d better get some rest.” Pulling away, he turned to his own door. Before he could open it, though, there was a tug on his sleeve.

“Gaavan.” Zaira stood by his side, looking up at him earnestly. Before he could react, she reached up and with amazing strength for one as slight as she, took hold of his shirt and pulled him down so he was bending over her. Quickly, she stood on her toes and pressed her lips against his.

Surprised, his eyebrows shot up to nearly reach his hairline, and he felt the blood reddening his cheeks. Her hands clutched his shirt as she kissed him, pressing against his chest. He covered one hand with his own and slipped the other around her waist to pull her close.

They stood like that for several moments before she pulled away, blushing furiously. Stammering something, she backed away. He reached out for her and pulled her back close to him, slipping a hand behind her head to tilt her chin up before leaning down and kissing her again. She pressed herself against him, molding herself to his body.

After some time, she pushed away from him. “I…I need…” she started to say before trailing off into incomprehensible mumblings. He smiled at her and drew his fingers along her jaw line.

“You need to get some rest,” he repeated, dropping his arms away from her. He watched her look at her door a moment then, with a wry grin added, “Unless you don’t want to be alone tonight…?” A shrug towards his door explained what he meant.

She paled a bit and retreated to her room, standing in the doorway. “I…I’m okay…” she said softly. Then, blushing, she added, “I…I’m not ready…Please understand…”

Gaav nodded. “I know.” He smiled at her and unlocked his door. “But I’m right here if you need anything. Or…just want company.”

“Thank you,” she said, slowly closing her door. “Good night.”

He waited until she’d closed it and he heard the bolt sliding home, then opened his door, his patented “cocky bastard” grin on his face. Now he was getting somewhere.

* * *

Zaira stood leaning against the door, breathless. Where on earth had she gotten the idea to do that? She pressed her hand against her breastbone, feeling her heart beating wildly beneath it. Where ever she’d gotten the idea, she certainly had enjoyed it. Her lips still tingled and she drew a finger along them, imagining she could still feel his lips pressing against them, and the mere thought sent electric chills down her spine. For a moment, she was tempted to go out and tell him no, she didn’t want to be alone, but no matter how much she was tempted, the thought sent shivers of fear slicing through her belly. No…it was too soon.

Just as she was thinking this, a soft knock came at the door behind her, startling her out of her thoughts. A sudden fear gripped her; what if Gaavan had decided to press her into joining him? How was she going to turn him away. The excitement melted away as icy fear froze her to the spot.

The rapping came again, more urgent this time. “Zaira! Open up! It’s me!”

Breathing a heavy sigh of both relief and disappointment, Zaira slipped the bolt back and opened the door to let Stacia in. Her friend was standing in the hallway, looking worried and upset and like she wanted to hit someone. “What happened? I came back and found you gone, Derry in a dither, ranting on and on about someone having attacked you!” She pushed her way into Zaira’s room and took the red-haired girl into her arms, pulling her close. “Tell me you’re okay. I swear, if I ever see the bastard who did this, I’ll kill him!”

 Hugging her friend, Zaira shook her head. “I’m okay, Stacia. Really. Gaavan was there and he took care of it.” However, even as she reassured her friend, she realized that she was shaking.

“If you’re okay, then why are you shaking?” Stacia demanded.

“I…I don’t know…” Zaira pulled away and turned to sit on her pallet.

Stacia hung Gaavan’s coat, Zaira’s bag and cloak over the back of a chair and sank down next to her. “Zaira, talk to me,” she said softly, pulling the other girl into her arms again.

“I…It was so awful. I was dancing, and suddenly he…He grabbed me. But…”

“But what, Zaira?”

Zaira looked up and into Stacia’s eyes. “I…I’m so confused, Stacia.” She leaned against her friend. “I felt so awful when that man grabbed me, and yet…”

“What happened?” the other girl pressed, sensing there was something else that Zaira wasn’t telling her.

“And yet, I kissed Gaavan when we got back here.”

Unable to help herself, Stacia crowed. “You kissed him? That’s great!”

“No, it’s not!” Zaira said, pulling away angrily. “Don’t you understand? How is it I get sick to my stomach at the thought of any man touching me, and yet I kissed Gaavan?”

“Zaira, Zaira…” her friend said with a laugh, pulling her back and hugging her close. “Don’t you understand? He’s not a man to you.”

“What are you talking about?” the red-head said. “Of course he’s a man.”

Shaking her head, Stacia pushed the other girl’s hair out of her face. “That’s not what I mean. I meant, he’s the first one to treat you like a person. Like someone who deserves respect. It’s no wonder you don’t think of him as the enemy.”

“The enemy…?”

Nodding, Stacia continued. “That’s how you see men: As an enemy you must keep at bay as you encase yourself in a solitary tower. And yet, Gaavan’s managed to break through your defenses and storm the tower. Not only storm the tower, but battered down the gates as well. You may as well face it, honey: This is one war you’re not going to win. He’s already laid claim to his prize.” She winked at her friend.

Zaira flushed at the way her friend was describing what had been happening. “I’m not a prize to be won,” she said sternly, glaring at Stacia.

“Of course you’re not. I was just being figurative. You know perfectly well what I mean, though.”

Sitting up, Zaira sighed. “No, I don’t. I don’t understand how one man can repulse me, and another can…” She didn’t finish her thought.

“It’s easy, Zaira, because most men are repulsive. And actually, you admit yourself that Gaavan is a bastard, don’t you? That’s just the way men are; I’ve told you before, some are just bigger bastards than others. However, there are some that are capable of actually being mistaken for humans—rarely, but it does happen. Look,” she said, reaching out and taking Zaira’s hand. “Don’t fight it so much. Just…Let things happen as they happen. Don’t let him rush you, though.”

Sighing softly, Zaira nodded. “He hasn’t. He…” She blushed but forged ahead. “He offered to spend the night, but only if I wanted the company.”

Stacia got a smirk on her face but refrained from making a comment at Zaira’s sharp glance. Instead she nodded. “He’s…He’s all right, this Gaavan of yours. Don’t let him get away.”

Shaking her head, Zaira laughed. “He’s not mine.”

“Not because he doesn’t want to be,” she replied with a wink. When Zaira’s blush deepened, Stacia laughed softly and pulled her friend into a warm hug. “Listen, hun, do you want me to stay here tonight? Keep you company?”

Hugging her just as warmly, Zaira shook her head. “No, I’ll be okay. You’ve got your cat to go take care of.”

“Remy can take care of himself.”

Zaira shook her head. “No, you know very well how much he hates it when you aren’t home at night. Go on home, Stacia. I’m fine. Besides, Gaavan’s right—“ She stopped herself but not before Stacia’s eyebrows shot up.

“Ah, so that’s how it is, is it? You want me out of the way in case you feel like taking Red up on his offer, don’t you?” She grinned at Zaira’s furious blush. “Not that I blame you.”

“It’s not like that! I meant in case—in case—Oh, you’re absolutely awful, do you know that?”

“Of course I am. It’s what I’m good at. And you know it, and you love it.”

“I do not!” Zaira glared at her friend.

Her glare didn’t phase Stacia at all. She simply patted her friend’s shoulder and stood up. “I brought Gaavan’s coat and your things from the tavern. I’ve got the measurements for that robe you want to make him.” She winked at Zaira as she went to the door, then her face became serious again. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

Zaira stood gracefully and went to stand beside her friend. “I’m sure. Go on home.”

“Okay. Good night, love.” Stacia leaned forward and hugged her friend before slipping out the door. Zaira continued to stand there until the other girl had disappeared down the stairs at the back of the hallway, then her eyes strayed to Gaavan’s closed door. She looked at it a moment before turning back into her room, going over to collect his coat, and folding it neatly, she stepped out and across the hall. Tentatively, she raised her hand to knock, but pulled it back almost immediately. Instead, she hung the coat on the peg to the side of his door then retreated back to her room. This time she leaned against it and smiled to herself.

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