Part 12

Zaira stared at the door as it closed, more than a little breathless from Gaavan's adamant insistence that she remain where she was. Confused, she glanced at Stacia, but found her friend grinning maniacally. “He’s got it bad for you, girl,” the other girl said.

“He’s just…concerned, that’s all,” Zaira said.

“Sure, but why is he concerned? Because he’s got it bad for you.” Stacia moved so she was sitting comfortably on the pallet on which Zaira was lying. “So tell me about your day. What did you do? Tell me everything!” She nearly bounced with her excitement.

Haltingly, as if trying to recall everything, Zaira recounted the days events—up until the moment when Gaavan kissed her.

“Well?” Stacia pressed, grinning.

“He kissed me, the bastard.”

“And what did you do?” the other girl asked hesitantly.

It was Zaira’s turn to grin. “I kissed him back.”

“You didn’t!”

“I did. And want to know something?”

“What?”

“I liked it. Kissing him, I mean. And having him kiss me.” Unable to believe she’d just admitted that, she blushed hotly in the dim light.

“See? I told you you would. Just takes a bit of time to get used to the idea, that’s all.” Stacia winked at her friend.

Nodding, Zaira hugged herself happily. “Today was so wonderful…Until…” She frowned and put a hand to her head.

“Don’t think about that, dear. You’re fine and you’re in Gaavan’s room. In his bed, no less.” A wicked gleam sparkled in the other girls dark eyes.

Just realizing the implications of that, Zaira’s eyes grew wide and she tried to sit up. “Gods, Stacia! I am!”

“Hey! Lie down!” Stacia said, pushing her back. “You heard what he said: You’re not going anywhere in this condition.”

“But—“

“No buts.” Stacia forced her to lie down and tucked the covers around her. “You just lie back and get better.”

Not really in the mood to argue, Zaira settled down on her side, thinking about how much she’d enjoyed being kissed. “Stacia?” she said softly, wanting to ask about these newly discovered feelings.

“What, hon?”

Zaira looked at her a moment then smiled, deciding not to say anything. “Nothing.”

“You sure?” the other girl said, not looking convinced.

The red-haired dancing girl nodded. “I’m sure.”

Stacia didn’t have time to press the point for at that moment, the door opened and Gaavan blew in carrying a basket. “Derry’s been taken care of,” he announced, a bastardly grin on his face. “And I brought us dinner.” He held up the basket.

“Well, you’ve got things well under control here,” the serving girl said, standing and smoothing her skirts. “I guess I should head on over to the tavern.” She headed to the door but Gaavan’s gravelly voice stopped her.

“You don’t have to—not yet anyway.”

“What? But I have to get to work.”

He shook his head and turned to the table and started unpacking the basket. “I told him you’d be there after you ate.”

“But…Gods only know what kind of mood Derry is going to be in. And I don’t have someone to pound on him for me,” she said.

“He won’t give you any trouble,” he said almost absently as he lifted items out of the basket and set them on the table. “I threatened to gut him if he did.”

Zaira suppressed a giggle as she saw Stacia’s eyes go round with surprise. “Thank you,” she said softly.

Gaavan shrugged without turning around. “I only did it because I knew Zaira would want me to. Now sit down and eat.” He handed her a plate. She took it as if she were afraid he was going to bite her.

“Stacia,” Zaira said, propping herself up on her elbow. Her friend looked at her, still bewildered. “Bring me some, would you?”

“Uh…sure.” Recovering, Stacia filled the plate and took it over to Zaira. “Here you go,” she said before going back to get her own share.

Giving her a strange look, Gaavan took his own plate and sat in the chair while the two women made themselves comfortable on the pallet. Stacia gathered up what pillows and cushions there were and helped prop Zaira up so she could eat, though she went very pale. Stacia almost insisted she lie down again but relented when her friend asserted repeatedly that she was fine.

Zaira ate a little, but soon pushed the plate away and slumped down on the cushions. “My head is pounding,” she said softly as she closed her large eyes against the light. Stacia picked up the plate and handed both of them to Gaavan before moving closer to Zaira and helping settle her in.

“You get some more sleep,” the dark-haired girl whispered as she stroked her friend’s cheek. “I’ll be by tomorrow to check on you, okay?”

Nodding, Zaira covered the other girl’s hand with her cheek and smiled. “Thanks, Stacia. For everything.”

“Of course, sweets.” She grinned one last time before she got to her feet and headed for the door. “I’d better head to work. Derry will be ready to explode by now.” She turned and winked at Zaira then gave Gaavan a saucy look before she opened the door and was gone.

The red-haired girl on the pallet smiled at the other girl’s whirlwind exit, sighed and closed her eyes. She meant only to close her eyes for a moment, to rest them, but it was almost no time at all before she was fast asleep.

* * *

Gaav sat and watched the girl in his bed as she fell asleep. He sighed, though it was a contented sigh. Rising, he shed his coat, and hung it on the peg by the door, where he’d already hung his sword. Loosening the collar of his shirt, he pulled the thick metal torc from around his neck. He dropped that on the table, reached around for the other chair, pulling it around and next to the over-stuffed chair near the window. Settling down, he put his feet up, propped one elbow on the arm of his chair, and rested his chin on his hand and went back to watching Zaira. She looked so fragile and vulnerable while asleep, he thought. He hadn’t realized that she had a defensive edge to her features when she was awake; an edge that softened when she was asleep. But that didn’t hide the strength of her spirit, the strength that drew him to her and made him want to protect her when she was vulnerable. The thought appealed to him more and more and he was smiling as he slipped into dreamland.

* * *

“Where are we going, Mama?” Zaira glanced around the darkened streets, holding tightly to her mother’s hand. The streets were full of shadows, living things that stalked them on the edges of their vision.

“Shh…” her mother admonished as she stopped in the shadow of a building and looked up and down the lane. The moonlight silvered the open street and beyond…beyond was the golden glow of the encampment. Zaira could hear the birds calling in their corrals just beyond. She could hear the music of her people as they sang and danced.

Glancing fearfully back at the shadows behind them, the Pari woman pulled her daughter close and started out into the deserted moonlit street. Zaira could hear her mother’s breathing ease as they drew close to the alley that would lead them to safety—only to have the shadows erupt in front of them.

The figure stumbled into the light, reaching for the woman and grabbing her arm. Zaira was flung away, lights flaring before her eyes as her head connected painfully with the wall. Her mother’s scream brought her around and she saw them: Her mother pinned between the other wall of the alleyway and the lecherous monster who had lain in wait for them.

“Quiet!” he snarled as he grabbed a great handful of her dress and ripped it, revealing her breast. The dim light glinted off something long and cruelly edged in his hand, held tight against his victim’s throat. “Jus’ be quiet and let me enjoy m’self.” A cruel laugh ended his words as he mauled her breast with his hand.

Zaira stared, caught in the murky grip of the nightmare. “No…” she whispered to herself, trying to deny what she was seeing. She heard her mother scream and saw the figure jerk as she managed to strike at him. The knife clattered to the cobblestones.

“BITCH!” the man screamed, hitting her mother across the face so hard that her head snapped back. Zaira’s eyes flooded with tears as she heard the sickening crunch of bone and saw the red blood spurt from the woman’s mouth and nose. The attacker swore under his breath and stepped backwards, letting the woman slide to the ground, her head lolling backwards at an unnatural angle. “Fucking whore,” he muttered, turning and looking for the Zaira.

She crouched against the wall, the knife suddenly in her hand, staring in horror at her mother’s body. She wanted to cry and scream that this wasn’t happening, but she had no voice. Her legs would not hold her as she tried to scramble to her feet as he approached.

“Guess I’ll jus’ hafta take what I want from you,” she heard him say. The moonlight from the street limned his evil smile as he looked her up and down. “You are a pretty young thing, ain’t ya? Maybe better’n than yer ma over there.” He started towards her, the moonlight shining down and highlighting his leering grin.

Zaira, finally able to use the wall to support her as she pushed to a standing position with the knife held firmly up her sleeve. “No,” she whispered, frightened beyond her ability to comprehend what was happening. As she watched him come towards her, she gripped the knife in her hand, ready to strike if he should touch her. She wanted to close her eyes, to wish this away, tell herself it was not happening, but she couldn’t for fear the man would be upon her, touch her—

A sudden light flared through the alleyway, bright as daylight. Startled, the shadowy attacker twisted around and found himself face-to-face with the point of a sword. Both he and Zaira followed the long line of the sword back and back and back…Finally they came to the hilt, then their eyes lifted to the face of the man who held the sword.

“Gaavan…” Zaira breathed, her brow crinkling in confusion. But…How? He couldn’t be here, and yet here he was, standing there, surrounded by a fiery aura, shifting waves of fire. As she watched, the girl thought she could see huge draconic heads in the flames—three of them. They stirred and strained outwards, towards the murderer, snapping and growling at him.

“Move away from the girl,” he growled at the man who had killed her mother. “And get ready to die.”

“Go find your own slut!” The man whirled and reached for her wrist. She drew back in fright, but he never touched her. Gaavan’s sword was a blur as it ripped the man into shadows that parted with a scream in front of her, leaving her looking straight into those steely blue eyes…

Zaira sat straight up as she came suddenly awake, gasping for breath and her heart pounding. She looked around, unable to remember where she was. This wasn’t her room…Panic gripped her as she held the blanket up close and stared around—and caught sight of the tall, red-haired man asleep in the chair. “Gaavan…” she whispered softly, the panic leaving her feeling empty and exhausted.

She slumped forward, resting her head on her knees as she tried to calm her racing heart. Already the dream was fading, but the sense of dread that always accompanied that dream lingered. Shivering, she pulled the blanket around her shoulders and hugged herself, but the feeling wouldn’t leave. Looking up at the tall swordsman who had befriended her months ago, she felt an irresistible urge to go to him.

Wiping the sleep out of her eyes, she got unsteadily to her feet and nearly fell. When she finally managed to stay upright, she stumbled across the room to Gaavan’s side. She stood there looking down at his face, relaxed and unguarded in sleep. With his eyes closed and his brow relaxed, he looked very vulnerable. As if he were a child wearing the shape of a man. Her brows drew together and she wondered why she thought that. That didn’t describe the brash, bold, cocky bastard she knew. And yet, she couldn’t shake that feeling.

She swayed and she shut her eyes against the wave of nausea washed over her and she had to grab the arm of his chair to stay upright. That startled him awake, just in time to catch her as she slumped forward onto his lap.

“Zaira?” he muttered, still caught in the sticky arms of sleep. She squirmed further onto his lap, clutching his shirt tightly. “What’s the matter?” he demanded.

“I…I had a nightmare,” she said softly. She turned her face into his shirt, seeking his warmth and strength as she fought off the last shadowy vestiges of the nightmare. She felt his strong arms go around her and hold her as she started to tremble.

“I…” he started, but did not finish the thought. Instead, he held her against him, stroking her hair until she stopped shaking. “What happened?”

“It was…a nightmare about the night my mother died,” she said softly. She didn’t mention that this time it had ended differently.

“You really shouldn’t be up,” he said, stroking her shoulder.

“I know, but…I…I wanted to be close to you,” she said, surprising herself with that admission. She lowered her face to his chest again as she trembled with more than just the cold night air, and felt his hands on her hair, trying to soothe her.

“Come on,” he said, shifting and lifting her as he got his long legs underneath him and stood. She clung to his shirt as he crossed the short distance to the pallet and knelt. She refused to let go when he laid her on the pallet.

“I don’t want to be alone,” she said quietly, blushing furiously.

“You’re not. I’m right here.”

“No. I want…I want you to hold me,” she said quietly into his shirt.

“I am holding you,” he said, turning and sitting next to her to kick off his boots. Then he was moving onto the pallet next to her and suddenly she felt the old fear stab through her and her pulse quickened. Refusing to let it rule her, she slipped in close to him as soon as he was finished settling down. They lay facing each other, with Zaira’s head tucked under his chin and her hands clenched against his chest. Through her fingers she could feel his chest expand and contract with his breathing and the steady beat of his heart. He was warm, so warm and suddenly she was so cold…Shivering, she snuggled as close to him as she could. He tightened his hold on her and pulled the blanket closer around her shoulders. “Cold?” he asked, his voice no more than a gravelly burr in the darkness.

Nodding, she pressed herself to him. Suddenly, she was aware of much more of him than just his heat: The hardened muscles under her fingers; the rough bands of callous on his hands that she could feel through the thin cotton of her caftan; the coiled strength of his legs as she pressed hers against him; the fine silk of his hair as it brushed against her face; the scent of some exotic spice filling her lungs as she breathed deep. With each sensation, a warm glow that started low inside her spread further to warm her limbs. Her heartbeat quickened and she pushed away just a little so she could look up at him. In the darkness, his eyes were dark pits of shadow, but she knew he was looking at her curiously.

“Gaavan?” she whispered, her voice trembling while she worked her hands into his shirt so she could feel his smooth skin.

“Zaira?” His voice, in this heightened state she had achieved, was rough and powerful; it washed over her like warm sunlight on her skin. She shivered again, but this time it wasn’t from the cold, but contentment. She felt so safe here in his arms. Zaira tried to pierce the shadows and see his eyes, but it proved impossible. “What is it?”

Shaking her head, she stroked his strong neck and trailed her fingers along the line of his jaw. Muscles twitched under her feathery touch as she looked up into the shadows where his eyes were. “Nothing.” She swallowed hard against the sudden twinge of butterflies in her belly. Fighting them, she pressed her face into his chest and closed her eyes.

Her eyes flew open just a moment later when his long fingers came up and cupped under her chin to tilt her face back. Wondering what she’d gotten herself into (she was lying with a man in his bed, for Ceiphied’s sake!), she started to tremble in his arms. A voice inside her head screamed at her to tell him no, to let go of her, to get up and run to her room, but his arms around her were stronger than the voice. Not wanting to give up, the voice rose to fever pitch when he tilted his head slightly and touched his lips to hers—

The voice was no match for the emotions his kiss evoked. She was safe here, safer than any place else she could be. Or with anyone else. There was desire in that kiss, but it was also chaste and loving. It promised more when she could accept it, and not a moment sooner. She pressed close to him as he flattened his hands across her back, holding her tight against him.

When he pulled away, she gasped and couldn’t think for a moment. When she could think again, she opened her eyes, and now, somehow, she could see his eyes. They sparkled in the moonlight as they searched her face. She untangled one hand from her deathgrip on his shirt and laid her fingers against his lips. He kissed her fingertips, nibbling briefly on them before she could pull her hand away. Smiling, she tucked her head back under his chin, took a deep breath and shut her eyes. Within moments, she fell into a warm, healing sleep in the arms of the first man who had tried to understand her, who accepted her for who she was, and who had kissed her without wanting something more.

* * *

Gaav stared into the darkness as he listened to Zaira’s even breathing, slow and rhythmic, and knew she’d fallen asleep again. A contented smile pulled his sensuous lips upwards and softened the harsh lines on his face as he was warmed by the thought that she trusted him enough to drop her guard and sleep by him. It meant a lot to him that she would do this; more than he had expected it would. He settled himself into the pallet and shifted his head on the pillow, rubbing his chin against the crown of her head in a very feline way before kissing her hair. Sighing with warm contentment, he shut his eyes and soon he, too, submitted to sleep without a fight.

* * *

The moon had traveled nearly half-way across the sky by the time Stacia was able to get away from Derry’s. She considered going to the boarding house where she rented her room, but decided to go check on her friend first. Pulling the hood of her cloak up tight against the chill night air, she hurried across the lane and up the back stairs. The candles lining the hallway were burning low and the place was quiet, save for some murmured conversations being carried on by a couple night owls.

Hurrying down the corridor to Gaavan’s door, she lifted her hand and knocked quietly. When there was no response, she tried the handle, not really expecting the door to be unlocked. Imagine her surprise when the door swung inwards quietly. It mustn’t have latched all the way when she’d left.

She pushed it open a bit and peered inside. The chair where Gaavan had been sitting was empty; a soft snore drew her attention towards the pallet and she spotted his large form. Confused, she was about to go to Zaira’s room to see if the girl was there because she didn’t see her in Gaavan’s room. But as she hesitated, Gaavan shifted in his sleep, turning over onto his back. There, snuggled against his side, was Zaira.

Grinning wickedly, Stacia backed out quietly and pulled the door shut, making sure it latched this time. Knowing that her friend was in capable hands, she decided to stay the night in Zaira’s room. Oh, how Zaira was going to hear about this! The dark-haired serving girl rubbed her hands together wickedly in anticipation of teasing her friend.

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