Chapter 21
Sarayah was enjoying her breakfast far more than any meal she'd had in a long time. Sheppard had been particularly vigorous in his resistance this morning, something she always found intoxicating in the man, and as a result, the food tasted that much sweeter.
He lay panting a few feet away from her now, his skin and shirt soaked with tea, water and sweat, and his face sticky with butter and crumbs, but she had at least succeeded in getting some nourishment into him. Much as she needed to break him, she didn't want him dead. The thought of killing him had left her the moment the Al Qaeda leader had threatened to cut out his eye. If she couldn't stand the thought of one eye being removed from his person, how could she ever come to terms with killing him? She couldn't – but there was no need for him to know that just yet. For now he could believe she wanted him alive only to torment him. It made no difference to her.
Her old injury ached after the efforts of holding him still, and she rubbed the handless stump to relieve the soreness. Even after all these weeks it still troubled her more than she liked. But it was a grave injury, one that had almost cost her her life. If she faced up to the truth, the man lying before her deserved to die for his crimes against her, but despite that she couldn't bring herself to do it. This John Sheppard hadn't committed those crimes yet, so if she broke him, here, on his own planet, left him a shattered man incapable of being a military leader, then he wouldn't travel to Pegasus and she would never get hurt in that other time line...at least that was how she understood it. No need for him to die. Time travel was a completely baffling concept to her, and even though Major Carter had tried to explain the theory to her a couple of times during their tedious sessions in interrogation, the idea still made her head ache. But she did understand that if he never travelled to Guedeseo, she would not lose her hand. She was allowing her future self a life free from amputation...free from the scourge of John Sheppard.
As she crunched on the last piece of toasted bread, she watched the rise and fall of Sheppard's chest. It was rapid and shallow, reminiscent of how she regained her breath after a long run, and she supposed he could be breathless from their struggles, but she doubted it. He was fitter than that. His breathing was pure, barely contained hatred, and it gave her a little thrill to know she'd got under his skin once again. Little by little she would chip away at his hard exterior until she exposed all of his vulnerabilities, and then, at long last, he would break because no one could stop her this time.
A thin trickle of blood now broke free from the corner of his mouth. She'd opened up the gash inside his cheek while forcing him to eat, and no doubt the taste of blood had made his meal even more unpalatable, but he had to learn to do as she said, even if they had to repeat this frantic struggle whenever mealtime came around. For the time being he kept his eyes closed, rivulets of sweat running down his temples as the heat of the sun built and set the ground baking, reflecting its heat and intensifying it all around him.
Of course, she was almost certain she could force Sheppard to eat and drink in a less confrontational way, but one that would be far less fun, too. After their latest skirmish, her clothes clung to her with a mixture of both his sweat and hers, plus a lot of spilled supplies, and the feeling of those damp, cloying clothes just made her want to pounce on him and start all over again. In fact, he did still look thirsty...
Her hand shifted to another bottle, and she broke the seal with her teeth, the sound making him immediately react and look her way. Anger flared in his pale eyes, so much greener out here in the bright sun, and for a second she seriously considered seeing through her initial intentions, but she fought with the desire and set it to rest for a while. He was hurt and exhausted; he needed time to repair physically, though not mentally...
'Are you sure I can't tempt you to some more? I don't mind bringing it over.'
'Keep your damn water,' he growled, looking away again.
She chuckled, finding his constant refusal to back down from her rather endearing. The John Sheppard of Guedeseo had been far wilier than this. He'd known how to play the game, to at least keep up the pretence of acquiescing even if he spent the whole time plotting how to get away from her. This younger version, hot with ire and crippled by grief for his lost wife, was determined to fight her at every turn. Would that make him easier to break than his older counterpart? Time would tell, she supposed.
Her eyes drifted across his form, taking in the raw skin on his wrists, and the blood stain on the side of his shirt from the previous evening's bullet injury. That had been careless of her, and she vowed to be more careful in future. She couldn't let some random act take him from her, even though it would neatly end any chance of his ever going to Pegasus.
Her knife sat beside her in the dirt, and for just the briefest of moments she visualised snatching it up and plunging it into his heart, ending his hold over her. In her mind's eye she watched his eyes glaze and fix, his body falling limp, and her stomach churned. No, though his agony gave her exquisite pleasure, his death was too much to even contemplate. As much as she hated to admit it, she was in love with the man, and though her instant reaction to seeing him out at that roadside had been to throttle the life out of him if she'd had the hands to do it, she was glad that hadn't happened. Having had some time to calm down, meeting him at the SGC had reminded her of everything she'd first seen in him, and her passion had ignited once again. She didn't need John Sheppard to die, all she needed was to change the course of his future so he never travelled to Medulsa, then the agony of losing her hand would never happen.
She licked the last vestiges of melted butter from her lips, lips that still throbbed at the memory of their kiss at the SGC, then forced herself to think of the practicalities of the day ahead. First, they needed to get cleaned up. Sheppard's injuries would definitely need her attention, and now they had the benefit of daylight to assist her, she could do it far more effectively than she had last night. She stood and headed over to the kit back, rummaging around until she found the hygiene and medical supplies she'd swiped before leaving the SGC – soap, alcohol, dressings and some remarkable things called toothpaste and toothbrushes that she'd never seen before arriving on Earth. The Atrascans had used some kind of medicated liquid to swill out their mouths after every meal, something that had tasted completely rank, but after several months she had grown to tolerate, while on Guedeseo, the root of the berosoe plant was chewed twice daily to keep teeth clean. Previous to that, a swill out with fresh spring water had been all she and the other womenfolk of Medulsa had bothered with, yet it had seemingly sufficed. But this paste had a pleasing taste, and the thought of its aroma on Sheppard's breath made her stomach flip. Perhaps she would allow herself at least one kiss, just to sample how it tasted on him...
She wrapped everything up in a towel she had acquired while gathering breakfast and headed over to where her irate prisoner still lay fuming, picking up her knife en route. 'Now if I let you up, do you promise to be a good boy?' she asked.
'Screw you!' he grunted, turning his face away as if he couldn't even bare to look at her.
His reaction brought a grin to her face as she cut the first loop of rope from around his right wrist. 'As I said once before, all in good time, John. Let's not rush into things. '
Suddenly his anger melted into something very different. The pink flush of his cheeks instantly faded, and his heartbeat, already fast, went into overdrive. He feared the fact she could force intimacy with him if she chose to. It was the one thing that brought out his vulnerable side. Though he kept his face turned, she could see how deeply he swallowed, and he squirmed a little as she leaned over him to free his second wrist. She deliberately took her time with this second bond, pressing her body against his to feel the thunderous pace of his frantic heart. Desires stirred in her, but she again took control of them, pulling back to free his ankles instead of running her tongue along the exposed skin of his neck as her mind had told her to.
'Time to freshen up,' she announced, pushing up from her kneeling position in one smooth movement.
Sheppard's rise from supine to seated was far less graceful. It appeared that every inch of his body hurt as he tried to push up, and wherever he positioned his hands for leverage elicited moans and whimpers that set alight her desire to hurt him all over again. Certain that they would soon be at loggerheads over his treatment and grooming she kept her needs in check, instead thrusting out her left hand in an offer of assistance.
The look he gave it suggested he would rather spit in it than take her up on that offer, and he pressed on with his own efforts, eventually making it onto his shaky legs and swaying before her, as she picked up her bundle and tucked it under her right arm.
He looked around them. 'So, where's the wat –'
She didn't even let him finish the question, reaching out to touch his chest and setting their atoms in motion. As they travelled together she absorbed more of his memories and feelings, sensing happiness and loss in equal measures. It was exhilarating to feel so close to him. This was something she could never have hoped to experience if the Divine One hadn't judged her. So despite the fact her injury pained her greatly, their encounter on Guedeseo had also had its advantages.
She reassembled, landing effortlessly on her feet, which was more than could be said for her companion, He spilled to his hands and knees, crying out as the shock jarred his body. From his spot wallowing in the mud, he lifted his head and looked out across the river they had landed beside. 'I think that's a little more water than we need,' he pointed out, clambering up to his feet and panting through his discomfort.
'It's fresh and it's clean, so stop complaining,' she told him, setting the towel down on firmer ground further up the bank and unravelling it to reveal its contents. 'Now take off your shirt.'
He blinked back at her. 'I don't think so.'
'I need to clean your wounds and your clothes, so take it off,' she insisted.
He stood firm, folding his arms across himself even though the movement made him wince. 'You're not laying another finger on me, lady. The shirt stays put.'
Sarayah rolled her eyes in mock frustration, then instantly broke apart into millions of atoms, streaming into Sheppard's body with such force he stumbled back a few paces before regaining his balance.
'What the hell?' he gasped, looking down at himself. 'Get outta me!'
She didn't, instead taking control of his motor functions and setting him walking toward the river, making him wade in hip deep into the cool water, and then forcing his reluctant fingers to unbutton his shirt and take it off, ripping it swiftly from his body even though she knew how much it would hurt.
That done, she separated out from him, leaving him trembling with pain and hardly able to breathe let alone tell her what he thought of her.
She waded to shore to give him time to compose himself while she took his shirt away and retrieved the soap and a wash cloth. When she returned to him, his breathing had steadied a little, but his mood had not improved. 'You didn't have to be quite so rough.'
'No, I didn't,' she agreed, soaking the washcloth in the cold water and forming a thick lather with the soap. 'But you still need to learn to do as I ask, so I thought you might benefit from the lesson.'
'Thanks, but I've never been quick study,' he grumbled, flexing his shoulder blades and grimacing at the pain it caused him.
'Turn and I will clean those injuries.'
He hesitated, but just a look from her this time was enough for him to decide to obey. In the daylight she could clearly see the effects of the lashes he'd endured. Only two of them had actually split the skin, but the other welts were badly bruised, plenty enough reason for him to be so tentative with his movements. She dabbed each one of them clean, cleansing away the blood their scuffles had set free and leaving the extent of the injuries plain for her to see. Ten lashes in total, just as she'd given him on Medulsa when he'd taken Balfor's lashes on his behalf along with his own punishment. It was one of her fondest memories...one of them.
As she gave his back a final wipe, he hissed a complaint and she realised her mind had wandered and her touch had grown heavy. Not that she felt any remorse for inflicting pain on him, far from it. Pain would bring his situation home to him – obey or suffer the consequences.
'Hold still while I finish this,' she barked, but he flinched away all the same, turning toward her now.
'You've done enough already, don't you think?'
It wasn't a question, more an accusation. 'I think,' she said, tilting her head as she looked up at him. 'That's for me to decide.'
He didn't back down from the staring match, something that pleased her no end as it was rare to have the opportunity to stare so intently into his eyes. Eventually, satisfied he understood even if he didn't agree with her sentiment, she slipped off her own clothing and began to wash, embarrassing the young man beside her with her lack of modesty, and forcing him to turn his back. She took the opportunity to admire his physique while she bathed, his lean torso just as she remembered it, even down to the lash marks. She wondered if it was possible to stay lost out here in the mountains of Afghanistan for the rest of their lives, however long that would be. Sheppard had suggested it wasn't, but the area was vast and riddled with caves like the one he'd hidden in, she'd sensed that when scouting the area in her disassembled form while he was unconscious the previous night. And it was that ability that made her sure she could evade capture and perhaps keep Sheppard there along with her. If anyone got even close to them, they could simply disappear. She could keep the man to herself out here for years.
Once she'd washed herself, she caught hold of her clothes, still floating nearby, and soaped up the grubbiest patches, rinsing them out and repeating until she felt they were as fresh as she could get them. There were a few clothes in the kit bag she'd brought with them, but since they had the opportunity to wash their current attire, it seemed pointless to use them already. All the time she worked she kept checking on Sheppard as he stood by in sullen silence, the muscles in his back bunched. There was some strong heat in the sun now, even though it was still early from its position in the sky; it would be prudent to get his back covered quickly if he didn't want to add burns to his cuts and lacerations.
That thought brought to mind their time in the abandoned village on Guedeseo. She'd lost control that final night before he'd escaped her, something she still wasn't proud of, since she could so easily have killed him. But the thrill of his screams echoing in her memory made the thought all the more tolerable. He was such a strong man, strong and stubborn. He could take punishment like no other man she'd known. She'd burned his body, over and over, with a smoking hot poker, and he hadn't given an inch. Only breaking his arm had weakened his resolve for even a moment, but he'd still refused to beg her to stop, the one thing she'd so desperately wanted to hear.
She reached out to touch his shoulder and let him know she was done. He started, shuddering at the contact and throwing a look her way that was a mixture of horror and repulsion. Could he perhaps see her thoughts as clearly as she could see his?
'Why do you look at me that way?' she asked, curious to know.
'Why do you keep insisting on touching me when I've told you not to?' he spat back at her, eyes aflame once again.
His answer gave nothing away, but the expression he wore told her there was more to his aversion than just annoyance.
'Head to shore and I'll dress those wounds,' she ordered him, deciding to let the matter drop for now.
He stood firm. 'They're fine,' he growled. 'I don't need any more help from you.'
Still so determined to rebuff me at every turn. His reaction sent a thrill through her, promising another fight to come. 'Why do you continue to disobey me when you know I can make you do whatever I want?' she asked, her fierce grin unstoppable when she saw the utter frustration with which he glowered back at her.
'Because you killed my wife.'
Her smile faded instantly. Perhaps that had been a mistake after all. She'd expected the loss to weaken him, but instead it appeared to have had the opposite effect, strengthening his resolve. So she had made him more determined to defy her. Well, it would only make the moment she finally broke him down all the sweeter.
'Head to the shore, John.' She made sure her tone dripped with intent, drilling her gaze into him so he could not be mistaken about the threat implied. To his credit, he set his jaw and held out a while, something that impressed her considering how futile it was to try to resist.
Eventually, he muttered, 'It's getting cold in here anyway,' and waded back to the bank, dragging heavy legs and boots through the clinging mud and up to where she'd left their supplies.
Sarayah took the easier route, appearing beside him in an instant. 'Sit,' she commanded, and with little more than a pout he did so.
That showed some promise.
The promise soon disappeared again when she began to tend to his wounds. First the sting of alcohol set him squirming, then he instantly pulled away at her touch when she tried to apply the first dressing to one of his lacerations. He bucked and knocked her hands away, insisting he didn't need the lint pad, but she knew he did, finally wrestling him down onto his face and digging her knee into the welts on his lower back to subdue him. Eventually, all three cuts were dressed with a little help from her abilities, and she climbed off him, Sheppard scrambling away from her and throwing her an reproving look from several feet away at the foot of a tree bole. And he was right to; she had enjoyed that more than was healthy.
She took his shirt down to the water and soaked it, setting it down on a rock and rubbing patches of stained fabric vigorously to release the blood from the fibres. Soon, with several scrubs, the shirt was as clean as could be hoped, then she stood and tossed the sodden garment into Sheppard's lap, ordering him to wring it out and put it on.
He flinched as it slapped into him, then did as she asked – not surprising since it would cover the torso he'd so reluctantly exposed in the first place.
Sarayah towelled herself down, raking her fingers through her long hair to get most of the tangles out. She decided she would have to acquire a comb...then she pulled herself up. When had she ever worried about combs before? Did she really care that much about how she looked in front of this beautiful young man now? Her obsession with him was making her soft; she couldn't and wouldn't cave in to the vanity of preening for him.
She looked over his way, watching him rub his hand back and forth across his hair, sending a fine spray of water in all directions, and lifting the excess weight from his gravity defying hair. With almost no effort, he looked perfect again, at least to her eyes. He leaned carefully back against the tree to glower some more, and she realised at last that he seemed to have something to say.
'What's on your mind, John?' she coaxed, half expecting a tirade of insults that would give her the excuse she needed to assault him once more.
'I want to go back,' he grunted, reacting quickly when she tossed a toothbrush and toothpaste his way, catching them before they could strike him. He looked down at them quizzically, arching an eyebrow. Apparently, he didn't consider his personal hygiene as important as she did.
'Use it and then we'll talk,' she told him, watching him roll his eyes, then push up and head back down to the river bank.
He made quick work of cleaning his teeth, spitting out red foam once he was done. The wound inside his mouth was clearly struggling to knit, not surprising after the earlier forced feeding. She headed down behind him, and as he stood up and turned, he seemed surprised to find her so close. He slammed his hand holding the brush and paste against her chest.
'Here. Now can we talk?'
'Of course,' she agreed as she shouldered past him, dipping the brush in the fresh water and covering it in paste. She could almost feel his disgust that they had to share a brush oozing out of him, and she struggled not to laugh as she turned toward him and muffled, 'Go on,' as she brushed.
'I already said what I wanted to say,' he pointed out, folding his arms across himself as she allowed her eyes to wander down his slim physique, accentuated by the way his damp clothing clung to him. Aware that her scrutiny of him made him uncomfortable, she let her eyes linger a long time before raising them to meet his again.
'And what makes you think I would take you back to the SGC?' she asked. 'Not very likely, is it?'
'Not the SGC...the warehouse.'
The sigh that broke free from her lips was purely involuntary. 'Of course. How could I have imagined this would be about anything but your wife?' she growled, beginning to fold the towel and wrap their items inside it.
'All I want is a few minutes...to cut her down and give her some dignity.'
For the first time since she'd dragged him away from that place, his voice held a note of pleading, even though he hadn't actually begged as such. This was his true weakness...his true vulnerability. Not the fact that his wife was dead, but the fact he had no power to do anything to change the way Sarayah had done it.
'Is this really about your wife's dignity, or is this about...what did Dr Heightmeyer once call it? Closure...that's it.'
There was a hint of desperation in his voice when he spoke again. 'I just want to cut her down and make her decent for when someone eventually finds her, that's all.'
She could see he was struggling to stay civil. It would only take a little push to bring his temper to the boil again. Not that she believed in "little" pushes.
'You want to go to her to say your goodbyes...to find some peace of mind because you're responsible for her death. I won't be taking you to her, John, so you might as well put the idea out of your head right now.'
Sheppard's face paled, his fists balling at his sides. 'I didn't kill her, you did.'
Sarayah simply shrugged, flicking her long dark locks back over her shoulder. 'I may have killed her, but you're the reason she's dead. I killed her because no matter what I have done to you, you have refused to atone for the crimes you committed against me.'
'For the crimes I –?' he sputtered, barely able to find the words to reply. 'And what about all the things you've done? When do you plan to atone?'
Of all the things he could have said, that was the one thing that truly enraged her. Until he had come into her life, she had been an important member of her village, doing her job to the best of her ability. He had turned her world upside down. He was the reason she had been forced to take so many lives in her attempts to show him the error of his ways. He had to accept responsibility for that flaw.
'I have nothing to atone for,' she hissed, closing in on him. 'I'm the one you wronged.'
'I seriously doubt that.'
'Then you'll just have to take my word for it.'
'Your word is worth nothing!' he spat, contempt seething out of him and he faced her down.
That look was more than she could bear. She grabbed hold of his throat, squeezing as he tried to free himself, unable to grasp her ever dissolving and reintegrating mass. 'On Medulsa, my word was law for every man on that planet until you came to my world and decided to change everything,' she said, her tone flat through enforced control. Short of oxygen, Sheppard's knees buckled and he dropped down onto them in front of her. 'What gave you that right? Tell me that, John. What gave you that right?'
Realising he was close to losing consciousness, she released her hold on him. He fell forward onto his hands, gasping in huge lungfuls of air to compensate for the deprivation. 'You tortured...those men for fun...not for your job,' he coughed, peering up at her from beneath lowered brows. 'And you drugged them to satisfy your needs without anyone needing to know. Not to mention you killed your own kid before it even had chance to open its eyes. Someone had to save those people from you. That's why I did what I did!'
The words impacted like a physical blow, and not just with her. Even Sheppard looked shocked by what he'd just said, letting his words sink in and digesting their true meaning
'How do you know about my child?' she demanded, fear and suspicion rising in equal measures. 'I haven't told you that...not yet.'
He shook his head, looking as if he was wresting with a number of unpleasant images now locked in his mind. 'I...I don't know.'
There was only one answer she quickly realised. 'You are connected to your future self somehow. Do you see everything he knows? Does he think of me? Do I haunt his dreams?'
'I don't know!' he screamed. 'I already told you that!'
He was backing away, as if he was now so disgusted that even breathing in her vicinity might contaminate him. 'Well, now you know the full extent of what I'm capable of, you know I haven't even begun with you yet. And this time I am stronger than ever. You have no hope of standing against me.'
Pulling up straight, Sheppard set his jaw, and despite his sudden pallor, he fired a challenge right back at her. 'What I know is that, beyond a doubt, you are the worst kind of scum it has ever been my misfortune to meet. And some day, some time, you're gonna slip up. Then you'll find out what it is to lose, you can count on that.'
She punched him, but he recovered quickly, swinging a right hook himself she was only just quick enough to avoid. Not that his failure stopped him; he swung a couple more shots, and she realised he'd lost control again, just as he had when they'd first returned to this land. His grief was stripping him of his normal composure, leaving only raw emotion driving his desire for revenge. Much as it fascinated her to see him this way, she couldn't allow it to go unchecked.
After a few more swipes she evaporated into the air and reassembled behind him, wrapping her arms around him and dragging him to the ground. 'Shhhh, John. Come now. It was over for you and Nancy anyway, so there's really no loss,' she whispered against his hair.
His reply was purely primal, a grating scream that awakened feelings so deep within her they shocked even her. She lost herself in him, allowing the contact to let her see into his mind, experiencing his grief like her own heart was breaking...right up until the point when he threw his head back and split her lip, breaking free of her grasp and trying to run.
Her anger suddenly erupting, she broke apart and pursued him, her sheer energy lifting him high off the ground and flinging him out into the depths of the river. He landed with a gut-winding slap on the previously calm surface, the force of it leaving him struggling to stay afloat.
She moved rapidly to join him, staying focused on him even though the whole universe spoke to her as she made her short flight. When she became corporeal again in the water she grabbed his hair, yanking him up while he gagged and spluttered, arms flailing and trying to break her painful hold.
'Much as I appreciate this uncharacteristic show of passion, I think it's time to cool that ardour,' she grinned, pushing him down and holding him there. He struggled and thrashed, but he had no hope of surfacing until she was good and ready to let him up. The sense of control was exhilarating; he was completely at her mercy. It was her choice whether he lived or died. If he died, here, now, he would never travel to Pegasus and she would remain in her role as chief prison warden, with her whipping arm intact. All she had to do was hold him down a few seconds longer. ..
When the fight left him she panicked, pulling him up but getting no reaction from his limp body. She returned them both to the river bank in an instant, dropping him to the ground and testing for a pulse and breath. She couldn't find any trace of either.
She'd learned enough of these Earth people's medicine to know she had to do something the medical staff at the SGC had called CPR. She'd watched them perform it on an officer injured after a mission, though a mission to where no one had actually said. His heart had stopped moments after arriving in the infirmary while Dr Fraiser had been checking her wounded arm, and she had pumped air into his mouth and pounded on his chest until machines had arrived to do the work for her. Though she had no idea if that would be enough without medical intervention, she decided she had to try. The alternative was to take him to Fraiser, but she wasn't ready to seek her help just yet. He needed air in his lungs and force to keep his heart beating. She could do that, couldnt she?
So she repeated what she'd seen in the only way she could, laying Sheppard out, tilting his head back a little and breathing into his mouth, then pushing on his chest with her left hand, hoping it would work. Why did he have this effect on her? Always pushing her too far. Did he want to die? Nausea welled as he failed to respond, and so she repeated the process, once, then when he remained unresponsive she allowed her hand to penetrate his chest cavity, grasping his heart and pumping it for him. Finally he came back to her, coughing out a mouthful of water down her front as she manipulated his heart. She snatched her hand back and he gasped in air for himself, rolling onto his side and spewing out more water until he'd emptied out everything that he'd inhaled, then he flopped back in the mud, making himself groan as his damaged back hit the ground.
Sarayah sat back on her heels and breathed a sigh of relief, then looked down at her clothes in disgust and stripped herself off, returning to the water's edge to wash and scrub them clean once again. Sheppard made no attempt to move the whole time she did it, as if he was completely spent. When she peered back over her shoulder she saw he had draped his arm across his face and his chest hitched as if he might actually be crying. So what were his tears for? Frustration at his situation, anger at not being able to hurt her, or more grief for his tiresome late wife? Perhaps it was a mixture of all three.
Slipping into her top, she strode back over to him, snatching up the rest of their things before nudging him in the side with her boot. 'Time to get up. We need to move camp to avoid detection.'
'Go to hell!' he groaned, refusing to budge.
For some reason those words resonated with her more this time than on any of the previous occasions he'd said them. They meant something to her and as she thought about where she'd heard him say them before during their previous encounters, and why they seemed so important now. Her body began to tingle, as if she were about to break apart. Her stomach flipped in panic, and she concentrated hard on staying whole and staying put. The tingle subsided and she felt substantial again, her calm returning along with her solidity.
Sheppard still lay at her feet, unaware of the affect he'd had on her. And that was just the way she intended to keep it.
'You forget, I don't need your agreement to take you anywhere,' she reminded him, stamping a foot on his chest and concentrating. In a split second they were united again, speeding through the universe at her behest...while Sarayah did her utmost to hide that moment of self-doubt from her troublesome charge.
A/N: And she's back with a Whump! She gets madder by the day, that one! I hope the update was worth waiting for and that those of you who celebrated it had a great Christmas. :)