Author's notes: This quasi-novella is a collaboration between myself and my good friend Valeria (neptune.spaceports.com/~valeria/), that dates back a few years. For a long time it languished on our collective Web sites, and now I think it's time it got a little further out into the world. I'm placing it here with her permission in the hopes that people who haven't read it will, and so that we can hopefully get a little feedback that will let us finish the final chapter of the tale.
For those looking for fiction that centres around the main characters of the Babylon 5 story, this is not the story for you. This is an interpretation of situations that could have happened on the periphery of the great events that shaped the wonderful universe JMS created for us, dealing with a most fascinating, mysterious, and misunderstood group: the Minbari Warrior Caste. And one Warrior in particular: Jatrinn. This is her story.
Again, I remind you, this is a collaboration, please address any review comments to both Valeria and myself.
______________________________________________________________
The Dagger's Edge
by Valeria and Flarn
Chapter 1: My Enemy : Part 2
She spent a dull shift on the bridge, consolidating her familiarity with the
tactical station she had been drilled in constant simulations to man. There
was nothing to scan, nothing to do but run more drills and simulations as
they knifed through the fire of hyperspace, moving to attack yet another
Human colony.
Jatrinn snorted mentally. It was so simple, like unstringing beads from a
necklace, first one, then another, and another, until you were left with
nothing but a wispy piece of floss that blew away in the wind. Something, a
faint sense of unease, threaded its subtle way through the mad anger towards
Humanity that she shared with the whole of her people. She would have slit
her own throat with her splendid new knife sooner than admit it. Her
fingers went to the hilt in an absent caress. The Humans were murderers,
cowards, vermin, and deserved to be wiped from the face of the galaxy.
When her shift ended she went with the rest to the mess hall, a thoughtful
shadow, the only one not speaking in the group, all of whom seemed to know
each other. Taking a tray from the stack provided, she stood in line for her
meal. A few curious glances were tossed her way, not all of them from
females, and she returned each one with a courteous nod, or in some cases a
speculative look of her own, but for the moment she was content simply to
watch the interactions around her.
Handing over her tray to one of the Minbari on kitchen duty, she received it
back again, laden with stew, bread, and a mug of tea so pungent with herbs
it made the eyes water. Choosing a spot at the end of one of the long
tables that dotted the mess hall, she was about to settle in to eat, when
someone settled onto the bench beside her, rudely jostling her as she tried
to scoop up a mouthful of stew.
Jatrinn quirked an impatient eye ridge towards the interloper, who didn't
glance her way. "*Excuse me*."
"You're excused," a female voice airily replied. There was something oddly
familiar about it.
"Oh, no, my friend," Jatrinn replied in a saccharine tone, its sweetness
underlined by more than a hint of danger. "I would suggest that it is you
who should excuse yourself..."
"But there is no excuse for me," the voice replied, maddeningly calm. "Or
so you've often said. Really, Jatrinn, I had such hopes for you, but I see
that inbred Warrior snobbishness has caught up with you after all. It's no
wonder caste admission is so zealously guarded... few outsiders can
successfully affect the same degree of unpleasantness."
Tension suddenly leached out of Jatrinn's form, although the tone of her
voice did not change. "Ah, but you have come very close, at times. Which
is why we have tolerated your inferior Worker blood tainting our ranks. Is
that not so... Revaal?"
With a loud thud, a dagger suddenly appeared between Jatrinn's middle and
index fingers where her hand rested next to her tray. All eyes at the table
turned towards her as she examined the weapon that was the twin of the one
sheathed at her hip. The miss had been deliberate - had anyone else but her
spoken those words, the dagger would have impaled the unfortunate person's
hand instead of merely burying itself in the hard synthetic surface to a
depth of several inches.
Her 'assailant' turned around. Pale grey eyes echoed the colour of a crest
that was far smoother than the brambled masses that crowned the rest of
those at the table. The face was thin, a hawklike nose lending an avian
grace to the otherwise plain features... plain at least, until she smiled.
Grinning herself, Jatrinn extricated her hand from the around the dagger,
savouring the thrill that still coursed through her veins from the
unexpected attack. She felt something wet and looked down to see a faint
trail of blood wending its way down her palm. "Bitch," she hissed, still
smiling, as she dabbed at the wound with her napkin. "You're losing your
touch, Revaal." Reaching out, she clasped the other's forearms, and Revaal
returned the gesture, steel-strong fingers digging in. Welcoming.
"Well?" Jatrinn demanded, impatiently as she did most things. "How have you
been? I haven't seen you in months. And not a single message. You could
have been living in the bowels of Z'ha'dum for all I knew."
Revaal laughed, though the mirth didn't quite reach her eyes. "I've felt
like it at times, my friend."
"And how is Kiardonn?"
This time the flash of pain was unmistakeable. "I should ask *you* that,
since you probably have more information than I. The last I heard she was
working in a weapon-systems assembly plant..."
Jatrinn leaned forward. "The last you heard?"
"It hasn't gotten better... In fact it's gotten worse." The
Worker-turned-Warrior looked away. "She no longer considers me her sister."
Jatrinn's eyes twitched slightly at the edges, but her expression fixed. "I
see." A delicate path, here; cruelty would be uncalled for, but sympathy
offensive to one so determined to prove herself. "She has not forgiven you,
then, for...?"
"No." Revaal barked a short laugh, fingering the hilt of the dagger still
quivering in the table. "Among other things. She will not forgive...."
Abruptly her grip tightened on it, and she yanked the blade from the table
and buried it again in its hilt, "...and she does not forget."
Jatrinn nodded, a bare movement of her head, studying Revaal from the corner
of her eye. "When did you get your ship duty, friend? And which master
thought to assign you to it before me?" She smiled, a flash of teeth.
"Obviously he was smitten with you, to pass me over for you."
"Oh, is that it, Jatrinn?" she demanded, and Jatrinn was relieved to see the
life flick back into Revaal's eyes. "Perhaps *she* was simply aware that I
could beat you insensate in hand-to-hand practice."
"You never could," Jatrinn replied evenly, "and you still can't."
"Oh, can't I?" Revaal pushed aside her bowl. "Perhaps you'd like to prove
it?"
"I don't need to prove anything to you." Nevertheless, she was already
testing her leg muscles, assuring herself she was ready for another round of
sparring. It was a standing joke between them, but also almost a ritual.
They argued, they sparred, and the loser put up with a good many cracks
about her prowess until the next time.
They found an unused practice room and dropped their weapons, moving to a
mat. Revaal bent to stretch, and Jatrinn leapt then, catlike for all her
size. Revaal barely managed to duck, but recovered quickly, spinning on her
heels to face the larger Warrior. She stretched her hands out, remaining in
a crouch.
Jatrinn was aware that she wouldn't get an opening that perfect again, and
began to circle, forcing Revaal to remain within her circle. Revaal played
a good sun to Jatrinn's orbit, flashing a quick kick, a sharp blow, moving
and fiery. She was smaller, but swifter, and not much less strong.
They circled one another, Revaal's grey eyes sharp and alert. Jatrinn
thought briefly that this war would be far more satisfying if the humans
were as good an enemy as this former-Worker. She allowed herself to appear
open for a moment, trusting both instinct and her
knowledge of Revaal.
As predicted, Revaal rushed her, heaving her shoulder against Jatrinn's
breastplate and simultaneously catching an arm and twisting it, painfully.
Jatrinn hooked her leg through Revaal's and bent them back, wrapping both
arms bearlike around the smaller woman's torso. She forced Revaal down,
pinning her effectively to the mats.
"Enough, all right. I yield." She gasped for breath. "I yield. Let me
up, will you?"
Jatrinn did, smiling smugly as she found and replaced her knife belt. "I
told you."
"You sound like an infant." Revaal's tone turned mocking. "I told you so.
Someday your arrogance will pin you to a wall, and then where will you be?"
"Up against a wall, and kicking for all I'm worth." Jatrinn gave her a
knife blade smile. "Don't worry. No one thinks less of you. You can't
help your inferior breeding."
Revaal made a harsh noise, and spun to leave. Jatrinn would be forgiven in
due time. Warriors were hot-blooded and mercurial, or so the Religious
said, but at least they bore no grudges.
She felt eyes on her, and turned, blanching slightly at the figure who
leaned against the second doorway. He gave her a smile that was the match
of the one she had just given Revaal. "Not bad," he said, almost
silkily--or was that her imagination. "I think perhaps you are redeemed for
your lack of skill in the hallway."
Her fingers pulled at the fastenings of her knife belt, adjusting its
position at her hips, better to keep them busy than let them fidget as they
suddenly seemed to want to. His eyes dropped for a moment, following her
movements, and she cursed to herself, wondering if he could see through the
pretence. "I am not redeemed," she found herself saying, candidly. "I took
advantage of a moment of weakness."
"Better you find her weakness than a Human." Her upper lip lifted into a
faint sneer that bespoke her opinions on the likelihood of that eventuality.
Neroon's own smile thinned somewhat. "They have been known to get lucky
from time to time, Jatrinn."
She managed to conceal the start of surprise at hearing her own name pass
his lips, feeling nothing more than an inward leap of her heart. He
observed her with hooded eyes, almost seeming to sense that motion as well,
rubbing his chin, the black glove a delicious contrast against the pallor of
his clean-shaven jaw.
"You seem to know your friend's weaknesses well. What about your own?"
Neroon took a step closer, looking down into her upturned face. Jatrinn
moistened her lips, wondering what had possessed her to paint them such a
visible shade of red. She had posed before a mirror, admiring how the
vibrant colour had contrasted with her pale skin, and made her look so
worldly, but now she felt foolish, totally unprepared for the very reaction
she had hoped to evoke. As if to eliminate any doubt of his motives, the
towering Warrior let his eyes sweep over her body in frank sexual appraisal.
Interest even.
"You are trembling," he whispered roughly. "Don't think for a moment that
someone won't use this to their advantage."
"Someone...." she breathed, then quickly cleared her throat and forced
herself to meet his eyes. "Someone like you?"
"Perhaps." He lowered his head slightly, moving even closer so that she had
to crane her neck to meet his eyes. And she was no short woman. "Perhaps.
Do you realize what kind of position you are in?"
"Mmm?" She understood a bare second too late, moving into a defensive
stance just as he struck, black-gloved hands catching her wrists, pulling
her off balance and against him. His fingers dug into her arms in a parody
of the welcome greeting. She glared up at him, and he laughed at her
expression.
"You don't like it?" He bent closer, she could feel his breath on her lips.
"Then defend yourself better, next time." And then his mouth was on hers.
Jatrinn gasped, but made no move to pull away. His scent enveloped her,
leather and skin. His mouth was hot as a furnace, and she felt his rough
chest plate grind against hers. He explored her mouth completely, frankly,
and swiftly, and then he pulled away as abruptly as he had moved. His eyes
crossed her face and down her body again, as if renewing his appraisal. He
released her a moment later.
She tried to summon a look of indignation, but couldn't manage. He twisted
a smile. "Don't try to pretend you're upset," he purred. "You're not."
"Any more than you are," she shot back, cringing a moment too late at her
audacity. What if she provoked him? /Provoke him into what?/, a sly voice
whispered in her thoughts. Like an unwanted spectre the image arose
unbidden, the heat of skin on skin, siege and conquest, surrender... How
could one freeze with such fear of the unknown and still be aching?
Something in his face seemed to change, a brief instant of
less-than-composure eclipsing, then intensifying his brooding expression.
That reaction frightened her far more than anything else he could have said
or done, and her heart pounded a single foreboding drumbeat against her
ribs.
"Yes," he murmured at last, pausing so long that she almost thought it was a
reply to her accusation. "Better to discover your weaknesses among
allies..."
The intensity of his gaze was becoming too much. Or was it simply the
intensity of the scenes her mind continued to dredge up to torment her?
Scenes of him knocking her to the floor, his body pushing against her own
flat on the mats and thoughts of tempting death be damned to Z'ha'dum. As
Warriors, they were already dead. Oh, but if Death came to her in this
terrible, magnificent black-shouldered form... /Sword to my sheath. Oh
Valen.../ The pleasant ache centred lower than she cared to think about, and
stabbed deeply.
It was a deciding blow.
She willed her voice to be even as she prepared to concede this round. "I
should go."
"You should," he rumbled.
Lifting her face to his, she expected a smug smile of victory, but instead
found only a frown.
"I have to go find where I'm billeted..." The excuse sounded shabby even to
her ears. Crossing her arms over her chest sharply in salute, she turned to
go.
"I arranged for you to share quarters with Revaal." His voice vibrated
along her retreating spine. "After all, it was she who suggested I request
you..."
"Did she?" Her voice threatened to shake in her throat, and she swallowed,
forcing herself to look over her shoulder at him. Curse him for his broad
chest, for his gauntleted hands that were a dream of power and subtlety....
"I see."
He said nothing more, but his gaze was somewhat... different, as she
retreated. She made it all the way to her new quarters, even getting lost
along the way, before the shaking started again. She stripped roughly out
of her armour, suddenly far too hot and confining, and let it lay where it
had fallen. She stood in her shift, allowing the atmosphere to cool her
too-hot skin.
"You're shivering." She hadn't seen Revaal, pinkish with stripping
astringent and wiping the last of the acrid liquid from behind her small
ears. "Put something on if you're cold." Friendly derision laced her voice
as she threw a robe toward Jatrinn.
/Not just cold, friend./ She caught the thrown robe and pulled it roughly
around her shoulders. /And not just exercise that makes me flushed./
She dreamed of him that night. More than once, and yet the dreams melded
together, and every one ended the same; with her on her back beneath him,
triumphant in her surrender to his strength. She dreamed of skin on skin,
the harsh leather discarded, his body hot against hers.... She woke
exhausted and flushed, again, and she saw curious question in Revaal's eyes.
But Revaal said nothing about it. In fact, it was Jatrinn herself who
brought Neroon up in their discussion.
For those looking for fiction that centres around the main characters of the Babylon 5 story, this is not the story for you. This is an interpretation of situations that could have happened on the periphery of the great events that shaped the wonderful universe JMS created for us, dealing with a most fascinating, mysterious, and misunderstood group: the Minbari Warrior Caste. And one Warrior in particular: Jatrinn. This is her story.
Again, I remind you, this is a collaboration, please address any review comments to both Valeria and myself.
______________________________________________________________
The Dagger's Edge
by Valeria and Flarn
Chapter 1: My Enemy : Part 2
She spent a dull shift on the bridge, consolidating her familiarity with the
tactical station she had been drilled in constant simulations to man. There
was nothing to scan, nothing to do but run more drills and simulations as
they knifed through the fire of hyperspace, moving to attack yet another
Human colony.
Jatrinn snorted mentally. It was so simple, like unstringing beads from a
necklace, first one, then another, and another, until you were left with
nothing but a wispy piece of floss that blew away in the wind. Something, a
faint sense of unease, threaded its subtle way through the mad anger towards
Humanity that she shared with the whole of her people. She would have slit
her own throat with her splendid new knife sooner than admit it. Her
fingers went to the hilt in an absent caress. The Humans were murderers,
cowards, vermin, and deserved to be wiped from the face of the galaxy.
When her shift ended she went with the rest to the mess hall, a thoughtful
shadow, the only one not speaking in the group, all of whom seemed to know
each other. Taking a tray from the stack provided, she stood in line for her
meal. A few curious glances were tossed her way, not all of them from
females, and she returned each one with a courteous nod, or in some cases a
speculative look of her own, but for the moment she was content simply to
watch the interactions around her.
Handing over her tray to one of the Minbari on kitchen duty, she received it
back again, laden with stew, bread, and a mug of tea so pungent with herbs
it made the eyes water. Choosing a spot at the end of one of the long
tables that dotted the mess hall, she was about to settle in to eat, when
someone settled onto the bench beside her, rudely jostling her as she tried
to scoop up a mouthful of stew.
Jatrinn quirked an impatient eye ridge towards the interloper, who didn't
glance her way. "*Excuse me*."
"You're excused," a female voice airily replied. There was something oddly
familiar about it.
"Oh, no, my friend," Jatrinn replied in a saccharine tone, its sweetness
underlined by more than a hint of danger. "I would suggest that it is you
who should excuse yourself..."
"But there is no excuse for me," the voice replied, maddeningly calm. "Or
so you've often said. Really, Jatrinn, I had such hopes for you, but I see
that inbred Warrior snobbishness has caught up with you after all. It's no
wonder caste admission is so zealously guarded... few outsiders can
successfully affect the same degree of unpleasantness."
Tension suddenly leached out of Jatrinn's form, although the tone of her
voice did not change. "Ah, but you have come very close, at times. Which
is why we have tolerated your inferior Worker blood tainting our ranks. Is
that not so... Revaal?"
With a loud thud, a dagger suddenly appeared between Jatrinn's middle and
index fingers where her hand rested next to her tray. All eyes at the table
turned towards her as she examined the weapon that was the twin of the one
sheathed at her hip. The miss had been deliberate - had anyone else but her
spoken those words, the dagger would have impaled the unfortunate person's
hand instead of merely burying itself in the hard synthetic surface to a
depth of several inches.
Her 'assailant' turned around. Pale grey eyes echoed the colour of a crest
that was far smoother than the brambled masses that crowned the rest of
those at the table. The face was thin, a hawklike nose lending an avian
grace to the otherwise plain features... plain at least, until she smiled.
Grinning herself, Jatrinn extricated her hand from the around the dagger,
savouring the thrill that still coursed through her veins from the
unexpected attack. She felt something wet and looked down to see a faint
trail of blood wending its way down her palm. "Bitch," she hissed, still
smiling, as she dabbed at the wound with her napkin. "You're losing your
touch, Revaal." Reaching out, she clasped the other's forearms, and Revaal
returned the gesture, steel-strong fingers digging in. Welcoming.
"Well?" Jatrinn demanded, impatiently as she did most things. "How have you
been? I haven't seen you in months. And not a single message. You could
have been living in the bowels of Z'ha'dum for all I knew."
Revaal laughed, though the mirth didn't quite reach her eyes. "I've felt
like it at times, my friend."
"And how is Kiardonn?"
This time the flash of pain was unmistakeable. "I should ask *you* that,
since you probably have more information than I. The last I heard she was
working in a weapon-systems assembly plant..."
Jatrinn leaned forward. "The last you heard?"
"It hasn't gotten better... In fact it's gotten worse." The
Worker-turned-Warrior looked away. "She no longer considers me her sister."
Jatrinn's eyes twitched slightly at the edges, but her expression fixed. "I
see." A delicate path, here; cruelty would be uncalled for, but sympathy
offensive to one so determined to prove herself. "She has not forgiven you,
then, for...?"
"No." Revaal barked a short laugh, fingering the hilt of the dagger still
quivering in the table. "Among other things. She will not forgive...."
Abruptly her grip tightened on it, and she yanked the blade from the table
and buried it again in its hilt, "...and she does not forget."
Jatrinn nodded, a bare movement of her head, studying Revaal from the corner
of her eye. "When did you get your ship duty, friend? And which master
thought to assign you to it before me?" She smiled, a flash of teeth.
"Obviously he was smitten with you, to pass me over for you."
"Oh, is that it, Jatrinn?" she demanded, and Jatrinn was relieved to see the
life flick back into Revaal's eyes. "Perhaps *she* was simply aware that I
could beat you insensate in hand-to-hand practice."
"You never could," Jatrinn replied evenly, "and you still can't."
"Oh, can't I?" Revaal pushed aside her bowl. "Perhaps you'd like to prove
it?"
"I don't need to prove anything to you." Nevertheless, she was already
testing her leg muscles, assuring herself she was ready for another round of
sparring. It was a standing joke between them, but also almost a ritual.
They argued, they sparred, and the loser put up with a good many cracks
about her prowess until the next time.
They found an unused practice room and dropped their weapons, moving to a
mat. Revaal bent to stretch, and Jatrinn leapt then, catlike for all her
size. Revaal barely managed to duck, but recovered quickly, spinning on her
heels to face the larger Warrior. She stretched her hands out, remaining in
a crouch.
Jatrinn was aware that she wouldn't get an opening that perfect again, and
began to circle, forcing Revaal to remain within her circle. Revaal played
a good sun to Jatrinn's orbit, flashing a quick kick, a sharp blow, moving
and fiery. She was smaller, but swifter, and not much less strong.
They circled one another, Revaal's grey eyes sharp and alert. Jatrinn
thought briefly that this war would be far more satisfying if the humans
were as good an enemy as this former-Worker. She allowed herself to appear
open for a moment, trusting both instinct and her
knowledge of Revaal.
As predicted, Revaal rushed her, heaving her shoulder against Jatrinn's
breastplate and simultaneously catching an arm and twisting it, painfully.
Jatrinn hooked her leg through Revaal's and bent them back, wrapping both
arms bearlike around the smaller woman's torso. She forced Revaal down,
pinning her effectively to the mats.
"Enough, all right. I yield." She gasped for breath. "I yield. Let me
up, will you?"
Jatrinn did, smiling smugly as she found and replaced her knife belt. "I
told you."
"You sound like an infant." Revaal's tone turned mocking. "I told you so.
Someday your arrogance will pin you to a wall, and then where will you be?"
"Up against a wall, and kicking for all I'm worth." Jatrinn gave her a
knife blade smile. "Don't worry. No one thinks less of you. You can't
help your inferior breeding."
Revaal made a harsh noise, and spun to leave. Jatrinn would be forgiven in
due time. Warriors were hot-blooded and mercurial, or so the Religious
said, but at least they bore no grudges.
She felt eyes on her, and turned, blanching slightly at the figure who
leaned against the second doorway. He gave her a smile that was the match
of the one she had just given Revaal. "Not bad," he said, almost
silkily--or was that her imagination. "I think perhaps you are redeemed for
your lack of skill in the hallway."
Her fingers pulled at the fastenings of her knife belt, adjusting its
position at her hips, better to keep them busy than let them fidget as they
suddenly seemed to want to. His eyes dropped for a moment, following her
movements, and she cursed to herself, wondering if he could see through the
pretence. "I am not redeemed," she found herself saying, candidly. "I took
advantage of a moment of weakness."
"Better you find her weakness than a Human." Her upper lip lifted into a
faint sneer that bespoke her opinions on the likelihood of that eventuality.
Neroon's own smile thinned somewhat. "They have been known to get lucky
from time to time, Jatrinn."
She managed to conceal the start of surprise at hearing her own name pass
his lips, feeling nothing more than an inward leap of her heart. He
observed her with hooded eyes, almost seeming to sense that motion as well,
rubbing his chin, the black glove a delicious contrast against the pallor of
his clean-shaven jaw.
"You seem to know your friend's weaknesses well. What about your own?"
Neroon took a step closer, looking down into her upturned face. Jatrinn
moistened her lips, wondering what had possessed her to paint them such a
visible shade of red. She had posed before a mirror, admiring how the
vibrant colour had contrasted with her pale skin, and made her look so
worldly, but now she felt foolish, totally unprepared for the very reaction
she had hoped to evoke. As if to eliminate any doubt of his motives, the
towering Warrior let his eyes sweep over her body in frank sexual appraisal.
Interest even.
"You are trembling," he whispered roughly. "Don't think for a moment that
someone won't use this to their advantage."
"Someone...." she breathed, then quickly cleared her throat and forced
herself to meet his eyes. "Someone like you?"
"Perhaps." He lowered his head slightly, moving even closer so that she had
to crane her neck to meet his eyes. And she was no short woman. "Perhaps.
Do you realize what kind of position you are in?"
"Mmm?" She understood a bare second too late, moving into a defensive
stance just as he struck, black-gloved hands catching her wrists, pulling
her off balance and against him. His fingers dug into her arms in a parody
of the welcome greeting. She glared up at him, and he laughed at her
expression.
"You don't like it?" He bent closer, she could feel his breath on her lips.
"Then defend yourself better, next time." And then his mouth was on hers.
Jatrinn gasped, but made no move to pull away. His scent enveloped her,
leather and skin. His mouth was hot as a furnace, and she felt his rough
chest plate grind against hers. He explored her mouth completely, frankly,
and swiftly, and then he pulled away as abruptly as he had moved. His eyes
crossed her face and down her body again, as if renewing his appraisal. He
released her a moment later.
She tried to summon a look of indignation, but couldn't manage. He twisted
a smile. "Don't try to pretend you're upset," he purred. "You're not."
"Any more than you are," she shot back, cringing a moment too late at her
audacity. What if she provoked him? /Provoke him into what?/, a sly voice
whispered in her thoughts. Like an unwanted spectre the image arose
unbidden, the heat of skin on skin, siege and conquest, surrender... How
could one freeze with such fear of the unknown and still be aching?
Something in his face seemed to change, a brief instant of
less-than-composure eclipsing, then intensifying his brooding expression.
That reaction frightened her far more than anything else he could have said
or done, and her heart pounded a single foreboding drumbeat against her
ribs.
"Yes," he murmured at last, pausing so long that she almost thought it was a
reply to her accusation. "Better to discover your weaknesses among
allies..."
The intensity of his gaze was becoming too much. Or was it simply the
intensity of the scenes her mind continued to dredge up to torment her?
Scenes of him knocking her to the floor, his body pushing against her own
flat on the mats and thoughts of tempting death be damned to Z'ha'dum. As
Warriors, they were already dead. Oh, but if Death came to her in this
terrible, magnificent black-shouldered form... /Sword to my sheath. Oh
Valen.../ The pleasant ache centred lower than she cared to think about, and
stabbed deeply.
It was a deciding blow.
She willed her voice to be even as she prepared to concede this round. "I
should go."
"You should," he rumbled.
Lifting her face to his, she expected a smug smile of victory, but instead
found only a frown.
"I have to go find where I'm billeted..." The excuse sounded shabby even to
her ears. Crossing her arms over her chest sharply in salute, she turned to
go.
"I arranged for you to share quarters with Revaal." His voice vibrated
along her retreating spine. "After all, it was she who suggested I request
you..."
"Did she?" Her voice threatened to shake in her throat, and she swallowed,
forcing herself to look over her shoulder at him. Curse him for his broad
chest, for his gauntleted hands that were a dream of power and subtlety....
"I see."
He said nothing more, but his gaze was somewhat... different, as she
retreated. She made it all the way to her new quarters, even getting lost
along the way, before the shaking started again. She stripped roughly out
of her armour, suddenly far too hot and confining, and let it lay where it
had fallen. She stood in her shift, allowing the atmosphere to cool her
too-hot skin.
"You're shivering." She hadn't seen Revaal, pinkish with stripping
astringent and wiping the last of the acrid liquid from behind her small
ears. "Put something on if you're cold." Friendly derision laced her voice
as she threw a robe toward Jatrinn.
/Not just cold, friend./ She caught the thrown robe and pulled it roughly
around her shoulders. /And not just exercise that makes me flushed./
She dreamed of him that night. More than once, and yet the dreams melded
together, and every one ended the same; with her on her back beneath him,
triumphant in her surrender to his strength. She dreamed of skin on skin,
the harsh leather discarded, his body hot against hers.... She woke
exhausted and flushed, again, and she saw curious question in Revaal's eyes.
But Revaal said nothing about it. In fact, it was Jatrinn herself who
brought Neroon up in their discussion.