Pezzini did not have access to the information that Ian did, so she
was totally surprised by the fact that Dominique had a daughter. She
wondered if Carmelita knew that she had been the one to arrest her mother,
and this was some weird revenge thing? She was sure that Carmelita hadn't
visited Dominique in prison, Sara always checked back over the visitor logs
when she signed in. All that proved though, was that Carmelita had not
visited her mother, not that she didn't know where she was and why.
Yet there was no sign of recognition in Carmelita's dark brown eyes, only the gleam of challenge and the confidence that she would be victorious. The look went far to allay Sara's suspicions, but there was still the sense that this encounter left far too much to coincidence to not have been orchestrated by someone...or some thing.
Sara was aware of the steady warmth at her wrist. That damn bracelet was somehow involved in this; it was the only thing that made sense. Pezzini focused on the swirling red stone, trying to understand what the Witchblade wanted from her. The sooner she got this out of the way, the sooner she could get back to her date.
The stone pulsed and gave Sara a flash of the 'running the gauntlet' dream, something she had not seen since those first few days after the Witchblade had come to her. So, this was a test of some kind. Pez curled one lip in annoyance. Was it too much to ask for the cursed bracelet to leave her alone for one night?
She was getting very tired of being pushed into situations without being asked if it was something she wanted. The Witchblade flickered again, reminding her that Nottingham's reaction to being the prize in this little conflict had been more graceful. Sara raised her gaze from the softly glowing gem and gave Ian a look of apology. She was just as guilty as the Gauntlet of presumption.
Nottingham read the apology in the softening of Sara's green eyes, and gave a small nod. He did not smile however, he was still not pleased about the arbitrary manner he had been roped into this competition, and he wanted her to know it.
Pezzini got the message, loud and clear. So, she was going to have to pass some test for the Witchblade, beat Carmelita in a dance contest, and somehow get back in Ian's good graces. Well, never let it be said that Sara Pezzini backed away from a challenge.
Sara tossed her head and took the first step, ready to kick ass on three fronts. She started with a caminata, a hip-swaying, provocative walk, to Ian's side. Pez circled, her eyes appreciatively cataloging the well- muscled frame that he usually kept hidden under layers of loose fitting black garments. It was a deliberate imitation of their previous dance; and they both knew it.
She was trying very hard to recapture the earlier atmosphere, wanting that spine tingling awareness of each other back. Sara could only hope it was working, knowing how put out Ian was over the whole thing. She stopped in front of Nottingham, letting him see her approval of his appearance, and the desire it sparked, in her eyes.
Nottingham maintained his façade of studied indifference, despite his appreciation of Sara's tactics. She was working to bring them back to the connection they had shared during their first dance, and to remind him of intimacy interrupted.
It was working better than he let on, but he wanted her to really sweat this. Perhaps it was petty of him, but Nottingham wanted this lesson to stick. He was tired of being ordered around as if he had no feelings of his own. Irons had been doing it for as long as Ian could remember, and the treatment left him resentful and quietly rebellious.
Hence tonight's little deviation from the Kenneth Irons game plan. Ian was doing something for himself for once. He knew that a world of trouble lay in wait for him, should Irons find out about his activities, but he just didn't care. Especially with Sara doing her best to seduce him.
Ian could feel himself thawing as Sara swayed in front of him, giving him flirtatious glances from the corner of her eye. He had intended to hold out for longer, but when she began her second circle of him, it was done at very close range. She brushed against him at odd moments, keeping him on edge. It was more distracting than full body contact would have been, his whole body alert and waiting for that next whisper of touch.
As she completed the circle, a hard arm shot out and caught Sara around the middle. Pez returned the gesture, so that they were a little to the side of each other in a close 's'. They turned together, their bodies once again in tune with each other. Rich brown orbs met emerald green in silent communion. This was what they both wanted, to be in each other's arms, their earlier disagreement forgotten under the electric contact of flesh.
Tension rose between the cop and assassin without regard for their occupations, obligations, or intentions. Tonight they were just a man and a woman, at once simpler and more complex than their daytime personas.
So lost were they in one another that the sudden presence of Carmelita came as a shock. The other woman stepped into the end of the turn, her foot coming forward in a sacada to force Sara to step with her. That opened her out and away from Ian's torso. A second sacada, and Carmelita was standing in Sara's original spot, just facing the opposite direction.
The edge of the red skirt clung to the fabric of Ian's trousers almost as tightly as Carmelita did. She wasn't trying to be subtle, she wanted to wipe that connection her rival had made away, and imprint the feel of his body on hers. He was just as hard muscled as he looked, no well-camouflaged fat on this frame. Boucher purred softly at this discovery, making sure her face held approval and heat when the turn brought them face-to-face
Sara was fuming over Carmelita's blatant actions. Surely her mother had told her that touching things that belonged to Pezzini earned you a broken wrist. She stepped forward, her face like thunder and hands flexing with the urge to commit some mayhem.
Carmelita could see her over Ian's shoulder, and she deftly executed a spin, taking her dark-haired prize with her. She did a media vuelta and dropped slightly, bringing the two of them into a caminar. They strutted across the dance floor, leaving Sara in their wake.
Boucher was glad to have someone close to her height for the distinctive walk, as it made matching strides easier. It also made things easier in the bedroom. She smiled lasciviously at the thought and cast a glance over to her partner.
Nottingham had not missed a moment of the byplay between Sara and Carmelita, and he was soaking up Sara's jealousy like a sponge. Images of her intertwined with that worthless musician, Conchobar, passed through his mind. He relaxed into the young Boucher's arms, content for the moment to let her lead. Let Sara find out what it was like to be on the outside for once.
Sara used a combination of molinete turns and forward ochos to cut across the middle of the dance floor, angling to intersect with the pair. She was actually going to end up slightly behind them, but once she was that close, catching up would be easy.
Carmelita saw a flash of green from her adversary's dress from the left, and realized what she was doing. A subtle tensing and a light tug brought the pair up from the caminar into an abrazo. The standing face-on hold was perfect for changing direction, and Boucher had every intention of going back the way they came, leaving Sara stranded on the floor alone again.
She wasn't fast enough. Sara's angle brought her in behind Nottingham as they took the first step back. It was a classic parada, or sandwich stop. Carmelita tried to take the momentum back and continue, but Sara settled her hands over hers and followed in a lock step with them.
The three moved two paces in the trabada before Sara struck, her grip shifting on Carmelita's. She moved for the pressure point holds, using pain compliance techniques to peel Boucher's hands up and off of Ian. It was, perhaps, dirty pool, but no less efficient for that.
Sara flung Carmelita's hands outward, giving her precious seconds in which to grab Nottingham's shoulders and turn him around. She moved into him as he turned, her body flush with his. Pezzini wasn't going to run with her interception, unlike some people.
Nope, Pez was going to push this along to the confrontation stage right now. She slid down his torso in a sentada, hands trailing behind her. The feel of hard muscle under soft cotton gave way to the rougher texture of Nottingham's waistband as she continued to sink lower.
Just as her palms passed over his hipbones, Ian grabbed her hands and hauled her back up. He couldn't believe what Sara was doing. The feel of her sliding down his body combined with having her face inches from his groin were all too much for his fraying control. He had to move her or disgrace himself. The pants were too snug to hide the kind of reaction Sara was eliciting.
Sara followed the pull of his hands with a little feminine smile. Her sacada had the desired effect on Ian, his breathing was accelerated, a flush lay across his cheekbones, and his eyes glittered with hunger. They were pressed together again, her hands resting just above his heart, which was beating furiously.
Their eyes locked, mutual desire silently expressed in that long moment. Contest forgotten, Carmelita forgotten, the only thing that mattered was the way they felt. His grip loosened at her wrists to slide down her arms to her waist. Ian's hands settled at the small of her back.
A sharp hissing, like a nest of snakes, came from Sara's left. Both shifted toward the threatening sound. The source was Carmelita's hair. A cascade of serpents raised their heads to stare at the couple. Nottingham's broad back stiffened as he was caught in their mesmerizing gaze.
With a cold smile, Carmelita gestured to the dark-haired man. Slowly, jerkily, Ian let go of Sara. His face was a near-perfect blank, only the ticking of a muscle in his jaw betrayed his internal struggle as he walked toward the young Boucher.
Sara looked on in horror. There had been something about the way Carmelita moved and carried herself that reminded her of Dominique, but she had not really considered what else the Boucher bloodline might have passed on. Clearly, Carmelita was her mother's daughter in all respects.
No one else seemed to notice though. There was no outcry from the couples gliding by; their attention to the scene was sheer curiosity over the progress of the bailar duello, and nothing else. Most likely they were applauding Nottingham's display of being torn between the two women, without knowing just how unfeigned his actions were.
Carmelita stroked his cheek as Nottingham drew even with her. She glanced over at Sara, and leaned up to take the kiss and her victory. Pez wasn't aware of moving, but somehow she had taken the steps necessary to grab Boucher by the arm. She jerked Carmelita away from Ian before their lips could meet.
The snakes hissed and snapped at the air in front of Sara's face, but could not seem to touch her. Nor did their gaze affect her the way it had Nottingham. Thanking heaven for small favors, Pezzini tightened her grip. The Witchblade responded to her anger, silver metal metamorphing from bracelet to brass knuckles.
Carmelita dropped her gaze to the hand holding her, and found her attention caught by the shifting bracelet. The tendrils moved over Sara's wrist and hand like silver serpents, bringing back a flash of the dream Carmelita had the night her mother died. A great python, as thick as the trunk of a tree, had spoken to her. The snake had an aura of great age, it's slit eyes filled with forbidden knowledge, and it had called her 'daughter'.
"Thus did the serpent offer to Eve the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, and was accursed for it. How cruel a god, to punish a creature for that one act forever, with no chance of redemption." Carmelita whispered harshly.
The gem in the Witchblade glowed a virulent shade of scarlet as heat shot up from Sara's wrist. The stone changed shape slightly, a little larger here, a bit tapered there, and suddenly it was a fruit. No. The fruit. This was the fruit of the Tree, the knowledge that had driven Man from the Garden of Eden.
"The tree was smote by lightning, sending the branch the serpent lay coiled upon to the ground. The serpent was cursed to be trodden upon and reviled, forever associated with the knowledge of evil. The branch was taken by Eve, who used it as a walking stick during their flight from the anger of their God." Ian was free of the spell the snakes had bound him in, but he made no move to interfere.
Nottingham finally understood what was going on, and why Irons had found nothing of interest three years ago. The power was hereditary, passing on only at death, much in the way of the Witchblade. Somehow the serpent was bound to the Blade, whether as a part of the instrument of the curse, or because it was the last Earthly remains of the Tree it had called home, he had no idea.
"But through chance or design, the bolt struck the serpent as well as the branch, blood and sap commingling. Neither one was quite what they had been before; severed from Grace and left to make their way as best they could in an alien world. Is it so strange that the serpent should follow the branch borne by Eve?" Carmelita's eyes had changed as she spoke, the pupils splitting and the irises spilling over the white.
"Somehow I suspect the serpent did more than merely follow." Ian was careful to focus on a point over her shoulder, not meeting any of the eyes that turned his way.
"How could she not? Her essence was split, and she longed to be whole again, even more than she wanted to return to Eden. She took on a mortal semblance and taught the children of Adam many things that improved their lives. All she asked in return was that they smelt her lifeblood out of the branch and return it to her. She even taught them the process, but the ingrates betrayed her, making a weapon instead." The snakes were agitated by the story, lashing and snapping in counterpoint.
"So when the Gauntlet was forged from the branch, part of the serpent's essence was bound within as well?" Nottingham asked, his voice filled with equal parts amazement and comprehension. Any gloating because he now knew something that Irons didn't, he kept tightly behind his teeth.
"Yes. You're not just another pretty face, are you?" Carmelita purred appreciatively at his quick wit.
"No, I am not," Ian's lips quirked. Now she appreciated him for his mind? Well, it wasn't as if they had had ten words discourse before this moment.
"And neither are you." Sara cut in to their little history discussion. She was feeling like an outsider and didn't much care for it.
"No, but you know what I am. You can feel it, hear the whispers of the past in your head, just like I do. Both our blood carries the ability to bear the weapon on your wrist, yours from the ancestress who ingested the leftover fragments from the forging and survived, mine from the blood of Medusa, daughter of Ceto." The gauntlet writhed as Carmelita talked, returning to the serpent form it had worn for Dominique.
Yet there was no sign of recognition in Carmelita's dark brown eyes, only the gleam of challenge and the confidence that she would be victorious. The look went far to allay Sara's suspicions, but there was still the sense that this encounter left far too much to coincidence to not have been orchestrated by someone...or some thing.
Sara was aware of the steady warmth at her wrist. That damn bracelet was somehow involved in this; it was the only thing that made sense. Pezzini focused on the swirling red stone, trying to understand what the Witchblade wanted from her. The sooner she got this out of the way, the sooner she could get back to her date.
The stone pulsed and gave Sara a flash of the 'running the gauntlet' dream, something she had not seen since those first few days after the Witchblade had come to her. So, this was a test of some kind. Pez curled one lip in annoyance. Was it too much to ask for the cursed bracelet to leave her alone for one night?
She was getting very tired of being pushed into situations without being asked if it was something she wanted. The Witchblade flickered again, reminding her that Nottingham's reaction to being the prize in this little conflict had been more graceful. Sara raised her gaze from the softly glowing gem and gave Ian a look of apology. She was just as guilty as the Gauntlet of presumption.
Nottingham read the apology in the softening of Sara's green eyes, and gave a small nod. He did not smile however, he was still not pleased about the arbitrary manner he had been roped into this competition, and he wanted her to know it.
Pezzini got the message, loud and clear. So, she was going to have to pass some test for the Witchblade, beat Carmelita in a dance contest, and somehow get back in Ian's good graces. Well, never let it be said that Sara Pezzini backed away from a challenge.
Sara tossed her head and took the first step, ready to kick ass on three fronts. She started with a caminata, a hip-swaying, provocative walk, to Ian's side. Pez circled, her eyes appreciatively cataloging the well- muscled frame that he usually kept hidden under layers of loose fitting black garments. It was a deliberate imitation of their previous dance; and they both knew it.
She was trying very hard to recapture the earlier atmosphere, wanting that spine tingling awareness of each other back. Sara could only hope it was working, knowing how put out Ian was over the whole thing. She stopped in front of Nottingham, letting him see her approval of his appearance, and the desire it sparked, in her eyes.
Nottingham maintained his façade of studied indifference, despite his appreciation of Sara's tactics. She was working to bring them back to the connection they had shared during their first dance, and to remind him of intimacy interrupted.
It was working better than he let on, but he wanted her to really sweat this. Perhaps it was petty of him, but Nottingham wanted this lesson to stick. He was tired of being ordered around as if he had no feelings of his own. Irons had been doing it for as long as Ian could remember, and the treatment left him resentful and quietly rebellious.
Hence tonight's little deviation from the Kenneth Irons game plan. Ian was doing something for himself for once. He knew that a world of trouble lay in wait for him, should Irons find out about his activities, but he just didn't care. Especially with Sara doing her best to seduce him.
Ian could feel himself thawing as Sara swayed in front of him, giving him flirtatious glances from the corner of her eye. He had intended to hold out for longer, but when she began her second circle of him, it was done at very close range. She brushed against him at odd moments, keeping him on edge. It was more distracting than full body contact would have been, his whole body alert and waiting for that next whisper of touch.
As she completed the circle, a hard arm shot out and caught Sara around the middle. Pez returned the gesture, so that they were a little to the side of each other in a close 's'. They turned together, their bodies once again in tune with each other. Rich brown orbs met emerald green in silent communion. This was what they both wanted, to be in each other's arms, their earlier disagreement forgotten under the electric contact of flesh.
Tension rose between the cop and assassin without regard for their occupations, obligations, or intentions. Tonight they were just a man and a woman, at once simpler and more complex than their daytime personas.
So lost were they in one another that the sudden presence of Carmelita came as a shock. The other woman stepped into the end of the turn, her foot coming forward in a sacada to force Sara to step with her. That opened her out and away from Ian's torso. A second sacada, and Carmelita was standing in Sara's original spot, just facing the opposite direction.
The edge of the red skirt clung to the fabric of Ian's trousers almost as tightly as Carmelita did. She wasn't trying to be subtle, she wanted to wipe that connection her rival had made away, and imprint the feel of his body on hers. He was just as hard muscled as he looked, no well-camouflaged fat on this frame. Boucher purred softly at this discovery, making sure her face held approval and heat when the turn brought them face-to-face
Sara was fuming over Carmelita's blatant actions. Surely her mother had told her that touching things that belonged to Pezzini earned you a broken wrist. She stepped forward, her face like thunder and hands flexing with the urge to commit some mayhem.
Carmelita could see her over Ian's shoulder, and she deftly executed a spin, taking her dark-haired prize with her. She did a media vuelta and dropped slightly, bringing the two of them into a caminar. They strutted across the dance floor, leaving Sara in their wake.
Boucher was glad to have someone close to her height for the distinctive walk, as it made matching strides easier. It also made things easier in the bedroom. She smiled lasciviously at the thought and cast a glance over to her partner.
Nottingham had not missed a moment of the byplay between Sara and Carmelita, and he was soaking up Sara's jealousy like a sponge. Images of her intertwined with that worthless musician, Conchobar, passed through his mind. He relaxed into the young Boucher's arms, content for the moment to let her lead. Let Sara find out what it was like to be on the outside for once.
Sara used a combination of molinete turns and forward ochos to cut across the middle of the dance floor, angling to intersect with the pair. She was actually going to end up slightly behind them, but once she was that close, catching up would be easy.
Carmelita saw a flash of green from her adversary's dress from the left, and realized what she was doing. A subtle tensing and a light tug brought the pair up from the caminar into an abrazo. The standing face-on hold was perfect for changing direction, and Boucher had every intention of going back the way they came, leaving Sara stranded on the floor alone again.
She wasn't fast enough. Sara's angle brought her in behind Nottingham as they took the first step back. It was a classic parada, or sandwich stop. Carmelita tried to take the momentum back and continue, but Sara settled her hands over hers and followed in a lock step with them.
The three moved two paces in the trabada before Sara struck, her grip shifting on Carmelita's. She moved for the pressure point holds, using pain compliance techniques to peel Boucher's hands up and off of Ian. It was, perhaps, dirty pool, but no less efficient for that.
Sara flung Carmelita's hands outward, giving her precious seconds in which to grab Nottingham's shoulders and turn him around. She moved into him as he turned, her body flush with his. Pezzini wasn't going to run with her interception, unlike some people.
Nope, Pez was going to push this along to the confrontation stage right now. She slid down his torso in a sentada, hands trailing behind her. The feel of hard muscle under soft cotton gave way to the rougher texture of Nottingham's waistband as she continued to sink lower.
Just as her palms passed over his hipbones, Ian grabbed her hands and hauled her back up. He couldn't believe what Sara was doing. The feel of her sliding down his body combined with having her face inches from his groin were all too much for his fraying control. He had to move her or disgrace himself. The pants were too snug to hide the kind of reaction Sara was eliciting.
Sara followed the pull of his hands with a little feminine smile. Her sacada had the desired effect on Ian, his breathing was accelerated, a flush lay across his cheekbones, and his eyes glittered with hunger. They were pressed together again, her hands resting just above his heart, which was beating furiously.
Their eyes locked, mutual desire silently expressed in that long moment. Contest forgotten, Carmelita forgotten, the only thing that mattered was the way they felt. His grip loosened at her wrists to slide down her arms to her waist. Ian's hands settled at the small of her back.
A sharp hissing, like a nest of snakes, came from Sara's left. Both shifted toward the threatening sound. The source was Carmelita's hair. A cascade of serpents raised their heads to stare at the couple. Nottingham's broad back stiffened as he was caught in their mesmerizing gaze.
With a cold smile, Carmelita gestured to the dark-haired man. Slowly, jerkily, Ian let go of Sara. His face was a near-perfect blank, only the ticking of a muscle in his jaw betrayed his internal struggle as he walked toward the young Boucher.
Sara looked on in horror. There had been something about the way Carmelita moved and carried herself that reminded her of Dominique, but she had not really considered what else the Boucher bloodline might have passed on. Clearly, Carmelita was her mother's daughter in all respects.
No one else seemed to notice though. There was no outcry from the couples gliding by; their attention to the scene was sheer curiosity over the progress of the bailar duello, and nothing else. Most likely they were applauding Nottingham's display of being torn between the two women, without knowing just how unfeigned his actions were.
Carmelita stroked his cheek as Nottingham drew even with her. She glanced over at Sara, and leaned up to take the kiss and her victory. Pez wasn't aware of moving, but somehow she had taken the steps necessary to grab Boucher by the arm. She jerked Carmelita away from Ian before their lips could meet.
The snakes hissed and snapped at the air in front of Sara's face, but could not seem to touch her. Nor did their gaze affect her the way it had Nottingham. Thanking heaven for small favors, Pezzini tightened her grip. The Witchblade responded to her anger, silver metal metamorphing from bracelet to brass knuckles.
Carmelita dropped her gaze to the hand holding her, and found her attention caught by the shifting bracelet. The tendrils moved over Sara's wrist and hand like silver serpents, bringing back a flash of the dream Carmelita had the night her mother died. A great python, as thick as the trunk of a tree, had spoken to her. The snake had an aura of great age, it's slit eyes filled with forbidden knowledge, and it had called her 'daughter'.
"Thus did the serpent offer to Eve the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, and was accursed for it. How cruel a god, to punish a creature for that one act forever, with no chance of redemption." Carmelita whispered harshly.
The gem in the Witchblade glowed a virulent shade of scarlet as heat shot up from Sara's wrist. The stone changed shape slightly, a little larger here, a bit tapered there, and suddenly it was a fruit. No. The fruit. This was the fruit of the Tree, the knowledge that had driven Man from the Garden of Eden.
"The tree was smote by lightning, sending the branch the serpent lay coiled upon to the ground. The serpent was cursed to be trodden upon and reviled, forever associated with the knowledge of evil. The branch was taken by Eve, who used it as a walking stick during their flight from the anger of their God." Ian was free of the spell the snakes had bound him in, but he made no move to interfere.
Nottingham finally understood what was going on, and why Irons had found nothing of interest three years ago. The power was hereditary, passing on only at death, much in the way of the Witchblade. Somehow the serpent was bound to the Blade, whether as a part of the instrument of the curse, or because it was the last Earthly remains of the Tree it had called home, he had no idea.
"But through chance or design, the bolt struck the serpent as well as the branch, blood and sap commingling. Neither one was quite what they had been before; severed from Grace and left to make their way as best they could in an alien world. Is it so strange that the serpent should follow the branch borne by Eve?" Carmelita's eyes had changed as she spoke, the pupils splitting and the irises spilling over the white.
"Somehow I suspect the serpent did more than merely follow." Ian was careful to focus on a point over her shoulder, not meeting any of the eyes that turned his way.
"How could she not? Her essence was split, and she longed to be whole again, even more than she wanted to return to Eden. She took on a mortal semblance and taught the children of Adam many things that improved their lives. All she asked in return was that they smelt her lifeblood out of the branch and return it to her. She even taught them the process, but the ingrates betrayed her, making a weapon instead." The snakes were agitated by the story, lashing and snapping in counterpoint.
"So when the Gauntlet was forged from the branch, part of the serpent's essence was bound within as well?" Nottingham asked, his voice filled with equal parts amazement and comprehension. Any gloating because he now knew something that Irons didn't, he kept tightly behind his teeth.
"Yes. You're not just another pretty face, are you?" Carmelita purred appreciatively at his quick wit.
"No, I am not," Ian's lips quirked. Now she appreciated him for his mind? Well, it wasn't as if they had had ten words discourse before this moment.
"And neither are you." Sara cut in to their little history discussion. She was feeling like an outsider and didn't much care for it.
"No, but you know what I am. You can feel it, hear the whispers of the past in your head, just like I do. Both our blood carries the ability to bear the weapon on your wrist, yours from the ancestress who ingested the leftover fragments from the forging and survived, mine from the blood of Medusa, daughter of Ceto." The gauntlet writhed as Carmelita talked, returning to the serpent form it had worn for Dominique.