Chapter 4

Paris, April 2007

Alisaunne finished brushing her long dark curly hair back from her face and secured it with a clip. The style was best for her low forehead, wide-set gray eyes, and high cheekbones. She turned her head about as she gazed into the mirror to assess what she saw. A confident and rather impetuous young woman stared back at her with just the smallest hint of amusement playing across her lips. She arched her eyebrows at the reflection of Ian Daffyd lounging on their bed… thumbing through a book.

Alisaunne sobered. It was at moments like this… when she could see both her reflection and his that she was struck by how young he still looked. She had known him for four years, having met him when her erstwhile guardian Duncan MacLeod had hidden her at a strange convent in eastern France. Ian had been the one bright spot of that entire insane affair. To Alisaunne, Ian had been the only thing that had been truly real. With his help, her rape at the hands of the madman the others had called Nestor had begun to fade over the years until it was only something she knew had happened… but no longer clearly recalled. That was… Ian and Duncan had both told her… for the best.

Ian was like her… someone who healed quickly… a secret her late uncle, Jacques de Pres had bid her tell no one… and she hadn't until she had seen Ian's severed arm heal as if he had never been injured. Ian's and Duncan's friends had then finally destroyed Nestor… a man who wouldn't die… but could be stopped. It had taken all of them… their combined effort to stop him. And it had also taken Alisaunne and her will to survive that had made it possible.

"He's dead and will never bother you again," Duncan had assured her afterwards as he'd returned her to Paris and to her own private school. When she'd returned to Academie de Sacré Coeur it was to the knowledge that not just her fencing instructor had died… but also three of the nuns she had known most of her life… and one of the other girls… Marie… another senior girl who had resembled her a bit. Alisaunne had mourned the loss of those she'd known… and then with Ian's help… moved on to life at the université. Duncan MacLeod had become her official guardian following the deaths of her avocat and his legal staff. She knew no one else… and he had assured her it would have been her uncle's wish.

"It seems I knew your uncle after all. He once asked me to look after you. I have nothing in writing, of course, but if you wish… I can manage your affairs and be a friend."

Alisaunne had agreed. Her survival during that dark period had been due to her chance meeting with the handsome Scotsman and his friend… the mysterious Dr. Pierson. At least… Alisaunne thought that was his name. She had never seen him again after that last night… nor had Duncan mentioned him in the intervening years. Ian had just simply shrugged and said, "The doctor is a secretive man."

Ian glanced up at her with that solemn expression he so often had these days… as if their time together was something that was fleeting and would soon be over. That he adored her, Alisaunne had no doubt. Whenever they made love… his kisses were always soft and his caress gentle… as if he feared she would recall the other's touch. If she did… Alisaunne brushed the memory away and focused on Ian, trying to drown herself in his love for her.

"You really should come with me, you know!" Alisaunne teased Ian. "You were on the fencing team as well."

Ian shook his head. "Sorry my love but college drinking parties… even to celebrate your fine graduation… are not my thing. I'd be a bit out of place there."

"Why, because you're not graduating? Or because you are far too serious to drink with us?" Alisaunne tossed a small pillow from a chair at him. He caught it easily with his right hand and then slowly turned his arm in an effort to throw it back. His arm had healed… but it was still… even after four years… not quite as fast nor as limber as it once had been… as if the sword cut he had taken trying to defend her had never truly healed. He'd been forced to hold his arm as he'd watched Nestor's attack on her. Helpless to prevent it… Alisaunne knew Ian still blamed himself for that sometimes. He'd attended classes here with her… he'd even been on the fencing team for a while… as skilled with his left hand as many of the others ever hoped to be with their right… but he'd not been pleased with his efforts. "I'm still too slow and too weak! Even with my left hand," he'd said one night recently.

"Why does it matter how fast or how strong you are? It's not as if you'd ever really need to use a sword again," Alisaunne had lain next to him in his embrace, one of her hands teasing up and down his bare chest.

She'd been startled at his response. He'd thrust her away and climbed out of their bed to stand staring out at the Paris skyline with a haunted expression on his face.

"Talk to me Ian," she'd begged. But he'd said nothing.

Eventually he'd returned to bed… but since that night… Alisaunne felt that Ian Daffyd was withdrawing from her. As if once her studies here ended… he would vanish into the night leaving her alone with her memories.

"Come with me!" Alisaunne begged once more. "I don't care what the others say… or what they think. I love you!"

Ian smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "I fear Alisaunne des Pres… I would not be a good drinking companion. Besides… I look far too young to enter a bar."

Biting her lip, Alisaunne had swiftly grabbed her jacket as she left without a word. His looks were one of the problems between them… and she knew it.

In the four years she had known him… he had not seemed to change. He was still the charming boy with the lilting Welsh accent. Freckles peppered his tanned skin and that shock of white hair above those clear blue eyes still amazed her. But he did not look to be in his early twenties as she knew he must be. He still looked to be seventeen… as he had when they'd met.

She'd mentioned it to Duncan the last time she'd seen him. After a long and very thoughtful pause, Duncan had smiled, "Perhaps he has great genes!" And that had been that. Alisaunne felt both men were keeping something from her. Something that had to do with Nestor and their reasons for dealing with the madman, instead of letting the police do it. Something to do with why she and Ian healed. Something to do with why Nestor had stalked her.

By this time Alisaunne had reached the street. Glancing both ways… she crossed the street hurriedly and headed to the college bar to meet her friends. With or without Ian… she was determined to have a great time tonight.

From the window of their rooms, Ian watched her go. It had taken every bit of resolve he'd possessed not to go with her. He needed to let her go… not just tonight… but for all time… or at least for the remainder of her mortal life. If he stayed much longer… he might be tempted to freeze her in the moment… and that… MacLeod had reminded him would be wrong.

"No matter what… you have to let fate decide when she is to die and if she becomes immortal. Don't make the decision for her. Trust me on this… she will not thank you." MacLeod had glared darkly into his Scotch as he had said this… as if he had once done just such a thing to someone he'd cared for and that someone had never forgiven him. He and Ian had been hanging out on MacLeod's barge one night… watching the river traffic, drinking scotch, and discussing Alisaunne and their own immortal lives.

MacLeod was twice his age… Ian was a mere two centuries old and had never been too much into the game nor had that much skill. He'd found the convent at Ste. Genevieve long ago… and had been happy to remain there. Many of the "lambs" as they were called had lived there over the years. They were the child immortals who could not survive in the outer world… nor survive long in the game… but who one by one usually left to try their hand. Ian had lost many friends over the time he had been there. He had known by leaving to help protect Alisaunne he'd likely die. That he hadn't… and that she loved him, had been gifts.

For his part, MacLeod had urged him to remain near the girl. "She trusts you… you can pass as a student there and keep a close watch on her. I can't. I can teach a class occasionally… but I can't be with her to watch over her."

But with graduation almost here… it was time for Ian Daffyd to move on to another life. Some full-grown immortals could manage ten years in a life before moving on… but a young one such as he was physically… had perhaps five years before the lack of aging was too apparent. At least he'd had this long.

MacLeod had suggested Ian tell Alisaunne about immortals. Ian had shaken his head. "Won't work. She thinks the two of us are alike. If she learns I'm immortal… she'll assume she is, too."

"Well," MacLeod had grinned half in jest, "she is."

"But not yet. Who knows what she might do when she found out? If she killed herself to stop her aging, she might not come back. You know that."

MacLeod had nodded. "Telling pre-immortals is always a dicey thing," MacLeod had agreed, regret tingeing his voice. "It is the shock of their death that triggers their immortality. If they know ahead of time… it is not always a shock."

So Ian had said nothing. Soon he would leave. Soon Alisaunne would face a mortal life without him.

He turned from the window to settle once more on their bed to read. "It would be," he thought, "a very long evening."

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, July 2007

The immortal Katherine was in the fight of her life. Already she worried about her husband Nick, shot down even as she fought the immortal known as Diego de Silva. de Silva was an impressive swordsman and definitely in a class above Katherine… as impressive as her own skills were. And her mind was not on the fight… as de Silva had evidently planned when he'd shot Nick.

As they circled, the blades sparking from the force of their blows at one another, Katherine could see Nick moving on the ground, but his moves were half-hearted… weak. She needed to finish this and get to him. With a greater sense of urgency… she focused on her opponent and on ending this fight.

Drawing from her centuries of experience in combat against larger, stronger opponents, Katherine feinted to her left as she turned and slammed her sword sharply into de Silva's momentarily unguarded right. The blade cut deeply into his swordarm… drawing first blood.

de Silva stumbled, but quickly recovered as he switched the sword from his right arm to his left… but in that moment of switching… Katherine struck as she continued her turn behind him. Swiftly she forced her blade deeply into de Silva's back and then withdrew it as he fell to his knees. She raised her blade for the final blow… but her eyes fell on Nick. He needed her help now… or he might not survive. A quickening… would delay her ability to help him.

Her mind made up; Katherine skewered de Silva through the back once more and forced him to the ground where she twisted her blade so that he would be unable to rise for a few moments. He jerked about several times and then was still… and quite dead.

Katherine crawled to Nick's side to check his wound.

"Not so bad," he croaked at her. "Must have had cop-killers in his gun." The bullets had passed through his kevlar. Katherine ripped away the fastenings to tear the vest open. Her eyes widened. Three gounshots to the chest… Nick was bleeding badly.

"Don't move," she whispered and tore at her own sleeves to find something to staunch the bleeding. "Stay with me Nick… stay with me."

She was rather surprised when a blade erupted from her chest. She stared at it without comprehension as she lost consciousness.

Nick felt his immortal lover collapse upon him. Struggling to open his eyes he heard a voice say sneeringly, "Don't need you, sorry," as the blade passed further through Katherine and into his already bleeding chest where it turned and shifted. He knew nothing more and breathed his last.