Arc I

Chapter III

The Wild Ones

"The tiger will never lie down with the lamb; he acknowledges no pact that is not reciprocal. The lamb must learn to run with the tigers."

Angela Carter – The Tiger's Bride

"I want you to be weak. As weak as I am."

Milan Kundera – The Unbearable Lightness of Being

"The name's Dakota, in case you wonder." She said disdainfully, her words becoming an unwelcomed echo talking about things he didn't want to hear. The heavier meanings, resonating inside his mind, were trying to act like a countermeasure for his fully uncovered insensitivity. The metallic sensation of his gun pressed firmly against her chest, providing her with some twisted self-confidence, was enough for her to try to approach the situation from a different angle: he was all business, and she was willing to make things a little more personal between them this time. Black eyed her speculatively; she had clearly taken him out of his comfort zone once again just like she had done before, no matter how briefly, when she let him know that he had been talking in his sleep.

The presence of a name changes the equation; it conveys an identity that becomes undeniably attached to a person – a person that suddenly turns into someone that is real, not just another bag of meat and bones for him to collect – she was a full being now, and Black was clearly not comfortable facing that notion.

"What kind of a name is that?" he mumbled, still puzzled, and caught up in an unwanted conundrum. "What sort of a father names their daughter Dakota?" he asked bitterly - even though he had spoken those words out loud he wasn't interested in engaging in dialogue, it was more of an inner discussion he was having with the part of himself that was still clinging to his specific timeline, trapped in his very own private belle époque.

"A modern father." The woman snapped back quickly, her words slashing his antique, old-fashioned sense of morals and acceptable traditions. Though the conversation was lacking real content, it was clear that the gunslinger was far from feeling at ease – it was going to be a long night.

"A modern father…" he echoed her words by whispering them back, his low tone full of disapproval. It was imperative for him to go back to that safe place where he knew his game resided: the digging for information, the impersonality; the longing for that exact moment when a particular face becomes just another face in the anonymous crowd and any traces of the singularity of a given individual are cast away as soon as they reach the surface.

The woman crossed her legs without much effort, besides the little room he had left for her to maneuver. Her lips curled up slightly, as if taking in a small victory, perhaps the only victory she would steal from him.

"The rebel-seekers. Who are they?" Black demanded imperatively, losing his temper.

The woman lowered her head momentarily – no matter how sweet that winning sensation was, she knew it was merely a detail, and a detail would not be good enough to get her home. She would have to be smarter than that; she would have to understand that there was not enough room for their two different methods to win simultaneously. Her efforts to keep it personal were adamantly meritorious, true - but Black's more corrosive, apprehensive strategies were certainly thriving, and they would soon be leading the race.

Plus, he was the one holding the gun.

"They are your regular neighbors. Not your neighbors, you live in the palace…" she added venomously, her eyes meeting his. "They are the Outworlders that are trying to make ends meet by all means possible. They know stealing fruit or a piece of bread ends with their heads in a basket so they chose to go the other way-" she paused, then raised an eyebrow – the innuendo was going to be irrevocably poisonous: "your way."

She raised her hands and stretched her fingers in the air: "I'm gonna stand up now, cowboy. I need a drink. Easy now." Black removed the gun from her chest without saying a single word and observed her meticulously – she walked towards the table where the bottle was resting and poured the same liquid he had drunk before, the one she had intended to drink herself before he snatched the cup from her hand. The light from the candlesticks was summoning a conniving chiaroscuro, an intricate pattern of light and darkness that made her look as if there was an aura of eternity suspending her in the amber-colored room. She was an eclipsed vision, her side covered in light was exposing her shapes and curves now perfectly visible through her thin clothes; the form of the female body washed in light and shadow and there it was -

Lust.

Lust in his eyes.

The lust of a man who's lived a million lives but still longs for the thrill of simple pleasures.

Her body, now exposed, was reaching out from the shadows, becoming the living metaphor of that canvas full of pieces she was willing to conceal and pieces she was willing to reveal. She should have felt ashamed she knew, that a stranger was trespassing the limits of her privacy yet his gaze tracing the outline of her breasts and spotting her nipples was making her heartbeat take off in what seemed to be a high-speed chase and she asked herself: could that be it? Could become the prey for all his desires turn out to be her ticket home? Would she be strong enough to face that titanic endeavor – playing his prey while being the predator in disguise?

She took a quick look at him from over her shoulder: instinctively, an embarrassed Black tried to look down as fast as he could but there was nothing to be done – nothing could redeem him from his sinful thoughts.

She had noticed - his ominous, curious eyes had been caught by her gaze, a gaze full of pride and instantaneous satisfaction.

A vengeful sense of shame invaded him as he tried to break free from the warmth suffocating his cheeks. Even though he was the one holding the gun, living up to a reputation that had always preceded him, it was unthinkable for him to consider that her mundane shapes could have reduced him to a simpler state that felt so alien it could only be bad news for him. The thought of her sudden, silent victory irritated him with such fury he felt his own blood rushing through his fingers, bumping against the frontier of his fingertips – his hands were sweaty now, yet his gun was the only anchor he needed to stay afloat.

He couldn't afford to sink. Not now.

He eyed the woman once more; confirming that her eyes were now sealed chambers that had demoted him to the most primitive of states, to a less significant version of himself -

A simple man corrupted by desire, restricted by his own temptation.

Cowboy up, Black.

Seven forty-five, evening – that was the time. Even though he was barely twelve ("Almost thirteen" he would declare) he had already found his very first ritual in this life: standing on his tiptoes at seven forty-five, Thursdays through Sundays, his height stretching to unimaginable lengths using an old wooden box to reach for glory itself – watching the saloon girls undress and change into their working clothes.

Indulgence was a sweet treasure he would devour only to rejoice later in the magical, forbidden sights that would accompany him throughout the nights: his mother would be busy enough in a separate room, preparing herself for the night shows so she would not notice his naughty adventures – no matter if ginger, blonde or brunette, they all had become a crucial part of his development as a proper young man, a man whose tender age could not make him refrain from getting dangerously closer to the world of adulthood.

Until she noticed.

One of them, one of the saloon girls caught his eyes spying on them at the other side of the window pane–

What was her name?

The same rush that was invading him now had invaded him back then, that exact day when the twenty-something girl caught him in his illicit adventure. The same feeling of trepidation had stumbled upon him back then, his cheeks turning red as shame startled him. She grinned softly at him, standing where she was, conspiratorially knowing, finding his curiosity amusing or perhaps even challenging. He ran off quickly, willing to push those nasty thoughts behind him and walked into the saloon, acting as if nothing had happened. He placed himself behind the bar just like every other night, waiting for his mother to sing. All the girls came and went a thousand times, the buzz in his ears was making him dizzy and considerably weaker in the knees.

What was her name?

He had been so caught up in his own little world that by the time his mother went on stage he wasn't even paying attention, all he knew was that the same girl had eyed him all night, starting a fever deep within him that could only be quenched by a closeness still elusive to his senses.

By the time his mother's performance was over, the girls had already abandoned the place and the bartender was busy outside trying to get his customers walking, most of them too drunk to ride their horses back home. Erron stood up; finding himself all alone in the saloon, and started to walk towards the room he used to share with his mother, ready to call it a night. Suddenly a familiar hand grabbed him by one his shoulders and dragged him into the larder where the bartender and the saloon's owner used to storage the beverages and the few delicatessen items they would serve to their most loyal patrons only. There was not a single light in the larder except for the soft twinkle of the moon caressing the few trees around the saloon, swinging and swirling its way through the dirty window but he didn't need any light to know who was trapping him against the door – her perfume alone was all he needed to acknowledge her presence – a few notes of wood combined with the sweetness of summer fruits. He panicked, his cheeks anticipating the slap that would mark them for good as if he was some irredeemable sinner that was about to be crucified- yet she only placed her soft, warm lips on his and kissed him gently, sensing his total lack of experience.

He stood still, perplexed and completely in awe at what was happening. Whatever he was thinking was unspeakable since his lips couldn't find another motion if it wasn't strictly related to the intimacy of a kiss. Whatever he was feeling was as crucial as well as it was hellacious, forcing his arms to hang by his sides, completely paralyzed - perhaps he thought that he could break the spell by moving or perhaps those feelings, new and certainly odd, were so overwhelming he didn't know what to do with his own body.

She took a step backward and undressed fully in front of him, his eyes traveling her body unceasingly and clumsily as if he wasn't sure which corner of it was he supposed to look at first. Even though the figure of a naked lady was not unfamiliar to him it was the first time proximity was so determining – not only she was allowing him to observe her nudity, baptizing him in a way with her precious connivance but also she was there, just two feet away from him, completely within his reach. She smiled at his widened gaze and took his right hand, outstretching his whole arm – then she guided his extremity until it came to rest in one of her breasts, his sweaty palm discovering the softness living secretly in someone else's body, exploring uncharted territory for the first time. She repeated the same procedure with his other arm until his both hands were cupping her breasts, his manhood now irreversibly awoken, thronging against his underwear.

What was her name?

"When was the last time you've been with an Earthrealmer?" she asked in the lowest tone possible, interrupting his musings. The meaning of her words carried an intimacy he would not reciprocate no matter how impure her demeanor was willing to get. "Does it feel the same with an Outwolder?" she went on, unleashing a power she knew could lead her straight to her doom yet each word almost whispered was meant to caress that sense of manhood she was certain he still possessed. Those foreign senses, new and ungoverned by fear or hesitation, were creating a believer in her, making her think that perhaps a detail could be good enough to get her home after all.

Could it be that simple?

She went back to her chair with a new cadence in her walk – his eyes traveled from her hips to her neck with such poise she couldn't help but notice that the man was not unfamiliar to the flirting she was offering.

Only he would not take it.

Cowboy up, Black.

She sat down as he cleared his throat, his lips tight, unwelcoming.

"Go on." He commanded abruptly, his vision readjusting to the real situation at hand: extracting all possible information from that woman. "The rebel-seekers. What is it that they do exactly?" his look, now more impersonal and defiant than before was letting her know that no matter how tempting the bonfire, he would not choose to burn.

He pressed the tip of his gun firmly against her chest again: enough of that woman playing tricks on him.

"They mostly chase down the remaining Tarkatans that hide in the Kuatan Jungle, capture them alive then bring them to the emperor. He pays them in return." She explained, only pausing briefly to take a sip from the cup previously used by Black himself, his eyes never leaving hers. "Now imagine - if a Tarkatan is worth a handful of coins, you are a ticket to paradise." Black's gaze widened with surprise, he was not expecting that – he would never be comfortable being somebody else's prey – he had always been the hunter.

"Why?"

"The official statement from the palace is that you went missing in action, I guess they presume you died out there, at the hands of a bunch of wild Tarkatans." She took another sip, then continued: "The people from the palace have been searching for your body for the last week or so but of course, they won't find you unless they come knocking," she signaled the door with the hand she was using to hold the cup while her free hand came to rest on the very same weapon that was incessantly threatening to end her life. "Guess who came knocking instead?" she asked, the tone of her voice providing an intrigue that was too easy to resolve.

"The rebel-seekers." Black guessed.

"Just imagine how big the prize would be for them – the missing official guard returns to the palace escorted by them and he's not dead, no; he's alive and kicking. You do the math." She concluded.

"What they do… that's my job." Black seemed to consider momentarily, still trying to assimilate the idea that somebody else was being paid money that should have been his money to do his own job.

"Yes, but I guess it all came down to the point when they said 'if this 200-year-old Earthrealmer cowboy can do it, maybe it's not that hard'." She knew she had gone overboard with that last ironic remark but the audacity in her words didn't seem to be enough to cause him any harm. In fact, with each tiny bit of insurgency she was only alienating her own condition – all the while he remained pensive, all the information she was providing him with was adding more ingredients to an already complicated equation he was trying to solve.

"The emperor never mentioned them," Black retorted, letting out those words as a sullen whisper as he was clearly finding it hard to believe that the Kahn would ever hide such information from his own enforcers. The question lingered in the room - whether those men would affect his duties or not was the enigma he would have to resolve. He scratched his chin, allowing himself a moment to take it all in. After some seconds in silence, he proceeded with his interrogation: "And what about you?" she could feel the oppression in her chest lifting little by little. "What brought you here?"

"Reasons."

Reasons?

"What reasons?" he frowned, impatiently.

"Reasons," the woman repeated, upset by his insistence, "and don't act like you don't know that there is a bunch of us here; a bunch big enough to create a small legion if necessary," she raised her voice gradually, infuriated. "Everyone had their reasons to leave Earthrealm; yet I don't think you go knocking door by door, pretending to be taking part in some sort of population census, asking each and every one of us what brought us here," The veins at the sides of her neck were now perfectly visible as tension was being released through her yelling – "And what brought you here, Black?" she dared to ask him, pushing him slightly – both of them knew her question was more of a symbolism than an actual interrogation yet it was enough for him to see red all around. "You wanted to know about the rebel-seekers, this is all I have to tell you; enough with the witch hunt; I saved your life for God's sake," she stood up all of a sudden, her fervent hands now airborne, gesticulating pompously.

Black stood up as well kicking his chair violently with the back of his ankle. He pushed her against the wall and placed the tip of his gun against the side of her head while his stronghold immobilized her – the full length of his body now acting as an impenetrable wall of muscle and anger pressed hard against her. "Let me explain you some shit," he started; his tone, vindictive and obscure, full of sarcasm, "you said that they want me because I'm some kind of profit on legs now. Explain to me then why they brought me here, to you. And you better convince me that you have never helped them before – otherwise, I'll go back to the palace but with you as my prisoner."

"You can't," her voice slapped, certain. "The emperor knows about them - if you tell him I'm their healer I don't think he's going to press any charges against me."

"I'm his enforcer; I could accuse you of stealing food from the hand of the emperor himself if I wanted to, no one would believe a word you say." With those simple words, he made it clear that all of her bravado was no more than a poorly constructed fantasy that he would never buy. "And most important, those men are taking my money – and you are helping them. Healing them." He grabbed her by the hair and started to walk towards the door, taking her with him.

"Just like I helped you," she pleaded, realizing that there was nothing she could do to stop him – he was a hurricane threatening to eradicate her from the surface of a world that wasn't even hers. They left the house as Black's furious pace seemed to pinpoint towards the palace, all the while he dragged her along his own restless body – even though she was kicking and screaming he was too strong for her, her arms battered and subjugated by his sudden tyranny. The fact that he was paying no mind to her little rebellion forced her to accept the idea that wasting her energy in such an impossible task was stupid of her, to say the least. He noticed it, as her pace changed accompanying her attitude. She was lighter now – the futile resistance was over.

Black stopped his marching – "What?" he asked.

"I'm dead anyway," – was her only answer.

The gunslinger let go of her immediately, expecting the woman to run away the second she realized she was free from his grip but to his surprise, she did not – she stayed there, standing motionless by his side. Black took a deep breath and scratched his chin, trying and failing to understand the situation. Then he grabbed her by her shoulders violently and rushed to push her against a wall, the darkness from an eerie, God's forgotten alleyway enveloped them:

"You have to know, I don't usually treat a woman like this," he said, before using one of his elbows to keep her chin up, staggered in the dark corner. "I know your kind – what do you want from me?"

She shook her head, moving her neck angrily from side to side understanding that the man would never help her get home – coming clean about her situation was only going to make things even more difficult for her. The helplessness of her own situation blinded her, agitated her, as she tried to slap him in the face, her hands failing miserably due to the distance they could never cover. Black turned her around, making her face meet the wall, his elbow still acting as a barrier pressed hard against her collarbones.

"And you have to know, I actually know how to use a gun," the woman said, grasping for air now, as her hands traveled to the holders placed around his waist, trying to steal one of his weapons. She somehow managed to reach one of his pistols but her fingertips weren't strong enough for her to hold on to it and so the gun fell to the ground, the sound of metal kissing the concrete filled her with frustration. Black used his free hand to hold her neck from behind, the weight of his body restricting her moves, then he reached for the fallen gun with one smooth kick – the weapon was flying in the air now, heading towards him – it landed on his hand, the same hand that only a few seconds ago was pinning her head to the wall.

Black grinned, satisfied, his vision fully adjusted to the darkness of the corner now, allowing his gaze to wander and find its way to the small of her back – perception, the sudden reckoning of the Other's body, just like it had happened more than a century ago. The smell of nervous sweating combined with the delicate natural perfume of the skin was overwhelming, almost inviting, as he felt his weight caving in, crushing against her back. The dark larder or the obscure redoubt they were occupying seemed to be the same place now, melting in time, suffocating his judgment. Proximity had become once again an unrelenting guest daring him to explore a territory that was uncharted no more, yet each singularity, each individuality was worth the thrill.

What was her name?

Suddenly the girl in the larder and that stranger there with him, awakening his senses, were molded into the same person, they were joined together by his contrived senses – the same old senses talking about the remaining of a human condition that had never truly forsaken him even though it could only shine through his most ulterior, primal urges - the girl in the larder and that woman breathing heavily against his chest were a metaphor talking about existence itself; they could be the same side of two different stories, they could be nobody and everybody at the same time, they could even be any woman that he had ever held in his arms – only this time the embrace was far from tender and the stranger sharing that moment with him was not ready to cave in so easily.

"I know you do." He said, almost whispering in her ear, as he remembered watching her cleaning up a gun back in the house, the day he collapsed. The delicacy of the craft that he had witnessed in her was reminding him that she wasn't just some damsel in distress. She had the potential to become a dagger, only she needed to get sharpened, reverberated by a darker figure. He smirked sardonically as if imagining himself becoming that darker shade willing to contribute to the revelation of her obscure side.

She felt his thrill come crashing down against her skin, his arrogance sending shivers down her spine. That was it – that was her chance, perhaps her last chance.

She trusted her instincts, taking advantage of having the smaller body, and turned around quickly breaking free from the imprisonment of his body, yet remaining against the wall, now facing him. Knowing that the laceration in his stomach would still be far from completely healed, she buried her left hand, now curled into a fist, right in it, instantly gaining a groan in response. With Black longing for air and trying to grab his own abdomen with trembling hands, it was easy for her to take his own gun from his grasp and threaten him with it as blood had started to stream down his fingers once again.

He was powerless.

He was weak.

He was human.

She hesitated about what to do next: she couldn't just leave him there - even though his intentions had nothing to do with hers there was still a light she was willing to follow. That man in pain was an opportunity waiting to happen. She grabbed him firmly by his hair and placed her lips beside his left ear: "They all think you were ambushed and killed by Tarkatans but you weren't, and that's a fact. I've seen the slashes caused by Tarkatans – yours don't look anything like it so I guess you were attacked by something else, something entirely different that no one else but you saw because if they did, they wouldn't be blaming the Tarkatans," she paused briefly, as if trying to find the strength to hit him with her best shot: "now I've heard a lot of things about you that fit this person I have come to know - thinking it over, perhaps you were attending some business of your own that has nothing to do with the emperor's; perhaps you took advantage of the riot, you left your group, abandoning your men in the battlefield so no one would notice you gone," she used her other hand, the one holding his gun, to keep his chin upwards, making sure he was paying attention to the final stockade: "perhaps they never found your body because you weren't even there."

As bruised and as jaded as he was, he grinned ominously nonetheless and clapped his hands together until the sarcasm was popping their ears. "There it is," he said, his voice igniting her.

"And maybe you're so comfortable fooling around with me because you know I'm right – you went looking for something or somebody that has nothing to do with your duties for the Kahn but you were beaten up so badly by it that now you can't just return to the palace because your story is not convincing enough and you have nothing to show for it," she grinned briefly, amused by her own conclusions. "Every healer or doctor at the palace will notice your wounds weren't inflicted by Tarkatans."

He tried to snatch the gun from her hand as the shiny weapon seemed to be pleading to be reunited with its rightful owner but as minutes went by, he started to feel weaker – the same wound had been re-opened, again, and the pain was taking its toll on him.

"You'll be coming back home with me. Now I need to patch you up again," she said, her voice was resolute but shaky at the same time. The nervousness provoked by her very own outburst was getting the best of her. Black grimaced through clenched teeth as if he was pleased to see the darker side of her finally showing. That was the moment they both had been waiting for: both of them were weak and strong at the same time, each in their own way.

After a walk that seemed to last an eternity, they came back to the house. The woman closed the door behind her and helped him undress. Then he lay down on the bed again, still wide awake but definitively weakened. The woman removed the now soaked in the blood bandages that were covering his stomach and replaced them with new ones, pressing her hands firmly against his skin to stop the bleeding. Both of them were tired, yet none of them wanted to go to sleep; mistrust still cutting through the air like a knife. The wolves in the room were sensing each other's vicious cravings. The woman took a seat beside the window as she witnessed Black's body still fighting the excruciating pain of a re-opened wound. She leaned her back against the chair, the back of her neck feeling the wall behind her. She stared at him from the distance – even though she knew that by worsening his laceration she would be undoing her own work she was positive that, in time, all her efforts would prove useful.

A single drop of blood resurfaced from his body, staining the new bandages. The woman stood up and walked towards him, then she leaned closer to readjust the dressing by applying some extra pressure, making it tighter than before.

"What do you want?" he finally managed to say, the air abandoning him as she tugged at his bandages "they all want something."

The woman avoided eye contact for as long as she could; only daring to look at him once she felt satisfied with her work. With his wound dressed properly, she sat back on the chair – her eyes were drifting away, reminiscing: "You know, when we first came here, we found Harry sitting on a stool, all by himself, in the front porch of this very same house. We knew he was one of us, an Earthrealmer; just by the way he looked. Truth is, I don't really know his story, every time I would try to ask him about his life in Earthrealm or why he had come here he would just… well, be Harry."

"You're clumsy." Erron's voice crossed the small distance separating the bed and the chair but this time, its tone was neither dark nor shallow – it was reflective and somewhat serene. "Am I your first?" he asked, his eyes fixed on her legs as she flexed them against her chest and embraced them with her arms.

"No… Yes." The woman shook her head acknowledging the meaning of his words.

"Clumsy…" he said, his voice was even softer now. Her eyes contacted his -

"You're not my first restless patient, but I guess nobody likes being injured or wounded, so I never really blame them for wanting to leave the minute they set foot in this house." She explained as she approached the bed then sat down next to him with her eyes fixed on the window. It was as if eye contact was a privilege she was not willing to negotiate from that moment on now that she was finally being sincere – one look at that man would be enough to remind her who he was, and why she needed him so badly. "But you are my first at the same time because you're not one of them – you're not a rebel-seeker."

"That's why you don't know shit about how things should be done. You patched me up, then you hurt me again to finally patch me up once more, losing time by doing what was already done. You learn as you go," Black said disdainfully as his eyes began to give in, gradually succumbing to slumber. "I got bad news for you: granted, if you wanna be really good at somethin', there's always gonna be a learning curve for ya and that shit takes some time. Unfortunately, you don't have that time." His eyes were closed now but she could see he was fighting to stay awake.

"I know," she whispered, the knot in her throat almost choking her, "but it's the best I can do."

"You'll have to do better. I could have killed you a thousand times today."

"I still don't understand why you haven't," she lowered her head as he opened his eyes once more.

"There's more to you than meets the eye, I'm sure of that," he confessed with his gaze fixed on the ceiling- "You're hiding something and, one day, those secrets will pay off, and guess who'll be there to collect the prize?" Even though the meaning of his words was dark and speculative his tone was surprisingly calm, as if he had nothing left to hide anymore.

"Then you'll kill me."

"See? Honesty is good." The mockery of his remark was preaching yet she knew he was being completely sincere: he was no prey, he was Erron Black. He would always be the hunter.

He closed his eyes again, losing the battle after a long night that was now fading away, a new day enveloping the city.

"The name's Alex," she said without even turning slightly to face him, giving up her identity, at last, her eyes fixed in the crescendo of the new day's light ricocheting through the blinds; projecting still-weak incandescence that would soon take over the room.

He smirked, satisfied, his voice was weaker now, standing at the verge of a oneiric state - "I've heard some of the strangest names here in Outworld, most of them being just guttural sounds that usually choke in one's throat but for an Earthrealmer, I knew no one would be crazy enough to name their daughter Dakota." Apparently, it was true, the mercenary still had his very own credo regarding the appropriate and the inappropriate in terms of family and good manners but as appealing and charming as that may seem, Alex knew she couldn't trust him; at least not yet. Proven it would only make him more human to her eyes he still was the same volatile, sometimes volcanic man that would end her the minute the odds turned in his favor.

The feeling was unsettling – could all those colors belong in the same prism? The man now asleep in her bed was the mercenary that was only in for his personal gain, but he also was the remains of a man that was struggling with his very own human condition, recognizing and acknowledging her by the shape of her own body. He was the definitive one; the one that couldn't be stripped of his convictions but he also was the unstable one; exposing lust and violence as the two different sides of the same coin - her coin, now flipping relentlessly in the air, waiting for his hand to determine her luck – or maybe just her lack of it.