Riddick seemed to assume she'd go with him the next day; seemed to assume she'd let herself be dressed up in a new outfit as well. Exhausted from a dream that never ended right, she couldn't think of a good reason to tell him no. He seemed content to have her near by. She lost track of the meetings, the details, the numbing numbers of the slain.

But the next day was better, and the day after that too. She was falling into the rhythm of it all, and the strange dream and the inexplicable guilt it left her with did not return.

On the following day, routine was disrupted by a surprised looking tech announcing that a ship was requesting permission to dock. A "diplomatic mission."

No one sends diplomatic missions to the Necromongers, apparently. To the discontent of some of the generals, Riddick decided to receive them.

Jack shuddered as the court swept into the room where Kyra had died. She might even have fled had Riddick not kept a tight grip on her elbow. He marched grimly up the dais to an ornately carved throne between two pillars.

There was no place for her. For a moment she thought he was going to make her sit on the floor between his legs. But a courtier produced a low cushioned bench and set it in slightly front of the throne, almost like a footrest. He bowed Jack to it, and she sat, self consciously. Riddick literally could put his feet in her lap if he wanted. She tried hard not to think about what Dame Vaako said about sitting at Riddick's feet. She tried hard not to finger the necklace he'd given her. He would almost ritually take it off of her after the public part of his day had ended, and put it back on before they left in the morning, and she still hadn't managed the catch herself.

The diplomatic mission, if that what it was, entered the room, led by a woman. It included many men, in chains.

The woman was magnificent. Her skin was rich and dark; her hair a cascade of black ringlets, her arms muscular, her bearing that of a queen. She had a gun holster hanging from a gun belt, almost teasingly empty. She bowed deeply to the throne. Jack dimly heard her announced as Princess Pentheselia, heir to Illium.

Illium. Big empire. Named for a semi-mythical earth civilization, the mythic ancestors of Rome. The one they were thinking of attacking? What else did she know about Illium?

"You here to surrender?" Riddick asked, sardonically, disrupting her thoughts.

The woman smiled, a smile like the rising of a thousand suns. Her voice was rich and seductive. She was charisma walking. "First, a gift." She gestured at the men in chains. "The senior officers of the garrison you conquered four days ago. They fled to us. We have refused them sanctuary. They are yours by right of conquest."

He barely glanced at the men. Made a gesture and they were taken from the room.

"You came to give me prisoners?"

"I am here to give you an alliance. My father controls an armada of fifty thousand ships. Almost as large as yours. We are willing to make your war our war. We are willing to unite our forces."

Riddick shifted. Jack was intensely conscious of his leg brushing against her back. "An alliance."

"Yes."

"You were allied to those men. How do I know you won't turn on me the way you turned on them?"

Her smile was intoxicating. "First, because the casualties would be enormous. We have run projections that indicate up to 80% casualties on each side, leaving us both vulnerable. But together, we will be invulnerable."

"So surrender. I can be merciful." He started to stroke Jack's hair, softly, affectionately. Pentheselia's eyes followed his hands, with seeming fascination.

She then shook her head. "Second, because we will seal our alliance with our marriage. My father will give you our armada as a dowry. When he dies, you will inherit our Empire with me, and our children after us."

"Hmmm." Riddick gazed at her, speculatively. His hand was now toying with Jack's neck, sending electric shivers down her spine.

"Clear the room," he ordered. When Jack stood up to follow the crowd, steel fingers closed on her upper arm. "Not you," he growled, low. "Never you." She sat back down, uncertainly. His hand resumed its caress of her neck and hair. Why was he being so overtly affectionate now?

Because I'm a prop, she realized. He's using me to test other people's reactions. And to give himself something to do when he's bored. The thought nettled her. She sat stiffly, trying to distract herself from his hands by mastering all she knew about Illium.

After the room emptied, the woman smiled down on her, warm and friendly. Even knowing that such women were bred to be charismatic, Jack felt warmed. "You must be the little girl the Riddick saved from monsters."

His fingers paused. Tightened. Then continued, slower.

Pentheselia looked up at him with another dazzling smile. "Don't worry. You can keep her. It's good she's here. Proves you have the capacity to be a good man. Just give me a child to inherit our joint thrones. Your little girl can even join in our . . . consummation. I am not a jealous woman."

He was silent, still speculative. She wanted to turn around; see what he was thinking, but couldn't figure out a way to do it that wouldn't make her seem . . . worried about what he would do. Didn't want to look worried. What did she care if he married?

Pentheselia smiled down at Jack, still open and friendly. She knew that smile.

I went to school with her sister.

A little sister who had been utterly besotted with her big older sister, and talked about her all the time, even though she never said where she was from. Heh. I do know things.

"What do you think, child? Would you mind if I married him? I promise not to take him away from you for long at a time . . . "

Jack gazed up at her with her best innocent wide eyes, trying to remember everything. She looked back at Riddick, as if asking permission. He shrugged. She decided she was tired of being a prop. "I think you are married already."

Did a flash of worry pass over the woman's perfect features? If it had, it was gone in an instant. "A technicality. If the Lord Marshal accepts my offer, it will be annulled."

"I think you love your husband very much."

The woman shrugged. "I think the Lord Marshal loves you very much, pet. For people like us, these things can be managed. I will have my man sterilized. I presume you already have been."

Jack ignored her attempt to switch the focus; tried to ignore the fingers that had just tightened again. "I think you are a warrior to the blood and bone."

The woman went very still, her complete attention on Jack. She was a lot like Riddick; what Riddick could have been if he'd been raised to serve instead of cast out into the outer darkness. It made Jack feel queer, trapped between the two of them. She took a deep breath.

"And I think you know that these guys don't do succession by primogeniture. They do it by conquest. I think you'll try to use that to take them down, by taking him down."

Jack shrugged. "It's a good plan. Heroic. But it won't work. The best you could hope for is to win. Then the Necroverse turn you into its monster, the way it's turning him. Even if you don't believe. At worst you'd both be dead, and someone who truly believes in extinguishing all sentient life in the galaxy would be back on that throne."

Both of them were silent. She could feel their eyes upon her. Two of the most powerful people in the galaxy, listening to her. How the hell had this happened?

Pentheselia's eyes locked on Jack's, and for a moment, there was no one else in the universe. "Pretend you are my counselor. What do you suggest? How can my people survive what's to come? How can we win?"

Lot of pretending going on here . . . "I don't think you can win. When your soldiers fall to the Necroverse, most will convert. Then you are fighting your own. You might both have 80% casualty rates, but your fallen will become his soldiers. And they know how you fight.

"But you might be able to survive. Conditional surrender. Negotiate for an orthoprax dispensation – voluntary conversions only until some date in the future. Settle for your military converting en mass. The civilian population isn't as interesting to them. Maybe get them to promise only voluntary civilian conversions until the rest of the universe has been converted. That might never happen, after all. Marry or not, I don't care, but demand generalship over your armies too. Then you can protect your people from the inside."

I can't believe I just said that, Jack thought, a little shocked at herself. She was not entirely sorry that Riddick was gripping her shoulder, pressing her lightly against his leg. Comforting.

Princess Pentheselia's eyes were thoughtful. She was quiet for a long time, and when she finally spoke again, there was a note of respect in her voice, and the dazzling, seductive smile, was gone.

"My apologies. I underestimated you. You give good counsel."

Involuntarily, Jack smiled. She could like this woman, even though she knew, intellectually, that she had been bred for thousands of years to be likable, to lead men willingly to their deaths. Still, Jack was pathetically grateful for the compliment. "Thanks." Their eyes met.

"They haven't made you convert."

"Well, you know how people indulge their pets."

Pentheselia laughed, an authentic, wholesome sounding laugh. She looked back up at Riddick. "Cute kid. Well done, finding her before we did."

Riddick's fingers tightened again, this time hard. She tried not to flinch. Pentheselia's eyes were on his fingers.

You're hurting her," the princess said, finally.

To Jack's surprise, his fingers eased, and he stroked her bare skin of her too-revealing clothes, almost apologetically. "You were looking for her?"

"Everyone was. An infamous killer ascends to the throne of the Necromongers? That presented an opportunity. We looked for your weak spots. Every one did. She was the biggest. The one girl in all the universe that seemed to mean something to you.

"That woman you took out of Crematoria had us fooled for a while. Fortunately, my people triple check everything. And she was not exactly unknown in her own right."

"Hm."

"Ally with me, and you'll have access to our intelligence data."

There was silence in the room again.

"What would you have done if you found her . . . before I did?"

"She would have been well treated."

Jack snorted. Right. At best, they would have turned her into a living weapon.

A living weapon . . .

"Interesting offer. I'll think about it." He stood, and the room filled with courtiers and soldiers. "Escort the princess to a suitable . . . chamber. Something comfortable." he ordered. She bowed, and he nodded back in acknowledgment.

They'd be a beautiful couple, Jack thought, almost wistfully. She could see them leading celestial armies into an Armageddon sky.

*

Riddick took Jack back up the same spiral staircase he'd carried her up just weeks before. As soon as the door was shut he had her pressed against it, face too close to hers, his hands on her shoulders.

"You're not my pet."

She was nettled again. Didn't she deserve more than that? She'd just saved him from bigamy with an assassin. Yeah, right, gratitude.

"Oh, come on, Riddick. I sleep in your bed, you exercise and feed me every day, and now you're taking me for walks. I don't have a job except for being available to you. When I'm not where you want me, you just pick me up and move me. It's absolutely clear I can't leave this ship; I even can't leave your rooms without you or an armed escort. Since everyone's scared shitless of you, pretty sure it's not for my protection. I'm not even your mistress, despite what everyone is going to think after seeing your hands all over me the last few days. I'm your pet."

He shook his head. "Jack."

"What?"

"You're not a pet. Like I told you, tell me what you want to do, and I'll try to make it happen. You haven't said anything. I figured you're still working on it."

She shook her head. "So what, you'll set me up with some sort of arts and crafts project? I don't want to help you guys destroy the universe."

He shrugged. "Whatever. Suit yourself. But you're not just a pet." His voice dropped low, meaningful, even . . .vulnerable. "You're family. You're all the family I've ever let myself have. That lady's right. I've loved you for years."

She swallowed at that. Kept her answer light. "I love you too, big guy. That's why I put up with it. Why I haven't jumped out an airlock. Pets do love back."

As opposed to living weapons . . . "Hey, you should have the princess scanned at a cellular level. She could be carrying a bomb. She could be a bomb."

"Don't change the subject."

"I'm not. It's just . . . the Illium are good with bio-weapons."

"Hm." He hesitated. Spoke into his wrist unit. "Vaako. Have the princess scanned at a cell deep for anything that could be used as a weapon."

He waited for the acknowledgement without moving. Once it came, he shut off the communicator and his full attention was back on Jack.

"You. Are. Not. A. Pet."

"Whatever. Can I go now?"

Something dark and terrible shadowed his face for an instant. He exhaled slowly, and it was gone. But he did not let her go. "Kid, you were so terrified when you got here. I handled it badly. I . . . I've been trying to take things slow. It doesn't mean you are my pet."

She looked down, feeling extraordinarily awkward, wanting the conversation over. But the silence stretched on too long. "Take what slow?"

He lifted her face gently in his hands and smiled down at her in a way that made her insides cramp. Shook his head slowly. Now he changed the subject. "So how did you know all that about her?"

She took a ragged breath. "Knew her sister. She was at that school with me."

He threw back his head and laughed. And then, at last, he kissed her, and her world came to a stop.

*

He hadn't meant to kiss her. Not yet.

But he was so delighted with her. She could fight, she could think, and unlike the other two women he'd felt something for in the past decade, she'd stayed alive more than a few hours after they'd met. And also unlike them, she hadn't died saving his life. Maybe that wasn't love snatched from the teeth of destiny, but it was more than he'd had before.

The universe shrank to their lips and hands and skin and there was nothing but pure rapture in that universe.

After an eternity he came back to himself and, for a moment, backed off of her. It was only supposed to be for a moment.

"She's really got you worked up," Jack managed.

His felt his features harden. Did she think this was about someone else?

He was trying to take it slow. He was guiltily aware that giving in to the growing urge to fuck her would be a little like rape, because he had all of the power here. She could only say no if he let her say no. And he had only the vaguest idea of how much the mercs had fucked her up when it came to sex. Had a feeling it was a lot.

He had hoped several times she was about to make the first move. Relieve him of moral accountability. But he'd been wrong every time.

He'd even begun to wonder whether there was something wrong with her, how she let him touch her, how she let him take her to bed, without protest, without overt response. Didn't reciprocate, didn't push him away. It was almost becoming a game; seeing how far he could go before something snapped one way or another.

But maybe passive resistance is the only resistance she thinks she has. The thought made him unaccustomedly itchy.

She's right, you know. You are worked up about that woman. About the fact she might have gotten to Jack first.

And you're worked up about the fact you are keeping the person you care the most about; the one woman in the galaxy who feels like she's the same species as you as a pet, and she knows it. You didn't want her to know that.

He had the feeling he'd just figured out something important, but he didn't feel inclined to untangle it that instant. "Do we have to talk about this now, Jacky?" he finally growled, quietly, one hand moving softly over her breast, delighting in it, the other stroking the back of her neck. Moral niceties be damned. Since when did being powerful mean you didn't get to fuck the girl you were falling in love with?

Her eyes closed, and the smell of her response washed over him. He could drown himself that response. Then her lips opened slightly and they were kissing again, and his hands were under her clothes, and the waves were closing over his head.

*

Something chirped, insistently. Jack was pulling away from him, her face flushed and clothes messed. She was breathing heavily.

"Your, uh, thing--" She gestured towards his wrist. He frowned. Communicator. On the wrist. Right. He thumbed it on, irritated that he had to take his hands off of her to do so. "What."

"You were right, sire. She has an explosive element laced through her body. Enough to blow a hole in the hull of the Necropolis."

Damn. I liked her. "What's the trigger?"

"We don't know, sire. We're still working on it. We're moving her to a shuttle."

"Time, sex, death, or knowledge." Jack murmured.

Riddick looked at her, distracted. "What?"

"Triggers. I'm guessing. I bet she doesn't know."

"Why?"

"They've got to know you have telepaths. They do too. So either they don't tell her, or she consents, then has the knowledge removed from her brain . . . "

Riddick turned off the communicator. It shut down with a decisive click. "How do you know so damn much?"

She shrugged. "Couple of years at one of the schools dedicated to training the Leaders of Tomorrow. Gave me some idea of how they think."

"Can it be disarmed?"

"How would I know?"

He flipped the communicator back on. "Vaako. Don't let her know we know. That might be a trigger. Try . . . try to figure out if we can disarm it. Or if we can control the trigger. Also, check out the rest of the people in the mission, including the prisoners."

"Yes, sire."

He shut off the connection and deliberately removed the communicator from his wrist. Tossed it aside. Jack followed it with her eyes, swallowed. He could hear her heart beat; smell her hormonal spike. Smell her sudden fear. Realized that removing the communicator was a little like getting undressed.

She's still afraid. Is that a problem for me?

Yeah, maybe. More afraid she is, the more this is going to be like rape.

He cupped her face in his hands tenderly, made her look at him. "Jack . . ."

"What?"

"Don't be afraid."

"I'm not . . ."

"Liar."

She punched him, lightly. "Kidnapper."

He caught her wrist, gently, kissed her palm. "Time honored way to get a mate."

Did she shiver? She came back fast enough.

"Killer." She punched him with her other hand, harder.

He had that hand too. Kissed it lovingly, then yanked both behind her back, trapping her close. Breathed down her neck: "Innocent."

She tried to pull away. "Brute."

He growled, nipped at her neck, playfully. Started kissing her again, harder, more insistent. Hands more insistent, exploring new places. She was responding, her lips and small hands becoming bolder. He was slipping under the waves, losing himself in her.