When he picked her up, she almost panicked. Should be used to it now; since she'd come to the Necropolis, she had been carried around a whole lot. Infantilizing. She forced herself to rest her head against his shoulder, wrap her arms around his neck. Kyra's voice was echoing in her head. "Just let it happen. Don't fight."

I'm taking sex advice from a dead woman. She snorted, softly. Nonetheless, she managed to relax against him.

Riddick sat down on the bed, set her on her feet in front of him. His hands were in her clothes, removing them gently, inexorably, taking his time.

"Beautiful," he whispered.

She shook her head. " Not compared to you."

"Shhh . . . Just let me. . ."

She was naked, in front of him, and he was running his hands up and down her, worshipfully. Then his clothes were gone, and she was transfixed, again, by just how preternaturally beautiful he was. Then he pulled her onto the bed.

Jack was sitting in a tower, content, when Kyra dropped out of the sky. The older woman smiled at her, with actual love in her eyes. "Whither thou goest, kid. Thy people."

Something about that woke Jack up immediately. Realized, abruptly, that Riddick had been keeping the light levels in the room higher than he had the first few nights, probably higher than he wanted to. One of his strange kindnesses. She could even see him, slightly, in the darkness. He seemed to be deeply asleep, with the slight smile on his face that was his version of giddy happiness.

She slipped out of bed, padded over to the computer terminal, to look up the achingly familiar quote.

Didn't take long. It was familiar because Abu said it to her, before Kyra had come, when she had almost ran away to look for Riddick. "Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people."

She hadn't understood why Abu thought it would be comforting. Now she realized he was trying to say – it's not just you. Many people want to follow someone they love. If Riddick had taken her with him, she could have said it . . . and, like the woman in the ancient story, would have faced abject poverty or worse. What Riddick hadn't wanted for her. And if she had gone with him, or Kyra, she would have had to do terrible things . . .

I would have gone anywhere, done anything, for either of them, if they'd only wanted me. Wither thou goest . . . The familiar ache began to pull her down, and her eyes were prickling with tears.

But now that one of them does want me?

And that's the elephant in the room. She laughed softly at herself.

"Whatcha doing, Jackie?"

Riddick was behind her, hands massaging her neck and shoulders, reading over her shoulders. "I don't get it."

Jack put her hands over one of his. "Abu said it to me once, when he was trying to comfort me; that sometimes families aren't forged by blood. The woman who says it becomes the mother of kings . . .

"I didn't find it very comforting. But I think I get it now."

"Hmm." He was clearly not interested. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"No. It was . . . nice."

"Nice?"

"Very nice."

"Let's see if we can do better than nice." Then he moved her chair, knelt in front of her, caressed breasts and hips. She melted into him, and forgot, for a moment, that there was anything but him in the darkness.