Chapter 3

The Imperial space station was quiet at this hour. Night and day was all relative in space, but the officials in charge preferred to conduct business on a regular schedule, and most chose this shift for rest or sleep. Quinn had been monitoring Captain Veraska's office for some time, and the man was in there now, alone. Quinn wanted to make the arrest with as little distractions as possible.

Captain Veraska was a Republic spy. Quinn knew him once as Agent Voloren, and it was through both luck and diligence that he had tracked the man down. Morda had allowed him to come here and oversee the capture, so he could finally finish the job he'd started ten years ago. Quinn was dismayed at how deeply entrenched the man's cover was. For eight years Voloren had captained this space station, overseeing countless deployments of personnel and weaponry. If not for Moff Broysc's ill-timed intervention, Quinn would have captured this spy years ago. Finally, he was getting a chance to make things right.

"It's time." Quinn nodded to the three Imperial troopers who'd been awaiting his order. His own anticipation was high. How long had had visualized this moment? He led the squadron down the hallway to Voloren's door, then pulled his blaster and nodded to one of the soldiers. She inserted the spike into the door's entry system and the locked disengaged, triggering the door to slide open.

"What's going on? Who are you?" Agent Voloren stood up from the desk he'd been sitting behind and eyed Quinn and his entourage warily. Voloren was middle-aged and slight of build, but still hale and fit. His pleasant face and gentlemanly voice displayed genuine surprise. Voloren looked like the type of man who played huttball with his kids on days off and always bought his mother flowers for her birthday. The best spies were never the obvious ones. Quinn reminded himself that this man had probably cost the Empire thousands of lives.

"Cuff him," Quinn said to one of the troopers. He gave the spy a smirk. "Welcome to the rest of your life, Agent Voloren."

Voloren acted so fast that Quinn barely had time to aim his blaster. Voloren hit something under his desk and a thick spray of smoke jetted out from above the door where Quinn stood, enveloping the room in a white haze. Quinn held his breath instinctively, his training coming just when he needed it, and fired wildly at the spot where Voloren had just been standing. Voloren leapt over the desk and plunged through the smoke cloud, making for the door. Quinn bolted out of the room after him, sucking in a breath of air as soon as he was out of the range of the gas cloud.

"Head him off at the hangar." Quinn gestured ahead, nodding to the troopers, who were stumbling through the smoke, startled but unharmed. They ran down the hallway to where it emptied out onto a high-ceilinged lobby. Quinn's steps halted as he let the troopers run past him. Had Voloren really taken off down the hallway that fast? He listened and crept forward, peering into doorways as he passed. He heard a clattering from up ahead and broke into a run. Just around the corner, two of the troopers lay crumpled on the floor, unconscious. There was no sign of the third. He took only the briefest moment to examine them. There were no injuries that he could see, and Quinn immediately suspected that some kind of neural inhibitor was the culprit. The troopers would be unconscious for ten minutes, and probably disoriented for at least as long again after that. Quinn backed away quickly.

He wasn't quick enough. A stabbing pain erupted in his head and knew he was about to become Voloren's next victim. He had not come so far only for the agent to escape! Through his blurred vision Quinn tried to scan the area, but saw no one. He stumbled to his knees, still gripping his blaster in one hand, while the other tried to hold back the floor from colliding with his face. His arm gave out and he fell, rolling onto his back. In a haze of delirious thought he watched colors coalesce before his eyes until they took on the vague shape of a man. Far above him, Voloren stood on a ceiling beam, pointing the stun gun at his head. Voleren's form was gradually getting clearer, however, rather than more blurred. Quinn suspected that the gun couldn't sustain such a prolonged burst of neural waves without time to regenerate. Quinn raised a shaky arm to point his blaster at Voloren's chest.

Voloren swung down off the beam like a gymnast, and the bottom of his boots hurled through the air towards Quinn's face. Quinn threw himself into a roll, and Voloren's boots slammed into his shoulder instead. The floor cracked against Quinn's head and Voloren took off running. Quinn climbed to his feet and hurried after him.

"Private!" he called into his comm unit, unable to hide the irritation in his voice. Where was the missing trooper? "Voloren is heading to the hangar. Are you there?"

The comm crackled and finally a hesitant voice responded. "Sir! I'm trying to arrange for back-up. I'll be along right away."

Well, this was just turning into a regular crisis, wasn't it? Quinn would have to handle Voloren alone.

The hanger door was open, and while Quinn could not see Voloren, he could hear the man's footsteps retreating inside. Quinn ran in and made for the control booth. He quickly shut down all the docking bay doors, sealing Voloren in. The agent was most likely trying to commandeer a small ship, but Quinn didn't want to take any chances. With Voloren cornered, he merely had to wait for more troopers to arrive. Quinn left the booth and stood by the stairs, looking out across the hanger. The floor was wide open, with few places for a fugitive to hide. He pulled out a pair of binoculars and scanned several stacks of supply crates, as well as checking underneath any of the spaceships. A small transport ship on the far side of the hangar would be Voloren's most likely escape route, but there was plenty of open floor space all around it. It would be impossible to approach it from any angle without being seen. Quinn allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction. Voloren was a rat caught in a trap. There was no place for him to go.

A noise called Quinn's attention to the ceiling. Once again, Voloren had chosen a clever hiding place. He was scurrying now along the network of platforms and bridges that criss-crossed the underside of the roof. Quinn followed the direction of Voloren's progress and realized that he was aiming to cross all the way to the other side of the hanger, where he could likely drop down on a cable and reach the ship from above.

Quinn hurried back into the control booth and began scanning through the data terminals, looking for a way to block Voloren's flight clearance codes. He found them registered under his cover identity as Captain Veraska, but discovered that he did not have the authorization to override them. He had gotten approval to infiltrate the man's personal office, but this had been overlooked. Frustration tied a knot in his chest. He was going to have to chase after Agent Voloren and block him from getting to the ship.

He grabbed the comm and practically growled into it. "I need Captain Veraska's flight clearance revoked!"

"On it," a voice responded.

Quinn sped out the door and stopped to assess his next move. A ladder just off the control platform led up - far, far up – to the bridges above. It was not going to be a climb for the faint hearted. Quinn breached the railing and stepped onto the lowest rung of the ladder. He would do whatever it took to see this mission through.

The bridges were more rickety than he had been expecting, and they jarred and bounced noticeably as he ran across them. The metal surface was corrugated for sure footing at least, so he ran full tilt, trying to close the gap between him and the agent, who was well out over the middle of the hanger by now. He came to a gap where one bridge platform met the next and he hesitated briefly, seeing the top of a large transport ship far below him. No one would survive a fall from this height. He jumped.

The bridge clanged loudly under his weight when he hit the other side and Agent Voloren spun to check behind him. Quinn was growing winded but he increased his pace. He was slowly gaining.

Voleran began zigzagging, climbing the side rails to hop from bridge to bridge, and even at one point sidling onto a rafter to slide across to even farther bridge. Quinn tried to recreate Voloren's footsteps, hesitating at the spot where Voloren had left the safety of the bridge. His feet edged out onto a structural beam and he shuffled a short ways across it. He focused on his destination, looking straight ahead. He had to move slower than he would like, but in this case, caution was wiser than speed. Once he reached the rafter support, he clung to it to catch his breath.

Voloren had vanished.

Quinn whirled about, stretching as far as he dared while clinging to the beam to look around him. Had Voloren rappelled down to the floor? Side-stepped onto another bridge? Panic beat in his chest. He would not accept failure, especially when he was this close.

He slid across the other side of the rafter, unwilling to stay in any precarious perch for long. Once back onto the relative safety of one of the bridges, he stopped to look again.

A hand gripped his ankle and tugged hard. Quinn's lost his footing and fell onto the bridge, slamming his chin into one of the metal bumps along the floor. The hand was pulling him slowly over the edge. He rolled and pointed his blaster.

Voloren was hanging on the underside of the bridge like some wily monkey-lizard. Voloren swung up and under the railing, grabbing Quinn by the back of his shirt and pressing him against the floor, pinning Quinn under his weight. At that moment Quinn was aware of nothing else but the tussle of arms and legs as Voloren's fingers clawed madly for a handhold on his blaster. Hand-to-hand fighting wasn't Quinn's strength, but his most basic self-preservation instincts broke to the surface along with a deep, heated anger, and he wrestled back with everything he had. He tried to reach the second weapon at his belt with his other hand, but quickly realized that he needed all the force he could muster to keep Voloren at bay. Voloren's skill was the greater, and he was a man driven to desperation. The strength in Quinn's arm was failing, and the blaster began to slip as Voloren pried it from his grasp. There was no way to win this fight with brawn, Quinn realized. It was only a matter of time before Voloren got a hold of the blaster.

Voloren was on top of him, and Quinn had ended up again with his face pressed against the floor. He drew one leg up underneath him and found some leverage, just enough to lift his torso and pull himself forward, tucking his arm, and the blaster, against his chest underneath him. Voloren scrabbled at his arm, then pushed at his shoulder trying to roll him over, but Quinn used his back like shield and brought his other arm in towards his chest as well. He swapped the blaster to the other hand and then hurled his arm outward, letting go of the blaster. It flew out over the edge of the bridge, where a long silence followed before it finally hit to the ground far below.

"There they are! Up there!" a voice called. The back-up squad had arrived. Quinn spotted them scurrying across the hangar floor.

Voloren bared his teeth. "Damn you!" He sprinted to his feet and took off running down the platform.

Quinn stood up, dazed for a moment. Voloren was getting away again. Quinn pulled his scattergun, but the weapon was only useful at close range, and Voloren was already too far away. He might as well be weaponless. No, he realized, that wasn't quite accurate. He looked at his wrist darts, which were usually filled with kolto. He spun the chamber and saw what he needed. Two darts would be enough if his aim were true. He threw out his arm and shot two paralyzer darts at Voloren's legs. He hoped the man wasn't too far away for the darts to find their mark.

Voloren stumbled drunkenly, grabbed at the rails, and then bumbled to the floor. He squirmed briefly before realizing the futility of the situation. He stilled, clinging to the railing just enough to raise his upper body to watch as Quinn began the slow, deliberate walk toward him.

"Take him out!" a voice yelled from below.

"Hold your fire!" Quinn called out. "We can bring him in alive." One of the troopers headed for the nearest ladder and began to climb.

Quinn stopped, looking down the barrel of his scattergun at Agent Voloran. It thrilled him to see the agent helpless and defeated like this, and gave him an even greater pleasure to know that he'd been the instrument of the man's downfall.

"Your capture has been too long in coming," Quinn said. "Seeing you now is even more satisfying than I thought it would be."

Voloren was winded and still heaving for breath. "You're stubborn, I'll give you that. Who are you?"

Quinn gave him his name and rank.

"Stars," Voloren said. He laughed and then shook his head. "Damn, you are persistent, aren't you? It's been a long time. You had a designation on the code circuit once, you know. We called you 'Boots.' You know why?"

"I don't know and I don't care."

"Short for 'Boot-licker.'"

"Fascinating story. I'm sure you'll tell many more to the interrogation droids."

"You had one moment of true courage, though, didn't you? I heard the story when I joined the Imperial ranks."

Voloren waited, probably hoping for a reaction, but Quinn had already restored himself to a proper emotionless demeanor. When Voloren didn't get a reaction, he continued anyway.

"Druckenwell," he said. "You took it upon yourself to make sure the fleet didn't get redirected at that crucial moment. It was a glorious victory for you and the Empire." He paused, his eyes meeting Quinn's. "But then they crushed you."

"I don't see what this has to do with anything except you enjoying hearing yourself talk."

"Your talents are wasted here. Still a lieutenant after all these years? Someone like you would have recognition and respect in the Republic. We could give you a place of distinction there; give you the accolades you deserve."

"You insult me and then you ask me to join you? You must think I'm mad or stupid. I would rather die than become a turn-coat like you."

Voloren eyed him in silence. "Yes," he said finally. "I can see that now. I'm sorry to hear to it. It's a loss for both of us."

"Lieutenant!" A soldier was coming up along the platform behind him. "We can take him into custody now and lead-"

Quinn caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and whirled around just in time to see Agent Voloren push himself into a roll. Quinn threw out an arm to stop him, but it was too late. Voloren dropped off the side of the bridge. Quinn stared at the falling body, aghast but not entirely surprised. A captured spy would have been the culmination of his victory today.

There was a startled cry from below seconds before Voloren hit the ground, and Quinn looked away before witnessing the impact. Far below, a soldier started retching.

"Damn it," Quinn muttered. He sighed and holstered the scattergun. What was done was done. He had seen the end of Agent Voloren, and that was the most important thing. Working for Morda was helping to rekindle his career already. That was also a major victory and one that he wouldn't soon forget.

00o00

Morda heard the swish and click of the ship's airlock door, signaling Quinn's return. She opened the door to her room just in time to see Quinn step into the medbay across the hall. Morda slipped out of her room on silent feet and leaned against the door frame of the med bay.

Quinn was a black shadow silhouetted in the faint blue light of the kolto tank behind him. The sharply drawn lines of his shoulders and stiff collar contrasted with that one runaway wisp of hair that he could never tame. He removed his blaster and scattergun from his belt and set them quietly on a nearby desk. Then he looked up. His eyes scanned down the length of her body before quickly looking away, no doubt noting that she was wearing a thin, short nightgown and little else.

"I apologize if I disrupted your sleep, my lord."

"I wasn't sleeping." Morda watched as he emptied a small satchel he'd been carrying, putting away the tools of his recent venture: extra ammo, electrobinoculars, stun cuffs, and variously sized medpacks. Quinn's movements were always deliberate, never wasted, and above all efficient. He kept the med bay meticulously clean, and it had never been more organized than it was now that Quinn was on the crew. Quinn's uniforms were always perfectly pressed, his hair combed, his pants pleated and wrinkle free. Tonight, however, there was a smudge of dust across his shoulder, and a small rip along the front of his uniform. Morda wondered what had transpired during this recent mission.

Morda backed out of the doorway to let Quinn pass, and then followed him into the crew quarters. "You were successful, I presume?"

Quinn unhooked his holster and hung it on a peg. "Yes, my lord. The spy is dead."

He glanced her way, and then casually turned his back to her. He lifted off his shirt and folded it onto a nearby chair, then picked out a new one from a wardrobe nearby. Quinn's closet was like a small army of military clones, always standing at attention, awaiting orders. He slid the clean shirt over his head and straightened it, carefully adjusting the collar into place. Morda watched his fingers work the buttons, his motions deft and automatic; the rituals of a man who had worn this same shirt a thousand times.

Quinn shaved every morning, yet by evening his cheeks were always darkened with a hint of stubble, and tonight, being as late as it was, it was more noticeable than usual. Morda found human facial hair rather intriguing. She imagined its roughness against the pads of her fingertips, or the feel of it brushing against her neck, behind her ear…or between her thighs. Watching him now was reminding her of why she had stayed up to see him when he returned.

She followed him out onto the bridge. When he sat and began preparing the ship for launch, she stretched out on the chair next to him.

"Excellent work tonight, Quinn. Feels good, doesn't it?" She watched his face, impassive and calm, as he ignited the engines and maneuvered the ship out of the hanger bay. His face gave away nothing, but his body language said otherwise. He looked energized, Morda noticed, his movements alert and precise, his senses no doubt still heightened from the recent battle. "I know the feeling," Morda continued. She slid her legs up onto the ship's navigation console and crossed her ankles. "Hunting such elusive prey, moving in for the kill, knowing your mark is cornered…the satisfaction of the conquest."

"I am grateful for the opportunity to finish what I started so long ago."

This capture must have meant a great deal to Quinn, yet here he was, hiding all pride and excitement behind a wall of stoicism. Was he trying to keep her at arm's length?

"I will be sure to put a commendation in your report." Morda watched him surreptitiously as he glanced her way, his eyes following the line of her bare legs, ending at the hemline of her gown which had risen to the very apex of her hips.

Morda could read most men easily, and she'd rarely been refused when she had set her sights on taking one to her bed. Quinn was a challenge and was proving to be far more reticent than Morda had originally predicted. Why did she bother? He was stuffy, boring, too proper, needlessly strict, and unimaginative. No, she decided, not unimaginative, not that. The careful planning and forethought he put into his tasks implied a fertile mind that was capable of testing every possibility and outcome. That could be put to use in many ways. Just being near him was like standing next to a powerful dam, surging with barely contained energy and potential. She wanted to be the one to break the first crack in it. She wanted to see what would be released when all that diligently managed self-control was breached. She had found the secret kernel of doubt in Jaesa, her promising new apprentice, and see what had blossomed from that? A vibrant dark power, pure and true and still unfurling. Quinn was not force sensitive, sadly, but there was more to be found in him than just a commitment to duty. She wanted to see him undone, lost to the spontaneous power of rage and passion and lust. Could it be done?

Morda suspected that Quinn's reluctance was a well-constructed facade. Such caution and predictability was a sign of fear. Fear was a powerful weapon, but not if it became a filter through which every other emotion was processed. Morda wondered what it would take to reach the man.

"What do you do for fun, Quinn?"

Quinn looked up from the controls and hesitated. "For fun, my lord?"

"Yes, you know, 'fun.' Things that people do when they are not working?"

"I try to keep busy, my lord. I don't have a lot of free time."

"Everyone needs something to help them unwind."

"Well, I…I read sometimes."

"Like what? And don't say, 'reports.'"

He was silent.

Morda rubbed her forehead. "This is worse than I thought. There must be something that you enjoy, something that excites you?"

Quinn stared ahead through the ship's portal into space. "I prefer to not mix business with pleasure, my lord."

"You have pleasures, then?"

"My lord, it is getting late. I will get us back on course again and take care of the navigation tonight."

He was trying to get rid of her. It was looking like she would have to spend another frustrated night alone.

"It's been a long shift for you, Quinn. You've been on duty for…how long now?"

"It's been eleven hours and forty-five minutes, my lord."

"Right." Of course he would have that calculated right down to the minute, just as he analyzed everything else. "I declare your shift to be over. The ship won't crash without you at the helm, Quinn. That's what autopilot is for."

"Very well, my lord." Quinn rose and gave her a short bow. "Good night."

"Good night Quinn."

Morda sat alone for a time, watching the endless stars. Every man had sexual needs. Quinn could be no different. What went on in that head of his? Perhaps she needed to be even more direct. She had a thought of showing up outside his door with a carefully detailed report on her sexual requirements, including diagrams, schedules and explicit line by line instructions. She burst out laughing. She was half-tempted to share the idea with Vette.

00o00

"My lord, you need to do something about the slave."

Morda set down her fork and looked up. Quinn was standing in the mess room doorway, his expression closed and unreadable, yet Morda could clearly see that he was nearly rigid with indignation.

"Come in, Lieutenant," Morda said. She took another bite from her plate and gestured for Quinn to sit opposite her at the table. He came and stood by the chair but made no move to use it. His blue eyes were bright with a spark the likes of which Morda had not yet seen in him. He looked angry. He looked alive. It excited her to see it. "You are talking about Vette, I presume?"

"You need to tell her to stop bothering me when I'm working. Her constant chatter is a terrible annoyance."

"Really?" Morda gave him her most calm and stately smile. In truth, Vette had quite a spirited streak in her, Morda knew, but she found it rather amusing and was growing to be fond of the girl in spite of it. Quinn was so stuffy and proper that it wasn't any surprise that he had been butting heads with Vette. "She's quite the feisty one, isn't she?"

"Will you not discipline her?"

"What did she say that upset you so much?"

"She must have overheard me mention Moff Broysc at some point, now that we have been discussing it lately, and she has been inserting his name randomly into conversations just to distract me. She says she won't stop until I tell her why I hate the man."

"Hate," Morda said, savoring the word with a smile. "That's a strong word, Quinn."

"My lord…I…perhaps it is. I-"

Morda held up a hand and stood from the table. "No, I like it. You'd be so much more attractive if you let your vindictive side show." She grinned at him. "You cripple yourself by denying your anger." Morda put aside her plate and came around the table to face Quinn.

"Such strong emotions have no place among logic and discipline, my lord."

"Quite the contrary. Passion makes you stronger. Passion of all kinds." She took a step forward. "I can show you."

Quinn blinked at her, and Morda sensed that he clearly wanted to restore some distance between them but was holding his ground, perhaps for fear of insulting her. "My lord, this conversation is veering outside the spectrum of acceptable military communication."

"It's called flirting, Quinn. Look into it." Morda walked away, smiling and brushing his shoulder as she passed. He was resisting, but Morda could feel his indecision through the Force. She turned at the doorway. "I will talk to Vette for you."

He nodded his head. "Thank you, my lord."

00o00

"Congratulations, Captain," Morda said, poking her head into the medbay. Quinn was sitting at a desk, going over some reports. Morda had allowed him to take over the medbay as an office, since the ship wasn't large enough for an actual one. He looked up, his face blank with confusion before understanding came.

He jumped to his feet. "My lord! Thank you." For the first time in ten years, Quinn had been given a true promotion. Morda had gladly given her approval to make the appointment official.

"You earned it, Quinn. I only pushed it through."

He nodded, giving the barest hint of a smile before sitting down again to resume his work. Did that man ever celebrate anything? Morda decided that she would make good on her suggestion to take him to a cantina sometime.

"You might as well make your bed in here, for all the time you spend in this room, Quinn."

He didn't look up as his finger tapped quickly through some documents on his datapad.

"I may do just that, my lord."

Morda let out a laugh. "Good. Then Vette can move out of my room and back into the crew quarters, freeing up my room for nightly visitors."

Quinn's fingers paused on the datapad for the shortest second, then began typing again. By the force that man can be obtuse! Morda waited to see if any other reaction would be forthcoming. Finally Quinn spoke.

"My lord…are you propositioning me?"

"No, I'm asking you to come tell me bedtime stories. Of course, Quinn. I'm trying to get you in my bed. Can I be any more obvious?"

"That won't be necessary."

"What is it then? Performance issues?"

"No! I mean, that's not it, my lord." Quinn set down the datapad and was staring at the desk in front of him, his face coloring slightly.

"Then what is it? Do you find me attractive? Or maybe women aren't to your taste?"

Quinn's hands dropped to his lap and he took a breath. "My lord, I assure you, you are a wholly remarkable and unique woman."

"That's not the same thing as attractive, Quinn."

"I am…drawn to you," Quinn said, the barest shake now entering his voice, "make no mistake."

"You hide it well then."

Quinn sprang up from the chair, slapping his hands on the desk. His chair tipped backwards and he spun around to catch it, righting it and stepping aside to return it to its place under the desk.

"My lord," he said, "What do you want from me? You want me to tell you how much I think of you in my spare moments, how you enter my dreams at night? How you try my patience and my professionalism? How just being near you is a terrible distraction? Because it is all of those things."

"I've left you tossing and turning in your bunk at night, have I?"

He sighed. "In a manner of speaking."

"Why do you fight it so?" Morda stepped fully into the room and began to circle around Quinn, touching his shoulder and running her hand across his back. "You could give in to your feelings and be rid of this self-imposed torment."

"Any personal involvement between us could cloud judgment and compromise your campaigns. I'm sorry if I did not make that clearer from the very beginning."

Morda came around and faced him. "I like taking risks." She grabbed the front of his uniform and pulled him in for a kiss. He was too startled to object. His upper lip was scratchy but his lips were soft, a contrast that Morda found wonderful and slightly arousing. She broke away, slowly releasing the front of his shirt from her fist. She was assailed unexpectedly by his thoughts then, which came to her in a series of rapid visions. She had not reached for them, nor tried to pry, yet they slipped through like a gush of water escaping from a spout, intense and startling, before the flow cut off and vanished. Captain Quinn, normally so guarded, had a vivid imagination, and Morda saw herself caught in his embrace, felt the twining of her limbs with his in a hot, naked tumble, and heard the sound of her own voice begging for release.

"This-my lord," Quinn stammered. "This should not continue. It's improper." He was nearly as a red as a Pureblood, solely from the boldness of the kiss. Morda wondered how he would react if he knew that she had seen a glimpse of his inner fantasies.

"The impropriety is what makes it so exciting. I know you find it so too, Quinn."

"My lord, I—you do not know my desires."

Morda stepped close to him, and whispered into his ear. "Oh, but I do."

"Please, my lord." His voice was hushed now, barely audible. "Don't tease me."

"Why not? Are you afraid you will give in?" She pressed her body against his side. He smelled of some kind of clean, minty soap. "I know you want me, Quinn. On this cot, on the table, on your desk. You want to see me laid out and vulnerable, you want to hear me beg, you want to be in control. I understand. I can give you that."

Quinn sucked in a breath and touched his hand to his forehead. Morda stepped back. "Think about it, Captain," she said. "I'm offering myself to you. You just say the word." She turned and started through the door.

He reached for her, pulling her towards him, his hand tight across the small of her back. He kissed her fiercely and abruptly, but then backed away nearly as soon as it had begun. How he fights it even still! Morda gave him a knowing smile. He was reining himself in with considerable difficulty. Morda took a few steps backwards, willing him to come to her.

"Unleash your desire," she said softly.

"And if I do?" he answered. His voice sounded strained and breathless. "If I take you now, in every way that I long to do, what then?"

"It will set you free," Morda urged. Quinn was coming closer, taking halting steps, pausing, clearly wrestling with himself. The look in his eyes was hungry and full of insatiate desire. Yes, Morda spoke silently, not caring anymore if she inadvertently touched his mind or not. Come to me.

"I...I cannot." He turned his back to her, and went to lean against the far wall, where he rested his head in the crook of his arm.

"Leave me alone now, please," he said. "I need to get back to my duties."

Morda stared at him, too surprised to speak. Quinn had a stubborn streak stronger than any man she'd ever met. Was she asking the impossible?

"Very well," she said. She couldn't hide the sharp note of regret in her voice.