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I felt the warmth of the summer sun on my back as I swam the length of the pool. I sensed Mr. Irons' eyes on me and tried to focus on my kick and stroke. I stopped at the edge of the pool pretending to check the time on my watch. I glanced up briefly. I could see him watching me from behind a window. It was not the first time I had caught him watching me recently.
I continued my morning laps.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Mr. Irons did not go to his office that day. He went to the library for a few hours, then settled in the study in front of the large hearth. He only stared at the flames. I knew him well enough to know he was upset, but not with me. I considered suggesting a game of chess and decided against it. It was best to let him be.
He had dismissed me for dinner. When I returned, he was standing in front the fire holding a glass of wine. He had shed his suit jacket, the vest emphasizing the his broad shoulders. I was quiet, but he knew I was there.
"Ina," he called softly, "come here."
I took my regular place, two steps behind him on the right.
He set his glass aside. I noted that the bottle of wine was empty.
"Ian will be coming home soon." He turned to me, studying my face.
I was unsure what to say. Ian's return meant that the Black Dragons Project had failed. Ian, however, had not failed. If he had, he would not be returning.
"Ian will take over your responsibilities here. Your primary responsibility will be to watch over another in the bloodline. Ian also has a very important job to do for me and may require your assistance on occasion."
I bowed my head, trying to understand how I had failed him.
He lifted my chin with a finger, his eyes soft. "Don't be upset, my lovely, faithful Ina. You have served me well."
He placed his hands on my shoulders and drew me close, wrapping his arms around me. I felt his chest heave as he took a long breath, smelling my hair. His hands, now on my hips, pressed me against him. I felt him through the layers of our clothes and my body responded with a sudden moisture. My throat went dry.
Not able to speak, I looked up at him for guidance. No training had prepared me for this. I saw something in his eyes - a spark that was not anger- but it faded quickly.
He grabbed my shoulders roughly and pushed me away. "Go."
As I left the room, I glanced back at him. He had picked up a phone and was dialing a number. I paused at the door long enough to hear him say, "Dante? I need you to find someone for me with certain...physical attributes..."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
It was after midnight when the woman arrived at the mansion. She was roughly my age and height, with brown hair a shade lighter than mine and dark brown eyes. While my eyelashes were naturally long and thick, hers were all mascara. Ian and I had been trained to observe people and I could tell her clothes were expensive, as I am sure she was. Her resemblance to me was obvious, so I knew her presence here was more than for his physical pleasure. Mr. Irons had a lesson for me to learn, but I was not sure what it would be.
Mr. Irons had asked me to escort her to the Itagaki Room. The mansion had twelve bedrooms and he had decorated ten of them based on Wielders. The Itagaki Room, decorated in clean Japanese lines, was my favorite. The Itagaki portrait was painted in mural on one wall. Samurai armor, not Itagaki's but a similar one in red lacquer, stood guard by the door. There was only one piece of furniture in the room, a small antique Japanese cabinet. A katana stand in one corner held two scabbards with their swords, sharp edge up. They were my katanas. Mr. Irons had given me permission to keep them here.
In the other corner was a large bonsai. It was as tall as I was and in full bloom. A low bed in the Japanese style dominated the center of the room. Mr. Irons, naked, sat on the edge of the bed. On the floor next to the bed within his arm's reach were his now empty brandy decanter and a brandy snifter.
I turned to leave, but his voice stopped me.
"Ina," he warned, "you will stay."
I stopped for a moment and looked at him curiously. I had seen him naked before, since I had escorted his 'playthings' up to his room on many occasions, but he had never asked me to stay.
I decided to stand by the bonsai, my eyes focusing on the pebbles covering the soil. I had thought he only wanted me to know that he would have the whore pleasure him in my favorite room. She would please him in a way he would not allow me to. That was supposed to hurt me -and it did. He always told me I was beautiful...had he lied? He knew I would do anything he asked, but he would never ask this of me. It was a slap in the face, a reminder that I was never good enough. But that wasn't the lesson I was to learn this evening. Mr. Irons' lessons were rarely that...obvious. I risked a glance at him.
He motioned for the woman to approach him and she did. "Strip."
I looked away, again concentrating on the pebbles. I heard the rustle of her clothes as they fell away.
"Hmm...she is a poor facsimile, Ina, but she will have to do."
I couldn't help but look up at the sound of my name, but I quickly averted my eyes. The glance was enough for me to see that he'd had the woman kneel before him at the foot of the bed.
In the silence of the room, I could hear the woman moaning softly and Mr. Irons hissing in pleasure. Why did he do this to me?
Mr. Irons' voice, now strained, called for me again. "Ina, come closer."
I took a deep breath then walked to stand at the side of the bed. The woman, her head bobbing between his thighs, was oblivious to me. I watched her, subconsciously licking my lips.
Mr. Irons pulled on my arms so that I would bend closer. His hands grabbed my head on either side, his fingers gently clutching my hair. He brought my face close to his. I could smell the brandy on his breath and briefly wondered if I would taste it in his mouth.
He brushed his lips lightly against mine and his nose skittered along my cheek, both caresses so light I thought they must have been accidental. "My beautiful Ina," his whispered.
He pressed his lips roughly against mine. He forced his tongue into my mouth. I reeled at the taste of him, his tongue probing my mouth, his lips sucking the breath out of me. A hand on my right breast squeezed and I shuddered in pleasure.
Then his hands on my shoulders pushed gently. "Kneel."
I did as he asked, my eyes still closed. I heard the rustle of sheets. To the woman, "No, this way. I want her to see." Another rustle of the sheets.
"Ina." His voice was angry. "Open your eyes."
I complied. The woman was on her back, her head in front of me, her arms at her sides, bracing herself. He knelt between her legs, facing me, holding himself ready to enter her. My vision seemed to narrow to that one point of conjunction. He entered her roughly and the woman groaned in what sounded to me like pain not pleasure. He drew out of her slowly and repeated the action.
"Ina, look at me," he ordered. "Look at my eyes, my love."
It took all my strength to raise my eyes to his. His eyes, once again their unique green, held mine. "Don't look away from me."
I nodded, swallowing hard, hypnotized by the desire I saw in his eyes.
He raised the woman's hips slightly and began to slam into her. With each thrust, the woman let out a gasp. Soon, he quickened his strokes, and his pace became relentless. My breath had fallen into the same rhythm as the woman's gasps, accelerating with his strokes.
His face grew flush with the exertion, but his eyes remained fixed on mine. I found myself swaying, matching his movements, trying to imagine what it must be like to have him in me. I felt myself contracting, a spasm in a previously unknown muscle.
He must have seen the change on my face because he smiled.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
After that night, I was desperate for Ian to return so that I could leave. I could not look Mr. Irons in the eye. When I did, I only saw his face as it was that night and relived those moments. I had always prided myself on being in control of my body as a warrior should - deliberateness of motion was the epitome of self-discipline. Whenever I looked into his eyes, however, my body would betray me, overcome with the desire to have him touch me.
In the study, he stood before the hearth as he so often did. I stood at my regular spot, behind him on the right, my hands clenched behind my back, only now my eyes were fixed on the floor.
"Ian returns tomorrow," he said suddenly, turning to me. He took a step closer to me.
I felt my body responding to his nearness, my chest thrusting up ever so slightly, the sudden involuntary wetness, the warm flush in my cheeks. I closed my eyes briefly, struggling to remain in control. After a moment, he used a thumb and forefinger to raise my chin. He didn't remove his hand.
"Ina," he admonished, "what is this new habit of yours to look away from me?"
His thumb brushed against my lips, a touch so light I thought I imagined it. My eyes could not decide whether to focus on his eyes or his lips.
The back of his right hand came up to my cheek. I felt the mark, the mark of the Wielder, and leaned into it, closing my eyes. I saw the Witchblade in my mind, the gauntlet as it was now, the red stone glowing brightly. In a moment of sudden lucidity, I understood. I saw how he relished seeing me struggle against myself. He purposely tortured me to see how I would respond, testing my limits, my loyalty. His only desire was to control me and my devotion to the Witchblade for his own purposes, not the Blade's. To me, he was only a man now, not worthy to have worn the Blade. For now, the Blade wanted me to remain in his service and I would. Now knowing of his attempted manipulations, I was free of them, free to truly serve the Witchblade.
Irons placed a hand on my abdomen. He leaned close, brushing a kiss on my cheek. He whispered into my ear. "I do hope our son has your eyes."
I hadn't known that words could make a person physically sick. I swallowed hard, pushing him away from me.
"What have you done to me?!" I demanded angrily.
Irons' lips curled into that self-satisfied smirk. I resisted the urge to slap it off his face.
I looked at Ian. His eyes were dark and the muscles in his jaw clenched and unclenched. He was angry, too, but he was duty-bound to defend Irons if I attacked. I didn't want to fight Ian. Had he known? How could he NOT have known?
We both knew how to circumvent the security cameras. He walked with me to the front gate. My katanas were waiting for me there. Ian handed me an envelope.
"Money for the next few days. ID, passport, credit cards. A slip of paper with a Swiss bank account. It should be more than enough for your new life. And the child's."
I looked at Ian for a long moment. He had planned for this. "You knew." Why didn't you stop him? Why didn't you tell me?
He nodded. "The Witchblade has provided this ford. Now you must cross it."
'Crossing at a ford' was Ian's favorite strategy. I was struck by both its appropriateness and its irony. Knowing the route and the soundness of your ship, blessed with the favor of the day, and perhaps a favorable wind, you set sail even though your friends remain in the harbor - the classic scenario for 'crossing at a ford.' However, the mansion was not a harbor, I did not know the route nor the soundness of my ship and at this time of night I didn't even have the favor of the day.
I smiled, holding up the envelope. "And this is my tailwind." If the wind changes, you must row across the remaining distance without sail. The spirit of 'crossing at a ford' was important to the samurai. I lost my smile. "So, I am to be a ronin now."
Ian's eyes softened. "You will be more, Ina, as you have always been."