“So, Keishet, is it straight yet?” Xanadu stood on her piano bench, adjusting one of the paintings she had bought at the festival. This one was a beautiful representation of a Muluku Island beach, and she had fallen in love with it as soon as she had seen it. She had hung it on the wall yesterday, but now it seemed a bit crooked.

The copper miraan winging around her head chirped a few times and then crooned.

Xanadu laughed. “And just what is that supposed to mean?”

Keishet chirped again.

“You think it's straight? Let's see if you're right.” The dancer back-flipped off the chair and observed the painting with a critical eye. It looked straight to her.

“Good. I think that's it then.”

Xanadu had to admit she was a bit worried about what Demkaih would think of her house. Compared to his cozy, spice-scented abode, hers … especially the main room ... seemed quite pretentious, although that had never been her intent while decorating it. Having grown up in a kint with few personal possession, it was nice to now have the means to surround herself with nice things.

Generally she couldn't care less whether someone approved of her or not, but for some strange reason, she did care about what the handsome mugrobi thought of her. She was definitely looking forward to seeing him again. She had been thinking of him all morning, and most of yesterday as well. As for her dreams last night … well, it was better she didn't think about those.

Smiling softly to herself, she dragged the bench back in front of the piano and went into the smaller room that contained her sewing machine. While she was waiting for him to arrive, she might as well start the alterations on the clothing she planned to wear at her next meeting with the resistance.

Demkaih walked up the street, his pace determined, but not rushed. It felt strange, visiting the house of a woman that was not Fion, but it also felt good. Right. Like things had meant to be. Perhaps Hulali had sent Fion as a test to prove Demkaih was right for Xanadu? The dark man chuckled to himself, shaking a finger at the sky.

You are a mysterious God, but I am grateful.

Reaching the faded lavender house, the mugrobi paused, fixing his vibrant red wrap at the shoulder. He'd worn full traditional garb today, feeling it was somehow appropriate, wooden and beaded bracelets and anklets clanking together gently, necklaces hanging at various lengths, lugs in his earlobes and silver stud in his nose. He adjusted his belt, where the two ceremonial daggers hung in their out of place black sheaths. Taking a breath, he walked down the path and knocked sharply on the front door. Stepping back slightly, he waited for Xanadu.

He was here!

Xanadu quickly finished the seam she was sewing and stashed all three pieces of clothing in the drawer at the bottom of her weapons cupboard. It was probably better he didn't see what she intended to wear for her first resistance mission; he would probably not approve of the way she had acquired them. Even if she had left an envelope of coins hanging in their place, that didn't change the fact that she had stolen them from somebody's clothesline. How else was one supposed to find used and worn apparel in Vienda?

She checked herself in the full-length mirror before heading into the living area. Her plum-and-gold sarong and matching breast wrap were still in their proper places. Nothing was showing that shouldn't be, although more was showing than most of Vienda would be comfortable with. She knew that Demkaih would not be scandalized by her skimpy attire, as he was accustomed to women dressed in mugrobi fashion. The only concessions to her wick upbringing were the gold hoops running the length of each earlobe, the sparkling jewel in her navel, and her bare feet.

Satisfied that she looked presentable, she hurried to the door, Keishet and Omari winging about her head. A barked command in mugrobi sent them back into the living area. She certainly hoped they behaved while Demkaih was here. They were only partially trained, and the only other person they'd had direct contact with was Tal, who had a miraan of his own. They had accepted that maddening man right away … apparently, they had no taste. With any luck, the drake-like creatures had now cultivated enough good taste to react favorably to Demkaih.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Xanadu opened the door. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw him. He looked so elegant decked out in full mugrobi regalia. “Hello, Demkaih.” She greeted him with a smile, suddenly realizing how much she had missed him. Now that he was with her again, everything seemed right with the world.

The petite dancer stepped backwards so that he could enter her home. “Please come in. I trust you rested well yesterday?”

Demkaih inclined his head to the beautiful islander, touching his hands briefly to his eyes then head, mimicking the raising of sand goggles - an adaption of the well known polite custom of home.

"Indeed not, I found myself restless instead of tired. I spent most of the day setting up the shop again and baking. I did not sleep until the sun had been chased far into the horizon." The dark man refrained from mentioning his sleep had been just as restless, filled with visions of dark eyes and chocolate skin. Walking inside, he looked around once. The room he stood in seemed rather lived in and plain, a contradiction to the woman that he'd found himself entranced by. Somehow, it didn't fit her. Turning to face Xanadu, he smiled.

"I must admit, it is very good to see you again. It feels like a long time since we last saw each other, even though it was only yesterday."

His words echoed her thoughts exactly. It did seem as if they had been apart longer than a day, just as it seemed they had known each other longer, as well. It was unusual for her to invite a man to her home … whether house or cart ... after knowing him for such a short time, but she felt so comfortable with Demkaih. It just seemed right to have him here.

“I didn't rest either yesterday. I explored the city a bit, and did some redecorating. Come.”

She took him by the hand … it seemed so natural to do so … and led him into her living area. Keishet and Omari sprang from their perches and sailed over. Omari landed on her shoulder, causing her to wince a bit where his claws dug slightly into her bare flesh. Keishet, by far the bolder of the two, winged around Demkaih's head once, and then landed on Xanadu's other shoulder. Both miraan curved their long necks toward him, curious.

The dancer laughed. “Demkaih, meet Keishet and Omari. They're wonderful little companions, even though they do need a bit more training. I also have two bander wolves. They prefer to stay outdoors during the day, but I am certain you will meet them eventually.”

Still holding his hand, she turned and indicated the painting of the Muluku Island beach. It was crooked again. “I bought this at the festival. It reminds me so much of the Islands.” Xanadu looked up at him, her dark eyes meeting his blue ones. “It's funny. I didn't even grow up in Mugroba, yet I still long for it in a way I do not understand."

She shrugged, and both miraan leapt from her shoulders and flew over to one of the couches. "I guess it's in my blood.”

Demkaih smiled as the woman took his hand, leading him through the front area into the main living area. The mugrobi was taken aback. How much money sat in this room?! It didn't make him uncomfortable, but more curious. Why was the other room decorated so poorly, when she clearly had the decor to set up a beautiful house.

The dark man inclined his head at the two small creatures.

"Are they drakes? I have not seen a creature like this in Anaxas yet, I thought it was too cold for drakes." Pausing, he chuckled a little.

"Banderwolves too? I feel like I should own one of these wolves. It seems everyone has one. I have a horse. And a duck." His voice turned slightly malicious as he spoke of the duck. He hated that duck.



Glancing from the beautiful painting, down into her dark chocolate eyes, the man inclined his head.

"Indeed. Sand and spice lace your veins and distant thoughts of warm sunny days and pristine white walls run through your head. It is natural, Hulali calls to all of his children, enticing them with thoughts of home. He gets lonely when they leave." Pausing, the man resisted the urge to reach up and touch her face, stroke the soft brown of her cheek. The dark man spoke softly.

"Even though you grew up in the islands, you are still very much Mugrobi." Taking in her fine, island features, his blue eyes wandering over her face, the man suddenly cleared his throat to remove tension.

"So, if you have somewhere we can practice, I can show you the Ceremonial Dance before we have to go. The curry I am cooking at home is very strong, but it will get hotter as it simmers, so it is best to give it a little longer." Demkaih spoke at the room, rather than looking at Xanadu again straight away. He needed to move his thoughts away from the places they had begun to wander.

Xanadu frowned at his derogatory tone when he mentioned his duck. If he didn't like it, why didn't he cook it? Duck curry was delicious.

She reached up and stroked Omari's little white head. He closed his eyes in pleasure and crooned. “Keishet and Omari are miraan. I don't know if they are related to drakes or not. I'm also not sure how well they tolerate cold. I'm afraid that is one question I didn't ask before I bought them. But as you can see, the temperature is comfortable in my house, at least for those of us who are accustomed to warmer climates." This was mainly due to the fireplace upstairs, which was nearly always burning at a low level to keep her snakes warm. The house would be quite cold without it.

Keishet butted her little head against Xanadu's face, jealous that her mate was getting all the attention. The mercenary stroked her long serpentine neck. “Besides the miraan and the bander wolves, I have eight snakes that I dance with, and two kensers that I board when I'm not traveling. Oh, and about six or seven stray cats that I feed out back.” She laughed lightly. “Quite a menagerie.”



His soft blue gaze felt like a visual caress. Her entire body sang with sensation. The feeling was somewhat familiar, but it had never before been so intense. I long for you more than I long for Mugroba, she thought. And, as always, I long for something that I can't have. At least not while his heart belonged to someone else.



“Of course.” She pulled her eyes from him reluctantly. “There's plenty of room out back. Just let me get my own weapons. Come with me.”

The petite mercenary led him into the back room, where she unlocked her weapons cupboard. She took out her knife belt and removed two extra sheathed daggers from the shelf that held them, slipping them through the belt on either side before buckling it on. She then led him through the side door, past her closed kitchen and bathing room, and out the back entrance. Two cats lounging on the stoop leapt to their feet and quickly disappeared.

Her yard was not large, but even with her cart dominating the rear of the area, there was still plenty of room to move about, more than was needed for a dancing demonstration. One large tree offered the cart a bit of shade, and its trunk was good for knife-throwing practice.

“Will this do?” she asked.

Stepping around the yard a bit, the tall dark man nodded.

"Indeed, it will be adequate." Measuring the length of the room they had in his own paces, the mugrobi glanced at her with a smile.

"You have used this place a lot I gather. It is indeed, useful." Taking the daggers from his belt, the man approached her, blades held away from the island woman.

"Perhaps it is best if I show you the routine, before we do anything else? It is not hard, I do not fear you will have a problem picking it up. The dance is in your blood." His blue eyes held her own, unwilling to be distracted by her lush form, dressed in the clothes of his homeland. It wasn't the bare flesh that drew him, but more the fact it placed her so well in the part of a mugrobi woman. As she was.

She stepped off the stoop as he walked around her yard. The grass was cool between her bare toes. “I have used it to train during the short periods I have spent here between jobs. Now that I will be living here permanently, I am certain I will use it more.” She was thinking of having a pole set up back here so she could practice the very interesting form of dance that she had learned at the festival. She had no idea what her neighbors would think, but it didn't really matter. If they protested too hard, she could always kick their sorry erses back where they belonged.

Those unwelcome thoughts flew from her mind as she watched him take out his daggers and move toward her with the quiet elegance she was beginning to associate with him. She was eye level with his muscular chest, and, with a small intake of breath, she quickly moved her gaze to his knives and then back to his face and his entrancing blue eyes.



You are in my blood. She did want to dance for him, but not with knives or swords. The dance she envisioned would be special, exciting … for his eyes only …

Shaking her head to clear it of that very dangerous notion, the petite woman stepped back from him and smiled. “Please show me.” She had seen the dance performed a few times when she visited Mugroba, but never so close and personal. And never by someone as intriguing as he. “Shall I move back to the porch to give you more room?”

Smiling, Demkaih took a few steps back from her, spinning one dagger in his palm and nodding.

"It would make me feel better if you did so, my beautiful island rose. I know there is no music here, but if you can remember, it is danced to drums alone." Finding a central spot in the open lawn, he took a moment to close his eyes, mumbling a quiet prayer to Hulali, steadying his breathing. It was part of the ritual, the prayer, a thanks to the River God for all the blessings the Ocean and the Rivers brought to the mugrobi people. Opening his eyes, the dark skinned man moved into a lowered stance, one dagger held horizontal with his mouth, tucked along his forearm, the other parallell with his thigh, tip pointing up along his forearm to his elbow.

Starting at a slow pace, Demkaih began to step left to right, foot behind, arms exchanging positions with each movement. After four steps, he took a half step behind, throwing his leg behind him. The rest of his body followed, spinning him in a backwards barrel roll. Landing lightly, he moved with a tense slowness, swiping first one arm up in an arch, followed by the other, breathing in deeply through his nose, and out through his mouth, fingers straight, daggers held between his curled in thumb and palm.

Taking one step left, one step right, he spun, left foot touching right hand, landing in a low crouch, leaning down to the right with a loud exhale, left leg extended outwards, like he was stretching the inside of his thigh. Coming back to the middle, he repeated the movement, leaning this time to the left, exhaling slowly and loudly.

Moving back to the familiar left-right step, he launched into a series of steps and spins, all the while putting force into the downward stroke of his arms, breathing controlled. Spinning his hold on the daggers, he now held them like swords, performing a set of parries and blocks, set steps, placing his feet just so as he moved.

Slowing his movement again, he made a series of tensed blocks, moves synced with his strong controlled breathing. Bringing both hands together in front of his chest, daggers pointed downwards again, he exhaled as he drew them in, sliding down and separating to put the daggers back into their sheathes.

Pausing for a moment, the blue eyed mugrobi bowed deeply to the watching woman.

"I am a little rusty, I must admit. It has been a few months since I have practiced."

Xanadu was mesmerized by both the man and the dance. He moved with the grace and power of a sleek dark cat, and he performed with a passion the dancers she had watched long ago had lacked. Those men had simply gone through the motions, while Demkaih moved with conviction. The moves themselves were fascinating, and she could see how they could be beneficial in combat. She especially liked some of the blocks at the end. In her business, defense tactics were the most important aspect of a fight, as she was often assaulted by those who were desperate to evade capture.

He looked so Mugrobi as he performed the intricate maneuvers. Once again, she was reminded of how much she didn't know about the land of her birth, or even her own ancestry. Who am I, really? Who are my real parents? Where is it that I truly belong? Some of the answers could be in that packet of papers her father had given her, but she still had not looked at them. She realized as she watched Demkaih parry, block, and spin, that she wanted him beside her when she opened them for the first time. How was it that she trusted him to share such an important moment of her life when she had known him for such a short time? She didn't know; she just knew that she wanted him with her.

Xanadu smiled as he sheathed his knives and bowed to her. He was so very charming.



“I certainly couldn't tell. I thought it was just beautiful. You move with such elegance.” Playfully, she twirled around him, her long ringlets brushing against him as she spun. She turned a series of back handsprings that ended in a flip. When she landed, two of her knives were in her hands.

The petite woman imitated a few of his moves. Although it was apparent that she was experienced in both dancing and combat, her attempts were not nearly as polished or precise as his. “This is how you learn to fight in Mugroba? Do women learn this too? And ...” she paused and glanced at him a bit shyly from under long ebony lashes. “Can you teach me?”

Turning around to follow her movements, Demkaih found himself impressed as she moved, even more so when she mimicked some of the steps.



Memorized by her, he had to shake himself mentally, clearing his throat. Her shy glance had only served to disturb him in a pleasant way, and desperately he thought of all the most unattractive and horrid things he'd ever seen. He thought of the night of the fire, thought of Dom Leon and his black beast, Fion and her rebuke of him.

It worked.

Approaching the islander, he stood behind her, facing the same way.

"Indeed, this is how everyone learns, women and men both. It is to confuse your opponent, unsure of what your going to do next, where you will step." As he spoke, he performed the rocking back step in a slow pace, encouraging her to do it with him, reaching around her to hold her wrists, gently guiding her arms in the correct movement. He had no fear she'd pick up the step, noticing she'd gotten that part rather correct just before. Letting go, he stepped to stand beside her.

"Once you have your rhythm, you prepare to step back," He paused, just before stepping behind.

"You twist your legs around in a roll, throwing that leg up and following through," With a huff of air, he performed the back wards barrel roll, landing lightly again.

"Make sure you keep your knees loose when you land. You want to be fluid and constant. Push off the ground hard with the other leg, and you will make the roll. And remember your breathing. It is part of the dance. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Center your being with it." He demonstrated, in and out. Clapping his hands, he stepped back, allowing her room to practice.

It was difficult to concentrate with him behind her, gently guiding her in the steps of the dance. He was so close she could feel his warmth on her bare skin and even through the fabric of her clothing. Again, Xanadu was reminded of the hot mugrobi sun gently suffusing her body with its heat. She moved with him, following him instinctively, trying to focus on what he was saying. She was determined to learn, but oh, he was so very distracting …

It was easier when he moved away from her, and eventually, she was caught up in the intricate movements, watching him closely as he performed the roll, admiring the graceful way he landed. It didn't look that difficult, not for someone as accomplished in acrobatics as she.



Closing her eyes, she assumed the dance's starting position and concentrated on her breathing, her chest rising and falling rhythmically. When she felt perfectly calm, she opened her eyes and began to move. It was funny, but her body seemed to know what to do inherently, and her breathing seemed to regulate itself as she danced. The roll went well, although hers was a bit exaggerated. She landed as lightly as a butterfly and twirled over to him, flipping the knives high into the air and catching each one in the opposite hand.

Her eyes were full of wonder as she smiled up at him, the knives held downward. “Oh, Demkaih, it is if my body knows what to do already, as if I was born to it! Perhaps you are right. Perhaps it is in my blood. Please ...” she said, her gaze hopeful and her cheeks slightly flushed from exertion and excitement, “I wish to know the rest of it."

((sorry kat, had so many things happen, but i am back now!))

Demkaih watched her move, noticing the natural sway of her body and the almost instinctual flow of her steps. It was hard not to be captivated as she spun, landing in a much more graceful and feminine way then he had, knives flying through the air. If the tall man had stopped to realize it, he would have found he was holding his breath.



It took a moment for the man to register her words, distracted by the look in her eyes and color of her cheeks. She was everything a woman was meant to be. Beautiful, smart, thoughtful and strong. Unable to take his sky blue eyes from her own dark ones, he mumbled his response.

"Indeed...born to it. The rest of it...yes." He took the woman by the shoulders, turning her gently, before sliding his hands down her arms to her own hands.

"Breathing in, then out, you bring this arm up in an arch, firm but steady movements. Then the other." He demonstrated slowly, moving her arm up in the described arch, so both her hands were either side of her face.

"In this stance, you hold the daggers with your thumbs, keep your fingers straight." As he spoke, he pushed the fingers of one hand up with his thumb, stroking the pad across the slightly paler inside of her palm. The mugrobi found himself enchanted by the warmth of her skin, the scent of her hair and the movement of her muscles. Demkaih was a good man, an honorable man - or so he tried to be. He'd spent his life being the gentleman, dedicating his entire being to the wellness of those he cared about.

But even honorable men have their weaknesses.

He'd been in love, but she'd hurt him. Torn out his heart and fed it to the chroves. He'd dedicated his life to her survival - her and her son - for what? For pain, dishonor and not so much as a thankyou? Here was a woman, a beautiful embodiment of everything mugroba was about. She understood his past, breathed it. Why had he ever left mugroba?

Had Hulali planned this? Had he known Demkaih would need to leave to meet this Xanadu Aurelia? Had he known that Fion Smiths rejection would open the path to bring them together.

"Xanadu..." The tall mugrobi said her name softly, almost like a warning, voice a deep, soft murmur.

It was difficult for Xanadu to keep her mind on what he was saying because of what he was doing. She trembled as he slid his hands down her arms, and when he stroked her sensitive palm, a hot little thrill blossomed beneath his fingers and spread languorously throughout her body. The dance didn't matter anymore. All that mattered was the tall, intriguing Mugrobi. She wanted more of him … so much more ….

Delicious little shivers meandered down her spine when he whispered her name. She closed her eyes and leaned against him slightly, feeling the strength of his body. She longed to be with him … but she didn't believe it was right for him. Not yet, anyway. Not so soon after he had lost his former love. It was a bit shocking to realize she cared more for his feelings than her own, but there it was.

If Hulali wishes us to be together, then it will be so. And if he wishes Demkaih to be with this other woman, then that will be so. Hell, if I am meant to be with the other woman, than it will be so, although I rather doubt that possibility.

I cannot fight against his will. I only hope he is not using me to make Demkaih realize he truly loves this woman. Yet why shouldn't he? I certainly do not live as he wishes his people to live. I have no honor, few morals, and I think nothing of taking another life when that life is a danger to others. For five years I have cursed him for letting my daughter die. I have given him every reason to turn his back on me forever.

And yet … he is drawing me back to him now, bringing me closer to my true heritage, making me feel Mugrobi for the first time in my life. Certainly he wouldn't do that only to treat me so callously. He is not a heartless god.

The petite dancer sheathed the knives and turned around to face Demkaih, looking up into his mesmerizing blue eyes. Oh, how she wanted to touch him! Her slender fingers clutched at her skirt to keep from reaching out to him.

“Perhaps ...” Her voice was a bit breathless. “Perhaps we should save the rest of this for another day?” She gave him a tremulous smile. "So how do you think that curry is doing? Is there time for me to show you the dance I do with knives or should we save that for another day as well?”

Say you are ready. Say you are over your former love and I will fall eagerly into your arms.

As the woman leaned back into him, Demkaih found himself breathing in the delicible sweet scent of her hair, warmth spreading across his cheeks. There were no other thoughts, no Fion or Hulali or anything. Just Xanadu, a beautiful island woman, here and now. He began to move one hand from her own, admiring the chocolate satin of her skin.

His thoughts were broken as she sheathed her knives, moving away from him and turning around. It was like having a piece of him seperating, leaving him feeling empty and cold. Looking down at her, cheeks warm and body reacting of its own accord to her closeness and warmth, he balled his hands into fists. The islander must be disgusted by his actions. Like a lust driven teen, it seemed he couldn't leave the poor woman be. She even clutched at her skirt, perhaps in anger. The dark man took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.



Demkaih took another breath and inclined his head, angered at himself. He was ruining their plans! Offering a small bow to the woman, he lifted a hand in a presenting gesture.

"The curry will be alright. It is on a low simmer. Please, I would very much like to see your dance." Stepping back, he crossed his arms, giving her room to move and promising himself he would leave her alone this time.

“As you wish.” Xanadu turned away from him so he wouldn't see the hurt in her eyes. She had seen his clenched fists, the look of tension in his face. He had simply been trying to teach her the dance, but she had apparently read something into it that wasn't there. She had tempted him with her own selfish desires, and it had caused him pain. The elegant Mugrobi did not care for her the way she was beginning to care for him. He saw her as nothing more than a kindred spirit in a brutal foreign land. It would do her well to remember that.

She closed her eyes, and took several deep breaths, but the calmness and peace would not come. There was too much anguish in her soul. She did manage to school her face into it's normal impassive expression before turning back around to face him. Juggling always calms me. I will start with that.

The petite dancer pulled two knives from her belt and tossed them from hand to hand. Pulling out a third, she sent it flipping through the air with the others. In less than a minute, six daggers were spinning around her head. She could juggle more, but six was all she was able to handle comfortably. The familiar patterns did calm her mind and focus it, so that she could concentrate fully on what she was doing. Dancing with knives, especially the way she did it, was dangerous. She did not need her mind wandering off into places where it should not be.

“This looks like just a harmless form of entertainment, doesn't it?” she asked. “Usually it is, but when threatened, my juggling can become quite lethal.” She turned and walked as far from the tree as she could while still remaining in her yard. It wasn't as far away as she would like to be, but it was all her small yard afforded. And it made her task very easy.

One by one in quick succession, the daggers left her hands and embedded themselves in the tree. The first one landed in the middle of the tree, the second directly below it with a good bit of space between them. The third and fourth embedded themselves on either side of the second knife, a little bit higher and with an equal distance between them. The last ones hit the tree a bit higher and on either side of the last two thrown. The five knives formed a perfect half circle, with the first one in the center above it.

Pulling out her last two knives, Xanadu ran toward the tree. She jumped, preparing to flip, moving her legs against the trunk of the tree so that it looked, for an instant and only from a distance, as if she were defying gravity by walking up it. In reality, it was just part of the flip, a trick that had taken her long months of practice and many bumps and bruises to perfect. When the flip was complete and she landed on her feet, she jumped again, embedding the two knives above and on either side of the first one. These were the eyes, the first knife formed the nose, and the half-circle made a smiling mouth. Her daggers now formed a face in the bark of the tree.

“I always hit exactly what I am aiming for,” she said, smiling. “Well, almost always.”

After pulling the knives from the tree, she sheathed all but two. Moving back to the center of the yard, the dark-skinned woman knelt down and prostrated herself in front of him, as if she were a slave and he her master, the blades held toward him in her outstretched hands. Slowly she rose to her knees, her head still bowed, bringing her arms straight out to the side and then downward, sweeping the blades past each other and over her head in a graceful arch, ending with her arms held to the side.

She begin to move toward him, her arms moving up and down sinuously like a snake, her hips rolling sensuously … slowly at first and then faster. She flipped the knives and twirled around him, her long, loose curls brushing against him. Twirling back into the center of the yard, she added a third knife and sent them spinning around her while she whirled, leapt, turned handprings and flipped. Occasionally she used the tree as an imaginary opponent, showing him through dance how she could attack and defend herself with her acrobatic moves, sometimes tossing a knife at the tree while flipping or twirling. She would simply replace that knife with another one, always having two or three spinning about her at a time.

This was not a structured dance as Demkaih's had been. Xanadu made up the moves as she went along. As usual, she became caught up in the sheer euphoria of dancing, her smile serene and full of joy. All of her fears and concerns melted away, and she allowed herself to do nothing but relish the feelings within her.

Why shouldn't she let the tall, intriguing man know how she felt about him? She knew now the reason for the strange new feelings that were blossoming inside her. Hulali had granted her a new heart and it was emerging from the ashes of the one that had died with Glorie. After years of not caring for anyone, not even herself, she now had the potential to be hurt again. But what was the point in hiding yourself away, of not taking chances? She had already gone through the worst pain a person could endure … the death of her own child. Nothing could hurt as much as that.

Perhaps Demkaih truly did not know how he affected her. Perhaps he was ready to move beyond his former relationship. She would never know unless she took a chance. Xanadu would never be so bold as to make the first move, but she could at least show her interest in a small and non-threatening fashion.

The dance turned seductive in a natural, almost innocent way. The knives were sheathed and she moved into a series of belly dancing steps. The sultry sway of her hips, her winsome smile, and the sensual undulating of her body told a story of longing, desire, and promise. Again, she twirled around him, but this time she trailed her fingers over his arm and then lightly stroked his cheek as she whirled away. She ended the way she had started, in a position of submission, and then rolled up and sat back on her knees, breathing a bit heavily.

“And that is a bit of what I can do, with knives and … without them. I am sorry about that last part, though. I believe I got a little carried away.”

But her smile was flirtatious and the look in her eyes said she wasn't sorry at all.

Demkaih watched the juggling with a faint expression of surprise, eyes unable to follow exactly how she threw the blades and caught them with such ease. His mouth turned up in a small smile when she completed the smiling face on the tree, amused by the irony of the pattern.



The dark man found himself blushing as the woman quite unexpectedly dropped to the ground before him, smile fading. As she moved slowly, in a natural grace, Demkaih watched with interest, eyes roaming as she twisted and turned. Part of his mind focused on her style of fighting, impressed as well as intrigued, but a lot of his mind couldn't help but notice the fluid movement of her muscles as she danced. She was a natural, born to it. Even as she spun around him, the mugrobi turned his head to follow her, nodding slightly as she performed moves he admired.

Then something about her movements changed. The blades dissapeared, and all to easily his blue eyes were drawn by the seductive, almost hypnotizing sway of her supple curved hips. A deep, almost wanton ache caught the man as his eyes roamed over her body, up to the sultry smirk on her lips. He found the warmth from earlier renewed in him, and clenched his jaw in an effort to stifle the feeling. Surely it was just his mind, seeing what he wanted to see rather than what she offered. Turning his head slightly as she moved around him again, he found his skin tingling where her fingers trailed along, closing his eyes as she stroked his cheek. It took all his will power not to grab her by the hand and hold her there. Opening his eyes, he looked down at the bowed woman, his entire being tensed like a drawn bowstring. She was so beautiful and so enticing...did she see what she did to him?



Demkaih moved to the woman, reaching down to take one of her hands, before pulling her firmly to her feet. Still holding her hand, he shook his head a little.

"Xanadu Aurelia, my beautiful island rose. You are an amazing and wonderful woman, I do not deserve to see you at my feet like some common dancer. You are a queen, a rose amongst thorns." Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he continued, placing her hand on his chest.

"When I am with you, I do not think of anything else. I see nothing but your beautiful face and your mugrobi spirit. You fill the hole in my chest with all the warmth of the desert sun. I have tried to resist, told myself it is far to soon to feel such things, but every moment I am with you I feel like I am breathing for the first time. I drowned under this dark, violent hole of a city, but your grace and spirit have brought me back." Moving his other hand to slide around her waist, he pulled her closer, looking down at her perfectly formed face.

"Xa desema." He said in a soft, almost self deprecating tone, before leaning down to press his lips against her own soft, full mouth. Sighing softly through his nose, he kissed her gently.

Xanadu didn't know what to think when he pulled her to her feet. She could not read the look on his face. Was he angry with her? Perhaps she had gone too far with her beguiling dance. When he shook his head, she was afraid he was going to scold her. Did he think she was nothing more than a two tally trollop, teasing him with her “wares?'



The breath she had been holding whooshed out of her. His words entranced her. Had she really done so much for him? It was almost too much to hope for. She could feel his heart beating strongly under her hand, and her own matched its rhythm. It seemed to her as if they were in tune with each other on a subconscious level, responding to each other by instinct.

When his lips met hers, her entire being burst into bloom, like a flower nourished lovingly by the sun. A little silvery thrill snaked down her spine and her knees went weak, although she did manage to hold herself upright somehow. She responded with delight and pressed herself against him, wanting to be as close to him as possible. Touch had always been important to Xanadu, and she reached up to stroke his cheek and run her fingers over the smoothness of his head, around to the back of his neck. She slipped her hands under his wrap and drew her fingernails softly down his back before wrapping her arms around him.

Reluctantly she pulled her lips from his, and looked up into his eyes, her expression no longer benign but full of joy and wonder. She had not missed the curse he had muttered before he kissed her and she felt the need to set him straight. “Please do not insult yourself, Demkaih Alkrim," she said, trailing the fingers of one hand over his lips. “You lose no honor in taking what is freely given. I feel so alive when I am with you. It is as if you have drawn my soul from the depths of despair, like a seed coaxed from the soil by the sun's gentle rays.” Both hands moved to either side of his face. “When you are away from me, I feel cold and weak, but when you are beside me, I feel as if I am born anew. It is as if … as if you are a part of me somehow. There are no words to explain it.”

With an alluring yet quite mischievous smile, she pulled his head back down to hers, and proceeded to show him with a sweet, expressive kiss.

The tall, dark mugrobi found himself captured by the response to his kiss, moving his arms around the woman to hold her close. Every movement of her hands across his back and neck gave him a thrill of excitement, and finally, when she pulled back, he found himself even more drawn to the beautiful woman.



Demkaih's blue eyes glanced away as she spoke, as though embarrassed by her words. As she placed her hands on his cheeks, the man looked into her face, studying her exotic features, a small smile on his lips. Hulali had to be part of this. For them both to be feeling so close, in such a short time. Either way, the dark man didn't want to dwell on the why as she leaned up to kiss him. Tightening his embrace, Demkaih welcomed her response, one hand trailing up her spine into the thick, dark curls of her hair. It felt so right, the human found himself reluctant to stop. Each sound of her breathing and the smoothness of her brown skin under his hand made it hard to keep from furthering his advances.

"Xanadu, my beautiful woman." He said, pulling back with a heavy breath.

"Perhaps, we should return to my house. The curry is ready, and I feel, if I do not stop myself now, I may not stop myself at all. My hands move with a life of their own, and already, I feel compelled to follow them." He spoke with seriousness and honesty, not wanting to push to fast or to far in one kiss. He had done that before, and it had scared the seamstress. This time, he would be the man he should be. In control of himself and his actions. Besides, he really did want the islander in his arms to taste the curry he had so eagerly worked on.

Xanadu wanted this moment to last forever. Little ripples of pleasure coursed through her body as his hand roamed over the bare skin of her back and into her hair. She was pressed so close against him she could once again feel the rhythm of his heart. The beat was faster now than it had been, and she delighted in the fact that she affected him so. She had been so afraid that her seductive dance would disgust the tall elegant man, but now she was happy she had taken the chance. It felt as if she belonged right here in his arms … the first time in her life she felt she belonged anywhere.



Despite the fact that she felt as if the sun disappeared from the sky when he pulled his lips from hers, she had to smile at his words. She really didn't want him to stop what he was doing, but he did have a point about the curry. “It would be a shame to let a good curry go to waste. All that dancing has made me hungry. Just let me feed the animals and I will be ready to go.”

The petite dancer moved away from him so he would not be deafened by her shout. “Hank! Ivy!” she called. The two bander wolves came bounding around the side of the house, growling low in their throats when they saw the stranger standing beside their mistress. “None of that, you two. Demkaih is a friend.” She took the tall man's hand and led him over to them. “These are my wolves, Hank and Ivy. They have been trained to protect me and have saved my life on more than one occasion. Unfortunately, it is difficult for them to tell friends from enemies. They can see now that you are not a danger to me, and they will not try to attack you when you come over to visit.”

Introductions finished, she led Demkaih back into the house and into the living room. The two bander wolves followed only as far as the kitchen, knowing that they were about to be fed. “Have a seat or look around. There is a lot of interesting art in here. I will not be long.” Smiling, she kissed his hand and let it go, calling for Keishet and Omari as she went back into the kitchen. The miraan flew downstairs and around her head as she went back into the kitchen.

After setting out food for all four animals and placing a plate full of meat outside for the stray cats, she went into her sewing room and put on the sandals she had brought downstairs earlier, knowing she would need shoes before setting foot on the streets of Vienda. She had also brought down a fashionable dark purple coat in case it became colder later. Draping it over her arm, she walked back to join Demkaih. “I'm all ready,” she said, "as long as my clothing won't be a problem. I've only been out in the city once since I arrived and I didn't see any women dressed in Mugrobi fashion. Should I go upstairs and change?”

Demkaih watched Xanadu as she moved around, tending to the impressive array of animals she had floating around the place. He nodded to the bander's as they were introduced to him.

"It is wise that they would growl at me, even as...friendly as we seemed with each other. Who knows, with this city as it is, when a friend is really a friend. You have trained them well." Smiling at her, he waited as she served up for the creatures and dissapeared, returning with shoes and a cloak. The dark man looked down at his own bare feet and wiggled his toes. It was not that he didn't like shoes, but the only ones he owned were not made for this city. They were made to walk the sands and to ride the ferry, soft soled and flexible.



Shaking his head, the man took her by the hand, looking over the outfit with a sigh.

"You are mugrobi, you have the right to wear these clothes. The people here do not see you as one of them, they will not question your clothing, as they have not questioned mine. Besides, if they do, your honor will not go undefended." Demkaih said in a low voice, a hint of bitterness to his final words. The thought of anyone daring to insult the woman raised a fiery inferno in his gut. It would be a sad day for those involved. Shaking off the unusually violent thought, the mugrobi bowed slightly, one hand sweeping towards her door.

"Come, my beautiful island rose. I know you will enjoy this meal, or Hulali drown me in a basin." The dark man said with a chuckle.

Xanadu blushed as Demkaih scrutinized her clothing, feeling a bit shy under his intense blue gaze. She had to admit she enjoyed his protectiveness. Even though she was more than capable of defending herself, the endearing gesture made her feel feminine and cherished … something that, as a mercenary, she was not accustomed to. A lot of men she knew expected her to protect them.


The imagery made her laugh. “I'm sure it will be the best curry I have ever tasted.”

Once outside, the petite dancer let go of his hand and locked the door. As she turned around, she noticed a large piece of lavender paint peeling away from the wall. Ripping it off and tossing it to the ground, she looked up at Demkaih with sorrow in her eyes.

“The condition of this house saddens me. I long to restore it to its former glory, but I don't think it's wise to flaunt the fact that I am relatively well-off. It is why I keep that shabby front room .. to hide what I have done to the interior. My landlord would certainly evict me and rent the house to someone else for a much higher price if he knew.” She sighed. “I will do this house justice one day …” She lowered her voice and leaned closer to him, even though there was no one around to overhear her next words. “... once we gain our freedom and are allowed to own property."

Demkaih lifted a hand, brushing one of the exotic woman's curls away from her neck in a gentle moment, before resting the hand on her shoulder. His blue eyes looked troubled.

"In Mugroba, you would be able to keep a fine house, without fear or punishment. My sisters and mother have a beautiful house made of sandstone. It is open aired, so the cool night breeze can sweep through it. There is a smell of cinnamon and dye, and my sisters sit on the roof making beads for embroidery. Red tapestries and weavings hang from the walls and beautiful carvings welcome in guests. I miss it." Pausing, he shook his head slowly.

"One day, soon, Anaxas will know this freedom. I will not rest until your freedom is won." Squeezing her shoulder, he slipped his hand down to hers.

"Come, let us talk of happier things. I do not wish to see you saddened." Pulling lightly, the dark skinned man began to lead her away, towards the red spice house.

“Your family's home sounds like a wonderful place,” Xanadu said as they walked. He seemed to miss it so much, she wondered why he had chosen to leave it for a godsforsaken city like Vienda. Yet she was glad that he had; otherwise she doubted she would have met him.

“My grandparents have a house by the water in Laus Oma. My parents let me spend a couple of months there every year when I was growing up, so that I would get a taste of my own culture. I always kept the window open in my room so that I could wake up every morning to the salty smell of the sea and the cry of the gulls. Most of my time was spent playing with the local children on the beach and in the water. Oh, how I used to envy them for being able to live there all year! Those few months were never enough for me.”

Another note of sadness crept into her voice. “My grandparents are very old now. When they go to join Hulali, the house will belong to me. I hope to visit them again before they go.” And she wanted to search for her real mother and find out why she had abandoned her. That answer may be in my father's papers. I have had them for nearly a week now and still have not looked at them.

Xanadu stopped suddenly and turned to her tall companion, taking his other hand and gazing up at him wistfully. “Demkaih, when we are finished eating, will you come back to my house with me? I would like to share something with you. My father have me some papers that could possibly hold the secret of my past. All these years I have wondered why my mother gave me up, but now that I may possibly have the answer, I am afraid. I will feel better if you are beside me when I look at them.”