Kenneth Irons watched as awareness momentarily left Sara's face.  He had time to recognize the sudden, alarming connection between Sara and Nottingham, and to wonder whether perhaps he was making a serious mistake. 

Then it was over.  The entwined circular scars on his hand itched and throbbed.  Sara visibly shook off the effects of the moment, then drew a cleansing breath.  She risked one more glance at Nottingham, who had dropped his gaze to the floor, still wearing a stunned expression. 

Sara looked back at Irons.

"I accept your offer."

Chapter 5

The breath left her body in a sharp cough as Nottingham threw her to the mat once again.  Swiftly, gracefully, he went to one knee, his hand hard against her throat.

"If you were my opponent, this is the moment that I would crush your windpipe and you would begin to die."

Sara closed her eyes and nodded, still struggling for breath.  She felt him rise, and opened her eyes to see his hand extended, offering assistance.  Grimly she shook her head and struggled to her feet on her own.

"You must learn to sense my balance point, Sara.  Strength will not matter if you learn to use your opponents' own body weight against them."

Sara nodded tiredly, then held up her hand to request a respite.  She leaned over her knees, waiting for oxygen to begin circulating again to her protesting muscles.  She had begun training with Nottingham a month ago and it had consumed most of her waking hours.  Jake, thankfully, had finally given up his questioning as she steadfastly refused any explanation.   He accepted the information she passed along pertaining to his current cases and they had evolved a kind of "don't ask, don't tell" policy between them.  Privately, Sara thought he was getting far more tight with Dante than was healthy.  But that was no longer her world.

Training had been a curious experience.  Ian willingly shared many secrets of weaponry and techniques, and over time he seemed to become less uncomfortable in her presence.  But despite their long hours together she still felt no closer to knowing Nottingham the man.  Perhaps, she sometimes thought, there was no man inside at all.  Perhaps he'd been killed off long ago by Irons' conditioning program. 

But that had all ended abruptly when they began work today on hand-to-hand skills.

She had felt that his unease matched her own today when they met at the mat, both wearing loose cotton trousers and tank tops.  It was the first time she had ever seen more than the skin on his face.  Nottingham did not have Irons' tall, lanky build, but was instead strong and compact.  Defined muscles flexed nervously beneath his skin as they faced each other.  Sara swallowed and willed her mind to the business at hand.  She'd always been good at close combat, she thought, but he thrashed her soundly, easily and repeatedly.

"All right," she gasped at last, straightening up.  "Show me the right way so I can get the feel."

Nodding, he repositioned them to the last takedown.  Sara could sense his hesitation as he touched and manipulated her body.  She was aware of every micron of skin where there was contact between them.  His breath came more heavily than was warranted by their exertions. 

"Here.  When I was extended to hold you – so – I was at the breaking point of my own balance.  You should have moved – so – and allowed me to defeat myself."

Shown so clearly, Sara immediately understood his point.  Without warning, she quickly completed the maneuver and landed Nottingham on his back, then followed through with her own hand at his windpipe.  She smiled at him triumphantly.  "You're mine, Nottingham."

Suddenly, the Witchblade fell from her wrist.  It rolled to within inches of his outstretched left hand then stopped.

Immediately her mocking smile faded and Sara rose uncertainly to her feet.  She bent to retrieve the bracelet, but Nottingham simply reached out and closed his hand over it.  Slowly he stood up and they faced each other, both looking at the stone as it pulsed a dull, heated red.  He did not offer it to her immediately and she barely heard his soft murmur.

"This is a test for me, Sara.  And a moment of revelation for you."

Tense moments passed and finally Sara grimaced in disgust.  "So you're in it for the blade.  Like everyone else."  She backed away a step.  "Did you once wear it too?  Is that why I keep dreaming…whatever it is…about you?"  She took another step back, her tone poisonous.  "Well now you've got it.  Do you want it for yourself, or are you so completely Irons' man that you'll just turn the Witchblade over to him?"

He met her gaze then, and for a moment her breath stopped at the intensity of what she saw there.  He stepped forward, reached out smoothly and captured her hand, then, almost reverently, replaced the Witchblade on her wrist.  He lowered his eyes.

"I am yours, Sara."

He still held her hand.  Stunned, Sara could not manage to formulate a question from the many thoughts crowding her mind.  She looked at the dark head, bent subserviently before her.

"Irons would kill you for this."  It was all she could think to say.

"He may," came the soft reply.

Ridiculous.  Irons could never overcome him physically.  "Could he…" she stopped, wondering at the extent of Irons' mental control over Ian Nottingham.  "Could he order you to take your own life?"

Again, "He may…unless…"

The silence lengthened.  Finally she reached out and put her hand on his hair.  "Look at me," she said.  "Unless what?"

He raised his eyes and she felt again the impact in her guts when she looked into their dark depths.  "Unless you direct me otherwise."

"My wishes…supercede his?"

"They do."

Still bewildered, she looked at him, his head bowed once more.

"What exactly do you mean when you say you're…ah…mine," she asked carefully.

He looked up of his own accord this time, fervently, and his grip on her hand tightened a little.  "It means, Sara, that I am here to guide and protect you, to do your bidding to the best of my ability and to the end of my life."

Sara stared at him, flashing back suddenly on certain of the inexplicable dreams she had experienced since the blade came to her.  "You've been with the blade all along," she whispered, almost to herself.  "Like me."

"Yes," he said softly.

"This is like some kind of crazy – I don't know – reincarnation or something."

"In a sense," he said, his gaze back on their linked hands.  "You have many things to learn, Sara."

"And you can tell me?"

"Some things, yes, when you are ready." 

Sara's eyes narrowed.  Always a qualifier.  "Well I'm ready now.  Start explaining."

"Sometimes, Sara, the process of gaining understanding is as important as the knowledge itself."

He raised his gaze.  "You must trust me."

His eyes were dark and bottomless, drawing her inexorably back into the same vision she'd had repeatedly since the first night of Irons' offer.  Once more she was in another time and place, her hand still in his, enveloped by the familiar feeling of trust and safety.  But this time when she moved closer to the man in the vision there was no disappointing fade.  This time there was the reality of hands gently cradling her face, warm lips on her own in a way that removed any doubt, her fingers tangled in soft dark hair, and one man's name burned on her soul.

You have known him…always.