Author's Note: Hey guys! I know it has been awhile since I posted, things have been so crazy for me IRL lately but I haven't forgotten about this story. I have a vision in mind, I know where it's headed and we're almost there! Climax coming soon! Meanwhile, please enjoy this rather long chapter :) It's a bit unexpected, I surprised myself even, but I had a lot of fun writing it so I hope you guys like it. Also, I would really like to thank those of you who continue to email/message me and offer your ongoing support for this story and me as a writer. It means so much! :) As always, please let me know what you think - your opinion is so valuable to me.

WARNING: This chapter may be a bit more risque than previous chapters!

FOURTEEN

~O~

Rath leaned moodily against the low wall that surrounded the training ground and watched the newest recruits sparring in pairs with a scowl. They were subpar, too young, untested. A bunch of inexperienced hothead youths who wanted to join the ranks of the Imperium's elite military force because of all the stories circulating through the galaxy that made a life spent in battle seem glamorous.

They were stupid. Battle was not glamorous, it was art. It was glory and honor in service and in death. You didn't join up because you wanted to be famous, and he was disgusted by the conversations and boasts he overheard from these newest recruits about how they couldn't wait until their names were known across the star systems like Verod Rath. It made his blood boil, and even as he thought about it, watching them fumbling and flailing ineptly at one another with their dull-edged practice blades, he felt his lips draw back in a snarl. In that moment he wanted nothing more than to draw his own battle-tested blades and teach them all a very painful lesson just before expelling them from the training academy.

In reality he knew he shouldn't even be here. Since his recent promotion to rank of General in Her Imperial Majesty's army he was no longer expected to be hands-on with the training of new recruits or even the ongoing training of those veterans beneath him. His duties were to oversee the battle strategies that would net them victory against the Varelsi threat in skirmishes that were growing ever-more-frequent across multiple systems, to coordinate the force's movements and attacks with any cooperating allies, delegate battlefield duties to his officers, and assume command on the field when they were on the ground and inspire his warriors to fight, to win.

He was also, unofficially, the liaison between the Imperium's forces and the Battleborn. This was a task that fell obviously to him because of his former affiliation with the team, and his ongoing association with some of their members, but Rath frequently complained about it. It made his heart feel heavy whenever he thought about the Battleborn, about the things they had lost, about her…

He pushed away from the wall and strode purposefully toward the nearest pair of sparring recruits, shutting that damnable thought down fast and completely before it had even fully formed. Rath had erected an iron curtain between his mind and his heart when it came to that particular piece of his past, and he had no plans of ever lifting it again. He would allow himself to feel rage, lust, indifference, disgust, perhaps exaltation in the heat of battle, and the singular pleasure of victory over the enemy, but nothing further. Certainly nothing as useless and damaging and dangerous as love. The word itself made him want to run his blade through someone. He doubted that was even what he had felt in the first place. It had been new and powerful, then gone in an instant, replaced just as suddenly by a crushing wave of despair that he had not understood at the time and did not care to further evaluate now. Whatever it had been, it had left him and he knew better than to let it back in. Not that there was must risk of that since the source of that feeling was so utterly gone. She was gone. It didn't matter anymore.

Anger reared up in the swordsman's chest and he let it fuel him, let it take him over until he was comfortably focused on nothing but that feeling instead of any other. The recruits he approached looked up and he could see the startle of fright in their eyes at seeing him coming their way. He must have looked like he felt, and he enjoyed knowing they feared him. That was as it should be.

When he reached them he picked up one of the extra sparring weapons on a rack nearby, brandishing it gracefully. It was well-weighted and long, crafted with the same excellence and attention to detail as anything the Jennerit created, even if this sword had no edge. Still he said nothing, though the two recruits had stopped what they were doing and stared at him, waiting for their commander to speak. Rath didn't know their names and he didn't care, it hardly mattered. If they proved themselves then he would go to the trouble of remembering them, until then they might as well be faceless tools, a simple means to an end.

Standing relaxed, the practice sword down by his side and his own blades still tucked in their sheaths, Rath regarded the two young men coolly. He saw a few other recruits close to them had stopped sparring as well, noticing the lead officer standing amongst them as if he were waiting for something. Slowly, after a minute or so, all 125 trainees in the marble courtyard ceased their exchanges and turned their attention to Rath. A hush settled over them, as if they knew something was about to happen, and even the staff of training officers stepped away and fell silent, looking to the General in silent puzzlement but staying silent and keeping their distance out of their great respect for him.

When he knew that he had the full attention of every soul present, the elite swordmaster spoke in a voice that was deep, resonating, and gravely serious.

"Today you will be tested, and only the worthy will emerge as full members of this illustrious Imperium's force, the unyielding right arm of our Exalted Majesty the Empress Lenore. Prove your worth now and take your place among the most respected and feared warriors in these may galaxies. Those that can hit me will be welcomed into our ranks – those who cannot will be expelled. Now, all of you, ATTACK!"

His voice boomed across the space, echoing back as it bounced off the soaring marble walls of the outer palace. A ringing moment of silence followed as the recruits glanced at one another, glanced at their trainers (who still said nothing, only waiting to see what their General would do), trying to determine if this was for real. But to their credit their hesitation was short-lived as several of them gave the best war-cry they could manage and charged the tall, powerful older warrior. This bolstered the rest and soon all 125 were converging on Rath, intent on proving themselves and winning his approval.

As they surged toward him Rath almost smiled to himself, his grip on the practice sword tightening. This was going to be fun.

~O~

Deande watched from the shadows of the barracks' south wall as Verod Rath spun and slashed and kicked his way through a pile of young, inexperienced warriors. The poor kids all looked desperate and beaten down, though many of them kept trying in vain to find an opening in the swordmaster's impeccable defense. He wasn't even using his own blades, Axiom and Order, just wielding some plain-looking longsword that flashed dully in the dying afternoon light. It was all he needed though, and it really was a bit of a pitiful display to see how hard those recruits wanted to succeed but knowing they had no chance, even with Rath handicapping himself.

A few of them made a better showing of it and proved to be more of a challenge to deal with, which the spymistress assumed was the point of this little exercise. That, and obviously it was about Rath's ego. About his need to lose himself, his unabating anger at himself and everyone around him, his impatience with the shortcomings of others, and intolerance for his own shortcomings. Although she supposed that last part had always been the case. Rath was not a patient man. And she knew he had finally found a way to master his emotions in the wake of Thorn's loss. However he needed to deal with it, she supported that. And those whelps out there could take a valuable lesson away from his harsh treatment of them anyway. Better to find out now that you couldn't hack it and have to tuck your tail in and go home than to get killed out on the battlefield.

It didn't take long for the "lesson" to conclude, with all but a small crowd of perhaps 30 recruits being sent to collect their things and go home. For the ones who had proven themselves, they were to resume their training immediately, and to train harder. Rath barked at them that another culling was to come in one month's time, at which point they must be able to last half a minute in single combat against him or suffer the same shameful dismissal as the rest. This earned him several glares of resentment and a few wide-eyed incredulous stares, but he was done with them and had turned away already, heading back in the direction of the courtyard's southern exit. Behind him the trainers shouted at the young warriors to get back to work and they all hopped quickly to do so.

Rath walked slowly toward her but he hadn't seen her yet – no one ever saw her, really, unless she wanted them to – and she took the opportunity to study her fellow Jennerit warrior from the shadows, when he thought no one was watching him.

The deep lines of his stoic face had deepened over the last few years, causing him to look even more severe than he had before. It gave him an intensity edged with sorrow that he could not hide no matter how hard he tried to cover it with the mask of anger. Anyone willing to look Rath in the eyes would see it there, but few were brave enough for that. He had become more volatile and temperamental, outbursts of anger alternating with moody bouts of tense silence his preferred language these days.

Deande let her eyes linger appreciatively on his long, strong form as he came closer. No one would call the swordmaster classically handsome, for he was not good-looking in the obvious traditional way that most defined that word. His looks were dark and sharp, hawkish almost, in a way that echoed his predatory nature as a warrior, and those red eyes could burn a hole straight through you. His physique was as finely honed and strong as the blade of one of his swords, with a broad chest and shoulders but a narrow waist, long and leanly muscled limbs. And he moved with a natural, easy grace that gave Deande wicked thoughts of what else he might be able to do with that body of his.

She smiled to herself at the thought. Her attraction to him was born more out of his ferocity in battle than anything physical, she knew. Few things stirred the spymistress' blood more than witnessing the unbridled bloodfury of a matchless warrior tearing apart their enemies on the battlefield, and this attraction was not limited to the male species of the star systems. Deande was, above all things, an opportunist. She would never be foolish enough to limit her options in any situation. In fact, she'd had her eye on a certain Eldrid female warrior before shit went sideways. It had been a purely physical attraction, of course. Deande did not get emotionally involved. Emotions complicated things. Nobody knew that better than Rath.

He began to pass her and she debated letting him go without making herself known. His temper was unpredictable and though she did not fear him neither was she stupid enough to think that poking a bear was a good idea. It was unlikely he would appreciate being watched. But she had come here for a specific reason and now was as good a time as any to speak with him. And secretly she took pleasure in letting him know that for all his skills in open combat she could still, and always, get the drop on him. With this fact in mind, and a tiny smirk adding tension to the corners of her crimson-painted lips, Deande reached from the shadows and stroked a single pale finger down the passing swordsman's chest.

As she expected he might, Rath reacted with violence. Snatching her wrist with lightning fast reflexes and dragging her body close against his, his other hand went to her throat with a vice-like grip and picked her up so her toes barely brushed the ground. She allowed this assault, putting up no resistance and her face remaining perfectly passive as she looked up at him. His eyes burned scarlet red with rage, his slightly pointed teeth bared in a snarl as he regarded his attacker and pressed his face in close to hers. But it took only a breath for him to realize it was Deande, the fury draining out of his features to be replaced with suspicion. He eased his grip on her delicate throat but did not release her from the hold, only backing his face away from hers slightly and continuing to keep her tight against him, her wrist clamped painfully in his large hand and the attached arm twisted up behind her back.

"What do you want Deande? You spy on me now?" His voice was a low growl, his mouth only an inch from hers, his eyes flashing. She felt a flush of warmth course through her – she was enjoying the game, for a game it was. They both knew that if she really wanted him to let her go then he would have no hope of keeping hold of her - she would be out of his grip like smoke through futilely grasping fingers. But for the moment she let him control the encounter, relaxing into his hands.

She paused a long moment, regarding him in silence and letting the tension mount before she answered him in a seductive purr. "Why, aren't you happy to see me Verod? It's been awhile, hasn't it? Such a long, long time for you…" As she spoke she reached with her free hand to trail her fingertips lightly down his solid chest, down to his waist, and gave his belt a meaningful tug to punctuate her suggestive words.

Rath scoffed in disgust at her obvious play to make him uncomfortable and dropped the Jennerit spymaster before turning to continue walking in the direction he'd been going before she interrupted him. Deande landed lightly and effortlessly on her feet, immediately falling into step beside him, undaunted by his disinterest. It was only a game after all.

"I don't have time to entertain you, and no desire to either. Go harass someone else if you are bored Deande."

She feigned a pout, 'Aw, come now, I did not come to harass you. I came to speak with you. Playing with you is only a side benefit of my business here."

"If you came to speak with me then speak. Tell me your news, and it had better be good. My patience is wearing thin."

She gave a small mocking laugh, which drew a sharp look from him. His patience had started out about as thick as paper. But she decided not to comment on this, instead turning to the business at hand. Mostly.

"You could offer me even a shred of hospitality first, you know, as if we actually knew each other and had served beside each other on the field of battle a hundred times?" The edge of sarcasm in her voice was positively razor sharp.

Rath grunted and said nothing but motioned for her to follow him up the long golden marble staircase, leading her up to its top landing and then down a marvelous corridor of smooth golden walls and ruby red crystal light fixtures. She didn't spend anywhere near enough time in the Imperium these days and she missed the opulent grandeur of its structures and décor. It was certainly more to her taste than the cold grey utilitarian design of the Battleborn's ship, headquarters, and home, Nova. So she pleasantly spent the long walk to his quarters in easy silence while she drank in her surroundings, as Rath made no attempts to engage in casual conversation and she didn't prod him.

Speaking of utilitarianism, Rath's private quarters were a study in it. She shouldn't have been surprised, though she realized that is was the first time she had ever been invited into his rooms. There were two moderately-sized spaces divided only by a sheer curtain that was currently tied back so the two rooms connected. It was obviously designed to be a living space and a sleeping space, but Rath had turned one of them into a training room with racks of various weapons lining the walls and a heavy training dummy standing in the center of the marble expanse of floor. Otherwise it was bare.

In his living room, where she currently stood, there was only a perfectly-made bed on a foot-high raised marble step with a single thin blanket for covering and no headboard or footboard. A plain ebony stool sat in one corner with a small round table placed alongside it, and no other furniture populated the room aside from a tall carved armoire with double doors and several drawers. She assumed that was where he kept his clothing and other personal items, as well as spare linens. Another corner was occupied by a small standing shower with no door, the floor simply sloping down into a drain positioned underneath the hanging showerhead – towels and a glass flask containing some clear viscous liquid (probably simple soap) sat on a small shelf within arm's reach of the shower. To the side of that was a narrow doorway covered by a sliding partition, and this she knew to be the bathroom. A sink would likely be in there as well, and she was simultaneously impressed that Rath's station allowed for him to have such private facilities in his private quarters, and disappointed that he clearly took no joy in making the space his own. It was about as personal as a hotel room, perhaps even less so.

It smelled clean and airy, a well-cared for space that he was meticulous about but likely spent very little time in. She took all this in within a single sweeping glance as she moved from the door to the bed, seating herself confidently and crossing her long legs as if the room were hers. Deande smiled coyly up at the scowling swordsman, daring him to say something. Of course, he did.

"Just make yourself at home," he growled, already in an ill humor and definitely ill at ease having someone else in his space. She tittered in amusement, leaning back on her elbows and feeling the surprisingly comfortable mattress shift under her sleight weight.

"I certainly will. Besides, there is no where to sit in here! What do you do when you aren't sleeping or training Verod, just stand around like livestock out at pasture?" Her tone was teasing, trying to keep things lighthearted before she broke her not-so-light news.

He scoffed, not dignifying her taunt with a response, and stalked over to the armoire. He opened one side of the cabinet to reveal, to Deande's surprise and delight, a beautiful mirrored gold tray holding a red crystal carafe full of a richly dark fluid and two exquisite red crystal drinking glasses. He picked all 3 items up in his large hands and carried them to the table, then seated himself on the stool near her, sliding the crystal stopper out of the carafe. She slid over closer to him excitedly, but still quite aware that she pressed her knee against his in her newly calculated proximity, her eyes lighting up as he poured the drink.

"Oh, Jennerit wine! I haven't had the pleasure of tasting any since my personal supply ran out aboard the Nova nearly 3 months ago! It would have lasted me longer, but I caught those buffoons Mike and Montana in my room drinking it when they thought I was out on a recon mission. It was the second time I caught them at it - too bad I hadn't had the forethought to poison the wine before I left this time."

Rath glanced at her face, mostly to discern if she was kidding with that last remark. Her starkly beautiful face gave nothing away, except what she wanted to give away. She could have been entirely serious, he knew. She was capable of that, and capable of many deeds even darker than that. This woman was dangerous in a way that few could truly appreciate or comprehend, especially considering her uncanny ability to seem so very personable and innocently unassuming. Any who made the mistake of underestimating her would rarely live to repeat that mistake a second time. But Rath was no fool – he saw her for exactly what she was and did not flinch.

She took the offered glass with a delicate hand, letting her fingertips brush against Rath's as she did so. It was an obvious gesture she knew, but she realized that subtle overtures would just as ignored as more blatant ones, so she was going to have her fun and the swordmaster was unlikely to do anything to stop her since he didn't take any of it seriously. And did she mean it seriously? Most of her toying with him was under the assumption that he would never respond to her, never take her up on the offer. But what if he did? What would she do it he suddenly became amenable to the idea and called her bluff?

Deande doubted she would have to find out how far she was willing to take the game. Rath surely would believe that the spymistress was entirely capable of putting her money where her mouth was, so-to-speak.

The wine was good, so very good; a smoky bittersweet bouquet with just the faintest edge of something metallic that immediately brought to mind fresh blood. She moaned in unabashed appreciation of the drink and reclined against the wall beside Rath on his stool, closing her eyes in pleasure. He watched her, sipping from his own glass, and thought to himself that she was particularly alluring with the red bloom of the wine about her lips, a tiny droplet settled into the inviting corner of her mouth. She made no attempt to lick it away though it was on the verge of running down over her chin. The stoic man experience a very brief but very intense and irrational impulse to lean over and lick it away himself, which he quickly denied and chastised himself for such a moment of weakness.

The truth was, though, that it had been awhile for him. And while he was in complete and perfect control of his physical being, the fact remained that Rath was a strong, healthy, virile warrior, still well in his middle age by the standards of the long-lived Jennerits. He could not deny that a purely needful part of him was beginning to claw at the walls for release, and combat alone did not seem to be alleviating the frustration he felt building up inside of him. It wasn't a matter of whether he could control it or not – of course he could. But if it would help restore some of his focus to allow such a frivolous release then perhaps it was worth the sacrifice to loosen the iron grip he held on his willpower just this once.

As he followed this line of thought he allowed his eyes to slowly travel down Deande's reclining form. She was a dangerous partner to choose. Or was she the perfect choice? She made no secret of her physical interest in him, but that could just as easily have been one of the mind games she so loved playing with those around her. It was entirely possible she had no actual interest in bedding him at all and simply played with him because she didn't think there was any chance he would ever respond in kind. But the benefit of releasing his physical needs with her would be an absolute assurance that there was no risk of her placing any sort of emotional attachment on the act. Deande was never motivated by emotion. In fact, Rath wasn't sure he could say with any certainty that the assassin truly actually felt anything but was perhaps only perfectly skilled at showing people what they wanted to see.

That was irrelevant. All he needed from her, if he was going to go through with this, was her body and her skills as a lover. He had no doubt those were likely on par with her skills in dealing death. But how to approach the subject?

Rath suddenly felt quite unsure of himself, a feeling so alien to him that it made him instantly flash with anger and disgust. A warrior of his ilk should never be unsure of anything! A deeper drink from the wine glass took the edge off that welling rage before it could peak, and he refilled his glass. Deande opened her eyes then and leaned forward, holding her nearly-emptied glass out for a refill as well. He could feel her discerning gaze on his face as he did so, but he didn't look at her. Instead, he started talking.

"Didn't you say you came here to tell me something? So tell me something, before you drink all my wine."

She feigned hurt at his words, her hand clutching at her breast in mock indignity and conveniently sliding down the zipper on her skintight catsuit in the process. The small movement was well camouflaged but did not escape Rath's notice, nor did he fail to notice the greater expanse of flawlessly smooth pale flesh and the rounded sides of her breasts that showed more fully in the newly widened gap. She obviously wore nothing underneath the suit, not that anything would fit beneath it anyway. Deande saw his glance, and her ensuing smirk was both triumphant and a tiny bit smug. It made Rath want to slap it off her pretty face, but he only took another deep drink.

"It pains me that you think so little of me, my dear Verod. The wine is a welcome treat, but my primary goal here is you of course. Both in an official capacity and a casual one. Aren't we friends, after all?"

He took another drink, feeling the warmth of the first wave of intoxication starting at the back of his neck. Rarely did the Jennerit warrior allow himself such indulgences, but apparently this was a day for letting go of discipline. "Please, Deande. You know as well as I do that beings such as ourselves do not have the luxury of true friendship. But mutually beneficial relationships that generate a measure of trust and familiarity, certainly. By that definition, we are 'friends'. But my patience even for my friends is not much greater than that I have for my enemies, so by the Empress I swear if you don't tell me what you came here to-"

Deande laughed and waved a hand, cutting him off before his ire could build and he launched into another tirade. "You really are on edge, aren't you." It wasn't a question. The lithe ageless woman took a long lingering sip of her wine, eyeing Rath over the rim as she drew out the moment. Finally, she sighed and relented.

"I thought you would want to know, we have pinpointed the origin in space of the Varelsi phenomena. Rather, Kleese and Phoebe have located a cross-section of space at a specific point that they believe is the source of the Varelsi focus. We still don't know why those parasites are there, and we don't know exactly where in that sector what we're looking for may be, or what exactly we're looking for. It's a very old star system, mostly uncharted but generating massive waves of energy that are reaching deep into space. Something is out there and we're going to go investigate it. "

Here she paused a moment, searching Rath's face for a reaction. She saw none but it did seem as if her were holding himself very still, perhaps even holding his breath. "Most of the crew told me not to waste my time coming to tell you of this, as they do not believe you'll care and won't be interested in helping. But if this comes to a battle we would be at a much greater disadvantage to not have Verod Rath fighting beside the Battleborn once again. I, for one, do not like the idea of going into the unknown with anything but every possible advantage already in place. So here I am. Tell me, Verod, what's your price to rejoin the fight?"

He did react then, slamming his glass down so hard on the ebony table that it shattered, spraying ruby red shards and black-red droplets of wine on both of them. Rage twisted his features and he reached out, snatching the sides of the open front of her black catsuit and pulling her toward him roughly. His move was not without agility, but certainly not fast enough that Deande could not easily have avoided it if she so chose. She chose not to though, letting him manhandle her for the moment.

"You think I can be bought? Do you dare to so insult my very honor assassin?" The man was practically seething, his eyes flaring with crimson fire and his breath coming in hard gasps that filled his broad chest to maximum, making it press against her chest rhythmically. The proximity of his body against hers let her feel something else too, pressing just as noticeably and just as insistently, but against her hip where he had dragged her halfway into his lap. She smiled inwardly to herself, noting his obvious arousal despite his anger, though she thought it prudent not to let the smile show outwardly at the moment.

She reached up slowly, her movements careful and open so that he could see her intent, and gently stroked her soft hand down the side of his angular face. Her voice was low and gentle when she spoke next, "My dear Verod, not that. Never that. I meant only that we need you and I know you have responsibilities here, and if there is anything you need from us to make that happen then we are more than willing to give it. I am more than willing to give it…" She trailed off, maintaining pointed eye contact with Rath while her hand moved down from his face to slowly encircle the titanium zipper on the front of her bodice and sliding it down all the way to the stopper well below her navel. As the bodice opened wide her breasts spilled out, the position of his hands on the open flaps of fabric putting them in such close proximity that her breasts brushed against them. Immediately the prodding of his arousal against her hip intensified.

Deande said nothing further, merely watched his face with her body bared to him, the invitation clear and open. He would take it or he would not, but she believed she knew which. She would not likely have made this bold move if she thought there was much chance of rejection – reading people was one of an assassin's most valuable skills, even reading the more difficult targets like this warrior before her now.

Rath's breathing steadied, the fire in his eyes dying down to a more lustful low smolder that the spymistress recognized. She'd seen that look in the eyes of many a lover over her long life, and she was pleased to see it now in Verod's face. He said nothing more either, only growling low in his throat and moving his hands to roughly rip down the remainder of her bodysuit and rip the bottom where the zipper had stopped to exposure more of her body to him. She arched her back and angled her limbs, making it easier for him, feeling her own excitement building up as he tore the rest of the clothing off her.

When he leaned down to claim one of her breasts with his mouth she moaned and yelped at the nip of his teeth, the brutal grip of his large powerful hands on her slender hips. He wasn't gentle, and that's just the way she liked it. And Deande always got what she wanted.