Chapter 1

Illium. A garden world with the unique fortune of being located between the Terminus system and the Asari Republics. As such it had become a major port of harbor for various types of commerce, and to promote this trade, influential government agents relaxed the normally stringent custom laws of Council space on product safety and sapient trafficking. Officially, Illium was not an asari world; but it was colonized and operated by asari corporate interests. To Commander Lakota Shepard the planet and its traits acted as an eerie allegory to its founders because she could draw easy parallels between the characteristics of the world's cities to every asari she had known.

Standing near the railing of the open market of Nos Astra, Illium's capitol, the Spectre watched as the setting sun cast brilliant shades of orange and red across the metropolitan skyline. Although the picturesque view was both beautiful and serene, her turbulent thoughts were anything but calm. She found herself captivated by the regal ambiance and graceful architecture of the city being bathed in the last light of day, but she knew that beneath its surface lurked a dark shadow, a harshness within its symmetry. A majestic city built on a foundation of laws that allowed indentured servitude and the legalization of everything short of murder. Matriarch Benezia, Councilor Tevos, Samara, Shiala, Aria T'Loak and now, Liara. Each was exquisitely beautiful with a physical allure that ensnared those in close proximity, but they also possessed—in equal measure—a certain ruthlessness hidden within.

"Next time, show me some respect. No more games, no manipulations. If you can't do that, then don't bother contacting me."

Four weeks had passed since Lakota had spoken those words to Liara T'Soni—prothean researcher, information broker and… her former lover? One-time friend? Old acquaintance? Only in those quiet moments of darkest solitude did she bitterly admit that didn't know what place Liara held in her life anymore. She told herself that it was best to let her doubts and questions go, to stop dwelling on the past and get on with her life. That was easier said than done, though. Logically, she knew that over two years had gone by for the asari, but for her it only felt like a few months. Cerberus may have resurrected her body, but they hadn't resurrected her life.

After her encounter with Liara—in the asari's office, which was just fifty meters away of where she currently stood—Lakota knew without a doubt that the information broker had been able to do what she had not: she had moved on. The menial hacking task and callous dismissal that followed made it abundantly clear that Liara had changed and was no longer interested in maintaining a connection, friendship or otherwise. The Spectre had been angry about the brush off, but what really stung the most was the unexpected letdown, the disappointment left in the wake of an unsatisfying reunion. The one person she had trusted with everything had slammed the door in her face. She had never felt as alone as the moment she walked out of Liara's office, leaving hope, longing and love at the feet of the one who no longer returned those favors. For her own sanity, Lakota knew that somehow, she would have to let go.

The Spectre had gone through breakups before, had experienced loss before, but this was something new. She had always been the one who ended the relationship; she had never been the one who was left trying to make sense of the broken pieces. The situation would have been much easier to process if after their argument, she hadn't realized that she had actually been in love with the prothean expert.

To help mitigate the healing process, the Spectre spent the last few weeks focusing all of her energy on the current mission—gathering information about vanishing human colonies and putting together a powerful strike team to lead the charge once the mystery was unraveled. She adopted the old adage of "one day at a time", which helped, but there were moments when the pain of loss overwhelmed her senses and she retreated to the solitude of her cabin. Garrus and Tali had taken a particular interest in her well-being, attempting to distract her with invitations to poker and movie nights, but she hadn't accepted any as of yet. Such social gatherings didn't appeal to her; they seemed more of a nuisance and would require too much energy to be interactive with others. Not to mention that the sad looks they shot her when they thought she wasn't looking were extraordinarily irritating. She didn't need their pity, she just needed time. Perhaps a lot of it, but patience was a virtue.

So instead of comfort coming from old friends, it came from a new one, someone who had no knowledge of her past—Thane Krios. Becoming acquainted with the repentant drell assassin, learning about the details of his life, and helping him get some closure with his son had been an inadvertent boon in her healing process. Thane's unexpected reunion with Kolyat reminded Lakota that life was full of hope and surprises; she just had to be open to the experience. After that, she donned a new attitude—to focus on what she could control and let her heart heal in its own time. Things had been going fairly well until the moment she stepped back on Illium, then all that she thought was behind her reared its ugly head and slapped her in the face.

The Spectre leaned forward, resting her forearms on the railing and sighed heavily. If given a choice, she wouldn't have set foot back on Illium, but Miranda had needed help finding her sister and this was where the search brought them. Against her better judgment, she considered seeing Liara, sending a message so the asari knew she was back in Nos Astra, but she didn't give into temptation. As an information broker, Liara was probably privy to her arrival anyway, but that thought didn't offer her any comfort, rather its effect was more akin to torture, both emotional and mental. The fact that Liara hadn't contacted her just cemented the many reasons why reaching out to the asari was a bad idea. But that knowledge and conviction wasn't enough to block the memories of their time together from haunting her thoughts, or stop the pointless introspection that followed. Now that Oriana was safe and she was free to return to the Normandy, Lakota found herself rooted to this spot in the market, within a stone's throw from Liara, a witness to the planet's setting sun and in a way, a chapter of her life.

Lakota's chest tightened as uninvited images flashed within her mind: large, radiant blue eyes twinkling in merriment; smooth azure-hued cheeks playfully dotted with random freckles; full lips curling into an intoxicatingly coy smile. The Spectre forced herself to take quick shallow breaths while the barrage of intimate remembrances from the past continued to flood her senses—Liara's unique scent, a sweet floral bouquet mixed with an unknown spice; the soothing tones of her voice while she whispered words of love; the look of adoration and lust in her eyes as they lay entwined together in bed. Lakota's fingers clutched the railing for support as she squeezed her eyes shut, barricading the white-hot tears that threatened to fall. She would not, could not, break down in the middle of the busy market, but the crowds of people brought to focus just how utterly alone she felt, and underscored the loneliness she tried so desperately to deny.

Since waking up in a Cerberus medical facility, aligning herself with the leader of the terrorist faction and being thrust into another mission with ramifications on a galactic scale, Lakota had little time to think beyond what was occurring in the moment. She wanted it that way. Too much time on her hands meant dwelling on issues that were out of her control—like the gap Liara's absence left in her life—and that was wasted time. On some level, she knew it was normal for her mind to be occupied with thoughts of Liara, but on another level she hated the weakness. Two years had been stolen from her and she wasn't going to be a willing participant in aimlessly squandering any more.

Slowly, Lakota forced her eyes open. The rims burned with unshed tears, but she gritted her teeth and coerced her gaze to pan across the crowed market. Two salarians discussed a breeding rights agreement. A volus bargained with an asari vendor, attempting to lower the purchase price of a new suit. Three humans, two men and a woman, walked across the commons while in the midst of a heated discussion. An asari and krogan stood close to each other, holding hands.

The Spectre tilted her head slightly and scrutinized the three humans more closely. They wore casual clothes, but Lakota noticed the distinct signs of concealed weapons beneath their jackets. Growing up in the slums of Mexico City gave her a unique perception regarding clandestine activities and easily earmarked these three for more than what they seemed. Quickly, she surveyed the rest of the market and, along with the direction the humans were headed, she identified the group's mark: an asari who was walking toward a blind alley just off the commons. She would never have asked for this type of distraction, but she was grateful for it anyway. Without hesitation, she headed in the direction of the humans and was silently thankful to still be wearing her maroon kestrel armor and have her Carnifex pistol, Menhit, strapped to her thigh. Lakota named all of her personal weapons after goddesses from Earth folklore or myths, and her pistol was no exception. Menhit was an Egyptian goddess of war whose name meant "she who massacres." This never failed to put a smile on the Spectre's face when she explained it to those on the other side of the barrel.

The twilight rays of light offered enough luminance to adequately navigate the wide, immaculate corridor between buildings and see every nook and cranny. In Mexico City, the alleyways were cluttered with everything from scrap metal to refuse to homeless people. Leave it to Illium to have the cleanest alleys in the galaxy.

As Lakota entered the alleyway a few meters behind the humans, she drew out Menhit, activated her tactical cloak, but said nothing to alert others to her presence. Instead she took in the scene before her. The asari, who was wearing black leather pants and a white, short hemmed leather jacket with dark purple stripes along the sides, faced away from her and was talking to two newcomers—a salarian and another male human, both outfitted in light armor. Lakota assumed that they had been waiting in the alley. The three humans she followed made their way to the group, encircling the asari who, to her credit, didn't give any outward signs of being nervous. The salarian was agitated and his voice echoed through the alleyway as he demanded payment. The asari made a reply, but her voice was too soft for Lakota to hear what she had to say. The fact that the humans all proceeded to draw and then point their pistols at the asari, made it amply clear that whatever she had said didn't please them.

What happened next occurred so fast that it only registered as a blur, with the Spectre's well-honed battle instincts catapulting her into action. The asari braced her arms and legs, then released a biotic flare which knocked everyone in the circular blast radius off their feet. Lakota was far enough away to not be affected by the biotic explosion, but when she saw the three humans closest to her attempt to get up, she didn't hesitate. She kneed one male in the head, knocking him back to the ground, unconscious. Then, as her tactical cloak broke, she swung her right hand in a wide arc—the pistol handle connecting harshly with the woman's temple, having the same devastating effect on her as her companion. The Spectre had no intention of killing anyone, she just wanted to incapacitate. When she saw the salarian slam mercilessly into the wall next to her, she realized the asari didn't share the same sentiment.

Lakota quickly crossed the distance to the third human as he got unsteadily to his feet and punched him in the gut with her left hand, then as he doubled-over, she brought down Menhit on his head, sending him sprawling face first to the floor. He didn't move afterward. She looked up just in time to catch sight of the last human as he sailed over her head, screaming, and then smashing into the alley wall—his light armor absorbing most of the impact. He fell to the ground, but somehow managed to land on his feet. That turned out to be a bad bit of luck when the salarian—who had also been biotically thrown—impacted with him a moment later. They both crashed into the wall then fell to the ground like puppets whose strings had been cut.

The asari turned around and Lakota was finally able to see her face— bright, indigo eyes sparkling with a bit of amusement, high regal cheek bones, slightly pouty purple lips and small tattoos which started on her forehead and followed the length of her jaw. She was nothing short of gorgeous.

"Lysandra?" said the Spectre incredulously.

"Commander Shepard." The asari's right arm swung up, encased in biotic energy and the Spectre saw a bluish tendril speed past her. Then, after the sound of a whip-like crack, another human male—who had apparently been sneaking up behind her—flew through the air and headlong into a wall.

Lakota looked at the unconscious man slumped on the ground. "There's always one more imbecile than you counted on."

The asari's gaze locked onto the Spectre with an animal-like ferocity. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, I was attempting to rescue you."

Lysandra walked slowly, methodically, toward Lakota, every step laced with a hint of erotic undertones. The sultry sway of her hips; the perfect posture of her spine which seemed to accentuate her breasts that were hidden beneath a loose violet camisole; the graceful movements of her arms and legs that gave the impression of her floating across the pavement. She stopped when she was inches away from Lakota—her eyes carefully inspecting the human before she spoke. "Is this something you do often? Help those who don't need your help?"

"It's a thankless job, but I have a lot of karma to burn off."

"Still a smartass." The asari eyed the Spectre appraisingly from head to toe. "I heard that you were dead."

Lakota grinned. "Media ploy. The paparazzi were becoming unbearable."

"So you broke your seclusion to come rescue me?" A small smile curled provocatively on the asari's lips. "I'm flattered."

Lakota met Lysandra, an old friend of Wrex's, on the Citadel, soon after the battle with Saren and Sovereign. She was an emissary and business woman who helped—in a roundabout way—track down a group from the Spectre's past that had attempted to assassinate Councilor Anderson. From their initial meeting, an erotic undercurrent had easily flowed between them—playfully intelligent and seductively enticing. At the time, Lakota was in a full-fledged relationship with Liara, so the interest never went beyond a peripheral acknowledgement, but they both knew it existed. And now, almost three years after being introduced, when their eyes locked together in a subtle, but startling exchange, she knew it still lingered.

In an attempt to change the subject and diffuse some of the building flirtatious tension, Lakota averted her eyes to the salarian and humans lying on the ground. "So what's the story with this group?"

"None of your business," said the asari imperiously.

"Don't you think the biotic slam-dunk was a bit much?"

"No."

"You could have hurt someone in the marketplace with that biotic flare of yours."

Lysandra crossed her arms in front of her chest and donned a bored expression. "There are two kinds of pedestrians, Shepard, the quick and the dead."

"Now who's being the smartass?"

"You must be rubbing off on me," purred Lysandra, in a low, throaty octave.

A vision of that very activity flashed briefly in Lakota's mind, and she inhaled sharply.

Lysandra noticed the reaction and let her eyes roll over the Spectre's strong svelte frame as though appraising a fine piece of jewelry—taking in each soft curve, each hard cut and delving into the hauntingly smooth hues of color. After a moment, she tilted her head and smiled radiantly. "I suppose the least I could do is buy you a drink… for coming to my rescue. Or do you have other plans… like rushing off to save the galaxy?"

"Save the galaxy? Isn't that a little dramatic?"

Lysandra laughed. It was a deep, merry sound that hinted at all the things left to innuendo. "As I recall, drama follows you like stink on a varren."

"I guess that's better than fleas."

"Depends on the flea that's biting," parried the emissary, her eyes shimmering in mischief.

Lakota felt a pleasant twisting sensation in her belly, but tried to ignore it. "Where's Kolrak? Isn't this sort of thing right up his alley?" Grinning, she added, "Pun intended."

"Clever girl," said Lysandra before returning a coy smile. "I have him doing… other things."

"Shouldn't he be here, protecting you?" Kolrak was Lysandra's krogan bodyguard, and during their interactions on the Citadel, had never been more than a few meters from her side.

"If I were in danger, then he would be here."

Lakota looked around at the six individuals on the ground who were starting to stir, then tighten her hold on her pistol. "They didn't pose a danger?"

The asari rolled her eyes in disbelief. "Don't make me laugh. They didn't even pose a problem."

From what Wrex had told her, Lysandra was as accomplished as any commando, but much deadlier. Intellect laced with a drive for ambition could be a volatile concoction, especially when wrapped within a visually stunning package.

"So what do you say to that drink, Shepard?"

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Oh?" Lysandra looked up to a security camera on a wall of the alleyway. "Does your girlfriend still have you on a short leash?"

The Spectre followed the asari's line of sight, then frowned. "There's no girlfriend these days."

"Perfect." The asari's voice was almost chipper. "Then you have no good reason to deny yourself the pleasure of my company. Not that having a girlfriend should have stopped you."

Smiling ruefully, Lakota said, "It's still not a good idea."

"And why is that?"

"Well, for starters, you tried to kill me. Twice."

"You pressed a pistol to my head," countered Lysandra.

"Which means we're not on the friendliest of terms."

"That was over two years ago," said the asari dismissively. "Petty grudges shouldn't be coveted for more than one. Even for an asari, life's too short."

Lakota scowled and mentally added another item to the list of things that should have changed in the last two years. "Being angry over someone sending me to my death is petty?"

"For something that was business related, yes." Lysandra crossed arms in front of her chest, then shifted her hips, settling her weight on her right leg—a strong, but sassy pose. "If I truly wanted you dead, Shepard, then I would have continued until I succeeded. As it was, your death wasn't something that I desired."

"And what did you desire, then?" Lakota raised one of her eyebrows, actually feeling a bit curious now.

The emissary's arms dropped to her sides as she stepped close to the human and leaned in so her lips hovered next to the Spectre's ear. "You," she whispered in a low dulcet tone.

Lakota's eyes widened in surprise as an exquisite tingling sensation rippled down her spine. She knew what was about to happen, Lysandra had made this bold flirtatious move once before, but she hadn't cared that much for it back then. However, this time she gave into the moment and turned her head to face the asari emissary. Seconds later, plush, succulent lips gently fastened onto hers, holding them in a hauntingly sensual kiss embedded with untold promise and lingering pleasures. Neither moved to deepen the erotically charged caress but neither pulled away either.

Before the tendrils of the hypnotic spell drifted away, Lysandra's moist inquisitive tongue slipped out and languidly stole a taste from Lakota's lips. Then she stepped back and, as though nothing had happened, smiled innocently. "I also desired my money."

The Spectre took a deep breath and swallowed hard as she tried to subdue the delicious memory of the soft lips on hers. "So you mentioned." After their last confrontation, Lysandra had sent a message explaining the reasons behind her actions and warning the Spectre away. This occurred just before the Normandy SR-1 embarked on the ill-fated mission into geth space and was subsequently destroyed. "Even if I believe that to be true…," Lakota's hands swept out in front of her, as though unveiling her armor, "I'm not exactly dressed for a social gathering."

Lysandra tilted her head skeptically and continued to smile.

Lakota mentally chided herself for vocalizing such a lame excuse, she was usually better at circumventing conversations, but nothing else had come to mind. Lysandra's silence meant that she, too, thought her pretext was pedestrian, one not worthy of a reply. Grudgingly, she admitted that she was enjoying the playful exchange with the asari emissary… and the kiss… she didn't want it to end, but for some reason she also felt guilty. Her gaze returned to the security camera.

"How long has it been since you've had any fun, Shepard?"

The answer of "two years" flashed in the Spectre's mind. "None of your business."

"That means it's been too long."

"Maybe," Lakota conceded. She couldn't explain it. There was something about this asari that drew her in, something familiar, but yet at the same time, something new.

Lysandra stepped close, once again invading Lakota's personal space. "Then, don't you think it's time you had some?"

"I've got responsibilities."

"We all do. But we also have a responsibility to ourselves."

Silence pervaded the moment until the Spectre finally nodded her head. "Okay. Fine. One drink."

Lysandra was right. It had been too long since any fun had found its way to her. On the Normandy, she was the commanding officer which meant that she had a role to fill regardless of whatever personal hell she was going through. Both the ship's crew and the squad she was putting together looked to her for leadership and needed to trust her command capabilities. She felt it was essential for them to see her as strong, confident and determined especially now, when the mission they were on was becoming increasingly hazardous. So in order to gain their confidence and trust she showed them that mask: the soldier who survived Akuze, the commander who led the fight against Saren and Sovereign, the Spectre who returned from the Void, and even while interacting with each of them on a personal level that mask never completely came off.

In direct contrast, Lysandra was an old acquaintance who undoubtedly had her own personal agenda, but placed no demands on the Spectre. The emissary was neither part of her crew nor her squad and Lakota suspected that this was one of the reasons why she felt drawn to her. Another reason was the clever banter and witty retorts which were ripe with flirtatious innuendo- intelligent rhetoric enmeshed with an innate essence of seduction. It had been a long time since someone challenged Lakota with words and the halo of enticement it produced—both thrilling and intoxicating, took her by surprise. For right or wrong, she was genuinely intrigued by the emissary and wanted more time with her. So, as she holstered her pistol, she consciously compartmentalized the feelings of guilt that danced on the edge of her mind.

Glancing at the still woozy combatants lying on the ground, Lakota said, "What about them? The authorities will want to know what happened."

The asari chuckled. "Shepard, there won't be any authorities. If there were, then my message would never get to its intended recipient."

"Who is the intended recipient?"

"None of your business. Now come on," said Lysandra as she wrapped her left arm around Lakota's right, coercing her out of the alleyway, "you look in need of a good time."

To be continued…

Author's End Note:

Lysandra was introduced in "Old Friends Revisited" – a mystery/adventure/romance with Lakota Shepard, Liara and Wrex, and then further fleshed out within the pages of "In the Meantime" which highlights some of her personal moments just before or just after interacting with Shepard in the before mentioned story. She originally started out as a peripheral character, but her strong voice and brazen demand for attention endeared me to her, so it didn't take long before the small part she played became much, much larger. What can I say… she is sinfully fun to write.