"Ouch. I knew it."

A grimace of pain was etched on her beautiful features as Della sat gingerly on the chair. Something square and blue came flying her way and she caught it with two hands. It was another chair padding and gratefully, she slipped it under her behind. A bit better.

"Thanks," Della sighed and scruched her eyes tightly shut as she sat down with her full weight. It hurt but not too much, mostly because all of the circulation hadnít been completely restored, she suspected. "How come youíre not hurting?"

A low chuckle came across the wooden table, followed closely by an indulgent smile. "Practice. Been riding since I was old enough to stand. Had some breaks now and again but itís like riding a bike."

"Ooof," Della huffed as she shifted her weight. "I think Iíll stick to bicycles for a while."

"Not much use for them around here, love."

Which was the truth. Most of the roads here, smack in the middle of the wildest of Wales, were hardly traversable by a four-wheeler, let alone her speed bike. Bumpy at best and after a few rainy days, they were veins of muddy glop traversing through the nature. As odd as it sounded, the old-fashioned ways were the best; on foot or on horseback. Carefully, Della leaned her back on the backrest and let her eyes roam around the largish room.

It was the main dining room of a small country hotel, run by none other than Ghisí mother. The dark woman was a very private person and she rarely discussed her family. So, the suggestion of a few days off in Wales had come like lightning from clear blue sky and Della had agreed with great enthusiasm, finally getting a chance to meet the rest of the du Plessis family.

Wales was beautiful, in a wild sort of way, and Ghis fit here like a glove. She seemed to enjoy life outdoors, riding, walking and just... spending time with just the music of the birds as muzak. Della had found out that she was also an outdoorsy kind of person. She had lived in cities all of her life, the only bouts to a world without concrete the occasional vivits to her cousinís farm in Wisconsin. But here, it was so different. No fields, no massive tractors. Just the nature.

Admittedly, she had been a little scared as how Ghisí family would regard her. They were of an old French lineage with a family tree that could put the Windsors to shame. But contrary to her expectations, Elysia, Ghisí mother that is, had welcomed her with open arms. She had grown to like the older woman, in stature so much more compact than her daughter but equalling Ghis in the fierceness of her will. The woman was straightforward, kind to everyone and one helluva prankster, not to mention a divine cook. The detective had never been one to spit on a plate but even she had found the limits of her stomach rather quickly.

The hotel catered to businessmen who liked to escape their jobs into the wild moors that had no mobile phone relay stations for miles. The men, mostly middle-aged and with slight roundness at waist, came here in expensive hiking boots and rented a jeep. They roamed the countryside for the day and came back here for a comfortable bed, excellent food and a few pints of the local bitter. Most people who came here, Elysia could boast, came back again and again, having fallen in love with the bit of primal nature a short flight to Cardiff and a few hourís drive away from their work.

The establishment itself was not big and neither was the village in which it was situated. For three days Della had tried to pronounce the name of the place, still not getting right the part in the middle with three lís and all the wís and fís. Ghisí mother had repeated it to her with her curious accent that was a mix of French, Welsh and Southern London, for the Etonian accent that Ghis had had never stuck to Elysiaís tongue.

She gazed across the table, at Ghis who was lounging comfortably on a chair, her left foot propped against the table support. She was sipping on a cup of tea, the warm drink and roaring flames in the stone fireplace nearby warring off the chill of the early autumn. The flickering tongues of burning yellow painted odd shadows on the sharply planed face of the dark woman, making her eyes shine in an ethereal glow of violet and burgundy as she looked into the fire, deep in thought.

"How about rollerblades then?"

A small laugh shook the lounging figure and the eyes turned away from the fire, pupils so small that the whole of the eye was a sea of icy blue. "Not much use for blades either, luv."

"Did someone mention sharp objects?"

The voice echoed from behind Della and she twisted in her chair, her behind protesting mildly. "Nope, just round ones," she smiled and gestured for Armand to sit.

Hello, frangin," Ghis greeted and scooted closer to the fireplace to make room for the man.

Ghisí big brother nodded sat with a small grunt. Well, íbigí wasnít perhaps the best adjective. Sure, he was about an inch taller but where Ghis was perfectly proportioned muscle, Armand was just... normal. He had his sisterís dark hair and strikingly handsome face and most notably, the vivid eyes. It had taken some getting used to, seeing not one but three pairs of the improbably blue eyes, looking at her from a manís face, then from an elderly womanís and then, from her loverís. Funny. Strong genes in that family.

When Ghis íhad gone off and conquered the worldí, as her mother had phrased it (and earning a double roll of blue eyes for that), Armand had found a nice, stable job in the City. When their brother Jean had died in the Gulf War, Armand had returned to his homested in Wales and helped his mother to run the hotel and more so, to take care of the horses. One of them was Ghisí favourite, the golden mare that was called Argentan, despite the colour of her coat. The clubowner had watched her birth and trained her, until the turmoils of the world and her soul hand taken her over. But the mare had remembered her well, whickering in delight as the tall, dark form had stepped into the stables.

"Have fun riding?" Armand asked and sipped his coffee. Ghis chuckled and received a glare from Della.

"Wouldíve had more if someone invented saddles with pillows," Della grunted.

"Ah, well, Chignon is a bit jumpy and definetely not soft," the man smiled. There was always bit of lag in Dellaís comprehension whenever the man spoke a sentence longer than three words. Had she not payed attention, the English people talked here wouldnít have been English for her, more like Sanskrete than anything else. She got her retribution by drawling out her best Southern bramble for them.

Armand made idle chit chat with his sister who answered with grunts and one-syllable words. Della was content in just being quiet for a while, letting time trickle in a lovely haze of idleness. She sipped her tea, draining two cups with a spoonfull of honey and enjoying the stark tangy taste of Darjeeling. The room filled slowly with people coming for dinner, discussing their day otudoors with many a laugh punctuating the sentences. When the crowd thickened, Armand went to help his mother in the kitchen.

"More tea?" Ghis asked quietly and upon a nod, poured the reddish liquid from the pot. There was nothing but the last drops left and she lifted the pot, signaling one of the waiters to bring a fresh batch. One of the youngest helps, a gaintly young man called Charles, a boy really, smiled, nodded and blushed. Curious, Della followed his gaze as he trotted behind the counter. His eyes kept flicking back at their table at... ah. Della smiled a small, closed smile. She knew those looks very well.

Teapot in hand and carfully circling the other customers, Charles approached the table. He came to stand behind Ghis who was again staring at the fire, one forearm resting on the table and legs propped up on the safety bar in front of the fireplace, ankles crossed. The pot was set down with a little tremor, the lid clanking quietly.

"íereís yer tea..." he said, his eyes darting from Ghisís dark head to Dellaís smiling face. The taller woman half-turned, smiled one of her sure-fire dazzling smiles and thanked the boy. He smiled back, his blush returning with a vengeance. For a while, it seemed he forgot himself, but suddenly he snapped out of it.

"Ahm... I better get back. Let me know if ye need aníthiní else," he intoned in a voice pitched higher than usual. As he returned to his place, his eyes still kept flicking back at their table. Della bit her lower lip to keep from smirking. She felt a bit sorry for the boy. Resting her chin in her hands, she leaned across the table and caught Ghisí attention. The older woman favoured her with a raised eyebrow and a quietly indulgent smile.

"What?" the rich voice intoned.

"You are ruthless." The harshness of the words was nullified by a wicked grin that was firmly plastered on Dellaís face.

The other dark, shapely eyebrow shot up to match its companionís position and the clubowner twisted in her chair to fully face the smirking detective. "What did I do now?" she asked, spreading her arms bewildered.

Della switched her position slightly, her other hand now thrumming its fingers against the rough surface of the table. She still smiled a sweet smile as her eyes raked over sharply angled, primally beautiful face of her partner, the wide shoulders covered in thick, marine blue wool. It was a sight worth watching for.

"Oh, just were your usual charming self," the detective answered mildly. Ghisí brow scrunched, she didnít get it. "Another one has fallen for you." Della clarified.

"Again?" Ghis sighed and rolled her eyes. She sat back with a slight oof. "Who is it this time?" Her voice was a curious mix of genuine befuddlement and resignment, born of many other such incidents and from the fact that she had no idea why it always happened.

Dell pointed discreetly at the counter and the shy young man who was polishing a glass and smiling, a faraway look in his eyes. Ghisí eyes darted there and back to Dellaís, speaking volumes. The blonde womanís grin widened and she nodded.

The bright blue eyes rolled again. "Why does this keep happening?" the clubowner muttered to herself and folded her long arms on her chest.

"Oh, itís the power thing," came the reply immediately. The tone was light and playful but there was an intense undercurrent to it that didnít escape Ghisí ears. It presented a challenge and a possibility. The dark woman grinned. Oh, she was game.

The look that was shot across the table was sultry and more than suggestive. Sometimes, all the detective wanted in life was to swim in that ocean of blue, drown under the steady waves, be taken by the storm. Della felt the gaze zing straight to her chest, leaving a breathless ache there and then continuing straight to points south.

"Power thing?" Ghis hummed.

"Mmm-hmm." The syllables were pronounced in voice that had no more subtext in it. It was maintext, on the table text, right-now -text. The voice was positively humid and the sentiment was echoed in the hazel green eyes that now shone brightly.

It was odd, really. The detective hadnít thought of herself as a submissive type and really, she wasnít. Not in normal life, never in her work. But with Ghislaine... the will of the dark woman was strong beyond Dellaís comprehension. The tall, raven-haired beauty had a soul that was old as time, it held the wisdom of countless generations and took it to good use. This strength of character, echoed in every subtle, sure move, gesture and word, it turned the detective on to no end.

The power the clubowner wielded, it was dark and dangerous. Why she had chosen Della as the object of her affection, the blonde woman couldnít figure out. Maybe it was more that love had chosen them, instead of the other way around. Whatever the reason, the emotion was there and to Della, it made all the difference. She surrendered to the dark woman willingly, without hesitation.

As a rule of thumb, she didnít enjoy pain. Sheíd been mugged, punched and fallen off high places and none of them had been a particularily nice experiences, on the contrary. But Ghis had showed her that there was another side to pain. When administered lovingly and great care, it provided a rush like none other.

Della took a hold on one of the tanned hands resting on the table and turned it palm up. Tracing the strong muscles there with one light digit, Della smiled quietly. It was a miracle what these hands could do. They had killed, maimed, caused unwanted pain and if the inner pain she saw in Ghisí eyes sometimes was any indicator, the hands had bloodstains nothing could wash off. But the hands could be loving, tender, caring, touch her with the lightness of a feather and ignite feelings inside like none other could. A masterpiece of creation if Della ever saw any.

She rubbed the palm with her thumb and smiled at Ghis, eyes twinkling. "He wants you," she pronounced in a knowing voice.

"Well, he can lick my boots if he wants to but thatís as far as it goes," the clubowner replied solemnly and took control of the hand holding hers, turning it palm down. A lovely pink tongue emerged and licked the thin web of skin between Dellaís pinkie and ring finger. The dark woman was rewarded by a sharp intake of breath and a light blush came to the detectiveís cheeks.

"Uhm... thatís good," Della managed. Barely.

"Mmm-hmmm. I know," came the answer, the words stretching like honey in the heated air between them. The tongue returned and Della felt sharp teeth rake over her knuckels. All rational thought was quickly escaping her.

"Shouldnít we... go upstairs," the blonde woman whispered, eyes blazing in a shade of dark green that said a lot but not everything. During the years of her colourful life, Ghislaine du Plessis had made patience into an art form. There was something more the detective wanted and the dark woman was willing to wait for her to say it. Oh, do I love this or what, Ghis grinned as she watched Dellaís throat convulse in a swallow. Bad sadist, she admonished herself. Bad bad.

Della watched intently, desperately. Ghis sat calmly and gazed back, clearly waiting for something. Della made a mental sigh, the clubowner read her so well. But the thought of... it made her blush. The thought of what she wanted... A dark eyebrow rose.

"Could we..." Della started and her voice caught. She coughed. "Could we... play the game," she blurted. "You know the one," Della added and blushed some more. Ghis nodded, smiling. She knew what particular game Della was referring to but it was clear to the detective that the dark woman was still waiting for something. What on... ah.

"Please?"

Still something missing.

"Please, Mistress," Della whispered, casting her eyes down.

The magic words. The eyes gone dark blue slitted in anticipation. Oh, they were going to play alright.

The Post-It note was square and neon pink in colour and attached to the upper left-hand corner of the leaflet, neatly aligned with the edges of the white paper. FYI, a friend, was all the note said. Ghis was sure she recognised the handwriting to be of one of her regular customers, a woman of some power who had to keep her preferences and perversions tightly hidden from public view. Mistresses employed under her and the club in general had many such customers that preferred discretion in everything and Ghis was more than willing to oblige their wishes. As a return, she got some valuable information now and again, as was this For Your Information -note that had arrived with the morning mail.

She yanked the pink slip away and put it through shredder, just in case. The bright confetti wafted down to the transparent container, criscrossing lines on top of the mostly white cloud of documents made into strips no more than three millimetres wide. The muted whirring of the blades died down and the room was quiet again. Blue eyes scanned the document with quickly darting moves and if there were someone else in the room, that person wouldíve seen dark clouds gathering on the clubownerís forehead, clouds that promised thunder and destruction of biblical proportions.

Wells of Depravity! the caption screamed in big letters, on top of a grainy picture that had two men in matching rubber shorts and tank tops, kissing. Below the picture there were a few quotations from the Bible, lines Ghis knew so well. The sentences forbade a man to sleep with a man and urged Godís children to kill all gays. The quotations were followed by a few addresses, most situated right here in central London. One name the clubowner recognised to be a gay club only two blocks away. Another was a well-known BDSM studio but it was the third address in the list that was the most familiar of them. She was at that address now, at her club, in her computer room.

The paper was squashed to a ball in the strong, tanned hand. With a rough, quiet voice a string of curses was uttered, in all of six languages, ending with English. "...fuckinbloodyBASTARDS!" the string ended, punctuated by a fist slamming on the dark wood of the table so hard her letter opener and keyboard jumped. The door opened, revealing a small body, clad in nothing but a short leather skirt and wrist cuffs.

"Did you call, Mistress?" Viv intoned quietly. Her Mistressí capriciousness and fierce nature was legendary in the circles and it was most conveniently brought out if one wasnít quick. The girls at her house had learned quickly that swiftness was of great importance.

"Yeah." Ghis growled. She tossed the crumpled paper to the small brunette. "Check out the organisation behind this. Discreetly."

Viv bowed and exited. The tall woman regarded the now closed door with a pondering gaze and propped her feet up on the table, fiddling with the letter opener that was actually an old throwing knife, the grip polished to a silky smooth surface by the thousands of times she had held it, thrown it and retrieved to start the process again. Countless times, for years, until she could hit a stamp from thirty yards. Eyes closed.

If there was something she really loathed, it was fundamentalists. Be their ideals from the Bible or from any other holy book or purely from their twisted minds, she both hated them and felt sorry for them. Hated because they judged peopleís worth with dictatorial gestures and thought they were gods, having the power to decide on a personís fate. Religiousness was fine by her unless it was abused.

She had had some tanglings before with the Christian fundamentalists, the last time was when a tabloid magazine had published a thiteen-page íreportageí of the BDSM-fetish scene of London, complete with pictures. In two of the pictures she was doing her Tiger Tamer Elektra -number that included a whip, two ítigressesí and lots of penetration. A group of psychos had dug out her name and the address of the club from god knows where and started sending threat letters that promised the almightyís wrath and bombs. The problem had ended abruptly when the group had been arrested for sending a letter bomb to the PM.

And now her name was dragged back into the game. Idle ponderings floated through her mind, drawing and quartering with four cars and a very dull plastic spoon being her personal favourite. It was a familiar way of making her anger go away.

The sharp thunk reverberated through the quiet room as the knife embedded itself in the doorjamb. It trembled there for a while before silence settled back. Ghis rested her chin on two entwined hands and once again she tried to figure out why some people were stupid and prejudical by choice. And as usual, she found no rational explanation.

The door opened again but this time it accepted a figure that was instant sunshine to her. The blonde detective yanked the knife off and fingering it, padded to the desk.

"Something bothering you?"

"Nahh. Nothing special. Just miffed at general intolerance." At a raised blonde eyebrow, Ghis clarified. "Another batch of raving idiots promising hail and thunder and possibly meteors to all degenerates."

"Ah." The blonde woman perched on the edge of the table, swinging one leg. She reached over and traced the nicks and scratches in the steel cap of Ghisí worn combat boot. The hand travelled to the laces and up, inside the trouser leg. Della gently scratched the silky skin above the leg of the boot and smiled. Ghis found the little wrinkle that formed just above the bridge of the womanís nose whenever she smiled to be just too damn endearing.

"That suit looks nice on you," Ghis commented, noticing the new dark green trouser suit the detective was wearing. It was obvious she had come to the club straight from work, Della didnít like to wear such formal clothing on her free time.

"Thanks. A must-have at Harvey Nicís," she said and blushed at the compliment. It was funny, she got compliments form many people and although she found it strange, they didnít matter to her that much. But Ghisí comments were dear to her, for she knew the clubowner to be a woman of few words and keen eye on style. Green was good on her, she knew, bringing out the colour of her eyes and the almost rosy quality of her skin.

"Mmm," the tall woman hummed. In one swift, smooth move she was on her feet and ambling around the table until she stood in front of Della. A hand touched her chin, grabbing it gently and tilting upwards. The touch wasnít harsh or painful but it sure as hell was confident and demanding. "But then again, youíre a must-have too," Ghis whispered and dipped her head down to capture the startled detectiveís lips with her own.

They broke for air after a few minutes of floating in the red haze of oblivion. Della took an unsteady breth and her stomach chose just that moment to announce its displeasement with its current state. The detective blushed on the prolonged growl.

"Lunch?" Ghis smiled.

"Definetely. How about Italian?"

"Divine."

Children of the Saviour, was the groupís name. How unimaginative, Ghis thought as she scanned the email Viv had sent her that morning. A small but enthusiastic lot of people, all young and highly Bible-thumping. Their view of the world was simple: everyone who spoke or did against the Lordís word should be deemed as unfit to the status of human beings, perhaps even die. And as such groups often did, they first targeted some convenient minority, be it atheists, gays, people of other faiths or people with various perversions. Ghis belonged to three categories and her club was open to all. She rarely did get any flack though, so close-knit and secluded was the BDSM community.

There was little other data avilable on the group, except that they tended to gather at a memberís place and they had a lair somewhere, their church. Hate crime division at Scotland Yard was keeping a casual eye on them, as it did on other such fringe groups. Yardís power was limited though and they tended to focus on more threatening factions, neo-nazism being on the rise again.

The raven-haired woman sat back and rubbed her eyes. Idiots, was her final assesment. Nothing overtly morbid but she had learned it the hard way that knowing your enemy was the key to successful living. Most likely the Children of the Saviour were all hot air and talk, no action, but it never hurt to prepare. She sent a thank-you back to Viv encrypting it with PGP. They had started taking precautions in every mail ever since the unfortunate robbery and case of corporate espionage turned personal vengeance that had happened last summer.

The mail went on its way with Ctrl-X and the clubowner rapped the keyboard with her fingers, trying to figure out what to do next. Budget forecasts and the stock market were always an option but she didnít feel like numbers now. Then there was the wide world of Internet but no, she felt like... a cup of tea. Yeah. She exited her .fvwmr, logged out and switched off the monitor attached to her SGI O2 she currently had at home, courtesy of Relative Gravity, Inc. Maria had given her the workstation as a thank you for returning their hard drive. She had tried to turn it down but the blonde woman had insisted.

The kettle whistled in five minutes and the dark woman sat down at the kitchen table with a large mug of the fragrant liquid. The dayís Guardian was folded on the table, where Della had left it that moring before dashing off to work. Ghis flipped through the paper, pausing momentarily on the latest in the Government and the ups and downs of the stock market. And she stopped on a small article on page 4 of the local news.

"Bloody íell... Mike?"

Mike OíKelley, despite his Irish name, was a man with Jamaican origins. A tall shapely body, topped with a long mane of bleahced white rastas, he was a dear friend of Ghisí. He was the co-owner of a gay restaurant called Blue Boy, situated only a few blocks from the Rapture. His partner, Jaimien, owned the other half and though the restaurant was small, it was fairly successfull, relying on a flock of regulars and a lunch special, seafood linguini that was just divine.

The article pronounced that Ghis wouldnít having any of that linguini in the near future. More accurately, the piece stated that the place had been trashed, thoroughly. Furniture smashed, all linen burned, things thrown all over until not one plate or glass was intact. Unfortunately, the restaurant was between two shops, on a street with constant traffic so no-one had heard anything, or thatís what the article said. Half of the silence could be counted on the innardly self-directed nature of all city dwellers, what happened outside their homes was not their business.

The reporter on the site had interviewed Mike and according to him, the thing mustíve been the work of a lunatic. The cash register was intact, the intruder or intruders had just attacked the restaurant with rage close to abandon. It made no sense.

Ghis let the paper fall down on the table and shook her head. She made a mental note to give Mike a call and offer her help, if he needed any. Damn.

Her palmtop computer beeped softly, reminding her she had an appointment in an hour. Sighing, she shook her head again and hauled herself up. Rummaging through her wardrobe she came up with her best suit, an androgynous design in dark blue fabric, and a white shirt. Dressing quickly, she paused in front of the mirror and grinned to the image there. The secret to her success was to charm the hell out of new and prospective customers. It worked every time.

"So, Mr Smith," she said, managing to keep an impending smirk off her face and voice. "You wish to use the services of one of my employees, on a regular basis." It wasnít a question, more a statement of a fact that could be read from the manís face from far away.

"Yes," he said, calmly. Smith wasnít of course his real name but like most customers, he liked to keep his true identity a secret. A handsome man in his thirties and happily married, he exuded quiet wealth and control. It was that control that was slowly driving him nuts. Every day, he was the one making the hard decisions, being in control, having the burden of responsibility set on his shoulders. Once in a while, he liked to get away from it all and his favoured method was something he couldnít ask his wife to do to him.

From time to time, he had ventured to the underground world in London, paying for a session now and then. Like all hungers, it was never satiated but grew with time and now, he was willing to take another big step forward. Nothing but praise had he heard on the woman sitting across the table, looking quite ravishable in her half-buttoned manís shirt and handsome suit. The electric gaze was enough to make his blood flow into certain places in a way that made sitting quite uncomfortable but he wasnít complaining. No, he was glad to have taken this step and also, he was sure as the Earth was round, heíd bow and kneel before this woman with joy in his heart.

Ghis saw the look in the manís eyes and recognised it to be what she got from many customers. She sighed. As a matter of fact, she got it every damn time.

"You understand, Iím unavailable for such services," she explained to the man who deflated mildly on the comment. He had been expecting it of course but still, it was a bit of a disappointment.

"I understand."

"Good." Ghis smiled one of her trademark feral smiles that showed her prominent canines and was reflected in the glint of her electric blue eyes. Mr Smithís bloodflow increased twofold. "Mistress Soli will work out the details with you. Andrea!"

The girl appeared and Ghis instructed her to fetch Soli. She bowed and exited and a pitter patter of receding footsteps was heard. The clubowner made idle chit-chat with the man, noticing with an inner smirk that he couldnít get his eyes off her tool rack.

A knock on the door and it admitted Soli. She was dressed in her WooMen-outfit as she called it, the traditional corset and stockings -look that seemed for some reason be the ultimate turn-on for corporate types like Mr Smith. As it was, it worked like a charm. Smith felt his lips go parchment-dry and he couldnít keep his eyes off the way the dark woman was fingering the short lash she carried around.

"Hello, Mr Smith," she intoned in a soft, dark voice. He gulped. "Come with me," was all she uttered and turned away to exit the room. Ghis nodded her consent and the man stood and followed the brunette. A small smile played on the ruby red lips of the tall woman as the footsteps faded. He was going to be one loyal customer all right.

"Another day, another pence," she yawned and stretched. Odd. Never been one to talk by myself. Oh well... She shrugged and set her mind to the task of sorting through her mail. After a while, Sara came in with her lunch and she munched while reading a letter from one of her overseas business partners. The clubowner liked to do some of her correspondence the old-fashioned way, despite the fact that letters travelled slower than email.

The tagliatelle alla gorgonzola was spicy and tasty as Ghis chewed slowly. One time, she almost spewed out a mouthful as she valiantly attempted not to laugh at a particularily descriptive narrative of an unsuspecting visitor at La Nouvelle Justine who had entered thinking the place to be just an ordinary restaurant. She set down the letter, still chuckling and sipped on her sparkling water.

A new voice permeated her subconsciousness. A rhythmic humm, more than anything else and for a second, she thought it to be the humm of her computer in the other room. But no, it came through the window, outside. What on Earth... she thought and rose fom her chair.

The window in her private office gave out to the narrow street where the entrance to the club was located, a tall one-paned affair that let light in during the day and darkness out during the night. She leaned against the windowsill, grabbing the dark wood with a grip that threatened to break the thick wood altogether. It groaned in protest.

On the street, clotting the passageway thoroughly, was a knot of people, chanting something that was quite unintelligible through the thick window. The message was clear however, written on silly signs they were holding, along with big crosses and angry faces. Death to Perverts, one sign demanded. It was held by a man no more than twenty summers old, his face twisted in a mix of religious rapture and deep contempt.

"Idiots," she thrummed, her eyes half-closed. They had just messed with the wrong woman.

Ghis grabbed her ankle-long black leather overcoat and rushed down the stairs. Her rage boiled red-hot under the icy calm surface as she strode across the club, into the foyer and out the front door. The chant, she finally heard, was a hymn of a sort, sung by high young voices. Ghis actually felt sorry for the misguided souls on their holy mission, standing in a grey weather in the middle of London, completely unaware of the six and half feet of finely honed death approaching them.

A young man, Gary was his name, he was leading the chant. He felt the pride swell inside him at the strong voices that sang in unison, bringing the word of his Master to this hole of a place where people did things best left unsaid. His stomach had turned when the Minister had described the activities in detail. Animals, those men and women were, worthy of a biblical punishment. Stone íem to death, he wouldíve ordered. But it was the Lordís wish that the way of the words was to be tried first.

He felt the stares of passers-by on him and his group but he didnít mind. Most were just curious, a few were even hostile and they just made him sure of the righteousness of his mission. He scanned the singers, serious expressions on the faces of all. Eyes were mostly turned to him or to the windows on the first floor.

As he watched, one girl, Simone was her name, suddely stopped singing. Her jaw hung slack as she stared somewhere behind him. A few others stopped as well and their eyes found the same spot, right next to his left shoulder. Whatta...?

Before he had time to react, he felt someone standing behind him. It was a presence of something... very cold. Tendrils of moist coolness seemed to wrap around his soul and reflexively, he shivered. He turned around, to face a... chest. A chest of a woman, he added and let his gaze rake up, up until it met a pair of eyes colder than North Atlantic at wintertime, boring into his soul. He flinched. The eyes were not from this world.

"Lucifer...," he whispered instinctively. To his amazement, the olive-skinned face that held the eyes twisted into a crooked smile of perfect white teeth and primal ferociousness than made him step a pace back.

"Close, but no dice," the woman said, the deep voice bringing a new wave of coldness to him. The voice was smooth like velvet on steel, the calm tone barely hinting at the hardness it could hold. "Though I do have the power to make your puny miserable life a hell on Earth."

He fumed. No damn woman would speak to him, messenger of his God, like that. Some of the force behind his voice was lost because he had to speak up to be able to look into her face. "We bring the word of the Lord. Repent, abandon your wicked ways and you shall be saved," he managed, the formal words helping the delivery some. And then, the tall, dark woman did a thing that made his blood chill from fear. She smiled a genuine, dazzling smile.

"Tell you what," she said, still smiling and stepped a pace closer until she could smell the fear in the man. "You get out of here and Iíll promise to make my lover scream the name of you lord tonight." She was now so close the faint scent of dark passion and darker pain was clear in his nostrils. "Make her scream over and over again until she can take no more."

He was outraged. How dare this devil of a woman twist his holy message so. "You shall feel the wrath of the Lord, bitch," he hissed. She appeared unconcerned.

"Oh, I wouldnít worry about the big guyís wrath if I were you. Iíd be more worried about me," Ghis intoned mildly and to back her words, she let the tight rein she had on her anger slacken some. It brought a dangerous gleam to her eyes and the air crackled with dark energy. Gary felt his hackles rise.

"Because Iím far more dangerous than your words ever will," she finished and by now, she was standing inches away from Gary. He felt the heat and passion seeping from the woman, enveloping him in a world of haze that promised another sort of judgement, for him. He swallowed reflexively but his throat was dry as the desert.

Faster than his eye could see, Ghisí hand rose and gave him a quick fillip that made his eyes bounce in their sockets. "Now get out of here boy and take your pitiful band with you. You are holding an illegal demonstration and Iíll call the police if you donít leave right now," she growled and stepped back, a diabolical, sweet smile on her face. Gary knew good advice when he heard it so he gathered his people who were too stunned to sing anyway and they started to go away.

"Godís judgement is on you," he yelled just before they rounded a corner. He got his reply in the shape of a low, ringing laugh of pure mirth. It made him feel a little cold spot of fear in his chest.

"Idiots."

"Exactly," Ghis nodded. Della had come to exactly the same conclusion as Ghis about the demonstratorsí IQ level.

"Misguided idiots," the blonde woman particularised. Ghis tightened her hold around the slender figure in agreement.

They were reclining on the sofa, listening to quietly playing Bach and updating each other on the dayís activities. Della felt very comfortable here, half-laying on top of the taller woman, strong arms circling her gently. She had had a busy day, two homicides that seemed to be political in nature. The cases were highly intriguing and complex, and for Della, the latter was synonymous to the former.

Through the transparent plexiglass of the player, she could see the CD whirr around so fast the label was but a blurr. This was actually her favourite time of the day, spending some quiet time with her partner.

"Was it the same group that did the pamphlet you talked about?"

"Donít know for sure but I think so."

A bout of comfortable silence followed, the faint tunes of a fugue in E major, played by none other than Glenn Gould the only sound. Ghis was sure that Bach had not been human but instead, an alien sent to earth to bring a piece of heaven down, so divine the music was. It was good to be hedonistic, she smiled and reached for her tea.

Della hummed and closed her eyes for a brief moment. Concentrating hard, she could feel the taller woman swallow, the hot liquid traversing through her. The detective twisted so that they were stomach to stomach and wrapped her arms around Ghis. She felt the softness of her breast on her cheek and the warmth that emanated from the woman. She hummed again and twitched a bit, adjusting her position between the dark womanís legs.

Ghis smiled indulgently and smoothed the coppery blonde hair that billowed across her chest. "Comfortable?" she whispered into the silky head and got some incoherent mumbling as an answer.

"Very," Della said and lifted her head so she could look into Ghisí eyes. "You?"

A nod and a wider smile was her answer. The hands of the dark woman left her head and travelled to her shoulders and from there, to her back, making small, warming circles there. Oh, Della knew the new look in the twinkling blue eyes well.

She adjusted her head so that her mouth was on the firm breast and she could feel the smell metal ring on her lower lip. With her teeth she deftly grabbed the piercing along with the thick cotton that was covering Ghisí chest and pulled slightly. Against her lips she felt the nipple harden, reacting to the gentle assault and the clubownerís steady, powerful heartbeat picked up.

Dellaís hand meandered down, tugging impatiently at the shirt. She freed the hem from Ghisí leather trousers and slipped her hands under it, splaying her fingers on the skin that covered hard nubs of abdominal muscle. The contours of the clubownerís body were just perfect, hard, round mounds of powerful muscle covering her entire frame. Della hummed in delight around the ring she still held captive. The skin under her palms was smooth and warm.

Her hand meandered upward and found the other nipple ring, tugging at it gently. Ghis took in a sharp hissing breath and her fingers dug into Dellaís back. The detective released both rings and brought her eyes up, to look into Ghisí. The hot, steamy look in the blue eyes was enough to make Dellaís abdomen cramp in a way that was not unfamiliar. Gods, what that woman could do by just looking at her.

"Gotta get me one of these," the blonde woman smiled, tracing the slight bump the metal ring made inside the shirt.

"That can be arranged," Ghis growled and grabbing the smaller woman in her arms, she rose. "But not now. I have a promise to keep."

"What promise," Della quizzed, not really interested in anything except the heady scent of arousal the raven-haired woman was ejecting towards her.

"I promised to make you scream íoh godí tonight." the clubowner whispered to Dellaís ear and traced the edge of the said organ with her tongue. "Over and over and over..."

"Oh," the smaller woman breathed. She forgot to ask to whom the promise was made but really, it wasnít that important...

It was fortunate that the door was from the 19^th century. This meant it was made from thick oak, careful handiwork that was of high quality. Lesser doors wouldíve collapsed under the pressure as Ghis slammed Della against the panel.

It wasnít really painful, the clubowner was too skillful for that. Della felt the smooth wood on her back as she was pressed into it, not knowing if it was the pressure or who was doing the pressing that was taking her breath away. The taller woman grabbed her wrists and held them behind her back with one hand, pushing the slim frame against the door with unyielding pressure. Della tried to get on tiptoes to capture the red lips so close to hers, but the hold on her wrists tighened and she was forced to stay still. She groaned in frustration and attempted to yank her hands free.

A low chuckle followed her try. It wafted down from between the ruby red lips and found its way inside Della, making her knees buckle slightly. She knew that laugh so well. She was in trouble now and she felt a flush of desire colour her cheeks. That laugh was a sign of danger and usually, the actions that came after it left the blonde woman breathless, senseless and walking funny the next day. Ghis was gentle (and sometimes not), but rather adamant and helplessly insatiable. If Della taunted her, sheíd have her way with the detective, no matter how many hours, plays and climaxes it took Ghis to tire herself out.

"Do I sense mutiny?"

In a way of response, Della twisted her head to a side and tried to slip away from the steely grasp but it was hopeless. It was a way of sending a message that was partially intentional and partially her body signalling what it desired tonight. The message was received and understood completely.

"I see." The voice was now raspy and held equal dozes of mirth and something deep red and passionate in it. Ghis was getting the fever on the strugglings of the lithe woman pressed to her. She felt the unsteady breath and the heat coming from the woman and knew that games were about to begin. With a sudden move, she let go and stepped a pace back. The detective was still leaning against the door, trying to adjust to the quickly moving actions of her partner who was, increduously, sitting in a chair.

"Prepare yourself."

The two formal words were pronounced carefully, the source of them sitting calmly, one leg resting on top of another. Della frowned, trying to think of the implications of the words until it hit her. Sheíd been uppity and humiliation was part of her punishment. She gulped down her nervousness and with shaking hands, reached for the buttons of her blouse. They came undone with gathering speed and the item of clothing dropped to the floor, closely followed by her jeans, socks and bra. When she reached her knickers, however, a small shake of a dark head forbade her to take them off.

So, now she was almost naked, shivering. The shaking of her legs was brought on by intense arousal, for her the room seemed way too hot. Her upper lip was perspiring, she was sure. All the moisture from her mouth had to go somewhere for it was parchment dry.

Ghis still sat, enjoying the show. The detective was cast in a soft warm glow of light that came from the roomís indirect lights, the fine sheen of sweat glistening faintly on mildly tanned skin. She nodded and the blonde woman dropped her gaze to the floor, an unsuccessful attempt to hide a smile. The blonde woman paced softly to their toolbox and took out two pairs of leather cuffs. Attaching a pair to her ankles, she had to bend down and Ghis hummed softly at the sight of the gently curving backside that was revealed. Then, the wrist cuffs, the one on her right hand always giving her trouble. With trembling fingers, she struggled with the pesky buckle.

Warm hands took the task from her and when the item settled, she was squeezed into a ferocious embrace, the red lips finally meeting hers in a rough, searing kiss. Ghisí tongue licked her upper lip, demanding entrance that she willingly gave.

"The word still applies, remember that," Ghis said when she broke the embrace and took a hold of the cuffs, threading her fingers through the sturdy metal rings attached to them. Della nodded in muted understanding. The word was there though they had never needed it.

Ghis made swift work in binding the smaller woman to the conveniently located ropes, making her stand at the centre of the floor like a gigantic X. Della let her head loll down between her shoulders, her back remembering the past times with vague memories and small scars. She could hear the taller woman pace around the room though she couldnít see her. Suddenly, hands reached behind her and wrapped themselves around her, a palm resting flat on her stomach. The hand made small moves, occasionally brushing just under the waistline of her knickers. She held her breath and when the body of her lover pressed fully against her back and she felt tense nipples that were straining under a shirt brush against her back, a new surge of desire coursed through her.

Ghis more felt than heard the low moan. She smiled against the mass of strawberry blonde hair and brushed it to a side. Della tilted her head to provide better access and the woman behind her took the offer, latching on to the graceful curves of the neck. Sucking and biting gently, she drew another breathless growl from Della and felt the thighs in front of her flex in an instictive gesture as the detective attempted to bring her legs together but of course she couldnít. There was a reason for the bindings.

"Oh no you wonít," Ghis growled and slapped a creamy thigh, not hard but loud enough to capture Dellaís attention. She withdrew herself and Della gritted her teeth at the loss. She heard a faint rustle of clothing and soon, Ghis was back but this time, the smaller woman felt warm skin on her back. The clubowner had taken off her shirt.

Humming and trying to steady her breath, Della leaned to the contact and rubbed herself against the body behind her. The low laugh sounded again and the arms came back around, this time the right hand bringing with it the unmistakable feel of a coiled whip.

"Such a tease," the clubowner whispered and licked the edge of a deliciously flushed and hot ear. She let her tongue travel down the corded neck, down to Dellaís collarbone and the soft patch of pliant flesh there that was wildly throbbing to her heartbeat. She bit down on the flesh, sucking it into her mouth and raking her teeth over the now sore spot. Della moaned out loud and arched her back.

"Please," came a word, barely audible. Ghis smiled against the shoulder and kissed the straining muscle that was trembling slightly. It was time.

She stepped back again and let the hand holding the whip travel around the middle of the bound woman. With it, she traced the edge of Dellaís ribcage that was expanding and contracting erratically to the beat of the womanís ragged breathing.

"Please," came the whisper again. Ghis smiled at the trembling back and gently brushed the cascading golden curls of Dellaís hair away from her back. She traced one outstretched arm with the coiled whip and the muscles there jumped.

"This is me, loving you," the dark woman whispered before taking two swift steps back and letting the braided leather loose on Dellaís back. It flew in a graceful arc, kissing the taut skin on the detectiveís shoulderblade and left an elongated red mark there, not breaking the skin though. Della flinched in her binds and tried to bring her limbs to herself, managing only to get her restraints groan and her muscles tremble some more.

The second strike came right below the first one and she felt the burn of her skin at the contact. The whip rained its stinging caresses on her back in a steady pace and with a soft, snapping sound. The fine line between pleasure and pain was a line drawn in water and to Della, it dissolved and all that remained was fiery pleasure that zinged from her back to her groin, making her pulsate with need. With each loving caress the whip bestowed on her, she groaned her pleasure and by the time Ghis switched hands and started a symmetrical series on the other side of Dellaís back, the blonde woman was trembling from adrenaline, endorphine and the need to have something, someone, anything touch her where her need lay. She tried again to bring her legs closer but the ropes held.

The whip ceased its assault and Della took a shuddering breath. Her back was on fire and it was reflected on the insides of her eyelids where vivid colours were flaming higher and higher. She felt her inner muscles clench and release in a pleading, desperate request.

Ghis came to stand behind her subject and blowed air over the topmost red marks. The feel of cool air on her throbbing back made Della close her eyes and whimper something quite unintelligible. The taller womanís hands settled on Dellaís hips and held tight, steadying the gently swaying body.

"Please," the detective whispered. She was brimming with pent energy, ready to be released. Her breathing was calming down but still raspy, wheezing. She was reeling from the stinging rain that had caressed her back, the two hands firmly gripping her body and the caress of silky hair on her back as Ghis leaned to whisper to her ear.

"Please what?"

"Please," Della breathed.

"I canít hear you. What do you want me to do? Say it..." Ghis growled and slowly circled the panting woman, to come to a standstill right in front of her, smirking and still fingering the whip. She tossed the whip to the bed and came closer, so close Della swore she could feel the soft down on her skin touch the clubowner. With a swift move, Ghis reached down and extending past the now soppy wet cloth barrier of Dellaís knickers, let one finger travel along the whole length of Dellaís core. A groan was torn from the blonde woman who was by now sweating profusely. Her hips bucked at the sudden move.

"Say it," the tall woman whispered into one delicious ear and offered the glistening finger to Della who deftly took it into her mouth and sucked with abandon at the sticky coating. Ghis pulled out the digit, slowly and looked into bright green eyes that were glazed and pleading. "Say it," more firmly now.

"Please... take me," Della managed, her voice cracking at the end because Ghis chose that moment to draw a finger along her throbbing sex again. She brought it up again but this time, she put it in her own mouth and hummed at the wild, musky taste. She now knew what Aphrodite had meant when she referred to ambrosia.

The hue of Ghisí eyes was a stormy blue, deep dark depths gazing into Dellaís soul through slitted lids. The eyes squeezed shut momentarily when the finger with its coating of liquid fire disappeared between the lips Della so longed to feel on her. The detective was past caring, past dignity. She just wanted this woman to have her, take her and make the world explode inside her.

"Please, Mistress... have me. I canít wait any longer," Della pleaded, flexing her arms so hard the leather bindings groaned. A fine sheen of sweat made Dellaís skin glisten as her chest heaved at the extertion and the feeling inside that felt like a gigantic spring coiled tight.

"Mmmm. Is that so?" Ghis teased and licked Dellaís jaw. A muted hiss of desperation was released through clenched teet and again the binds moaned. The dark woman took mercy on her captive. She kneeled and quickly undid the ropes from Dellaís ankle cuffs and got back up, a tight grip on the detectiveís thighs keeping her from closing her legs.

All of a sudden, two things happened at once. Ghis leaned down and captured one of Dellaís aching nipples in her mouth and brought her thigh up, thrusting it against the apex of the trembling womanís legs. Della screamed in a heady flash of pleasure, the twin assault making lights dance in her head.

"Oh god," she groaned as the thigh moved slightly and the warm leather covering it rubbed against her most sensitive spot. She was nearing the edge, fast. But the leg went away as did the mouth. She gritted her teeth in protest and with great effort opened her eyes and saw Ghis looking at her, a beatifical smile decorating the handsome face.

"You are so beautiful..." the clubowner hummed and brought one hand to Dellaís twitching behind, the other settling on a lovely breast, flicking at the taut nipple with the short nail of forefinger. Della gasped and the smile on the dark womanís face intensified. "So responsive," she whispered and kissed the smaller woman, tasting passion, quickly dwindling patience and blood for Della had bit her lip in an effort to stay still.

Leaving the mouth, Ghis travelled down the heaving body, tracing every muscle with her tongue until she reached the waistband of Dellaís underwear. She kneeled in front of the tantalising sight and reached for the two thin strips that kept the piece of clothing on. A powerful yank and the fabric ripped, revealing skin that was clean and soft as the skin of a baby. A dark eyebrow rose halfway to hairline and Ghis tilted her head up.

"Youíve shaved yourself?"

"Mmmm... surprise," Della managed.

"Ohh, indeed," Ghis hummed and sucked in the tender flesh just below Dellaís former hairline. "Next time, Iíll do it for you."

The images of that vanished quickly from Dellaís head as her thighs were settled on two powerful shoulders and Ghis lowered the detectiveís centre to her. Dell almost sobbed as she finally felt the soft lips where she wanted them most.

Ghis let her tongue play with the hard nub in a way that made Della convulse. One long finger entered the detective but it didnít stay inside long. Ambiguous feelings flashed through the blonde woman, she wanted the clubowner in her but really, that tongue was just too damn distracting. Her attention was however pulled to a new sensation as the finger, now liberally coated with the natural lubricant she produced so profusely, gently brushed her sphincter. It contracted in a natural reaction to the invasion and Dellaís breath caught. She held it at the gentle probing but was forced to release it. That one small point in her groin was consuming all her blood, or so it felt.

She squirmed at the new but not unpleasant sensation and her breath caught again as Ghis inserted her finger, pushing it in to the first joint. Ohh, it brought a buzz to her ears, the combined feel of Ghisí finger in such uncharted territories and the insistent motion her tongue kept up. The finger pushed further in.

"Ahh... god, that feels..." And the rest was an incoherent strained groan as the finger went all the way in and gently peeked around. Della felt the familiar tightening in her groin and the red tendrils that spelled approaching release were gathering at her eyes.

Ghis felt the impending orgasm in the way the thighs on her shoulders trembled and in the convulsive clenching of the muscles around her finger. She made a small, tight circle with her finger and at the same time, took the throbbing bundle of nerves between her teeth and let it slide slowly out, the sharp teeth raking along its shaft.

Della threw her head back and hazily heard her hair hit her sweating, bloody back with a faint slap. She didnít register it well though, she was feeling the small, delicious move of the finger in her and the tight pressure on her clitoris and it all equalled... a raw, guttural scream was torn from her throat. It was a prayer shot to the sky and the heaven complied, meeting Dellaís lifting spirit halfway. The meeting was a meltdown of colours, sounds and explosive pleasure that reached the core of her very being, racking her tormented body from toe to the top of her head. The scream continued all through the prolonged climax, the smaller woman trashing around uncontrollably. Ghis held on, drawing out every wave of white hot pleasure from Della.

It took the better part of a millenia before the spasms subsided some and Ghis let her mouth loose from the detective. She saw that the legs wouldnít hold her trembling frame up though so she warpped the limbs around her waist and quickly undid the ropes from Dellaís wrist cuffs. She saw the blonde woman had red welts where the leather had bit into her skin, when she had convulsed from her release. Kissing softly the sore spots, Ghis cradled the still panting woman to her and gently lowered her on the waiting bed.

Instictively, Della curled into a fetal position, breathing a bit more steadily. She rolled on her back and winced at the feel of the marks on her back. Gonna feel those for a while but whoo... it was worth it. She opened her eyes and gazed into blue, smiling ones that were in an equally smiling face of the taller woman who was also lounging on her stomach, on the bed.

"You are so beautiful when you come," Ghis hummed and rested her chin on one hand, propping the elbow against the soft mattress. Della bit her lip and cast her eyes to her stomach, a faint smile on her lips.

"Thank you, Mistress," she said and lifted her eyes back up. Extending one hand, she gently took a hold on Ghisí hand and pulled the woman closer, until she had the taller woman in her arms. The midnight black hair was silk spun by gods, she was sure, so soft it was. She breathed in the scent and pushing, she turned Ghis to her back. Climbing on top of the olive-skinned woman, she hummed in delight at the feel of skin on skin.

"Thank you, Mistress," she repeated and kissed the smooth skin between Ghisí breasts. The clubowner brushed a few errant strands of strawberry golden hair off the smaller womanís face and smiled indulgently. Another kiss between her breasts and she felt a small hand fumble on the belt buckle of her leather trousers.

"I said ígodí only twice as I recall. My turn to make you scream," Della whispered becore she turned her head to a side and lowered her mouth to a waiting nipple. Ghis felt her blood flush with heat again as the fiery bolts shot from her breasts straight to her centre. She exhaled through her teeth and let her head drop to the pillow.

"Oh, theyíre at it again," Mr Warren said and adjusted his glasses as he laid down the Hemingway he was reading. His wife paused in her knitting and tilted her head, listening to the sounds emanating through the thin wall. A few muted words she couldnít decipher, followed a few moments after by a raw, deep scream that reverberated loudly.

"Thatís Ms du Plessis," she concluded and started on the sock again.

"Which one is that?"

She set down the green sock and sighed in resignment. Her husband of fifty years had Altzheimerís but refused to believe it. "The tall, dark one. Remember?"

"Oh, yeah. Sheís tall all right," he commented. "How do you know itís her?" he continued as another scream, this one slowly building from a low growl into a wild groan, came through the wall.

She rolled her eyes. "Well, of course itís her. The voice is much deeper and no sounds of chains or whips. We heard that just before, remember, the more high-pitched yell? That was Ms Covington." Her husband looked at her blandly and she fought the urge to roll her eyes.

"The small, blonde woman," she clarified.

"Ah. More tea, dear?" he asked and upon a nod, poured for his wife. Glancing at the wall as a loud thud and a string of what sounded like religious utterances wafted to his ears. He set the pot down and picked up his book again. Nothing like a good novel and good olí English tea on a peaceful Friday night.

"Ghis..."

The clubowner knew that tone of voice. It was light and slightly pondering, predicting a long, winding story and usually a request. So, she adjusted her shoulders and the woman on top of her who was, at the moment, speaking directly to her left breast as her head was turned that way.

"Yes?"

Della opened her mouth and closed it again. She made a small sighing noise by blowing air through her nostrils, air that hit Ghisí sensitised nipple and made her arms jerk. She felt the smaller woman smile against her chest at the reaction.

"Sorry."

"No prob."

"I was just thinking... remember the time I told you about my great-auntie?"

"The archaelogist?"

"Yeah, thatís her. She researched Ancient Greece and its customs and... I read one of her publications when I was in college." A warm silence from Ghis encouraged her to continue. She cleared her throat, suddenly dry. "There were some... interesting things the warlords of that time did. They had this habit of... marking their slaves," Della finished and lifted her head, a bit fearful. She met blue eyes that held nothing but curiosity and understanding and she leaned into the hand that was stroking her cheek.

"You understand the reprecussions?"

Oh, Della understood. It would hurt (no biggie), sheíd be scarred for life (she had far worse scars already) and sheíd be marked as the property of the tall, dark woman, forever (the point, really). She put on her best solemn face and nodded, looking deep into the sparkling bright eyes of her partner. She tried not to blink, looking for a sign of hesitation on Ghisí part, dread in her heart for refusal meant... Ghis didnít want her.

"Yes, Iíll do it for you. Iíd be honoured," the dark woman rasped, emotion overpowering her voice. She squeezed the smaller woman to her, feeling the smaller hands on her sides as the cool metal on the cuffs Della still wore brushed her skin.

"Thank you," the blonde woman whispered to her breast and closed her eyes. It was the safest place in the world, nightmares couldnít reach her there.

Sleep claimed the women quickly and finally, the room was quiet save for the sound of two people breathing, entangled in sheets that held the scent of their love.

It was cold, Ghis admitted to herself. The wind made her eyes water slightly and she wished sheíd worn a thicker shirt than her Royal Navy college. Not that sheíd ever admit it to anyone. Pride did have its disadvantages.

"Brrr," Della uttered and wrapped her arms around her body. The detective had no inhibitions about voicing her discomfort. "Whose idea was it to go rollerblading in September?"

"Yours, if Iím not mistaken," Ghis laughed and made a nice pirouette turn, ending next to the shivering detective. "Címon, youíll feel warmer if we skate faster again," she said and tugged at the smaller womanís sleeve.

"No way," Della clattered and getting a sudden impulse, dived into Ghisí arms. The clubowner made a small oomph but wrapped her arms around the woman clinging to her like a limpet. "Much nicer," Della murmured into the dark blue college shirt. She looked up and unwrapping one arm from Ghisí waist and tangling it in the long mane of ink-black hair, she gently nudged the clubownerís head down until their lips met.

"Much nicer," Della repeated when they broke the kiss. "Made me feel soooo warm."

Ghis chuckled at the dreamy smile on the detectiveís face. "This is St. Jamesí Park, dear. People are watching," she reminded.

"They can kiss my tight butt," Della replied and kissed an invitingly soft neck.

"For that, they have to get through me first," Ghis smiled hazily, her eyelids drooping half shut. She was aware of the eyes on them and heard the muffled gasp of the elderly woman sitting on a bench not five yards from them as Della licked the hollow of her throat and purred. To hell with it, she thought and captured the detectiveís lips with hers. The elderly woman dropped the small bag of pigeon food she was holding and didnít notice.

After a few such pauses and a light late lunch at Covent Garden, Della had skated so much her legs were already trembling. Ghis suggested they go straight to the club. Della agreed heartily, a shower and a comfortable chair were so much closer there.

"Ow ow. My buttís still hurting from all that riding," Della grimaced as they rouded the second to the last corner before the club. Her moves were getting a bit jerky by now.

Ghis patted the said bodypart and hummed. "Feels OK to me."

"Oh, that you expert opinion, doctor?" Della quipped back, shooting an amused glance at the chuckling woman. Ghis sobered and put on an exaggerated pondering look.

"I might have to do a more close examination," she finally said and winked.

"Looking forward to..." Della answered, pausing in mid-sentence as she came around the last corner and stopped, Ghis almost rear-ending her. "That," she finished in a quiet voice.

It was hard to miss. On and over the first floor wall, in yardstick-high letters was scribbled THY SHALT BURN IN HELL. The perpetrator had stood on the roof of the one-story narrow building in front of the club house, spraypainting the message in bright signal orange. It blazed bright in the afternoon sun and gathered a few curious glances but little beyond that. Dwellers of the Soho of London had seen everything there is to see, nothing could shock them anymore.

The metal lamppost next to Della clanged loudly and swayed dangerously. Ghis had thumped her fist against the poor lampís shaft almost hard enough to either break her hand or the metal tube.

"Címon," the dark woman growled and grabbed Dellaís hand. She tugged the detective inside the club and still on her blades, rolled through the foyer and into the open cavernous space of the dancefloor.

"Viv! Sara!" she bellowed, the voice reverberating from wall to wall. Unclipping her knee paddings, she threw them over the bar and rolled to stand in the middle of the parqueted dancefloor.

The two girls appeared from a room in the first floor, still sleepy-eyed and their hair in tangles. They had been on duty last night and so, gone to bed in the morning. The peeked over the railing on the balcony that was the first floor, flinching at the severe look and tone their Mistress carried.

Ghis instructed them to get dressed and call a cleaning party to scrub off the message from the wall. They hurried to their task and her anger still boiling just beneath the surface, Ghis sat heavily on the dais at the other end of the dancefloor. Her fists clenched and unclenched reflexively.

Della had shed her skates and now, without a word, she kneeled in front of Ghis and with gentle hands, removed her skates too. After that, she circled to stand behind the taller woman and laid a hand on her shoulder. It flinched.

"Easy," Della whispered and started a gentle massage on the big, bunched muscles that were twitching.

Ghis relaxed under the knowing touch. The blue eyes vanished under tired lids and she let her head droop forward. Della knew just the right spots and places where she was feeling tight and she virtually felt the tension drain away.

"Gods, Iím just so tired," she whispered to no-one particular. Della caught the muted words though.

"Me too. Why canít they just leave people alone?" she muttered back, catching the double meaning in Ghisí words. She was answered with a faint shrug and a sigh.

"They have too much hate. I used to be like that too. Fortunately I had better ways to get my anger out." She wasnít sure if íbetterí was the best choice in adjectives but she let the sentence be. She didnít see Della nod but felt a soft touch on her head as the blonde woman laid a small kiss on her hair.

"Theyíre just too blinded by their faith to see true love even if it smacked them in their family jewels," Della sighed and sat behind the clubowner, circling two arms around the womanís midriff. The small spot between Ghisí shoulderblades Della pressed her nose on had the faint scent of brisk autumn air and clean sweat and laundry detergent. It also held the more than familiar scent that was Ghis, a mixture of something wild, something hard and something passionate, with a touch of her perfume on top.

When the cleaning crew arrived, they still sat there, wrapped into each other. The men did quick work of the offending text with a sandblower and some heavy scrubbing but by the time the wall was impeccable again, it was late.

Ghis snapped out of the hazy state of half-sleepwith a small start and with it, the woman in her arms jumped also.

"Gah," Della coughed. "I think I fell asleep."

"Yeah, you did. You got sofa prints," Ghis smiled and rubbed a thumb over the red marks that coincided with the harshly nubbed rubber surface of the sofa. "We must get ready soon."

"OK," Della said and stretched herself with long, luxuriating moves. Her spine popped and she grimaced. "They got the wall cleaned?"

"Yeah."

"Whatíre we gonna do about this thing?" the detective queried. She herself had already woved sheíd check the latest news from the Yardís hate crimes department and push some people into action.

"Oh, the pushíll come to shove soon enough for the bloody bastards," Ghis smiled. It wasnít a very pleasant smile all in all, it was a bit crooked and displayed the white pointy canines the dark woman had. And it didnít reach the blue eyes, they were cold as icebergs.

Part 2 -(End)


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