Who Watches the Watchers?

"I don't know how you find them, baby, and I don't want to know. But couldn't you find one that was at least-attractive?" Genevieve said, with a smile. She wasn't chiding Kronos, of course-it was just her way of insulting the man he had tied up on the floor of the hotel room. She knelt. "He's too old, and scrawny. Why don't we throw him back?"

Kronos considered this. "We are on the 14th floor."

"And me without my video camera."

She then smiled at him, remembering. "How did you get the same room? You're a romantic--you know that? And where the hell did Methos get to?"

"He's looking for someone-a person who was in the area last anyone knew-they have found a number of dead people with tattoos here. He's been watching the Watchers." Kronos knelt down and cut the ropes, freeing the man. He got up, and rolled the still-prone figure over with his foot. "Look at him-he knows better than to run."

"If he was smart, he wouldn't be here," Genevieve said. "Get up," she spat at the Watcher.

"Kill me. You aren't getting anything out of me."

Genevieve smiled patiently. "Do you know who this is-or who I am? Even if you don't tell us what you know-you'll be good for entertainment value. Get your stupid ass up-I don't want to have to ask you anything twice."

He rose, but shot them both ugly looks. "I know you're Immortals, and that's enough."

Kronos cuffed him, hard, and he sank to the floor. "That is hardly enough."

"Aw, c'mon. And after he finally got up, too." With this, Genevieve grabbed the man by the arm, and yanked him to his feet. After a moment of pressure, a cracking sound was heard. She hissed in the Watcher's ear, "Don't resist me-I will break every bone in your body if I have to." Then, she laid him out face down on the oak coffee table with a rough shove.

She gave Kronos a mischievous look and purred, "Don't you want to play?"

"I want to see what you do."

"Damn, you're kinky as a Slinky-but more fun." And she picked up the remnants of the man's binding. As she knelt, she felt Kronos' hand on her shoulder, and as she rose, she saw he was as excited as she was at the idea of torturing this mortal.

"You want to see what I would do? Shit, you could teach me a thing or two about torture, and I should know. At least help me strip him and get him tied back up." And with this, she caught his mouth in a sudden, fierce kiss. Kronos knew her well enough to know this made her horny-violence.

So they worked on him, stripping him and getting him positioned back face down on the coffee table between repeated bouts of beatings. He wasn't exactly as thrilled about the thought of torture as they were-maybe it was being the victim that bothered him. Or the uncomfortable way his lips and the area around his eyes were beginning to swell. But then again, it might have been the flecks of blood that dotted Kronos' and Genevieve's fists-who is to say what he thought?

Ultimately, pissed beyond belief, Genevieve said, "Fuck it all, why don't we gag the little motherfucker?"

"We're supposed to be interrogating him, Genevieve."

"Aw, c'mon-I'll take the gag right out."

"Well, he would be quieter-" and at this, Kronos shrugged. Might as well have been Atlas, in Genevieve's opinion. It amazed her how he'd let her have her fun like this.

She grabbed a fistful of the Watcher's hair and pulled his head back with force. Then, she stuffed his underwear into his gaping mouth-gaping, because the angle she held his head at didn't leave him a lot of room to breathe. She smiled at Kronos, "That would be one way to do it, wouldn't it?" Once, Kronos had gagged her with her own underwear-funny how this struck her as an interesting memory at the moment.

The Watcher made gagging noises-being gagged-this was only appropriate. It seemed to displease her, though. She swatted the back of his head. "If you get sick, I'll just let you choke on it. I couldn't really give a damn."

She looked up at Kronos. "Fucknuts is a good name for him, and shithead, and all the other little pet names-but does he have a real name? I might like to know this character intimately before I kill him."

Kronos tossed her the wallet. She checked the ID. "Tim Reynolds. Timmy-boy. Timmy you is my bitch, now," she said, trying the name out.

"What do you call intimate?" Kronos asked, and she loved the way his eyes lit up. She loved to think anything she might do would even remotely surprise him.

"I have a little toy," she said, coyly. "One minute." And with this she laughed, and went to the bedroom. She came back with her bag-she'd been accumulating "things"-a feminine trait. Among her things, however, was the twelve-inch black rubber dildo she was now pulling out.

"I have no use for this myself, as I'm well taken care of-but it's…"

Kronos cut her off by grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her close to him. "Why don't you do this in something more comfortable-it would drive him crazy."

She raised an eyebrow-and the look in her eyes was wicked. "It would drive you crazy, too. Hell, it's driving me crazy-I want to fuck you after I do him." She found herself kissing him again, and stripping herself. Why not be naked while she raped this guy? It would certainly be more comfortable. Once naked, she walked in front of the Watcher and showed him the dildo.

"This is what is in store for you. Do you like the look of me? Are you a married man, Timmy? I was married once-you assholes wasted my old man. He was a mortal-fucked up, didn't you? Do you have an old lady, Timmy? Does she look like me? Of course she doesn't. She's probably an old, ugly-looking thing-like you. But that doesn't mean I won't have fun with you." She laughed, even while remembering the momentary pain of it-poor Steve. She hated to think her husband had been blown up like that because of her. That whole time-such a waste.

She slapped his ass with the dildo, knowing this would rile him-a bit of violence could well be an incentive to a bit of excitement-and she wanted him to almost enjoy it, and feel less of a man. She found herself pleased at the way his skin reddened, and the way he writhed-this was power, being able to make a body feel this and being in control of what would happen next.

"You are going to feel a little pinch," she said in the flat tones of a nurse about to give a needle. "Then you will feel a horrible, burning pain as I ram this up your ass. Unless," she said, her voice becoming throaty and suggestive, "you've done this before."

Kronos laughed silently, and she met his eye. Yes, she decided, she would certainly want to screw him after doing this. Hell yes, she would.

The thought made her horny enough to gloat. She again went in front of the Watcher and she held up the dildo. "I think you're ready-or you better be. But I'll be nice about it." She took the dildo into her mouth, wetting it with her lips and tongue-exaggerating the act. "I'll have it nice and lubed for you. Is your ass a virgin? Never mind, bitch-I'm finding out."

She stood and went to his ass. He had his cheeks clenched-a natural thing given what he knew was about to occur. She slapped his ass with her hand and then, with her middle finger, probed his cheeks, searching out the hole. She felt it-

"'Rhoids, eh? Tough shit. I'm still coming for it, you bitch. You were Horton's bitch-believing you pathetic mortals could wipe us out-a joke. Why even try? Like you could see us gone in your miserable lifetime. You want to believe that we're monsters, and that is what makes us monsters. Grin and bear it, Timmy, grin…and…bear it." With that, she drove the tip of the dildo home. He dropped the underwear from his mouth and screamed. It was music to her ears.

It pissed Kronos off, of course. He had out the knife, grabbed a fistful of the man's hair, and held the knife to his throat.

"Scream, and die. You will enjoy this-in quiet."

Genevieve smiled. "Ah…at least he won't alert attention. Kronos, did I ever mention that I love you?"

He smiled, but he didn't answer. He didn't need to. Genevieve settled back down to the work at hand. She drove it in deeper, and looked appreciatively at the way he seemed to heave and gag and wince-all the while with his Adam's apple perilously close to the blade. When she drew it out-she liked the streaks of blood. It made her continue-letting out a stream-of-consciousness rap about this situation-

"You little pissant, you fuck, you never had it so good, you like this-you just don't know it yet, but you will have a chance to think this over before you die. You were Horton's whore-get used to it. You took the risk and these are the consequences-you thought Immortals were monsters and here's your proof. But by the gods-stop and think why-why you are in this position. Watchers drew blood-knowing we are all about paybacks. We play the Game-we are killers-you had no business here." She paused, and looked at his bloody ass, intensely.

She drew out the dildo, and began beating him with a will. Flecks of blood scattered.

"Fuck! I want to use my sword on this prick! I want him to taste steel. I want him to know what we are."

"He won't understand, Genevieve. I'll kill him."

She paused. "No. We'll gag him again, and I want to…I have a bad taste in my mouth, and you are always…what I need." She smiled. "Then we'll kill him." She drew Kronos close to her and loved how ready he was to kill this putz-it meant everything to her at the moment that he seemed to want to kill him for her satisfaction. She said it once, and she meant it-she loved him.

"You are always the whore-what doesn't excite you?"

"Peas. I have never been big on peas-although I like split pea soup-weird. Look? I just want to screw…the floor is good."

With the tied-up and severely traumatized Watcher not five feet away, they sank to the floor and began to explore one another. They kissed, and Genevieve ran her hands over Kronos' body. She loved his compact muscle and the way he seemed so beautiful to her and yet, so dangerous. It nearly killed her that she got to see both his bad side-the side anyone could see-as well as the side of him that had sent her crashing into love with him. She undid his zipper and slid his pants down just enough to get at what she wanted.

His hands grazed her tits-big, full-in all things she was a precocious woman. She had been twenty when he first laid eyes on her, but he thought she was older. He killed her to preserve her this way, and now she wore this body like a curse on the world. She seemed to know the world by screwing it-in every sense. He thought of her as a whore almost affectionately-she made love to the chair she sat in, to the air she breathed.

When he entered her, she sighed. It was ever thus between them-violence and sex. She loved that-they were both turned on by the terror. He ploughed her, and ran his hands over her ass and thighs the whole while. She thought, wildly, that he might even love her for this-liking the violence. Blood was their common ground.

He thrust against her deeply and her eyes rolled in her head; she was as excited as ever. She clasped her thighs against his and ground against him, tightly, and with a few firm, throbbing twitches, both were coming. They lay for a moment, panting and unconcerned, but then, Genevieve asked, "Should I do it? I don't think he will say anything. I think he should die."

Kronos considered that. "Yes, do it. I'll take care of the body-you are still," he hated to say it, but it was true, "too reckless."

"He dies." She rose from him, full of regret, but with the knife in her hand. She would cut him across the throat, like a pig for the slaughter. She would not mind-he was a Watcher, and even pigs were better than that.

The door handle turned. Genevieve paused, sensing the arrival of another Immortal-and the knife slipped from her hand. She felt vaguely like she was being caught in the act-but honestly, she wasn't sure why.

It was Methos-who else? He looked at the scene with disapproval, if no real surprise.

"The two of you-I should have known. Neither of you have any restraint. And I'm sure you even forgot to interrogate him." He could imagine the two of them getting thoroughly carried away-if anything, they brought out the worst in each other. Of course-he could also picture them doing what they were always doing-especially since she was naked. And Kronos was smiling. Genevieve was always horny when she was being violent. It was part of her charm.

"No one else ever gets to play the grown-up," Genevieve pouted. She wouldn't let on to Methos that she was almost disgusted at herself for this-she probably had gotten carried away.

"I don't think there's anything to be had from him," Kronos commented. "He seems to believe in his oath." Then, changing the subject, he asked, "Did you find Galati?"

Methos shook his head, smiling. "I won't need to." He pushed up his sleeve and then showed them the temp-tattoo he had on his wrist. "I put the wheels in motion for him to go looking for me."

"Very clever, Brother."

Genevieve looked down at the Watcher. He had been very still, and she didn't like that. She also didn't like that he was lying there, neither being tortured, nor killed. It felt anti-climactic, and if there was anything she was all for-it was climaxes.

"So, Old Dude-want a piece of him? He's a little used-sorry." She looked at him with anticipation-when Methos got around to it, he could be fairly vicious, himself.

"I'm surprised you left me anything." He picked the dildo up off of the floor. "Genevieve-yours?"

She grinned, evilly. "It's big-reminds me of you."

The look she got from him was the desired reaction-she loved pushing his buttons. It always surprised her that she could. She thought, at his age, nothing should be able to rattle him. Although, she figured, give her enough time, and she would rattle anybody.

He inspected it with a frown, and not just because of the blood streaks. It wasn't really his style. While Genevieve might get her kicks from raping a man's ass, he personally found a mind fuck to be much more rewarding. Watching a person's confidence dwindle, feeling the power of knowing they were being emotionally destroyed, playing with their heads, looking into their eyes and feeling total control-there were things to be appreciated in that-subtleties that would escape Genevieve and Kronos.

"Let's untie the poor bastard," Methos said, finally, throwing the dildo to the floor. Genevieve raised an eyebrow, but then saw what he was doing. Kronos knew his brother well enough to know that this seeming-mercy was but the beginning of a more unique form of play. He settled into a chair, and Genevieve dropped to sit on the floor.

"If you want the bastard untied, do it yourself, Brother," Kronos said. "I don't see why we don't kill him."

"Or worse," Genevieve added.

Methos knelt to undo the ropes, his face a picture of mock-concern. "Animals, they can be such animals," Methos commented. He even rubbed the man's wrists gently to work on the circulation-although he took note of the fact that one of them had been broken. He briefly wondered which of them had done it-but it didn't matter.

The Watcher seemed dazed, but looked at Methos almost expectantly. A look of recognition then crossed his bruised and swollen face.

"Pierson?"

****

It was at times like this that Methos truly appreciated the little trick of nature that allowed Immortals to sense each other, but kept mortals in the dark. He also appreciated that a paranoid like Horton never got around to informing all and sundry that one-time mild-mannered researcher Adam Pierson was, in fact, one of them. And this poor, dazed and confused little fuck had no clue.

"Steady," he whispered in the man's ear, and showed the mark on his wrist to the Watcher. "Some things don't change. Just play along, and I can get you the hell out of here."

The man, now that he was upright and looked a little less victimized, was recognizable. Methos had known him while he was a Watcher. He was never a bright sort, Reynolds. He probably was worthless for anything but abuse.

He hauled back and slapped the man, knocking him off of his feet. The man's face was a mask of shock and hurt surprise. Genevieve and Kronos shot each other amused looks. Reynolds stared at Pierson, but realized that he had only one chance to get out of this. He had to play along.

An idea crossed Methos' mind, and he said, never taking his eyes off of the Watcher, "Don't the two of you have something else you should be doing?"

"Aw, man, I like to watch," Genevieve said, but the look on Methos' face told her that he wanted them gone so he could continue his own little Game. She respected that.

"Fine, fine, I need to shower, anyway," she muttered, and then got up. She gave Kronos a little look. "Want to help?" He smiled and followed her. If cleanliness is next to godliness, godliness might want to move over a little.

Once the door was closed and Methos could hear the water running, he helped Reynolds back to his feet, and made a show of concern. "They will be distracted for awhile."

"I can tell those things are easily distracted. 'Animals' is right-do you know what they did?"

Methos rolled his eyes and attempted to sound sympathetic. "I can only imagine, sex-mad psychopaths-both of them. You can only imagine what I'm going through, living with them and their murdering ways-they make me sick. But they serve a purpose-they think they're using me." With that, he gave a forced laugh.

"You mean?" Reynolds ventured. He lacked the imagination to finish the sentence.

"They are trying to form an underground Immortal resistance. The idea-amusing isn't it, given the Game and all?" Methos made a face of wry amusement, and searched Reynolds' face-he was eating this up, and nodding like a fool. "Of course, we want to know what they're doing-that way, we'll have a bead on the worst of them." He pointed in the direction of the closed door. "Those two-they are definitely among the worst."

"Especially the woman," Reynolds said.

Methos wanted to laugh insanely at this point. Genevieve was a half step better than a two-bit hustler who luckily didn't mind killing-and she was practically a baby. He wondered what the man would think if he knew that she was young enough to be his daughter. It was even funnier to think that she could be worse than Kronos, of all people. This man's stupidity was a riot.

"Perhaps she is. But there is one out there-an old, powerful Immortal, who we've yet to really get a fix on. He's elusive. They say he's the oldest one."

"What, you mean Methos? You don't say."

"Yeah, well, I do say. And I know he exists."

"Really?"

He realized just how Pierson knew that Methos existed only a few moments before dying. The look on his face was simply priceless. Methos certainly did love a good mind fuck, even with an idiot like Reynolds.

*****

Genevieve liked the shower set at a temperature most people would find uncomfortably high, and Kronos did not mind the heat. Everything was wet and steamy, particularly themselves. They were almost burning, and not just from the water that beat down on them.

He pressed her up against the tiled wall, lips moving against her rapidly heating skin, and she moaned-sometimes she could be a bit loud, especially when she was turned on, and she was, painfully so. She lifted one leg, and with the kind of balance one only achieves with practice, braced the other leg hard, so that when she pulled him to her, she somehow stayed upright, even while she felt at loose ends with desire.

She achieved the right position, and he was able to enter her, standing, and she bit her lips as he did that. She adored the feel of him-he seemed hotter than the water, and just what she needed. She ran her fingers through his wet hair, and kissed him, deep and enveloping-a devouring kiss. The position was awkward, but they made up for it with patience-rare for both of them.

Kronos moved against her gently, slow, smooth motions, nothing like their usual buck-wild thrusting. The way he held her seemed tender, and she almost felt strange about that. Her leg slid to wrap around his, and she enjoyed the pleasure he gave her, fully in the moment. She knew she couldn't really feel this way about someone else-he bewildered her-she would never really understand him.

At the same time, he wondered about what she had said-so easily, but the first time she had really said it-she loved him. The little bitch could lust, hate, kill-she could destroy the world, and she was so capable-ahead of her years. But he wondered-could she really love? He had known women as lovers and as slaves-he had raped women, and laughed in their faces, knowing he had caused pain to them, and never cared. He had killed them-and she knew all this. And she loved him. It was the sort of thing she would do-admit to loving him.

Her hands moved to his neck, she touched his face, and her kiss seemed to be less devouring and more tender. One hand began to roam, curving down the small of his back and caressing his ass. She pulled him even closer, wanting him deeper inside her. Being close to him almost made her feel whole-like she wasn't a child, or scared, or as if she hadn't made horrible mistakes in her life. When she held him, she could forget everything-be swept up in him.

"Did you mean it?" he asked her, suddenly.

"Mean--?" she asked.

"You said you loved me."

She wished he didn't have to ask that. It seemed to stupid to her-why wouldn't she? How could she resist him? She couldn't, that was the point. But she knew by now that there was something in him-maybe the part of him that was like herself-she knew that his rage, his violence, only seemed to hide a world of hurt. She didn't know what made him like this-she only hated it.

"I do, Kronos. I love you. It can't be helped. But I would do anything for you." She felt tears standing in her eyes-every bit as hot as the shower. The last time she had felt tears that stung like that, she was debating whether or not to let him have the keys to fuck up the world. She had let him have them-and he didn't do it. Now, she felt them because she wanted to give her heart to him-and didn't care what he would do with that, either. It simply never mattered. He could have what he wanted from her.

"Anything," he echoed, and pressed her harder against the wall. "Anything?"

Her heard pounded, and she was almost terrified. She could never predict what he would do-and she knew what was happening. She was the one who said they might do this-and now they were going to.

"Yes. Even use the virus. Even let all those people die. For you."

"A Watchers' base-just to start. Not the whole world, Genevieve."

She sighed. Sure-and tomorrow, the world.

He slowly picked up the pace of his motions, and as she caught on to his rhythm, they throbbed against one another, and she could feel her excitement mounting, growing as it usually did. Both hands were clenched tight to his ass now as she pulled him yet closer, and he pressed his hands against the tiled wall as the water beat down against them both. She pressed her face against his neck, feeling the crisis of her passion. She nipped his shoulder as she felt waves of excitement, and then his cock jerked inside her. He came, hot, flooding inside her.

Then she broke, and she screamed. She was losing her balance, but he was there to brace her. She felt the spasms rocking her whole body, and felt almost outside herself. They held each other, and the water started feeling not so hot, and the each thought it might be time to quit it.

As she reached for a towel, she took a long look at him. Anyone who could do this to her, couldn't be all that bad.

*****

They dried off, and, hearing the still silence without, they figured it was fine with Methos if they intruded on his scene-whatever said scene might be.

"What do you suppose he did, anyway?" Genevieve asked, her hand on the door while Kronos threw his clothes back on.

"He isn't one for pain-I imagine the man is dead, however."

Naked and not at all concerned about that, Genevieve came out to see the dead Watcher, and, clothed, Kronos followed. Methos sat on the couch with his usual too-comfortable sprawl. After all his years, he was comfortable in his own skin-and, Genevieve surmised, aware of his own raw beauty, that he just landed where he would. Damn, if she didn't appreciate the results. She loved Kronos-she reminded herself of that-but there was something about the oldest that captured her fancy. Knowing him so well didn't hurt, either-he was so-damn clever.

"Too lazy to get rid of the corpse, Methos?" Genevieve asked. She was riding him-she usually did. Their relationship would always be like that-adversarial-but gently so. Like brother and sister-in Appalachia, as they occasionally did screw.

"I killed him slowly. I wanted to be sure he was gone. And Springer had something really interesting on-transies and the overweight goddesses that love them. I was compelled." He was being "snarky," in Genevieve's estimation. She appreciated how he seemed to get that way from time to time.

"Do I have to do all the work?" Kronos complained.

"If you're offering to take care of the body…" Methos began. "And while you're up…"

"Damn it, we're low on beer," Genevieve said, and went over to the wet bar. "Why don't you have a little something stronger, instead-man's drink-Jack, straight?"

"That would be your taste?" Methos said, testing her. She caught his meaning.

"Or a real woman's drink." She pulled out the bottle, unscrewed the cap, and took a shot. "Smooth as sandpaper, tasty as pie. Chug, dude. You're the only person I ever saw who could drink with me."

She was serious about that. She drank like she was looking for gold at the bottom of the glass. She drank like she was trying to edge out the blood in her alcohol system. She drank-like a person who wanted to die and couldn't. Methos could see what she was-a walking suicide. After hearing the story from Genevieve of how she and Kronos met-he knew how it was, even if Kronos didn't seem to get it-Genevieve had wanted to die. She was drinking herself to death when Kronos had come up to her, offering scotch and sex-she nearly expected Kronos would do the job for her. But of course, it wasn't that easy. She lived-thrived-came away stronger than before. But Methos could see what she was doing with the drinking and the fighting-and he also saw her do something strange. It was a ritual he didn't want to understand, but he did.

She'd run a knife down the skin of her wrist. She would draw blood from herself, and stare-fascinated. After knowing the rush he himself felt every time he felt a sword at his throat-and failed to have his head taken-he knew what she felt: the thrill, and sorrow, of survival. Genevieve was a reluctant survivor, but a survivor nonetheless.

Kronos checked out the pale, blue, and quite strangled, Watcher. "If none of you will-I will. I saw a good place to-I'll be about an hour."

He grabbed a garment bag, and a few other things. He stuffed the dead weight into the garment bag, carefully putting in bits of newspaper to fill in the non-Watcher-filled area. Once the appearance suited him, he moved out.

Genevieve passed the bottle on to Methos.

"So, Methos-what should we do with ourselves?"

Methos looked at her with some degree of trepidation. She was a predatory type--and she had made her attraction to him more than well known. That she was deeply in love with Kronos was apparent, very apparent. But what was also apparent was that she wanted to screw the hell out of himself at the moment-even after what must have taken place between herself and Kronos just moments before. That made him wonder about her. That he felt attraction to her, made him wonder all the more. She was not the type he usually gravitated to-women with sense and self-esteem, women who had that certain decency about them.

Genevieve was indecent. She had no dignity, and probably believed in it no more than she seemed to believe in God-the future-the Game-or herself. She had sense, but it was mostly gut instinct and her own weird brand of courage that fueled her actions. And one could only guess about her self-esteem.

Although looking at her now, having asked him-he could see what she wanted. He suspected this was fine with Kronos-he "shared" her with him-if it could be called that. He could. Heaven knew, he could. He took a drink from the bottle.

"We could play Scrabble-oh, shit, left that in the car," she began. "We could watch this truly compelling episode of Springer. And you know I love Springer-he showcases my kind of people. Or we could fuck. And you know I do like to fuck."

"I know," he said. And he did know-but he wasn't sure-she was a lost cause-like a dying woman. As young as she was, she wouldn't last in the Game. She was Kronos' slut. She was reckless. There were a thousand reasons why he shouldn't-but no argument quite stopped him from wanting to.

She went to him. "I want you to tell me about the Watcher-how you screwed with his mind before you killed him. I like to listen to you." She put her hands on his shoulders, and he could tell by the off-kilter look in her eyes that she was planning on seducing him.

"I just-let him think I was a Watcher-like he was."

"Uh-huh," she said, and one of her hands landed on his leg. She caressed him, rubbing her hand up and down his thigh. "He was stupid. He'd fall for that."

"Yes…stupid. And…I…" He realized he was hard. Damn it. He didn't want to be excited at the prospect of Genevieve screwing him. He didn't want her to creep into his heart-the way he knew she would. She had that way about her-damn her.

"You let him think you were double-crossing us-the Immortals," she said, absently. She understood. "I like that you can lie so well-I never could. I'm hopeless at it." Her hand was treacherously high up on his leg, and she gently grazed the bulge that developed in his jeans.

"Methos," she said suddenly, "if you don't like me, or don't want to screw me, just say so. I like honesty."

It was just that simple-concrete, wasn't it? He would screw her, because he knew the answer was yes, he liked her, and yes, he did want to screw her. She made it easy-she was easy. She leaned towards him, and he found himself kissing her-his lips searching her out. She loved how he did that-he kissed searchingly-absorbing, passionately. He seemed to be an amazingly passionate person for someone who could also hold himself so in check. She loved that about him-his expressions, his movements. He made his feelings known in every muscle at times-how he was such a good liar, she didn't know. It was like she could read him.

But then-perhaps it was as true for him as it was for Kronos-extremely old, extreme passions. She wondered what he would be like if he were truly passionate with her in bed, or on the floor, or anywhere, for that matter.

"Methos," she said, breaking the kiss. "I want you. Don't feel, you know, weird about me, okay? I can appreciate the both of you-know you-" and he took note that she meant it in the biblical sense. One of those weird quirks of hers was to be able to unconsciously slip into an archaic way of speaking-it was another of those things that made him feel curious about her. He didn't believe in past lives-but he might make an exception for the young/old Genevieve.

"I don't 'feel weird' about you. I like you, and I will."

"Please, Methos-I don't want to hear it, I want to know it-just get undressed, and meet me on the bed."

With that, she rose, and she went to the bedroom, as if she could have it either way. Either he wanted her and would go with her, or he didn't-and she would-do whatever-masturbate, take a nap. He felt a touch of surprise at her sophistication as he began stripping. He would fuck her-no reason in the world not to.

He went in, naked, to see her, and felt strangely hesitant. She lay on the bed, and looked at him, as if she always expected he would come to her. She lay back against the pillows, and her legs were slightly spread. She smiled at him, and seemed liquid in her movement as she patted the bed.

"Climb in. Glad you made up your mind."

That would be how it was for Genevieve-informal. The few times they came together, Kronos had been nearby-perhaps that was what made this so awkward for him. He barely understood what it was between the two of them-perhaps he never would. He only knew that Kronos never treated a woman the way he treated this one, and no woman ever seemed as dedicated to him as she. It was as if she could understand everything-maybe from being the same way.

He went up to the bed, and surveyed her body-she was like some '50's bombshell in the excess of her curves. The modern taste wouldn't find her quite slender enough-but history was kind to this shape-she was like the nymphs that graced fountains in Renaissance times. She was a Venus.

He might have been surprised if he knew that in Genevieve's own mind, she found him an Adonis. She thought he was so beautiful-she wondered if he'd take offense if she said he'd make one hell of an underwear model. But she didn't say it. Instead, she embraced him, and kissed him, warmly.

"Have me, Methos," she said, urgently. "Let's do it."

He reached down to touch her cunt, and found that she was already wet-very wet. He wondered, briefly, if she had masturbated beforehand-it wouldn't have surprised him. She was more than ready for him to enter her, but all the same, he put a finger into her, and gently manipulated her. She colored and became even wetter. With a few more gentle touches, she seemed to raise herself, and he realized how easy it would be to get her to climax. She strained herself up to make it happen-he knew what she was doing.

Slightly frustrated, she said, "Don't dick around, Methos. Have me."

He smiled, and then went back to playing with her. She tensed, but he knew how excited she was. She couldn't resist his touch, and he did know a thing or two about pleasing a woman. With two fingers, he could have her coming so many times she would lose her mind. But he didn't want that. He just wanted her ready, because his balls had such a weight-he wanted to fuck her hard-roughly. He knew she was no stranger to rough treatment, but all the same-he wanted her ready.

She cupped his balls in her hand, gently, but firmly grasping them. "Methos, please." He felt so hard to her-he had an excellent piece, she thought. She slid her hand to it, and rubbed him up and down. She saw the look, close to pain, across his face, and knew he wanted this. So she guided him-and felt like a total retard doing it-he was five-thousand-friggin'-years old, and she was screwing him the way she'd screw a virgin-slowly and painfully.

Then, she felt why he had hesitated-he was drilling into her, and she felt him plunge deep-oh god-deep. His arms wrapped around her and held her tightly, and she wrapped her legs around him and found her face pressed against his shoulder. She threw her head back-it was something of a surprise, that he was fucking her so violently-a pleasant surprise. She ground her pelvis against him, wanting to feel even more of the sweet pain of his penis thrust deep inside her. It drove her crazy.

"Methos, this is beautiful," she said, and the strange choice of words only made him drive harder into her. She was holding him tightly, feeling that he was seriously engaged in screwing her brains out-but then she realized why it was this way. He was profoundly hungry for sex. She ground against him, going with abandon; she wrapped her legs around him even tighter-she knew. It was the way she needed sex after Steve was gone-the way she wanted the contact. Methos hadn't really had this kind of a screw in a long time. He needed the contact, to feel someone-right down to the bone, the heart, the soul. It was okay with her if he might be thinking of Jillian even as he did this to her.

They were hurting each other, holding each other tightly. Their mouths came against each other, questioning and devouring, and for the moment they were like a single creature. Then, he came, and she knew it would be a flood, and she loved the warmth of his release flowing into her. And even though most women might have shut their eyes, she so wanted to see the look on his face as he came, and when she did-It was like her breath was stolen from her. He was so beautiful, even in the bittersweet moment of orgasm. She loved it. She loved him, at that moment.

As she felt the final, sweet throbs of Methos' member coming inside her, she was beginning to climax…she'd been close to coming ever since she felt his fingers touch her, but now it was urgent. She squeezed herself against him, and his slightly less-hard post-coming prick only made her a bit more excited. She rubbed herself against him, and he felt her muscles contract-she gasped, moaned, then held him tightly. At last, she became still-spaced-out by the severity of her passion. She sighed, then, and felt Methos relax entirely against her, and thought about it again-as she had a hundred times before-he had a way of being comfortable. And that he was comfortable with her-she took pride in that.

It meant a lot to her-to have him be comfortable with her, and to feel close to him. She felt something was coming together between the three of them-Methos, Kronos and herself-but she couldn't put her finger on it. It felt like family. She held Methos as if he belonged to her, for the moment.

They lay there, quietly holding each other, but then heard the door.

"It must be Kronos," Methos said, as they both sensed the presence, but then he frowned. By now, he knew the feel of Kronos' Quickening, and this was different. Less intense-but angry, so angry.

Genevieve felt it, too, the strangeness of the presence.

"Methos, I think I want to get dressed. I mean-you know…"

Whoever he was, he entered the hotel room, and was even now walking through-probably taking note of the bloodstains and other messes they had made. The fact that he was not Kronos had them both uneasy-was this part of the Game? Was this some clever soul who had caught on to the whereabouts of the oldest-or some creep with a vendetta against the one who was nicknamed "the Whore"? Genevieve had pissed a few people off in her short time-it was disconcerting, that she lacked discretion at times.

Neither of them made to get up-but rather, they clutched at each other, apprehensive.

The knob turned, and a dark-eyed man looked in, and was terribly surprised at what he saw.

"My apologies-there was supposed to be a mortal here-a Watcher named Pierson." The man seemed so embarrassed that they both smiled. Methos knew this man, even if the fellow had no idea who Methos was. This was the one he sought out earlier-a crafty sort, with the type of knowledge they needed.

"I'm Pierson-but you can call me Methos, and this is Genevieve," and at this, she waved-a little amused. "You must be Jacob Galati-and it's about time-if you wouldn't mind, though…"

Galati understood, and backed out, closing the door. He felt a bit ashamed at stumbling into the midst of this couple making love-but was more interested in what they wanted with him. If they were after killing Watchers-the people who hunted them-he was all for it. He looked forward to what they would have to say.

"So much for the afterglow," Genevieve said, rolling over to leave the bed and find some clothes. It seemed she was always naked, anymore. It bothered her. A deep instinct told her she might be better off with some cover.

"I suppose you're right," Methos said, and swung his legs over the side of the bed, but seemed in no hurry to stand. He watched her dress. Once attired, she sat beside him and threw an arm around his shoulder.

"We are still close, right?" she asked, suddenly concerned.

"Always," he answered, but knew what she meant. Now that they had made love that way-it was as if something changed. She picked up on it right away, and he found that confusing about her. For someone so young, she did have her insights.

"Good. And now we'll meet with your new find-he is one of us-he hunts the hunters?" she asked.

"With a will. No one seems to hate them more than he does. I hear he lost someone to them. He gunned down a complement of superiors in the group a few years ago," Methos responded. He had still been a Watcher when that had happened, and remembered it well-the shake-up. He kept as far away from that mess as he could-he saw no good would come of it. The net result was that many of the people with any sense died-and Horton got a tighter grasp on the organization-but that wasn't Galati's fault. It was entirely Horton's.

She got up, and Methos took a good look at her-jeans and college sweatshirt. She seemed like a kid, dressed that way. She would have been pissed off if she knew he thought that-as if the five-millennia-difference in their ages made any difference to her. She didn't see herself as young-whatever Methos might think.

"Ready to meet the new blood," she sighed.

"If he wants to be a part of this-especially after what you and Kronos are planning." He didn't know if he cared for the ideas that they were spinning-it seemed too risky, and he got the idea from Genevieve that even she wasn't too keen.

"Aw, Methos, are you back on that?" she groused. "We are modifying the method-bacterial, not viral. Spirochetic-it will be easier to contain, slower to spread. And it was Kronos' idea. I never realized he was so-deadly intelligent." Her eyes developed a far-away look.

"There's time for that later," he pointed out, clearly implying that now wasn't the time. He got up and began getting dressed himself, and felt a little short-changed. It would have been nice to lie next to her a little longer.

She left the room, being ready first, and hating to leave someone waiting. It didn't seem polite to her, somehow. She extended her hand to Galati.

"I'm Genevieve, as Methos said, and I am pleased to meet you. Anyone who makes a study of killing Watchers interests me."

Galati seemed a bit disturbed by the suddenness with which she accepted him. Most women would be just a bit reticent to extend their hand to someone who had just seen them in a state of undress compounded by intimacy.

"I've done what I've felt I needed to do," he admitted, looking her in the eye.

She returned his look. "We all do that," she said, earnestly. "Most of us have lost out in some way because of Horton's freaking plans. I hear you've lost someone. I have, too-and so has Methos. There were other people who might have been with us-if not for Horton. Old ones." She had not known Silas or Caspian, but they had been part of the Horsemen, and now they were dead. To think that people might have lived so long, and then be snuffed by Watchers-their Quickenings going-nowhere? She hated this thought. Thinking of the deaths of old ones only made her feel protective of Kronos and Methos. She would go insane without them.

Methos emerged from the bedroom, looking, as Genevieve would have it-freaking beautiful. Galati's head turned in his direction, and Genevieve wondered if she saw a flicker of something-probably only a touch of interest. She wondered if he would take an interest in her. That would make life interesting. It was always her habit, after all, to gauge a man by only a handful of things-friend or foe-and, would she sleep with him? Looking at Galati, it struck her that she would. She liked his face-it seemed boyish, and sweet.

"You said you lost someone to the Watchers-who was he?" Galati asked her suddenly, and she looked at him. It seemed like a personal question-but then again-she never found anything too personal. She knew he had lost someone himself-so it made sense that he asked.

"My husband," she answered. "They threatened me, and my family. They drew first blood, and ever since, if I see a Watcher-he dies."

"Blood for blood," Galati agreed. "I lost my wife. Your husband-was he--?"

"No. He was a mortal. Not that it mattered to them-he was innocent. He didn't even know what I was-I never would have let him know. He would have never understood, so I didn't want him to."

"My Irena was Immortal. They chased us into the night, and they took her right in front of me," he said, and it dawned on her what must have happened, and she felt so sick for him. God, what would that have been-to take his own wife's Quickening in? "I saw that bastard himself-Horton."

"You've seen him?" Genevieve asked, suddenly. She fantasized about taking that fuck. She would kill him in the worst possible way. He killed Immortals-so she would throw him a frigging sword and see if he could defend himself like one. She would give him a chance for his life-but he would fail. He would die on his knees-without a head, just the way any Immortal might die. Or at least-this was one of the little scenarios she had in mind. There were others.

"I have," Galati responded, but didn't seem too enthused about speaking further on that. He changed the subject, turning to Methos. "You seem to know a lot about the Watchers, yourself."

Methos had leaned against the wall. He hadn't wanted to speak about Jillian, but he didn't mind speaking about this-it had shock value.

"I was one."

At this, Galati rose to his feet. "How? Knowing what they were?"

"They weren't always like that," Methos said, simply, and for a moment the thought flashed through his mind-he hadn't always been like this. He thought he had put the killing behind him, and that the Watchers would be an opportunity to know peace. What a sorry joke that was. "Then Horton came along, and all the prejudices rose to the fore. There was a time when they never interfered."

"They have interfered plenty," Galati said, with force, and then his eye fell on the stain on the carpet, and the black, stained object that lay nearby. Genevieve then saw it, herself, and realized that it might be appalling to some-what she had done. Galati was a killer, but that didn't mean he would understand this. She went over to pick it up. It had been so coated with blood from the Watcher, that it stuck to the carpet slightly, and she had to tug at it.

She looked at him, and winced. His eyes seemed the eyes of someone who might not get it-but she would try to explain.

"We interrogated a Watcher, and had to be less than gentle. But you know how it is. Vengeance-it ain't pretty."

Galati looked at her hesitation about this, but he did understand. She had done this out of vengeance, and since she knew loss, it was only right for her to take it out on them. He thought about that-women did seem to know revenge that way. Perhaps she had an almost Romani sense of vengeance, this woman. He could appreciate that.

But then, all turned towards the door, feeling it. Genevieve and Methos knew who it would be-but Galati had no idea. They were hoping he would approve of their new friend-although they could see no reason why Kronos wouldn't, especially if he was willing to kill alongside them.

*****

Kronos entered, and Genevieve, as she usually did, went to him. Methos rolled his eyes-it was practically a "hi, honey, I'm home" thing. She greeted him with a kiss, of the typically too-absorbed and passionate type. Galati was puzzled. He had thought she was Methos' woman, after all, she had just been making love to him. Then, her nickname dawned on him-he had heard of her-she was actually, for her years, someone other Immortals in the Game knew about.

She was called the Whore. And she was a little killer. There was a rumor that she had done something unnatural to one of the losers in a fight-something he didn't even want to think about. Genevieve would have set him straight about it-if she knew the rumor was out there.

She only castrated one guy-one time-and he had it coming. It wasn't like she was a freak or anything. But any asshole who thinks they can rip off for free what she once got good money for-deserved to learn his mistake before he died-pure and simple. She might have her moments-but she wasn't insane, as far as she knew.

But the rumor was in Galati's mind-and he regarded her a little differently now. She might be just what she was called-a whore. He couldn't decide if that was enough to break the deal. He knew whores, and thieves, and killers-but she was all three-and he didn't know what else.

Genevieve held Kronos just a little longer after the kiss. She always wanted to be close to him. Something told her that she might not have been so lucky to have him in her life-there was time when she thought she might lose him forever. She thanked her stars it didn't happen.

"I have something for you, Genevieve."

She smiled, delighted. "What is it-a trophy? But Methos took him-I only had a little fun."

He smiled-and gave her the ring he had pulled off of the man's hand. It was a college ring with a fairly fake-looking blue stone, but she liked it. It was big. She slipped it on her thumb, and kissed him again.

It had become a something of a game with her to claim trophies. It might have started with her Watcher's eye-but that didn't really keep very well. She moved on to jewelry, teeth-whatever she could pull from them. It was her way of keeping track of the kills, and she sort of liked it. It kept the moments of killing in her memory.

But after she slipped the ring on, Kronos did a strange thing-strange even for him. He kissed the hand she put it on. She looked at him-he was so damn unpredictable! Catching his eyes, though, she thought she saw something there-something she was unsure of. It seemed-momentous.

The moment didn't last long. He looked at the newcomer, and was just a touch stern. He could turn on the menace like turning on a light. He did it so people would know what he was all about-danger. Power. A threat of violence. Methos might have seemed like a mild-mannered researcher when he was a Watcher-or the perpetual grad-student-he could blend in, not looking like an old terror. With Kronos, however, his nature was ingrained.

"So, this is Jacob Galati-the one who watches the Watchers."

Galati was impressed, Methos could tell that much by the way the man's breathing slowed and the way his lips parted. But he knew the man had no idea what they were-the name "Methos" went past him, and the name "Kronos" would probably do the same. He might know more about Genevieve's nasty little reputation than he did about real Immortal history-a lot of the younger ones were ignorant this way.

If that was the case, he trusted that Kronos would set him straight. Kronos was like that-into the history of the thing. How that counted his Generation X girlfriend, he didn't know.

"Methos and I are all that remain of what was once a hallmark of destruction. We were once part of the Four Horsemen-no band of men was more cruel or more feared."

At this, Galati did show a sign of appreciation for what that meant-if he only knew the half of it!

"Mortals and Immortals alike once knew what we were-and despaired," Kronos went on. "Now, we hunt the Hunters. They have earmarked us for destruction-when we should rule!"

Genevieve always enjoyed watching him once he got a head of steam going. That light he got in his eyes-it curled her toes, actually. She loved that about him-his fire. He knew what he felt and what he wanted-and he sure did command a person's attention. He could make a stone sweat.

"Yes!" Galati answered, obviously feeling it. "They kill us, and we kill them-an eye for an eye! Blood for blood!"

Kronos strode towards him, judging the look in the man's eyes. He could see commitment-he knew this man had killed and would-and what else might he do, if only pressed? "Blood for blood," he echoed. "But more than that. They know everything about us-we are only now learning about them. Methos had been one of them-but since the break in their association-" and with this, he gave Methos a certain look-which was returned, a bit coldly, "they have changed certain things. But you seem to be expert at learning their ways-you track them well."

Galati did not stop looking at the intense face of this man-he seemed to be their leader. He realized that if he banded with these people-whatever they might be-it would mean more Watchers dead-and that was what they deserved for what they had done to Irena-what they had done to himself! He knew, then, this was the way it had to be. He'd be with them-for her sake as well as his own.

"Yes, I've learned a thing or two. And yes, I don't mind killing them. They want to wipe us off the face of the earth-I won't go! Or if I do-it will be with one of their throats in my hands."

Kronos knew it for certain-he would do. He clasped one hand on Galati's shoulder, and took his hand, pulling him in, close. "You are with us then. A brother in spirit."

*****

Kronos and Methos decided between them that Methos should brief Galati on their plans, and so, Kronos and Genevieve were left alone. There was a strange silence between them-a silence Genevieve didn't like. She looked at him hopelessly, and with what his expression was-she almost didn't want to know what was on his mind. It was never like this-she usually could tell what he was thinking-but now-his mind was a mystery. She found herself twisting the ring on her thumb-the weight of it was something she was unused to.

He was pacing, for some reason-and she sat on the couch. She thought for a moment of putting on "Oprah"-although Kronos really seemed to think it blew. He was more for CNN. He liked footage of wars-carnage-the usual.

She couldn't take it any longer. She stood. "Kronos, stop pacing. You have something on your mind...I can tell."

"I do," he said, and he went to her, and grabbed her by the wrist, raising her hand up before her. She looked at her hand-the one with the ring, and it dawned on her-why he gave it to her-and why he picked the same room. It was coming together. This ring wasn't just a trophy. She cursed at herself for not thinking of it. It had been six years-nearly six years to the day.

"You and Methos…" he said. He didn't need to finish. She knew and she was hating herself.

"We did. You know what I am, Kronos-what I've always been. And you know what I feel for him. It wasn't anything we hadn't done before. I care for him-but I love you. I don't know what you want from me. Just say the word. Say the word, and I'll never even think of doing it again. I love only you." She trembled as she spoke, on the verge of tears.

"I know what you are-" he began, but couldn't finish. He almost thought he knew what she was-but he didn't. He brought her to this room and killed her to make her live. He hurt her to make her love-and she seemed to live for him and she swore she loved only him-but how could he ever be sure? He didn't know what she was.

She saw he didn't know what to say, but that was fine with her. Sometimes words were a waste of breath. She kissed him. She did it in a way she hoped would let him know she would give him everything she had. Her arms were around him, and when she broke for breath, she whispered, "Only you. No one else makes me feel this way, only you."

He held her tightly-violently. She knew what was coming-because this was what they did, after all. She would stand what he was about to do, knowing she deserved it. They played this game out from time to time, and she never tired of it, but this time it might have greater violence.

She accepted it all-until he picked up the dildo. She prayed he would rinse it off, first. She knew where it had been! But he was gathering up the wretched ropes from the Watcher, also-he was going to tie her up with those filthy things. He would do it that way, though. Just to remind her why she let him rule her.

Because she would forgive him anything, he could do whatever he wanted to her.

*****

He tied her roughly, and reminded her this was the same room-like she would ever forget that. She wondered if any of the hotel staff who had been there at the time still worked here. Would they remember how she left this room? She had left him tied-up and bloody-and she had also left quite a bit of her own blood here, as well. Kronos had looked like the victim, that time. She never really regretted that, although she had told him she had. She thought that perhaps it was because she had refused to be his victim that he saw her as a person. She never became his student-but learned on her own. That was never between them-he had never been her teacher. Maybe that was why they could be lovers.

Or perhaps they were lovers because they were both crazy-it was a tough call.

He had learned by now that the only way to tie her was tightly-she was a little escape artist and would get out by any means. He thought she might be a little claustrophobic, and he loved the wild look in her eyes when she was bound. He like to see that little touch of fear in her-most of the time, she did not show fear.

He contemplated the dildo-all twelve inches of black neoprene-but decided that would be for later, if at all. It vaguely disgusted him, having been used on that pathetic weakling. If he was going to probe her with anything, it would be himself-but that could wait.

Looking her over, he noted with interest she had done that thing again-a thing she had done hundreds of times before. The wild look shut off, and she watched him passively, as if she accepted what would come. She was like that. She once told him, as she knelt before him in a tomb, that he could kill her, fuck her, leave her, and only the "leave" part had been a lie. He wondered what made her that way-but not really. It was only interesting. And it did mean he could do whatever he wanted to her.

He thought he might torture her, using the dildo, but he knew of a torture that was worse for her than pain. He lay on top of her and began kissing her neck and her breasts. She moaned, only slightly muffled by the gag. His tongue found her nipple, and he took it between his teeth. He bit, slightly, gently, waiting for her to react. Once the pain became past what she could ignore, her back arched and she squirmed against him. He knew what she wanted-it seemed she always wanted it-but as Methos said, they could both stand to learn a little restraint.

He got up from her, and took off his clothes. He knew she liked looking at him-and he liked the hungry way she did. He knew that sometimes she would lay awake at night as she was next to him in bed, just looking at his face-he would pretend to sleep. It pleased him, knowing she saw him that way.

Finding the knife, he went back to her. He traced it over her skin-just as he had that night. He let the sharpness of the blade nick her where it would-but this time, she was used to the fact that this would wound but not scar. It was no worse than getting a tattoo, really, if she just kept calm. She tried to keep calm, but her eyes squeezed shut momentarily in agony, and Kronos liked seeing just a little crack in her surface. That being done, he threw the knife aside, and began kissing her again, although this time, she was a bit bloody. He didn't mind the salty taste, any more than he minded how she was moaning. Always like a bitch in heat.

She could barely stand it-the ropes chafed at her wrists-but worse, she chafed to feel him between her thighs. She wanted him to take her, hard. She knew what he was doing-the bastard! He was holding out on her, making her wait. He was making her a wreck from the passion, and she would be willing to do anything for him-he knew that was what this would do, and that was how he wanted her. She would be mildly pissed at him, but she couldn't help herself. He was playing her body beautifully.

His lips moved lower still, and she lifted her pelvis, wondering if he would go down. She didn't think he really liked doing it-but he would do it to make her crazy, and then stop. Then, he was licking her, and she felt the gag loosen as she writhed. His tongue was like fire-insistent, wonderful. She thought she would scream, and then he stopped, predictably. He caressed her thighs. He put his lips to that spot on her hipbone which always seemed to make her go off-and looked up to see that the look on her face was as close to fury as to lust.

She had worked the gag down to her throat.

"Kronos, what are you doing to me? I'm going to explode."

"Maybe you will. Maybe you won't."

He was enjoying himself too damn much.

"I'll do anything you want me to."

"Anything?" He thought about that. He could see she was beginning to pull at the ropes-she didn't care if she broke every bone in her hand. She seemed a little desperate-he did enjoy that. Hearing the cracking sounds-her bones breaking-he finally decided what he wanted from her. He got up from the bed, and got the knife again. He held it to her throat and she stopped struggling.

"Kronos?" He could see the tears in her eyes-she was scared-but more than that, this hurt her. For once, she was really wondering what he would do, he thought. Now he would know for certain.

"I want you to only be with me," he said.

She looked at him, half in horror and half feeling as if she had gotten something from him she wanted. Only him. She searched his face, seeing that he had to ask her this way in order to believe it. It was almost more than she could bear.

"Yes, only you. I said I loved you, and I meant it. I meant it," she said, fiercely.

He kissed her, never letting the knife leave off from gently tickling her throat in a way she almost felt turned on by. She felt one tear escape-he could do that, make her feel horny and miserable at the same time-no wonder she loved him. She realized it was sick, but it couldn't be helped.

He mounted her, and she was ready for him-

He barely noticed that she wept even while he probed her, even while she came.

*****

Methos sat across from Galati and almost felt a twinge of remorse about the pitch he was laying on this man. He was idealistic and gullible, and bound to a certain code. He saw his one-man crime-wave against the Watchers as a simple case of vengeance to honor his dead wife-and also, but only secondarily, as a kind of quest to save the Immortals from them. It was that last part that Methos played up. Galati might not be a natural killer, like Kronos and himself, nor was he a "made" killer-like the lunatic Genevieve, but he could be pushed if he saw a cause. The exploits he had pulled so far proved that.

So he spoke of the cause. He made it known that they wanted the Watchers wiped out-he casually forgot to mention that once they had done that, they might decide to take over the world. "His bad," as Genevieve would say. Kronos came off like Che-bloody-Guevara for Immortals, or some such ludicrous thing, by the time Methos was through.

Oddly, it was Genevieve that Galati asked about, though, and he dispelled the myth of the Whore, if one could really call a story as sordid as that a myth. The story was really quite simple.

She had lost a fight to another Immortal. He could have had her head and been done with it, but instead, he wanted a little something else. The moron hadn't realized that, in addition to her sword, she carried a few knives on her person-a fairly fatal error. So she cut off what she saw as his weapon, and then she took his head. It was really not a sick thing at all. And she really had only done it the one time.

It didn't explain some of the other Immortals whose heads she had claimed-or the way some of them were found mutilated-or naked. But Methos thought it might be better if he didn't go into that.

*****

They came back to the hotel room, and Genevieve was alone. She seemed a bit out of sorts, as if she didn't want to meet anyone's eye. She was watching television, and Kronos was nowhere to be seen. Something about that bothered Methos-especially since he had felt tension between the two of them before leaving. They both had their tempers, and he didn't want to know what would happen if they ever fought.

"Where is Kronos?" Methos asked.

"He wanted to go get food-and he hates room service."

For a moment, Methos felt very bad about this answer, and the way she never stopped looking at the tube. Of course, there were no signs of a Quickening-that would surely be noticed-but then? He thought about those mutilated Immortals-Genevieve's victims. He went to the bedroom, and checked there. He actually felt relieved when Kronos was not there. He didn't know why he had momentarily thought she might have-done something bad. It was just strange, that was all.

Galati looked at the way she sat there, staring at the flickering scenes. The look she had was unhealthy and absorbed. He spoke to her, hoping to snap her out of it.

"Genevieve-"

She smiled, and looked more normal. "So, have you made your decision?"

Galati looked down. "What you are doing is a necessary thing. They have to pay for what they are doing. I'm in."

"Good," she replied, glad that he was staying. She found herself wondering, however, why Methos was checking the closets. The Old Man could be very weird at times. This was only one of them.

"Methos?" she called out. "Could you be a little social?" Then, it occurred to her that the two of them desperately needed to talk. She got up, making her apologies to Jacob, and then went to him. When she entered the bedroom, he seemed to step back a bit.

"I need to talk with you."

"Really?" Methos asked, but his hand was reaching into his coat. It only just now dawned on him that he did wonder about her sanity, at times. He may have made love to her earlier that day-but now he felt strange about that, and the way she had goaded him into it. He was putting it together-she was very much a killer.

"Yes. Damn, you are tense. You need to, like, meditate or something," she said, seeming so normal that it made him feel immediately suspicious.

She recognized his weirdness, but pressed on. "I had a talk with Kronos-I mean-we didn't really do a lot of talking, but it comes down to this-okay? He said I only do it with him. Today was really great and all, but, I mean, the 'Melrose Place' shit between us is not happening. I'm going to be sad about that, because I really like you. I just wanted you to know that. So if I'm a little-stand-offish? That's why."

Then, he heard the door, and felt Kronos entering, and let out a sigh of relief. He didn't know what he'd been worrying about. She got up on her toes, and kissed his cheek suddenly.

"There's the pizza-we even got one with anchovies. I figured you wouldn't mind if I chose the toppings before you got here."

*****

The four large pizzas were lined up on the counter of the kitchenette, and, as usual, Genevieve went to Kronos and kissed him, meaningfully. Whatever tension there must have been between the two of them was obviously ironed out. Galati raised an eyebrow at this-but Methos gave him a motion that said he would explain later. Which he would, if he could think of any possible explanation for the dynamic between them.

Genevieve and Kronos seemed almost giddy. Methos wondered just what had passed between the two of them, especially given the way she was looking at Kronos, and Kronos' seeming-exultance. They both were very interested in each other, at the moment.

"It looks as if we have a few things to celebrate," Kronos said, and Methos found that disturbing. "First, we have a new member in our alliance-Jacob Galati-I think you will prove valuable to us, especially given our plans. Methos has told me you know where the new European headquarters is-we have something special in mind for them."

Methos knew he was speaking of the virus-correction, the bacterium-that he and Genevieve were working on. They were plotting on something a little more sophisticated than the old plan, and had let him know just enough to offer his own advice. He told them to start small-and he was damned if they didn't just build from there. The two of them-turned on by talk of hazard levels and body counts. He didn't think Galati would be as "turned on" by the concept. He wasn't, particularly.

Kronos continued. "And I have a little something to celebrate."

From the way he was holding Genevieve's hand, Methos could tell what the news was. It was only to be expected, after all, knowing the both of them-extremists.

They deserved each other.

On to "A World that Burns"

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