Eirian counted silently to herself as she moved through the forms she had been taught. Thrust, parry, spin, and flip. It took all her concentration to move through the intricate steps without flaw. It was like a dance, she thought, even though it had been designed to kill. She did not pause to brush the stray wisp of crimson hair from where it had drifted into her eye. Surviving slavery on Malastare was a difficult business. It helped to concentrate on the task at hand.

Eirian's master was the most vocal of the audience, a difficult feat in this crowd. He was a hulking man with an eye for things more elegant than he was. He'd won Eirian from her father in a Sabacc game when she was just 13. He had seen her educated in dance and deportment. At 25, she was the biggest draw to his dubious establishment. One person watched her performance silently.

Eirian completed her routine and stood still. She did not bow. She did not smile. She could not hear the raucous cat calls from the crowd. Sweat dripped down her neck, under the collar of her armless black shirt and between her heaving breasts. Her breath came in short gasps, which her audience willfully mistook for sounds of pleasure. But there was no pleasure in this for Eirian. If she did well, she would not be beaten. There was no pride in her performance. She knew the moves by rote, but they carried no force. They were empty patterns, useless in her own defense. She'd been taught the movements, but not how to apply them against another.

"Go," her Master called out, though she knew it only by his lips.

Eirian pivoted and strode towards the doorway, ignoring the hands and tentacles that reached out to grasp the chiffon that composed her skirt. With a short flick of her wrist, she jerked it from their grasps. Unwillingly, involuntarily, her eyes focused on a figure that remained still in the midst of the grasping, salivating crowd. Stillness enveloped him, radiated from him. He was cloaked, shrouded in blackness, his features obscured by a hood. He stood with his feet hip-distance apart and his arms hanging loose along his sides. It was a deceptive trick, designed to render him non-threatening and unnoticeable. His head was bowed, yet she sensed that he was aware of his surroundings, and it made her uncomfortable. He was studying her, she was sure of it. Suddenly, her feet began to move, even as she realized she had stopped to stare. Her last glimpse was of his hand returning to his side.

Eirian sat cross-legged in her room and awaited the outcome of this evening's performance. If her master was pleased, she'd be rewarded with his pawings. If he was not, she'd be whipped. At least pawing was the worst she'd endure from him.

She pulled her sweat-sodden shirt over her head and unbound her breasts. She had learned to be a slave slowly, refusing to submit, and the evidence was written along her back. A long, braided scar ran from her right shoulder to the eighth vertebrae in the center of her back. The edges were still, after many years, an angry red weal, although the center was white, raised scar tissue. She'd been laid open, almost to the bone. That whipmaster had died by her Master's hand for scarring his property, but Eirian was grateful to him. She was alive and a slave, but she'd never be a concubine. Her Master had put the scar on her face there himself, marking her from cheekbone to her upper lip, narrowly missing her emerald green, right eye. She'd refused to service the few wretches who would take her.

She shook out her long hair and slipped out of her skirt. Sponging off with water from the basin that rested on a rickety tripod, she reflected on the silent stranger. Feeling suddenly chilled, she slipped a light gown over her head and laced up the sides.

Her Master's summons to the banquet hall arrived. He had been pleased, or someone important had. The hall was filled with its usual contingent of creatures, including several rowdy Dugs who pinched and prodded mercilessly. Her master paid little attention. The cloaked one was there as well. He fascinated her, standing silently in the corner of the room. She knew he was aware of her gaze, but he did not acknowledge it. He stood with his head down and his shoulders rolled slightly forward. His dark robe covered baggy pants and a tunic of the same color. She moved to walk towards him, but found herself unable to turn in that direction. He raised his head slowly and firelit red and yellow eyes met her own. Eirian shuddered visibly. He tilted his head, as if amused at her response.

When finally she was released that night and fell asleep on her pallet on the floor, her strange and tumbled dreams were filled with the hooded man. When she awoke, she went directly to the ring and activated the training program. It was not until the second time it had beaten her to the floor that she realized that she was not alone. He was there.

She was unable to turn around, but she sensed him walk up behind her. She flinched as his gloved finger came to rest at the top of her scar. With deliberate slowness, he traced it down her back, laying a flat, gloved hand in the small of her back. He paused. He slid his gloved hand around her side, fingers splayed, his arm encircling her waist. She shivered at the cool feel of the leather against her sweaty skin. She could feel his breath, hot on the back of her neck. She trembled slightly, unnerved by his control, knowing that he was somehow testing hers. She did not try to move, knowing by now that he would somehow prevent it if he wished. His muscled forearm rested against her bare abdomen.

With his other hand, he touched her temple lightly and she swayed. His arm tightened around her waist, pulling her back against him while he ruthlessly pulled down her mental defenses, probing, seeking for the answers to questions she did not understand.

Eirian tried to fight his presence in her mind, his invasion, and felt him laugh at her audacity. She felt his chest muscles and stomach contract in staccato rhythm. His arm tightened around her waist.

Maul found what he was looking for and withdrew from her mind. He held her against his body still, liking the feel of her soft flesh pressing against him. The way his leg fit neatly between hers. The way her diaphragm contracted with each breath. When she recovered her balance, he slid his arm from around her waist, trailing his hand across her hip before it left her body. He waited to see what she would do.

Eirian stood quite still, uncertain as to what he meant to do. Uncertain as to what he had done and how. He no longer held her, but he stood near, the fabric encasing his muscular thigh touching her own bare flesh. She turned slowly to face him, remaining close. He fascinated her. She wanted to know him. She wanted to strip him of his secrets. She wanted to control him. Hesitantly she reached out and touched his hood. In the dark gym, she couldn't see his face, and she very much wanted to. He caught her hand and fixed her with his eyes. They were the only features she could distinguish. He stood with her wrist enclosed in his fingers and lowered her hand to her side. He let go.

Eirian waited.

"We will meet again." She heard a low, feral voice echoing in her mind. He turned and glided out of the room. Her knees buckled and she sank to the cool mat.

Only a few months later, her Master had grown tired of the Art as a dance. He had decided that she should have a real opponent. He had decided she should die, Eirian thought. She knew she'd be no match for someone trying to hurt her, the training program had proved it often enough, but she would try. She would die with honor. She pulled her black shirt over her head and affixed leather bracers over her wrists. They both protected the fragile bones and lent support when she jabbed. Wearing pants, so as not to trip herself up, she pulled on thigh-high leather boots. Over her bright hair she settled a golden chain mail cap. It had been designed as jewelry, but it might lend some protection. She sucked in her breath and walked to the audience hall.

She knew He was there as soon as she entered, but it took her a moment to locate him. He had shed his dark cloak and his head was bare, but she recognized him by his stance. He was clad in the same long black tunics belted over blowsy pants. Gauntlets covered his hands. Eirian shivered with the memory of the feel of those gloves on her bare skin. His head was covered with a black and red tattoo, forming what she supposed was a tribal pattern across the top rear of his head. The back of his head and neck were black. Where she had expected hair, there were ten small horns. She had expected him to be human. He turned to face her, tilting his head to one side to gauge her reaction. The tattoo covered his entire face, extending even over his lips. He stood relaxed, but she sensed his control, his impatience, the power coiled in him.

Eirian smiled at him tentatively, hoping that he wasn't to be her opponent.

His blazing eyes swept over her body, noting the defensive changes she'd made to her wardrobe. Her Master distracted her and she turned from him. She felt his approach just slightly before his leather-clad hands running down her arms.

"Listen," the smooth, feral voice echoed in her mind, "and you will survive."

She nodded and leaned back against him, resting her head against his collarbone. He growled and she tilted her head back to feel the vibration in his throat, but he dropped his hands from her arms and walked away.

Eirian saw with relief that her opponent was human, and a small man. The tattooed creature positioned himself at the side of the ring and closed his eyes. Eirian made the effort to drop her mental defenses, but there was no need, he was already there. His presence was like a sixth sense, a type of perception she didn't possess, but which told her only what he chose to.

She began her usual routine and her opponent attacked. She reacted, the changes in her routine subtle, probably noticeable only to herself, and to Him. Her body was a tool he tossed about carelessly. He didn't prevent harm from coming to her, merely ensured her survival. In the end, though, she faltered and fell sprawling to the floor. Faster than anyone, including her opponent, could react, He broke the man's neck. The man who had been her opponent slumped to the ground and Eirian closed her eyes. He'd moved so fast, she hadn't been sure she'd seen him do it. His eyes were still closed.

She awoke on her own lumpy pallet, the tick matted from long use. Her bracers had been stripped off and her headdress removed. He sat cross-legged near her head, meditative. After a few seconds, he opened his eyes. They drew her, those eyes. She should be repulsed, she knew. They were painful looking, red bleeding into their whites. Eirian sat up and returned his studying gaze defiantly. He waited; he was good at that. Eirian found herself wanting to startle him, to shake that artificial stillness, wanting to know how his breath tasted. He smiled, reading her thoughts, revealing stained, blackened teeth.

She licked her lips.

"Who are you?" she thought at him mentally.

"Lord Maul."

The room was uncomfortably close. A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his neck. Eirian leaned forward and wiped it off, sucking the salt from her finger. He exhaled slowly and waited. She kissed him chastely, experimentally. He did not move. She slapped him across the face, catching her hand on the horn at his temple and cutting it. Almost as her hand made contact, he twisted her wrist backward and she was forced to go with it, or have it broken. Eirian lay flat on her back with her wrists pinned to the ground. He stretched out alongside her and dropped one leg between hers. His arm lay across her chest. Eirian struggled against his grip, but stopped when it seemed to please him. He kissed her harshly, taking everything and giving nothing. His tongue forced open her lips and explored the reaches of her mouth. He bit her lips and jaw and buried his head in the crook of her neck, his horns brutally cutting into her skin. He breathed in deeply and teased her earlobe with his tongue. She writhed beneath him, frantic to stop his assault, or at least gain some ground. He stopped abruptly and released her.

"Tomorrow you will learn," she heard in her mind before he left.

And for the next month she did learn, more then she thought possible. And the lessons were harder than she'd thought possible. He had arrived in the gym the next day, quarterstaff in hand, and beaten her to the ground without even removing his cloak. The next day she had thought to use that against him, but had instead wound up tangled in it on the floor as he kicked her in the jaw. When she did not arrive at the gym the third day, he had dragged her off her pallet and backhanded her across the face. She spit back in his and braced herself for the next impact. Eyes closed, Eirian was surprised to feel him caress her face with a gloved hand before he dragged her bodily to the gym.

By the end of two weeks she had begun to develop some fighting technique. He seemed pleased, yet he said nothing. He gave no orders. She heard no words in her head. She only knew that she was pleased by the fact that he'd stopped treating her like a child and that his blows were less frequent.

At the beginning of the third week, he'd arrived in the gym sans cloak and outer tunic. He tossed her a sword, without saying anything, positioned himself behind her, placing his hands over hers. He began to guide her through the motions of sword attack and defense. When she stumbled or tripped herself, he pulled her up roughly. By the end of that week she could move through the combinations on her own, all except the final one. He watched, snatched the sword from her and showed her again, baring his teeth impatiently.

"It's not that I wasn't trying." Eirian thought furiously. He motioned for her to stand behind him. Wary of touching him, since she'd nearly been killed the last time she'd tried, she stood about a foot back.

"Closer," she heard in her mind.

She stood behind him, her toes at his heels. He half turned, taking her arm and placing her hand over his own. She put her other hand on the small of his back in order to steady herself and be able to move with him. He began the sequence slowly and moved through it multiple times. She was breathless by the time he finished. Breathless and not a little aroused. She had felt exactly how her body should move. She had felt exactly which muscles moved as he went through the sequence.

Her mouth was dry and she was still holding on to him. He put his other hand up and Force pushed her away lightly. She stumbled back and regained her footing. He tossed her the sword and she performed the sequence. She waited, hoping he would be pleased.

"Next week, we spar." He turned on his heel and walked out.

Eirian drew her arm across her forehead and stared at the door through which he'd exited. "Damn him!" she thought. She knew she was learning, but couldn't understand his methods. It's almost as if he wanted her to hate him. He seemed upset, angry when she showed respect, most pleased at defiance. Fine, next week she'd defy him.

That had, quite possibly, been her worst mistake. The black bruises from the first three weeks had just faded to yellow and the cuts on her neck had finally lost their scabs. When he'd arrived at the gym Monday morning, she'd been sitting cross-legged on the mat. He tossed her a sword. It hit her in the arm and fell on the mat. She did not even look up, trying to radiate the precise control she always felt from him. She sensed him pause.

Maul grinned. There was no other word for it.

She saw his coat pool around his short leather boots, the linen billowing to the ground, but she did not look up. His outer tunic followed. Still she did not look up. He did not pause. His inner tunic followed that. She looked up.

He stood, grinning at his victory, clad only in blowsy pants, boots and gauntlets. Her breath caught in her throat. He activated the training program and sparred with it. She could not take her eyes from him. He was a mass of power, his muscles toned from long training. They moved smoothly under his taut black skin. He beat the practice program three times before he turned to face her. He gleamed with a faint sheen of sweat. She ran her tongue over her lips.

He walked up to her, standing no more than an inch from her knees. She looked up at him, watching small beads of sweat run down his chest and down his abdomen, refusing to meet his eyes. The expression on his face was not friendly.

"Tomorrow, we will spar." His voice echoed in her head, in a tone that brooked no argument.

The next day, they sparred and the day after that. And he'd beaten her every day for the rest of the week. On Friday evening, she stumbled back to her room after her performance. Between the bruises from her training with Maul and the places where the Dugs had been pinching her, she was black and blue everywhere again. She stripped off her dress and sponged herself off, dripping cool water over her hot sweaty body. She pulled a sponge across her chest, patting gently at the bruises, and wondered at Maul's purpose. She lay down on her pallet and fell into an exhausted sleep.

Hours later she drifted out of it. At first she thought it was a dream, but it was not. Someone was definitely touching her face with a feathery touch. She pushed out with her hand, prepared to spring away.

"Hush," she heard in her mind, his voice smooth and seductive, without its usual tinge of anger.

He opened his fiery eyes and met hers in the darkness. She was aware of his entire body stretched out alongside hers. Tentatively, she put a hand out to touch his chest. He covered it with his and slid silently closer. She was aware of her own nakedness and her quick reaction to even this small touch. She was aware of his bare chest under her hand, rising and falling with his even breathing. She felt his hot, musty breath on her neck.

His hand left hers and he traced her collarbone with two fingers, running them down her breastbone and coming to rest flat on her stomach. He shifted up to rest on his other arm, his red-yellow eyes regarding her emerald ones curiously. She ran her nails down his chest lightly, stopping when she encountered the waistband of his pants, feeling his nipples harden at her touch.

He leaned over and took her right breast into his mouth, circling the nipple with his tongue. She slid her arms around his waist, pausing to run her nails up his sides. His tongue left a trail of gooseflesh from her breast to her lips where he kissed her hard, his tongue darting into her mouth. Her hands tightened on his sides, nails digging in. He made a sound low in his throat and rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him.

She lay prone, liking the feel of his hard breast against her soft one. Momentarily, she wondered how he could lay back on his horns, but was distracted by his hands running up her thighs and over her butt. She pushed herself up off his chest and looked down at him. She felt his hand at the back of her knees, pulling them forward so she was kneeling across his belly. He put a knee up behind her, giving her something to lean against as he stroked her neck and breasts. She leaned back against his leg, her eyes closed and her head back, enjoying the sensations coursing through her. Wondering how his touch was so cool when his eyes were so molten. Unmindful of the sharp pain every time he touched a bruise. He watched her carefully, alternating the place and pressure of his touch until he heard her breathy sighs and felt her wet skin against his abdominal muscles.

With a smooth movement, he sat up and pulled her to him, a hand at the nape of her neck. He kissed her, biting down on her bottom lip, and slipped a hand, now free of its glove, underneath her, a finger probing until he found the right place. She moaned and dug her nails into his shoulder. He kissed her on the neck, sucking at the pulse point just below her ear. He stroked harder, feeling her muscles contract. She moaned again.

And then he stopped, withdrew his hand, lifted her by the waist and set her back on her pallet, still tense, just on the edge of release. Before her confused mind resumed rational thought, he had left. She curled into a little ball and moaned herself to sleep, not daring to go after him.

The next morning, she hurried to the gym, but he was not there. Nor was he anywhere else in the manor or the grounds. He was gone, without a word, without a trace, with no promises to return. Looking at her body in a mirror, she could see muscles that hadn't been there four weeks ago, and new scars as well. She could appreciate the difference in the way she held herself, but she knew she was no where near the warrior that he was and she still didn't know why.

Strange that she still thought of Maul as Him. He had provided her with his name and the training, but little else besides aching loins and a certainty that she would possess him. That fucker! She was furious. How dare he ply her with promises and then leave her when he got bored! She bent over and touched her toes, wincing only slightly at the bruises and scratches on her chest. She would show him. When next they met, he would be the one to suffer!

Eirian pulled her kirtle over her head and smoothed the skirts down over her legs. Under it she wore her high-necked shirt and tight shorts. Her black leather boots had been polished until they gleamed. Her Master had been quite clear on this matter. This was an important trip. She was in no way to disgrace him, or she would die. On the other hand, it wasn't exactly a pleasure trip either. Her Master appreciated the fact that his newest bodyguard was a member of his retinue. Of course, a great deal of her effectiveness depended on the element of surprise. Maul had taught her the rudiments and she'd practiced them faithfully, in order that she might kill him, but she was not combat tested.

The ship was landing and she was ready. Eirian walked out of the small bathroom and took her Master's arm. She only half-listened to the greeting exchanged between the two men at the bottom of the gangplank. She was uneasy, but couldn't understand why. Perhaps it was simply the constant noise and traffic on Coruscant.

Left to her own devices that evening - apparently politics were too touchy for a slave to overhear - Eirian wandered around the Senator's posh quarters. She was bored and nervous. She went wandering through doors marked no entrance, eventually ending up in the bowels of the building. She knew by the complete stillness that she was deep underground. She rounded a corner and saw a familiar be-horned figure walking away from her. Her fists clenched at her sides and the angry scars left by his horns throbbed.

With an eerie cry from her long unused voice, she lunged at his back, sword in one hand and dagger in the other. The next impression she had was the sensation of flying through the air and landing on her back. She scrambled to her feet and lunged for his eyes. She was almost there when he Force pushed her back, sending her stumbling.

"Hello, Pretty One," she heard his velvety voice in her mind.

Recovering her sword, she faced him en garde and attacked. Her blows were easily turned aside by simple waves of his hand. She got angrier and angrier. He got more and more vocal inside her mind.

"You cannot hope to defeat me, Pretty One."

Even his chosen endearment was an insult, goading her into another attack. She knew well that her beauty was marred by the whip marks, and now by the scars from his horns. She rolled low and lashed out at his shin, attempting to take out his knee. He nimbly sidestepped her blow.

"You are no match for me, Pretty One, although you have made improvement. Come now, let us enjoy better pursuits. Let me taste you until you cry out for release."

She looked up at him balefully from where she lay at his feet. Quietly, as he taunted her, she slid a small stiletto from her sleeve into her hand and jabbed it into the back of his knee. Caught off guard, his knee buckled and Maul lurched. Summoning up all the reserves of her strength, she tackled him, sending him crashing to the floor. Momentarily elated, she leaned all of her body against the forearm she had pressed against Maul's throat. At last she would have her revenge!

Then she realized that he was laughing at her. At the fact that he could kill her whenever he pleased.

"Are we done yet, Pretty One?" he asked in an indulgent tone.

Defeated, she removed her arm from his throat and rolled off of him. He sat up on one arm, looking at her lying on the floor with her chest heaving. His horns had scratched the polished floor. He wiped distractedly at the blood on the back of his knee.

"You will kill me now," she thought.

"No. You have learned that which I could not teach you." He smiled, showing his stained teeth.

She waited quietly.

"You have learned to hate."

He pushed himself to his feet, limping slightly on his injured leg "For this, though, you will pay."

She watched him continue down the hall, as if she'd never disturbed him. He did not look back. Eirian rolled onto her side and got to her feet, returning the way she had come. Better to rest and defeat him another day.

Maul returned to his quarters and pulled off his clothes. He washed the blood off the puncture wound, but did not bother to bandage it. It would heal by itself; he'd had far worse. Nude, he lay down on his pallet and slept, his lightsaber at his side, as always.

Eirian awoke just before dawn, conscious of someone else in the room. Conscious of Him in the room. He sat cross-legged by her head. She was suddenly self-conscious of her bare and vulnerable body. He was clad in his usual garb, missing only the cloak and leather gauntlets.

"Do not fight me this morn, Pretty One," he said, as Eirian tensed up to do precisely that. "You would not enjoy the result."

She lay still for the moment, knowing by his tone that he would not hesitate to kill her if she resisted. He reached out with one hand, gently brushing her chest and the scars his horns had made there.

"I cannot have them following you to me. You must be rid of your transmitter. I will find it and remove it."

His hands roamed across her body in a decidedly non-sensual way. He closed his eyes, brow furrowed in concentration. "Turn over."

Eirian did as he wished. He ran his hands up the inside of her thighs and over her butt. Just above the right cheek, in her lower back, he paused. Eirian put a hand back and felt the spot.

"There's nothing there," she thought at him furiously.

"I'm afraid this will leave another scar, Pretty One."

Eirian was pinned to the pallet, the pain agonizing, although is hands did nothing more then rest on her. Something was moving up through her body until it was just subdural, at which point he cut her skin with a knife and pulled it out, crushing it with the Force. It made a tiny popping noise and was gone. Eirian was screaming in his head as he released her. He touched her temple and she was unconscious.

When she awoke, mid-morning, her room was empty. No sign that he had been there. She reached back and touched the spot gingerly. It hadn't been a dream. Eirian thought quickly. If she could slip away, here, on Coruscant, she could escape. She rolled off her pallet and tied a quick bandage around her wound. "Couldn't he have even bothered to heal it?" she thought viciously. Doubtless it was within his power. Dressing, she wandered out of the Senator's quarters and up to the skydeck where she hailed a transport.

Arriving at a spaceport, she paid the driver with her Master's money. She looked around quickly for a likely target. She spotted a Corellian ship docked at the far side, with some shady characters hanging around it. When they left, she crept up behind the pilot, laid a dagger at his throat, and pushed him into his ship. This pilot was young and easily frightened, she thought. Controlling him would be easy.

As the ship entered hyperspace, Maul's eyes snapped open and he dropped his lightsaber, narrowly missing his own foot. He swore under his breath, knowing it was too late, knowing she was gone. He'd miscalculated and she'd pay for it. She had more guts then he'd given her credit for. A slow smile spread across his face. Perhaps she would do after all.

Two Years Later...

Maul lowered himself into the hot springs, feeling his muscles relax and the warm water envelop his body. He was tired, having trained relentlessly. One could never be too prepared. Soon the Sith would again walk in the open. His clothes lay in a jumbled pile, his lightsaber resting on top of them. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the feel of the water trickling down the rocks, through his horns and onto his shoulders.

Eirian slipped quietly through the woods, confident that she could find him. She hadn't been looking. It was just by chance that she'd seen his ship land. She'd known it was him, even before he walked down the gangplank. Strangely, he hadn't noticed her, his concentration intent on something else.

She'd changed her appearance after leaving Coruscant. Her red hair was cut short and plastered to her face. A piece of custom fit plastiskin covered the scar on her face. She would have been beautiful, if she hadn't been so deadly. She wore a blaster strapped to her thigh and a sword in a hilt across her back. All about her person were the instruments of her trade, poisons and knives and her own skill. She'd become the hunter; she was an assassin.

She stopped at the forest's edge, assessing the situation. His clothes and a weapon she'd never seen lay in a pile just out of reach. She danced out and caught them up, barely getting herself back under tree cover before he opened his eyes. He rose up, standing sideways to her. The water sluiced off his powerful upper body, leaving him damp, water running in rivulets down the tunnels between the muscles in his arms. Eirian drew in a deep silent breath. He was magnificent. He reached up and bent one arm down behind his back, pushing down on the elbow and repeated the movement with his other arm. He rocked his head from side to side, cracking his neck. Her eyes moved down his powerful form, coming to rest at his hips. Eirian caught herself. This was no way to be thinking about someone that you meant to kill.

He turned to face her, his fiery eyes searching the treeline for the figure he sensed watching him. Calmly, he made his way to the water's edge and Eirian attacked, hitting him square in the chest with both feet, knocking him back into the water and under. She followed, grappling with him, but she was the better swimmer. She got a leg around his neck and pinned him to the bottom of the pool. She did not lose heart when he Force pushed her away. She'd been expecting him to use all his advantages.

They surfaced, Maul shaking his head to clear it. They backed out of the pool at opposite ends. With barely a running start, he flipped to her feet and backhanded her across the mouth. She countered with a stiletto to his shoulder. This time his fist hit her in the temple and she fell back against the rocks. He pulled the stiletto out of his shoulder and she kicked out from the ground with a groin shot, but he sprang away. She kipped up to her feet and they circled each other like tigers in a cage.

"Pretty One," she heard his thought.

Eirian drew her sword and rushed him. He parried with a side snap kick to her sword arm, numbing the nerve. The sword clattered out of her hands. She dove at his feet, landing squarely on the arch. He stumbled to the ground, taking her with him by the hair, tearing the plastiskin on her face. They wrestled across the mud, strength of will giving Eirian more power then she would have otherwise had. Her elbow caught him on the hip and he yanked her head back. Her second stiletto nearly unmanned him, but he let go her hair and smacked her hand away, breaking her wrist in the process.

Both were breathing heavily. Even as they wrestled, Eirian felt her own arousal. She caught at his neck with her teeth, sinking them into the muscle that ran from his neck to his shoulder and slipped a leg between his.

Maul paused, still tense, until he was sure that the fighting part was over. She took her teeth from his neck and nipped up to his jawbone. He caught her hair with one hand and tore the plastiskin from her face with the other, running his tongue down the scar to her top lip and taking it into his mouth, sucking hard. Eirian decided that she couldn't kill him yet and used her good hand on his shoulder to pull herself along his body. He growled into her mouth and moved to capture the whole thing. She caught at his tongue with her teeth.

He caught her at the back and sat up, taking her with him in a singular motion. He nuzzled her neck while tearing her shirt from her. She felt his tongue in the hollow of her collarbone and his hands massaging her breasts. She shifted slightly, feeling his erection pressing against her thigh, through her pants. She drew her nails down his back and pushed down on him with her hips.

"Stand up," she commanded him.

He put both hands on her butt and got to his feet, slightly unsteady. She dropped one foot to the ground and then the other. He let her go. Her lips still on his throat, she bent to pull off her boots. She felt his hands reach around her legs and unfasten the blaster. Dragging her lips down to one nipple, she sucked gently while unfastening her pants. She stepped back and peeled them off. He waited, his eyes hooded and his breath coming in sharp gasps.

He reached out to pull her to him again, but she danced around him, sliding her arms around his waist. He leaned back against her as she dragged her breasts down his back, sinking to her knees. She rested her cheek against his butt, reaching around and clasping him between her hands, stroking him slowly, feeling the damp fluid on his head.

He sucked in his breath and caught her wrists. She released him and he turned to face her, sinking to his knees. She pushed him backwards, letting him straighten his legs before she straddled him. He lifted her up and settled her on his engorged shaft, pushing sharply through her barrier. She groaned and he smiled. She felt him moving inside her, his lips and teeth on her breast as she sank to her elbows above him. He sucked on the nipple between his teeth, using his hands to angle her hips. She shuddered. He kissed her on the mouth and bent to catch her other nipple with his teeth. She tightened around him and her arms collapsed, dropping her to his chest as orgasm wracked her body.

He wrapped his arms around her, rolling her onto her back. Bracing himself above her he withdrew slowly. Her breath caught in her throat at the in rush of cold air. He dipped his hips, dragging his erection along her pubic hair. She whimpered. He reached down with one hand and positioned himself at her opening. She grabbed him by the butt and pushed him down as hard as she could. He pulled back and shifted so that he thrust down from a high angle, pushing his penis against her clit as he inched down slowly. She shuddered again, wrapping her legs around his back. He thrust again and again until another orgasm overtook her. She bit and clawed at him, raising red scratches on his ebony skin. She was still shuddering when she felt his warmth flood her. He collapsed onto her chest for a moment, before withdrawing and rolling off of her.

She opened her mouth to speak, but he touched her temple and she lapsed into unconsciousness. Maul regarded her thoughtfully, naked and covered in mud. She had done some damage with nails and teeth; he had done more with his horns. He reached out and wiped the blood on her chest away. His flaccid penis stirred at the sight. Then he stood up, rinsed himself off and dressed, finding the place where Eirian had stashed his things easily. He placed her sword and blaster within arm's reach and walked away, leaving Eirian lying in the mud.

Eirian wiped off the stiletto she'd used to apply the toxin that had knocked her target unconscious. Efficiently, she bound his hands and feet before stepping back. As much as she found it distasteful, her client's wishes were clear, torture then death. She drew a small piece of rolled velvet from her pack. Setting it on the man's stomach, she unrolled it and selected several sharp, poison tipped pins. The man was returning to consciousness.

"Who are you? What do you want from me?" he demanded, both aloud and in her head. Eirian was silent. He watched her approach with trepidation.

Eirian tilted his head to one side and inserted a needle at the base of his skull, before he even thought of drawing on his Force powers to strike at her. The man screamed in agony.

"You hideous bitch! I'm Force-blind!!" he screamed.

Eirian ignored him and inserted other needles; each tipped with a poison designed to inflame nerve endings, at strategic points on his body. When she had finished, she stood in front of him coolly, watching him suffer, unable to call the Force to his aid.

"You're an aberration. No true woman could do such a thing!"

"No woman but me," Eirian thought to herself as she watched the Jedi Padawan die. His words empowered rather than harmed her.

Maul listened to the tremor in the Force. Likely he'd never have felt it if he hadn't been nearby. The Padawan's death was insignificant, except for a feeling of familiarity about it. Casting out with the Force, taking care to mask his presence from any listening Jedi, he found the place where the Padawan had died. No Force presence was there, but his Pretty One was.

Eirian paused while putting away her needles. "Lord Maul?" she asked.

"Pretty One," Maul answered before closing off contact.

Eirian sat in her client's lounge, waiting for him to finish his rutting in the bedroom and pay her. While she waited, she took apart the Jedi's weapon and dumped the pieces into her bag. Later, in her small room, she put it back together again.

About a week later, Eirian picked her way through a dingy bar on a backwater planet. Perhaps it was the impressive array of weapons about her person, but no one bothered her. It had taken her that long to find Him. She knew that he knew she was coming, and suspected that he'd deliberately made it difficult. Whatever strange form of communication they had did not allow her to mask her presence from Him as he seemed to mask his from her.

He was sitting alone at a round table in the corner of the room, where he was hidden, but he could see everyone else. A bubbling drink sat in front of him. Eirian slammed down the dead Jedi's lightsaber on the table. Maul did not glance at it, looking straight into her eyes.

"You will teach me the use of this lightsword," she ordered him.

"You are not a Jedi, Pretty One," he returned.

"And you are?" she challenged.

"Of a sort, though they'd not know it."

"I will expose you to them, if you do not."

"You would not live long enough to do so, Pretty One."

"I will kill you, if you do not."

"If you could have, you would have already done so," Maul countered.

Eirian grew frustrated. This was perhaps the longest conversation they'd ever held and it was getting her no where. She dropped down into a seat next to him.

"I will give myself to you," she offered.

Maul touched her chest with a gloved hand, pressing against the wounds he'd left there. "I've had you, Pretty One."

"No," she threw his hand back at him, "I had you."

He smiled "Perhaps, Pretty One, perhaps. I will teach you the use of this lightsaber, but you are Force-blind. You will never be its master."

"I have already slain its master." Eirian leaned forward, resting her forehead against Maul's, carefully avoiding his front horns. She ran her hand up the inside of his thigh, until she cupped him.

He placed a hand on her neck, tilting her head back to kiss her. Eirian felt him harden in her hand and her own wetness in response.

"Lord Maul?"

"Pretty One."

"I will slay you when I have learnt the use of this lightsaber."

"You will try, Pretty One. Whose warmth would then fill you?"

"There will be another."

"I do not think so, Pretty One."

He had taught her the use of the lightsaber, its principles similar to that of the sword techniques he'd originally taught, and left. Eirian did not attempt to kill him.

Months Later

Eirian slipped through the crowd in Mos Espa. They were all on the way to the podraces and her target had rather thoughtlessly left his door unlocked. Eirian slipped in quietly and began to rummage through the cabinet to retrieve what she'd been sent to find.

"Maul." She straightened from the cabinet she was digging in, knowing instinctively that he'd entered the room.

He unbuckled his belt and pulled both tunics over his head, moving to kiss the back of her neck. After a moment he bent down and drew her skirt up her legs. Chuckling, he slipped off the knives she'd strapped to her thighs. Then he kicked off his own boots and stepped out of his slacks, freeing his erection. He leaned against her, reaching around her waist to cup her in his hand and stroke her with a soft finger.

Eirian's nipples hardened and pressed painfully against the rough fabric of her shirt. His tongue traced the line of her scar and continued up to her neck where he bit down. She ran her hands over her own breasts, pinching the nipples.

She felt his forehead against the back of her neck and grasped the sides of the low cabinet for support. He dragged his engorged penis along her ass before lifting her hips and thrusting into her sharply. Eirian tensed her muscles, giving him a tighter sheath. She rocked her hips, liking the feeling of his testicles slapping against her. She bucked back against him each time he thrust. His fingers twined through her own, his palms against the back of her hands. As she felt his body shudder in climax, she felt his teeth on her neck, drawing blood. His warmth filled her, running down her leg. She felt a light kiss on the back of her neck before he withdrew.

She turned to face him, her skirt falling down around her ankles.

"Why are you here?"

"A mission, Pretty One. I must go."

"I haven't killed you yet."

He did not pause, continuing to dress, not meeting her eyes. He smoothed his tunic down and pulled on his gauntlets. She unhooked the lightsaber from her belt and lit it. Unfazed, he walked towards her. The lightsaber hummed a hairsbreadth from his horns. He cupped her face in his hands, kissing her gently, the taste of her blood on his lips. She bit down on his lower lip as hard as she could and sucked at the blood that welled up, her mouth stinging at its metallic flavor. He did not break the kiss until he was ready to.

"I will not die by your hand, Pretty One." He licked the blood from his lip. "I am not Jedi."

He walked out.

Moments later, her target, who was never supposed to know she'd been there, walked in. Eirian cut him down with the still lit lightsaber, the taste of Maul's blood in her mouth.

Two Days Later.

Eirian halted her training routine with the lightsaber. Her movements were not her own. She paced back and forth across the mat, feeling jumpy, tense. Staring at the floor in front of her.

Without warning she lurched back into battle. Her eyes lost their focus as she battled an unseen enemy, eventually knocking him down a generator shaft. She stood above him slashing her lightsaber back and forth, the sparks flying down to where he dangled from a small nozzle on the wall of the pit.

Eirian shook her head, feeling Maul's presence, but hearing no words from him.

Suddenly, the Jedi leapt from the shaft, snatching up his Master's lightsaber.

Crashing, burning, searing pain. Eirian doubled over, grasping at her waist, dropping her lightsaber. Her shirt dampened with blood from the scars on her neck and chest. She lay on the floor, unable to move, unable to clear her mind of the Jedi's face. Tears ran down her cheeks.

"Lord Maul, this Jedi will die."

DISCLAIMER: This story is a work of fiction written in appreciation of Star Wars; to promote the franchise and to keep it alive. All characters and settings original to Star Wars are copyright to the author. The rest is copyright to the author.

DISCLAIMER: This story is a work of fiction written in appreciation of Star Wars; to promote the franchise and to keep it alive. All characters and settings original to Star Wars are copyright to Lucasfilm, Ltd. The rest is copyright to the author.