Sins of the Father

Sins of the Father Chapter Twenty Seven (NC-17)
Disclaimers Apply

A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST WOMAN ALIVE (tm), Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch and Uberbeta... *sigh * I think they're into the glitter again. InterNutter, TC, Maxwell Pink and Dracena are squishywonderful for archiving/hosting! ProPhile: Patience, grasshopper. Morgan: *glomp * Readers/Reviewers: And now, action! So to speak! Thank you sooooooooooooooooo much for reading/reviewing! *twirly dance of thanks *



Amara was huddled on the ground next to her stone altar in the woods when Lance found her. It was the last place he had thought of looking for her since seeing Rogue stalking back through the house, clutching her nose and heading for the infirmary while muttering dire imprecations against Amara's well being. She did not even look up as he tramped into the small clearing, not bothering to try and be quiet. "Hey..." He stopped a few feet away and frowned. She was kneeling, bent forward with her hands folded over her stomach. "Princess? You okay?"
"She's praying."
Lance's head snapped up and he glared at Poena, sitting in the shadows of the thick pines on the other side of the altar. "Don't you have somewhere to be?" he snarled. Amara still had not moved, he noticed. He edged forward and narrowed his eyes at Poena. "Like very far away from me?"
Poena flashed a quick smile. "She'll be done in a moment. I know it is difficult for heathens like yourself to understand, but worship is very important to Amara Aquilla." She shifted, rising to her feet in one smooth motion. "She had forgotten how, before I came here. She had almost lost it."
Lance bit his tongue on a retort. Instead, he pointedly moved towards Amara and ignored Poena's presence. Sinking down to his knees beside her, he laid a hand on her arm. "Amara, you okay?"
She did not change position. The only indication she was aware of his presence was the tightening of the muscles under his hand. Her brow furrowed slightly and her words became a little louder, the Latinate phrases spilling over one another in a whispered chant. Poena bent over them both, her silent arrival making Lance jump slightly. "She will be done soon. You have no place in this world, not to her."
Amara's head finally came up. Her hands unfolded and she turned slightly dazed eyes to Poena. She murmured something in Latin and closed her eyes for a moment. Lance simply stared. This was not the Amara he knew or even thought he knew. Poena smiled and responded, turning away and walking back towards the house silently. Amara looked not at him but seemingly through him for a long, silent moment before speaking. "So how mad is Rogue?"
"Pretty pissed. I saw the blood on the floor in the laundry...man, you popped her GOOD!" He sounded almost admiring as he rocked back on his heels to sit on the loamy soil. "Amara, you've been kind of...off...lately. You okay?"
She shifted so that she sat in a half-lotus position across from him, their knees almost touching. "I'm just fine, Lance. Better, actually." Her smile was blazingly brilliant, an expression so rare for her that Lance was literally breathless for a moment. "I think," she added slowly, leaning forward with a suddenly intent look on her face, "that I am much better than before."
"How so?" he murmured, leaning to meet her. She was so close that he could feel the faint brush of her lips over his and smell the floral perfume of her skin. "I thought you were just fine before..."
She smiled again, not closing the distance between them just yet. "Shows what you know." Amara kissed him then, sighing into the embrace as his hands came up to tangle in her hair, pulling her closer. She parted her lips against his, deepening the kiss with a soft moan of tired need.
Lance closed his eyes and felt marginally better. Maybe she was not acting so strange after all, he decided, sliding his fingers down her neck to her shoulders. She tensed fractionally beneath his touch but he did not notice as his fingers moved slowly down her arms.
Amara knew what was coming. She braced herself for the pain of the pressure on the open wounds but still, she hissed. Her body recoiled automatically and she felt a trickle of blood begin anew where Lance's touch had opened a slowly closing wound. He stared at her, slack jawed, for a moment before reaching for her again. "I'm fine," she said hastily. "Just...cramps..."
"Liar," he stated without malice. "What's wrong with your arms?" Belatedly, he asked, "And why are you wearing a sweater in this weather?"
Amara was fast, but Lance's reach was greater. He grabbed her wrist before she could scrambled out of reach and pulled her roughly back towards him. "You're hurting me!" she cried sharply.
"No I'm not. You'd fry me if I hurt you without permission!" he snarled. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" He shoved the sleeves of her sweater up without compunction, already fearing what he would find.
Amara swallowed hard. She did not know just why she had let him do that but seeing the look on his face, she wished she had burned him instead. That, she knew, could heal. The sheer fear and sorrow on Lance's features at seeing the cuts on her arms made her want to hide her face, shame something she had not felt in a very long time. "It's nothing," she said stiffly, pulling away from his now slack grasp.
"Take if off," he ordered. "Let me see the rest of your arms."
"No." She stood up quickly, slightly dizzy. Blood still trickled slowly in a thick ooze down her arm from the deep cut near her shoulder. "You don't understand..."
"I told you he wouldn't," Poena chided.
A slight tremor rippled through the ground at their feet as Lance turned to glare at the newcomer. "Go. Away. Now." he bit out.
Poena held her hands out in a harmless gesture. "I told you, Amara Aquilla. He does not understand the depth of your devotion to the old ways." She walked as she spoke, stopping just short of Lance. "You," she said to him in dulcet tones, "are a millstone about her neck. She does not need you."
Amara's eyes were wide. "Poena..."
Lance had rarely struck a woman out of anger before but he decided that was a habit he was going to need to break. So quickly Pietro would have been proud, his hand shot out to backhand Poena as she smirked at him. Just as fast, if not faster, hers came up to stop him. Her fingers closed over his in a crushing grasp, sending a jolt of pain from his fingers to his shoulder. "Fuck," he hissed, the tremor beneath their feet growing stronger.
Amara surged forward as if waking from a dream. "Stop it," she breathed. "Let him go. I've made up my mind! I'll go! I'll go with you!"
The tremor stopped. Poena released Lance's hand and smiled. "Good."
Amara turned to Lance and rose on her toes to kiss him softly. "I'll be back...later. Okay?"
He stared, open mouthed and glaring. "Amara, what the fuck..."
"Later," she murmured, already following Poena.