Mass Effect 1. Desire

**Author's Notes:**

This a spinoff to my current story "Old Friends Revisited" and takes place while the events in that story are unfolding. It revolves around Lysandra, an asari emissary who currently resides on the Citadel and is told entirely from her POV. The four chapter arc will focus on the moments after each Lysandra/Shepard exchange in OFR.

This is a collaborative endeavor with another FFN author – Lyaksandra, who also graciously offers her time to my beta read my stories. Since you (the reader) like ME, I highly recommend you check out her story "Walked Amongst Giants"… one of my favorites.

Now on with the story… after the events in chapter 2 of "Old Friends Revisited"...

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Desire

The night cycle had just arrived to the Citadel, and like all artificial environments, the darkness was eerily absolute. A single light came alive in the small kitchenette of the well-equipped and luxurious embassy suite, revealing the lissome figure of Lysandra, asari emissary. She was wearing a one piece, black work-out leotard with a single wide silver strip that ran along its whole length. It gave the clothing a streamlined look and accentuated the curves of the body it covered with brazen splendor. There were several darkened patches in the cloth, indicating that the asari had concluded her exercise routine just recently.

Lysandra stood still and regarded the kitchenette for a while, as she often did, wondering if it would ever see any use. She knew how to cook—there was very little Lysandra didn't know how to do, but there simply never seemed to be time for it. Or adequate company. Especially the company. She seemed to be surrounded by boorish people. The uninvited image of Shepard assaulted her mind at that thought. Ever since that afternoon the human had been intermittently appearing in her mind, much like the ghosts that haunt a conscience riddled with guilt. It was all just so peevishly frustrating. How had she failed to affect the Spectre as much as she wanted?

Now she really needed to take a bath. Lysandra always enjoyed soaking her weary body after a good multiplayer session of _Battle Zone Omega_ and working out, but today she really needed the warm caress of the water to put her nerves at ease. Although, there had been aspects of her encounter with the human that gave her some peace of mind. Yes, Shepard had resisted her very well, but Lysandra had perceived that it hadn't been without some effort. The human had stiffened just a little here and there, blinked too fast when the asari had closed the distance between them, when they had practically shared the same breath.

Even though the aftermath of their meeting had left Lysandra feeling acutely frustrated, it also left her feeling a certain fascination. Almost no one was able to resist her when she fully poured herself into a conquest, there simply were very few walls capable of holding back such an onslaught. Yet, there was Commander Shepard, first human Spectre, hero of the Citadel. Could it be that the human was actually everything the masses had made her up to be? She certainly had seemed like it when they met face to face.

Grinning shrewdly, Lysandra was already savoring a moment she was certain would come in time. When the elusive Shepard would be hers to do as she wished, when the playful Shepard would answer to her every whim. The mere notion of such an enthralling triumph made Lysandra lick her lips expectantly, the thrill of the hunt already coursing through her veins. This quarry would be like no other, maybe she would even have to make an extra effort. It was possible that the kitchenette would finally see some use; the rousing occasion would certainly call for it were Lysandra to succeed.

As she bent down to open the wine drawer that was located in the lower part of the large refrigerator, Lysandra shook her head and then mentally corrected herself. Of course she would succeed. But then the cooking would be pointless. Shepard was too special, too large a prize for things to end in companionship. No, Lysandra wanted to claim the human so utterly, so completely, to feast on her very essence until nothing was left but an empty husk. This couldn't end any other way, having someone like the Commander was a chance she would only see a very few times in her entire life.

The asari emissary allowed herself a satisfied smile as she pulled a bottle of fine asari wine from the drawer. Shepard would be hers—she was beginning to feel certain about that fact, and it was comforting to once more feel completely sure of herself. Lysandra pushed the drawer closed with the heel of her foot, and pulled an exquisitely etched glass from one of the cabinets. With that, she was ready for her bath, so she turned off the light and sauntered away from the kitchenette she apparently would never use.

She was going to enjoy this bath, let it renew her like the delicious spring rains back in Thessia, and then she would hunt Shepard with all her might. Her step gained a little spring and her hips a touch of a sensuous sway as she approached the master bedroom. The fluidity of movement came to her naturally once she had relaxed. Actually most of her seductive demeanor wasn't something she purposefully acted out, it was who she was. In her dealings with other people, she merely applied it carefully at the precise points in every situation she found herself in.

When she entered her bedroom, Lysandra promptly turned the light on and set both the bottle of wine and the glass on one of the night tables beside the bed. She then proceeded to gracefully slide out of the sweat soaked leotard. It wasn't something she would wear again until it was washed, so after the cloth pooled at her feet, she collected it and placed it in a special container. She gathered the bottle and glass, then gave the area a quick inspection. The room seemed to be in perfect order—tidy, clean, everything in its designated place—just the way she liked it. Satisfied with the bedroom, Lysandra walked into the bathroom, and ran her eyes over every aspect and item in there. Being organized was something that provided her with a sense of security and control, so she always strived to limit the chaos to a certain extent wherever she resided. Then again, filling the bathtub up to a precise level would most likely be perceived as excessive by anybody else's standards.

Lysandra sighed contentedly as she lowered herself in the hot water, the aromatic salts filling her sense of smell with exquisite fragrances purchased directly from a specialty shop back in Thessia. Bathing was very important. Maintaining good hygiene was another form of discipline, but it also was enjoyable and relaxing. Lysandra would simply be incapable of not sparing any cost to have a first-class bathroom in her personal quarters. Whether they were provided or she rented them herself.

As she further lowered herself into the bathtub, the emissary took a sip from the glass of wine that she had poured while the tub was filling, and allowed its flavor to momentarily remain in her mouth before swallowing. The purplish liquid was delicious, and for a moment, she fancied what the flavor of Shepard's lips would be. Certainly as flavorful and complex as the wine, if not better. And what of the other things? Perhaps the human's skin would be silky and warm like the water. To accentuate the idea for fun, Lysandra scooped some water with one hand, and relished the hauntingly soft sensation of dropping it along her arm. Then she took a long, deep breath. What of the smell? That could certainly be improved upon. Shepard had smelled of human herbs, sweet and musky, that much Lysandra did know. More like weeds, but she would get the Commander to change that, and she already had in mind exactly to what. If Shepard loved herbs so much, Lysandra knew of a few shops in Thessia that sold the finest and rarest aromatic herbs in the entire galaxy.

She was going to thoroughly conquer Shepard and then mold her to her tastes—polish some of those rough spots inherent to every gem worthy of praise. Like that intriguing scar across the human's face, which showed that the Spectre obviously wasn't afraid of being physical, and Lysandra would just _love_ to get physical with her. That scar was a testimony of the Commander's strength, a mark that said she was not to be messed with even if she seemed exquisite and delicate. Yes, the rough spots made Shepard even more attractive, more bewitching, and the chase all the more alluring, because then she would be able to shape the human to her whims. A small mewl of pleasure escaped Lysandra's lips.

In the almost complete silence of the bathroom, the asari emitted a throaty chuckle through her smiling lips as she toasted alone to her success.


	2. Jealousy

**Author's Note:**

After the events in chapter 9 of "Old Friends Revisited"...

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Jealousy

Lysandra stood at the window of her office, resting her hands on the glass and admiring the scenery outside… Or at least pretending to. Truth be told, she was silently fuming while affecting stoic composure. The presence of her entourage of bodyguards inside the room made it impossible to openly express her frustrations which seethed underneath the surface. What did Shepard see in the blasted bookworm? Intelligence? Power? Beauty? None of that made any sense at all; Lysandra was certain that she bested the asari scientist in every one of those categories. Thinking about it made her jaw tighten and her fingers curl against the glass, as if she were trying to claw a piece straight out of the pane.

The resistance Shepard possessed to her charms bordered along the amusing and inconsequential. Lysandra knew she could slowly but surely bore her way inside the commander's defenses, and after all, the game wouldn't be fun without such an enticing challenge. But that Liara T'Soni… now that was an unanticipated problem. With her plain looks, shapeless body, and insipid, uninspiring chatter—the pesky bookworm somehow got to taste the nectar of Shepard's lips as she pleased, whenever she pleased, and wherever she pleased! Those delicious, plump, soft lips, that even when unwilling could dance to the sensuous cadence of seduction better than most. Lysandra slowly ran her index finger along her lips remembering the sinful pleasure of capturing the commander's with hers, and the unspoken arousal ignited within their possession. As the memory of that stolen moment flooded her senses, the emissary's breath caught in her chest and her lips tingled with longing for another taste of the human.

Slightly drained by the sudden onset of emotion the memories brought, the emissary let herself rest against the glass in an attempt to release the tension within her limbs. Even though it was relatively early in the morning, the large pane was already very warm. Lysandra could feel the heat on the palms her hands and on the cheek she had pressed against window, but she could particularly feel it on her chest—the warmth of the hard glass easily traveling through the cloth, sending tingling sensations across her breasts—which was just another reminder of the previous night. Shepard's body had felt so warm and firm against the soft flesh of Lysandra's breasts as she had purposefully and shamelessly brushed them against the human. Almost against her will, the emissary pressed further upon the pane as if attempting to recreate the previous night's hauntingly brief moment which unexpectedly reignited the same ache for further contact throughout her body. The heated pressure upon her now hardened peaks sent a cascade of shivers down her spine and a new kind of fire began to smolder even lower below. No longer was her body beginning to relax, on the contrary, it was ablaze with desire for the human's hands and mouth and flesh. Was everything going to remind her about Shepard? Lysandra took a sharp, deep breath that immediately escaped her lips in the form of a trembling sigh full of yearning.

By the goddess! What was happening to her? Startled at her own reaction, Lysandra immediately composed herself, straightening up and adopting a rigid posture with her hands clasped behind her back. She then looked around her office, scanning every corner of the room with the eyes of an angry taskmaster ready to dish whippings left and right. No one seemed to have noticed her little outburst of emotion. Good. Lysandra allowed herself to again relax a little before returning to her musings.

The rules of engagement would have to change. Shepard was affecting her more than she was affecting the human in return, and that simply would not do. Lysandra would also have to further adapt her strategies in lieu of other inconveniences and complications, namely: Liara. The nauseating subtleties of the interactions between the Commander and her asari did not escape Lysandra's notice, she had however, underestimated the profundity of their relationship and how it seemed to seep into everything they did. How they always danced around each other, with a provocative little movement or a knowing smile here and there, how their eyes scanned the other's body in glazed bliss, and especially in how well synchronized they were with each other. Shepard and Liara pulsated like a single heart, in perfect rhythm even when in dissent. It was infuriating to say the least. They reeked of love, and love implied there was a huge obstacle in the way of Lysandra's plans.

A screeching sound beside her face forced Lysandra to snap out of her trance. She sighed tiredly and looked under her nails just to verify what she already knew. Her nails had dug tiny marks into the reinforced bullet-proof glass of the window. Why was she feeling a slight tightness in her chest, though?

Lysandra quickly disregarded the alien sensation and attributed it to the anger she had just felt coursing like fire through her veins. She stretched her whole body in an effort to allow her muscles some needed respite after being so tense, and then sauntered to the high back chair behind her desk. Her muscle stiffness was nothing a masseuse and a long, hot bath couldn't cure. As she sat with the grace and poise of a princess, Lysandra resolved not to let Shepard burrow so deeply under her skin, she was better than that. It was time to work and forget about the blasted human… at least for the remainder of the day.


	3. Anger

**Author's Note:**

After the events of chapter 13 in "Old Friends Revisited"...

* * *

Anger

Once the interlopers had left, Lysandra sprung from her high back chair like a spent thermal clip, her anger radiating off of her in palpable waves. Choleric, incensed, beside herself with rage—there simply weren't enough expressions to convey how utterly furious she was. For just an instant, her dark blue eyes flared with biotic energy as outrage slipped beyond her control, and when her hand slammed on the desk it was with much more force than she had intended. As the echo of the biotic impact faded away, Lysandra stared blankly at the fragments of shattered glass that had fallen to the floor. After a momentary pause, her features shifted slightly and eventually betrayed an inkling of amused curiosity. Then, as suddenly as she had stood up, she dropped herself back on her chair, and crossed her legs – her face regaining its regal and imposing grace.

"Do any of you understand what just happened?" Her voice sounded disinterested, but the underlying wrath present within her eyes hinted at something else entirely.

The four asari commandos who were still seated on couches exchanged startled, confused looks between themselves. The krogan bodyguard in the corner of the room only shifted the shotgun from his right hand to his left. No one made a sound though, not even to acknowledge the asari emissary's words.

Nodding her head once in approval of their silent deference, Lysandra said, "Well, allow me to… _educate_ you before we move onto other… less savory matters."

Every pair of eyes in the room was now fixed on the asari sitting behind the splintered desk.

"I do not expect you four to understand," Lysandra looked for a second at the asari commandos, "but you Kolrak, a krogan?" She paused in order to allow the indirect insult to register and then continued. "Commander Shepard and her minions came into my office and completely dominated this space and its every interaction. They should have left at my leisure, with the threat of our reaction to their intrusion pressing on their heels, not the other way around. That is the reason you were hired. That was your sole purpose for being here… and you failed me."

Kolrak remained standing in the corner with a dispassionate look on his face while the commandos fidgeted nervously on the couch. No one dared to speak.

Lysandra let her flinty gaze linger momentarily but deliberately on each one of her subordinates. "You," she sneered, "have _no_ idea the humiliation you just put me through."

Once she was done with the bulk of her disciplinary speech, Lysandra straightened her posture and took a deep, relaxing breath. As she exhaled theatrically to punctuate her disappointment, her intense blue eyes turned to fix the krogan in their sights. A devilish smile formed on her lips.

"Kolrak," she said in a dulcet, playful tone, "be a dear and leave this space. I cannot think clearly with so much ugly in the room."

If the krogan somehow resented the remark, he reacted in no way to it. With a stoic face and confident movements, he nodded politely and turned toward the door in order to leave. When Lysandra's gaze came to rest upon the four asari commandos, they became statues. The emissary regarded them with eyes that had regained their calm and confidence, but that also held a touch of contempt. At least for now, it was very obvious that whatever the disciplinary measure would be, they had just been singled out to receive it.

Upon seeing their reaction, Lysandra couldn't help also offering them her most charming and threatening smile. Alluring, enthralling and predatory. The one she employed to make a point of how her beauty and charisma were not only matched by how dangerous she could be, but perhaps even surpassed. One would have to be a shark to have a more intimidating smile. Although Lysandra didn't mean her commandos any real harm, they certainly deserved to be shaken after what had just happened - even if it had been Commander Shepard and her biotic krogan Battlemaster who had put them through it.

Lysandra stood up and sauntered toward the commandos with unhurried ease. Each suggestive footfall seemed to portend their eminent doom which may have been the reason they all got to their feet – to meet their fate standing. As she approached the group, the emissary carefully inspected the smallest one of the asari commandos. Even though the differences in height and body shape among the four of them were practically negligible, this one asari still managed to stand out. The light commando armor she was wearing completely failed at concealing the curves of her body and lissome symmetry. Her skin was a light hue of blue, but not pale. Instead, it was a rather lively tone that glowed in a flattering way under the artificial lighting of the office's lamps.

Smiling seductively, Lysandra pointed her index finger at the smallest asari. "You," she instructed, "go to my private chambers and wait there."

All four asari commandos exchanged curious glances, clearly not understanding what this was about. As if to crush their fleeting hesitation, Lysandra chose that very moment to raise a questioning eyebrow and loudly clear her throat. Without delay, one of the taller commandos nudged forward the chosen one with her elbow. As the smallest commando left the room, the remaining three turned toward Lysandra and adopted an almost military posture.

"Now then," said the emissary in an amicable tone, "as for the rest of you, please acquire a replacement for my desk. The same model would be perfectly fine. I will not ask you to become interior designers as chastisement for your inadequate performance. However, you _will_ cover the cost of the desk with your own credits, and you _will_ personally bring it up to my office." Noticing their reactionary grimaces, she added, "Remember that there are many cameras in this building and any attempt at deceit will only serve to earn you further disciplinary actions. That is all."

With an elegant wave of her delicate and perfectly manicured hand, Lysandra dismissed the remaining asari commandos as she walked around the desk. While moving in the direction of her private chambers, the emissary's manner became more fluid, almost cat-like. She had already regained her composure, but what was about to come demanded that she relax even further and open herself to enjoyment. It wouldn't do to engage in endeavors of a sensual nature without being able to fully savor every delicious nuance. Otherwise, the bitterness of what transpired during Shepard's visit would just sour her recreation, and she would be unable to put the awful afternoon behind her. She was not going to let that happen.

...

The following morning the punished commando walked out of the private bedroom to rejoin her three comrades. Although a slight, shy smile graced her lips, she looked both disheveled and sleep deprived. It was also immediately apparent that she was... walking funny. There was no doubt that she had received the brunt of Lysandra's salacious anger.


	4. Love

**Author's Note:**

I want to take a moment to thank Lyaksandra, another author in FFN, who has been the lead writer in these chapters about the devilishly audacious asari emissary- your writing has really brought her to life for me! Thank you! Now on with the show...

...just before the before the events in chapter 17 of OFR.

* * *

Love

Lysandra did not believe in coincidences. Of course there were fortuitous events in life, but never big coincidences, and this one was huge. How convenient that just before entering the monitored Thessian space, _and_ after having acquired an enormous sum of credits, her ship would be attacked.

No one had known about her arrival with the exception of Diandra, her immediate subordinate. In hindsight, hiring her because she was ambitious had obviously turned out to be a mistake. Diandra was a bit too ambitious. Lysandra let out a drawn out sigh as she studied the security feeds in her personal quarters. She had been too careless as of recently, and all of these errors were not going to cut it for the future life she had planned for herself.

There were two persons aboard the ship that Lysandra could trust completely. Kolrak was one of them. For all the criticism Krogans received for being brutish, most of them had a very firm code of honor—unlike Asari mercenaries—and Kolrak would serve her to the end of the contract they had agreed upon. He would not betray her even if someone offered him a larger sum of money than what she was paying. Of course Kolrak was far from being altruistic, so after beating whoever was trying to buy him out, he would bring the news to her and ask for a pay raise. Lysandra would give it to him without question, that kind of loyalty had no price.

The other one was Luine, the eldest of the Asari Commandos that served as her bodyguards. Luine was very devoted and honorable; once upon a time she had served in the official Asari military. What had changed the Commando's views of the world enough to make her choose such a drastic career change, Lysandra did not know, but she was certain that Luine would never betray an employer. Lysandra closely followed the activities of everyone in her service, even when they were not working, or rather, _especially_ when they were not working. At some point, she had discovered that Luine was parting with most of her salary in benefit of some relatives she had in Asteria. That fact alone spoke lengths about Luine's dedication.

Being the two recipients of the utmost trust Lysandra could place on anyone beside her own self, she had assigned them a special comm unit that exclusively connected the three of them. Through it, Lysandra had just now ordered both Kolrak and Luine to immediately evacuate the ship in a secret shuttle she kept as a personal escape route. Lysandra knew that Diandra would want to capture her alive, so she required that her two trusted soldiers were out of the way. Mainly in order to have the freedom of acting at her leisure, as Diandra knew what Lysandra thought about the Krogan and the Asari Commando, and she could attempt to use them as leverage. Lysandra also did not want either Kolrak or Luine to be put in harm's way, but she liked to think that was a very minor secondary reason.

Neither Luine or Kolrak had manifested the slightest protest to the evacuation order, but Lysandra did notice they were taking their sweet time preparing the shuttle for flight. Idiots.

The sizzling sound of melting metal broke Lysandra out of her musings. The interlopers were already at her door, and had already found out it was nearly impossible to hack. Therefore, they were resorting to more crude methods. They were welcome to it, Lysandra was certain they were not prepared for what they would find inside. If there was one secret she had kept well guarded—even from those closest to her—it was her biotic abilities and combat training. Since they had orders to capture her alive, and to them she was just some weakling politician and business woman, these Commandos simply stood no chance. They were going to underestimate her, and it would be their downfall.

As the sparks of the metal cutter reached the bottom of the door, Lysandra proceeded to remove her dress jacket, then her blouse, and lastly her shoes. All that was left covering her body were a pair of black, custom tailored dress pants, and a white under-shirt that allowed one too many angles of view into her not so modest chest, but this was obviously not the time to be prude.

It was the time to humble down the idiots that had dared to cross her.

The very moment one of the mercenaries set a foot across the door, Lysandra greeted her guests with generous amounts of singularity. Two of the mercenaries were immediately suspended in the air, screaming as their bodies began twisting and compressing around the gravitational force. When the mercenaries that avoided the singularity scuttled out of the way like scared vermin, they revealed their numbers to Lysandra. Without hesitation, she sprinted out of the door, and used one hand to slam the head of the closest mercenary against the wall. She then erected a barrier to protect herself just in case, even though she could clearly see the other two trespassers were—for the time being—simply staring at her. How could they not, she had just applied a biotic push and was slowly but surely squashing the helmet under the palm of her hand. She regaled them with her most stunning smile, one that won her so many silly fawning followers in social gatherings. Theatrics, fear, they were powerful tools she intended to use liberally now that she had been forced to reveal her hand.

However, these were professionals, so the surprise lasted just a few seconds. The moment Lysandra caught a slight movement in their armed hands, she slid the helmet grasped in her hand along the wall to the effect of producing the most nerve grating screech. Then she tossed the limp body toward them, making sure to propel it with a biotic push so strong they were all slammed against the wall in the far end of the corridor. To be sure they were out of the fight at least for a while, Lysandra quickly walked up to the prone bodies and verified they were in fact unconscious. She also collected all their weapons, and tossed them into a ventilation shaft. She had no use for them, and they most certainly did not.

Now she had to quickly find a vantage point, since she could already hear footsteps hurriedly closing in on her.

By the time the newcomers arrived, Lysandra was snugly—albeit uncomfortably—hidden between the ventilation and cabling shafts in the ceiling. This is why she was not wearing any shoes, because at one point or another she was going to need all the additional traction her naked feet could provide. Allowing enough time for the two new and rather sloppy mercenaries to inspect their surroundings and finally walk by her was nothing short of a monumental deed. The blasted idiots took so long, Lysandra thought more than once to just drop on them and beat them face to face. She would certainly have to work more on her patience, especially when dealing with people that by all appearances seemed to be her intellectual inferiors. By the time Lysandra considered it was safe to drop from her hiding spot in the ceiling, she was not entirely sure her stiffened limbs were up to the task about to be asked of them. No point in thinking too much about it, she could not afford the hesitation anyway.

Lysandra tailed the mercenaries from a distance; it did not take them too long to arrive at the spot she had designated for dispatching them. There was good coverage from one of the security cameras here, and she intended to put up a display for Diandra to enjoy in its fullest. The traitor would be dead in the near future anyway, that was a given, and the details of Lysandra's prowess would enter the future as the words of legend, a cautionary tale of sorts. Whoever might hear about it from these mercenaries, and whoever might hear about it from Diandra's lips before they became cold and went silent forever, those people would be unable to prove it without the most valid source—the one person watching from outside the proceedings. It certainly was all about the theatrics, and as Lysandra approached the mercenaries from behind, she once again began smiling and her step flowed seamlessly from cautious tiptoeing to sensual saunter.

Coming from one side, Lysandra swiftly grabbed one of the mercenaries' rifle and pulled with all her strength. In one single fluid motion, she brought her elbow to bear against the side of her target's helmet. The impact produced a satisfactorily loud cracking noise, and pain shot up Lysandra's arm. No matter, she knew how to work her way through pain, and besides, the sensation was a good measure of how good the impact had been. Judging by the wobbly movements of the mercenary, it had been good. Since she successfully relieved the man from the weapon, Lysandra tossed it behind her as far as she could and turned her attention to the other man.

This mercenary was good, by the time Lysandra had taken care of the first one, the butt of his weapon was already traveling toward her face. However, he was not as good as Lysandra. Her quick reflexes and extensive hand to hand combat training allowed her to divert most of the force by hitting the mercenary's arm with a precise strike of her wrist. Still, pain bloomed on the side of her head, and a warm sensation began growing with it. Probably blood.

Both the pain and the knowledge that her blood had possibly been drawn set Lysandra into a manner of trance. Her mind began running through the steps of successfully maneuvering her way against an armed opponent at close distance, and who had the advantage of having landed the first blow. Decades of training allowed her body to effortlessly follow behind the instructions put forth by her brain.

_Breach the distance that separates you from the opponent, invade its personal space. Then, strike decisively against its greatest strength and its greatest weakness, if possible in a single move._

Lysandra grabbed onto the man's weapon arm, and she twisted the wrist as far as it was possible, given that he was wearing armor and his body-mass was superior. Immediately after forming her hand into a half fist, she ducked slightly to the side of the arm and turned to drive her elbow into the space of the armpit. As the arm lost a portion of strength, Lysandra immediately moved to keep gaining terrain. She used her half fist to hit the opening in the armor that allowed for mobility above the elbow joint. This allowed her to gain further leverage on the arm, and she twisted further until it was finally captured under her armpit. Then she proceeded to repeatedly hit the weakest point in nearly every form of armor—the soft area that allowed for mobility of the neck joint. Lysandra hit the place where the man's trachea should be once and again to maximize the damage as much as possible. As soft as the armor joint was, it was still part of an armor. Even though Lysandra was fast, by then her time had run out and the mercenary was ready to retaliate.

_Never retreat, always move forward. Whenever possible make of every dodge and every deflection an attack. Be relentless or be dead._

As the man's punch travelled for her head, Lysandra quickly blocked the arm near the elbow joint, effectively cutting its momentum. Then her free hand automatically formed into a half fist and as swift as a viper she struck the opening in the armor again, this time twice in quick succession. The sensation of numbness the attack produced on the mercenary forced him to slightly tumble and take a short step back. Lysandra knew this was her opportunity and she immediately seized it. She moved in and began a relentless assault against the man's arm joints, his trachea, and the sides of his head. It was a veritable flurry of half fists connecting with nearly surgical precision in order to numb limbs, and open palms smashing against the helmet's side in order to shake the brain into a confused haze.

The man finally collapsed into a heap, but Lysandra knew she was far from done. There was another soldier to deal with, and was already standing up. Taking the time chance that opened when the mercenary took a moment to shake his head into some form of awareness, Lysandra ran up to him. She grabbed his helmet with both hands, and using her entire weight, the momentum of the short sprint, and the strength of her lithe body, she smashed her knee against his face. That took care of that.

Lysandra tried to conceal a tired huff slightly as she stood there and took in the results of her handiwork. Before moving out of the camera's view to catch her ragged breath, she made sure to look composed and smile for it. That would have to do for the theatrics, she was beginning to feel the effects of exertion and she still had to deal with Diandra. Just around a corner leading away from the peering eye of the camera, Lysandra allowed herself to slide down to the floor while resting her back against the wall. As trained, she began trying to regulate her breathing in order to calm down and rest for a moment.

After the frontal confrontation with the two mercenaries, Lysandra opted instead for a completely stealth approach. Obviously, she knew the ship like the back of her hand, and so she fully utilized that knowledge to avoid the other mercenaries that had been sent to hunt her. After some minutes, she finally managed to make her way to the airlock that connected the invading ship with hers. Lysandra tried to verify there was no ambush in place, but there was no peering inside it. The mercenaries had blocked the tiny window, which reinforced Lysandra's fears of having an ambush waiting for her. Well, it was not like she had anywhere else to go. As good a fighter as she was, the mercenaries would at some point manage to wear her down and capture her, even if she began using lethal force against them.

The very moment the door to the airlock opened, Lysandra was blasted by powerful biotic energy and she was flung like a ragdoll against the wall behind her. She landed in an almost unconscious heap on the floor after bouncing off the wall, leaving a nice dent on the wall where her body had impacted. Even trying to gasp for a tiny amount of air felt like inhaling fire. Although her vision was a blurred mess and her ears made her feel as if she had been submerged in water, Lysandra managed to make out the scene before her.

There was Diandra, smiling smugly and screaming something that sounded like, 'you didn't really think I was going to underestimate you'. Stupid bitch, if only she would get just a little bit closer. Although, that would probably do no good considering what was standing beside the treacherous weed. A Krogan Battlemaster. There was no mistaking that armor; it was a blasted Krogan Battlemaster. Lysandra's mind began spinning out of control, and for one of few times in her life, she felt panic take hold of her mind. When had things gone so wrong? How had she misjudged Diandra so grossly? Now she was never going to become a prominent political figure in Thessia. She would never head her own criminal organization and would never be able to indulge in that life of power and sin she coveted so much. She would never be able to see Shepard again…

By the Goddess! From where in the forsaken icy wastelands of Noveria had that thought come from? And yet, here it was—clear as day, persistent as the bad taste of bad wine. She wanted to see Shepard again, to smell her disgusting human musk and her disgusting human perfume. As much as Lysandra wanted to push the thoughts away, they only reinforced themselves into a focal point inside her mind. She wanted to feel Shepard's rotten lips against hers again. Those putrid… soft, inviting, exquisite lips.

So unlike the woman Lysandra had chosen to forge herself into those many decades ago, her mind became a torrid storm of emotion, overflowing and wreaking havoc in every idea it touched. She rose from the floor, shaking and barely able to breathe. Then, she blindly charged forward—a battle cry surging from her throat, her mind giving itself to the raw rage and the longing she was feeling.


	5. Epilogue

**Author's Note:**

Before the Epilogue in OFR...

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Epilogue

Lysandra took a seat behind her desk, barely able to contain the smile that threatened to creep into her lips. She had concluded her business on Thessia and was back to the lavish space of her office on her ship. Everything seemed and felt better than it ever had. The smooth surface of the expensive desk beneath her fingertips was cold and reassuring as she caressed it. After having a dalliance with death, life seemed somehow more splendid.

Everything had turned out so well in the end, and the whole theatricality of somehow managing to tear apart the hull of Diandra's ship would add quite nicely to the urban legends surrounding one Lysandra. After she had astonishingly breached the several layers of the ship's walls that were behind Diandra and her Krogan, Lysandra had automatically gone for the panel that controlled the airlock connecting the two ships. By some manner of luck, she managed to seal her own vessel in time to not get swallowed by the vacuum of space or become a frozen statue standing guard there at the door. By the time Diandra's mercenaries found her, the traitor was already dead, and Lysandra immediately offered them a new deal. They had no reason not to accept, now that they were unemployed. Whereas the Krogan had most likely survived since he was wearing a full set of body armor, Diandra had not expected to be spaced, and so she was wearing nothing but casual attire at the time. Who could blame her? What Lysandra managed to do back there had been nothing short of a miracle.

Furthermore, Kolrac and Luine had come out of the whole thing unscathed, just as planned. Now, the only thing that was left to do in order to conclude that chapter of her life, was to compose the message she had meant for Shepard since the end of their business involving Grace. Lysandra brought her lissome fingers to the keyboard of her terminal.

_Beloved Shepard…_

No, that would not do at all. She could not display the weaknesses of her heart to the Commander. If anything, that would only detract from the opinion the human had of her. No, she had to be strong. She had to be the bastion of power she had always strived to be.

_Shepard,_

_If you are reading this, then you are alive…_

**_The End … (for now)_**

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**Author's Note:**

Thank you for following this story and to all who have Fav'd, Alerted and left Reviews, I thank you again! This is the first joint writing project I've been involved with which has successfully come to its conclusion. It was a fun experience which hopefully carried over to the reader. Basically, I hope you enjoyed this small exposition on Lysandra. ;) Also, for those who asked, I think it is safe to say that this is not the last we've heard from the asari emissary. :)


End file.

Mass Effect, Sci-Fi