DISCLAIMER: I don't know who owns FK and the associated characters, but it certainly isn't me. This story *is* mine, however, and anyone who wants, for whatever odd reasons, to reproduce it, is quite welcome, provided s/he lets me know about it. There. I hope that covers it. [M/F story,graphic sex. Written by Wayward] =20 ["Die of a rose in aromatic pain?" Pope, "An Essay on Man"] "To Die of a Rose" "Don't fight me," he whispered harshly. "Don't you dare to fight me." The candles fluttered, throwing confused shadows against the dark carpet. She held perfectly, her pulse hesitating in her veins, waiting for a chance to move against him. He moved through the darkened rooms with lethal grace. Looking for prey. Looking for her. Natalie crouched behind the divan, watching him. *LaCroix*, she murmured silently. *Not long now.* She could just see him, beautiful in the half-light. He could not truly control her mind with his; nor could he find her so easily as he might a regular human. "Natalie...." he whispered. "We can end this now, you know. Easily." She almost felt his smile on her skin, his hunger filling the room. *A little longer*, she promised herself. *Just be patient.* She tightened her grip on the sharpened stake in her hand. /////-----/////-----/////-----/////-----/////-----/////-----///// The week had started badly, anyway. She and Nick were on the outs. Again. Yet another attempt at humanity had failed. "I just need some time alone," he had said, weary and defeated. Nat hadn't had the heart, or the energy, to argue with him;but watching him slouch out of her office had been incredibly frustrating. The next night, she found that Nick had taken a long-overdue vacation. She learned it not from Nick himself, not even from his partner or the Captain, but by overhearing two other homicide=DBdetectives joking about how unusual his departure was. "She must *really* be something," one of them laughed. Thinking that Nick might have taken leave to be with another woman (*Janette?* her suspicious brain asked. *Could he be with her?*) added to her frustration. For the next two days, Nat sulked her way around the morgue, her pride keeping her from asking anyone how long Nick would be= gone. Arriving home the third night, she found a cluster of tiny white roses bound to her doorknob with white silk cord. She removed them carefully, but still one delicate thorn drew blood. No card was attached. The next night, a pair of white roses, twined around a scalpel, was waiting for her on her desk. No card; and no-one had seen who had left it. For the next three days, white roses followed her around Toronto: A bouquet in her car, leaning on the steering wheel; a wreath of roses and ivy, draped on her work computer; and a single rose, wound with narrow white ribbon, lying across the table where she ate her evening meal. "This is too weird," Natalie murmured to herself, walking to her car after the arrival of the bound rose. She loosened her hair from its usual neat tail, and pulled her keys from her pocket as she crossed the parking lot. A movement at the corner of her eye caught her attention. She focused on it, and stopped in her tracks. Tall, slim, dressed in black; razor-cut blond hair, blue eyes, impossibly pale skin. LaCroix. He stood perfectly still; if he was breathing, she couldn't see it. A faint smile curved the thin lips, as he watched her watch him. Power poured from him in cold, cold waves. "I see you received my latest offering," he remarked at last, the smile vanishing, to be replaced with a preternatural solemnity. "Do you approve, Dr Lambert? or may I call you Natalie?" She was utterly silent for several long moments. Without replying, she dropped the rose to the asphault and headed, with quick, sharp steps, to the dubious safety of her car. She shoved her key into the lock, grabbed the handle-- He was there, opening the door for her, still very polite. "Allow me, please." Keeping an eye on him, she slid into the driver's seat. She was uncomfortably aware of the fact that her skirt was rather short, and for the first time, wished she wore pants. He made no move toward her at= all. "Good night, Dr Lambert," he said easily. "I mean, *Natalie*."His voice wrapped around her name, sliding like skin. She slammed the door, and he stepped away. As she gunned the engine --*That's right, I'm tough, don't you forget it*, she thought, a little hysterically-- he stood and watched= her. When she checked her rearview mirror, he was gone. Shaking, she pulled over to the side of the road, leaning her head on the steering wheel until she was certain she could drive again. Once safely at her door, she fumbled with her keys, half expecting him to appear. Nothing. She plunged through the door, slammed it, locked it, had to restrain herself from shoving the couch up against it. *Don't be stupid*, she lectured herself. *If he was going to do something, he'd have done it by now, right? Right.* Worn out suddenly, Natalie dropped her bag on the floor and made her way to the bathroom. She took a shower, scrubbing her body, trying to get the cold of him out of her bones. She even sang aloud, a few verses of "It's Only Love", trying to drown out the sound of his voice. Finally, she emerged from the shower, clean, but not reassured. She left her clothes lying on the floor. *God, I'm tired.* Exhausted, without bothering to dress again, barely managing to turn down the bedspread, she collapsed. She sleepily noted the comforting feel of soft cotton sheets against her skin, the slight scent of her own body, the cool pillow beneath her cheek. She fell soundly, relievedly asleep. --and jolted awake-- "No!" she gasped, terrified without knowing why. Coming fully awake, she slapped her bedside lamp on. White roses, rose petals, leaves, surrounded her. Their fragrance hung drowsily in the air. They lay against her skin, on the sheets, everywhere. Flowers tangled in her hair, white against mahogany. In the darker hair between her legs, a stray leaf curled, and petals clung to her damp inner thighs. Her nipples were erect, her breathing ragged in the silence. "Who is it?" she asked at last, harshly. Silence. "LaCroix!" She waited a moment, then, "I know it's you." "...good night.... Natalie...." His low, mocking voice was so close-- Horrified, she snatched the rose-heavy sheets to her body and lunged to the window. On the street below-- was that a man in black? a shadow? She couldn't tell. Natalie sank to her knees on the floor. She had a feeling she wasn't going to be able to sleep any time soon. =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D Grace dropped a tray of sterilised instruments on the morgue floor. They clashed together as they landed, the sound echoing from the sterile walls and tile floor. "Damn," she muttered, turning to face her friend. "Natalie, sorry, I'll have to get--" She broke off abruptly. Lambert's face was white to the lips; her back was pressed flat to the wall beside her desk. Seeing Grace's shock, she summoned up a patently false smile. "Guess I should switch to decaf, huh?" she joked feebly. "Guess so," Grace agreed drily. "Nat, what's going on with you? You've been a nervous wreck for the past four days. You've got circles under your eyes, you jump a foot at the least sound...." "I'm just having one of those weeks," Nat hedged. "You know how it goes." "Uh-huh." Grace stood with her arms folded, looking less than totally convinced. Natalie shoved her hand backwards through her unruly hair. "It's just, you know, just--" She stopped, regrouped her thoughts, tried again: "....a= cold?" Grace sighed. "Why don't you go home, get some rest?" she suggested. I can handle things; that's what I'm here for, remember?" Lambert began to protest, then paused to think. *It's daylight, broad daylight. I'd be safe. I could -sleep-!* The thought brought a rush of relief so strong she almost burst into tears. "God, Grace, that sounds wonderful." And, less than half an hour later, she was home. =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D= =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D= =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D Natalie slouched down into the hot bath, letting the water soothe her tense muscles and jangled nerves. A gorgeously trashy romance novel lay ready on the floor next to a giant cup of honey-laced jasmine tea and a box of chocolate truffles she had bought in a moment of self-indulgence some weeks ago. *Bliss!* she decided. LaCroix and Nick receded from her conscious mind, and her generally insane life seemed much more appealing. She settled her bath pillow behind her neck, grabbed the novel, and began reading where she'd left off nearly a month earlier. Somehow, the lyrical, dramatic, euphemistic description of the lead characters' sex acts didn't interest her, or even amuse her. The words, the feelings, the actions described all seemed, well, *tame*. The dashing hero was tedious, the delicate heroine was not only anorectic-sounding-- *For goodness' sake, why do they always make idiotic references to her "tiny waist"??*-- but spiritless. Disgusted, she set it aside. *I'll try it again when I'm in a better mood*, she decided. Three truffles and half a cup of tea later, her mood was improved, although she still felt rather restless. She arched her back slightly, stretching the sore tendons and muscles. Her nipples hardened in the cool air, and she sank back down into the freesia-scented water. Sipping her tea, she closed her eyes. *Wouldn't it be nice to have someone in here with you?* she asked herself. *Yes, it would...* "I'm pleased to hear you say so," replied a horribly familiar voice. Nat's eyes snapped open. LaCroix knelt in the bath between her legs, smiling. Water beaded his pale skin like crystals on satin. He leaned forward, almost touching her, and lifted a sponge in his aristocratic hand. "Shall I wash your back?" "JESUS BLOODY CHRIST." Natalie lunged out of the bath, past him, heading for the door, heart pounding in terror, *oh no oh no oh no*-- --and she was in the tub. Alone. Slowly, her breathing returned to normal. *A dream-- a hallucination-- he's playing with my head*, she realised. Lambert eased herself out of the water, drying herself mechanically, chocolate, tea, and bath forgotten. Gradually, her fear turned to anger. "That sonovabitch," she said aloud. *How -dare- he invade me like that?? I'd -kill- him, if it wouldn't be redundant.* The question now was, what was she going to do? *He'll come to me again, to gloat, I'm sure. I'll just have to be ready.* Nat pulled on a robe and slippers and sat at her desk to make up a list. She had some shopping to do. =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D= =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D= =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D Natalie Lambert adjusted the contents of her bag fussily, more than a little self-satisfied. *Nick isn't the only one who's had some time off coming*, she thought smugly. Even if nothing else got done, she'd have a pleasant time vacation. The leather backpack contained a spray bottle of holy water; two full heads of garlic, the cloves strung on a strong cord; two rosaries, and three stakes, obtained from a garden-supply store. She wasn't sure if the garlic, water, or rosaries would have any effect on a vampire like LaCroix, but she always had believed in overkill. She also wasn't sure if she'd be able to actually use the stakes; but at least she had them. *And, if I *do* have to use one, even if it doesn't actually kill him, it'll definitely mess up his day.* She readjusted the stakes, placing two on top of the other supplies, and tucked the third in one of the pack's outer pockets. She surveyed her personal appearance in the full-length mirror. *Linda Hamilton, eat your heart out!* She wore a sleeveless black spandex top, a pair of loose camouflage pants, and neat, black leather combat boots, purchased that same day at a Goodwill store. She tucked a pair of mirror- lensed sunglasses into a pants pocket and posed. *Wow. Wonder if I can get an Uzi somewhere? No, better not-- but maybe a Harley?* Grabbing her trenchcoat, her backpack, and an overnight bag (flowered tapestry, not going too well with the rest of her ensemble, but, oh, well), she thumped down the stairs. =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D= =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D= =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D Grinning to herself, Natalie Lambert, professional woman, respected coroner, straddled a shining creation of chrome, a beautiful motorcycle, a modern-day destrier. She was headed north-- *I have got to find some way of thanking Rob and Marian for lending me their cabin,* she decided. *That is, when I'm a good girl again.* A red convertible full of college-age men pulled up beside her, waving and shouting. She tossed her head, arched her back, waved, and gunned the motor of the bike, leaving them behind. In her mirror, she could see them, still waving and yelling. *I could get used to this.* =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D= =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D= =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D Dark fell. In a quiet place, Lucien LaCroix woke. He knew immediately she was gone. *So, she's feeling a little crowded?* He smiled. *Poor dear. I wouldn't want her to be lonely. I'd best go find her. After all, someone's got to protect her, with Nicholas away.=20 He dressed quickly, negligently, moved to the open window. With one swift step, he was in the wind, and gone. =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D= =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D= =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D Natalie looked around the cabin's living room with approval. If she achieved nothing else, at least she would enjoy her vacation. He might not even bother to come after her; at least, she hoped so. At least, she sort of hoped so. Sort of. *Maybe you're tired of waiting*, her brain suggested. *Maybe you're sick of dreaming. Maybe it's a little cold reality you're craving.* She shook her head impatiently, dismissing the thought. She moved to the small portable radio on the table, and turned it on, searching for the Nightcrawler. Would he be there? He was. He was reading something she didn't recognise: "Never believe I leave you "From any desire to go.... "After a whole day of separation "Still your dark fragrance clings to my skin.... "Do you know that we both conceal our love "Because of prior sorrow, superstitious fear?" "That's Carolyn Kizer, children," the Nightcrawler's voice echoed. "And that's all for tonight. Sleep well, my friends. The sweetest of sweet dreams to you... Natalie." She turned the radio off with a violence that surprised her. Yes. He would follow her. /////-----/////-----/////-----/////-----/////-----/////-----///// Candles burned in holders all over the cabin. Most of them were of the plain, economical wax variety; a few were scented, freesia, vanilla, cinnamon. *No* rose-scented. She had had quite enough of that fragrance for a while. Having slept late, had a good breakfast, and an active day of hiking and working, Natalie Lambert was feeling pretty good. During her hike, she had seen a gorgeous pool nestled in the bend of the river. *Shame I didn't think to bring a bathing suit. On the other hand, I -am- spending this vacation being irresponsible....* She smiled wickedly. *Well, I'll think about it.* She had spent the afternoon cutting firewood, enough to last at least two or three days, and been inside well before dark. A long, cool shower sluiced away the dirt and sweat. She glanced out the window wistfully at the shining Harley. *Noooo.... it's too late for a ride. Tomorrow, though, you ought to go into town and pick up some supplies.* She had not listened to the radio since hearing him reading poetry last night. Nat settled down on the couch with a mug of cocoa and the same romance book she had failed to finish before. The story had a better grip on her attention, now. Too strong a grip, in fact; she could feel her temperature rising. *A swim would be nice....* She flashed suddenly on LaCroix appearing out of the water and shuddered. Then she sat up straight. "Dummy. Listen to the radio, see if he's on. If he is, you're safe." She promptly switched the radio on, checking her watch. About fifteen minutes until he was supposed to come on. She grinned as the program began. "Good evening, children. Welcome to the Nightwatch...." Without giving herself time to think, she grabbed a towel, a lighter, and a few candles. She also snatched up the radio. *After all, music -would- be nice.* She tossed the things in a straw shopping bag, along with a first aid kit, a bottle of juice, and a pair of shower thongss, picked up her heavy-duty flashlight, and set out into the night. Natalie laughed softly to herself, exhilaration surging through her, making her light-headed. She replaced her hiking boots with the thongs-- *No sense in stepping on something and ending up in an emergency room getting my foot stitched up.*- and set her bag within easy reach. She pulled off her T-shirt and jeans quickly, but hesitated over her underthings. "What the hell?" she said aloud, and tossed them aside, too. Hurriedly, before giving herself time to change her mind, Nat plunged into the water. "Wow!" she gasped, resurfacing. "That's *cold*!" But nice, she decided, as the cool water moved over her. "Let's see... maybe a little light?" Natalie pulled out a taper candle from her bag and lit it. The little flame shed a warm glow over her pale skin and dark hair. It created a circle of light around her, isolating her from the unpleasantness of the outside world. Idly, she clicked the radio on. Instantly, the Nightcrawler's voice filled the air. He was reading poetry again. "The art of losing isn't hard to master; "so many things seem filled with the intent "to be lost that their loss is no disaster. "Lose something every day. Accept the fluster "of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. "The art of losing isn't hard to master...." "--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture "I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident "the art of losing isn't hard to master "though it may seem like (*Write* it!) like disaster." Natalie shifted uneasily. Somehow, he was able to dispel her tranquillity. *I should turn him off.* She didn't. "Tell me," the Nightcrawler went on, "how many of us have lost something we learned to value too late? Most of us, I'm sure. It's" and she felt she was the only one to hear the irony in his voice "only human." As he spoke, her restlessness grew. Absently, she withdrew a second candle from her bag, lit it. Pulled out a third, drew it through her fingers= slowly. "Here's the real question: How many things, people, that have been lost know they are valued in their loss? All? Some? "None?" She moved, turning slowly in the water, intending to turn him off. The hand holding the candle slipped beneath the water, resting on her thigh. "It's so easy, letting go, isn't it, my friends? So easy." The broad base of the candle somehow found its way between her legs, nudging her clitoris. =20 "Strange, how we value so little what we have. We always want what isn't ours, long for what we don't have." With a sudden surge, the candle slid inside her. She gasped at the abruptness of the intrusion. More slowly, she worked it in and out of her willing body. "When, ah, when will we learn to want what we have?" Natalie imagined strong hands on her hips, pulling her, a warm mouth at her breast. Deliberately, she imagined pale skin, blue eyes, short blond hair. "LaCroix...." "Yes, children, remember how it felt to lose what you had." "I can have you," she managed, "but you... you can't have me..." "...how it felt to want what you could not have...." "You can't have me--" "....how does it feel to remember?" "--you *can't*--" More quickly, the moving, now. "How does it feel?" "But I can have you!" she cried, and came. Her muscles tensed, convulsing around the candle. She pushed it deeper, came again. "I can have you." "Remember me, children, if you want to remember what loss is like." "....I have you...." "Good-night, children. Sweet dreams. Good night, wherever you are.... Natalie." "...LaCroix...." Dead air. =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D= =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D= =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D For several long moments, Natalie lay half-sprawled in the water, unable to hold her head up. She yanked the candle roughly from her body, shoved it back into the bag. She dressed haphazardly, made her way back to the cabin, dragging the bag, slipping and falling twice. By the time she was safely indoors again, she was filthy and furious. Not at *him*, but at herself. *Have you -totally- lost your mind?? He's a menace, he's the bloodsucking -undead-, for God's sake! You've got a bagful of stakes and garlic just waiting for him, and you go and-- and--" On the edge of tears, she forced herself to stop. "The worst part is, I liked it. I *loved* it," she admitted aloud. Dazed and drained, she took another shower and crawled into bed, falling asleep almost instantly. All around her, candles burned out, one by one. If she dreamed, she didn't remember it. =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D= =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D= =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D The wind smelled like autumn, all dying leaves and the promise of snow. Standing on his balcony, savouring the remainder of the night, LaCroix reviewed the night's work. He had felt her climax from his recording booth. His eyes had turned yellow involuntarily. And, best of all, he hadn't had to do anything. She had done it all, touched herself, reached out to him, all of it, she had done it without any coercion from him. *She's probably furious, right now.* The wind whipped the hem of his dressing gown around his legs. *Soon. Soon. Sleep well, Natalie. *Nicholas.... She's almost mine.* =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D= =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D= =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D Miles away, Nick Knight woke up with a start. He'd been dreaming... something about Natalie? *Go back to sleep*, he scolded himself. *You'll have plenty of explaining to do when you get back. She is -not- going to be happy.* He turned over and went back to sleep. =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D= =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D= =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D Natalie was angry-- with herself, with LaCroix, even with Nick. *If he hadn't taken off, I wouldn't be in this fix now. I'd've stayed right where I belonged, hacking up cadavers*, she fumed as she washed her face the next morning. Stomping out into the main room, she caught sight of the straw bag she had carried the previous night and blushed a violent red. For a moment, she almost packed all her things and headed back to Toronto. Then, a glimpse of the Harley changed her mind, for what seemed the hundredth time in an hour. Temptation battled safety; safety never had a chance. In a matter of minutes, Natalie Lambert was back in her Terminatrix outfit and on the bike, heading out for breakfast and groceries. The inhabitants of the little town of Appleton did not appear to think Natalie's appearance was even remotely strange, for which she was grateful, if a bit disappointed. *I'd looked forward to shocking the locals*, she realised guiltily. *I seem to have a bit of an exhibitionistic streak in me....* Nick would be horrified. "Fuck him," she muttered. It was none of his business what she did, or how she did it, or how she dressed when she did what she did how she did it. LaCroix would be delighted by such an attitude. She pushed *that* thought out of her head, smiling politely at the cashier as she paid for her milk, bread, and chocolate ice cream. Also a carton of fresh raspberries, just because they were there. *Maybe that's the problem*, she mused, as she cruised the streets of Appleton. *Maybe I've been so busy behaving myself, the first time I get a chance, I weird out. When I get home, I'll, I don't know, maybe start smoking. Hang out in pool halls. Rent Clint Eastwood movies. = -Something-.* She spotted a restaurant on her left. The signboard out front promised fresh seafood daily. *I'll have to check that out while I'm here.* Natalie was getting a few curious glances, but no outright horror. *Guess I'm not as whore-of-Babylon as I thought.* As she leisurely turned onto the road that would take her back to the cabin, Nat replayed the events of the previous night-- for the thousandth time. *LaCroix. What'm I going to -do- about him??* Nervously, she checked the inside pocket of her trench coat. The stake she had tucked in it was still there. What had possessed her to challenge him like that, even if it was imaginary? Why had she fantasised about him at all? The day was lovely, cool and bright, but entirely wasted on her. *What am I doing to do?* She saw a diner ahead, and the rumbling in her stomach reminded her that she had not yet eaten breakfast. She pulled into the parking lot, pleased despite her dark mood at her handling of the big bike. Sauntering into the diner, she pulled off her sunglasses and stuffed them into her pocket. She seated herself at a booth, and a pleasant-looking waitress walked over to hand her a menu. "Get you something to drink, hon?" she asked. She was a middle-aged lady, dark hair going grey naturally, no hideous dyes, no atrocious makeup, pink uniform. Her nametag read "Allie." "Um.... a glass of orange juice, please, thanks." "Sure thing." Another smile, and Allie moved away. Nat looked at the menu without reading it. She was seeing LaCroix as he had appeared to her in her bath, naked and mesmerising, water droplets shining in the dense hair on his chest.... "Ready, hon?" Allie broke into her reverie. "Huh? Oh, yes, yeah, of course." Gathering herself, Natalie surveyed the menu, too startled to make sense of what she was reading. "Is there a= special?" "Sure is-- two eggs, English muffin, bacon or sausage, and pancakes." "Oooh, that sounds good. I'm planning to do a lot of hiking," she explained sheepishly. "Nice day for it," Allie smiled. "How do you want your eggs, hon?" All things considered, Natalie enjoyed her breakfast thoroughly. She concentrated on *not* thinking of LaCroix. "Take care, now," Allie called, as she left. Nat raised her hand in a friendly wave and smiled back. During her drive home, she tried to keep her mind off of the vibrating bike, pressed snugly between her legs. =09 On the trails in back of the cabin, Natalie pushed herself to walk, and walk, and walk, all the while keeping an eye on the sun. *Don't want to get caught out here after dark.* She hiked until the muscles in her legs almost went into spasm. She went out of her way to avoid the pool in the bend of the river. In fact, by the time she got home, she'd managed to convince herself that the whole candle episode was due to her overstressed nerves. She didn't want LaCroix. No nope no way not at all. Really. =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D= =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D= =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D LaCroix stirred slightly, subliminally aware that it was late afternoon, that it was not safe to stir out-of-doors just yet. He pulled himself out of his deep sleep anyway. He had much to do. He had to shower, and find something for dinner, and deliver his tape to WCERK. He smiled to himself. Natalie was going to be so surprised to see him.... *That reminds me....* He stretched one lazy arm out to pick up the telephone and dial a number. "Midnight Angel Florist, Angela speaking." "This is Lucas Cross." The voice on the other end was perceptibly interested. "Hello, Mr. Cross. So nice to hear from you again. How may we help you today?" "I'd like a delivery of, oh, two dozen roses-- you know the kind I mean?" "Oh, yes, Mr. Cross." "They'll need to be delivered quite a way, but I'm more than willing to pay for the convenience." "Yes, Mr. Cross." A few more moments served to finalise the arrangements, and LaCroix was off the phone. He crossed to the shower, pleased with the way the evening was shaping up. =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D= =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D= =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D At Midnight Angel, Angela stuck his head through the door leading to the back room. "Another order for His Majesty. Do you think he's--" A dark-haired woman, up to her elbows in floral wire and ferns, glanced at her friend impatiently. "It's none of our business, Ange." "Aren't you even curious, Norah?" A second look convinced him otherwise. "Okay, okay. Forget I said anything." Norah considered the situation for a moment after Angela had returned to the cash register. *I hope he hasn't developed a taste for mortals. Things could get ugly....* Ah, well. It would be someone else's headache, for once, not hers, if he had. =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D= =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D= =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D LaCroix stood on the roof of WCERK, inhaling the night air. *Beautiful.* He turned his face north, feeling the rain in the air. "Perfect," he murmured. "A dark and stormy night. I couldn't have planned it better." *Natalie.* A few hours, and he'd be there. He was putting off his departure, though, enjoying every moment of his little adventure. *I've been getting too hide- bound, I've been stagnating. I need excitement, and poor Nicholas simply isn't enough.* He wondered if he ought to visit Janette before he left, tantalise her with hints of his plans for Dr Lambert. *No.... I think I'll surprise her.* The ancient vampire laughed aloud, and joined the nightwinds with one fluid movement. =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D= =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D= =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D Natalie tied the tarp down securely over the motorcycle, keeping an eye on the clouds overhead as she did so. Thunderheads were piling up in the northern sky, heavy and dark. A cold wind blew over her skin, and she shivered. *This is going to be a good night to stay in*, she decided. *Make some tea, eat some ice cream, read for a while....* Thunder growled in the distance as she pulled the last of the knots tight. Once inside, she stationed herself on the couch with a soft, fuzzy blanket, a pot of cinnamon tea, every pillow she could scrounge up, and a stack of books and magazines. She settled her robe around her comfortably, pulled her feet up beneath her, and relaxed. In moments, she was deep into an article entitled "Ten Ways to Hypnotise Him." Absently, she noticed it had begun to rain, and quite hard. The bad weather added to her overall feeling of contentment. Several hours, and quite a few magazines, later, Natalie realised her neck was stiff. A quick check showed her that her tea was cold, too. *Hmmmm... well, I may as well open the ice cream.* Happily aware of the silliness involved in eating ice cream right before bed-- all that sugar! all that fat!-- she took the gallon of Chocolate Rapture from the freezer. *Let's see. Do I need a bowl? or just a spoon?* =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D= =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D= =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D In the darkness, LaCroix stood outside. He was wet, and rather chilled. *Well, you'll be warm enough very soon*, he reminded himself. Silently, he approached the cabin. =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D= =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D= =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D A noise at the door caught Nat's attention. "Natalie? Natalie, are you there? Help me, please...." the voice died= away. *Who would--? Who knew--? Nick!* Without pausing another moment-- Nick needed her!-- she flung the door open. "Hurry, come in, it's pouring," she said, worried. A black-clad figure staggered in, braced himself against the wall. She hurried to the couch, tossed the blanket to him. "Wrap up in this, I'll make you some tea, something hot." *How did he find me? Can I tell him about the candle incident? No, better not.* Natalie turned the stove on, and set the kettle on to boil. Mind whirling with confusion, she turned back towards him. "Hello, Natalie," said LaCroix. He was neatly folding the blanket she had thrown to him. "Thank you for making me feel so welcome." His smile was altogether too knowing. "You're not Nick," she blurted out. He considered for a moment. "No. No, I'm not. I'm better." Natalie stared, too dazed to retort, at the rain-soaked figure. He briskly removed his long coat (black, of course) and hung it on a peg beside the door. He wore nothing beneath it save a loose pair of black pants. The cold night, the stinging rain, the fierce wind-- none of it had been enough to bring colour to his marble-white skin. *I don't believe it*, she thought. *I get relaxed, and there he is. Talk about deja vu. Hell, talk about -irritating-!* "I'm sorry about dripping on your floor," he said rather mundanely, "but I'm afraid it can't be helped." He paused a moment before continuing. "Although I suppose I could undress, if you like." "No, thanks, that's all right." Lambert's voice was flat. Now that she was over the original shock, she was actually quite calm. "You'll forgive me, though, if I don't offer you anything to drink." "You will." He smiled appreciatively. "You know, I do like that colour on you." Her attention was diverted momentarily to the dove-grey robe, but a moment was quite enough time for the vampire. In the next moment, he was across the room, reaching for her. As it turned out, a moment was enough time for Natalie, too. *Of all the times to -not- have those damn stakes ready--!* She grabbed the first thing that came to hand and flung it at LaCroix. The first thing that came to hand happened to be the gallon of frozen-solid ice cream she had not had the chance to open. It struck LaCroix squarely in the chest, throwing off his timing. He staggered, Natalie bolted. *Grab the stakes! No, just run!* She did not hesitate in her flight to debate her options, although it might've been a good idea. His hand grazed her shoulder, one bare foot hit a puddle of water, she slipped, and fell backward, her head connecting with the floor with a dull crack. Silence. LaCroix regarded her limp form. He hadn't planned on something like this. His plans were disrupted, and he felt rather badly-used. *She wasn't supposed to run! Well, this isn't the time for recriminations. How on earth does one act in such situations? Oh, yes. Now I remember. And Nicholas says that television is a waste of time.* He checked her pulse; steady. He began to cautiously peel back an eyelid, but she moaned and turned her head. *There. She'll be fine. I think.* Dismissing any lingering worry, he looked around, saw a tapestry bag. A quick inspection revealed a change of underclothes, some toiletries, and he discarded it. *She won't need anything like that.* He also spotted a trenchcoat, in which he wrapped her securely. Leaving his own coat behind, he stepped out into the darkness and rain, and took to the air, Natalie Lambert folded next to his chest. =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D= =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D= =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D She wakes up, half-way. There is no ground beneath her feet, nothing but the rushing of wind. She's surrounded by darkness. It's so cold she can barely feel her fingers, and the only part of her body not icy is a burning, pounding spot on her head. Her cheek is pressed against-- what? something soft, something hard.... She is moving, she thinks hazily, even the memory of fear not enough to penetrate the fog of weariness and pain. She is restrained by-- by what? She can't tell. She would think of human arms, but no human is so strong, and would not explain the sensation of wind, and is that rain? yes, needles of rain. She falls. =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D= =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D= =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D The second time, Natalie woke up all the way. It was not completely dark-- dim light shone from a small lamp-- and she was blessedly warm. The stabbing pain at the back of her head had receded to a dull ache. She turned over onto her side, and almost lost her balance. The surface she was lying on was warm, all right, but it was also unstable. It took her abused brain another few seconds to assimiliate the information and make its report. *You're on a waterbed, dummy*, she informed herself. A second report came in from the front. *You're on a waterbed, -naked-, dummy. You're on a waterbed, naked, with Tall-Blond-and-Ominous lurking somewhere.* That realisation was enough to not only get her moving, but also dissolve her lingering headache. It took more than a few minutes, though surely not the hours it felt like, for her to reach the edge of the bed, yank off the wine-coloured top sheet, and wrap it around her, toga-style. She started to take a survey of the room, seeking a possible exit, or at least a weapon, when he spoke from behind her. "Hello, Natalie. Did you rest well? How is your head?" He wore a long, black robe of what looked like silk. *This is getting ridiculous*, she decided. "I'm fine," she replied at last, "and I'm leaving." "No, you're not," he contradicted calmly. "Yes, I am." "Are you always so rude?" "Rude?? You threaten me, invade my home, kidnap me--" "I sent you many gifts of lovely flowers-- not so lovely as you, though, my heart-- paid a call on you in your lovely vacation spot, and picked you up after you had a nasty fall. Would you have preferred it if I'd just left you lying there?" His tone was the essence of reason. "Yes, I would have," she answered, clutching the sheet closer to her. "I'm wounded, Natalie, truly," he said, shaking his head in pretended= dismay. "Let me out of here!" she demanded. Wrong tactic. Abruptly, his mood, which had been amusement, changed. He crossed the room with swift, precise grace, his robe billowing around him. In between one beat of her heart and the next, he had her on the bed, on her back, beneath him. Her sheet was tangled around her legs, now a hindrance. He easily pinned Natalie's wrists above her head with his hand, anchoring her legs with his. "Let-- get off-- LaCroix, let go of-- dammit, I mean it, let go!" "I'm sure you mean it, beauty, but my given name is Lucien." He paused expectantly. "Let go, dammit!" " 'Let go, Lucien. Please.' " He corrected her, smugly. "Bastard!" "That's a little closer," he allowed, "but not quite close enough." "Let. Go. Lucien," she ground out. " 'Please'," he prompted. She clamped her mouth shut mulishly. He had a sudden vision of her, naked, on a bed of white roses, legs parted.... A sudden wicked impulse overcame him. "Say the whole thing," he chided her, his lips grazing hers. " 'Let me go, Lucien, please.' " The tip of one finger tangled in the dark curls between her legs, and she gasped "Letmegolucienplease." Immediately, he pulled his hand away, released her hands, and propped himself up over her on his elbows, eager to see her response as he said: "No. But thank you ever so much for asking so nicely." And he smiled. Beneath him, Natalie went rigid. *WHAT? That bastard--!* Without any hesitation, she sat bolt upright, bashing him in the face with her head. Her own head rang with the impact, but she had the not inconsiderable satisfaction of hearing him yelp in pain. She twisted away from him and rolled from the bed to the floor, hitting the ground running. Natalie darted through the door into a large living room. She saw her trenchcoat, grabbed it and put it on, covering her body. Something poked her in the side-- the stake! She yanked it out, at the same time she spotted the door. She tried to open it-- *Locked! damn. How do I--?* She could find no way to undo it. She could hear him in the next room, and she panicked. *Hide, you idiot!* She spotted a large, high-backed divan and dodged behind it, stake in hand. And the lights went out. =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D= =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D= =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D When Natalie head-butted him, he was stunned. For a second, anyway. Then it just hurt. He was aware of her scrambling off the bed; he made a grab for her, but missed. *It was a -joke-! Where's her sense of humour??* His head cleared quickly, and he took a moment to assess his options. She would not be able to unlock the door, so she was effectively trapped. He could try to reason with her, he supposed. Assuming she would listen. Of course, they were both still in a state of undress. With a little patience, he could convince her, he was sure. And, oh, she was very beautiful. And what other woman would have fought him as she did, with such delicious ferocity, such striking persistence? *Nicholas, Nicholas, you're a fool. Were you clever enough, you might have Janette -and- this one.* He moved quietly to the door, reached one hand out to the light switch, being very careful-- it wouldn't have surprised him at all to find her getting ready to hit him, for the third time that night. *Although I'm beginning to question whether or not she's worth all the trouble. I'm getting too old for this sort of thing.* He flipped the main light control. The lights went out. =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D= =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D= =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=7F LaCroix cautiously looked around the corner of the door. The main room was dark and still. He knew she was in there, somewhere. *Is she waiting for me? She's probably still angry. One would think that after all these years, I would be able to resist 'pushing my luck'.* Hundreds of years' practice had shown him how to move silently, and he used that knowledge now. *After all, she might be ready to come after me with a hatchet.* He moved to the middle of the room. "Natalie? Natalie, I know you must be there. It was merely a small joke. I had no intention of upsetting you *this* much." In her hiding place, Natalie thought, *Yeah, right. Tell it to Nick. Jerk.* She was pretty much done with being angry, and was thinking more along the lines of simply finding a way out and home. *Assuming I'm in Toronto. I guess I could be anywhere.* "Come now, Natalie, this is rather petty of you." His voice was taking on a distinct edge of annoyance. "I'm not going to wait for you forever. Natalie? Dr Lambert??" She was pleased by his evident irritation. It was a childish sort of pleasure, but Nat wasn't in one of her better moods. *Maybe if I wait long enough, the sun'll come up, and I'll have a shot at figuring out how to get out of here.* It couldn't be far from dawn now, she figured. Hoped. A glance at a wall clock changed her mind. *Damn! damndamndamn.* "Natalie-- Dr Lambert!" LaCroix's tone was sharp. "This is simply ridiculous. Come out at once!" *Hmmmmph. I don't -think- so, fang-boy. I can outlast you, anytime,= anyplace.* There was a long moment of silence. He moved through the darkened rooms with lethal grace. She could just see him, beautiful in the half-light, as he passed much closer to the divan than was comfortable. He continued on into another room. She could hear him muttering to himself. Looking around, she moved quickly across the room, closer to the door, slipping behind a lovely tapestry, woven in grey and red. *Maybe I'll get lucky and he'll open the door -for- me. Well, it could happen!* In the guest room, LaCroix yanked the closet door open, almost removing it from the hinges. His temper, already rather frayed, was nearly boiling over. "Natalie!" She wasn't there. He snarled, feeling his fangs emerge briefly. *This has gone just about far enough. Where is that -damned- woman?* He stormed into the living room again, increasingly furious-- both at his own failure to find her, and at her refusal to appear and be seduced by him. "Don't fight me. Don't you dare to fight me," he whispered, his voice harsh with anger. No response. "Natalie, we can end this now, you know. = Easily." *Just hang on*, she told herself. *You can outlast him. Probably. And even if you can't, if he was going to hurt you, he'd have done it already, so you're okay. Probably.* She tightened her grip on the sharpened stake in her hand. Hiding, unable to see him, she was beginning to get more than a little paranoid. *A little longer. Just be patient.* She deliberately slowed her thoughts, keeping herself from panicking. *You can't win that way.* Unconsciously, she held her breath, waiting for him to pass by her again. Her heartbeat sped up. And in that one moment, he sensed her. In a split second, he had torn the tapestry from the wall, exposing her. Natalie stood there, eyes wide with shock, coat hanging open, stake forgotten. She thought her heart might stop from sheer fright. *I always hated it when people snuck up behind me and yelled "Boo!"*, she thought crazily. *A stake!?* LaCroix lost his tenuous hold on his temper. "A *stake*??? How dare you? I offer you my hospitality, and this is how you repay me?" Nat promptly lost her own temper. "Hospitality?? You kidnapped me!" "--I send you flowers--" "--oh, right. Does the word 'obsessive' mean anything to you? How about 'stalker'--" "--I go well out of my way to visit--" "--Might I point out, you weren't invited--" "--to visit you at a lovely cabin, and you throw--" "--You were *not* invited, dammit! Didn't you ever read Emily Post??--" "--some sort of box at me! How do you think that makes me feel?--" "Why should I care??" He reached out and snatched the stake from her hand. "Look at this-- I can't believe you brought this into my home!" he thundered. "It was in my coat pocket!" she shouted back. "Your coat?" he suddenly realised that, technically, *he* had brought it with him. Changing gears, he said, accusingly, "What was all that in the bedroom??" Without answering, Natalie grabbed up what looked like a brass ashtray and took a pretty darn good shot at hitting him in the head with it. LaCroix was angry, but not so angry to forget how to duck. He neatly snagged her legs out from under her. Nat landed on her back with a *whump*, him straddling her. "Will you hold *still*, woman!" For reply, she started to head-butt him again, but he was more or less ready for it this time, blocking the attempt with his arm. "Ouch! You split my lip! Let me up!" "I don't think so, Dr Lambert. I'm not *yet* insane!" he snapped. He was even more irritated, now; the blood on her mouth was more tempting than it should be, and his brain was no longer in total control of the situation. His sex drive and bloodneed were taking over from his common sense. At least, that was the reason he thought of later, when reviewing his actions. He kissed her. Her blood was warm and salty, strong with hormones, vivid with anger. She tensed under him, and he winced, waiting for another assault. *Here we go again....* She kissed him back. Hard. Her tongue laced around his, her arms wrapped around him. LaCroix pulled the coat away from her shoulder, spiraling kisses along her skin. She arched her back under his hand, pressing tightly against him, wanting him closer, needing the danger he promised, the harbour she suspected might be there.... A sudden alarm went off in her head. *This is LaCroix! He's tried to kill you -and- Nick and he's been stalking you and he went to the cabin and then he abducted you-- *--and you want him right here right now any way you can have him--* Her hand closed on the stake. And he moved away from her, and she almost protested. He was watching her very sternly and coldly. "Do it." "What--" He gestured to the stake. "You want me dead? Then do it. You'll never have a better chance. Nicholas would thank you for it, would he not?" "Nick doesn't have anything to do with us--" she began, then cut herself off, cursing her self-betrayal. "I see." His voice held no note of triumph. If if had, she might well have used the stake, and bedamned with him. But things were different, suddenly. This wasn't Nick's problem, it was hers. She had to make a decision. She knew she couldn't trust herself with this man. He appealed to the wildness in her, a need for danger, a source of menace she longed for in her often-sterile world. A will to power. LaCroix waited, watching her. *What is this woman to me? A victory over Nicholas? a sneer at the mortal world? a movement from stability to chaos? Does it matter? Do I care?* "I don't want this," she said at last, "I *don't*." "Then, my heart, use the stake." He tensed, uncertain himself what he would do if she moved to strike. The stake clattered on the floor as she threw it aside. The next moment, she threw *herself* at *him*, beating at him in wordless anger. Gently, he restrained her. A step away from tears, or rage, or insanity, she glared up at him. "Don't you let me fall. Don't, don't you let me--" He cut her off with a kiss, burning and bruising her already-swollen lips, the coat falling to the floor, and somehow they find themselves heading for the bedroom again, locked in each other's arms, I smell something familiar and new: heavy scent of roses, sharp scent of arousal, silkpale skin, cool to the touch, warming where you touch, slick wetness beneath my fingers, my tongue traces your lips, your throat, your nipples, *this strange mortal heat-- might one die for it?* the curls of hair on my chest brush against your skin, my mouth grazes your stomach, *no way out of this, now, thank God* skin to skin, my erection like iron against you, my mouth lower slower lower, salt-sweet taste of you on my tongue, *might I die of this?* lips fasten to the sensitive clitoris, nerve ends firing, you gasp, grasp my shoulder with your hand, stroke the back of my neck, "Oh. Oh, please...." I slip your legs over my shoulders, dislodge your hold on me, you catch a fold of the sheet in your hand, I drive my tongue into you, and you come, shatteringfallingshattering against me, glint of gold in the dark, I move up between your legs suddenly, *Oh, please. Oh, please.* our mouths meet, harsh and uncompromising, strength meeting strength, my fingers tangle in your hair, you reach to cup me in your hand, warming my cool flesh, "Natalie...." --taste of blood from your bruised mouth-- "Forgive me, my heart." "Always, always. Hurry. Please, hurry." and I do, burying my cold, hard cock in your heat without warning, you cry out in pain, in want, I take you fiercely, even, yes, brutally, [later I find bruises on my hips where he clasps me now] driving into you, power buried in power, need sheathing need, you twine your legs with mine, locking me against you, you find my rhythm, raising your hips to pull me deeper, I bury my face in your shoulder, *might I die for lack of you?* with shocking force, you come, your low, wordless cries adding to my own arousal, I fuck you harder, now, and faster, the fragrance of roses and your sex almost overwhelming, seize your wrist in my hand, letting the weight of my body press upon you, making you come again, mortal-dark eyes meeting vampire-gold, you do not say yes, only moan and press your wrist to my lips, and that is all the answer I need, I bury my fangs deep in the vein, [stabbing pain, the feel of his mouth, he is taking me into his body as I take him,] heat power blood light "Lucien-- lucien-- lucien-- lucien--" I feel your muscles contract around me, I pull away from your wrist, blood scent and rose scent mingle, I let you bring me home, my name on your lips, and come, [so cold inside me, icy needles of rain] growling low in my chest in primal pleasure, my cock sheathed completely within you, *natalie.... i might die for lack of you* "Lucien. Oh." Natalie was shaking, aftershocks rippling along her nerve ends. Lucien wrapped his arms around her, rolling onto his back with one smooth movement. She sprawled on his chest, hands folded at the back of his neck. As they lay together, his cock softened, slipping from her clasp. She moaned in languid protest, shifting until she lay snugly between his legs, her head cradled on his shoulder. Lucien pinned her to him fiercely, raising her torn wrist to his mouth in mute apology, kissing her fingers. "Go to sleep, Natalie. It will be dawn soon." Even if she had wanted to sleep, her body had no remaining resources on which to draw. She drifted off to sleep, secure in his embrace, her arm around his waist protectively. Lucien lay awake thinking until sunrise. His last coherent thought was *Natalie, what are you to me?* =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D= =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D= =3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D=3D The next night, Natalie stood at the door of the cabin, once more in camo gear, looking at LaCroix. He, as usual, wore black clothes and an unreadable expression. She had slung her bag onto the Harley, and was ready to head home. "So," she said, feeling all the awkwardness of the situation. He said nothing, simply looking at her. They had woken at about the same time, a few hours to sunset. They had showered in silence. He had brought her back, her eyes shut tightly all the way. "So, what now? What do we do now?" she demanded. "I don't think Nicholas needs to know about this," he replied, after a very long silence, during which he never turned his eyes from her. "I agree with that," she said quickly. *Okay, so this is it. What did you expect? Get over it.* "Yes, of course," he said, distracted. *Let her go. It's the only sane thing to do. Let her leave. Natalie....* She turned away from him, checked to make sure the door was locked. She shoved her coat in her bag, not wanting it to get in her way, and put on her sunglasses. "So," she repeated, hoping for inspiration. He turned his head to the side. "Interesting look." Startled, she looked back at him. He was smiling faintly. "Thanks. I like it." *Okay, Nat, get it over with.* "I'm heading out now. Good-bye." He nodded. Natalie straddled the Harley, began to start it up. "Natalie?" She glanced back over her shoulder at him. "Will you 'give me a lift' back to the city?" he asked, a little awkward with the slang phrase. He meant more than that, she realised. *Do I really need -two- vampires in my life? Isn't that kind of greedy?* She thought of his sarcasm, his strangeness, his strength, and smiled, a quiet smile of her own. "Hop on. Watch your legs, the pipes get hot." He mounted the bike behind her, his arm firmly around her waist. "Dr Lambert, just what *are* we going to do?" he questioned. "I don't know," she answered, "but I'd be willing to bet we figure something out. Hold on." And they roared off into the autumn night. END [The poem LaCroix read is Elizabeth Bishop's "One Art", by the way.] /////-----/////-----/////-----/////-----/////-----/////-----///// "I've never known someone as desperate for tenderness as you appear." Mina, "Nosferatu"