*****************************

Despite her best intentions, Nat shrank back into the sofa cushions as
LaCroix was suddenly towering over her, his glacial eyes a sharp
counterpoint to the seething anger that radiated from him.

"So - you - believe - that - Nicholas - was - forced - to - join -me?"

Nat's eyes darted rapidly from side to side, looking anywhere but at him.
Her mouth opened, but no sound emerged. She finally lowered her head to gaze
intently into her lap.

An alabaster hand grabbed her chin and jerked her head back up.

"Look - at - me."

LaCroix voice was like dry ice, ethereal and dangerous.  Nat gulped down the
lump in her throat and met his eyes, a hint of amber now at their centers.

"I - I - Nick said - he -"

LaCroix moved to her side and sat, his sinuous grace hardened to steel.  The
thigh that touched hers was as solid - and as cold - as marble; his fingers
dug into the soft flesh under her chin as he forced her head around to watch
him.  His eyes were completely blue again, but that gave no comfort; she
shivered under their icy probing.

"What *did* Nicholas say?  That I attacked him unprovoked, draining him with
no warning?  That he had no time to fight, to refuse?"

With her head held in so tight a grip, Nat was only able to widen her eyes
in agreement.

LaCroix grinned, looking every bit as evil as Nick had portrayed him.

"I thought as much.  Nicholas has always had a very selective memory where
his... transformation is concerned."

"I gather he did not tell you that he had returned to Paris from the
Crusades, bitter and disillusioned, unable to accept his church or his God
because of the horrors they had wrought in the Holy Land?  Or that he had
spent the night - willingly - in Janette's bed?  And that he eagerly
accepted her promise of an eternity of nights with her?"

LaCroix hurried on, effectively countering the response Natalie wanted to
make.

"You would argue that he could not possibly have known what would be
required of him.  True.  None of us knew.  But he didn't shrink from me,
from the fangs that sank into his throat.  He didn't fight when he saw the
"monster" who would fulfill Janette's promise.  And, finally, we all,
Nicholas included, had one last chance to refuse this "gift" of immortality.
He could have chosen to go to the light when he reached the portal.  We were
actually certain he had done so.  But he did not.  He came back.  Back to
*me*, responding to *my* command to return.  He *chose* this life he now
rails against.  He embraced this master that he now professes to despise
so."

LaCroix' fingers tightened reflexively in anger at his son's continued
betrayal and Nat grunted as the increased pressure threatened to dislocated
her jaw.

LaCroix immediately released her, horrified at his loss of control.  He
should have been able to stifle any physical response to his anger.  What
was happening to him?  Why did this woman make it so difficult to behave as
he normally did?   He moved his hand to her shoulder to keep her in place.

He gently tipped her head up with his other hand to inspect the damage.  The
skin was bruised, but not broken.  His fingers slid lightly back along her
jaw line until he could gently manipulate the joint of the two bones.
Nothing wrong.

He dropped his hand to her other shoulder, caressing it lightly before
curling his fingers cautiously around it.  This time his smile was gentle.

"My apologies.  As I told you before, my instincts are to attack not
negotiate."

<And what did you have to fear from this woman who, as you readily admit,
was beginning to trust you?  Perhaps only that she would believe Nicholas'
account and despise you for it?>

He was going to find a way to strangle that voice once and for all.  But not
now.  Now he had to regain the ground he had lost.

Natalie shrugged away from his hold and he let her go.  Coercing her further
would only permanently destroy any...rapport they might have achieved.  She
stormed into the bedroom, her stiff back a more eloquent indictment of his
actions than any words.

LaCroix busied himself by pouring a glass of bloodwine he had no intention
of drinking as he listened to the rustle of silk-padded hangers sliding
along the closet pole.  The slam of a drawer, quickly silenced, punctuated
her search for undergarments.  A door snicked closed - another visit to her
sanctuary in the bathroom no doubt.

And then she was standing in the bedroom doorway, taking his breath away.
He had been right to include the garnet silk jumpsuit to the wardrobe: it
suited her perfectly.  Open at the neck and fitted at the waist, it draped
the rest of her body, acknowledging its curves but softening them.  Blurring
them until the observer felt the need to move closer...to examine the
effect...to watch the material move over her skin...to caress a nipple
swollen under the soft slide of the fabric.

LaCroix shuddered.  How had he gone from almost killing her to wanting a
relationship with her?  He shook his head. He would not waste time
considering the reasons; it was enough that it had happened and he was too
honest to deny it.  But he needed time to plan the correct strategy to learn
as much as he could about her without giving her the power of knowledge
about him.

<Perhaps it would be better for them to be apart for a while?>

Natalie stiffened as LaCroix moved closer, stopping only inches from where
she stood.  Powerful and sensual, he stirred some primal part of her, a
place no one had ever touched before.  Her nipples hardened; the realization
that he was watching made them harder still.

She turned her back on him, not wanting him to see more.  Not wanting him to
see her confusion, her...hunger.  What was happening to her?  Why had she
started behaving so strangely, feeling so differently?

Would she ever have waved underwear at Nick or screamed at him to turn off
some music?  Not without weighing the consequences several times and finally
doing something less...dramatic - and ultimately much less satisfying.
Sure, she lectured him all the time about drinking less blood and taking his
vitamins, but when it came down to it, she was never willing to risk
enforcing the rules.  Why?  Because she was afraid he would walk away?  Or
because following her rules would make him less exciting, less dangerous?
And by default make her life less of those things as well?

To live fully in the moment, not caring what anyone thought of her actions
or her ideas -  that was what LaCroix offered her.  Fear knotted her
stomach.  Could she take that big a risk?  Whatever else would be true of a
relationship with LaCroix (and when had she stopped trying to escape and
started thinking about a "relationship"?) it would never be like anything
else in her life.

She needed to put some distance between them, to take some time to really
understand what had happened tonight.  To decide finally and irrevocably
what she wanted, what she needed.  And she couldn't do that here, where she
was so distracted, dependent on *him* for everything, even her very
existence.  Especially her very existence, she thought as she rubbed the
flesh beneath her chin.

She had to leave.  Right now.

She turned back to face him.

He held his right hand out to her and she took it without hesitation, not
afraid of him even after his latest actions.  Expecting him to lead her into
the living room, she was surprised by the soft kiss he placed on her
knuckles.  But she wouldn't let it distract her from what she had to say.

"Lucien -"

"Natalie -"

"I would like -"

"I think it is -"

Grinning sheepishly, they both stopped talking, an awkward silence replacing
the overlapping words.  Nat gently removed her hand from his and moved out
of the doorway.  She walked to the middle of the room before she found the
courage to try again; this wasn't supposed to be so *hard*.

"Lucien, Iwouldliketogohome."

Even LaCroix' superior senses took a moment to interpret the rush of words.

Their meaning should not have hurt so much.

"Very well, Natalie.  I will summon a taxi."

Nat blinked.  She hadn't wanted it to be this easy.  She'd hoped he would
argue with her, try to convince her to stay.  Not  that she would have, but
still...

He didn't have to give the taxi service his address, just told them to
charge his account, adding the usual tip.

Natalie offered to wait downstairs.  LaCroix declined.  She smoothed the
silk covering her arms, he stared at the wall.

The buzzer startled both of them.

LaCroix escorted her down into a garage where a private car with darkened
windows waited, the driver standing by the rear passenger door.  LaCroix
handed her into the back seat and moved away.

Just before the driver closed the door, Nat leaned out.

"Should I send the clothing to the Raven?  It'll take a few days until I can
have them cleaned."

<Or maybe I'll drop them off myself.>

"That will be fine."

<Or maybe I will come to pick them up.>

And then he was gone.

The faint strains of Mozart followed the car out of the garage.

<The End?>