This is the sequel to the first Round Robin, and is currently being posted to the FK Vals list.
Standard disclaimers apply.

Natalie Lambert woke up. As she had each morning for the past 6 months - she corrected herself with a wry smile - she came to instant consciousness. She hated it. She missed the slow climb through layers of sleep, the gradual return of memory and the sensual stretching of not quite responsive muscles. She would often try to remain halfway between sleep and wakefulness, delaying the start of the day and all its stresses and problems. It was a game she'd become very good at playing when she was mortal.

When she was *mortal*. When *she* was mortal. *When* she was mortal. She flung the bedclothes back in disgust and threw herself out of bed. Not matter how often she played *that* game, it never brought her comfort...or pleasure. She stripped the sliver of silk that was her nightgown off, tossing it into a corner too angry to register the sensual slide of the plum-colored fabric over her skin.

She was glad that Lucien was already up. If he didn't comment on her behavior - a lecture she was in no mood to listen to - he would have fixed her with his pale blue eyes and raised an eyebrow in disapproval.

Even as she resented his imagined criticism, she felt herself responding to the memory of those eyes darkening with passion and closing in pleasure. He was a magnificent lover, as she'd assumed even before he brought her across. He used his hands, his body, his mouth and even his mind to give her pleasure. And her new powers - her heightened sensitivity - allowed her to receive all that he offered. She had never been so satisfied or felt so loved.

She looked around the bedroom, furnished with what even she knew were almost priceless antiques (although Lucien had laughingly assured her they were quite inexpensive when they had been purchased as new). The bed had been made during the reign of Louis XV and had been burnished to a deep, rich shine by centuries of attentive care. The matching dresser and armoire held more clothing than she had ever imagined owning.

She picked up the nightgown - a small point of contention with Lucien, who preferred that she sleep in the nude - and let the silk slide through her fingers to land on the luxurious cream cotton sheets. She had expected the stereotypical satin bedclothes but LaCroix had teasingly answered her question by saying that he found it distracting to wonder if his lovers would slide out from under him.

Natalie slipped the robe that matched her nightgown over her head and let it settle against her naked skin. She opened the heavy drapes and stood transfixed once again as she looked down on the lights of Paris.

She still couldn't believe she was finally here. She'd dreamed of coming to France and exploring its capital for years, and found it more than a little overwhelming that Lucien had just ordered his private jet to fly them here when she'd chosen it over Rome or London.

She broke her reverie and left the room to cross the gallery that overlooked the exquisite foyer. She admired the paintings - old Masters every one - that lined the stairway as she made her way to the kitchen.

She opened the stainless steel refrigerator and took a half-empty bottle from one of the shelves. She poured it into a 19th century etched crystal goblet and took a sip. The small taste was just enough to cause her hunger to explode and down the rest of the glass in one gulp. She grabbed the bottle, tipped it directly into her mouth and guzzled it to the dregs. She guiltily fumbled it back onto the table and hesitantly sought LaCroix through their link. If he were in the house, she would be in for an immediate lesson on proper "dining" etiquette. But fortunately his answering touch told her he was not nearby. His mental caress was even a little distracted. She broke the connection before he could read her lapse of decorum, opened another bottle and carried it to the music room.

Although she could play neither the harpsichord nor the piano that dominated the room, she ran her fingers across the keys as she walked to the cabinet that hid the very modern sound system from view. She put a selection of baroque music on the CD changer and set it for random play before moving to one of the chaises that provided most of the seating area in the room. She settled back into the plush upholstery as the first strains of a Vivaldi violin concerto rolled softly from the 6 hidden speakers.

She took a long pull from the bottle, wondering why she found it so difficult to control her urge to feed. Lucien told her it was because she had denied the wanton part of her nature for so long that now that she was able to indulge it she had no way to control it. He grinned lasciviously as he told her it was the same reason she was such a passionate bed partner.

Natalie laughed in enjoyment at LaCroix' totally unexpected playfulness. She would never have believed that the rigidly self-controlled man she had known in Toronto would willingly participate in the foolish give and take that new lovers often share.

Vivaldi gave way to Albinoni and Natalie's mood changed with it. She restlessly paced the room, pausing occasionally to sip from the bottle. she thought with more than a hint of irony.

She walked to the glass doors and looked out at the city again. Her eyes swept the landscape until they located the Eiffel Tour, its lights outlining the unmistakable silhouette. She couldn't remember how often she had imagined herself at its top, looking out over the city. Of course, in her imagination it was daylight and she could watch the people far below as they scurried about their business, dodging the traffic around L'Etoile or sitting in a cafe sipping a glass of wine. She looked with regret at the bottle she had brought with her. She longed futilely for just the smallest undiluted taste of a fine French Bordeaux.

She mentally shook herself. What was wrong with her? She was in Paris with a man who openly adored and indulged her, living in a magnificent townhouse she could never even dreamed of visiting.

The lights of Paris blurred behind the rush of her tears. It was all wrong. What was the good of being in Paris if she couldn't see the stained glass of Saint Chapelle turn the sunbeams red? If she couldn't stroll the market at Les Halles or feel the sunlight warm the statues in the Rodin sculpture garden?

LaCroix had taken her to the Louvre after hours to see the Mona Lisa - gallantly inviting her to a "private showing" complete with expert commentary on both the artist and his model. But it hadn't been what she wanted. She wanted to see the tourists trying to find it, just one of many paintings on a wall, and then to jostle for position in front of it, so much smaller than they expected it to be. She wanted to watch them try to sneak pictures behind the backs of the guards. She remembered the laughter she had shared with her friends as they had told her about it; had always wanted to add her stories to theirs. Now that would never happen.

When Lucien was here it was easier to accept. He would play the piano or violin so passionately she would laugh and then cry. On other nights he would tell bawdy stories of Napoleon's army or take her to the opera. Or they would go to the theatre, LaCroix' whispered translations interrupted by her giggles as he used his tongue for more than speech.

But when he wasn't here - when he was out with friends or business associates - she had too much time to think, to realize that his was *his* life...his city...his choice.

She had understood their reasons for leaving Toronto. There were too many people who questioned why she left her job, why she no longer joined in their daytime activities...why she was no longer with Nick. No matter how often she told friends that there had been nothing serious between them, they didn't seem to believe her. Perhaps it was the catch in her throat when she mentioned his name.

And so they had left, and come here as Natalie had chosen. To a beautiful city where she knew no one and had no way to make friends.

Lucien had offered to bring Sydney with them, but Natalie had refused. Syd was to old to be taken halfway around the world and then put into quarantine. She knew Grace would take good care of him, but his absence was just one more empty part of her life.

She missed so much. She had once asked Lucien, only half in jest, if blood came in different flavors - chocolate, fresh strawberry or even Coca-Cola.

He had replied with obvious regret, "Not since we stopped preparing it at the source."

She wiped the tears from her eyes, careful to lick the red tinged moisture from her fingers before it stained the exquisite silk of her robe. She listened for a moment to Gil Shaham playing the "Winter" section of "The Seasons", its swirling strings mirroring her thoughts, before she walked back to the bottle and defiantly gulped its contents down her throat.

She climbed back to the master suite, showered and dressed in a royal blue Chanel suit which gave her courage. And she would need it. When Lucien came home she would tell him she needed to go back to Toronto, to her friends...to mortality.

End Part One