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 Natalie pushed through the crowd of young party goers, not
caring that she was being rude.  Her eyes scanned over the dark room,
frantic to find LaCroix.  Where was he?  Miklos was at the bar,
polishing a glass and chatting with a young redhead.  He looked up at
her.  How he'd sense her presence was a mystery, but she was
grateful.  "Where is he?" She mouthed the words, but had no doubt he
would understand.

 He frowned and gestured towards the back rooms.  Waving her
thanks, she strode up the stairs to the apartments above.  The main
room was deserted.  Her plate from breakfast was clean and dry next
to the sink.  Everything had been straightened from the night before,
but there was no indication of his whereabouts.  She focused on the
link, trying to pinpoint a direction.  Ah, his bedroom!

 As soon as she swung the door open, she realized her
mistake.  Knock first.  Always knock first.  LaCroix was in there
sure enough,  chest deep in the bubbling waters of the jaccuzi.

 He lifted his head from the back of the tub to meet her
eyes.  "Doctor, what a pleasant surprise."  He trailed a wet finger
across his lips.  "I can only assume you chose to ignore my warning,
so come.  Enjoy your consequences."  The last trailed off in a
suggestive whisper that made her want to do just that.

 She swallowed, unable to control the reaction to his offer.
Steam wafted up from his bleached skin,  the powerful physique even
more appealing without the suit.  That he'd been a warrior, there was
no doubt.  Cords of muscle flexed in perfect relief against the
blackness of the tub.  Hmm, Tiger, tiger, burning bright...preparing
to take the final bite.  Snap out of it, Nat!  What was she doing,
oggeling him?

 "That bad, are you?"  She coughed in pure disbelief.  Where
the hell had that come from?  She couldn't believe she'd said it.

 "Strip doctor."  He bit the order out from behind clenched
teeth.  He wasn't amused.  If anything, he looked offended.

 Uh oh.  She judged the distance to the door.  Nope there was
no way she was making that one.  He would just chase her down.
Seeing him running naked,  through a room, intent on killing her was
not one of the items up on her to-do list today.    Doing a strip
tease, and joining him in the hot tub missed the cut too.

 "No.  LaCroix, I am not your personal toy, not yet.  Maybe
never. I came to warn you, Nick's in trouble.  So, please, do start
thinking with the top story, eh?"  He must be insane if he thought
she would willingly strip in front of him.

 He leaned back into the smooth porcelain, casting a resigned
look of patience to the heavens.  "Dear child, Nicholas is always in
trouble.  Let me guess, another mortal has found out his secret?
Or,  perhaps he is starving himself again?  Wait, no, that wouldn't
be a problem for you, would it?  You seem to like him being ill.  So,
do tell me, what has my errant son done this time?"

 She let out the breath she'd been holding.  "I don't know,
closer to the first one.  Someone peed Nick's true birthdate on the
wall of a crime scene, for the whole world to see.  Forensics took
pictures of it.  Right now, they are just a string of four
meaningless numbers, but we know better, don't we? How long until the
killer plants some, other, more damning evidence?  With this many
bodies, even I can't cover it up."

"I see.  Well, that does put a new perspective on things,
doesn't it?  We shall discuss your insolence later.  Leave me."  He
sat up, rinsing the water over his smooth chest and broad shoulders.
Cupping his hands, he splashed the warm liquid onto his face.  He
wiped it away, and noticed her continued presence.   "What are you
waiting for, Doctor?  You declined to join me, so stop staring and
leave."

 Right.  Good idea.  She turned and walked out.  That image
was going to stay with her for a very long time.  Honesty here, Nat,
she didn't want that image to go away.  If she had the guts, she'd
march back in there to watch the rest of the show.   That's it, she
was certifiably pathetic.  She would not drool over the egotistical
maniac, naked, in the other room.  She refused.

 Throwing herself on the couch, she looked around for the
television. Nothing like watching infomercials to kill any kind of
mood.  How can a man live without a t.v.?  Wasn't that some kind of
requirement?  At birth, each was issued, one `y' chromosome,  one
extra body part, and a remote.  Ah ha! She spied the black control
sticking out from the edge of his ottoman.  So, he did have a
television in here, somewhere.

 She grabbed it in triumph.  Her face fell when she realized
it was a remote, yes, but not for entertainment.  Like Nick's loft,
there must be electronic shutters in here as well.  She pressed the
open button.  Overhead, the ceiling started rolling away, revealing a
skylight the size of the entire room.  The orange crescent moon hung
low in the southern sky, framed by a few tiny pinpricks of stars.
She stood, staring in awe, as a plane floated overhead, the red and
green lights winking in the distance.

 All along the plaster encasement, an artist had captured the
Creation from the Sistine Chapel.  The heavens, framed by the images
of a man's god, seemed odd, especially coming from LaCroix.   But,
even with her jaded heart, there was no arguing with the raw beauty,
the sheer power the image evoked.  She sensed his presence, coming up
beside her.

 "It's beautiful."

 "Yes.  Even in the darkness, beauty exists. Michelangelo
meant this to be displayed, in the closed confines of a church,
stained by the lights of a million facets of cheaply colored glass.
I have improved on the setting." His voice rang with pride.
 No modesty there, she resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
Turning away from the view, she looked to him. Oh, my. Nope, no
modesty there at all. She gulped. Blood flooded her face. She wanted
to turn away, but hell, how do you turn away from that?  He poised
there, a towel draping to the floor in one hand as he looked up at
the stars. Moonlight bathed his solid flanks in a soft white glow,
the perfect body, frozen in time. His cobalt eyes swung slowly to
her, an inhuman stillness holding his face in thrall.

 "Do you not agree, Dr. Lambert?"

 Agree? Agree to what? She blinked at him.  Her mind blanked,
as she focused on the one thing most important to her at the moment.
A naked man, no, naked vampire, stood in front of her. What was she
supposed to agree to?

 "Doctor?" He frowned at her.

 Agreement, that meant yes. Even in this befuddled state, she
knew that. "Sure, why not."

 He continued frowning.

 That must have been the wrong answer.  She mentally reviewed
his conversation, keeping her eyes well above waist level.  They'd
been discussing...the painting;  right, the painting of the naked men
on the ceiling. "I mean, yes I agree.  The setting is very nudce.
Err...nice.  If you want to discuss art, get some clothes on."  An
insistant voice urged her to look down, take that quick peek, before
he covered.  She wanted to see what he so freely offered.  Okay,
fine.  One quick peek, but that was all she'd take.

 It was huge, erect, and uncircumsized.  Oh god.  She sqeezed
her eyes shut.  There was no doubt he was happy to see her,  having
that further evidence of his desire terrified her.  She could handle
him wanting her blood, but not her body.

 "I can smell your need from here, Natalie."  No mockery laced
his deep voice, just a quiet acceptance of what must be.  "Come to
me."

 "No."  Her mouth watered.  Fairly trembling with the need to
go to him, to feed, to rape if need be, she found the strength to
step back instead.

 "If you do not, then soon you will lose control and attack
the nearest mortal around you,  perhaps even your dear Detective
Schanke."

 Why would she attack Schanke?  Myra would kill here, and Don
would think she'd lost her mind.  For that matter, she would think
she'd lost her own mind.  "I'm not following you, LaCroix.  What do
you mean I'll attack someone?"  She was not liking where this
conversation was going.

 "As we speak, my blood is changing you.  It starts as desire,
for flesh, for blood, it matters not which.  If you don't feed it, my
blood will turn on yours, and then, there will be little hope of
getting through it sane.  I repeat, come to me."

 She glared at him, all traces of her embarrassment gone. "You
knew this would happen." He was right, the hunger was there, just
under the surface.  With him standing there, so tempting in the soft
moonlight, the desire for flesh was higher than for blood.  She could
see he knew it, and that infuriated her.   "This was all some sort of
test, wasn't it?  To see how much control I have, to see if I would
jump your archaic bones at the drop of a hat. Forget it.  If I must
have sex or blood, then I take blood."

 "As you prefer."  He padded into the kitchen, the muscles
playing across his tight rump, as he grabbed a small paring knife.
With the flick of his wrist, he gashed a wound into his neck.  The
other hand came up to tangle in her thick hair.  She found her mouth
pressed against his throat, the blood pouring in.  The choice was to
drown or swallow.  She swallowed.

 His grip eased after the first few mouthfuls,  letting her
drink on her own.  She couldn't pull away, whatever need he spoke
of,  had full control now.  With his blood came strength, and so many
memories.  Unlike the first time, she controlled the speed.  She
traced along the roads of ancient Gaul with his finger, as he plotted
a war strategy onto the thick vellum map. She felt the personal
anguish over crushing his mother's people, his own people.  The empty
triumph of the victory celebration as they lay slain around him.  She
joined him in the roman baths as servants washed away the grime with
their fingers, and the memories with their bodies.

 "Enough Doctor,  unless you wish to make your own
donation."

 She swallowed the last of it, and pulled her mouth away.  For
a few seconds she rested her head on his warm shoulder, unwilling to
move.  His arms surrounded her, keeping her from falling.

 "We'll need to finish this sooner than Saturday, won't we?"

If she craved his blood this much,  how could she survive another
five days?  Drinking this amount of it on a nightly basis, she had
maybe three left to go before she changed regardless.

"We shall see.  However, from this point on, you will drink
whenever you feel the need,  any kind of need.  Unlike you, I will
not allow someone I am responsible for to starve.  Do I make myself
clear?"  His chest rumbled below her ear, and the embrace tightened.
 "Yes."  For the first time since meeting him, she felt safe.

She mulled over the idea, even perhaps, content.  Must be one of the
side affects not listed on the warning label.   `Potentially harmful
or fatal,  may cause hallucinations and a false feeling of security.
In case of accidental ingestion, seek religious attention
immediately.' Or not.  She smiled against his bare skin.   The
giggling started quiet, low in her throat.  Soon it was a shaking,
full bellied laugh, half hysteria, half genuine relief that she still
lived.

 LaCroix held her throughout, resting his chin on top of her
head.  She felt his understanding flow through the link.  He shared
in the brief happiness, for once not at odds with her, or any of his
other children.  It was enough for now.  She still felt the longing
for her body, but it was just background noise.

 "I'll take what I can get, Natalie.  You will be mine.  In
that, you don't have a choice."

End Chapter 5