What Love Endures by Ophelia5 Nick/Nat Explicit sex, Bondage, Unpleasant =0D Natalie caught herself humming as she waited for the elevator to reach Nick's loft. She shook her head, then smiled. Why lie to herself? She was looking forward to their latest tryst. In fact, had been looking forward to it since their second, almost a week ago. She'd been hard pressed to convince Nick to hold off even for a week. For at least a day after their little bout of physical therapy, he'd been absolutely insufferable. At the first murder scene she'd been called to, she'd found he couldn't wipe that stupid grin off his face, although he did manage a certain grim look when examining the corpse. Natalie had been astounded by his reaction and was even more amused by his partner, who'd confided during a quiet moment that she thought Nick had gone absolutely insane. Not that Natalie had been entirely circumspect in hiding her own emotions. He'd sent flowers to the office--a small, extremely cheerful bouquet in a soup mug--and even more flowers to her apartment, one bunch of which she actually believed to be a tree, as Sydney had given up trying to nibble at it and had decided on climbing it instead. It was the office flowers, of course, that had alerted Grace's first suspicions. That and the fact that she couldn't stop humming. "Okay, spill it!" Grace had demanded, placing a hand on her shoulder and spinning her chair around. She'd blinked in surprise, finding herself faced by a demanding Grace immediately after having viewed a rather intricate three-dimensional construct of a bullet wound exit on a computer screen. "What?" "Spill it," Grace had demanded again. Then she'd smiled, ever so softly. "Why, Natalie Lambert, I do believe you've finally nailed our fair-haired detective." Natalie was pretty certain she'd blushed from her roots straight down to her toes. But she'd tried to bluff it out and had turned around again, saying, "I have no idea what--" "Don't give me that," cautioned Grace, standing at her shoulder. "You're humming. You've humming for two days. And Detective Nick 'can't stop smiling at the world' Knight has been walking around like a cat with cream on its whiskers." That image had stopped her cold and she'd glanced over her shoulder at Grace with some small sense of satisfaction. "He , hasn't he?" "Aha!" Grace folded her arms triumphantly. "Don't know why I haven't put in for a detective's shield myself." "Neither do I," she'd agreed. Then she'd given Grace a steady stare. "But nobody knows, right? This doesn't go anywhere. It's between Nick and I." Grace simply gave her a supportive smile and leaned forward to tap her on the shoulder. "You just go on believing that, honey." She'd swallowed in embarrassment. "It's . . . that obvious, is it?" "From you? No. Not unless someone knew you real well. The humming--that kind of gave it away for me. But Nick . . . well, he's been wandering around the past few months like he's ready to chew paint off the walls. I don't want to tell you how many times somebody--no names, please--or another has made a point of saying that boy needs to get laid." Grace had shaken her head, as if in wonder that Nick, of all people, would have that particular problem. "But for the past two days he's been, well, kinda calm. Relaxed. Almost too relaxed." She'd squeezed Natalie's shoulder. "Whatever you're doing, you keep it up. You're good for each other." Of course, bringing the whole subject up with Nick had proven to have difficulties of its own. They were okay at crime scenes, but if they had a moment together alone in a corridor or a lab . . . . There was one point when he'd maneuvered her into a secluded corner of the police station and before she could get any further than his name, had taken the opportunity to kiss her so thoroughly and completely that the files she'd been holding had slipped from her hands and she swore she'd popped the strap on her shoe. "When?" Nick had asked softly, when he'd allowed her to come up for breath. She'd been oxygen deprived . . . that was her excuse. Somehow, she'd managed not to give in to instinct--which would have meant grabbing his arm and dragging him back to the Caddie and his place--but had muttered, "Friday night." "Friday, then," he'd answered. Then he'd planted a quick kiss on her lips and wandered off, leaving her to track down the various pieces of paper that had fallen from the file, one of which had led her face to shoe with Captain Reese. He'd merely smiled and walked away as if one of his police detectives hadn't kissed a coroner senseless in a secluded corner of the police station. Friday had arrived--she was on an early morning shift and so had the afternoon and evening off . . . just as she knew that Friday was Nick's night off. She'd decided at some point that she'd have to investigate the effect his body clock might have on certain biological functions, but had decided to test that particular line of inquiry when they were more at ease and less caught up in the novelty of the thing. And it a novelty. It hadn't taken much for Natalie to admit to herself that she hadn't had an on-going sexual relationship for some time. However schoolgirlish and ridiculous it might seem, she found herself as eager as Nick to see if their first attempt at togetherness past a kiss was a fluke or if they really had something there. And she'd been more than a little nervous leaving work and heading straight for Nick's place that Friday night, without so much as a shower or lingerie more exotic than matching satin panties and a bra. He'd met her at the elevator door with flowers and wearing a nice jacket and tie-- formal. There'd been an awkward moment at first--she wouldn't look at him, he wouldn't look at her . . . then she'd smacked him with the flowers and everything was fine. Until she'd seen dinner--because his kitchen table was covered with a tablecloth and an intimate candlelit dinner for two. She'd almost cried. But then her stomach had rumbled and she'd laughed instead. Nick had taken her elbow and escorted her to the table like a proper lady, pushing in her chair for her, then seated himself to her left. The steak was rare, the wine something she was certain she'd never been able to afford on her own salary, and the company was incomparable. They'd chatted like friends, over work and other things. Although she found herself stealing glances at his eyes--how blue they were!--and allowing herself to be infinitely charmed by his smile, or the way he occasionally caught her hand and held it, or squeezed it . . . then just as quickly released her as if he'd been burned or had done something not quite allowable under the circumstance. He'd even taken a bite or two of steak during dinner--although he wasn't quite quick enough to hide the fact that he'd spit the meat into his napkin. And the wine he was drinking was thicker and far less translucent than her own. It was long after she'd finished her meal--which she'd proclaimed excellent much to his satisfaction--and a lull in conversation that he held her fingers between his own, lightly stroking them with his thumb. Natalie had looked up, eyes meeting his. There was no hesitation as she leaned forward just as he did, their lips meeting-- touching lightly, again, then parting for a more serious exploration. He'd had blood-breath. She'd made some strangled sound as she'd pulled away, because Nick had simply sat there with an incredibly hurt look on his face. "What?" Natalie tried to fight back her revulsion and managed to catch most of it, but she couldn't quite wipe the expression off her face. "The--uh--blood--?" Nick had laughed. "Oh, yeah. Cow blood." He'd picked up his glass and held it to the light, then taken another swallow. "You know," he'd explained, after a few more sips, "Janette used to make the same face. She didn't like 'cow.'" "I'll agree with her on that." When Nick leaned in for another kiss, Natalie rose from her seat and pointed upstairs. "Sorry, buddy, but lips that have touched cow are touching mine. you gargle. Then . . . we'll see." "You don't hear me complaining about the steak. Or the coffee. Do you what coffee tastes like--?" "March!" she'd commanded, still pointing to the second story. "Or no dessert." "Yes, ma'am." Still, he'd smiled as he'd risen from his place, but snuck a quick kiss to her forehead before she could protest. Natalie had taken the few minutes of privacy to settle some of the butterflies in her stomach--which the wine had done a bit of settling for her, thank heavens. She'd risen from her chair, after exiling Nick to a quick gargle, and had walked over to her couch and her purse. She'd brought a few condoms with her, just in case he hadn't gotten the drill down yet. Not to mention the fact that immediately after their first encounter she'd taken her own precautions and started using the pill again, after a long absence. Standing there, her purse open, she thought about how odd it all seemed, how awkward . . . and her courage almost left her. She'd felt foolish and silly again. The butterflies had looped and swirled in her stomach to the point where she'd almost regretted having eaten. There were things they had to discuss about what had happened the last time, both from a standpoint of safety and gathering data. This was, after all, an experiment to find out a little bit more about what made the vampire tick . . . although she'd also stumbled into a few things that seemed to make Nick tick, too. She'd thought of things to begin the conversation, then discarded them just as quickly. There was nothing more 'un' romantic than having a very frank and clinical discussion about sex--and from the moment she'd walked into the room, Nick had sent every signal known to man, and a few more perhaps, that he wanted to make love to her in the worst way. She'd heard him on the stairs but didn't turn, trying to come up with something to say that wouldn't make her sound like an adolescent or research scientist. His aftershave reached her first, and then he stood behind her and placed his arms around her, drawing her close in an embrace of silk. He was wearing his bathrobe. And, from that hug, it appeared that he was wearing nothing his bathrobe. She'd turned in his arms as he'd loosened his embrace and accused, "You've started without me." "You'll have to catch up, then. Won't you?" he'd asked, then leaned forward to nibble at her ears, tracing the line of her jaw with kisses and ending at her lips. She'd known then that any data gathering from that point on would involve observation and practice. Nick wasn't in the mood for talking. Not that she really minded . . . . Natalie slipped off her shoes, then placed a hand on his chest and pushed him back slightly. Still cautious, Nick stopped his exploration of her mouth immediately and met her eyes in concern. "I just got off work," she'd complained. "I must smell like formaldehyde." "But I the way you smell." His protest had been so soft and charming and his gaze was so intense that something inside her had melted right on the spot. But Natalie had cleared her throat and moved past him, heading for the stairs. "I need a shower." He hadn't moved--stood right where she'd left him--and asked, "Would you mind if I joined you?" Her hand had frozen on the banister, one foot on the first step. A brief chill passed through her when she'd recalled the near disaster of their first shower together, how for that one instant Nick had lost control and she had been too wrapped up in the sensations of the moment to notice or even care. He'd regained his self-possession quickly enough and fled from her, falling immediately into a pit of self-loathing so deep that she'd had to make a hell of an effort to lift his spirits again. But it had been close. So very close . . . . He'd phrased it carefully, allowing her to make the decision. Natalie had known almost immediately that she had to prove to him that she trusted him--and she did, as far as that went. If they were careful, if they concentrated on flesh being flesh, if they let the water run a little colder-- "Do you think that's wise?" she'd asked, after a pause that had seemed like an eternity to her. She'd heard his footsteps behind her, bare feet on the carpeting, then the floor. He'd stood close, but not touching. "If you want to know if I can handle it --yes. There was just so much involved last time . . . it was all too fast. But I know what to do now." There'd been such certitude in his voice that she'd glanced over her shoulder, curiosity getting the better of her. "And that would be--?" "To concentrate completely on you, on making you happy." That was the last thing she'd expected to hear. He'd planted a kiss just behind her ear, maneuvered himself so that he stood on the step above her, and held out his hand. There'd been no hesitation when she'd placed her hand in his. He'd gathered her into his arms, then led her up the stairs with his arm still around her, as if shielding her, protecting her from all harm. He'd been solicitude itself when he held the bathroom door for her and then reached into the stall to start the shower. Natalie had started to unbutton her blouse, but his hands brushed away her own. She'd looked up in trepidation and had seen only a warm smile. She'd always thought of his fingers as large, but he managed the buttons carefully, never pulling so much as a stitch from the holes in unfastening them and removing every button straight down to the bottom of the blouse, when she'd have been more than ready to pull the thing up over her head after the first two buttons had been unfastened. He'd carefully pulled her arms from the sleeves, then placed the blouse carefully on the doorknob. Her skirt had been next--he'd undone the belt blindly, looking into her eyes all the while, but without any fumbling or misstep. When the fastening had been opened at the back, he didn't release it, but slid it down the length of her legs, then gave her his hand as she stepped out of it. It, too, had been carefully placed over the doorknob. Her hose had quickly followed her skirt to the floor, but by this point Natalie had found that her legs weren't quite supporting her anymore--she'd also offered up a thankful prayer to whomever watched over wandering coroners that she'd remembered to shave them, especially with Nick's hands sliding sensuously along their length, just the briefest caress. She'd bitten her lip and leaned a little heavily on his shoulder. Her hand had slid on the silk, her fingers clutched it desperately . . . and then balance was no longer an issue as he'd risen to his feet, his arm around her waist. Her grasp had opened his robe, but she refrained from peeking. Once he'd established that she was stable again, he'd walked behind her and slipped the bra straps down her shoulders, then unfastened the hooks at the back with a single pull--which made her wonder how long ago he'd learned particular maneuver and when he'd gotten so good at it. But she'd refrained from commenting, distracted by the cool air on her skin--it had still been quite chilly despite the steam from the shower (she'd it was from the shower.). Her nipples were standing straight at attention and she'd felt a blush coming on, some aspect of modesty making her raise her arms to shield her sudden nudity. Nick's hands had fallen to her shoulders. He'd gently entwined his fingers with her own, pulling her arms from her body and stepping back. His gaze had been nothing but admiring as he'd told her, "Never hide from me. I want to see everything. You're beautiful . . . ." She'd moved forward, slipping her arms around his neck and drawing him close. His lips touched hers and she'd barely noticed that his hands had slipped the waistband of her panties down around her hips. They'd slid to the floor and she'd kicked them away as an afterthought, still more than a little entranced by the kiss. There'd been nothing wild or passionate about it--it had been a gentle kiss, a quiet exploration of one another. When they'd parted, she'd felt less breathless than satisfied, like her spirit had been caressed by warmth. She'd wanted to cry again. And even more an instant later, as Nick took her hand and led her to the shower with such regal formality that she felt like royalty. She'd stepped inside and he'd followed, after shedding the silk dressing gown--although the exact terminology regarding that particular piece of clothing was still a matter of some contention between them. Natalie had even considered bringing up the subject, but it had seemed too coarse and tawdry. She didn't want to break the spell that had fallen over her. She'd let herself be guided by him, turned to face the back of the shower, then leaning her head back beneath the spray of water as his hands moved through the tangle of her hair. Her body had been slightly off balance, but she'd trusted that strong hand beneath her shoulders not to let her fall and closed her eyes, enjoying the scent of the shampoo, the slight pressure of his fingertips as he kneaded her scalp, then rinsed the water through again to banish the last of the suds. With a sense of regret, she'd finally straightened, flung her drenched hair back and out of the way, and smiled at him. "Your turn." "No." Nick had picked up the soap and begun rubbing it between his palms. "I told you, this is for you. Trust me." "I trust you," she'd protested, however cheated she'd felt at not being able to wash his hair, which fascinated her. But her protests didn't seem to lead to any capitulation on his part--Nick simply turned her around, facing the showerhead, and then positioned himself behind her. She'd thought at first that he meant to soap down her back as he'd done the time before, but he moved closer to her, until her back was flat against his chest and she felt the beginning of his erection against her buttock. Natalie had turned her head to warn him, to remind him that too close contact had nearly led to disaster-- And found her latest protest suffocated in a slow and careful kiss. His hands had moved around her front, leaning her back against him, inviting her to let her weight rest upon him. They'd cupped her breasts, smoothing the soap over and around her flesh, the fingers catching her nipples, teasing them, and sliding off again. Within the kiss she'd moaned in delight and closed her eyes, reveling in the sensation of his hands on her, soaping her skin with slow and insistent circles, wandering over her ribs and upper thighs, then returning to her breasts to tease, again and again. No matter how often the shower spray washed the soap from her, his hands returned to spread yet another soft film, caressing and soothing her, lulling her into a sense of bliss that she found almost hypnotic, until she simply rested her head on his shoulder in utter and absolute contentment. His right hand had remained on her breast, stroking lightly, when she'd realized that his left hand had wandered just a bit further than before. A sudden surge of electricity had jolted through her and she'd shivered as fingers slid across her clitoris, then shivered again as those same fingers moved even lower. First one had entered her, then two together---it had been no invasion, but a slow stroking that had seemed natural, even expected, the soap providing more than enough lubrication. Her breath had caught at that moment, then she'd pressed back against him as his thumb settled in the valley just above her opening and began to stroke her gently. Natalie had arched her back, pressing against him, her head shifting--too late had she realized that she was baring her neck to him, as if inviting him to sink his teeth into her. But a glance at Nick's eyes had confirmed his earlier statement-- they were intent, but blue, with not a trace of gold. He'd smiled at her, kissed her temple and whispered, "Relax," into her ear with such absolute conviction that she'd felt more than a little guilty at enjoying his single-minded devotion. Despite the danger, Natalie reached her hand behind her to find him, but his hand left her breast to firmly dissuade her. "Relax," Nick had said again, and she'd raised her arms over her head, bending them back around his neck behind her and linked her fingers. The movement was uncalculated on her part--she'd done it mainly to keep her hands from wandering all over him--but she'd soon realized that she'd also taken some of the pressure of her weight off him and raised herself slightly on tiptoes. Oddly enough, it had seemed to be just the position Nick had been looking for. His right arm was held across her, his hand upon her left breast, fingers splayed and alternately caressing and pinching lightly, while the fingers of his left slipped out of her and entered again, keeping careful time with the motion of his thumb. Her breath had grown more ragged as the seconds passed, Nick knowing enough to vary the rhythm--fast, then slow, then fast again. It had been maddening, frustrating, and indulgent to the point of sin, but she hadn't much cared. The sensations had spiderwebbed through her body slowly, insidiously, so that she couldn't quite tell when her fingertips had grown numb or her toes had begun to tingle. Each thrust, each stroke, had sent reverberations through her, wave after wave of warmth, until there was no conscious thought left to her. When Nick's lips sought her own, she'd nibbled them hungrily, greedily, needing to find some way to expend the tension that was driving her so slowly and deliciously into insanity. They'd been locked in a kiss when the crest of the wave hit her. For an instant, there was no air or sound--even the steady hiss of water from the showerhead seemed to disappear. Everything was white and brilliant, then the shudder had started at the center of her being--which, oddly enough, seemed to be about the location of Nick's left hand--passing through every nerve and muscle and fiber to which it could travel. There'd been sound again because she'd made it--a long, low, drawn-out cry of ecstasy that was absorbed by Nick's mouth upon her own. Her legs had given way, her arms had slipped from his neck, but he held her tightly, his fingers leaving their careful ministrations and settling again on her breast, while the other hand had slid down to the flat of her stomach as she rode out the tide of sensation. Even before it was quite done, Nick had lifted her into his arms and carried her from the shower. She'd dimly realized that he'd wrapped her in an oversized towel, all but cocooning her in dry warmth. He'd slipped into the terri-cloth bathrobe that she'd convinced him to purchase, sat down on the lid of the commode, and held her in his arms. Natalie had long ago determined that she was not the kind of woman who drifted easily into the darkness of slumber after any type of sexual act, but this one time the temptation was so strong as to be almost overpowering. She had been absolutely and completely drained. And yet she felt utterly safe in his arms, his cheek resting against her own. She'd found however--when her eyes had focused enough to actually comprehend what she was seeing--that his gaze was distant. Nick's expression was almost wistful, not quite sad, but the edges of his smile seemed to indicate a bitterness that made her want to free herself, fold her arms around him, and promise him that she'd never let the world or anything hurt him again. Instead, she'd simply snuggled closer against him and, having gained his attention, managed a very faint and slightly breathless, "Thank you." The distance in his eyes had disappeared then and his smile had seemed more content, although there was still a shadow, a trace of sadness that she hadn't been able to identify . . . and wondered, really, if she ever would. He'd leaned his forehead against hers in silent communion and she'd listened to the sounds of her own breathing begin to relax and ease into a normal rhythm. She could very easily have fallen asleep, feeling sheltered and secure and loved. Instead, she'd freed her hand from confinement and ran her fingers through his hair, stroking and massaging just behind his ear. Her lips had met his in soft, short kisses, tender and fleeting, each lingering a little longer than the last. Fingers splayed, xhe'd reached beneath the bathrobe he was wearing and drew her hands down his still-damp chest, then followed with her mouth, licking the droplets of water from the skin of his throat, the hollow of his neck . . . . A sound had escaped Nick's lips, something between a sigh and a moan, and then his hand had moved to the side of her throat. Natalie had looked up and seen that his eyes had drifted to gold--those same eyes still stared at her with such unbearable sadness. He'd moved to lift her in his arms again, but she'd scrambled out of his lap, then held out her hand to him. There'd been something in his gaze that had settled a weight over her own heart and she was beginning to understand--what they'd managed was only a semblance of what they might have with one another had he not been a vampire. Nick had taken her hand and it became a struggle between them as to who would pull whom--but finally he acquiesced and stumbled to his feet, his momentum causing him to push her backwards slightly. Her heart had beaten in double-time as she'd found her back to the wall and Nick pressed up against her. He'd stared down into her eyes, raised a hand to brush back the hair from the side of her face, then kissed her again. Her breath had caught in her throat when she realized that she was trapped . . . and knew, too, that his eyes were gold. But the kiss had been quick, pro-forma and without any real feeling. Nick had rested his forehead on her shoulder, his eyes and face hidden in her warm flesh and framed by the edges of the towel. "I'm sorry," he'd whispered. "It's wrong. It's not real." He'd raised his head and his eyes were blue again, but there were small droplets of red at the corner--blood tears. "You deserve more than this." "More?" she'd echoed, trying to keep her voice from shaking at the sight of his despair. "More than what? Than you? Nick, all I want is you--" "And you can have me--in chains. In there--" He'd inclined his head toward the bedroom almost as an afterthought. "But not here. Not downstairs. Not at your place. Not in the grass or by the lake. It's not real." Natalie had been surprised, then realized that she shouldn't have been--Nick had always been a little more than borderline when it came to being manic-depressive. "None of that matters," she'd said firmly. Cupping his face in her hands, she'd lifted his head so that his eyes met her own. "We have to start somewhere. I'm happy to start here--or in there." She'd smiled as she'd mimicked his earlier nod. "This isn't the end of it--it's only the beginning. We can build from here. And it's real, Nick. It's all real. This is real--" she'd touched her lips lightly to his forehead, "--and this is real--" she'd pressed her body closer to his own, letting the towel slip slightly so that her skin pressed against his, through the parting of his robe, "and --" she reached down and ran her fingers lightly along the length of his semi-erect shaft, "is real." His eyes had widened slightly when she'd touched him, then he'd taken her hands in his own and pressed then to his lips. "What did I ever do to deserve you?" "I have no idea. But if you keep doing what you did in the shower, you'll have a hell of a time getting rid of me." She'd let her arms slip down to his waist and settle around him loosely. "I'm going to be honest . . . I don't think I can top that." He'd brightened at the praise. Touching her nose lightly with his finger, he'd answered, "It was my pleasure." His arm had settled down upon her waist and he'd opened the bathroom door. "Gives us something to shoot for, though." There'd been something of their old friendship in the easy camaraderie they'd shared, walking from the bathroom to the bedroom. She'd been concerned even before they'd embarked on this adventure that the special friendship they'd shared would be sacrificed to this new level of their relationship. But it was still there, made a little more close and special, as evidenced by Nick's having lost a lot of the reluctance he'd had about touching her. His touch--whether a simple caress of her cheek, the weight of his hand on her shoulder or the presence of his arm encircling her waist . . . not entirely excluding what those very talented fingers could do to certain portions of her anatomy--was becoming almost as important to her as his smile, or his kiss, or that light she'd see in his eyes whenever she was near. She'd stopped in the doorway to the bedroom and turned toward him. "What we're shooting for," she'd said softly, "is your return to mortality. This is only one step. We're going to have to work on your control until we can get rid of those restraints entirely." He'd gazed down at her, his expression serious, his hand lifting to stroke the line of her cheek. "It's going to take a while." "It's going to take ," she'd corrected, allowing herself the indulgence of a smile at just what that statement entailed. "My worry is that you'll get bored and wander off." His arm had tightened its grip around her, drawing her closer. "Believe me," he'd whispered, touching his lips to hers, "I have no intention of 'wandering off' now or anytime in the future. And as for being bored--" She'd begun to distinguish a pattern in his kisses--a careful undertone that meant he was worried about his control and afraid of hurting her, a gentle and tender quality when he'd been touched by something she'd done or said or when he'd concentrated on her pleasure alone, and then there were the times when passion seemed to overcome him. It might have been the vampire or the desperation of a very lonely and loving man too long denied simple, human intercourse, but there was an edge to those kisses, a ferocious hunger that wouldn't be denied or held at bay for any length of time or under any circumstance. His lips had met hers in a kiss that was anything but gentle. Nick's hands had cupped her face as he'd devoured her mouth, nibbling here and there, taking control of her so completely that she was certain she'd never breathe again. Her hands had slipped beneath his robe, tracing the lines of his chest, running the length of his ribcage lightly, then more instantly, until she'd reached his hips. She rather liked his thighs, the way the skin molded tightly over the vastus externus. The flesh there was firm and taut and she'd felt the pressure of it against her as he'd slipped his right leg between her own. Her brain had known enough to take note of certain things, even as she'd lost herself in responding to his kiss and proximity. Nick's body had begun to respond as well and another pressure of flesh between them had told her that he was on his way to recovering his previous near-erection. She'd brushed her hand along the flat of his stomach, then let it range lower, finding him and making a light fist around his shaft. Nick's hands had dropped from her face and he'd leaned forward with a low groan, his forehead touching hers. He'd caught her hands in his own as she'd released him. There had been color in his cheeks and his nostrils were flared--his breathing was ragged and he'd shaken his head as if to clear it, eyes closed tightly. "Too fast," he'd muttered. "Too fast--" She'd known what he was hiding from her--the gold of his eyes. Deciding not to even think about the fact that he might have been pushed far enough beyond his limits to be seeing the world through an awful, uncontrollable red haze, Natalie had placed her hand between his shoulder blades and had all but pushed him into the bedroom. Once he'd turned away from her, Nick had headed directly for the table beside the bed . . . and the bottle of blood he'd no doubt placed there earlier. The cork had fallen to the floor with the barest flick of his thumb. He'd raised the bottle to his lips--then stopped, turning to look at her. There had been no shame between them, except for this . . . his need for blood. She'd walked over to him, her robe swinging open, as unfastened as his own. Nodding, she placed a hand on his arm when she saw the grim look on his lips--something between humiliation and self-disgust. "Go ahead," she'd told him, forcing a wan smile . . . and dreading the taste of blood on his lips and the smell on his breath. "If it helps now, it's something I can live with. It's going to take time. We both know that." He'd turned away again as he'd shaken off her grip and lifted the bottle to his mouth. Tilting his head backward, Nick had taken one long swallow, then another, not bothering to breathe between the two. For a moment, she'd thought his intent was to simply chug the entire bottle. But he'd stopped at the halfway mark and smashed it down on the bedside table with such force, she'd been astonished that it hadn't shattered. Still refusing to look at her, he'd wiped his mouth roughly with his sleeve. She'd stopped him by placing a hand on his arm and firmly moving it to his side, then Natalie had very deliberately and forcefully kissed him. The move had managed to surprise him--in fact, it had surprised at the time. His hands had lifted to her shoulders and he'd kissed her carefully, more lips than mouth, as if to spare her the taste of the blood and spare himself the fear of her loathing. Knowing that she had to prove to him that her love was unconditional, Natalie had brought her own hands up to his face and kissed him ardently. There had to be no question in his mind that she loved him--despite the vampire--and that she made no distinctions between what he was and who he was. Despair had to be banished from their coupling. So she'd thrown herself into the kiss, matching the intensity he'd shown at the doorway to the bedroom. She'd forced the issue by pressing herself against him, placing her arms around his neck to hold him there, then dared to ignore the boundaries of sense and caution. She'd trusted him and she'd needed him to know and understand that, just as she needed him to know and understand how deeply and desperately she'd wanted . Sex between them had been no act of pity or compassion --it had been love, a physical manifestation of what they'd felt for one another. There had been--surprisingly enough--a limit to even Nick's pigheaded attempt to remain mired in despair and self-loathing. When he'd tried to turn his head and tried to break away, she'd pursued him with her kisses, dropped her hands from his neck to grasp his own and settle them around her waist. It was a battle he couldn't have hoped to win--he'd wanted her too badly and his body had betrayed him, responding to her just as she'd responded to his touch earlier. If he was ever going to cross back over to mortality, he'd have to learn to fight back the belief that nothing good could ever happen to him and that if it did, it couldn't last, or he'd destroy it, or he simply didn't deserve it and someone would end up paying. Natalie had understood. If they'd ever actually compared notes, he'd win for more time spent indulging in that delusion, but only because he had a seven hundred and seventy year head-start over her. And as well as she'd understood the problem, she'd understood the solution that he'd unknowingly given her--she had to share her joy with him, convince him that they deserved the pleasure they could give one another. His shaft had hardened, pressed between them, and she'd caught a glimpse of gold in his eyes when she'd managed to open her own. Carefully, Natalie had maneuvered Nick's back to the bed, then prodded him toward it, one forceful kiss at a time. As they'd passed the nightstand, she'd had enough conscious thought remaining to snag the small package of condoms he'd left there, making a mental note to applaud his foresight. It was when they'd reached the point when they couldn't move any farther--the back of Nick's thighs pressed against the side of the bed--that he finally escaped the onslaught of her mouth long enough to sit down. Natalie had backed away then, still standing, to check out the situation. When Nick's hand had reached for her own to draw her to him, she'd given him the package of condoms. The gold never left his eyes, even though he was somewhat bemused by the sudden appearance of the package in his hand. Natalie had laughed at his expression and-- now that she'd gotten a good look at the package--his choice of protection. Whether he'd chosen the 'extra-strong, long-lasting' brand out of some sense of inflated male ego, his cautious nature when it came to protecting her, or out of complete ignorance, she couldn't be sure. His confusion had turned almost instantly to dread at her obvious hesitation and amusement. "These--they right, aren't they?" he'd asked, his voice more than a little rough-edged with lust. "They're fine," she'd insisted. Natalie had seated herself on the bed beside him and placed an arm around his shoulder. "Although I'd really wanted to go shopping with you." "So you could watch me embarrass myself?" "But you're so when you turn red." She'd emphasized the point by reaching up to pinch Nick's cheek lightly, then gestured toward the package. "Go on." He'd attempted to open the package by tearing the plastic seal along the top, but it hadn't worked. With two hands, he'd managed one, hard pull. . . . Condoms had sailed into the air and fallen like rain for at least three or four seconds. She hadn't been able to control her laughter and even threatened to choke when Nick looked at her with a sheepish smile, two or three small plastic packages in his hair. He'd laughed as well, falling back onto the bed and she'd joined him there, taking a moment to pick the condoms out of his curls, then brushing the others from the bed. "You are going to convince your cleaning people that you're not into major kinky stuff, now." Nick had turned on his side and rescued one of the small packages before she flicked it off the bed. "I've got it covered." "How?" "Doubled their tip." "Speaking of getting it covered--" Natalie had touched her finger to his nose playfully, then gestured along the length of his body. "You need any help with that?" "? No," he'd said quickly, his expression mocking indignation. "Nat, I'm a kid. I've been around." "I don't doubt ." She'd sat up, trying to hide her wry smile and remain serious --it wasn't working. "I just meant . . . well, when was the last time you used one? last week," she'd added quickly, catching the sudden gleam in his eye. Nick had held the small package up as if inspecting it. "Um . . . maybe a decade?" "A decade?" He'd grinned at her raised eyebrow and the disapproval in her tone of voice. "I don't think we want to get into conversation right now, do you?" She'd hesitated, giving the matter serious thought, then nodded slightly and smiled. "You're right. Where were we, again?" "You'd asked if I needed help with this." He'd held the condom out to her, then pulled it back quickly when she'd reached for it. "And I'd said no--I didn't help. But--" he'd leaned forward and planted a kiss lightly on her lips, "I wouldn't mind your assistance." "If you want a cheerleader, I'm sorry but I left my pom-poms at home." "Not from where I'm sitting." His grin had been the only acknowledgment of the sharp slap she gave his shoulder, but she didn't mind. It had been good to see him shake off those dark thoughts and to free him from the despairing depths into which he'd always seemed all to willing to fall. Scooting from the bed, she'd watched as he sat upright, feet on the floor. He'd torn the seal off the plastic wrapper with extreme care, tossed the wrapper onto the floor, then held the condom in the palm of his hand. "Shall I do the honors?" she'd asked, picking up the condom between her thumb and forefinger, as if it were a delicate object. For a moment she'd seen that serious look in his eyes again--that ultra-caution. Of course he'd been worried; he wasn't chained down yet. The last time she'd touched him in this fashion, he'd been manacled to the bed and she'd been perfectly safe. But Natalie had been certain that they were still working within safety limits. She'd knelt down in front of him quickly, before he could protest. His erection had softened slightly, but he was still hard enough that she'd decided that she wouldn't have to worry about the condom slipping off later. Just in case, she'd run her fingertip lightly along the underside of his shaft. Nick had jumped at her touch--for an instant, she thought he was going to fall right off the bed. His hand had reached down, catching her wrist, and when she'd looked up at him his eyes were very wide, the irises completely gold. "Nat--" "Don't be such a 'fraidy-cat." She'd slapped at his hand, knocking it away, then placed the condom just at the head of his shaft. Nick had leaned his hands back on the bed--she'd smiled when she'd noticed that he was clutching at the silk sheets with his fingertips, like a drowning man clinging to a life raft. When she'd looked up, she'd expected to see his eyes closed or that he'd looked away, staring at the ceiling or the wall. He'd been watching her intently, his breathing more than a little ragged. Giving him what she hoped was a comforting smile, she'd begun to roll the condom down over him, her fingers gliding along the slick surface easily. Once the condom was in place, Nick had started to breathe somewhat normally again, but only until she rose to her feet and pushed lightly against his chest, in an attempt to get him to lie down on the bed. "'Fraidy cat?" he'd asked in a mocking tone, as he'd risen to a sitting position, then bent almost double to snap the metal cuff around his right ankle. Natalie had seated herself at the end of the bed. Once again, she'd placed her hand on his chest, pushing him back against the sheets. "What's the matter? You've got a complaint?" "No complaints," he'd said quickly. "Good. 'Cause I want to take a shot at these." She'd lifted the padded cuff and fit it around his ankle, then started to turn the bolt. "Can you believe that some people actually do this for ?" He hadn't answered, nor had he raised more than a token resistance at her fastening the bolts instead of letting him do it. Remembering the aftermath from last time and his reaction to having been chained, she'd decided that it was turn to be cautious. She had to distract him from his immediate predicament. Having his foot in her hand had given her an idea. Turning toward him, Natalie had held his foot in her lap and began to massage it gently, from beneath the ankle and down the ball of the foot, to a careful and tentative questing along the sole--she knew he was ticklish and didn't want to set off any vampiric responses. "What . . . are you doing?" Nick had asked, a tremor in his voice. She'd stopped instantly at the question and looked up at him. His hands were linked together and resting behind his head, on the pillow. He'd still been wearing his bathrobe, which was parted slightly. If anything, he'd appeared relaxed. "Does this bother you?" He'd taken a breath as she ran her finger experimentally down the arch of his foot. "Actually, it's driving me crazy." "Good." Smiling to herself, Natalie returned to the job at hand. She wet her fingers in her mouth, tracing light lines down the sole of his foot with her nails, then separating each of his toes. Massaging each one from the joint to the nail with moist fingers took a few seconds, but she was rewarded when she felt the muscle in his calf tense, then relax against her. Scurrying over him, and flipping her bathrobe out of the way so that it wouldn't be trapped beneath her, Natalie had followed the same procedure with his left foot, fastening the cuff, then massaging the basic muscles one at a time. When she'd sneaked looks at him, she found that Nick's breathing was slow, if a bit forced, and that his eyes were closed. It was only after his left calf muscle finally relaxed against her that she sat back on her heels and waited for some response. Nick propped himself up on his elbows and stared at her, shaking his head in wonder. "What that?" "Didn't you like it?" His hesitation had spoken more eloquently than anything. "I think--I think my feet are happy." "Let's see what we can do about the rest of you, then." Natalie had crawled up the bed, careful to avoid his erection--which was still pretty prominent considering that it hadn't received any direct attention for a while . . . so maybe Nick known what he was doing when he'd bought the 'long-lasting' condoms--and sat up alongside his ribcage. She'd leaned down, stealing a quick kiss from him, then took his hand in her own and gently massaged his right wrist. "If we don't have any problems, I was thinking that we might try something else with the wrist cuffs--maybe change the restraints to your elbows and upper arms. It would free up your hands." His fingers had closed around her own. "I wouldn't mind having my hands free." "I'll bet." With as much care as she could manage, she'd stretched his arm flat and locked the wrist cuff in place. When Nick had turned his head, his attention moving to his expectation of her fastening the other cuff, Natalie lowered her mouth to his captured right hand and began to suck on his tip of his index finger. His entire body had jerked in response, the chains on his leg cuffs rattling. His eyes had closed again, clenched shut. "Nat--" Slipping his finger out of her mouth, she'd said, "Hang on a second--I'm busy," then proceeded to suck on his index finger again. She'd taken her time as she moved from finger to finger, pausing to give the knuckle of his thumb a little nibble, then finally planting a kiss on his palm. Nick's eyes had opened again, watching her with a golden look that had to be a cross between adoration and frustration. "You're torturing me, aren't you?" he'd asked hoarsely, as she returned to lean her back against his chest. "For all the times I didn't take my vitamins, or wouldn't drink the protein shakes--" Leaning forward, she'd silenced him with a soft and tender kiss, taking great pains not to show him that she could still taste the blood on his breath. His free hand had reached up to stroke her hair. "If I could get my hands on you . . . ," he'd whispered, his voice trailing off. "You already have. Payback's a bitch, isn't it?" This time, she'd kissed the tip of his nose, rolled over his chest, then proceeded to work giving his left hand the same sort of attention. By the time she'd reached his pinkie, he was moaning low in his throat, but his eyes were still open and still watching her, solid gold . . . with no sign of red. Fairly certain that she'd taken his mind off the more unpleasant aspects of his restraints, Natalie had leaned down and rested her head on his chest for a moment. He'd lifted his head, smiling. "What?" she'd asked. "Your hair . . . it's so soft." She'd smiled in response, her hand idly tracing circles on his chest. He'd shown such restraint--more than she would have thought possible. There was only one piece left to fasten. "Nick, about the collar--" "Put it on." "But I don't think--" "Put it on," he'd repeated, his voice suddenly so tight and devoid of emotion that she wondered if she'd made a mistake and had undone all the good that she'd meant to do for him. His expression softened and he'd closed his eyes as if weary, his head falling back against the pillow. "Please?" There was no way she could have turned done such a pitiful entreaty, no matter how badly it made her heart ache. Raising herself slightly, Natalie had placed the collar around his neck. She'd waited until his eyes had opened, then bent to kiss him as the metal catch snapped shut, hoping to drown out that final, awful sound. She'd fixed the bolt in place with her right hand and ran her left through Nick's hair, so soft and still slightly damp, curling as it dried. The kiss had deepened, grown more ardent as she'd lain there, her body pressed against his, flesh against flesh or terricloth. She'd forced herself to break contact, to settle him down with short, sharp kisses, yet each time his head moved up to follow her, the collar allowing him to go just so far, and no farther. Bending down again, she'd kissed him between breaths, whispering, "Try not--to control it--enjoy it--this time. For me--please. Look at me--I want you--to look at me--watch me." She'd slid down his chest, just a bit, far enough to find his nipples with her hands. Her hand teased and stroked, and pinched lightly as she'd continued to kiss him, to nibble the length of his jaw and kiss just behind his ear. Her fingers had explored the layers of muscle through his skin and she slid her body further down, as if she could memorize him through her fingertips. His eyes had stayed open this time, as she'd asked, although now and again he'd close them, just as he moaned or moved beneath her. She'd paused at his ribs and sat up aside him, knowing how ticklish he was, when he'd said faintly, "Nat . . . are you cold?" Placing the flat of her hand against his chest, she'd brushed the edge of his nipple. "You tell me." A slight moan and a smile had been his immediate answer. "Could you take off . . . your robe? I want to see you. If I can't touch you, I to see you." Without a second's thought, she slid the robe back from her shoulders, shrugging it from her skin. The room was so warm that she'd barely noticed the difference in temperature and then only for a second, now that the sheen on her skin was more sweat than water from the shower. Her nipples responded to the change, hardening at the sudden chill and the light brush of the terricloth--it sent a small shiver through her and she wriggled against Nick's lower torso. He shifted in response, with enough force to raise the weight of both of their bodies from the bed momentarily. Natalie had lifted herself carefully, settling her weight on one of his thighs as she examined the situation. She'd placed her hand around the base of Nick's shaft and squeezed lightly--from his groan she guessed that he was more than ready for her. This time, she hadn't had to prepare him at all, which she'd actually found somewhat disappointing. No matter what she'd done for him so far, nothing could match what he'd done for her in the shower. It was then she'd remembered something that she'd heard and had thought about, but never really gotten a chance to try--a pressure point just between the base of the penis and the scrotum. She'd looked up and found that Nick's head was flat against the pillow, his eyes open and staring at the ceiling, which gave her second thoughts. Physically, it wouldn't have hurt him, even if he'd been mortal. But still-- "If I hurt you, tell me to stop." His breathing was ragged again, barely controlled. Somehow, he forced his head upward, straining against the collar. "Nat--if you don't do--something soon--you can just go ahead--and kill me." "Well you asked for it," she'd mumbled under her breath. Straddling his torso, she'd placed a knee to either side of his body, then lifted herself to allow his shaft to enter her. Still well-lubricated from the private party he'd given her in the shower, his erection had slid into her easily and she'd felt him shudder beneath her. She'd sank down upon him slowly, giving herself a chance to accommodate him--somehow, he felt larger this time--and to give him a chance to accustom himself to her weight. Placing her hands on his stomach, she'd lifted herself slightly from him, just far enough to get her hand behind herself, to find his scrotum. It had been touch and go and first, but she knew she'd found the spot almost instantly from Nick's sharp intake of breath. She'd pressed two of the fingers of her right hand against the spot, shifted her weight to find a less awkward position, then began to move slowly. Her breasts had bobbed lightly against her chest as she'd risen up, then down again, relying on her left hand for balance and her leg muscles for movement --it had suddenly occurred to her that she'd soon have fabulous muscle tone in her calves and thighs if she and Nick made this a habit and this was a more enjoyable than exercising on the stairmaster had ever been. When she'd found the pace she was seeking, she'd almost forgotten herself and released the pressure point, but remembered to maintain pressure in time. She'd concentrated on the rocking motion, all the while watching him. Unlike the first time, he was trying to keep his eyes open, trying to watch her. Occasionally he'd shut them and she'd see him close him eyes tightly, his jaw setting in an odd, strained fashion that let her know that he was fighting instinct, fighting the emergence of his fangs. It was almost impossible, what she'd asked him to do--for vampires, the act of procreation involved fangs and blood. She'd wondered if she was forcing him into a battle he'd never be able to win. But then his eyes would open again and he'd smile, however faintly, before groaning as another wave of sensation shuddered through his frame. Not that he hadn't been doing wonders for her, too. Time and again she'd lifted herself to the very tip of his shaft, only to sink slowly downward again, or to drop her weight upon him hurriedly, impaling herself upon him, depending on the rhythm of the moment. She had felt the tension building within her, a tingling sensation of anticipation spreading throughout her body with each rise and fall, with each thrust. After a time, Nick had begun to breath through his mouth, his chest rising and falling dramatically beneath her hand. His eyes had been distant, his voice confused and broken as he'd groaned anxiously, "I can't--I can't--" His body had been straining beneath her; his thigh muscles had been taut and hard. He should have climaxed, but couldn't. And Natalie had known why--the pressure point had done the trick. Then, she'd removed her fingers from the spot. Even as her right hand had moved away to grip his thigh, she'd felt his scrotum jump against her fingers, drawing close to the base of his shaft. Distantly, she'd felt him twitch within her; she'd wandered away from herself as she'd followed the rising tide of passion, her body lost in sensation as she'd unwittingly dug her nails into the flesh of his thighs and chest. She'd cried out when the sudden thrill shuddered through her, then heard the echoing roar of Nick's voice as he'd found his hard-won release. For an eternal moment, it had all been sensation, from the joy at having brought him to the edge and then beyond that, of having given Nick something unexpected, to the pleasure he'd given her. If anything, her second orgasm of the evening had seemed to pick up where the first had left off. She'd felt exhausted, sated, but enervated after the shower. The second time had been more intense and enveloping, her nerve endings tingling, her body almost numb with sustained pleasure. And then, wonder of wonders, he'd remained hard, still pumping within her. Although she'd thought she couldn't stir her leg muscles into action to take advantage of his sustained erection, another wave moved through her, causing her entire body to shiver. Automatically, her hands had planted themselves on either side of his chest and she'd gripped the slippery sheets in her fingernails, raising herself slightly as Nick continued to thrust upward, still coming within her. She heard him gnash his teeth and managed to open her eyes enough to catch a glimpse of his fangs as he shouted, his head thrown back violently against the pillow. Only the mismatched sounds of their panting and ragged breathing had broken the silence that fell afterwards, punctuated by a low, satisfied groan from Nick as he gave one final twitch within her, then fell back and lay still. Natalie had fallen against him and had slipped off his softening shaft to rest her head against his chest. A chill had stolen over her, goose pimples raising amongst the sheen of sweat on her skin, and she'd fought the urge to sink into the oblivion of afterglow--she had to release Nick's arms, she had to prevent his panic of the last time. Her fingers were slick with sweat and some blood--she'd pierced his skin with her nails--as she'd unfastened the bolt the held his right wrist chain in place. Even when the cuff had sprung free, Nick hadn't moved, still lying with eyes closed, silent . . . although his mouth opened slightly and his chest rose with a long, shuddering breath. She'd rolled over him, falling to the other side of the bed, and quickly undid the second bolt. As she'd turned to face him, pressed against the length of his body, his arms moved around her, holding her. But she'd known that it wasn't quite the time to rest--the bolt on the neck collar was the final piece of the puzzle. It had been released with a snap. Only then had she dared to cuddle against his shoulder and chest, sheltered within the circle of his arms. She'd felt his lips press against her hair, his uneven breath whispering against her ear, and sighed, closing her eyes and enjoying the remnants of sensation that still swept through her, the warm tingle that still resounded through her body. "That," said Nick softly, voice hoarse, "was wonderful." His arms had pressed even more tightly around her, but Natalie's eyes had remained closed as she'd basked in the comforting embrace, in a pleasant darkness somewhere between waking and dreaming. "Mmmm," she'd murmured, not trusting herself to be any more articulate at the moment. There had been no fear in her, only a complete sense of serenity, absolute and total trust. If she'd shivered, just a little, feeling the coolness of his skin against her own burning warmth, it was because of the cold. One of Nick's arms had released her and she'd muttered a faint sound of protest, her eyelashes fluttering as he'd shifted position, but then a blanket had settled over them. Much as she'd wanted to remain awake, she couldn't quite fight her way back to full consciousness, drowsing against him, secure and warm and content beneath the blanket, his hand lightly rubbing back and forth along her shoulder. There had been no absolute moment when she'd fallen asleep, just a steady drifting into nothingness . . . . Until she'd sat up suddenly in Nick's bed, alone, the covers falling away from her. She'd managed no more than a quiet sound of worry and disappointment before she'd seen him standing in the doorway. Nick had been wearing his pajamas, dressing gown, and a wide, if tender, smile. She'd smiled back automatically as he'd walked over to the bed and she'd leaned back against the pillows and drawn the blankets up to her neck, as much for the warmth they'd provided as the sudden realization that he was at least partially dressed and she was completely naked. "Hi," he'd said lightly, seating himself on the bed and leaning forward to kiss her. "Hi, yourself." It was a soft, caressing kiss--the kind she'd found she'd liked the best, knowing that it signified just how much he cherished her. His hair was barely damp and he smelled of soap and cologne--he'd showered and shaved. When the kiss had ended, he'd sat up and lifted her hands in his own, playing with her fingers. "Are you hungry?" "Famished," she'd announced immediately, not even stopping to wonder why that might be the case after the fabulous, romantic dinner she'd eaten . . . how many hours before? Automatically, she'd turned to glance at the clock on the nightstand, then frowned as she'd realized that it was only eleven o'clock. She'd arrived at six . . . . "It's morning," Nick had announced, with a certain amount of glee at her astonishment. He'd reached out his hand to ruffle her hair. "Sleepy-head. Come on--I've got coffee ready for you. And your omelet is just about done." Natalie had taken a deep breath, the sharp and unmistakable scent of fresh coffee having wafted up to the second floor, causing her stomach to grumble. She'd flushed in embarrassment, but Nick had pretended he hadn't noticed--or tried to, because there was a certain edge to his smile as he'd looked away that meant he'd heard. She'd wrinkled her nose, then, recognizing the scent of spent passion clinging to her and the sheets. "I think I'd better take a quick shower. And--no--you can't join me," she'd added quickly, when he'd turned his head as if to speak. "I need to clean up." "You look beautiful." His hand had risen to toy with her hair, some of which rested on her bare shoulder. She'd succumbed to the touch for a moment, nudging her head against his hand, then sighed with regret as she shifted her body beneath the covers and the faintest scent of sweat hit her again. "I smell like a horse that's been ridden hard and put away wet," she'd corrected. "And I feel like one, too. So give me fifteen minutes?" She'd put just the right note of entreaty in her voice. Nick had leaned forward to kiss her again, then had risen from the bed and headed for the door. "I can't promise that omelet will hold for fifteen minutes," he'd called over his shoulder. Leaning out of bed, she'd reached down for her bathrobe, which was still lying on the floor from when she'd slipped out of it the night before and had tossed it aside. "Then you eat it," she'd informed him. "You can always make me another one." He'd turned at her comment, rolling his eyes slightly as if asking heaven for assistance, then headed out into the hallway, thoughtfully closing the door behind him. That had been a week ago. Natalie hugged her arms tightly to her chest and grinned at the memory of that very domestic breakfast--the coffee just a little too strong, the omelet brown to the point of being burned at the edges as he'd promised. But she'd eaten every bite of that omelet, even managed to feed Nick a mouthful, which he'd choked down without too much drama. And they'd compared notes of their experiences from the night before. He'd chided her for taking too many risks; she'd scolded him for holding back and worrying about her when he should have been enjoying himself. And they'd both agreed that her experimentation with the pressure point had been much too dangerous--in theory. In practice however . . . Nick had found himself at a loss to describe exactly what he'd felt. His final word on the subject had been to lean across the edge of the table, take her face in his hands, and kiss her fiercely and passionately--which she would have taken as a sign of success if he hadn't paused afterward to spit out the bits of omelet he'd picked up from the brief interaction. She'd only managed to escape the loft by giving him a brief list of what an annoyed and hungry cat could do to her apartment in her absence--hinting sharply that he'd be responsible for cleaning up the mess if he didn't let her go--and promising, on her honor as a former Girl Guide, that they'd continue their experiment in physical therapy exactly one week to the day, with Nick offering to pay for boarding Sydney at the most exclusive cat hostel in Toronto in case she decided to extend their practice session. Their second week at work had gone better, Nick having lost some of the edge that had been driving his friends and co-workers insane for so long, but also having adapted to the novelty of this new experience and managing to smile incessantly. There had been flowers again--her apartment was quickly assuming the look of a flower show in high gear--and he'd taken to kissing her on the cheek whenever he caught her in the lab or at the station. She'd given him a stern talking to about proper behavior at crime scenes and he'd avoided that impropriety, as well as a possible lecture from Reese. Due to Nick's attitude and actions, hiding their relationship was out of the question. She often got a 'thumbs-up' sign from some of the female officers and staff when she entered the station and tried to handle the situation with the graceful acceptance and good humor it deserved. It wasn't long before she decided that in Toronto knew, especially when she received a slightly chatty and oblique note from Myra, who'd bantered for two pages about how she and Jenny were settling into their new home near her immediate family in Ottawa and hinting between the lines that she'd heard congratulations might be in order in the near future. The memory of that note sobered her somewhat. With Schanke gone--and how she'd wished that he'd lived long enough to have seen his partner finally find some joy with her--Nick didn't have any close friends with which he could share his happiness. The loss of Schanke and Cohen had made him more cautious in drawing close to his co-workers; he knew their names, acknowledged their birthdays and their success and losses just as he'd always done . . . but he'd placed a distance between himself and the mortals that surrounded him. It was as if the deaths of those two had brought home the fragility of those relationships. He'd even almost succeeded in driving her away. But even as the distance between himself and the mortals in his world now seemed to increase, and he'd allowed her back into that inner circle, sharing his thoughts and feelings with her, she knew that it wasn't the same. She had Grace, a few old friends from school . . . but at least she had an outlet for her frustration and her fears and her happiness, even if she did have to massage a few of the details into the realm of believability. Nick had no one except her. Being one of the two halves that composed this relationship made it impossible for him to express some of the things she knew he would have shared with Schanke. Natalie smoothed down her length of her dress consciously as the elevator door opened --they were going dancing and she'd chosen to wear something just a shade slinkier and sexier than she was used to. It was black and silky and clung to her like a second skin. The 'merry widow' Grace had dared her into wearing somehow didn't cause a ripple in the line of the dress, although it did create an illusion of cleavage that she'd only ever been endowed with in a few select and very embarrassing dreams. Unlike the last time, the loft was silent and there was no sign of Nick. Although the light in the kitchen was on, he hadn't bothered with any of the others, which was unusual. Unless he was wallowing in depression and self-pity, he kept the loft brightly lit at night, as if he were trying to recreate the pretense of daylight. A glance at her watch told her it was a few minutes before eight--so she wasn't too early (Grace had cautioned her about appearing too eager). She stepped out of the elevator and into the loft, holding the door open for a moment and pausing, before letting it slide shut behind her. The shutters over the windows were still closed and, spotting the remote on a chair, she walked over, picked it up, and pressed the button to release them. The mechanism hummed and they began to lift, letting the night and the soft lights of the city into the loft. It was at that moment that she heard his voice call her name in a short, sharp cry that echoed throughout the loft. "Nat!" It went through her like lightening--she knew something was wrong instantly, not only because the cry was cut off so sharply, but from the tone of it. Instinct told her to run, to head for the door and not stop until she was home, safe in her apartment. Natalie found herself turning in the direction of the elevator, but froze and steeled herself. Slipping the chain of her purse from her shoulder, she tossed it to the couch and headed for the stairs to the second level at a run, her heels clicking against the floor, then the sound muffled by the carpet. There was a blur, an instant of disorientation . . . and was there, at the foot of the stairs. Lucien LaCroix, or so he'd introduced himself to her in the restaurant on Valentine's Day. Nick's master. And, on at least two recent occasions of which she was aware, his protector and savior. She met his gaze evenly, fighting back her fear, letting her anger and concern for Nick take precedence. He was dressed in black, his somber splendor making his skin seem even more pale than it was, accentuating the faint brown of his close-cropped hair and the red of his lips. His eyes were as she remembered them--gray and what she imagined soul-less to look like. He'd reached forward to take her hand and raised it to his lips, kissing her knuckles with an air of gallantry. "Dr. Lambert--good evening. How kind of you to drop by. And how stunning you look!" Snatching her hand from his grasp, she backed away a step--but no farther. "Where's Nick? What have you done to him?" He clasped his hands in front of him and gave an apologetic sigh. "I'm afraid Nick has had to cancel your plans for the evening. He feels dreadful about not being able to give you any advance warning. Something . . . came up." He glanced over his shoulder and toward the second story, his conciliatory demeanor banished by a sly smile. The smile sent a chill through Natalie. "I want to see him." She took a few steps, intending to brush past LaCroix. He caught her arm in a firm grip, holding her in place, his face inches from her own. "I fear that wouldn't be wise. He's rather tied up at the moment." His eyes narrowed. "It would be best if you left. Immediately." Something in her chest fluttered--she realized it was her heart skipping a beat. She hesitated, letting her arm drop to her side in confusion as she looked away from him, her gaze going directly to the elevator. He was letting her go. He wasn't going to hurt her. He wasn't going to keep her here. He was letting her go. He her to leave. Natalie drew herself up to her full height and wrenched her arm from his grasp. She glared at him and announced, "I'm not leaving until I see Nick." Almost immediately, she realized that her answer was the one he'd anticipated. He regarded her with a thoughtful look and asked, almost kindly. "Are you certain? You may not like what you find." Words failed her, her mouth drying up at the implication of his statement. She nodded slowly, but deliberately. "Very well," answered LaCroix, still maintaining an air of civility. He looped his elbow through her own, taking her arm, then patted it with his other hand as he led her up the stairs. "I'd known Nicholas was up to something, you see--I know. He doesn't understand that. He refused to tell me at first. But you'd be surprised at how garrulous he became once he overcame his initial reservations about the matter. I must admit, that I'm impressed. Your solution to Nicholas' problem was ingenious. Misguided, perhaps, but ingenious." They'd reached the bedroom--the door was closed. Natalie tried to swallow and found that she couldn't get past the lump of fear in her throat . . . fear not for herself, but for Nick. LaCroix wouldn't have killed him. She'd seen too recently how LaCroix, in his own way, cared for Nick. But from what little Nick had told her over the past few years and what she'd guessed, filling in between the lines, LaCroix also had very strong ideas about what Nick be. He wanted Nick to give up his quest for mortality, to accept his vampire nature and shrug off the compassion and guilt that had kept him from drinking human blood as a steady diet, or from killing for food for at least a century. She also knew that, in the past, LaCroix's response to Nick's 'transgressions' had been the most extreme end of 'tough love,' bordering on brutality and sadism. The fact that their antagonism had been less physically violent since LaCroix's recent reappearance had given her some hope that LaCroix was learning that Nick couldn't be beaten into submission. That hope fled from her as she met his eyes, then looked at the closed bedroom door. Gently, LaCroix took her hand in his and glanced down at it. "You do realize, this is of your own doing," he said, his tone a soft admonishment. "What you'll see, you've brought about by your own will." The retort formed on her lips--she was more than prepared to tell him that wasn't Nick, she couldn't be driven into guilt or despair quite so easily. But as those cold, gray, almost . . . sympathetic eyes finally met her own, the words faltered and died. Because in his eyes she saw some of the truth. Yes, she'd pushed Nick into this. She'd never considered what LaCroix's response might be, never thought to warn Nick. Or, if he'd even thought about the consequences of what they were doing, she'd never thought that he might dismiss LaCroix's probable reaction to his betrayal of his true nature to make her happy. It was a sudden understanding that both saddened and frightened her, a weight that settled over her heart, making it difficult to breathe. LaCroix smiled slightly in response, his expression almost sad. "Ah, so I see you understand," he'd whispered. Then he'd placed her hand over the doorknob. Natalie glanced at him again, as he stood at her shoulder. Then she turned the knob firmly, took a deep breath, and gave the door a push. It opened easily. She glanced at LaCroix, but he stepped to one side and gestured for her to enter--still playing at civility and gallantry. If anything, his attitude brought her anger to the fore. She took two solid strides into the room-- Then stopped. Nick was lying on the bed, naked, spread-eagled in the restraints, the chains drawn more tightly than the use for which they'd ever been intended. She could see the strain in his muscles--there was no slack or give in the restraints. In addition, his chest had been strapped to the bed and a metal bar had been fixed between his thighs, taking some of the strain from the pull of the chains, but holding his legs apart at a distance that couldn't be anything but painful. He'd raised his head as she'd entered--barely. The padded collar that she'd found for him had been replaced by another and it, too, had been fixed to a chain that pulled it taut to prevent any movement. He hadn't been able to speak because there was some sort of gag in his mouth. She knew it had been fixed firmly because his shouts at her emerged as little more than muffled groans. But the cruelest of all was the leather device buckled over his shaft. She'd been a coroner long enough to have seen more than a few S & M or bondage related deaths--some accidental and others the most sadistic form of homicide, death by torture. She'd taken the requisite courses during her training, her main goal initially to keep from snickering at the various toys and devices consenting and non-consenting adults employed upon one another in the name of 'good, clean fun.' Her experience and her education had aided her in choosing the restraint system she'd proposed to Nick, which they'd found to be effective. But the restraint employed on his groin was something she never would have suggested and would have adamantly refused to use, no matter what the situation. It was called a 'cock cage,' among other, certainly no less descriptive terms on the street. The straps were composed of leather and elastic. It was supposed to be strapped over the penis and scrotum at the first stirrings of an erection, the straps pulled taut and fastened. Technically, it performed as advertised--prolonged an erection by restricting the backflow of blood from the penis and delayed ejaculation by holding the scrotum from away from toward the body and the base of the shaft. The true extent of the insidious nature of the device depended on the user--the straps could be fastened tightly before the erection reached its apex, constricting the penis and causing pain. She'd seen devices which had barbs along the inside of the straps, supposedly for 'stimulation.' And the strap around the scrotum could be drawn so tightly that it would prevent ejaculation until it was removed, thus keeping the victim in a state of increasingly painful arousal , but denying him any climax or ejaculation until the strap was withdrawn. From where she stood, it seemed the 'cage' hadn't been applied too long before--Nick was well on his way to an erection and the straps had been pulled so tightly that they were already digging into his shaft. She had no way of knowing whether they had barbs on the interior, but guessed that they might. Neither could she tell immediately whether the scrotum strap was in place, but she also guessed that LaCroix wouldn't miss inflicting a little more pain on his 'son.' Her fury burned white hot within her and she was torn between screaming at LaCroix or helping Nick--but common sense prevailed and she took a step toward the bed, intent on freeing him from the device and the restraints immediately. She heard a groan from Nick on the bed, which might have been a warning. A hand clamped down on her shoulder turning her slightly, but prevented her from moving. "When Nicholas had mentioned his new 'toys,' I'll admit that I was somewhat intrigued," said LaCroix, his voice still even, cultured, and civil, as if they were discussing the weather or some other innocuous subject. "I refused to believe that such a thing was possible. But Nicholas assured me that you and he had been intimate on more than one occasion . . . and that you'd remained unharmed. He's yet to taste your blood." He raised an eyebrow and smiled at her. "Of course, I was skeptical and demanded a demonstration. Which Nicholas has, however reluctantly, provided." LaCroix gestured toward Nick--she could see him straining against the cuffs, biceps bulging with the effort . . . only to fall back to the bed, panting through the gag in the aftermath of his exertion. "I thought I'd repay his cooperation with a few 'gifts' for his collection. It's amazing how medieval they are, considering the age." "Let him go." She managed to force the words out from between her clenched teeth, then, emboldened, turned to glare at him and all but shouted, "Let him go, now!" LaCroix didn't flinch, acknowledging her demand with the barest flicker of an eyebrow, as if amused. "Ah, but you see . . . I still haven't gotten my demonstration of Nicholas' new-found 'control.'" He released her, then walked to the side of the bed, his back toward her. "I thought that I might have to find some way to encourage Nicholas' enthusiasm for a proper test. He'd seemed a bit anxious--but that didn't seem out of the ordinary, Nicholas being Nicholas. His squeamishness about such things is so monumental, it's almost wearying." He reached forward. She couldn't see what his was doing because his body blocked her vision, but she could see Nick's face and could easily guess. Nick turned his head away from her in humiliation as best as the collar allowed and made some sort of noise through the gag, his fingers clenching into fists and his legs jerking in the shackles. She saw streaks of blood on his neck as his head turned and realized that the collar, too, had barbs or protrusions along the inside. Turning back to her, LaCroix held out his hands, as if trying to puzzle out a problem. "He was cooperative, at first-- cooperative. And I see why, now. He never mentioned that he'd expected your arrival. He was hoping that I'd finish with him before you returned, leaving him to your tender mercies after I was gone." The anger allowed her to get past the lump in her throat, the flush of humiliation and misery from Nick more than enough impetus to give her the strength to face down LaCroix. "Haven't you done enough?" she demanded. "You've made your point. Now get the hell out of here!" She pointed toward the door, but LaCroix didn't budge. He'd simply smiled again. "Such high drama? I'll be more than happy to leave . . . if--" The word hung between them for a moment. Natalie simply stared, knowing a trap when she saw one. "If?" she prompted, when LaCroix didn't seem inclined to answer. "If I'm given the demonstration I was promised." There were too many variables involved--LaCroix's cool demeanor did nothing to set her at ease. "Which is--?" "I want to see how your little apparatus--" he gestured over his shoulder, toward the bed, "functions. In practical terms." The chill she'd felt earlier returned. Natalie stared straight into LaCroix's eyes. "If you want me to admit that we've had sex--yes, we have. Twice." She'd thrown in the last word with an edge of defiance. It seemed to amuse him. LaCroix frowned slightly and moved away from the bed, taking a step closer to her. "Not that I doubt your veracity, but I like to see for myself. Certainly, you can understand my difficulty; I never rely on second-hand information." It took a minute for his words to sink in. Natalie couldn't believe what he was asking. "You mean--you want me to have sex with Nick. And . . . you want to watch?" "Isn't that what I proposed?" A moan from the bed caught his attention and he shot a look over his shoulder, then glanced back at her again. "Of course, I'm not going to compel you, Natalie. I call you that, we are on a first name basis by now, surely, having Nicholas in common?" He took another step toward her, so that they were less than a foot apart. "You can leave at any time." "If I leave, you'll leave?" she asked tentatively. And LaCroix's smile made the lump in her throat seem even larger. "I never said ." He stood beside her, his gaze moving to Nick, who was still restrained on the bed and still fighting, although his efforts seemed weaker. "No. I suppose I'll stay with Nicholas for a time. He promise me a demonstration and I'm certain he doesn't want to disappoint me." Shrugging, he met her gaze. "I'm certain we'll work out " That was it, then. LaCroix had placed the problem squarely in her hands--either she stayed and had sex with Nick while he watched, or she left and he did . . . whatever he pleased. "If I stay," she said slowly, purposely averting her eyes from Nick, who was staring at her in horror, trying to shout through his gag. " I stay . . . we need to set a few ground rules." "Of course." He acquiesced so easily that Natalie was instantly suspicious. One glance at Nick, however, who seemed to have given up his struggle and was simply staring at her, was enough to firm her resolve. She turned toward LaCroix, prepared to play hard ball. "You don't interfere. You don't touch either one of us. You don't say You stay here," she gestured toward the spot by the door, which was, realistically, the furthest he could be from them and still remain in the room, "and you don't move any closer." LaCroix considered for a moment, his gaze moving past her shoulder, toward Nick. "Agreed." 101 "I'm " said Natalie firmly, with enough anger to bring his attention back to her. "I don't want you messing with Nick's head, either, I mean . . . you what I mean," she said, after stumbling slightly over the context of the situation. "When we're through, you leave. Period." "Agreed." He raised an eyebrow. "Anything else?" She took a deep breath, still meeting his gaze. "I want your word that you won't harm me, or Nick, in any way. That if we give you your . . . demonstration, this subject is closed. No more 'gifts.' No more 'toys.' You leave us alone." "You have my word. Regarding this situation only, of course." She hadn't expected even that much of a concession and was grateful for what she could get. "Of course," she answered, if a bit faintly. Unable to think of anything else, Natalie turned toward the bed-- But LaCroix placed a hand on her shoulder, spinning her toward him. "I think it's time you hear terms, don't you agree?" Somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard the other shoe hit the floor with a dull thud. Shrugging her shoulder to shake off his grip, she glared at him. "Right. What do you want?" "You'll have intercourse with Nicholas--take as long as you'd like and do whatever it is you wish to do, I'm in no hurry. But you have intercourse with him." Her fists clenched at her sides. "I've already said-- "Do you agree?" Only the raised eyebrow, the quick words--Natalie fought back her anger and nodded. "Agreed." LaCroix glanced toward the bed. "You may remove the gag from Nicholas. But all else, all of the restraints, stay as they are now. Agreed?" Natalie followed his glance toward the bed and felt a fire burn within her at the sight of his body, stretched painfully across the bed as if on a rack. "No. No deal. He's in , for God's sake--" "He's in pain for sake . . . neither his nor your God have had anything to do with this." He wasn't smiling now, his expression serious and his tone that of a scolding parent. "Those are terms," said LaCroix, his voice laced with steel. "If you don't agree, you're free to leave at any time." She ignored his gesture toward the door, still staring at Nick on the bed. His eyes were closed, as if he couldn't believe what they were saying and knowing that he couldn't save her or himself. "Okay, the restraints I can work around. But the cage--" "Agreed?" pressed LaCroix, his voice quiet, but firm. She tried not to show the shiver that ran through her at the sight of the leather device. It was bulky, not as stream-lined as others she'd seen in her experience. It would add another half inch to the width of Nick's shaft, at the very least. She'd never actually taken the time to measure him, but knew that they fit well together, which meant that during erection he was between an inch and maybe an inch and a half in width. She guessed that he was maybe eight to nine inches when aroused fully, and the cage would add maybe another half inch to an inch to his length. Also, working under this pressure--namely LaCroix's rapt attention, Nick in agony, and her own dislike of exhibitionism--and without the assistance of Nick's particular attentions to her own pleasure, which had provided more than adequate lubrication in the past, never mention the fact that she'd never get a condom over that thing . . . . This was going to hurt. And LaCroix knew it. She met his eyes and swallowed, knowing that he was trying to scare her off. He was going to find out she didn't scare so easily, especially where Nick was concerned. "Agreed." He seemed amused at the strength of her assertion, looking toward the bed. "You must care for him very much, to cause yourself such pain," he'd said softly. "I love him." "I believe you do," he admitted, a note of wonder in his voice. Then, LaCroix smiled and gestured toward the bed. "Shall we begin?" "Give a girl a minute to freshen up, okay?" She gestured toward the bed. "You can take that gag out of his mouth for a start. And loosen those chains for a minute--" "The chains stay as they are," said LaCroix sharply. "That might motivate you to keep your freshening to a minimum." Something in him had changed in that instant. Natalie straightened, realized she was in no position to argue, then nodded. "All right. But the gag comes out now." She turned and headed for the door, but he caught her arm again, stopping her. Drawing her close to him, he looked into her eyes, as if searching for something. " Nicholas is ," he hissed, "you remember that." Reaching up, she pried his hand from her upper arm and said sharply, "I remember ." And then, before her heart or her courage gave out, she stomped away from him, walked into the bathroom, then slammed the door behind her. She locked it--no, it wouldn't do any good against vampire strength, but it was the gesture that counted--then her legs buckled and she sat down heavily on the floor, her head resting on the cool tile of the wall. Her parting shot had been a brief victory, but a victory all the same. Let LaCroix wonder about what she did and didn't remember from their confrontation on Valentine's Day. Not that he didn't have his own problems right now--LaCroix had realized too late that he'd screwed up, big time. What he'd meant as a lesson in discipline and humiliation for Nicholas and a painful warning for her not to meddle in his affairs, had turned into a demonstration of her love for and dedication to Nick. If she carried this off, she'd have broken some of the power LaCroix had over Nick. She had no doubt Nick had endured worse than this at LaCroix's hands, but he was used to it by now, seemed to accept it as part of the penance for all the wrongs he'd felt he'd committed over the centuries. But her torment and humiliation--this was one thing that Nick wouldn't stand for and wouldn't allow to go unavenged. If LaCroix and Nick had developed an uneasy truce these past few months, it was a truce. LaCroix had overplayed his hand and underestimated her. Nick wouldn't forgive him this, not for a long time. But there was still the matter of getting through this, while causing as little pain to herself and Nick as possible. Every moment she sat here, mulling over the problem, was another few minutes that Nick's muscles were stretched within those chains. Which meant that if she was going to make any preparation, she'd have to hurry. Natalie quickly slipped her dress over her head, then found herself facing the mirror. She ran her hands down the side of the merry widow, setting it in place as it rode up. The crotch unsnapped easily--an advantage Grace had pointed out during a conversation on the practicalities of fancy lingerie. Leaning her hands forward on the sink, she took a deep breath. Practicalities. She had to keep her mind on the situation, what she could do to thwart LaCroix. Lubrication was going to be a problem. Unless... She opened Nick's medicine chest and found it empty, except for the gauze, padding, and antiseptic she kept there for removal of the bullets he forgot to dodge, in addition to his shaving gear. Unlike most mortals, he hadn't acquired a lifetime of free samples and half-used products. With no women in his current life--yeah, that was a fib, but she could use some positive thinking at the moment--there wasn't any aloe-based creams or lotions at hand. Soap, although fine for the shower, wouldn't work well without the water and shampoo served the same problem, not to mention her worry about it getting into the cuts and abrasions once those straps and buckles started to scrape against her more sensitive internal areas. She had the same feeling about the shaving cream. Closing the medicine chest, she decided she'd wasted enough time. She was left with one very tried-and-true option. Self-arousal 101. Catching sight of his dressing gown in the mirror, Natalie turned and took it off the hook. She held it tightly to her and closed her eyes, sniffing. It smelled like Nick--aftershave and sweat. The scent was entirely male and completely him. Opening her eyes, she slipped her hands through the sleeves. She'd worn this once or twice, when they'd watched videos and she'd fallen asleep on the couch, before they'd dared to safely share anything more than a kiss. Before he'd tried to push her away. Before she'd come up with the hare-brained scheme to further their horizons. LaCroix was right--this her fault. But she pushed that thought out of her mind and quickly--she could save recrimination and guilt for later. Nick was in pain and whatever LaCroix had promised, she knew he'd find some loophole through which to torment Nick further while she was gone. Even a quick shower was out of the question; the water might easily wash away a portion of what she needed most. So she folded a towel and placed it on the lid of the commode, then sat down, very carefully moving the edges of the merry widow and Nick's robe behind her and out of the way. She folded another towel--thank God he liked those over-sized bath towels!--and tucked it behind her back for support and comfort. Closing her eyes, she began with her breasts, stroking her hands across the slinky lingerie. She could feel her nipples begin to harden beneath the cloth, the friction providing extra stimulation. Turning her head, she smelled the aftershave on his bathrobe and felt the silk rub softly against her cheek. She pretended that they were Nick's hands caressing her, that it was Nick who was holding her, loving her. The touch of his hands and his finger, was different, but she made allowances--it had often surprised her how easily the body could be fooled into a response simply by touch or taste or smell. There were things that she knew about herself that he had yet to discover, sensitive places where the barest breath of a whisper could set her off and other places where a firm, fierce pressure was required to start a fire within her. But that was part of the fun of it, the discovery of one another. At the moment, discovery had little to do with it--she was treading familiar territory. And even as her fingers wandered down the length of her stomach, caressing her skin through the silky cloth, and then further than that, past the snap and to the opening . . . . She stroked purposefully and thought of Nick, of the magic his fingers had accomplished and what he had done to her just those two times--was it only two, seeming more like a lifetime?--they'd been together. Not together in the strictest sense of the term, as she'd discovered the last time, when she'd awakened to breakfast and the discovery that he'd spent the night on the couch, afraid to be so close to her in sleep, afraid that he'd lose control and that she'd never awaken. Natalie fought back that image--hardly erotic, thinking about one's own murder. But it be murder? She'd had dreams, of course, fantasized about what it be like to surrender herself to him completely, flesh and blood. And when she'd thought that the world was coming to an end, that mortal survival was impossible and that she'd have a better chance if she were like him, beside him-- She'd wanted to face the end of the world with him, whatever that entailed. And she came damned close to her own end, foolishly, not in Nick's arms. But he'd saved her and held her . . . then left her before the sun rose, because he didn't trust himself as much as she trusted him. Now that she knew what it was like to have him, she had some frame of reference. It wasn't difficult to add the other details to the mental picture--his hands on her, caressing her, lips on lips and everywhere else, settling finally at the soft skin at the base of her throat. Her mind could easily combine the two sets of sensations; the memories from that moment on Valentine's Day when he'd denied his love for her, taken her into his arms when she was drugged and half-bewildered, far from her senses, and kissed her for all he was worth, the sharp edges of his fangs playing along her skin, scraping her flesh as a prelude to that final bite . . . add that to what she knew of him, flesh molding against flesh, the pumping and thrusting offset by that silken touch he could employ in just the right spots. It was almost too much to imagine, too great an experience for her to even consider. The steady circling pressure of her fingers had led to a growing warmth as her mind drifted through thoughts of what had been and what might be . . . or never be. Without realizing it, she found herself on the very edge of the chasm, the hunger for satisfaction and finality rippling through her, driving her fingers faster . . . until her body shuddered in response, waves of pleasure washing over her. There was no time to savor the feelings that came afterward, such as the soft contentment, the tingle of having known something extraordinary for a brief time. Her fingers trembled as she snapped the crotch of the lingerie closed, then Natalie sat up quickly. She arranged Nick's dressing gown around herself and walked to the sink, watching herself in the mirror as she tied it securely at the waist. She smiled, seeing a waif wearing oversized clothing, a pretender with wide eyes. A shiver ran through her and she clutched the edge of the sink, still staring at her reflection. There was no time for this, no time for thinking. She had to act, for Nick's sake . . . and for her own. Natalie straightened in front of the mirror, pretended confidence and self-assurance and saw it reflected there. She knew what she had to do, how she had to act. LaCroix had made his mistake, now he'd pay for it. All she had to do was be brave, comfort Nick's pain, endure her own until it was over . . . and then, in this venue at least, Nick would finally win against his master. Her hand on the doorknob was firm--she undid the lock and opened the door, moving out into the hallway as if she owned the place . . . which she did, in a sense. The bedroom door was still open, LaCroix waiting in the same position, as if he'd never moved. But a quick glance at Nick told her that he'd removed the gag, at least. "I keep my word," LaCroix said softly. He raised his hand, brushing her hair back from her shoulder. It took all of her effort not to flinch at his touch, not to move like startled deer. She simply watched him with wide eyes. And he watched her in return, his gaze measuring her, hardening the longer he looked at her. Natalie found some small triumph in the fact that LaCroix looked away first. He reached down beside the door and indicated a chair that he'd drawn over from the far side of the room. "I hope you don't mind--I've made myself comfortable." Anger welled up in her as she watched him seat himself, one leg crossing over the other casually, his hands clasped together and resting on his knees. He gestured one hand toward her dismissively, saying, "You can begin any time you like." But she hesitated, still staring at those gray, depthless eyes. "Not a word. Not a sound. You won't interfere." They weren't questions--they were demands. LaCroix merely clasped his fingers together, a ring on one of his hands catching her eye . . . she remembered the coldness of the metal rubbing against her neck when he'd tried to mesmerize her with his voice, seduce her with sound even as he'd weakened her will with drugged champagne. He smiled suddenly, as if reading her thoughts. "I keep my word. When it suits me." It was the best she could hope for. Turning her back on him, she walked to the bed. The first skirmish had been won. Now there was Nick to deal with, Nick to soothe and convince that there was no other way out of this than to do as LaCroix had asked. Nick's eyes were closed as she approached the bed. A glance at the nightstand revealed the rubber ball gag that had been removed from his mouth--she swept it to the floor angrily as she passed. But even that sound failed to rouse him. Her heart nearly broke as she saw the trails of blood on his cheeks, the red tears still wet and welling at the corners of his eyes. Natalie settled her weight on the bed carefully so as not to jostle the restraints and cause him further pain. She leaned forward and placed her hand against his cheek--his skin was so cold . . . . "Nat--" His voice was low, so quiet that she had to lean forward to hear him--his eyes were still closed. "Go. Get out. He'll--" Nick swallowed, his head moving slightly and she saw the points on the inside of the collar dig a new wound into his neck. "He'll let you go. He's promised." "I'm not leaving you here." When Nick opened his mouth again to protest, she leaned forward to touch her lips to his, catching the breath of his words with her kiss. It was a chaste kiss, careful and loving. "Open your eyes. Look at me." "I can't--" "Look at me." He'd responded to the note of demand in her voice. His lids opened slowly, eyelashes fluttering. The irises were gold, deep gold, but tinged with red. She took the shallowest of breaths, processing that information. "You can't stay," he whispered, voice hoarse and strained. "I'll kill you." "You won't kill me--" "But I'll hurt you." His eyes closed and he swallowed, hard, then he opened them again, staring up into her own. "I can't bear that." "We'll hurt each other. That can't be helped." Tentatively, Natalie reached out her hand and stroked his arm--the muscles were extended to their length and held in that position by the chain and cuff, as were his other arm and his legs. There was no way to relax him. No matter where she touched him, the muscle would tense, trying to stretch beyond his limits. At the very least, he'd dislocate something and at the worst he'd tear a tendon and suffer excruciating pain. "Go," he repeated, his voice weaker. "Go, now, before--" She silenced him with another kiss, her hands cupping his face and holding his head still, to keep the collar from tearing into his skin. Raising her head, she looked to the nightstand hopefully--but there was no bottle of blood there. If there ever had been, LaCroix had removed it. The blood would have made it easier for Nick, would have taken the edge off his hunger. She knew he wouldn't hurt her--not that way. Her fingers caressed his face and she examined the collar between kisses. The spikes were sharp and on either side of his neck, so if he turned his head to the right or left they'd dig further into his flesh. Some of the marks had healed, were healing . . . but the fact that others were fresh and still weeping blood gave her some idea of how weak he was, how desperately he needed to feed. They could get through this. She had to believe that . . . for both of them. "Look at me," she'd whispered softly, when his eyes had closed again. When he obeyed, she smiled at him and stroked her hand through his hair. "It's just you and me. Forget everything else." "But--?" "Just you and me," she'd repeated. She rose slightly, her hand sliding down to undo the belt of the dressing gown, which she parted enough for him to see the lingerie she wore beneath. "Look--I brought you something." Nick's eyes widened at the sight of the merry widow she wore, the barest smile falling into place. "Nice . . . ." She pretended to pout and sat up a little straighter, letting the cut of the lingerie and gravity work for her. "That's all? Just . . . 'nice'?" " nice," he amended, after a brief pause. And then his eyes darkened and his smile faded. "I don't want to see you." "He won't," she promised. "I'll keep the bathrobe on--he won't be able to see anything but my back from where he's sitting." Natalie leaned down beside him, taking care not to put too much pressure on his straining shoulder and arm. Her lips were even with his forehead and she kissed him lightly, nuzzling his hairline. She was surprised when she felt the cold pressure of his lips against the skin of her upper breasts and quickly dropped a hand to his face, straightening his head again to keep the barbs from digging into his flesh. "Don't turn your head." "Then you'll have to . . . come closer." There was a brightness in his eyes--the red had vanished and she saw more blue than gold, causing her to sigh in relief. The flesh of her breasts moved against his face as she breathed and his lips and teeth teased at her through the lingerie. She took advantage of the nature of the clothing and reached down one hand to adjust it, the upper section folding down to reveal more of the skin of her breasts and her nipples. She returned her hands to his hair, kneading his scalp, running the curls through her fingers. She rested her face against his head and closed her eyes, enjoying the softness and the smell--it was still damp, which meant that he'd probably been taking a shower, preparing for their date, when LaCroix had arrived. The thought of LaCroix was driven out of her mind almost instantly by a sudden wetness around her right nipple, Nick's mouth having wandered. She moaned and pressed closer to him as he sucked, then bit lightly with his teeth, the soft nub growing hard and firm in his mouth. Natalie tried not to move, knowing that each time his head shifted from side to side, those awful barbs would tear more wounds into his neck. It was nearly impossible to remain still as he nibbled and sucked, abandoning one nipple with a final lick, turning his attention to the other, then returning to the first again. Her fingers tightened in his hair and, remembering what had happened that first time when she'd actually pulled more than a few strands out by the roots, she tried to force her fingers to relax. But Nick had settled his attention to the hollow between her breasts, his lips and tongue caressing the soft skin there, then exploring the flesh to either side. Natalie felt something give way within her and she smiled as warmth flooded through her, feeling a wetness between her thighs that threatened to escape the snapped closure of her lingerie. For a moment she could pretend that it just them enjoying themselves, that everything was fine. Until she felt a sharp pain, like a pinprick, in the flesh beside one nipple. Nick's head dropped back to the pillow and she heard him take a long, shuddering breath. Pulling back from him slightly, she saw the small spot of blood on the skin of her breast--not enough to be a trickle, but a welling of red from a tiny puncture. Nick's face was ashen, his eyes closed tightly and his features twisted in misery. "I'm sorry, Nat--I'm sorry." She quickly tucked her breasts back within the confines of the lingerie, not knowing whether her nipples were still hard from the cold, from arousal . . . or from fear. She leaned close to him, kissed his lips and held his head tightly between her hands as he tried to turn his head away. "Sssssh!" she soothed, stroking his cheek with her fingers. "It's all right. I'm fine. It's all right." It took a few more soft words, more reassurance and endearments before he opened his eyes, all blue and quite sad as he stared up at her. She knew then that he'd shaken his faith in himself, his belief that he could ignore himself and give her pleasure without endangering her. Natalie smiled at him, but inwardly railed at LaCroix. If his machinations had jeopardized furture explorations similar to what Nick had done to her in the shower, she was going to make him pay in spades. For now, though, it was important to soothe Nick, to make him understand that she wasn't hurt. She kissed his nose, then his eyelids, then his lips again, eliciting a slight smile from him that warmed her heart. "I'm sorry," he said with a little less despair, although the apology was still genuine. "I . . . got carried away." "Believe me, I didn't mind." His smile widened to a grin as she bent down to kiss him, letting her tongue quest a little deeper, knowing that it was time to step up the pace of his seduction--she didn't want to waste what she'd managed to achieve so far. Pulling back from him, she leaned an elbow on his chest and traced a line from his forehead and down his nose with one finger. "Although if I ever plan on getting my nipples pierced, I know where to go." "Just let me check my calendar first." She continued the line down his chin and neck, then to his chest. Her finger grazed one of his nipples and she felt a shiver pass through him . . . then saw the tightening of his jaw at the pain caused by the restraints. It scared her--that look of endurance. But it have to be endured. Her finger touched his nipple again, just grazing the tip, and she looked at him thoughtfully. Her look must have intrigued him--there was no sign of pain as the second shiver passed through him, just a puzzlement as he stared at her suspiciously. "Nat--what are you thinking?" "Just--" She lowered her head, as if to kiss him, but paused, an inch from his lips. "Let's see how like it," she'd whispered. His eyes had widened. "Nat--no--" But it was too late. She'd moved quickly to the nipple she'd already sensitized with those few strokes of her fingers and sealed her mouth around it. Then she bit at him, a short, sharp pressure--not enough to break the skin, but to certainly let him know she'd been there. It was the only way he'd get past inadvertently hurting her, letting the vampire free for such a tiny slip. Nick wanted to be punished for his transgressions, both real and imagined. He understood and accepted it. What scared her was the thought the Nick might even it. This, however, he meant to enjoy, meeting her playful nip with an outraged, "Ow! Don't--" She paused at his words, raising herself enough so that she could meet his eyes. "Yes?" "Stop . . . ," he'd finished weakly. His eyes were wide and however terrified his expression, she saw the smile behind it--he could handle this kind of play. It was much like their verbal sparring in the past--no real harm was meant and both of them knew it. She waited for a second, then said sharply, "Which one--'don't' or 'don't stop'?" "Don't--" he began. But she quickly moved to the other nipple and bit down on that one as well, which resulted in another "Ow!" "Well," she answered saucily, raising herself to her knees beside his chest, then brushing back her hair with one hand, "you didn't say . . . ." Her fingers danced lightly over and around the sensitive flesh and he moaned in response, but she recognized the sound as something pleasurable rather than painful. While she played, she gave the strap around his chest a cursory examination and decided that LaCroix actually might have done them a good turn, there. It wasn't barbed, caused Nick no real pain other than a slight constriction of the chest, and kept movement to a minimum . . . which took some of the strain off the stretched muscles. The problem would come when she actually mounted him--the restraint was low enough against his stomach that he wouldn't be able to get enough leverage to move his hips and that bar between his thighs effectively cut off any help from that area. She'd have to do all of the work herself. It would not be an effort of endurance on her part, as she'd first thought, but self-torture. The bastard. She forced her smile to remain in place, hearing Nick's audible reaction to the work of her fingers as she pinched and twisted, pushed and prodded, stroked with a light touch or drew her fingernails across the flesh covering the muscles of his chest, returning occasionally to his nipples just in case they'd forgotten that she was still there. There was something in the soft sounds he made that alerted her to the fact that something was wrong--the way he bit back on them, trying to muffle the noise. Natalie stopped, resting her hands lightly against his chest, holding him still as his body shuddered and strained. His eyes closed and a faint grouping of pink moisture gathered on his brow. A glance to her right gave her all the answer she needed. It was the cock cage. His shaft had risen and grown in response to her caresses, the straps biting cruelly into his flesh as it became engorged with blood. He was trapped somewhere between the pleasure and the pain, fighting to keep her from knowing how much he was hurting. A lump rose in her throat and she fought the urge to turn and scream abuse at LaCroix, then let her hands fall to her sides, the fingers clenching into tight fists instead. It took just a few seconds to regain her own control once she remembered that she had to think about Nick, she had to help him. As before, she leaned on his upper chest gently, catching his face between her palms to hold his head still--he shook his head, trying to escape the agony, and only succeeded in shredding the flesh along his neck. She knew the smell of fresh blood must be tormenting Nick--another thing she could lay at LaCroix's feet. He'd planned this well. If he'd made a mistake in underestimating what she was willing to do on Nick's behalf, this was his consolation prize. She dared a quick glance at LaCroix over her shoulder, unable to keep the hatred from her eyes. He met her gaze evenly, raised his hand, as if giving her his permission to continue, a slight smile on his lips. Natalie turned back to Nick quickly, distracted for a moment . . . because just before LaCroix's features had fallen into that superior, detached mask, she'd seen another expression on his face. She must have imagined the look of sadness as he'd stared past her and at Nick, the strain in his clenched jaw, the sympathy in his eyes, his fingers clasped together so tightly that the flesh at his knuckles was the color of bone. Just as she must have imagined that brief flash of absolute hatred that had shone in his eyes in the first second that their gazes had locked. Her mind slipped back to what he'd said and done so far, his tone of voice with her being cool or casual or flippant, except for a comment here or there when she'd acknowledged the truth in what he'd said with a look, if not with words. It occurred to her that he really trying to help Nick. He thought he was doing right by forcing Nick away from his dreams of mortality, making him accept the nature of the vampire and all that it entailed. She closed her eyes, tears of anger and sorrow forming, which she quickly brushed away. How could LaCroix have gotten it all so horribly wrong? He care for Nick--she was sure of it. He was taking no pleasure from this, no joy from Nick's pain . . . although she wouldn't dare to guess the same about her own. She was the enemy, she was the one who had given Nick hope these past few years, given Nick's quest form and substance and a possibility of success that had nothing to do with the vagaries of magic or faith, but the solid foundation of science. Perhaps there was some small element in this meant to punish Nick, but the lesson in this exercise was directed at her. LaCroix had been willing to subject Nick to this pain knowing he'd survive it, in the hope that he'd scare her off or hurt her so badly that she'd give up on Nick and push him away. LaCroix wanted to hurt her. He wanted to hurt her and in such a way that their future intimacy would be endangered. Whatever else LaCroix didn't understand, he knew that Nick was a creature of guilt, that he held onto that self-hatred with a lover's embrace and cherished it within his heart until the poison of it couldn't help but destroy him. She'd assumed that LaCroix had made a mistake--she'd been wrong. There was a chance that her refusal to abandon Nick might draw Nick closer to her . . . but it was just as likely that the guilt he'd harbor would push her away. Nick would be afraid to touch her, to speak with her, to even be near her, blaming himself for what had happened and wallowing so deeply in his guilt that he'd never notice that what she needed was not his absence or protection, but his love and understanding. Natalie opened her eyes and swallowed, fighting back the tears as she stared at Nick's face, which was haggard with the strain of maintaining his control and enduring the pain. She was wrong, too, in that there was only this to be endured and no more. When this was over, she'd have to fight for him all over again, but this time Nick would be her antagonist. All the ground they'd gained would be lost, trampled underfoot by his guilt. It was wearying, demoralizing . . . she couldn't bear it. She couldn't keep fighting . . . . "Nat?" His eyes had opened--gold, tinged with red. She brushed away her tears quickly and forced a smile, placed the warmth of her fingers against the cool flesh of his face, tried to wipe away the lines of worry that had suddenly been added to his other burdens. She leaned forward to kiss him, knowing that she couldn't give up now, couldn't walk away. He was worth it--he had to be. And if she lost, if lost, it wouldn't be for lack of trying. Besides, she wouldn't give LaCroix the satisfaction of giving up, especially now. She'd take him on in round two, and round three, and round twenty-three if she had to. Her fingers traced the line of Nick's jaw and she felt the change in him, knew that his fangs were in place, but never showed the fear that swept through her at the thought--she didn't dare let him know that she was afraid. She didn't dare let herself know how truly afraid she was. Contenting herself with soft, tender kisses was her solution. She dabbed at his forehead with the sleeve of the dressing gown, wishing now that it was the terricloth bathrobe she'd talked him into getting for himself--far more absorbent and easy to bleach. The thought made her smile more genuine and she found it easier to soothe him; practical to the last, that was Natalie Lambert. Except in the case of one very weary, very lonely, very heartsick vampire. "Don't hold it in," she whispered. "Scream, if you need to. Let it out. Save your strength. It won't bother me." His chest rose with a long, ragged breath and he closed his eyes momentarily. "I won't--give him the satisfaction," he growled. She ran her hand through his hair, her fingers down his face, and leaned close again, knowing that he'd never understand just how much his cries of pain would hurt LaCroix. "Then do it for me. Help ." His eyes opened at that, the red gone and the gold giving way to a worried and dominant blue. "How?" "I can't touch you. Anything I do is going to cause you pain." Natalie let her frustration enter her voice, some of her despair coloring her tone so his understood her problem. "If you hold onto it, if you don't let it go--Nick, it's like a feedback loop. It will only increase the tension. Screaming's a release. It won't do a lot to alleviate the pain, but it'll do . And it might prevent serious damage." "I'll heal," he said grimly, gritting his teeth again and closing his eyes. She placed her hand on his shoulder, her heart arching as she felt the muscle strain when he involuntarily pulled on the restraints. "But I ." His eyes had opened instantly at her admission and she raised her hand to her breast, just at her heart. "Not ." She was using his guilt against him and hated herself for doing it--but it would bring him some relief. Nick continued to meet her eyes, a faint smile on his lips, then the smile twisted and he closed his eyes again. "Let it go," she whispered, placing her head on his chest, holding him tightly in as much of an embrace as she dared without putting an additional strain on him. "Let it go, for me." His chest rose with the breath he took, his eyes squeezing shut. The sound he released wasn't so much of a scream as a yell. Tears formed at the corner of her eyes and however much she wanted to run away and hide in a corner, hands over her ears, she held onto him. But she'd been right--she felt the muscles in his chest relax slightly beneath the warmth of her fingers. It helped. It took her an instant to identify the sound that had been concurrent with Nick's yell or perhaps a second after-- a chair thrown hastily aside, the wooden legs scraping across the floor. She was aware that LaCroix was standing behind her and smiled to herself--Nick had scored a point without even knowing it. Natalie turned her head to look at LaCroix over her shoulder. The eyes that gazed at Nick's form in worry met her own in cold hatred. They simply stared at one another and he took a step toward her, one hand raised as if his instinct was to tear her away from Nick. But then the hand had fallen back to his side and LaCroix appeared composed, unshaken. "Finish it," he commanded, then turned and walked back to his chair. However much she hated him, she knew LaCroix was right--there was no reason to prolong Nick's pain . . . or put off her own. Ignoring the scrape of the chair as he righted it, she reached up to stroke her fingers along Nick's face. "Better?" "Yeah," he admitted, with a long sigh. "You just keep doing that." She patted his chest with the flat of her hand almost proprietarily, then slipped off the bed, letting her hand trail down his ribcage and stomach, then rest on his hips as she walked, so he wouldn't think she'd left him. There wasn't much to it, from what she could see--she was right in that the bar positioned between his thighs would keep him from aiding her in any way. She reached down and unsnapped the crotch of her lingerie, then climbed over Nick's right leg and onto the bed. The cock cage made him seem enormous. She knew it was only her mind playing tricks on her, but it still gave her pause. On her hands and knees, she made her way up to him, balancing so that she wouldn't jar the metal bar that held his legs apart.. The strap around his scrotum was elastic and although she was tempted to remove it immediately, she was afraid she wouldn't be able to mount Nick before he ejaculated-- LaCroix had been very specific about what he'd wanted demonstrated and she had no intention of putting either one of them through again. Natalie reached out her hand and folded her fingers lightly around it his shaft, which led Nick to respond with a loud, uninhibited groan. "Good boy," she'd said softly, her other hand stroking his thigh. Inwardly, she wanted to cry. The straps on the device barbed on the inside-- trickles of blood ran down his shaft in the spots where the points had pierced his flesh. LaCroix had shown no mercy when he'd initially fixed the straps and now Nick's cock strained against them, held cruelly in place. Although blood could and did enter the shift as he was aroused, the backflow was constricted, which meant that his erection would last longer than it should--causing him even more pain. He was hard. He was ready. But . . . was she? Not daring to delay any longer, Natalie took a deep breath. She raised herself over Nick's shaft, his dressing gown billowing around her like a curtain, shielding her from LaCroix's view. She lowered herself carefully, her hand guiding him into her. His shaft pulsed in her hand and she felt the stickiness of the blood from his torn flesh on her fingers, but that was all she felt from him. His legs were immobilized, as was his chest--he couldn't rise up to meet her. But another groan that became a yell erupted from his mouth, instingated by her touch alone. She froze, the sound stopping her. Then she closed her eyes, spread her legs a little wider, and tried to push him inside her in one, quick thrust. It didn't work. The cock cage was tapered at the top to compress the flesh at the tip of his shaft. The head of his penis was enlarged and--she guessed from another near-scream--extremely sensitive. She bit her lip, pressing down slowly and moving her hips back and forth, trying to maneuver him inside her. Finally, she succeeded, but relying on her weight and gravity to do the rest simply wasn't an option; the leather straps not only caused his flesh to bulge between them, but also created ridged rings. Tears filled her eyes as she forced herself down over him an inch at a time, feeling the edges of the straps scraping the flesh from her insides. Even the mucus she'd managed to build up earlier for lubrication wasn't helping. The leather was hard and dry, unyielding as it entered her. She stopped, panting, and rested on her knees with no more then two inches of him inside her, hoping her internal warmth and lubrication would soften the straps. But then she felt Nick's shaft twitch beneath her and he let out such a scream . . . . She had to hurry. She had to do this quickly. Another hard push downward and she grabbed the sheets of the bed in her fingers, letting out a cry of pain. A warmth from inside and a stinging sensation told her that she was bleeding--nothing ruptured, just a deep abrasion. Another push and she slid farther, the muscled walls inside her being stretched and scratched. Somehow, she knew that Nick was yelling each time she pushed, but she was past hearing. She was concentrating on her goal, on getting him inside her, focusing all of her thoughts and energies on that, trying to ignore the raw and brutal pain that warned her to stop. The base of the device, the thickest part, was the worst. She'd dreaded it from the moment his shaft had entered her and knew she couldn't manage it with anything less than brutal force. Gritting her teeth, she slammed her body down on top of him. The scream started at the very depths of her lungs and tore its way up through her chest. Her fists flailed against the flesh of Nick's thighs, her fingernails gouging furrows in his skin. Still clutching the sheets, she pulled them upward, knowing that she was shifting Nick, that she was increasing the pull on his restraints, but not being able to control herself. It was the melding of the two that so unbalanced her, the raw torment of the pain . . . and the pleasurable fire inside her that fed from it. She forced herself to remain still, leaned her hands on the bed and breathed deeply. The pain lessened if she froze in place, didn't move. Closing her eyes, Natalie felt her lingerie sticking to her skin; Nick's satin dressing gown was plastered to her body by her sweat. She felt him inside her, felt filled by him, felt . . . satisfied, in a way that frightened her. But the longer she remained where she was, unmoving, the louder Nick's groans sounded to her ears. She felt his body tremble beneath her, knowing that he ached for release and that simply pulling the strap off his scrotum wouldn't do it, not with the cage preventing the backflow of blood and sustaining his erection. She understood that now. Just as she understood that her body wouldn't let her stay still. The fire burned, aching within her, because she to move. She'd only find release when she satisfied the physics of the thing, friction and pressure, the slap of flesh upon flesh until the nerves gave way and the senses overloaded. So she closed her eyes and she moved upward, slowly. This was no attempt to maintain sexual tension--God, she wanted this to be --but to find something that hurt. Even the slow movement brought tears to her eyes and the pain caused her body to shudder, the cage scraping against her insides on the way out just as it had on the way in. Nick's moans and cries were almost continuous and however much the cage tore at her insides, the sound of his pain tore at her heart. It gave her the strength to move a little more, to force her muscles to pull herself up, no matter how agonizing it became. At the apex again, with just the tip of him inside her, she felt a brief moment of relief. It was the movement that hurt her--the stillness was only a dull ache, a stinging sensation compared to the brutality motion inflicted upon her. And she had to do it again and again until Nick found release . . . or she'd never be free of the bargain she'd made with LaCroix. The drop onto him was swift and this time she was prepared for the pain, gritting her teeth against the scream and suppressing most of it. Before she could find any peace in the stillness, she pulled herself up off him sharply, then forced him into her again. If she moved quickly, the agony rippled through her like waves, repeating with each stroke. There was no breath left for screaming; the pain stole it from her. It was difficult enough to fill her lungs with air, each thrust all but knocking the wind out of her. She settled into a steady rhythm--pain, followed by an instant of no pain, followed again by searing agony. At some point she became numb to it, her body refusing to acknowledge sensation, except the tingling pleasure that following each forceful stroke. Nick's shaft remained erect within her, his moans of frustration and agony growing louder. She didn't want to open her eyes, didn't want to know if his own were red with blood-lust, if his fangs were extended. There was only the moment, the push and pull, the friction. It seemed like forever, went on far longer than it should have, and then she felt the stirring of his shaft within her--the first real indication that he was approaching climax. Tears continued to spill over her cheeks, but those from the pain were washed away by others of relief at her impending freedom. She felt behind her for the strap that held Nick's scrotum from his shaft, still taking his thrusts into her, waiting for a sign. There was no way she could spare him the pain, the sudden agony of that instant, which would dwarf any of the anguish he'd endured so far. Her only consolation was that it would be over, then. It would be over. Nick groaned, almost yelling in his agony. She felt his shaft within her, still strong and hard, and knew that if she released him now, it would not be too much longer. Her fingers fumbled at the straps, the numbness having extended to even her extremities, but she found the right one. With a snap she pulled it up and released it, freeing him. His body tensed beneath her, froze for a second that extended to eternity, and then he screamed. Natalie shuddered at the sound of his cry, prolonged anguish and pain beyond belief, her hands raised to her ears to block out the sound and her eyes still closed. And then her own body began to shudder again as she felt his shaft begin to pump within her, felt it jerk and throb as if it had a will of its own, scraping her raw, tearing at her. Her own scream was high and piercing, blending and surpassing the last remnants of his own, until she had screamed all that she could--there was no more sound to her. And still his shaft throbbed and pumped within her, the cage having pushed him beyond physical limits. Nick emptied all that he had into her, but the shaft refused to soften, engorged with blood. She began to shiver as a wave of cold raced through her. Her teeth chattered as she shook uncontrollably, her body responding to the end of this marathon. Natalie tried to grab hold of the sheets, but lost them, folding her hands across her breasts for warmth, for comfort, wanting to die . . . . And then there were hands on her shoulders, a grip of steel. She felt him behind her --LaCroix!--one hand baring her neck, then pushing her head to one side. Too numb to move or react, she felt the scrape of his fangs across her skin, the sensation almost pleasurable after what she'd been through. She thought she was dead. She knew she was dead. And it didn't matter. There was no puncture, no bite. His breath whispered past her ear, "Remember--" And then a scream from Nick, a shout of "No!" that echoed through the room. She opened her eyes and saw the angry crimson of his eyes, his fangs bared. He sat up, the chain snapping from the collar, as he snarled and growled, shouting "LaCroix!" Then the chain attached to the right wrist cuff snapped and he stared down at it, bewildered at his sudden freedom. LaCroix was gone--Natalie never quite realized when he left. She only dimly realized that Nick was tearing at the other wrist cuff, barely pausing to unfasten the bolt. He snapped the chest restraint and brushed her from him. She fell to the side with an agonized moan as his shaft, only now beginning to soften, was pulled from her body, along with the leather cock cage. Natalie was numb and cold, her nerve-endings burnt and frazzled. She wasn't certain whether her eyes were closed or open, couldn't move, didn't want to. Only dimly did she make note of the slam of the metal bar against the wall, the rattling of chains. She expected to hear the slam of a door as Nick left, following LaCroix. But then there were soft and gentle hands on her, caressing hands. She blinked as Nick's weight rested on the bed beside her and the world shifted as he lifted her into his arms, cradling her against his chest. There were tracks of dried blood tears on his face and fresher ones than that as he gazed down into her eyes. His eyes were blue, like the sky. She loved the color of his eyes. He was crying. She lifted her hand to touch his face and was astonished to find that her muscles responded to her will. Groggily, she looked around, shifting in his arms, even as Nick made soft and soothing sounds to quiet her. His voice sounded odd, strained, as if he'd strained it shouting or screaming. He'd been screaming . . . . She touched one of the hands that held her tightly, surprised to find the cuff still attached to his wrist. Her fingers went to work on the bolt and she concentrated on it, turning it, wondering how she could have made the error--why hadn't she taken this off him? She always unfastened the restraints. It was sloppy. Very sloppy. "Nat, it's all right," his voice had whispered softly in her ear, his lips pressing into her hair. "Leave it. It's all right." "It's not all . . . right." She hesitated, her own voice sounding odd--breaking. Natalie met his gaze. "You've cut yourself. I think--there are bandages. I left some bandages here--" Before he could realize what she was doing, she pulled herself from his embrace and stumbled off the bed, nearly falling. She stared down at the floor, at her bare feet, which seemed unable to hold her properly. Her legs ached, but she couldn't really feel anything. The bathroom. The bandages were in the bathroom. She heard him trying to pursue her, the clank as a chain got caught, then he slipped on the sheets. It didn't mean anything, even when he called her name. Natalie walked almost blindly in the darkness, knowing where she was going as she felt her way along the wall, leaning on it heavily. She pulled herself along until she reached the bathroom door. It was open. Her palm grazed the wall, connecting with the light switch, and she stumbled to the sink as if sleep walking. Opening the cabinet, she took the roll of white cotton from the shelf. Bandages. For Nick. His hand was bleeding. She turned and the bandages rolled from her hand and to the floor, but the free end wrapped around her fingers. It wandered away, over the door sill and into the hall . . . past Nick. He was standing in the doorway, leaning on the door frame. His hand was bleeding and when he moved it, it left a crimson mark on the wall. "You're still bleeding," she said, offering him the edge of the bandage roll. But when she looked down, she noticed another trail of blood dotting the tile. "More blood." "Nat?" She looked up at him as he moved toward her, then felt her legs begin to give way. Murmuring, " blood," with some surprise, she fell into his arms. Natalie closed her eyes, dizzied by the blur of motion as he swept her up, one hand beneath her knees and the other around her shoulders. His hand stroked her hair and she snuggled against his shoulder, but still felt cold. So cold . . . . Her eyes shot open as he carried her into the bedroom and she tensed, grabbing hold of his neck tightly and burying her face against his shoulder. "Not here. Downstairs. Not here. Not here--" Her stomach twisted, like she'd gone down a rollercoaster in an amusement park, and then he was placing her on the couch. She stared up at the ceiling, aware that he was pushing a pillow beneath her head. A blanket settled over her body and her arms. Her hands felt heavy and she couldn't move them at first, however much she wanted to. He was suddenly beside her, kneeling on the floor next to the couch, his face buried in her hair. She finally managed to move her hand out from beneath the blanket and touched his shoulder. Nick lifted his head, his eyes wide and almost panicked--she saw gold too close to the surface. His face was still streaked with blood. "Shock." She managed to smile, having formed the word successfully, her hand rising to his face--he grasped it and held her hand tightly to his cheek. "I'm in . . . shock." "You need a doctor." She blinked at him. She loved his eyes. And his smile. She wanted him to smile. "Nat?" Shaking her head, she opened her eyes--when had they closed? Then she blinked again, realizing that he wasn't wearing any clothing. "You're . . . naked. Where's your robe? You'll catch cold." As she shifted her head, she caught the scent of his aftershave and the damp and sweat-stained silk rubbed against her cheek. " got your robe. Here--" She tried to rise, to sit up, but he pressed a hand firmly, if gently, against her shoulder, pushing her back. "I'm taking you to a hospital." Natalie blinked at him. "No clothes--" "I'll get dressed. Stay here. All right?" His worried eyes looked down into her own, then he leaned forward to place a kiss on her forehead, his hand squeezing her shoulder lightly before he left her. She stared up at the ceiling and wondered why her thoughts were so fuzzy. She couldn't anything. Numb--that was the word. She was numb, inside and out. Her body felt heavy and she was still cold. And Nick-- Nick was getting dressed. She had to get dressed. They were going dancing. They were-- Still clutching the blanket to her, she pushed herself to a sitting position, then leaned her forehead against the leather covered padding of the couch as the world spun around her. Natalie closed her eyes for a moment and when she opened them, the world was steady again. She would go upstairs and get her dress. Her dress was . . . her dress was in the bathroom. She would get her dress from the bathroom. But Nick might be in the shower. If he locked the door, she couldn't get in to get her dress . . . it was in the bathroom. He liked to take hot showers. Would the steam hurt the dress? She wasn't sure. It might help to smooth out the wrinkles. She didn't remember hanging it up. It might be on the floor and he might step on it when he got into the shower, because it was in the bath-- A shudder ran through her body, startling her. Natalie blinked as reality and clarity came crashing in. Shock. She'd been in shock. Mild, certainly. Induced by trauma. Trauma, hell! Induced by . . . . Her fingers clutched the leather couch desperately and she look around for Nick, then remembered that he was upstairs. He was getting dressed--he wanted to take her to the hospital. She tried to move from the couch, but her legs were numb and unresponsive. Taking a deep breath, she looked back over her shoulder, toward the stairs and the second floor. He must be in pain; even with his constitution, he couldn't have healed quickly. Blood. He needed blood. Just as she needed . . . what? She was thirsty. She needed a drink. And she'd better take a couple of aspirin, because when she finally emerged from the shock, when this blessed grace period of post-trauma numbness lifted, she was going to be hurting-- The word stuck in her mind--hurt. It became the center of her universe as the first sharp spear of agony pierced her the post-traumatic veil that had left her so deliciously numb. Trauma did that sometimes; the body's senses become so overloaded that they simply shut down, turn themselves off to give the system time to recalibrate, to make sense of what was wrong, to pinpoint injuries and stress and wounds. That's all pain was--a warning that something was wrong. And something wrong. There was the word and then the pain, intense enough to drive the air from her lungs like a blow to the stomach. Eyes wide, she lost her grip on the back of the couch and dropped against the pillow, knocking it to the floor. Instinctively, she breathed, pulling in every bit of oxygen she could in one long, tremulous breath-- Which she released in a scream. Feeling had returned. Her legs were no longer numb, her hands didn't weigh a hundred pounds, her mind was clear. And every scrape she'd received from the rough edges of the leather, every gouge made by a cold, metal buckle, ever tear caused by her inability to stretch herself enough to hold both Nick and that brutal device inside her . . . it all came crashing in at once. She was shaking uncontrollably, her hands drawn up to her chest. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but the flashes of pain that ran through her struck with such force she couldn't close her eyes. Natalie stared, making small and helpless noises she'd never heard from herself before--whimpers and half-breaths and wordless cries. Nick was there. His expression was fearsome, angry--and then, when he realized that she was alone, he'd tried to pick her up in his arms. She screamed again, the sudden movement shifting something that didn't want to be moved. He almost dropped her, but caught her before she fell and carefully lowered her to the couch, sitting beside her. "Nat?" She couldn't stop shaking, couldn't stop crying, even as his arms encircled her. He felt warm against her and she clung to him, fingers clutching his yet-unbuttoned shirt- front. There was no comfortable position, no way she could sit or move or not move to escape the pain. "It hurts!" she wailed, hating herself for admitting it, but being unable to form any other words. "It hurts!" When she closed her mouth, her teeth chattered. Her eyes were burning, her tears still flowing unabated. She drew her knees up to her chest-- idea. She turned her head against Nick's shoulder, muffling her shriek of pain in his shirt. She wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball and hide until the pain went away, until the shaking stopped, until there weren't any more tears . . . until she died. Nick's hands moved around her and she felt him enclose her in the blanket--like swaddling a baby. Some part of her brain not occupied with the pain remembered that he'd been a doctor, once upon a time. He was trying to stop her shaking, trying to prevent her from going into convulsions. It hurt much! She tried not to scream when he lifted her in his arms, but this time he was ready for it, clutching her tightly despite the ferocity of the sound. Every step sent another wave of agony through her, like knives cutting through her flesh, flaying her from the inside out. Then the world blurred past and they were at the elevator. She shoved one fist in her mouth and bit down on it, trying not to scream, to drown out her constant moans and whimpers. She heard the elevator door slammed aside. Nick stepped forward--then stopped, jostling her against him. Natalie pressed her face into his shoulder, his flesh taking the brunt of her scream. "Upstairs," said a woman's voice, in such an authoritative fashion that even would have thought twice about disobeying the command. For a second, surprise sent away the pain. Natalie turned her head just enough to see the figure in the elevator--a woman in her mid-forties with dark skin, her head covered with tight ebony curls. She was wearing a trenchcoat and beneath that Natalie caught a glimpse of what might have been a white labcoat or smock, the bag in her hand looking very familiar, very medical. The pain came back in a wave as Nick adjusted his hold on her and she turned her face into his chest again. He pressed his cheek against the top of her head in mute apology as she groaned. But when he spoke, his voice was cold and final. "Get out of my way." "Don't be an ass-hole. I'm here to help," said the woman's voice. Natalie felt the back of a cool hand at her cheek and flinched. The woman's shadow fell over her. Fingers touched her neck and she recognized their intent immediately--the woman was taking her pulse. "She's out of the first stages of shock," said that very clinical voice. "Take her upstairs. I can give her something for the pain, then I'll check her out." Natalie felt the defiance rumbling in Nick's chest, but didn't dare to look up, didn't dare to move. Even breathing was agony . . . . "She needs a doctor." " a doctor," said the woman. "What did you miss, the bag or the lab coat?" The voice moved away and Natalie saw a flash of brown as the woman peeled off her trenchcoat, throwing it over the piano. "I'm taking her to the hospital--" "And you'll tell them . . . what? That she fell down a flight of stairs?" There was nothing but cold disdain in her voice. Nick's voice had been equally defiant, but it cracked as he answered, "You don't --" "I ," said the woman, "that they're going to take one look at her and call the cops--which I've been told would be a problem for you. Then they're going to call rape crisis, which isn't going to be pretty for either of you." The woman's voice softened as she added, "For God's sake, man, take her upstairs and let me her. She's in ." "He sent you, didn't he?" Nick accused. "He sent you--" Natalie raised her hand to the side of his neck to get his attention, able to perform that small action with nothing more than a twinge. Nick stared down at her and she saw fear in his eyes--fear for her. "It's . . . all right," she whispered. "She's right. Let her--let her try . . . ." She was still shaking, but she felt his arms tighten their grip around her. He looked like he was going to cry. She wanted to reach up and run her fingers through his blond curls, massage the taut muscles in his neck, chase away the shadow of terror that haunted those blue eyes that she loved so very much . . . . There was no time to feel anything. She gasped as her stomach dropped out from beneath her again and the room blurred, whizzing past. Suddenly, they were on the upper landing, Nick carrying her into the bedroom with steady, purposeful strides. The woman was there was well, the 'doctor'--as Natalie had begun to think of her. Natalie bit her lip as Nick lowered her toward the bed, even his careful movements sending waves of pain through her, but the woman called "Stop!" Nick froze and Natalie took a long breath as he held her above the crumpled, torn, and bloody sheets. She could see the remnants of the chains Nick had broken, the padded metal cuffs lying atop the bed. Embarrassment flooded through her, wiping out the pain for an instant, and she felt her face flush scarlet as she turned her head, hiding her eyes against him. "Black satin?" asked the woman voice in disgust. "You boys never grow up, do you?" There was the sound of material tearing--Natalie realized, through the boundaries that delineated her pain-centric world, that the woman was stripping the bed. "I trust you have clean sheets. Am I lucky enough to trust you have something a little less flashy, like cotton?" Nick's response was still cold, still distant. "Bottom drawer of the dresser, left side." "Have to stop off and pick up a lottery ticket on my way home." There was the sound of the dresser drawer being opened. Natalie felt Nick's lips brush her forehead again, opened her mouth to tell him that she'd be fine, that they'd be okay . . . but all she managed was a low moan. Beyond that, she distinguished the flap of cloth being spread out. "You're going to lose some of these sheets, son--nothing we can do about that. Lay her down here. Gently, now--" The sheet beneath her was white, like snow, and everything else--all the remnants from LaCroix's 'demonstration'--had disappeared. Still, Natalie dug her fingers into the fabric of Nick's shirt, undershirt, and the flesh beneath as he lowered her to the bed. Even though he was gentle, the initial contact with the surface scared her. She heard herself whimper and couldn't release him, afraid to let him go. The woman was beside Nick, bending over her, and Natalie got another good look-- brown eyes and high cheekbones. She could have been a model. But there was a soft smile on her face as she carefully disengaged Natalie's fingers from his shirt. "It's okay now. No one's going to hurt you. I'm here to help you--" The woman's head turned and she glanced at Nick as he straightened, freed from her grasp. "What's her name?" "Natalie." "Natalie," the woman repeated. Then she bent down again and placed the back of her hand against Natalie's cheek. "You just stay still, sweetheart. I'll take care of you." Her hand rested on Natalie's shoulder and she asked Nick sharply, "The robe-- yours or hers?" "Mine." "It's history. Buy another one." Even as Natalie tried to protest, the woman grabbed the seams of the robe's shoulder in either hand and the satin tore easily, first the left side and then the right. She drew the sleeves down Natalie's arms, tossed the torn cloths to the floor, then sent the front panels of the robe after them. The black medical bag was moved to the nightstand and opened. Natalie stared up at the ceiling--even turning her head seemed painful--and tried to control the shivers that ran through her body. They'd lessened considerably, but she couldn't escape the cold. The agony that had ripped through her had quieted to a dull roar, now that she was still. She was afraid to move, afraid to think, afraid . . . . Afraid that Nick would leave her. Because if he left now, she had a feeling she'd never see him again. There was a spot of cold wetness against her arm. "Hold her steady," said the woman, and Natalie dared to turn her head, looking down to watch as Nick grasped her shoulder firmly in an attempt to hold her arm still. A familiar sound caught her attention and she watched in horrified fascination as the woman tapped a needle, then moved the plunger far enough to squirt a few drops from the tip. Natalie let out a cry and tried to move away as the needle came toward her. But Nick held her in place. The woman looked down at her, her expression less placating than sympathetic. "This'll knock you out for a little while," said the woman, her words slow, but firm. "Maybe take some of the edge off the pain. You allergic to anything?" "Penicillin," said Nick, his tone still formal to the point of defiance. "I think that's all." Natalie nodded her assent, not trusting her voice as the woman looked at her, verifying his words. "Okay," said the woman, with a slight smile. "That makes it easier. Close your eyes, Natalie." A pause. "You might want to take her hand." The last was directed at Nick. Natalie gratefully felt his fingers wrap around her own, but ignored the command to close her eyes. She watched the needle enter her skin, wincing at the sharp sting . . . but it was such a small pain, compared with everything else she'd felt. "Just hang in there for a second--" The plunger went down, pushing the faintly amber drug into her vein. "Good girl." The needle was withdrawn, then the woman swabbed at the spot where it had entered her skin, covering the small wound with a circle bandage. She had a light touch Natalie found herself envying. It was so much easier working with the dead--you never had to worry about hurting them. A slow and steady warmth flooded through her, spreading up her arm, then to her shoulder, then down her chest. Natalie looked up and saw Nick staring at her, that haunted, aching look in his eyes. She forced a smile for his benefit. It was easier to smile. She'd stopped shaking. And with that delicious warmth came a numbness that obliterated the pain. But even through that, she felt his hand on her shoulder, his other hand still tightly gripping her own. The woman was folding a sheet as she stepped toward the bed--the whiteness of it blinded Natalie for a moment. "Okay, you--" she tapped Nick on the shoulder, "out." "No!" Natalie forced the word out and clenched her fist around his fingers as tightly as she could, intent on not letting go. A cold sweat broke over her--if he left now, she'd never see him again. She knew it. The woman hesitated, looking at Nick, then back down at her. "Sweetheart, I'm gonna be doing some sensitive stuff to you. I don't think you're gonna want your boyfriend around." "Nick's . . . Nick's a doctor." Natalie blinked as the room swam before her eyes-- words were getting harder to find. But she concentrated on Nick's face, on his profile as he turned toward the woman. "I've practiced medicine, once or twice," he admitted, when she gave him a questioning look. "I could give you a hand." "The only hand I want you to hold is ," said the woman sharply. But her expression softened as she looked down at Natalie. "Okay. You sit there, right by her head. You don't second-guess me. You don't mess with me. You just let me help her." "Thank you," whispered Natalie. She smiled as Nick leaned down, lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed them gently. Then he released her hand. She felt the bed shift beneath his weight as he seated himself beside her. His fingers brushed her shoulder, then began stroking her hair. It was a wonderful feeling. Natalie felt like she was floating. She tried to keep her eyes open, but it was so hard--her eyelids felt so heavy. Nick was speaking, saying something. She tried to pay attention, a few words here and there. "--Why LaCroix--sent you--" "Owed him one--" The woman's answer was also distant, the words slipping away. "Called in a debt. Not my idea, but if it means I don't have to deal with the son of a bitch--" Natalie felt herself falling into the darkness. There was a sensation of a cloth being draped across her chest--it was smooth and smelled clean. She fought to keep her eyes open, but she was so comfortable and Nick's hand stroked her hair. "Nick--?" she asked, her words sounding slurred, even to her own ears. She felt his breath on her cheek. "What? Nat--what's wrong?" His voice was so soft . . . and worried. He shouldn't be worried. She felt wonderful. She tried to move her hand and found it felt heavy again. But then she felt the weight of his fingers against her own. His skin seemed cold. Cold, like she'd felt, when she'd been in pain. "You're . . . hurt." She licked her dry lips--she was still thirsty. But she fought to find the words, even through her eyes wouldn't stay open. There was only light between her lashes, the white of the woman's lab coat near the foot of the bed--"She can help . . . you." His fingers tightened around her own, but she couldn't seem to open her eyes. Nor did she want to. It was so quiet, where she was. So peaceful. So calm. So dark. ******* There was a feeling of comfort, of being warm and dry, if not clean. Natalie opened her eyes and recognized the view from the last time she'd awakened in Nick's bed. At first the two occasions seemed to merge in her mind. She couldn't quite recall what time it might be, or day. The room was dark, with only the light from the hall outside the open door to give her any clue. It was still night, apparently. Still night . . . and how far away from the dawn? Memory returned with a thud and she closed her eyes, still not having moved anything but them. Her limbs felt heavy and weak. She had no real sense of herself, of the rest of her body, as anything but a dull, numb weight to which she was somehow distantly attached. She was aware, though, of a weight lying across her chest, above the covers. And she opened her eyes, just to check. Nick was lying beside her, almost curled around her, sound asleep. He was lying on top of the covers, still wearing the shirt and slacks he'd thrown on the night before when he'd been so dead set on taking her to a hospital--a course she would have nipped in the bud if she'd been in her right mind. His head rested against her shoulder and if she turned her face slightly, to let the blond curls run along her cheek. His arm was thrown across her and even though she hated the thought of having a 'protector,' the gesture was so endearing that it brought tears to her eyes. "Are you in pain, Natalie?" asked a quite voice. Natalie looked up and saw the woman from the night before--the doctor. She'd shed her white coat and was wearing a sleeveless T-shirt and gray slacks, but Natalie recognized her easily. "No. I'm just . . . numb." "And you'll stay that way for another hour." The woman smiled, then pulled a chair up beside the bed. She reached over and Natalie felt a slight pressure on her fingers. "Feel that?" "Uh-huh." "Good." The woman smiled. "The name's Paula. We didn't get much of an introduction last night." "Paula." Natalie studied the woman's face, her wide smile, and decided it fit. "About last night--thank you--" "No thanks necessary," said Paula sharply. "I was returning a favor. Although if I'd known what I was walking into, I might have gone through a few more red lights." Remembering the medical bag and feeling the cooled skin against her own warm hand, Natalie swallowed. "You're a . . . ?" "Vampire?" offered Paula, raising an eyebrow. "Doctor." Natalie's correction was quick. Paula's smile returned. "Obstetrician. Vampire obstetrician. Yes, I know," she added, when it was Natalie turn to raise an eyebrow. "We don't have kids. Not that way. But it's my contact with the mortal world. Reminds me of what I left behind. Besides, do you how many babies are born at night?" Natalie laughed lightly in response, but then stopped herself and turned to check, to make certain that she hadn't awakened Nick. "They look so harmless when they're asleep," noted Paula. His eyes were still closed--she could barely see any sign of breathing. "Vampires?" "Men." Natalie chuckled again and Paula squeezed her hand. "Good. It's good to hear you laugh. I think you need to laugh when you can, from what I've seen of this guy." She sobered as she watched him, unable to take her eyes off Nick's sleeping form. He was like a child when he slept--all the pain and worry and guilt of the past eight hundred years seemed to lift from him. "Is he all right?" "Oh, he'll be hurting for another twenty-four hours at least." When Natalie turned her head, frowning, Paula shrugged. "I told him to drink twice his normal rate--that usually speeds the healing, although that crap he's got in the fridge . . . it's cow, isn't it?" Natalie couldn't help but smile when she saw the expression on Paula's face--Nick was right, there was a 'cow blood' look. "Yes." "Thought so. Nastiest stuff on earth. Don't know how he can survive on it." Paula gave a shudder as she looked at Nick, then met Natalie's gaze again. "You know there's not a hell of a lot that works on us. I offered him what I could, but he turned it down. I think---he wants to hold onto the pain." Natalie closed her eyes in sorrow at the thought of how easily Paula had seen that in Nick. And how long had it taken to figure out how deeply those wounds ran, what he did to himself in the name of guilt and retribution. "He feels guilty," she whispered. "Well, he sure as hell should. After what he did to you--" Her eyes shot open and she glared at Paula, tried to get her hand beneath her to sit up. "It wasn't his fault! --" "Easy, easy." Paula was on her feet, leaning over Natalie, pushing her back down against the pillow with a firm and not to be trifled with touch against the shoulder. "I'm not accusing--I'm just stating the facts. I don't know what happened here last night. It's none of my business. Knowing that LaCroix was involved is really I need to know. But when it comes down to it, it's this one," she gestured toward Nick, then reseated herself, "who got you into this." Natalie swallowed again and closed her eyes wearily. "Is that what he told you?" "Yes." " made the deal with LaCroix." She opened her eyes and met Paula's disbelieving gaze. "I agreed to go through with this, not Nick. Nick didn't have any choice." Paula let out a slow breath and looked away, at some blank spot on the wall at the far side of the room. "I was guessing one of you had a lick of sense. After talking to him last night, I was guessing it would be you." When she looked back at Natalie, her eyes were hard. "You're damn lucky, do you know that? Do you know how that was? I'm not just talking about some very nasty, kinky sex. I'm talking about the blood." She didn't blink. "I couldn't leave him. There was no other way out of it." "You just keep believing that. In the mean time, let's get down to business." Paula drew her chair up a little closer. "I'm no specialist, but I did what I could for you." Natalie nodded, her eyes widening. This wasn't going to be easy. "How bad . . . is it?" "Nothing ruptured. There was no permanent damage, from what I could see--I saw that thing he put inside you and I don't know how you got through it. That's an external cage, not an internal toy. That should have been--" Paula stopped suddenly, her voice softening, and squeezed Natalie's hand. "It's okay, sweetheart . . . it's gone. I got rid of it. You'll never see it again." Natalie's suddenly realized that she was gripping Paula's hand very tightly. She smiled an apology and looked away, relieved at Paula's words. "I'll be okay, then?" "Like I said, there was no permanent damage. You're torn up inside, but it's all abrasions. Unfortunately, they're gonna hurt like hell for a while. You've got muscles down there that have been stretched to their limits; they're gonna need to ease back." She touched a hand to Natalie's cheek getting her attention. "I've left a couple of pills with Nick and a list of stuff he's got to pick up for you. You take those pills like clockwork--the sedatives, the pain-killers, and the antibiotics. And don't be brave and skip the pain-killers. If you do it, you won't do it more than once, I promise you. And you're gonna scare the hell out of golden boy here." Smiling at her description of Nick, Natalie nodded. "Okay. I guess driving home's out of the question, huh?" " is out of the question," said Paula firmly. "You stay here, in this bed, for four days--and believe me for the first two you're not gonna want to be anywhere else. Once that local anesthetic wears off, the feeling's gonna come back and it's not gonna be nice." "Four days?" asked Natalie, bewildered. "But work--" "Nick called you in sick for a couple of days, said you had an accident. I think he had a problem convincing the lady on the phone--" "Grace?" asked Natalie hopefully. "Yeah. That was it. I think he had a hard time convincing her that you two weren't planning on spending the week in bed." Paula looked past her, at Nick. "Which isn't too far from the truth, come to think of it. You are going to be out for a week--period. If you've got another week, take it. If you need a back up story, I'll certify you've got whatever you want to have and that you're on medical leave. But you plan on being bedridden for four days and then barely ambulatory for the next three after that. You on your feet a lot at work?" "Yes." "Then you stay home for another week. Or you stay here. I'd rather you stay here, because he can keep an eye on you. I said nothing's ruptured, but that doesn't mean that something won't, after the beating you took. If you start hemorrhaging, he'll know right away. You go straight to the hospital and then you have them call me--I'll leave you my card. Day or night, I'll be there. Have I scared you, yet?" Natalie nodded tentatively. "Yes." "Good," said Paula. "Because it gets worse. When I say off your feet, I mean How do you feel about using a bedpan?" She smiled at Natalie's reaction. "I thought so. Medical people are the worst patients. Fine--you gotta go, he carries you to the toilet, stays there with you, and carries you back. You're gonna have a trace of blood in your urine for the first forty-eight hours, don't worry about it as long as it's only a trace. And it's gonna sting like a bitch, too, but it won't hurt you any." By this time, Natalie was biting her lip. She glanced over at Nick, but he was still sleeping. "Don't be shy about anything, either. If you're in pain, you ask for a pill--he'll know whether or not to give it to you." Paula gestured toward Nick when Natalie looked back at her. "You'll need to have a couple of whirlpool baths--I gave him the list of what you'll need. You do exactly what I tell you, let him carry you wherever you need to go--he looks like a big, strong boy--wait on you hand and foot for a couple of days, then take it easy." Paula gave her a supportive smile. "Doesn't sound too bad, does it? Then again, you're the type that wants to do everything by yourself." She didn't need to fake the wan smile that came to her lips--Paula was a good judge of character. "It's going to be hell." "Hell or not, you let him do everything. And I mean . From what you've said and what I've seen, it'll be the best thing for him, help him work out some stuff." Then Paula's expression became serious. "In three weeks, I want you to see your gynecologist. Most of the lighter stuff will have healed by then and the other stuff will have scarred over--but I want him to check you out anyway. You tell him you and the boyfriend got carried away and it got a little rough. That's your story and you stick to it, okay?" Natalie nodded, but cringed inwardly. She knew the questions she'd be facing, her doctor would certainly suspect rape immediately. And with everyone in the station and the Coroner's office all too aware of her current relationship with Nick--it was something she'd have to avoid. "I don't know if he'll buy it." "If you stick to your story, you'll be fine. Just be very embarrassed. Mention 'experimentation.' He'll buy it--you'd have more problems with a female doctor." Paula sighed and looked down at her hands. "The next part is open for debate-- no intercourse for at least a month." It was Natalie's turn to look away. She had no idea whether there be a next time, now. "That might not be a problem." "Uh-huh." When Natalie met her gaze, Paula was watching her intently. "Whatever you're thinking, trash it. It's the old 'falling off a horse' thing--you gotta get back on. But not too soon. And that goes for the both of you." Leaning forward, Paula took her hand again and squeezed it. "Four weeks--no intercourse. But that doesn't mean that you can't have a good time together. Get comfortable with each other again. Take it slow. No expectations, no schedules. If something happens, something happens. But don't be afraid to back off. And you make sure the same goes for him." Some of the tension in Natalie's chest eased. She closed her eyes and decided not to deal with that issue right now. There were too many other things to consider, too many other problems to work out. After a moment, she opened her eyes and met saw Paula's concerned expression. "We'll work it out," she promised. "We haven't gone this far to give up now." And, inwardly, she hoped like hell that she wasn't lying through her teeth, to herself, as well as Paula. What if he left her? What if he waited until she was well, and then just disappeared? "Good." Leaning back in her chair, Paula asked "Now, will can do me a favor and tell me a few things?" She didn't like the look in Paula's eye. "If I can . . . ." "What the hell are you doing to his blood chemistry?" Natalie blinked for a moment. "I'm not sure I know what you mean. Is it . . . that evident?" "That you've been messing around with stuff you don't understand? I think so." She sighed and looked down at the floor. "Okay, we've never met before tonight, but I've heard of Nick--how he wants to become mortal and has spent that last eight-hundred years giving LaCroix fits. I always thought he was an idiot." Paula looked up and met Natalie's gaze squarely. "But after seeing you, seeing what you're willing to go through for him--maybe there's something in him after all. The point is, what you two have is unique. unique." Natalie smiled softly and placed her hand over Nick's, which was still resting on her chest. "I guess it is." "I'm serious. You unique. I cleaned you out, so I saw the evidence--he climaxed and ejaculated . . . and he never bit you. Natalie, that just doesn't happen." She hesitated, looked back at Nick's face again. "We've only had sex twice before. And then tonight--" "No, I mean it. It just happen. Sex for us is blood. That's it, that's all. Some of us still like a little physical action--hey, old habits die hard." Paula was smiling sympathetically when Natalie glanced back at her. "But for the most part, the feeding is enough. That's the best and biggest kick we have. The women--well, most of us had faked it so often when we were alive we really couldn't tell the real thing anymore, but if we're old enough and we've got the control, we can usually make it through intercourse without killing our partner. Of course, there's not much point in it, but we do it if we have to. And we can have a good time. But the guys . . . there's just no way." Paula hesitated. "Which means someone's been fooling around with his metabolism. I don't know whether it's the prolonged diet of cow blood--we human blood and cow's a barely adequate substitute--or whatever else you're working on with him, but he's different now. different." Something froze in Natalie's chest, a small and quiet fear that she might have been doing Nick more harm than good. It had appeared when she'd first decided to help him on his road back to mortality and after every failure, every mistake, it liked to rear its ugly heard and gnaw on her heart. It was crunching merrily away right now. "And that means?" she asked softly. Paula shrugged. "I don't know. If he started feeding on human blood, stopped everything else you've got him doing . . . he might go back. Or . . . he might not. This may be too far gone. He's in no immediate danger as far as I can see. He heals slowly. He's not as strong as he should be. Nor as fast." She leaned forward to grasp Natalie's hand. "The point is, you've gotta be careful. careful. Just like he's taken a couple of steps into your world, you've taken more than a couple into ours. And they can't coexist. They're mutually antithetical." Natalie licked her lips, considering the statement, then smiled. "I think we'll work it out." "I hope like hell you can." She squeezed Natalie's hand and rose to her feet. "Card's on the bedside table--you have a problem, you call me. And I mean that." "Thank you," said Natalie sincerely. "I'd like--I'd like to talk to you some time. After this is--after I'm well." "I'd like that, too." Paula hesitated at the door and turned. "But it's not a good idea. The less I know about you two, the less I have to tell anyone who comes snooping around. But if you've got a problem, you call me. We'll try to work it out." That was the only good-bye. Natalie heard the elevator door slam shut and knew that her angel of mercy had left. She was left immobile, in bed, half-floating on a cloud composed of pain-killers and anesthetic, waiting for them to wear off . . . and dreading that moment as well. She drowsed, drifting in and out of consciousness. At one point she realized that Nick's arm was no longer resting on her chest, but she couldn't keep her eyes open long enough to do anything about it. She felt his weight beside her, and that was all she needed to know. He was still there. Minutes or hours could have passed. She was staring at the wall across from the bed and that she was staring at the wall across from the bed. When she turned her head to look at Nick, she found that his head was propped up on his hand and he was watching her. His expression was sad and yet caring. When he saw that she was looking at him, he smiled slightly. But she could see the weariness in him, the lines in his face that sleep had eased were now back. And she remembered what had been done to him--the strain on his muscles from the taut chains, the barbs on inside of the collar scraping his neck, the straps of the cock cage restraining his flesh, the small spikes on the inside of the straps digging into him each time he entered her . . . . Tears welled up in her eyes; she couldn't help herself. Immediately, the smile disappeared from his face and he reached for her, shifting himself to hold her against his chest. "I'm sorry," she whispered through her tears, "I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you--?" Nick pulled back enough to meet her gaze, his fingers brushing away her tears. "Hurt ? Nat, I thought I'd you." He pressed his lips to her forehead and held her even more tightly--then very carefully released her and asked tentatively, "How do you feel?" She thought for a moment, still blinking away her tears, but reassured by the presence of his arms around her and the whisper of his breath on her cheek. "Numb," she announced, after a few seconds more contemplation. "Paula said it should wear off in a little while." "Paula?" She turned her head to see the moment of confusion mirrored in Nick's expression . . . which cleared almost immediately. "Oh, Dr. Corey." Natalie smiled slightly and ducked her head so that Nick couldn't see. "She gave me a list of things to pick up," he added, releasing her for one moment while he reached into the pocket of his shirt and withdrew a piece of paper. "You're supposed to take two pills at four--" he lifted his wrist, realized he wasn't wearing his watch, then leaned past her to check the clock on the nightstand. "Which isn't that far off." Nick placed his arms around her again, but this time she noticed a certain care in his movements, as if he thought she was fragile and might break. "She said to make sure you get those pills on time." "She said the same thing to me." Natalie swallowed, wondering what she might be in for once the local anesthesia wear off, if Paula had made enough of an impression on Nick about making certain she got her pills on time. "Nat?" There was a worried note in his voice. She forced a smile and met his gaze, realizing that she was experiencing the last effects of the anesthetic and was zoning. "I'm okay." But then she raised her hand to his face and let her fingers gently graze his cheek. "We'll both be okay. We'll get through this. Paula said--Paula said--" The intensity and concern in his gaze distracted her for a moment. "Paula said I couldn't have intercourse for a month." Nick seemed taken aback for a moment. Then he looked past her--never a good sign. "I'm glad you're going to be all right. She said there wasn't anything permanent. And as long as you take it easy--" "Nick?" She placed a little pressure on the side of his face, making him meet her gaze. "I'm not afraid." "But I am." For a moment she thought he was going to kiss her, but his lips brushed her forehead as he held her close. "Nat, the chains broke. I could have killed you--" "You were afraid LaCroix was going to kill me," she protested. "To tell you the truth, I'm kind of glad the chains broke." His smile was sharp and unpleasant. Natalie quickly hid her face against his chest, knowing that he wasn't amused at anything she'd said. He was thinking about LaCroix. About what would happen the next time he caught up with his master. "I won't give you up," she said firmly, wrapping her arms around his chest. "Not now. Not because of this. I won't let him win." She was sniffling and the tears were starting to fall again. Nick's arms encircled her and her leaned his head on hers again. "Nat, it's all right. I'll never let him hurt you again--" "Oh, yes you will." The strength in her answer seemed to startle him. She pulled back from him to arm's length. "If you give up, if you're too afraid . . . he's won, hasn't he? He did just what he set out to do--stop us. Every time I look at you, remember what we had, and what we'll never have again . . . LaCroix wins. What we just went through, what just went through, it was for nothing, wasn't it?" What little color remained in his face disappeared at that. Nick pulled her into his arms again and whispered, his voice worn and rough with emotion, "No. Don't ever say that. What we did--what did--" There was only the touch of his lips against her hair for a moment, as he held her tightly. Then they touched her cheek. And then her mouth. It was a tender kiss, a loving kiss . . . and bittersweet in its own way. How many more times would he kiss her before he disappeared? Nick pulled back from her, his fingers wrapped in her hair. He smiled as he looked at her. "What are you thinking?" "I'm wondering when you'll leave me." He swallowed--she saw it--and looked away. That's when she knew that she was right, that he was thinking about it, even now. "You'd be better off without me." His fingers fell from her hair and she caught his hand. As he turned back to look at her, she raised his hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles carefully. Nick reacted like she'd burned him. He pulled his hand from her grasp and muttered, "I couldn't control myself. I you." "I bit you back," she reminded him. There was a touch of color in his cheeks--she was glad to see that and not above taking advantage of the opportunity. Natalie'd realized very soon after awakening that she didn't have a stitch on underneath the blanket. Letting the edge of it slip slightly, she said, "It's not that bad. Come on--I'll show you mine if you show me yours." "Nat--" There was that look on his face--warning, mixed with a glint of that light-hearted joy she'd discovered in him. The joy won out as he carefully replaced her blanket. "You have no idea what that did to me, do you?" He placed his hand on the blanket covering her chest, directly over the spot where he'd bitten her. "No. I didn't. But I'll remember for next time." She quickly touched his lips with a finger, as he was about to protest. "I can't stop you from leaving, but I can stop you from making this mistake. I want you to make love to me one more time before you leave." He straightened, pulling away from her slightly, but the hand he'd rested on her chest now cupped her chin, making her eyes meet his. "If I do that, I'll never be able to leave you." "I'm willing to take that chance." She knew then that she had him, at least for a little while. Nick released his hold on her and leaned in to kiss her lips, nibbling along her lower lip for a moment before pulling back from her. "I'd better head out to pick up the things Dr. Corey mentioned. And if I don't leave now, I don't think I'll ever get out of here." Nick reached into his shirt pocket, then appeared slightly bewildered for a moment as he glanced around. "The list--? I had it a minute ago--" Natalie fell back against the pillow and felt something crinkle. "Wait--I think--" She raised her head and lifted the piece of paper out from beneath her, but didn't hand it over when Nick reached for it. Instead, she opened it, trying to ignore the twinge that she felt from the muscle on the inside of her right leg--feeling was returning. Paula's list was thorough and down to the last detail. Natalie smiled as she noticed just detailed; Paula had left nothing to chance. Even the flannel nightgown listed for her had an exact size and a suggestion of a flower print. What alarm her was the number and cost of the items-- Nick moved closer, his hands adjusting her hair on the pillow. "What's wrong?" She realized then that she was frowning. "Nick--a whirlpool unit for your bathtub? Do you have any idea how much that will cost?" "You're worth it." When she continued to frown, he smiled and touched her cheek gently. "I'm going to take care of you." Her frown deepened. "I don't need--" "Yes, you ." He took the paper from her hands, folded it and tucked it into his shirt pocket. Then he touched her chin, turning her gaze toward him. "I going to take care of you." "There's no need, really," she said, realizing a few seconds later that her protest had been pathetically weak. Sighing, she set her chin defiantly, shaking off his touch. "I'll be fine at home. Grace would be happy to stop by to check on me and feed Sydney--" "I'm going to take care of you," repeated Nick in a very low tone; it was so authoritative that it sent a cold chill down her spine. But then his hand caressed her cheek in so loving and tender a manner that she knew that he wasn't trying to scare her--he just wasn't going to take no for an answer. "You'll stay here. I'll pick up Sydney after sunset. Whatever you need, just tell me. Whatever you , just tell me." His tone of voice grew more earnest as he spoke. There was something wounded in him that she couldn't turn away from, didn't dare refuse. Paula was right, Nick needed to do this for her. He to take care of her. And, to be honest, something inside of her needed him to do it. So she covered his hand with her own, concentrated on the feel of his palm against her cheek . . . and tried desperately to ignore the growing discomfort in other parts of her body, now that the drug was wearing off. "I can never make this up to you," said Nick softly, again leaning forward so that he could hold her in his arms. "Nothing I could do would . . . ." His voice was lost in her hair as he buried his face against her. She wanted to tell him that there something he could do--he could stay. He could stay and never leave her. He could stay and be young and handsome and loving forever-- No, better not to think about that. She heard the tears in his voice, the sorrow in him, and raised her arms to hold him to her. Her hand caressing the taut muscles of his shoulders. "Nick--it's all right," she said quietly, blinking away her own tears. "It wasn't your fault. made the deal with LaCroix. I never thought he'd let me hurt you that much. You tried to stop him. You didn't tell him I was going to be here--" "But . . . I told him that we'd made love." He pulled back from her embrace for a moment, his eyes meeting hers, even as that quiet admission of guilt swept through her with the sudden rage of a summer thunderstorm. "I told him. I threw it in his face. I told him that you'd saved me. That you'd take me out of the darkness he'd led me into." Natalie's instant anger faded at the look in his eyes, the absolute hopelessness of his gaze. Nick was confessing to her and she knew that he didn't dare to even hope for her forgiveness or understanding. He was letting her know just how thoroughly and completely he'd damned himself. And she understand. It was just as she'd suspected--he had no one to talk to. At least, not with Janette gone. The other vampires would simply laugh if he spoke of his dreams of mortality, of children, of living and dying in the light. And mortals would never get past the idea of his being a vampire. Only Schanke, perhaps, could have been told in such a way that those questions could have been avoided. Nick was his friend; he would have accepted any explanation within or outside reason. But Schanke was gone. Nick's eyes were still fearful, still haunted, as he stared down at her, waiting for her judgment upon him. But she wasn't about to deliver the fire and brimstone he expected. Instead, Natalie touched her hand to his cheek, cupping it, and he leaned into her caress, his eyes closing. "We have to find you some new friends," she said softly. His eyes opened, quizzical, not quite grasping her comment. It made her smile to see him like that--perplexed. She wondered just how many of his centuries had been spent in a fog of bewilderment. Just as he smiled down at her, finally deciding that she understood his words and yet had found it in her heart not to condemn him, the first stab of pain shot through her lower torso. Natalie had just enough warning to turn her head, biting her lip to cover the groan that erupted from somewhere other than her need to care for and love this psychologically-wounded vampire. Nick's reaction was immediate--his weight disappeared from beside her and the bed settled. Before she could do more than blink, he was standing on the other side of the bed with a glass of water in one hand and a bottle of pills in the other. "Dr. Corey said to take two," he informed her, shaking the required number of capsules from the bottle to the table, then setting it aside. He picked up the capsules and sat down on the bed beside her. "No." Natalie breathed once, deeply--it seemed to help--then forced herself to smile up at him . . . although it felt like someone was methodically flaying her from the inside out. "I don't need those." "Yes, you do." Nick reached for her hand and placed the pills in her palm. Then he lifted her enough so that she wouldn't spill the water. "And you'll take them. Or I'll sit here and wait until you do, even if it means I have to track down the things from Dr. Corey's shopping list in daylight." However much she was tempted to call his bluff, Natalie met his eyes . . . and decided that it wasn't worth it. She raised the pills to her mouth, but quickly palmed them again and sipped at the water, making a show of swallowing. She smiled. At least until Nick reached down and pried open her hand, revealing the presence of both pills. "Take them," he told her firmly. And just as she was about to give him a lecture on her knowing best about what medication she needed and when she needed it, something in his gaze softened and he added, "Please? Nat . . . I can't bear seeing you in pain." That's when Natalie discovered that guilt was a two-way street. More affected by that sorrowful stare than she would have liked to admit, she took one of the two pills. She pretended to take both, but managed to palm at least one successfully, tucking it between the folds of the blanket so that Nick wouldn't notice that she'd avoided swallowing all of her medication. It was quite a production and seemed to satisfy him. He placed a hand on her head lightly, then leaned down to plant a quick kiss on her cheek. "Sleep. I'll be back as soon as I can." He was half way across the room when she asked, "And what happens to me if you don't come back?" Nick froze in mid-movement, his back straightening--she'd caught him. "What?" "You're going to look for LaCroix." The accusation hit right between his shoulder blades; she knew that because she saw him tense. For an instant, she thought he was going to walk out, but then he turned very slowly, fists clenched. There was such a look of hatred on his face that she was afraid for his sanity, never mind his soul. "He hurt you." "He hurt both of us. But we let him and we can't blame him for that." She raised her hands up and he walked over to take them, standing beside the bed. "Say you find him-- I know you want to kill him. What happens to me if he kills you?" He hadn't gotten that far--she could tell by the sudden thoughtfulness of his expression. Seating himself on the bed, her hands still clasped in his, Nick bowed his head. "I'll never let anything happen to you." "Ditto." He looked up at the comment, meeting her eyes with a wan smile. "Okay, so I can't protect you from other big, bad vampires . . . much. But I can stop you from making a mistake. After what happened here tonight, you're not in great shape and a couple of bottles of blood are not going to make a hell of a difference. He'll wipe the floor with you. He might even kill you. And then . . . he'll come after me." There was a sudden distance in his eyes and he glanced toward the shuttered window, as if not wanting to contemplate the possibility. Natalie freed her hands from his and cradled his face with her fingertips, so that he'd look at her again. "He'd be doing me a favor," she said softly. "Because I don't think I want to live without you, now." His hands covered hers. "Ditto," he answered lightly, then reached down to touch his lips to hers. It was an affirmation of the sentiment. She reveled in it for a moment--being an enjoyable distraction from the pain she was experiencing--then felt him pull away. But not far away. Nick sat up and sighed. "You're right. It would mean that he'd won. I won't let him do that--I can't let him tear us apart." A small searing pain rippled through her, but she barely felt it, hearing those words from him. Her hands rested on the blanket and he toyed with her fingers again, measuring them against his own, warm to cold. Nick smiled faintly. "What?" she asked, curiosity getting the better of her. "Something Dr. Corey said." He cleared his throat, looking away for a moment as if embarrassed. "I don't think she has much faith in my ability to care for you." Natalie wanted to laugh--he catch a clue a now and again. Instead, she pretended to remain serious. "What makes you say that?" "She said--" There was an embarrassed silence again, but when his eyes met her own, she saw there was a smile hidden somewhere behind them. "She said that if anything happened to you, she'd stake me, leave me in the sunlight, then collect my ashes and scatter them in front of a women's crisis center the next time the streets iced over, because then she'd be sure I'd be doing good for ." Natalie put her hands over her face and laughed, inwardly hearing Paula's voice making just such a threat . . . meaning it. She heard Nick chuckling as well, but by the time she lowered her hands from her face, his expression was serious. He touched a hand to her hair, arranging it on the pillow. "You should sleep. And I've got a few things to pick up." "I'm afraid I'm a lousy patient," she warned him. He smiled, unperturbed, and rose from the bed. With two fingers, Nick lifted the list from his shirt pocket and informed her, "No problem. Dr. Corey left her number and told me to call her the minute you gave me any trouble. She said she'd run the lights this time." Natalie raised her eyebrows. "Is that a threat?" "No. It's a promise." His expression was serious enough to give her a moment's pause. Sinking down beneath the warmth of the covers, she muttered, "I'll be good." "That's what I thought." It was becoming difficult to say good-bye, even for the few hours he'd be away. Once she took the second pill, she knew she'd be out like a light and probably wouldn't even notice he was gone. But . . . . Nick seemed to be having the same problem. He stood at her bedside, staring down at her, then suddenly leaned over and kissed her, his arms grasping her shoulders and almost lifting her from the bed. It wasn't the brightest thing in the world to do, considering her condition, and there were some bits of her that were unhappy at the sudden manhandling. Mentally, she shushed them and wrapped her arms around his neck, holding on for dear life as he let her know just how much he cared for her. He was wrong that one time--maybe she hadn't known exactly how much he cared for her then . . . but she was beginning to get a pretty good idea of it now. Then he was gone, just like that. She was suddenly lying on the bed again, blankets askew, hands deprived of the mass of his chest and shoulders, lips deprived of that insistent and loving touch. Nick left only a cool breeze in his wake, the barest sign of his passing, and an echo of the elevator door as it closed downstairs. Natalie allowed herself the luxury of simply resting there for a moment, the cool touch of his lips a present memory on her own. She could feel the pill beginning to do its work, a numb feeling spreading throughout her. With a slight shake of her head, she forced herself back to matters at hand, arranging the blankets around her and pretending that she looked at least presentable. God only knew when she'd finally get a shower--maybe tomorrow?--or a good soak in the tub. She was entertaining a faint and not unpleasant thought of conning Nick into giving her a sponge bath when she heard a sound. Not a loud sound, certainly. It was barely a whisper. And when LaCroix appeared, stepping into the bedroom, she wasn't at all surprised. The flowers and box of candy he held rather lackadaisically somewhat unexpected. LaCroix walked over to the bed and presented her with the flowers, explaining, "I believe these are the current offerings for a recovering invalid." Natalie left her hands on the blanket, but nodded toward the dresser. "You can put them over there. What took you so long?" LaCroix moved to the dresser and placed the flowers and heart-shaped box on the dresser top. "Discretion being the better part of valor . . . Nicholas took his time." He looked over at her, an eyebrow raised. "Am I to assume that parting was such sweet sorrow?" "Are we going to talk or are you going to stand there and quote Shakespeare at me until sunrise?" "If you don't mind, I'll have a seat." LaCroix pulled the chair he'd sat in earlier across to the bedside and seated himself. "You expected me?" Natalie allowed herself the luxury of a soft smile. "It made sense. You had to come by to apologize. Or explain." His eyelids lowered slightly and LaCroix leaned back in the chair, regarding her thoughtfully. "Surely you're not sentimental enough to believe that I came here to ?" "No. You came here because Nick wants to rip your head off." He blinked, then smiled. "How astute. That's where I made my error, you know." Leaning forward with a confidential air, LaCroix clasped his hands together and let them hang between his knees. "We've clashed so often in the recent past that I've gained some respect for your tenacity and your intelligence. I underestimated you." "You thought I'd take one look at Nick trussed up like an S & M toy and I'd run?" she asked, letting her surprise color her tone. "You're right--you underestimate me." He frowned and hung his head. "So it seems. All you had to do was walk away. I couldn't believe you'd put yourself, or him, through so much pain. I waited for you to say 'no.'" "And I didn't." "No. You didn't." He flinched and looked up at her with a measuring gaze that wiped away some of the victorious feeling that she felt. "If anything, that makes you even more of a danger." Natalie swallowed, pinned by that intense gaze, and wondered just how badly she'd miscalculated. "But . . . you need me." A slight flicker of annoyance, then LaCroix sank back into the chair again. " needs you," he corrected. "He needs you, too." She'd caught him by surprise. LaCroix's smile was sharp, almost bitter. "And on what false premise do you base that erroneous conclusion?" "He told you about us. That we were having sex." She took no small amount of joy from the fact that LaCroix blinked at her again. "Yes, he told me." "Did he?" There was genuine interest in LaCroix's tone of voice. If anything, his expression became more thoughtful as he looked away. "You may be having more of an effect on him than I'd believed." "Nick needs you. He needs someone who knows what he is, what the vampire is. He needs someone to talk to, who'll understand what he's going through. I think . . . I think you're all he has left." He didn't look at her, but gestured, as if waiting for her to continue. "That's quite an admission, coming from someone who despises what we are." "I don't despise you for being a vampire." Another flicker of his eyelids--Natalie smiled inwardly, but forced herself to remain calm despite the points she was scoring. The pill was working and she didn't know how much longer she'd be lucid. Her legs were already beginning to feel very numb and heavy. "I despise you for what you've done to Nick. You've meant well--I understand that--but you've gotten it all wrong. And now he's so twisted up inside he doesn't know what he wants anymore." LaCroix seemed amused. "Thank you for your analysis of the situation, Doctor. I assume you've come to a conclusion as to a suitable treatment for this malady?" "Yes." Natalie waited until he looked back at her, his eyes locking with her own. "We let Nick choose." His smile was genuine. "Ah, but you see, you're right . . . he doesn't know what he wants." "Then we give him enough room to choose. We try to provide him with some sort of stability. I'll work on bringing him back across to mortality, while you handle the vampire stuff. When he works it out, he'll know what he wants. But if we keep pulling on him, we're going to tear him apart . . . and us with him." She was right to have phrased it that way--LaCroix couldn't make sense of her willingness to sacrifice everything for Nick, but he understood self-preservation and self-interest. She briefly wondered if that was why he'd never seemed to have had a problem with Janette. "You're proposing a truce?" he asked, after a moment's consideration. "Of sorts. We both have an immediate problem with Nick--he wants to kill you and he's so terrified that he's going to kill me that I'm afraid he'll take off once I'm back on my feet." "You want me to play the villain of the piece. Am I correct?" He was catching onto the way she thought. Natalie swallowed and steeled herself, nodding her agreement. "Yes--for a while. I've pointed out to him that he's in no state to take you on right now. And that if he lost to you, I'd be next." "Omitting the fact that you're beneath my notice," said LaCroix off-handedly. "But you're correct in that--Nicholas has never understood that his own warped values aren't shared by those of us with common sense." He steepled his fingers for a moment and rested his chin on them. "And the threat of what I might do with you after he left . . . yes, that would also keep him here. Very good. Excellent. And what incentive do have to participate in your scheme?" "Other than the fact that I'm the only thing that's keeping Nick from tearing out your heart and feeding it to you?" His eyes lost some of their glitter at her comment, but she pressed on. "Like I said, he needs you whether or not he knows it. I'm the only one who can stop him from killing you. Given time, I might even be able to convince him that he doesn't want your head mounted on a plaque over the fireplace." "Really?" His eyes narrowed. "Given time . . . how much