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DISCLAIMER:     I don't know who owns FK and the associated characters, but
it certainly isn't me.  This story *is* mine, however, and anyone who wants,
for whatever odd reasons, to reproduce it, is quite welcome, provided s/he
lets me know about it.  There.  I hope that covers it.

This is a Natalie-LC story, fairly graphic sex, language, a little violence.
Special thanks to Elizabeth Milford, who explained what a Valentine was.


That Defenceless Position

By Wayward



++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Do I know how I feel about *you*?  God, I don't know how I
feel about *Nick*.

Neither do I, for that matter.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


Natalie winced slightly as she scrubbed her back in the shower.  The shower
gel foamed in the tiny scratches his fangs had left in her skin.  Her
thighs, her back, her arms-- actually, almost all of her muscles ached.  He
was thorough, but rough.  She didn't mind.  Not much.  Not really.

Although, just once, she mightn't have minded a little.... well, a little
gentleness.  The wildness in him had attracted her in the first place, true
enough.  But control was sensual, too.  Of course, the simple fact that she
was still alive and kicking after bedding Lucien LaCroix implied a certain
amount of control on his part, but still.

*On the other hand....*  If she expected tenderness from him, didn't he
 have the right to expect the same from her?  That was a little intimidating.  It would suggest an emotional side to their relationship that she didn't think
existed.

*On the -other- other hand, how could I bring up the subject at all?  It
isn't like I can just turn over and go, Hey, Lu, why don't we cuddle?  I
mean, after that, we might as well go on and buy matching robes.  I mean, we
don't do a lot of talking, anyway.*

*On the other-- hang on, how many hands is that?  Never mind.  You've
avoided the main question pretty neatly, Lambert, but face it:  You don't
know -what- the hell you have with him.  It certainly isn't like you and
Nick....*  As usual, the thought of Nicholas Knight brought with it a pang
of guilt.  He had no idea of what was going on between LaCroix and Nat.  *At
least, I hope not.  Of course, it isn't his business, but still.

*Howsomever and nevertheless, there isn't anything between LaCroix and I.
It's just fuck and run.  Fly.  Whatever.*

She shivered slightly, thinking of the previous night.

They hadn't said so much as "Hello."

He buried his hands in her hair and forced her to her knees.  Of course, it
wasn't completely unwillingly; she was undoing his trousers even as he
pulled her to his crotch.  She took his already-erect cock in her mouth,
noting in a distant, clinical part of her mind the taste of blood.  She took
him as deeply as she could, nearly choking.  Above her, LaCroix tightened
his grip in her hair, thrusting into her mouth.

Without asking, or warning, he yanked her to her feet and took her standing
against the living room wall, hard and fast, her pantyhose in shreds around
her thighs.  He pulled her blouse from her body, trailing his fangs over her
shoulders, leaving thin red lines. She came once, twice, and found herself
on her knees again, tasting her own wetness on his cock, as he came in her
mouth, blood and come mixed together.

After, he had dropped to his own knees beside her, kissing her mouth, her
neck, thrusting his fingers into her again and again until she came a final
time.  She lay, dazed, on the carpet.

He stood, zipped his trousers, and was gone.  Her arms were bruised this
morning where he had gripped her, but except for that, the whole thing
might've been a dream.

Irritated, Natalie realised she was getting aroused again.  She dragged
herself out of the shower, wrapped a towel around her dripping, dark hair,
and prepared to face her day.


All things considered, things went pretty well.  Nat was satisfied with
herself.  She kept up on her paperwork; the workload was light; her hair
more or less behaved itself; and Nick was in a good mood.  She joined him
and Schanke for a coffee break.  Well, she and Schanke drank coffee.  Nick
just held his cup.  The homicide detectives had cleared a case and were in a
celebratory mood.

When Schanke went back to the counter for a refill, Nick leaned close to
 her. "Nat?"

"Yes, Nick?"

"I just thought I should say... I'm sorry.  For things in general.  I don't
appreciate you as I should, and, well, I'm trying to change that."  His blue
eyes shone with sincerity.

Nat was genuinely touched.  She smiled at him.  "It's no big deal."

"Right."  He smiled back.

Dr Lambert was whistling to herself as she headed to the grocery store.  The
sun had just risen, the air was cool and crisp, and life was looking pretty
darn good.

She tossed milk, bread-- *Coffee.  Have I got coffee?*  She couldn't
remember.  She grabbed a can, just in case.  *Fruit?  Yeah, why not.*  A
pound of nectarines found their way into the basket.  *Okay, that should do it.*

During the drive home, she occupied her thoughts by searching for a decent
song on the radio.  *Commercial.  Commercial.  Commercial.*  By the time she
got home, she still hadn't found anything good.  *Thank God for CD players....*

As she made her way upstairs, she debated dinner plans.  *Maybe I should
call Nick, see if he wants company.  It's hard to tell with him.  Or I could
send out for Chinese...*

Absently, she unlocked her door and entered the apartment.  *That's odd.
Where's Sydney?  Sleeping somewhere, I guess.*

"Here, kittykittykitty," she called.  "Come on out.  If you want dinner,
that is."

"Thank you so much for the offer," came the lazy reply, "but I've eaten
already."

"!!!!!"  Natalie dropped her bags and spun, heart pounding, before catching
herself.  "LaCroix.  Make yourself at home," she added.  A towel was wrapped
loosely around his hips, and he held a steaming cup of-- *My God.  If he's
used my microwave to nuke himself some O positive--!*

"Don't be petty, Natalie," he chided her.  "I was simply waiting for you to
come home.  I got bored."  He offered her the mug.  It was one of her
favourites, an oversize cup with a "Phantom of the Opera" logo, a gift from
Nick, and it was currently full of cinnamon tea, to her relief.  The vampire
lifted an elegant eyebrow.

"You were expecting something a bit more... sanguinary?  Really, Dr Lambert.
I am a civilised man--"

"You're the walking dead."

"That, also.  However, I give you my word that I will not feed in your
presence.  Unless it's from you, that is."

The admission made her a little weak in the knees.  He only rarely took her
blood, but it added a dimension of danger to their couplings.  To hide her
response, she handed him a bag of groceries.  "Here.  Help me get this stuff
put away."  Amused, he did, very efficiently.

*There's a vampire in my kitchen.*  She snuck a glance at him.  *And he's
washing my nectarines.  This is weird.*

"Why the visit?"  Nat asked, to break the silence.

"No reason.  Except, perhaps, boredom.  Nicholas is rather tedious when he's
in his reformed state.  I, of course, hope to--"

"Unreform him?"

"Yes, quite.  You know, Dr Lambert, I am capable of finishing my own=
 sentences."

"Sorry."

"Mmmm.  Natalie?"

"Yes?"

"Do you feel uncomfortable talking about Nicholas?"

She was surprised at the personal turn the conversation was taking.  "No, I
don't think so."

"Even though he doesn't know about us-- or does he?"

"God, no.  And don't you go telling him, either."

"Never.  Janette knows, of course.  But she knows everything.  I don't think
she minds."

"Uh...."  Nat couldn't think of an appropriate rejoinder.  "That's nice."

And then he was standing beside her.





+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

So, would you die for me?

I'd kill for you.  It's pretty close to the same thing.

You crazy romantic, you.

Well, technically, I'm already dead for you, my heart.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


For the second time in as many days, Natalie found herself being
semi-attacked by a vampire.  He caught her up in his arms, stripping her
clothing off as he swept her into the living room and deposited her onto the
couch.  Her brassiere and panties fell to the floor, joined by his towel. He
reached down into a cloth bag beside the couch and pulled something free.

"What--"

He gave her no time to protest, or even look, but stopped her questions with
his tongue, kissing her, fondling her, raising red marks on her skin with
his lips.  He positioned her in the corner of the couch, legs spread wide,
knelt between them.  She waited for his first thrust, eyes shut in
anticipation.
But that first thrust wasn't what she was expecting, exactly.  LaCroix was
well-made, long and thick; the thing that entered her was *much* larger.
She gasped, tried to pull away, but he held her in place with one hand.  She
looked down between her legs as he withdrew.

There, halfway out of her cunt, was a dildo.  Before she could say anything,
LaCroix began to pump it into her mercilessly.

"Wait-- hold on--"

"Quiet, Natalie," he said coolly.  His words were in direct opposition to
his body.  His cock was very much erect; obviously doing her this way
stimulated him.

She lay back, determined to wait him out.  The dildo was at least 12 inches
long, she decided, and perhaps 5 inches thick.  Whatever the dimensions, it
was doing a very good job of turning her on.  Of course, knowing that it
would soon be replaced with the real thing added to the experience.  A
particularly ferocious thrust made her cry out sharply.

"Nicholas would not do this for you," he whispered.  "He would never even
imagine doing the things with you I will do, Natalie..."

She screamed, then, as he pumped the dildo furiously, and came.

Almost instantly, he tossed it aside and buried his own cock inside her.
Enormously aroused, it only took a moment before he came, needle-cold spray
inside her.  He sank upon her, his weight pressing her into the cushions.
It was a few moments before she realised he was watching her.  His cool,
unemotional blue eyes met hers without flinching.  Unnerved, she looked
away.  He nodded, once, and withdrew from her.

"I'll need to stay until sundown," he remarked casually.

Startled, Natalie sat up, closing her legs.  She looked at the windows; the
blinds were drawn; all the same, LaCroix was keeping a safe distance from
them.  "Sure, fine, whatever," she said.  He nodded again and wandered off
to the bedroom.

Natalie moved around the room, gathering up her clothes, deliberately
stalling.  She was tired, and wanted to sleep, but was reluctant to face him
again.

*Coward.  He's just a guy, after all.  A centuries-old, incredibly powerful,
undead guy, but a guy nonetheless.*  She paused to take a sip of her
now-cold tea, not really convinced by her own reasoning, then picked up a
pile of shredded nylon.

"Great," she muttered.  "Another pair of pantyhose, shot to hell."

Finally, she decided she had stalled as long as she could.  She tiptoed into
the bedroom.

LaCroix lay in the bed, soundly asleep.  Carefully, she slipped into the
bathroom and showered, as quickly and quietly as she could.  *Of course,
this is -my- home*, she reminded herself.  *Why should I have to sneak
around??  Because you don't want to wake him up*, she reminded herself.

She spent a long time drying herself off before emerging.  He still hadn't
budged.  Cautiously, she slipped on a t-shirt and crept beneath the sheets
next to him.  No movement.  She turned to stretch out on her side, and fell
as soundly asleep as the vampire lying next to her.

Some hours later, she woke partially.  LaCroix was pressed firmly against
her back, one arm around her waist, his face nestled against her shoulder.
*Hope you're comfortable*, she thought sleepily, and drifted off again.

When she woke again, it was to the sound of her alarm, and he was gone.


+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


"Just the flowers?"  the clerk was saying for the third time.

"Yes, just the flowers."  LaCroix was beginning to be irked.

"I'll handle this, Ange."  A woman stepped out of the back room.  The young
man nodded and skulked off.

"What can I do for you, Mr Cross?"  She paused slightly before pronouncing
his name.

"I need at least four dozen white roses, flowers only.  No stems."

She raised an eyebrow.  "I see."

"Norah...."

"I'm not saying anything, okay?  It's your unlife.  Just be careful, right?
I have enough trouble as it is. "

"Can you fill the order?" he demanded.

"Yes, sure.  Good timing, by the way.  I had a customer just a minute ago, a
Ms Deb Rowland, who called wanting two dozen roses-- no flowers, just the
thorned stems."

"I need them by Friday."

"You'll have them.  Delivery or pick-up?"

"Delivery."

"Right.  I'll handle it myself."  She smiled, carefully showing no teeth.
"Thanks for coming to Midnight Angel."

"Thank *you*.  And, Norah?" he said, just before he walked out.

"Yes?"

"I will be careful."

"Whatever."

"Right."


LaCroix was not quite as relaxed as he pretended to be.  Recently he had
begun questioning the wisdom of his familiarity with Natalie Lambert.  She
was a remarkable woman, at once vulnerable and tough, intelligent and
playful.  She was a welcome change from the mindless, remote sexual
relations he generally indulged in.  In fact, she reminded him rather a lot
of Janette.  He smiled at the thought.  *Perhaps I ought to invite everyone
over for drinks some evening....  well, perhaps not.*  Janette's temper was
unpredictable, and the current status of her relationship with Nicholas
uncertain.  Violence would probably result-- of course, it might all be
worth it to see the look on Nicholas' face.



*Natalie....*  What *was* he going to do about her?  Norah was right, of
course.  Extricating himself from his current entanglement would be the
safest thing to do.  Not, of course, that safety had ever been one of his
concerns.  He might even be placing her in danger, from other members of the
community, he realised.  After all, he himself had not been best pleased
with the coroner's acquaintance with Nicholas.  *Anyone who moves against
her had best be ready to explain himself to me*, he decided grimly.  *If
anyone's going to bring her across, it will be me.*

And that, he understood suddenly, was the crux of the problem.  Mortals and
vampires could not manage a long-range connexion.  It was simply impossible.
She would not agree, he knew; her feelings for Nicholas showed otherwise.
There was no way she would come across willingly; and bringing Nicholas
across had shown him the error of giving the gift of eternal life to an
unsuspecting-- or unwilling-- individual.

What to do?  What to do?

Well, he was an intelligent, creative vampire.  He was sure he could come up
with an acceptable compromise.




+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

You know, you really do fascinate me.  You, my heart,
are something out of the ordinary.

Wow.

What?

Pillow talk of the undead.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


Natalie had a bad case of the creeps as she locked her apartment door behind
her.  LaCroix had not even left a note before leaving.  Not that he ever had
before, but it would've been nice.  Ever since waking up alone in bed,
however, she had had the feeling that someone was watching her.

The garage was well-lit; no shadows concealed a waiting attacker.  Still,
the back of her neck prickled.  She felt an insane desire to turn around and
run, sobbing and screaming, back to the safety of her apartment, to grab the
phone and demand that LaCroix get his sorry, undead ass back and protect
her, to dig out the baseball bat from her closet and--

*LaCroix???*

Since when was he the protective type?  Nick, sure, of course; if she
called, he would come and defend her, even if there wasn't anything after
her.  LaCroix, though-- actually, she was more likely to need to be
protected *from* him, rather than getting protected *by* him.

*I must be losing my mind.*

As she drove off to work, it followed her.


++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


The interior of The Raven was a study in paradox.  Light blazed from more
than one pint of the main room, but the club itself was dark, full of
shadows.  The shadows themselves seemed to have their own voluntary motion,
rather than depending on the shifting of bodies and lighting.  The music was
loud, the bass so heavy it made glasses rattle on their tables.  Liz Phair
was singing And I loved my life, And I hated you, and the dance floor was
full, people (living and otherwise) moving with and against each other.

Janette stood at the bar, ivory cigarette holder in hand, observing the
crowd with satisfaction.  The Raven was one of the very few clubs in Toronto
that could draw a full house even on a weekday night.  *It's probably one of
the only clubs in the country that can manage it*, she thought, with
pardonable smugness.  She was watching the door for a specific arrival, and
finally saw him enter.  Tall, pale, and dressed in black [*I really must
take him shopping for a new wardrobe....*], he walked easily through the
people.

LaCroix loved the bright mortal lives inside The Raven, almost as much as he
loved its proprietor, gowned tonight in cobalt silk, elegant-elegant as
always.  He bent his head to kiss her cheek gently.  "Good evening, cherie."

"Hello, LaCroix.  Will you have....?"  she gestured behind her, at the bar.

"No, not tonight, thank you.  You needed to see me?"  His gentle tone kept
the question from being harsh.

"Yes; although I must be a little crazy to even bother saying anything."

Janette returned her attention to the dancers for a moment, brushing back a
strand of glossy, dark hair before leaning close into her master's side to
speak.

LaCroix, sensing her agitation, put his arm around her waist, settling her
head on his chest.  "What is it, Janette?"

"Your new friend is being watched," she said finally, resting her hand on
his shoulder.  "You had better keep an eye on her.  There are those who
would not mind seeing her... out of your way."

He tensed.  "I see.  How do you know this?"

"People talk, LaCroix.  Shall we just say, someone told someone, who told
someone, who knew it would come to my attention."  She rubbed the back of
his neck comfortingly.

"I don't like this."

"You mean, people interfering in your personal life?  How... ironic."

The older vampire looked at her sharply.  "Nicholas is my child.  His
personal life is my responsibility.  What *I* choose to do is no-one's
business is mine."

Janette shrugged.  "As you like.  Just remember:  You may be invulnerable;
That Woman is not."

"Janette?"

"What?"  her tone was almost belligerent.

"You do know.... No-one can take your place in my affections."

She didn't smile, precisely, but her expression lightened.

"I've got to be on my way, cherie," LaCroix said after a moment, "but I'll
come to see you soon, shall I?"

"Whatever."  But she was smiling now, he could see.  He stooped to kiss her
mouth, hard, and was gone.

A new song was thundering now, a strange, strung-out woman's voice, "Blood
roses, blood roses, back on the street now....", mixed with an unsettling,
skittering percussion loop.

Janette lingered at the bar, watching him leave, thinking about the strange
turn of events.  Nicholas would never understand why Janette cared what
happened to That Woman.  After all, Dr Natalie Lambert was a challenge to
Janette's relationship with both men.  But Janette was practical to a fault.
If That Woman died, Nick would blame himself.  *And then I would have to
listen to hour after hour of laments for Saint Natalie.  No, thank you.*  As
for jealousy-- no, not at all.  She had shared a bed with both men for many
years; she was confident of her place in their lives.  Although it was nice
to be reassured, as LaCroix himself had just done.

*They can have her at the same time, for all I care.  Enjoy LaCroix while
you have him, Dr Lambert.  You'll be dead and dust soon; and then they'll
both be mine again.*

Janette walked gracefully to her office, pleasantly aware of the many
admiring looks in her wake.  Safely inside, she stretched out on her soft,
leather couch.  In contrast to her languid posture, she was thinking
furiously.  LaCroix had not taken her warning seriously.  *I can see I'm
going to have to take matters into my own hands.  As usual.  Men!*


+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


Natalie poked Grace in the side.  "I'm going to run out and get some dinner.
You want anything?  I'm going to that Chinese place."

"Oooh, yes, thanks.  Get me an order of crab rangoon, and, um, maybe a
couple of their almond cookies.  Just let me grab my purse--"

"Naah, my treat; you bought last time, right?  Be right back."  And she was
out the door.  Once inside the morgue, Natalie's paranoia had lessened.  She
felt secure, even grounded, in her workplace.  Ghoulish as it might sound to
some, she truly loved her work.  She was good at what she did, and was
well-respected, as well as liked, by her colleagues.  It was Friday night,
and she had the whole weekend to relax.

She started to unlock her car door, then stopped.  It was a nice night, the
Mandarin Orchid was only just down the street.... *I think I'll walk.  It's
not that far.*

Natalie took deep breaths of night air into her lungs.  *If this was a
movie*, she thought idly, *LaCroix would swoop down right now and carry me
off for a night of passionate sex.*  She paused.  Nothing happened, natch,
and laughing at herself, she went on her way.  *Then again, if this was a
movie, there'd probably be a drooling maniac waiting to yank me into an
alley and do away with me.*

This time, something happened.

A steel-strong hand grabbed her arm just above the elbow and hauled her into
the alley she was passing.  A filthy hand clamped over her mouth.  Natalie
flailed behind her with a fist, but couldn't seem to land a solid blow.  She
was turned around with blinding speed to face her attacker.  She had never
seen him before, but she knew him, nonetheless.

Vampire.

"Good-bye," he hissed, fangs bared and ready.

Nat cupped her hands and brought them up sharply, slamming them over his
ears.  He howled and staggered backwards, eardrums ruptured.  Natalie spun
and ran--

*nonononononono*

--and her foot slipped in a puddle of something and she went crashing to the
ground, she flipped herself onto her back, trying to regain her footing,
searching the darkness for a weapon--

--then her eyes focussed.  A black-clad figure stood before her, pinning her
attacker by the shoulder to the wall.  One powerful white hand slashed out,
opening the vampire's throat.  Blood poured from the gash, and her rescuer
stepped aside swiftly, avoiding the flow, letting him fall to the ground.

"My hero," Natalie said, voice strangled.

"Get stuffed," Janette said curtly.  "Let's get out of here, before someone
comes."


++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


Nat cleaned out the abrasions on her palms, watching Janette watch her.

"I don't want you dead.  It's nothing personal," the vampire said at last,
"but I don't want to spend the next two hundred years putting up with
Nicholas' grieving process."

"Um," Nat said.  "Thanks."

"Don't mention it.  You might want to start carrying a stake, something like
that, by the way."

"This isn't an isolated incident?"

Janette shook her head scornfully.  "Don't be stupid.  Someone doesn't want
you anywhere near LaCroix."  She anticipated Nat's next question.  "The man
who attacked you was acting under orders."

"Whose?"

Janette shrugged.  "That's your problem, not mine."

"Right."  Nat tossed the last piece of gauze in the trashcan and surveyed
herself.  Bandages on one knee, both palms.  Bruised shin.  *I've looked
worse*, she decided.

She looked at Janette, who said nothing.

"Good-night," Nat said finally.

"Good-bye," Janette responded, and Nat left.

"This is really turning out to be one of those decades," Janette muttered to
herself.




+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++




"This is really turning out to be one of those days," Natalie muttered to
herself.  She had had a terrible time explaining her little adventure back
at the precinct house.  First, she had to answer to Grace.  Then, to
Schanke, who happened to be passing by.  Then to Nick, who had gotten the
information from Schanke.  And now....

"What did he look like?"  LaCroix was demanding.  Janette had contacted him
and explained the situation.  He had been waiting for her when she left--
*Thank heaven Nick didn't see*, she thought, then:  *I feel like I'm having
an affair, sneaking around like this.  I guess that makes LaCroix the Other
Vampire.*

--and now they were at his apartment, "discussing" it.  Well, he was
discussing.  She was listening.

"Oh, for God's sake.  He's probably still in the alley-- why don't you go
look for yourself?"  she snapped, her nerves slightly overwrought.

"Janette-- I'll ask her.  I ought to have given her more credit for
understanding the situation."

"She said he had been sent by someone," she ventured.

"She's right.  There are many in the community who are not pleased with my
excursion into the mortal world."

"You weren't too thrilled about Nick and me," Nat said accusingly.

"No, I wasn't."

"Riiiight.  Well, it doesn't matter.  There's an easy solution, thank=
 goodness."

"And that would be....?"

"To not see each other any more."  She held her breath.  This was not what
she wanted, but she couldn't see any other way out of the tangle of events.

"Nonsense.  I will not permit myself to be regulated," he replied curtly.

*Well, what were you expecting?* she chided herself.  *A pledge of undying
love?*

"Pardon me," she said icily, "but don't I have any say in the matter?  I
don't intend to end up in my own morgue," she added.

He glanced over at her.  "I will protect you," he said airily, "so don't
concern yourself."

"Oh yeah sure right whatever," Natalie was angry, now, her emotions on a
roller-coaster. "Like you've done such a wonderful job so far!"  She turned
away, near tears.  There was a deep silence behind her.

"Listen, forget I said that," she managed, once she had gotten herself back
under control.  "I'm heading home.  It's been a bad night."

She had her hand on the doorknob when he stepped up behind her.  "That's
what's bothering you, then."

"I'm *bothered* by the fact that some-- some *vampire* tried to kill me
tonight!" she said.

"I doubt that," he contradicted her smoothly.  "You have very steady=
 nerves,=7F
Natalie.  And your association with Nicholas has no doubt made you
impervious to most of life's shocks, no matter how severe.  You are upset
because you feel that I am not concerned with you-- only with my own status
within the community."

She started to deny it, but his words were too close to the reality.  "I--
just let me go, LaCroix."

"No."

"I want to go *home*, LaCroix."

"If you like.  But I'm not going to let you go.  You belong with me,
Natalie.  I don't care who likes it, or who doesn't like it."  He circled
her waist with his arm and leaned his cheek on the top of her head.  His low
voice reverberated in her head.  "When Janette called me tonight to tell me
what had happened, I was furious, because someone had offered you harm...
and because I had not taken better care of you, my heart."

"I can take care of myself," she mumbled.

"Yes, I know.  And, under other circumstances, I would not intervene.
However, you are dealing with forces beyond your realm of experience, so I'm
afraid you'll need to get used to having me stay very close to you for some
time."  He lifted her heavy hair up, kissing the back of her neck.

"I... suppose I could put up with that."

"I was planning on seeing you tonight, Natalie-- shall I show you what I
have prepared for you?"

"Well, since I'm here anyway...."

"Wait here a moment," he instructed her.  In a moment, he was back.  Gently
he led her into his bedroom.

White roses stood in vases throughout the room.  The bed was turned down,
dark silk sheets spilling onto the floor.  And, scattered over the bed, what
looked like  hundreds of stemless roses, their petals almost covering the
king-sized bed, their fragrance filling the air. Mirrors, strategically
placed, showed a thousand rose-strewn beds.  Candles were lit on every
surface not already covered with roses, lending a strange, dreamy quality to
the scene.  Artifice, yes; planned, yes; but the whole picture showed a
wildy romantic, inventive streak in the ancient vampire's nature she had not
suspected.

"Do you approve?" he breathed.

"Very much--" and her words were cut off by his mouth.

He peeled her clothes from her body with exquisite care, avoiding the sore
places where she had fallen.  He stripped his own clothing off negligently,
leading her to their bed.

"I've pictured this a thousand times," LaCroix whispered against her skin.
He stretched his pale body along hers, languid and graceful.

Kisses and caresses exchanged, a brief tussle, and the vampire was on his
back, Natalie on top of him.  She straddled his hips, leaning down to kiss
his cold mouth, her hair trailing along his skin.

LaCroix pulled her down against him, stroking her cheek lightly, turning her
head to the side slightly.  He murmured something into her hair.

"What?" she gasped.

"Nothing...."

His fangs grazed her collarbone, opening a thin wound in her flesh.  She
gasped as he licked the beads of precious blood from her skin.

"Natalie...."

Then, one slick movement and he was inside her, pinning her against his
chest, moving with her.  All thought ended when he entered her, and would
not begin again until they had both had all they were capable of taking and
giving.


For many days, questions would be left unanswered.  But now, in this
rose-strong room, this was enough.



END



+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Full, full moon, and the same sad nature
I wanna cover every inch of you
Like ink on paper
Like the blind parade of souls consumed by religion
I can't wait until I get you
In that defenceless position....
        Shawn Colvin, "Set the Prairie on Fire"

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++



/////-----/////-----/////-----/////-----/////-----/////-----/////

"I've never known someone as desperate for tenderness as you appear."
     Mina, "Nosferatu"