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Warning - This story contains scenes of a violent and/or sexual nature. Consider it NC-17. If you're younger than 17, please go away now.

Summary: Nick/Nat. Explicit sex

There were afternoons when Natalie awoke to find Nick lying almost lifeless beside her, when she would watch for the subtlest shift of the sheets to indicate his breathing, or when she might rest her ear against his naked chest and listen for that rare, solitary heartbeat that occurred only once in an eleven minute span or so. Sometimes she'd fall back asleep lying on his chest, only to be awakened later by him tickling her nose with a strand of her hair, or to come to consciousness on her own to find his arm had somehow moved around her of its own accord, protecting and claiming her even in the depths of sleep.

Other times she might wake earlier than she should and then she'd debate whether to slip out of bed and get ready for the grueling shift that awaited her or catch a few more minutes shut-eye or . . . .

Those were the times that she really managed to get a look at him. Nick was more than a little old fashioned about their love-making, preferring to leave the lights out. Candles seemed to be okay, approved of in his fashion by the addition of several wall sconces to her bedroom after that blazus interruptus incident with Sidney and the desktop candle. Direct sunlight was a definite no-no, but at her place the lights were generally off, while at the loft they made love in the gray-blue stillness of rooms from which sunlight had been banished or on the rug before the fireplace, the fire low and smoldering. Whenever he caught her looking at him, Nick would grow shy and turn away or distract her with a tickle along the ribs or some more sensitive portion of her anatomy.

In the not-quite-pitch-blackness of her bedroom, she'd raise herself up on an elbow and look at him--really look at him--while he slept. His pale skin seemed paler still in the hazy darkness, his brow sometimes furrowed by unpleasant dreams, eyes tightly shut. Better yet those afternoons when he had a faint smile on his lips, when he might sigh in his sleep and turn toward her, his hand reaching for her automatically, as if he needed to know that she was there even when his conscious mind was enveloped in the stuff of dreams.

To watch would mean to touch, after a time--to trace the scar along the biceps or at his right hip, to smooth the lines of his face and wish she could as easily draw the bad thoughts from him, ruffle his hair with her fingertips or set a fallen lock back into place. He often slept on his back and it was too easy to give way to the temptation of slipping close beside him and yet not waking him--for if it was early enough in the afternoon and his dreams were peaceful, Nick wouldn't have been awakened by the Titanic docking in her living room. She would press her lips to the skin of his shoulder or run her hand along his chest and delight in the contour of his muscles. It was enough to touch him, to hold him, to know that he was close beside her.

After a time, and usually when Natalie was feeling mischievous, she might begin to try to tease him into wakefulness. She let her hands roam lower down his torso, along his stomach and down to the hair at his groin. His reaction to her touch never ceased to delight her, how with the faintest of caresses she could ignite his desire. She would watch Nick's face in the near-darkness, trying to discern the first signs of wakefulness in his features. Simply stroking him with her fingers, lightly running the tips of her fingernails down the length of his shaft, was her favorite way to begin. A change of breathing, a half turn of his head would signal her to alter her tactics. Low moans would escape him if she lightly squeezed his scrotum, rubbing the sac with her fingers as she cupped her fist around it. If she closed her fingers around his shaft and stroked up and down, his hips would shift with her movements, as if trying to thrust in and out of her hand.

The head of his shaft she would leave until the last, knowing how sensitive it was. First to trace the edges of its contours with her fingers, rubbing lightly. The exposed tip was often too much of a temptation and the sound Nick would make when she drew the side of her fingernail across him never failed to thrill her.

No matter how carefully she watched, she was never certain of the exact instant he would awaken. Sometimes his eyelids would be closed so tightly that she knew he must be awake and enjoying the sensations within the privacy of himself. On some occasions he'd stare up at the ceiling with gold-green eyes, allowing her to bring him to the full culmination of his orgasm, triggering it with a few droplets of his own blood by biting the side of his fist. Then he'd reach for her immediately afterward and lift her into the fold of his arms; how wonderful it was to feel his body partially beneath her, still shuddering with the after-effects of his release.

Now and again, he would surprise her in the midst of her play. At the moment she thought him still asleep, he would grab hold of her arms, flip her over with a growl, and either tickle her or let his lips begin a torturously prolonged attempt at mapping out every inch of her skin. He'd once called referred to it as the most wonderful method of revenge he'd ever discovered and she tended to agree after the fact, although during the experience the frustration of being raised to the peak of orgasm time and again, only to have him move on to another part of her body to resume his play had led her to threats of causing him bodily harm that she had every intention of fulfilling . . . at the time they were uttered, anyway. That he could resist both her threats and her desperate pleading for relief with equanimity annoyed her even more, but she forgave him in the volcanic release that would tear through her at the end, especially the way he cradled her in his arms, kissed her eyelids and lips and cheeks so very tenderly, and then smiled his most adorable 'I'm completely innocent' smile.

She considered that little more than play between them--humorous and loving, still dangerous but controllable. Intercourse was far more frightening. Spontaneity had to be avoided as long as he continued to drink from her, for there was always the possibility of taking too much, too frequently. The presence of a condom on the pillow became an unspoken signal between them--if the condom was placed on the dresser by either one of them, they'd have to content themselves with foreplay.

Even that might lead to arguments. After a particularly bad night at work that had run into an extra morning shift, she'd arrived at her apartment with a need to lose herself that was almost unbearable. She'd run naked from the bathroom to the bedroom, slipped into bed beside him . . . and looked to find the condom sitting on the nightstand instead of the pillow. His argument that he'd taken blood from her two nights in a row had been logical, it was for her own good, but she'd been too tired and too frustrated to care. She'd beaten her fists against his chest, scratched him with her fingernails until he grasped her wrists, and ever tried to deliver a well placed knee in a sensitive spot . . . but ended up weeping in his arms, coming down from that plateau of frustration and heartache not by losing herself in the oblivion of pleasure, but soothed into the healing sleep she needed by his soft words, and his comforting embrace, and his presence.

The instances when she was forced to refuse him were often less volatile, but more dangerous--that much they both knew. On those afternoons it wasn't unusual for her to turn over and find him gone from his place beside her. On the better of those times she might look up to find him sitting in a chair facing the bed, eyes gold or, at the worst, blood red, hands clasped together over his knees, watching her as she slept. If she spoke to him, or if he found himself nearing the limits of absolute control, he would disappear in the blink of an eye; the only sign he'd even been there being the empty chair left behind and the soft click of the lock on the bedroom door.

The bedroom lock was another sign between them. Functionally inadequate--he could have broken down the door easily--it served to warn her not to leave the bedroom until just before sunset. When the lock clicked behind him, Nick felt that he was too dangerous to face her, too likely to let the vampire slip past his will and his better judgment.

Natalie cried herself back to sleep on those days. Frustrated that there was nothing she could do to help him, she did as he asked knowing that when she emerged from the bedroom at sunset he would already be gone. How could it not hurt, that he was willing to risk the danger of the last rays of the sun rather than face her? And yet it was done for her safety.

Nick would retreat to the loft at such times. Honoring his need for solitude as he tried to rebuild the walls of will that enabled them to be together, she'd leave him alone. They'd be cordial at work, but avoid touching and direct eye contact until they could once again be apart and bury themselves in their work schedules.

If more than three days passed, she would go to the loft to look for him--the first time he'd been surprised that she would dare to press him, that she could love him that much. Thereafter he knew that he would have three days to get himself together or she would come after him, their unspoken agreement being that he would contact her if he needed more time.

Their reconciliations at the loft were always fraught with danger; perhaps that was why their joinings there seemed so much more intense. Though Nick's bedroom still held unnerving memories for Natalie, the pleasant memories far outnumbered the bad and she had grown as comfortable with him there as in her own apartment. After having him gone from her side for even as brief a time as three days, she found she couldn't get enough of him around her, beside her, within her . . . and their activities would often travel from room to room, floor to floor, sometimes leading to a sick call for one or both of them due to exhaustion.

They didn't live on love alone. There were microwave gourmets and take-out and delivery and the occasional home-cooked meals on days off for Natalie. Nick would often sit with her while she ate--how nice it was to have company other than Sydney during her evening meals--and was occasionally brave enough to attempt a bit or two of solid food. He made a great show of choking down a bit of broccoli or a string of linguini and Natalie soon discovered he was not above using this 'sacrifice' as attempted leverage during their love-making.

Not that she minded. She was happy enough to give in to his requests that she do this or he do that or they do something together just once more after the point that she'd given up, sated with pure bliss and exhausted beyond her own capacity, but not beyond his. It was little enough to give, when she considered the regimen that he endured.

Nick was back to cow blood. No human blood ever passed his lips--other than what he'd take from her when they had intercourse. She knew how desperate he was to return to the plateau they'd once reached--being able to love one another fully, as mortals, without him having to feed from her to achieve orgasm. He'd even shocked the hell out of her at a crime scene by asking her to go back to her experiments on the protein shakes as a nutritional replacement--she'd almost dropped the bagged murder weapon down a sewer grate and only Nick's super-human reaction time had saved her from having to explain just how she'd let that evidence get away from her.

She knew that Nick must have realized by now that if he'd really wanted to re-establish control, he'd have to stop drinking from her, which would mean abstaining from sexual intercourse for a while. Natalie had even thought about bringing up the topic, but it was usually just after she'd spotted the condom on her pillow . . . it could wait until later.

Couldn't it? They were both adults, after all. They could both go back to being celibate . . . MOSTLY celibate . . . maybe once a week? Oddly enough, Nick never mentioned the problem or its obvious solution. She decided that it might be wiser to let sleeping vampires lie for the moment. For four months they survived in this tenuous manner, living and loving on a day-to-day basis.

Even Sydney was beginning to adjust to the fact that Nick wasn't leaving--he'd made his displeasure evident in his own manner about the new resident male in her life. By now Nick was finally able to leave his clothing and shoes in relatively non-cat-proofed areas with the reasonable assurance that he wouldn't find any 'surprises' later.

Life wasn't perfect. It wasn't even 'great.' But it had settled into the 'good' category and that was enough for Natalie.

That had to be enough for her . . . for now.

She was just slipping her feet into her shoes late one afternoon when the phone rang. Groaning under her breath with the assumption that it had to be Grace notifying her of a discovered crime scene, Natalie automatically picked up a pen as she lifted the receiver. "Hello?"

It wasn't Grace.

"Natalie. You're doing well this evening?"

LaCroix's voice initially sent a shiver through her, as it did every other time he'd popped up in their lives, uninvited and unwanted. Gritting her teeth, Natalie glanced at the bathroom door - Nick was in the shower.

"Should I be flattered you're interested?" she asked tersely. "Nick's finishing his shower. I'll have him call you when he's out."

She was about to slam down the receiver when she heard LaCroix add, "I didn't call to speak with Nicholas. My business is with you."

The shiver ran through her again. Giving the bathroom door another glance, then turning her back to it, Natalie lowered her voice. "How's that?"

"There's a debt between us to be settled."

"I don't owe you a damned--"

"The blood you requested delivered to your apartment, several months ago."

Indignation at LaCroix's assumption that she could ever owe him anything drained from her as quickly as the blood left her cheeks. A cold sweat broke out over her freshly showered skin and Natalie felt the chill of realization to the very core of her soul.

She'd forgotten completely about it.

"Oh," she said, the comment little more than a burst of breath from her lips and about the most coherent thing she could manage.

"Yes," said LaCroix's voice, silky and deceptively friendly. "The debt's come due."

Her mouth went dry, her mind stalling at the possible implications of his statement.

As if in response, she heard LaCroix chuckle lightly. "Come now, it's not as bad as all that. I merely want a favor."

"A favor," she echoed, not at all assuaged by his pleasant-sounding assurances.

"Tell Nicholas I wish to speak with him."

"That's it?" The instant relief that swept through her was halted as her brain kicked in and started working at a level other than panic mode. "What's it about?"

"That's not your concern." LaCroix's voice grew thinner, more distant, as if he were annoyed. "Have him meet me at the Raven tonight."

"I'll tell him," said Natalie slowly, "but I can't make Nick do anything. You know what's he's like. If he doesn't want to go, I'm not going to make him."

"Then we'll settle the debt another way. Just the two of us."

The threat in his tone was only beginning to sink in when Natalie was aware of a presence beside her. She wasn't all that startled when Nick took the phone from her hand, barking, "I'll be there. Don't call here again," before slamming the receiver back into the cradle.

At some point the shower had been turned off - Natalie hadn't remembered missing that sound during her conversation with LaCroix. Wearing a bath towel tied around his middle, Nick stood there with his hand still on the phone, dripping on the carpet, his eyes fixed on hers.

The blood that had drained from her face returned in full force - Natalie's cheeks burned as she stared back at him, the question in his eyes even if it hadn't passed his lips yet.

"I'd - I'd forgotten about it," she sputtered. "You were drenched and hungry. If I'd let you leave I knew I'd never see you again. I didn't have any blood on hand, so I called--"

"LaCroix," finished Nick bitterly. He continued to stare at her, anger in his eyes. "Dammit, Nat, you were free from him! He promised never to meddle with us again. He couldn't hurt you."

"I wasn't really worried about me at the time," she countered, her own temper kicking in. "You needed blood. I wasn't about to kill one of my neighbors for you. Besides, LaCroix still got his licks in - he had Urs deliver it--"

And she stopped there, stunned that she'd told him. Natalie had promised herself that she'd never mention that to Nick if the blood delivery ever came up in conversation, if she'd had to acknowledge the debt to LaCroix. She wasn't about to stoop to that level, to throw her humiliation and her deduction as to the identity of his tryst partner in Nick's face.

It had slipped out.

He looked pale, now. Nick finally looked away from her, his fist clenching. "Damn him." Then he looked back at her again, his fury at LaCroix replaced by boundless sorrow. "No. I'm the one who should be damned."

Natalie took his hands and let him draw her to him. "It happened. No more hair shirts, Nick. We deal with everything as it comes." Then she took a deep breath. "I'm sorry - I wasn't going to say anything about Urs."

"It doesn't matter." As his arms drew tighter around her, she felt him place a wet kiss on her forehead. "I'll see him tonight. I'll tell him that he ever calls you, writes to you, even so much as looks at you, I'm going to break him in half."

As warming as his words were to the more vindictive part of her nature, her common sense was chilled by his attitude. "No, you won't. You know he can't doing anything to me or to you that will break us up - he's sworn that."

Nick's laughter was brittle. "I don't want to tell you how many times he's broken his word to me--"

"We don't have any other choice than to take him at his word." She pulled back from him slightly and touched his chin with her hand when Nick shook his head. "I'm not saying we should be dumb about this and believe him completely - let's just be cautious. Do you have any idea why he wants to see you?"

"Other than to torment me again?" Nick seated himself on the arm of the couch and Natalie bit her lip, rather than break his train of thought and remind him that he was still dripping wet. "It could be because I haven't returned any of his calls for a while. Or gone to the club to see him."

Natalie nodded, beginning to understand. "So you haven't spoken to him since . . . ?"

"Since I told him off and decided to come grovel at your feet."

"That's what I thought." She sighed and walked back to Nick, catching hold of his hand and playing with his fingers absently. "He's probably not in the best of moods, then. Maybe you shouldn't go."

"I have to go."

The words were so cold and hard that Natalie was startled enough to look up at him. "Because of me?"

"Because I don't trust him." He raised her hand to his lips, kissing her fingers gently. "It'll settle the debt. And he'll leave us alone for a while." When she still stared at him grimly, Nick smiled and raised her hand to his lips again, unfolding her fingers and kissing her palm gently. "It's nothing, Nat. You'll see. I'll stop by the Raven after shift and I'll be back here by dawn."

She freed her hands from his, cupping his face with her fingers as she drew into his embrace. His arms wrapped around her waist, pinning her against Nick's damp skin and towel. "Promise?" she whispered, half-afraid that he would and equally worried that he wouldn't.

Nick's only response was to kiss her in the way she most loved being kissed by him, the cherishing adoration that promised they'd never be apart, that he'd never let her go.

It had to be enough . . . for now.

Nick wasn't back by dawn.

Natalie cat-napped on the couch, waiting for him return. At 7:00 AM, she called the loft.

No answer. Which wasn't unusual, in that Nick was often oblivious to anything short of a full-fledged typhoon during the daylight hours, once he'd crashed and burned for the day..

At 9:00 AM she called Nick's cell phone , having gotten him into the habit of calling her whenever he was trapped somewhere other than her apartment or the loft by daylight.

No answer. Which also wasn't unusual. It was probably sitting on his desk in the precinct or on the Caddy passenger seat, turned off.

By 10:00 AM, Natalie was exhausted. She was also dressed and on her way to the Raven.

Knocking on the closed doors of the raven in broad daylight made her feel more than a little self-conscious. There were few shops around the district where the club was located and the restaurant and club clientele didn't start appearing until late afternoon or early evening. The sweatshirt and jeans she'd thrown on only served to make her more uneasy, abandoned, as she was, in the sleeping haven of glitz and evening entertainment which was stark, dreary, pathetic, and ominously quiet during the daylight hours.

When her initial, polite knocking brought no response, Natalie resorted to pounding with the flat of her fists. "Is anybody here?" she called loudly. "I need to speak to LaCroix!"

The idea that speaking to LaCroix during daylight hours probably wasn't a good idea was dismissed before it could frighten her. She was too concerned with Nick's safety to allow such a petty nuisance as imminent danger to her own life to interfere, at least for the moment.

After ten minutes of pounding, a couple of splinters and a layer of paint flecks from the black door imbedded in the skin of her hands, Natalie heard the loud scraping of a bolt. The door opened inward, daylight sending a shaft of brilliance into the darkness.

The light illuminated nothing - Natalie could see nothing but midnight blackness as she shaded her eyes and peered inside. "I need to speak with LaCroix," she repeated, but more tentatively this time.

There was no response. The darkness awaited.

Natalie took a step inside, every sensible nerve in her body screaming at her to turn tail and run. Instead she took a second step into the black, and then a third.

The door thudded closed behind her. She turned to see a dark-haired man wearing jeans and a T-shirt sliding a rusty bolt home. When he turned toward her with golden eyes and hissed, she amended her description from 'man' to 'vampire.'

"It's all right," called LaCroix's voice from across the length of the club. "She's expected."

The vampire backed away from her. Natalie watched him disappear into darkness out of the corner of her eye, her attention focused on locating LaCroix in the darkness.

"Have a care," he told her. "The steps can be treacherous in the dark."

Biting back her rejoinder, Natalie placed her hand firmly on the handrail and started down the steps. Just as her eyes were becoming adjusted to the absolute darkness and she'd begun to distinguish shapes, a light flared near the bar, nearly blinding her. She stopped where she was and let her eyes adjust again.

LaCroix was standing behind the bar, a glass of wine in his hand. He gestured toward the bar stool before him. "A drink, to settle your nerves?"

"No thanks. Too early." Refusing his invitation, Natalie walked directly to the bar, facing him. "Where's Nick?"

"Ah, that IS the question of the hour, isn't it?" LaCroix sipped at the liquid in his glass for a moment. Dressed entirely in black, he seemed more a part of the darkness than a bar tender. "Would you believe me if I told you that I didn't know? And that he's not here?"

When she raised an eyebrow and leaned closer to him, he smiled thinly.

"I thought not." Another sip from the glass, during which he regarded her over the rim. "In any case, it's the truth. I haven't seen him since our discussion ended this morning."

"And when was that?"

"About two hours before dawn. Perhaps a bit more." LaCroix waved his free hand dismissively. "Seconds, minutes, hours . . . it's all a bit tedious when you can count an existence in centuries."

"My condolences," answered Natalie flatly. "Where's Nick?"

"As I said, I don't know." He closed his eyes momentarily, sipping on the wine again. "He's somewhat disturbed, but I don't sense that he's in any imminent danger, if that means anything to you."

Natalie released a breath that she hadn't known she'd been holding.

"Perhaps it does," said LaCroix softly. Again, he regarded her thoughtfully, then, catching her eyes for permission, he reached across to take her hand. "You said before that you loved him."

"I love him," corrected Natalie.

"Yes." LaCroix's smile disappeared. "So you do."

His fingers stroked the back of her hand lightly - it was a comforting gesture, almost passionless. Natalie met LaCroix's gaze, confused. "What did you tell him? Why did he run this time? You promised not to interfere . . . ."

"And I haven't," said LaCroix sharply. "Nicholas and I simply had a discussion. A very honest discussion to be sure, but it was a discussion, just the same. No arguments, no physical assaults, no shouting, simply . . . the logic of the current situation. He'd been floating in a cloud of bliss lately and I thought he needed to have his eyes opened, for his sake as well as your own."

"So you opened them for him? How kind."

Natalie's tone was as sharp as she intended. LaCroix drew his hand back from hers and sipped at his glass again. "Touché. I simply pointed out some of the fallacies in his arguments, the holes in his delusions, how he was endangering your future health and welfare--"

"I'll thank you to keep your nose out of my future health and welfare."

"Which I'll take great delight in doing, I assure you." LaCroix placed his glass on the bar. "Go home and wait for Nicholas. If he's going to contact you, he'll do so in his own time."

It was a dismissal. Natalie opened her mouth, then closed it again when she realized there was nothing more for her here. LaCroix wasn't going to give her anything more than the tidbits he'd thrown before her. To remain would be foolish, embarrassing, and possibly dangerous.

Natalie turned on her heel and headed for the staircase. She heard the bolt drawn back but barely saw the shadow of the hand that had moved it. Line shone through the darkness, a beacon of daylight that drew her outside like a month to a flame. The door of the raven closed behind her, the bolt grinding across, shutting her out of that dark world.

There was nothing to do but go home.

And wait.

When Natalie called in sick, she didn't have to pretend she felt like something Sydney dragged in. After taking a quick shower and putting on her pajamas, she curled up on the bed she and Nick had shared.

Sleep didn't come easily; for a long time Natalie stared into the vanity mirror on the dresser across the room. Feeling some feline form of sympathy, Sydney eventually prowled in after her and fitted his sleek form beneath her hand. She stroked his fur absently, until he purred himself to sleep, grateful for the comfort of his presence. At least she wasn't completely alone . . . .

The room was dark when she woke. Her eyes opened to a mirror image of herself lying on the bed with Sydney purring contentedly beside her. A shift in the shadows reflected in the mirror startled her. Natalie raised herself up on her arms and turn over.

Nick was standing just inside the bedroom door in a shadowy corner, the first few buttons of his shirt undone and his vest wrinkled. There was no sign of the vampire in his eyes, as far as she could tell. He looked perfectly mortal, perfectly rumpled from head to toe, as if he'd slept--or not quite slept--in his clothing. When she raised up a hand to him, he stepped out of the shadows to take it.

Seating himself on the bed, his expression never changed from a grim, sorrowful look, even up to the second he brushed his lips against her own. He leaned his forehead against her own. "I'm sorry."

The words were barely a whisper, meant to be from his heart to her own without any intervening ear or possibility of interpretation.

"You were at the loft?" When he nodded slightly, she said, "I didn't want to disturb you. LaCroix said that if you were going to get back to me, you'd do it in your own time. I didn't want to press you."

"You're wiser than your years." He touched a kiss to her cheeks, then drew her up to sit beside him, his arm slipping around her waist.

It frightened her to hear the resignation in his tone, even more to note that he hadn't flinched at the 'if' in her statement or had taken any note of the fact that she'd visited LaCroix after his warning of the night before. Even this visit was obviously a near thing, nearly not done.

"He said that you just . . . talked."

Less a nod than a bowing of his head this time. "We talked."

"About . . . us?"

"About us," confirmed Nick, his gaze locked somewhere in the past. "About me. About my past. About what I am, who I am. What I want to be." He turned his head, meeting her eyes. "Nat, do you love me? Do you really love me?"

That he could ask the question sitting here, on the bed they'd shared on and off for the past four months, stunned her. But there was something in his eyes, something fearfully earnest, that held her anger and indignation at bay.

"Yes," answered Natalie. "I love you. It seems like I've loved you forever."

"Then it must be me." His head bowed, he took his arm away from her and clasped his hands together atop his thighs. "I don't love you."

If Nick had struck her across the face or shoved a burning stake through her heart, it couldn't have hurt less than those few, quiet words. She was speechless at first, barely able to breathe. "What?" she managed finally, not quite certain that she'd heard him correctly.

"We've been together for a while now, the way Janette and Robert were. I still have to bite you when we make love. I'm not taking less blood from you--hell, I have to fight myself to keep from taking more. There's been no difference, no change." He looked up to meet her eyes again. "It must be me, Nat. I can taste your love for me in your blood. I can't doubt it. I wanted to be sure, wanted to hear you say it so that I'd know I was right--it must be me. I don't love you. Or I don't love you enough."

Natalie stared at him, her disbelief absolute. Her hand rose of its own volition, slapping him hard enough across the cheek to leave her palm stinging. Then she ran from the bedroom.

There was nowhere to go, no place that he couldn't follow her. Even as she realized that, Nick came up behind her and tried to put his arms around her, but she pushed him away. "Leave me alone," she warned him, barely holding back the choking sobs that threatened to engulf her. "You don't know how close I am to breaking a chair and running the wooden leg into you. And you'd better believe I'll be aiming a lot lower than your heart."

"Nat, I still care for you--"

"Care for me? care for me? Yeah, convenient little vampire sex toy, aren't I? Natalie's always there when you need to get your rocks off, huh?" She whirled to face him wanting to tell him that she hated him. That she'd never loved him. That she hoped he WAS damned and that he burned in hell for a long, long time and wouldn't she be the first in line to volunteer to stoke those coals . . . .

The words died long before they reached her lips--she couldn't say that because he knew the truth. He knew that she loved him with every ounce of will she possessed. Nick knew it from her blood. There was no saving face on this one.

Standing there on the verge of tears, she looked into his eyes and wondered if she'd really been that wrong about him, if all the murmured endearments and volatile exclamations hadn't been as heartfelt as she'd assumed. She'd seen Nick fall in and out of love at the drop of a stake. It was possible that she was just one in a long line of conquests, that her own participation in this fool's play had just prolonged the inevitable, that all it would take was a heart-to-heart with LaCroix to make Nick realize how wrong he was.

Natalie turned away, pressing the palms of her hands to the base of her throat, focusing on breathing and that elusive thought.

LaCroix.

LaCroix had done this. He didn't need hypnosis where Nick was concerned--he'd had eight hundred years to find all the buttons and switches in Nick's character that she was only beginning to discover.

"What did he tell you?" she whispered. "What could LaCroix have said . . . ?"

"He told me the truth, what I wouldn't see," answered Nick, voice ragged. "If we haven't seen any sign of Janette's cure yet, either you don't love me or I don't love you. I know you love me . . . ."

Quad Erat demonstratum. So simple. So logical. And, she realized, a welcome door for a man looking for a way out. Because Nick was always looking for a way out, a way to bring things to an end even if he had to take the blame for it . . . which he would do in the end, so he could savor the guilt afterwards. Their relationship so far had been just one obstacle after another and Nick had seemed almost grateful for them - well, except for that horrible time with LaCroix. It was always easier to walk away than to fight to keep what they had and he'd spent his centuries doing just that, time and again - walking away.

"Nat?"

She couldn't turn, couldn't look at him yet. Natalie took a breath and raised her fingertips to wipe away the tears at the corner of her eyes. Nick was handing her an out, opportunity on a platter. Agree that he might not love her. Agree that it wouldn't work. And just walk away.

Tired of beating her head against the wall for so long, tired of fighting the good fight only to have Nick put up another obstacle, she found the option attractive for a moment. There was no way she was going to spend the rest of her life chasing after 'her' man. Nick was a large part of her life, but he wasn't the center of her universe. this was the chance to save face. She could walk away; all the time and effort and passion, all the emotion and pleasure she'd expended on and with him . . . she could call it a wash.

But did she want to do that? Yes, what he was saying had a limited logic to it . . . 'limited' being the key word. There were options he wasn't exploring. He was a bright boy - he could work this out if he really wanted to. Or could he? Was he so adrift in his personal sea of guilt that he couldn't see past the brick walls he was helping to construct?

Or was she only making excuses for him?

"Nat?"

He had moved closed, his hands touched her shoulder tentatively, ready to be pushed back, to be brushed away. She could feel the fear in him, the fear that she would walk away, the fear that he'd hurt her, the fear that she'd repudiate him.

"You know," she whispered, "this is really, really hard. This relationship stuff."

Nick drew her closer, pulling her gently back against him. "It is, isn't it?"

She stood there for a long moment, feeling the strength of him behind her and yet knowing the veins of fear and guilt that ran through him were always threatening to break him apart.

"I've told you before, Nick - you have a right to be happy," she said softly. Natalie turned in his arms, meeting his gaze. "I'm willing to walk you through this, to try to pull us back together, but I need to know that's what you want. If you need to walk away for any reason, walk away now. Don't make me fight for us and then have you do this six months from now, or next year, or five years from now. I'm in deep. Really, really deep. From here on in, it gets too deep to get out again. If you really don't love me, it won't kill me. Oh, it'll hurt like hell, but I'll survive." She lifted her right hand, cupping his cheek - Nick turned his head to kiss her palm. "I'm going to leave it to you. You make the call. We can talk about what LaCroix said about Janette's cure and we can work on that, or you can walk away. What do you want to do?"

Nick kissed her. Her knees threatened to melt with the intensity of that kiss, the sheer, desperate pressure of it stirring her passion and sending a chill through her - it would have been one hell of a goodbye kiss.

Then he pulled back, looked squarely into her eyes and said, "I love you. I love you with my heart and soul. If that's not enough, then LaCroix can go to hell and take the cure with him."

Natalie touched his lips with her own very lightly. Sliding her hand down his arm until she could grasp his fingers, she sat down on the couch and dragged him after her. "Good," she said, trying not to let her voice shake with nervous relief - she barely made it to the couch before her knees collapsed. "So let's talk."

"Talk?" Nick sidled close beside her on the couch, his hand weaving into her hair, finger caressing her scalp.

"Talk," repeated Natalie firmly, reaching up to remove his hand. "Because I've been thinking about the cure, too. And wondering why we haven't seen any sign of it working."

That statement seemed to drench Nick's ardor for a minute. He drew back from an assault on her earlobe, eyes narrowing. "You have?"

"Hmmn." Natalie looked up at him through lowered eyelids and clasped her hands together between the knees of her pajama bottoms. "First, let's talk about what we were able to do . . . before."

Nick looked away for a moment, blushing slightly even though she'd delicately avoided mentioning his one-night stand with Urs. "We were able to make love--"

"And you didn't have to drink from me," finished Natalie.

"But I'm back to cow blood," he protested. "It'll take time."

"I know. But you're still drinking human blood or vampire blood in addition to the cow and that might be slowly things down - a lot." When Nick stared at her blankly, she added. "Your own blood. And mine . . . or don't I qualify as human any more?"

"More than human." He lifted her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it gently. He didn't release her, rubbing his fingers lightly over the back of her hand. "You're talking about going cold turkey, aren't you?"

"Complete abstinence," agreed Natalie sadly. She pulled her hand back reluctantly and met his gaze. "It's not like we haven't done it before."

"Not voluntarily. It took us too long to find each other."

There was a set to Nick's expression that unnerved Natalie. "We won't have to stop being a couple, we just won't be able to have sex. At all."

"Oh, that should be easy," grumbled Nick, rising from the couch and beginning to pace.

"At least, until we're sure that we've trained you back into the habit of living solely on cow and not having to draw blood to climax."

He stood over her. "And if we slip?"

"It will take that much longer to get you back in shape."

His eyes widened. "I'm out of shape?"

"That's not what I meant, and you know it. Stop trying to change the subject."

Nick plopped down on the couch beside her and lifted her hand to his lips again. "You know," he said quietly, "that wouldn't mean we'd have to give up foreplay."

Nat tried to retrieve her hand, but he resisted, still lightly pressing his lips against her skin. "What a great idea! Get us all worked up and leave us frustrated and cranky. We'd be a hell of a lot of fun at work the next day."

Nick turned over her hand, running his tongue lightly along her palm. When she shivered, he looked at her out of the corner of his eye, a slight smile playing on his lips. "You know, we don't both have to abstain."

Natalie's eyes closed as he lightly began to lick along her palm again, this time traveling up and around her fingers. With strength of will she didn't know she possessed, she gently pulled her hand back from him and cradled it against her chest. "I love you." Then she leaned forward and kissed him gently on the lips. "But that wouldn't be fair to you. And I wouldn't trust you not to get carried away."

"Which leaves us abstaining," said Nick unhappily.

"At least, if we want to try to go back to what we had. Which isn't a cure," she added quickly. "Just a holding pattern. We can have sex. You drink cow blood. You don't bite me. It could take a while. Maybe . . . never."

Nick cleared his throat. "You're not making this easy."

"It isn't supposed to be easy. And we still have Janette's cure to consider."

His eyes darkened and he looked away. "That didn't work."

"Maybe because we weren't working under the right parameters," cautioned Natalie. She touched his arm, bringing his attention back to her. "What do you know about it - really know about it."

Nick went pale for an instant, then looked away again. "Janette loved Robert and she loved him. The first time they made love, she couldn't hold back and she bit him . . . but she didn't kill him. That hadn't happened to her before. After that, she had to take less and less from him, until she barely took any blood at all. And when Robert was killed--"

"Let's not take it quite that far," said Natalie, feigning a light tone and not at all succeeding. "Okay, so what was she drinking, other than Robert."

"Human blood." Nick met her gaze, eyes widening. "You want me to go back to human blood?"

She swallowed, watching him, knowing it was a betrayal of everything they'd tried for the past few years. "You drank more blood when we first started out," she reminded him. "And some of it was human. It gave you more control, didn't it?"

"Yes. But I swore--!"

Natalie pressed her fingers against his lips. "You also swore you'd never fall in love with a mortal, didn't you?"

His gaze softened as she withdrew her fingers. "Yes."

"Then it's up to you. I have no right to ask you to do this--"

"You have every right," he told her. Catching her in his arms, he drew her into his lap, tilted back her head, and kissed her.

Not immediately prepared for the romantic assault, Natalie didn't have a chance to catch her breath. Gasping, she tore away from his lips, only to plunge back into the fray again. But rather than heating the fires of passion, it led them to a quiet, comfortable moment. Nick rubbed his hand up and down her left arm and she leaned against his shoulder.

"So," he said softly, "what does this mean? I go back to drinking human blood and we wait to see if something happens?"

"There's no guarantee," she warned. "We don't know how many parameters are involved. It may work with female vampires and not males. There could have been something in Janette's physical makeup that's different than yours or even Robert's, down to a cellular level. It could be you're not old enough yet. Hell, we might have to wait until the moon is in the seventh house or go up to Montreal for a long vacation. I don't know." Natalie sighed. "We may not get the parameters right the first time, the second time, or even the third time. It could take us a couple of years to get everything into place, or it might never happen."

"Or . . . it might."

Natalie blinked, then smiled slowly, Nick's sudden optimism making sense. "You just like the fact that we can have sex again."

"I like the fact that we'll be working for something and that we won't be in a holding pattern, waiting for something to go wrong," he answered seriously. And then he smiled. "But the sex thing is definitely a bonus."

"You'll have to go back to human blood." When he frowned, she added, "At least LaCroix will approve."

Nick started to rise from the couch. "I think I'd better go finish my conversation with LaCroix--"

"NO WAY!" Grabbing his arm, Natalie pulled him back to the couch. Nick lost his balance and nearly fell on top of her, pinning her lower body with his hips and legs.

"Or . . . maybe that can wait until tomorrow," said Nick. He kissed the curve of her breast through her pajama top. "Tomorrow," he decided.

Natalie reached down and caught his chin in her hand. "No, be serious for a minute. Don't go after LaCroix. Let him know that you're on human blood. If he wants to know if we're going for Janette's cure, be straight with him, but don't volunteer any information. You need him, Nick. You need someone to go to when you can't talk to me."

He placed his hands over hers, drawing them away from his face. "He had me convinced that I didn't love you as much as I should. And you want me to see him again?"

"That's because he was jealous - he hadn't seen you in a while. You've been spending all of your time with me."

"I have more fun with you." Nick bent his head to catch hold of her nipple with his teeth through the pajama cloth.

Natalie stilled, then slapped him lightly on the cheek and he released her. "Wait - I'm not done! Pay attention to him. Treat him like a crazy old uncle or something. It'll be easier once you let him know you're back to human blood again."

"And if this starts to work, if I become mortal . . . ."

"When," she corrected, running her hand through his hair. "We'll deal with that when it happens. Right now we have other things to think about."

"Absolutely," agreed Nick. Resting his full weight on her and the couch, he folded his arms under his chin and started up at her. "Have you finished?"

"Yes."

"Sure?"

"Yes," said Natalie sharply, trying to ignore the warm throbbing of the abandoned nipple, which was lying beneath a damp spot on her pajama top.

"Because--" Nick idly lifted a hand and traced a circle with his finger around the damp area. "I can wait if you've got more to say--"

Natalie's legs were trapped beneath Nick. She moved the right one slightly to the left and arched it upward gently, rubbing back and forth against the front of his trousers.

"You're done," he decided quickly. His head dipped down and he caught hold of the nipple between his lips, kissing it and squeezing it lightly. His hands moved immediately to the buttons on the front of her pajama tops, slipping into the buttonholes in a search-and-destroy mission.

Natalie's fingers traveled through his hair again, burrowing, caressing, finally locking together around the back of his neck. Her legs, too, wound around him. When the pajama buttons came loose, his hands slid to the small of her back, supporting her. Natalie released her hands from his neck and fell backward as Nick rose to his feet, letting gravity take the cloth from her skin. Momentum carried her back upward, her fingers lacing together behind his neck, her mouth locked on his, sharing his breath.

She didn't quite feel the unsteady steps as his kicked off his shoes on the way to the bedroom. Sidney was no more than a gray shadow, slipping out of the room with an annoyed cry as they fell down upon the bed, disturbing his feline slumber. Nick had fallen backwards and she sat astride his waist, undoing the buttons on his rumpled vest, then the shirt beneath. She slipped down over his legs and to the floor, working on the buckle of his pants as he slid his arms from his clothing, then divested himself of his undershirt. He sat up suddenly once the buckle was open, lowering his hand to her. As she stood, his other hand caught the elastic of her pajama bottoms, taking the band far enough over her hips that gravity divested her of her clothing.

Natalie pulled him up off the bed and managed much the same feat, Nick's boxer shorts and his trousers pooling around his feet in an instant's time. He caught hold of Natalie, drawing her into his arms, flesh to flesh, then allowed himself to fall back upon the bed again, taking her along for the ride.

Gazing into one another's eyes, they found the fierce passion had abated. It was only them, still flesh to flesh, but more heart to heart and soul to soul. Natalie reached up a hand to brush the hair from his forehead. Gazing down into those too-blue eyes, she realized that she might have lost this, might have lost him, forever.

And still might . . . .

Nick fingers brushed her cheek, his hand moving into her hair, pulling her head down to his own. They kissed tentatively, as if testing one another, trying to find the common ground between them. The kiss deepened, becoming more explorative - tongues touched and tangled. Distantly, Natalie realized that she had not felt his fangs yet, had seen no sign of the green-gold in his eyes. Raising her head, she opened her eyes and met his - no gold danced in the depths.

When Nick turned on his side, Natalie slid easier to the bed beside him. His body molded to her own, his arm falling over her as her head lowered to rest on the pillow. She could feel the slight chill of his breath on her neck - it made her shiver. Before she could reach up to draw his arm more tightly around her, it disappeared. The bed shifted with the momentary lack of Nick's weight, then again as he returned. The soft, blue blanket she kept over the back of the chair in the corner of the room fell down upon her and then he was beside her again, his body snuggled tightly to her own, his arm still guarding and possessing her, but over the blanket this time. She knew then that they were, indeed, a couple. Tonight she'd passed the point of no return - it had gotten too deep for her to ever get out, ever again.

Only as she drifted off to sleep did Natalie realize the thought didn't scare her as much as she once thought it would. Nick loved her.

It was enough for now. And for forever.

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