

Day Off

I finished typing the sentence and brought both hands down flat on my keyboard, resisting the impulse to mash the keys.

I got up too quickly nearly upending my stone-cold coffee on the floor, and looked back at the blazing white screen of my indifferent computer. It wasn't its problem that there had never been anything so unoriginal or dull written by anyone, anywhere, ever – and it didn't care.

Leaning over, I saved the drivel I had just written in toto because I couldn't look at it long enough to sort out what to delete. Probably all of it.

I'd just huddled in my perpetually gloomy basement for over four hours, letting my nose get cold and doggy for what?

Shivering, I clicked 'shut down' and didn't stick around to hear my c.p.u. fan grind to a halt.

I left my bag of wintergreen pink mints behind; they're hard and I bite down on them, and my jaw was aching from it. Which probably caused the headache that was coming on, or maybe it was hunger; candy isn't food.

Trying to drive my feet through steps that squeaked in protest, I climbed up to my much warmer kitchen straining to draw a calming breath, and I forced myself to stop seeing everything through a red and black haze.

My poor coffee encrusted mug, I set carefully on the counter, before I could break it. It's my favorite; it holds about two and a half cups. Whenever I was home, I'd nurse it all day long and reheat it to the point of inducing some sort of chemical change in the coffee. Maybe one of these days if I never wrote anything that wasn't trite garbage, I'd invent yoffee; a new coffee flavored yogurt that was good for you, and would keep you wide awake. I had to calm down before I gave myself a brain tumor.

I went upstairs and considered myself in the bathroom mirror.

Now I am expecting my usual pasty colouring as I have some olive to my skin, which unless I'm deeply tanned and the sun lightens my hair; goes sort of pale and sickly looking in the winter. People are always asking me if I'm feeling all right. 'I'm fine; just a little tired of being asked that, why?' Sigh. 'You're beautiful when you're angry.' I don't know where that expression came from, but at this second it's true, or at least... reasonably pretty. My short bout of temper has flushed my cheeks, offsetting my best feature; my green eyes, and since I haven't fooled with my hair, and its just being itself, its flowing in long, full tangles, almost to my waist.

Yeesh, flowing to my waist?

'Flowing?'

The ever-present winter wind throws huge wet snowflakes (popcorn) at the bathroom window. I guess 'flowing' was a bit 'romance novel' even for the wind.

Who do I think I am? Besides, it doesn't say much that it hangs to my waist, in that I am only 5 feet tall. I'm quite curvy, but too short for people to notice. I also have tiny features so I'll always look young; just good genes, so nothing really for me to be proud of.

How negative can you be?

The wind shakes the window, laughing at me for my tragic pity-party. Just get in the shower, Meagan. Mmmm, the best part of any day. The water is too hot for most people, and if you let it pound straight down on the top of your head, it's as though it slides through you and fills you up with heat, chasing out all of the cold through the bottoms of your feet. I'm usually in there about a half hour, but this time...

I have my hair in a big, sudsy, cotton-candy pile on top of my head when my vision goes blurry, and I hear a high-pitched tone like the emergency broadcast system on TV; only higher.

My first thought is that I'm having a stroke, then I start thinking about getting shampoo in my eyes, and I shut them and bring my hands up to wipe at my face.

Suddenly dizzy, my shins make jarring impact with the stone tiles in the bottom of the shower, and my forehead connects with the thin marble edge of the seat, fortunately for the integrity of my skull in slow motion. The sound grows in volume and goes up higher and higher until it's out of the range of my hearing.

I remain there eyes squinched shut waiting for my head to clear, but behind my eyelids, instead of patterns like a reverse negative from the pressure of my fingers against them, I see a face as clearly as the replay in my head of a scene in a beloved much watched movie, except with no background, and it starts out as a black and white. He – it's a guy, young or old I can't tell yet - is vaguely familiar... like maybe I met him at work.

As colours begin to come in, he is looking straight into my eyes from what would be no more than a foot away.

The man says my name but his lips don't move, which would be kind of creepy, but for the fact that his voice is even more familiar, almost comforting, if hearing the voice of every fantasy lover you've ever imagined all rolled into one could be considered comforting.

Then he's gone. That fast.

Maybe twelve seconds start to finish?

I begin to unfold myself from the floor, and gasp in shock. My knees protest as I spring up and slam into the wall scrambling to get out from under the water. It is literally ice cold; and as I start to shudder and glower at the shower head, I wonder in passing how it's managed to flow through the pipes in my house.

I shove the shower head over so it points against the wall, push the tap in to turn it off, and open the glass door on the blessedly steamy bathroom.

Longer than you thought, if condensation has built up?

Could I have really been in there so long that the hot water ran out? So much for my hair. The shampoo has probably destroyed it being on that long. And I can't rinse off in that water!

With one eye jammed shut against the stinging assault of shampoo film oozing over my face, I grab a towel, and head downstairs in the light from the bathroom to boil some water in the kettle so I can rinse off.

My hands are still slippery and I can't get a good grip on the darned thing to fill it, so without thinking I turn on the tap and run my hand under the water. It's warm! And getting hotter as I stand there with my hand in it.

Before it has a chance to go away, I duck my head under and rinse frantically, spitting out shampoo, and yelling every time I bump my head on the faucet.

I come out of it, towel off my face and hair, and rewrap myself wondering vaguely if I've given the neighbours an eye-full. I only have the light on over the stove so perhaps not. It finally occurs to me to wonder how the water heated up so fast.

I go back upstairs and check the tap in the shower to see how hot I had it. Pretty darned hot; so I hadn't bumped it over to cold when I sort of fell. Ok, the water had been numbing, unbelievably, painfully cold. Well, I'm not going to sort it out standing here, freezing my backside off.

Grumbling and prying my wet hair from the back of my neck, I get back in, taking only a second to sigh in pleased gratitude for the heat, and I condition my hair and wash in record time. I'm not taking any chances with the water turning cold this time!

I'm just toweling off, for the second time tonight, when the phone rings. Perfect.

I snag my deodorant and run for the phone, cursing as I trip over various and sundry items on my bedroom floor between the door and the dresser on the far side of the room.

"Whoever you are, you better have a bloody good reason for bothering me right now," I snarl, as I reach for the cordless, and answer it in my little kid voice.

It's Shannon calling me long distance and its fine, because it's her, and I tell her all about my phantom shower man.

"We used to tease each other about our elaborate nightmares and dreams, but this is the first time I've ever heard of either of us having one when we're awake," she laughs. "So you don't know who it was?"

"At the time I thought I knew him, but I can't place him." And then I add something I know my friend will love; "Well the bright side is, from what little I saw, he was easy on the eyes, unlike the shampoo."

"What little you saw," she asks slyly. "Meagan! I'm shocked and appalled." She pauses then adds, "Well less shocked, just appalled."

I laugh; I can't help it. She joins in and soon we sound much like I imagine the witches of Macbeth must have. By this time, I'm more or less dry, and my sodden towel is on the back of the bedroom door. Shannon has to put her youngest to bed, and I have to blow-dry my hair, or I'll freeze when I'm trying to sleep.

I let Shannon go finally; you know how it is, a half hour after I start trying to, and my stomach hurts from laughing so much. I haven't heard from her since I called to wish her happy birthday and I spent way too long venting. I'm glad she's called me. Ever since high school, I've always over-shared and felt more than a bit selfish for it, and I guess I'm still grateful she'll put up with me. She has this spirituality that has little to do with religion, which is still immensely comforting.

As I play the hot blast of the dryer over my hair and skin, I realize I forgot to tell her about the icy coldness that interrupted my ablutions more thoroughly than any vision could have. I've considered heading for bed, but I still feel chilled (sleepier and more relaxed than if Shannon hadn't called me), but still somewhat unnerved.

On my way downstairs I flip lights on, one light in each room in a corner or to one side to create warmth without being blinding. I move faster and faster until I reach the kitchen and here I turn on all of the lights. The problem with strategically placed lighting is it also creates shadows and my imagination is now in hyper-drive. I felt someone behind me as I fairly ran through my home and in the living room I glanced outside several times; certain someone was on the deck watching me.

I rinse the soap off the kettle, fill it, and settle into the breakfast nook while it boils. Yes, I'm a nook person and I'm taking comfort in the coziness of my kitchen right now. It has a large bay window facing the lake and tons of light pours through it during the day. Day or night though, it's always the warmest room in the house. It's insulated by the rest of the house from most of the wind that whistles and moans incessantly over my home in the winter. Sometimes I think the wind has spent too long away from people playing out over the lake; and at the first signs of civilization upon it's return, it starts chattering away about all that it's seen to the first beings who will listen. My house is one of the closest to the water so that often means me.

My fat orange cat Tigger, jumps into my lap and sets up purring so loudly he drowns out the rattle-pops the kettle makes as it begins to heat up even though he can't compete with the wind humming outside the window to me. I take a deep breath and let it out, letting all of the noisy little thoughts and impulses fall out of my mind.

I hug him, and scratch his ears and he sticks his claws into my arm and kneads; kitty love at it's finest. I know where I've seen that guy! (My brain must have kept thinking on a quieter channel). Not work, in fact I shouldn't have met him at all. If I hadn't missed the bus after I got off the subway, and gone into the coffee shop for something to warm myself up, instead of the bookstore, I never would have seen him, let alone had him sort of invite himself to my table. He wasn't rude about it, he spotted it first and since it was the only empty one left, and he was offering it to me, when he sat down it almost felt as though I'd invited him. He spoke politely, and very softly, barely above a whisper.

I wonder how I could hear him so clearly, he didn't ever seem to lean in close to make himself heard nor do that macho lean-in-too-close-and-laugh-at-her-when-she-pulls-back thing some guys did when they thought they were flirting. He'd had sunglasses on, highly reflective ones that left me wondering what type of insecure tool had to try so hard. Since that 'insecure tool' had just treated me so chivalrously and wasn't openly leering at me, I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. We might have had a conversation if not for so many people pressed up behind him, in line for some infusion to take the chill off. He spent most of his time apologizing to them when they bumped him, when we weren't making distracted small-talk about the weather.

Ashamed of myself for judging him so harshly on the eyewear, I watched him wrap his long fingers around a cup of hot chocolate, dressed just the way I would have liked it; with the shaved chocolate curls on top, and attributed the warmth in my cheeks to my coffee's steam. It had absolutely nothing to do with his appearance or what that did to my wits, I swear. He had fair skin, smooth and flawless. And the man's cheekbones and jaw-line were some kind of wonderful too. Sculpted, like they say in all the juicy romance novels; a bit exotic, like some European model. I wanted to trace the shape of his face with my fingers. His hair, like really good black hair, wasn't just black, but had red and sometimes blue flashes in it under the café lights and even pulled back it reached almost to his waist. Wait a second.

How did I see his eyes in the...well...shower-vision episode? He never removed his shades that one and only time I saw him in the coffee shop.

Was it one and only? I wrack my brain endeavoring to figure out if I'd passed him on the subway or the bus or somewhere, anything that would have let me notice the colour of his eyes.

Is my imagination that incredible?

That's probably all it was...but whoever even daydreamed eyes like this?

Begin with two large perfect sapphires, that throw light and shadow back at you, as suddenly as some spot light in a dance club, and which shakes you the way the thundering beat of the music pushes at your stomach, and makes you giddy and later sometimes hungry. Set these precious stones in twin pools of some Bermudian lagoon, and then ring them in evergreen trees, blue spruce, cool and damp. Lashes that would have every super model cheerfully killing people to possess screen them, and the lines of those eyes sweep upward at the outer edges, as though he were always on the verge of laughing, or just really enjoying himself.

The kettle snaps off, and I jump and crack one knee into the table.

I glance around the kitchen guiltily as if someone could have seen, or overheard my dreamy internal monologue on some guy's eyes. It's probably a good thing I never saw them in person or I would have followed him home. Cripes!

I limp over to the counter. Usually, I pad around in my bare feet even on the kitchen tile, but since I've been so chilly, I've stuck a pair of double knit slippers from my Gram on them.

Just as I'm about to pour, a thought occurs that nearly makes me dump the kettle and the scalding water in it everywhere.

I put my other hand on the kettle and carefully ease it back onto the stand. My hands are shaking so hard; holding them together doesn't stop it.

I back away from the counter until I bump into the other one, as though the question I've just asked myself somehow came from the opposite side of the kitchen, and I could escape from it simply by putting distance between where I asked it and where I stand.

Pressing my hands flat on the cold granite behind me, I continue reassuring myself that it was just my imagination that conjured this man into the shower with me, that he isn't real, even if he is based on a real person, I sort of met. But the sound, the dizziness, the ice water?

What was all of that?

How could that have been in my head? I take a deep breath, and another, and fold my arms tightly across my chest. I never did any drugs at all, not even the marijuana that half of the senior girls hid in the girl's washroom on the second floor by English lit and smoked until the place reeked. So no acid trip flashbacks or anything for me.

I attempt to laugh at this lame attempt at humor which I somehow thought would cheer me up, and my throat is so dry I just start coughing.

And if I'm not insane and it wasn't all in my head, I ask myself eyes watering, then what?

It was still all in my head in a sense, because what?

Someone was contacting me telepathically? That is what I'm asking myself. Looking around my dazzlingly bright kitchen, all I'm aware of is the nighttime darkness pushing heavily at the windows and the wind's voice climbing in pitch as it saws past above me. I take a deep breath again, but it still doesn't seem to be helping greatly.

I mean, what else is there? Either I met a real man and had a frighteningly vivid waking dream about him that could have caused me to injure myself, which included auditory and tactile hallucinations, or I was just contacted via telepathy by someone I don't know, who can seize control of my senses, and can step inside my head and seduce me with his eyes.

Oh, and by the way, the thought that really gives me the willies? The thought that still has me flattened up against far counter as if I'd found a scorpion in the cutlery drawer?

If it's the second one, the only place he could have gotten my name between the coffee shop I never go into, and my upstairs bathroom was my mind.

Monday Morning

"Good Morning, and thank you for calling, this is Meagan, how may I help you?"

I type in the telephone number that pops up to the right of my screen saying, "Alright sir, I just need your name, and I can help you right away."

Another pause, "Thank you, I'm bringing up your information here; what is the name on the account, please?"

Around me, a half dozen other voices both male and female that have become as familiar as my own, say much the same thing, overlapping and blending together, like the pigeons at the bus terminal. Strangely comforting after last night. No matter that I'm most probably losing my mind, the call centre will always go on. As long as our jobs aren't outsourced, that is.

With no small effort, I focus on what the customer is saying. "I understand, and I know who can help us with this, that must have been frustrating. If you can hold on a sec, I'll get them on the line, and they'll give us a hand. I'm dialing them now, and as long as we're waiting, I noticed on your bill -"

I try to sell him a service, even though I can tell he'd like to strangle me, and probably every person in the entire hierarchy of the company from the president to the kid who delivered his phonebook. We have to make an effort to sell on every call, and this one would actually save him money on his phone bill.

He informs me "I don't want anything else on my Goddam bill!" and I thank him for his time and for choosing our company for his service and place him on hold after asking his permission to do so.

Billing picks up, and the obviously new guy who answers is already quite sure this isn't his problem. I'm explaining to him, how to use his software to accomplish just what I'm asking; when a rushing... no, a thundering water sound starts to fill my head, and I can barely hear myself coaching him.

I dimly make out his acceptance of the call, and I transfer the customer, thank him for holding, and introduce him to the billing rep to the accompaniment of the feeling of cool moisture, misting on my face.

I hit the release button, log out of my phone and stand up so fast, my chair bounces off the back of the cubicle with an abused rattle-creak.

The partition wall responds with a cloud of the ever-present dust – why are all office partitions so dusty? No matter how new the office or the furniture in it; the spongy things that divide vast office spaces into claustrophobic little cubicles are perpetually full of dust. Maybe they're shipped that way. I wonder what they're made out of as I sneeze three times.

Looking around, I meet one or two pairs of eyes above the partitions; most are focused on their screens. My face goes hot, then back to cool and damp, and at first I wonder how I could be so embarrassed in front of friends who get as worked up sometimes, as I can; and who've also heard my explosive sneezes before. It's not as though this is the first time I've stood up to catch my breath and put some distance between myself and a recent call, or the first time my face has filled up from cubicle dust.

You don't honestly think they have any idea of what's really going on inside your skull, do you Meagan? Get a grip.

I press my fingers to my cheeks alternately seeking a source for this wet feeling, and trying to jam the sensation right out of my face through sheer force of will and brute strength. Offices are dry and dusty, not cool and refreshing. And they are supposed to smell like recycled air that reminds you of all the other warm bodies living in it besides yourself. They are not supposed to smell tangy and clean. Not only will the damp feeling not leave me, but this tingling, burning sensation starts on my neck and begins travelling down my shoulders to my forearms; more like the beginning of sunburn. Another bloody hallucination?

At work? Great. I'd almost convinced myself I was just over-tired last night. Yeah, that's it... tired.

Right, because that's what usually happens when I'm beat, eh? I start seeing things. And I slept fine last night, no, really. Turns out I'm just having a nervous breakdown. No big. The filing cabinet girls who seem to be another obligatory trapping of offices – like cubicles – stare at me as I pass them.

I'm heading for the washroom – at least I can be alone with this craziness - when I nearly trip. Somehow instead of that universal thin, dark grey office carpeting, my feet were expecting sand.

I stumble but I don't go down, and resisting the urge to dab at my face again I make it out through the security doors, down the hall, and to the bathroom door without having to act normal in front of anyone else.

My relief making me careless, I bull into the bathroom, nearly colliding with some girl from another office. She blinks down at me, but she doesn't otherwise look at me as though I have two heads. Whew, at least I seem normal.

I take a deep breath as the restroom door swings shut, accidently gulping down public washroom smell, and make a beeline for the nearest cubicle, breathing slowly and shallowly through my teeth to cut down on the gag reflex. I'm not feeling brave enough to look at myself in the mirror yet, and I have to empty my suddenly overfull bladder.

What in the heck is happening to me?!

"Whoever you are," I growl, "You'd better get the hell out of my head!" I'm about to also issue some sort of general threat to the disembodied presence, or lunatic hallucination I'm having, but I realize all at once, that I might not be alone in here.

I lean forward, aiming not to fall off of the toilet seat and peer under the stall doors... yay! No feet.

Before I can consider relief of any sort, I hear something that sounds horrifyingly like a seagull. Now I like seagulls, don't get me wrong, I like all birds, but this means I'm still 'receiving transmission'.

How do I shut this off?

"Go away," I start to yell, but it turns into a mutter, just in case anyone is about to walk into the bathroom. I tell myself it's someone laughing on a call, it's a training video, there are other offices here, and maybe someone's watching TV in their break room - the lucky jerks - it's something normal, not freakin seagulls. Hmmm, no more wet face or heat on my shoulders and arms... The sensations are gone as if they were never there.

I use the fragile 120 grit sandpaper they call toilet tissue, tuck in, flush, maneuver around the stall door, and go wash my hands while finally taking a look at my reflection in the wall to wall mirrors above the sinks. Nobody looks good in fluorescents, especially bathroom fluorescents, and I look worse. With my olive-toned skin I usually have to console myself with Kermit's line; 'it's not easy being green.' What I'm seeing right now though is too sickly even for that. My skin is gray where it isn't white, my eyes red from mashing my fingers into my cheekbones – but the red does nothing to disguise the giant black pouches under my eyes because strangely enough I couldn't sleep very well last night - and my hair; usually scraped back in a tidy pony-tail is a mess, like I've been outside in the wind. And just like in high school, when I wanted to go home looking convincingly sick, and I'd just have some of the cafeteria gravy, and get appropriately nauseous-looking; those upholstered partitions are doing the same for my sinuses. Since I look and now probably sound the part with my 'stubby dose' (translate: stuffy nose), and since I'm obviously not going to get through any work with these ongoing hallucinations, maybe I'll make this a sick day.

Back in our company's office, I notice the filing cabinet girls are gone, and I tell myself with a snide inward chuckle that it's to do some actual work. I go inform my boss who has somehow been reasonably impressed with me since I transferred here, and she goes and grabs my coat before I can stop her and even helps me put it on. She assures me she'll log me out of my computer, and advises me to get some Tylenol into me, and one of the secretaries kindly tells me how feverish I look, and another thanks me for going home with it, and not spreading it around the office. I find myself responding to them all in an ever-shrinking voice; I already feel like such a wanker making them worry about me.

*

I should be at home; I look like hell; hell, I feel like hell. Sleep deprived and doubting my own sanity, I'm having coffee in that special little coffee shop where I met the man who consciously or not, has upset my boring life with such ease. No I'm not, I'm having hot chocolate like he had I decide, as I stand waiting for my turn. I've brushed my hair, and given my nose a good blow on the way over on the subway; so I look somewhat better, but I've still been feeling dopey.

I begin drinking in the lovely coffee shop smell through my liberated nostrils; things that end in 'cino', and cinnamon, and chocolate, and teas, and I feel more alert already. Maybe I picked a public place so that if I get dizzy and fall down again, and I crack my head on something; somebody will be around to call nine-one-one for me, I think cheerfully. I hope it doesn't come to that. Maybe I should go home so if I start yelling at the vision again I won't embarrass myself. It's not like I can go to the doctor or the hospital ahead of time anyway. 'Well, it's like this Doctor... I've been having these... hallucinations...' ... riiight. That's when the gentlemen with those jackets with the really long sleeves come and offer to put you up for the night.

Can they tell that at heart I'm a raving lunatic? I feel self-conscious standing there, as if most of the people in line with me are staring down at me, when really they probably have their own lives and concerns to concentrate on.

Ordering my hot chocolate, I get the sense everyone in the café has stopped to listen to me exchange a few short pleasantries with the girl behind the counter.

I try to shake it off, but as I slide down the counter out of the way of the line up of people, it feels as though a spotlight is on me.

I glance up the ragged line of half-frozen people bulky in their cold-weather wear, to see if somehow I know anyone from work or an acquaintance from the bus or the subway; somebody who'd have reason to stand there staring at me. No one really appears familiar... maybe I'm just feeling guilty for playing hooky, and worrying my very considerate boss – I mean it's not as though I've got the flu or I'm dying of pneumonia or anything. I'm just slowly going crazy. In fact, mental imbalance is sort of a prerequisite to do my job.

I find a seat easily; it's still morning but past the coffee breaks and still pre-lunch. There are a few couples lingering over coffee and newspapers; they are older and probably retired. And there are one or two guys in their suits, thumbs busy on their PDAs. They're a good distance away across the café as I've taken a seat next to the door, enjoying my isolation as I concentrate on not staring at the table we sat at together.

I'm not expecting anyone to be anywhere near my table; the jingly little bell and blast of frigid air from behind me have accompanied other customer's departures rather than arrivals, and I've found myself looking up to check every time I hear it. But suddenly somehow, there is a dark silhouette just in my periphery moving swiftly across the wintery white illumination flooding through the window, and then he's sitting down across from me, and smiling at me in enjoyment and camaraderie; as if this were some joke that we were both sharing. As if I should have expected him, been waiting for him arrive, or I'd invited him again to my table as soon as I saw him.

Where did he come from?

I mean how did he get here without me being aware of his approach?

A million other thoughts go through my head; including how ridiculous it is for me to be smiling back at him, and how dare he be so familiar with me as to just seat himself at my table again, and then one grim thought occurs to me which silences the others. I can't speak to him as though he had anything to do with the shower apparition, or even mention it, or the call centre today, because if he's a nice regular guy, he'll assume I'm nuts. I turn my face down into the fragrant steam from my hot chocolate and feel my face heat up.

And if he isn't a nice ordinary guy, then he's what? And if he's come to see how well his sly communications have been affecting me, then I can't let him recognize that he's got me rattled. Whether it's other kids when you're in school, or whether it's friends just goofing with you; you never let people who are trying to mess with you know if it's working. It's like blood in the water. I'll let him bring it up first, and maybe get some hint along the way as to what his game is.

I fix my best bored-and-slightly-perplexed-as-to-what-he's-doing-here look on my face, and finally glance up in polite inquiry from my incriminating hot chocolate.

He's got those stupid shades on again, and I can't study his eyes, but slowly I have the pleasure of seeing that infuriating, self-satisfied smile slip off of his face, and he grips the edge of the table in his hands, and leans forward.

"Hello again," he murmurs softly, in his bedroom voice, (he has to know what he sounds like) and then leans back a little and removes his sunglasses, a mysterious smile still playing beneath his lovely lips. Dammit! I could be fascinated for hours with the fullness of his lips or the way they lift at the corners; even when he's not smiling, but his eyes are every bit as magical as in the shower. They are shades paler than before, with the sunlight shining into the cafe sideways to light them almost from behind. The effect I noticed in the shower isn't lessened one iota. Like some turquoise crystal kaleidoscope, I wonder if he could hypnotize with those babies.

"Hello," I return, and I sound if not pleasant, at least not hostile, in fact my voice is a bit froggy. Maybe I am coming down with something.

I take a quick sip of my hot chocolate, scald my tongue and it does nothing for my voice. Screw it.

I clear my throat, sounding neither appealing nor healthy, and say; "Well, by now it seems introductions are in order, eh? I'm Meagan," and I extend my hand too quickly, banging it on the table, and rattling my teaspoon in the saucer.

"Lucien," he says after a pause, and takes my fingers in his hand.

Then he shortens up on my hand and shakes it properly.

Had he been thinking of kissing my hand? He hasn't released it yet.

Like some old world, old fashioned romantic gesture for a lady? He doesn't squeeze or move his fingers against mine, the way some guys have tried to, to add intimacy to the exchange; he's just forgotten to let go.

Or maybe it's some more modern concession to women in the workplace and that wishy-washy handshake men sometimes employ on us, as if we can't possibly be expected to handle a real one? There is nothing condescending in the way he looks at me or his bearing, or anything particularly modern. He seems as though he's reading me through my features or perhaps just my eyes and he'd like to finish the story of who I am in one sitting. Turnabout is fair play so, I squeeze his hand quickly and slide mine away; dropping it back in my lap, and I examine the rest of him more closely. He wears dark dress slacks of a generous cut, and matte black leather boots which look expensive. Under the edges of his long black wool coat there's a white shirt, which should be giving his skin colour by contrast. The sleeves of the shirt actually seem to have buttons running up to disappear inside the arms of his coat, and...there is something funny about the neckline or chest of his shirt...

He catches me staring, smiles indulgently, and I flush, but I refuse to look away until my curiosity has been satisfied. That's it, there is something knotted at his throat, in the same fabric as his shirt.

Part of the shirt?

So... what?

The hair, the clothes, the shades, the skin; is he attempting to pull off 'vampire' or some similar look?

Add to that the shower vision and today at work, and what?

He's a real vampire?!

Is that how he snuck up on me today?

And of course, a powerful, 'day-walking' vampire no less, I mean let's not do the ridiculousness by half measures, right?

I wonder if he has extra pointy canines and if his fingernails are especially shiny, but his hands are folded patiently in his lap, as if he could sit here all day. All right, I decide recklessly, let him.

If he is a vampire, or some other supernatural type being he's probably used to waiting patiently; I mean they're usually immortal if they've got any abilities akin to telepathy, right?

What's wrong with you Meagan?

Are you sure you're not feverish?

Vampires?

Immortals? He's drop-dead gorgeous - pardon the pun - and you have a way over-active imagination that's all, I tell myself.

'And just because you are – drop dead-gorgeous, that is; don't get your hopes up Bub,' I think frowning across the tiny glass-topped table at him. Nah, he's just some guy, and I'm having a psychotic break because I'm just so shocked somebody's interested in little, baby-sister-of-the-girl-next-door me. He's been staring at me as though during these moments the air between us has gotten heavy with significance, as if something immense is about to happen. Yeah, it's called a restraining order I think, if I'm not getting Punked, and you're not a vampire lover come a-calling in the morning, braving the lethal sunlight. Hmm, this is a bit elaborate though – if you include the visions - even for Ashton Kutcher. And those visions had been seriously powerful and a little outside of the realm of the everyday, even for my strange-beyond-all-measure imagination.

So I'm supposed to realize I've been gifted with the presence and perhaps the interest of a real live vampire in my insignificant life and what?

Swoon?

Scream?

Beg to cross over and become another creature of the night, his mistress or willing slave?

Trading my life in the sun for immortality and immorality? He is in for a rude awakening if he thinks so. Maybe a restraining-order even if he is a vampire – that, and a stake.

I'm about to blow my plans and ask him right here what he is, and who he thinks he is, sending me visions and trying to seduce me to the dark, when he bursts out laughing. Leaning back in his chair, his lovely eyes crinkle up at the corners, his hair spilling back off of his lapels to let me see more of his jaw, and his laughter is loud and joyous, but not obnoxiously so. That rich, chocolaty sound wraps me up and slithers in under my clothes to caress me, like no mundane lover could. And it's more than simple attraction that makes it what it is. I'm not sure about this but it doesn't seem like it's merely his age or power making it more than it seems, the infectious good spirit of his laughter makes me want to laugh too, and at the end to even tear up a bit; there seems to be a release for him in such an uninhibited expression of mirth. I wonder if maybe he doesn't get the opportunity to do that very often. Whatever the case, there is just so much of him in it, it shakes me, and makes me glad for the little wrought iron chair holding me up.

As I attempt to pull my wits together I recall that I didn't see longer-than-average eye teeth on this Lucien person before me. Hmm...

He folds his arms across his chest still chuckling; his face transformed with merriment. Before he was beautiful sure, but self-possessed, in control of the situation and his reactions. When he laughs he surrenders that, and lets himself be so young.

Is this how it would always be with him?

Too much, but so good?

Always? Wait.

What? That was quick Meagan, even for you! 'Always', sheesh. It's become apparent he can hear what I'm thinking, or he's insane and given to laughing out loud for no good reason in the middle of public places. Or he saw something in your expression, Meagan, and the pitiful lab-rat that he's experimenting on has finally done something interesting. He's watching you right now; waiting to see what you'll do next. He has got to be playing with you for some reason or he's obviously quite able and willing to eaves-drop on your thoughts for whatever reason that turns his crank. And if its door number two, you've just given him a mental 'come hither,' I scold myself. Sounding like you'd like to jump into bed with him over the way he laughs. I mean you know nothing about him.

"Don't go getting any ideas," I tell him deliberately for the first time in my mind, looking right at him.

He heard me!

What is he? I know I just warned him on purpose but I guess I never really thought he could hear me. I should be panicking now, but look at his face. Whatever he is, he can be shocked.

For the second time today, I've wiped the humor right off of his features, but this time he not only ceases laughing and rocking back in his chair, he leans forward again, and takes my hands in his. And I let him!

What's wrong with me?

And then I hear it, lighter and perhaps younger, yet even sexier than the ordinary speaking voice he's allowed himself; "Meagan-love, so quick, too quick, my angel -"

He cuts himself off with a gasp.

Was I supposed to hear that?

Well of course I was, or why send me two separate visions?

Hasn't he been trying to communicate with me?

Those weren't mistakes were they?

"Actually, they were," he says out loud, and I start so hard just sitting there across from him, that one hand comes free, hitting my hot chocolate and almost sending it flying but my... vampire – vampire? - companion catches it before it can move more than an inch.

Hot chocolate sloshes out over his hand, and I surprise myself by snatching up fistfuls of napkins and his hand in mine, and clumsily patting him dry.

My hands shake, and tears are beginning because I've hurt him. I can feel the burns I've inflicted on him. There's a whimpering sound coming from somewhere and it's me.

My hands, my voice, my very thoughts stop, and I look up to see him staring again at me, only now it isn't expectant and amused by me, but wondering and tender.

Those breathtaking eyes of his have gone nightclub dark, and I'm falling forward into them, and his sweetly curved mouth is before me and then just touching mine, and I shouldn't be but I'm so glad, and his lips are so soft.

His fingers warm and sticky lace with mine, and all I care about is the pressure of them against my own; urgent, and strong, and fitting perfectly.

His lips sweep across mine light and sure, and my head tips back suddenly too heavy to hold up, and now his hand; the one that is still clean and dry is reaching up to trace my jaw and cradle my head so he can kiss me more deeply. I'm aware of a sound suspiciously like a sob building in the back of my throat, and then so faint as to be at the edge of hearing, a groan, silky and eager and sweeter than anything.

I glance up to heavy lidded slashes of near-violet blue, and that compelling sound is coming from him, Lucien, because he wants me, and I do sob and his fingers pull me tighter to him.

This can't possibly be happening to me so fast, and then stranger still I can feel him, his thoughts; not just a quick flash, but more like a tidal wave that isn't cold but just as breath-stopping. I'm caught up in it; my senses overwhelmed with it. He's desired me since we met, and it seems like so long ago, and it was in this café that I first saw him, and it was his longing that sent me the hallucinations, first just him thinking of me, and then today, of where he would take me, to make love to me, where no one would disturb us or think to look for us for days.

Wow, me?

His fingers are tugging my hair a little, and his upper body leaning over the table is pressed so tightly to mine, I feel drunk on him, and it takes a phenomenal effort of will to remember we are still in a public place.

Without speaking or conscious thought, we decide to leave and we're outside sans any reckoning of how we got there.

The sudden harsh blast of cold scours my senses and I'm blinking in the sunlight attempting to understand how I've forgotten to be cautious or smart with this guy. I've never had anything like this happen before; and now that it's over...

Bookstore

How did he turn me into some soap-opera-y mess so quickly? I look around avoiding eye contact with any pedestrians, wondering if I'm on camera.

Am I some animal reacting to pheromones, or loneliness, or a hot body, like some cat in heat? A burst of shame scalds my cheeks. Whatever that was, it couldn't have been what I hoped. That stuff's just not possible.

And just how does somebody fall for me or anyone for that matter after just one meeting? This must be some kind of trick or game. Its bloody bitter out here and now I feel a bit woozy on top of it.

What must he think of me, making out with him like that so quickly? That I'm easy and gullible and stupid. And of course, because I'm feeling self-conscious, I start getting hostile.

Hey vampire guy, do you know what 'making out' even is?

What did you call it back then; whenever you were made or became or started out or whatever as a vampire or whatever you are? It's not a conscious thought directed to him, but he answers it out loud anyway.

"I would have called it, wooing. Are you properly wooed now angel?" His eyes are dancing, animating him, as he is otherwise perfectly motionless in the sunlight. His skin is brightened but not warmed by it. I thought this being could listen in on my thoughts.

Doesn't he know this isn't working out like he's obviously planned? His eyes still... well... twinkle at me. He looks like a little boy standing there with hope and happiness in his eyes and a soft smile dawning on his face.

I roll my eyes at him, and then I begin to smile; I can't help it. That had been awfully nice wooing.

My smile turns a bit sour, as I see his turning a bit smug. I'd almost let a few words in that magnificent voice and another smile derail my train of thought. I'm really starting to feel cheap. Has it been so long that an admittedly sexy smile can drop my i.q. fifty points at a time?

I'm feeling a bit more nauseous, so I take a deep breath of frigid air and hold it.

Has he slipped something into my drink?

Is that why I reacted like that and I feel like this now? My vision is clear, and so are my thoughts as I look around at passersby and hear their boots scrape on the sand-strewn sidewalk so no, probably no drugs or I'd be all over him again under the sway of some chemically induced love. Besides, it was specific thoughts and ideas, not just a wash of feeling. What I think I heard and felt in his mind was no reason to feel shameful or anything other than simply... worshipped.

Was it real?

Was it really in our minds?

What does that mean, anyway?

What is he?

Can he really be a vampire?

Or something else?

Even now, he's watching me and waiting as if the world itself won't turn over and finish the day until I'm content with everything. Not until I've discovered a lot more about you, buddy.

And again he knows what I'm thinking. He replaces his shades, and reaches down for my hand. Maybe he only listens to what I'm thinking when he really thinks he needs help.

Is he that courteous, or that smart? Either one is good.

I allow him to take it and I release the breath I was holding, but I begin to interrogate him right away, as we walk along. I have no idea where we're going, but for now, as long as we remain in public places, I decide that I'll trust him enough to let him escort me where he wishes.

"Angel? Why am I your angel?"

Now why ask him that first, Meagan? Not what are you, or how long have you been watching me, or what else do you know about me, or what the hell was that in our heads, or any intelligent questions at all.

How drippy and, and, and moony can I be?

And here I go, beating myself up again for acting like a typical heroine from a romance novel. It was spectacular whatever it was, and it would be grand if it was genuine.

Apparently, I can't leave a good thing alone; I mean it was amazing in the cafe, but am I the first one he's shared his thoughts with like this? If that's what it was.

How many times has he seduced women right in their minds with some handy-dandy vampire trick? If that's what he is.

"Not that I'm complaining, just... you hardly know me. How many girls have you used that on?"

I toss a smile I mean to be humorous up at him, to take the sting out, but really, I'm starting to feel pretty dumb and more than ashamed for having fallen all over him. He's got to be, well, possibly ancient, and if so, likely pretty powerful, and he must have had his pick of women over the centuries. Or he's not any of those things and he's gone to a lot of trouble if he's a mortal for little old me. Well I can't imagine any ordinary human guy going to that amount of effort for me so if he is some sort of supernatural life form; I suppose I'd like to know just how effortless and lighthearted a conquest I am to him. If I've set a new 'shortest use of the 'whammy' before complete seduction' record with him.

I'm walking along beside him, and then I'm not; I'm spun right around and I bump into a lamppost or a large mailbox. No, it's him, and his lips are pressed into a thin, flat line and his already pale skin has gone snowstorm white. I have an impression of immediate rage, and indignation? and just as I focus on the reality of being able to hear his thoughts again, I lose the sense of what he is feeling.

Why is he shutting me out?

Does he think I'll be frightened by his anger? That won't do at all; I'll have many more opportunities to annoy him going forward. I've had a chronic and severe condition known as foot-in-mouth disease since hitting puberty. No known cure exists.

Now it's foot-in-brain disease? Maybe it's good he's irritated. We're still in a public place, and maybe this charade that I'm somehow the love of his life will go away and he'll let me in on the punch-line. Or maybe he is trying to frighten me – frighten me out of examining him or his motives too closely.

Is he that kind of a bully? Not if he's been reading my mind, and not if he knows what's good for him!

And what do you mean 'going forward' Meagan?

You don't even know what he is, do you?

He has a reverse grip on my hand holding it up against his chest, and even as I stare up at him bewildered and frustrated; his fingers whisper over the skin of the inside of my wrist, and oh, how surprisingly nice that feels. You're so not seducing me again vampire-boy.

Startled by his actions and by my thoughts, I try to step back but I'm held there, immobile.

His other hand is locked in place at the small of my back, holding me close to him, and he leans down until I share the warm cloak of his hair, so I can see his eyes through the dark glasses.

"You are no conquest to me, and nothing about you is simple, my beloved." His voice, deep with... sincerity? changes as he speaks and there is a current of laughter and my knees go weak. Dammit! He must have put something in my hot chocolate. "I have seen you, places and times you weren't aware of, I could not stop myself, could not tear myself away when I should have. I know you, and I've wanted you since before I arranged to be in the coffee shop."

What?

I feel faint and I can't say if I'm dismayed or delighted.

He seems like he's being honest that he really does want me, and has wanted me for some time.

But he's been stalking me? I can see myself in his shades and even as I see my eyes widen and the questions about to pour out of my mouth again; he is kissing me.

His own eyes flutter shut behind the dark lenses, and I remember before I am lost in the lovely sensations of his kiss, that he let himself do the same thing in the café earlier. I tell myself I'm letting him kiss me like this because I want to hear him in his mind again, and find out if it's real. Good try Meagan. This one is even better than the first; it is not tentative, but purposeful, and it seems that purpose is to see me devoured right here on the sidewalk.

I see myself in his mind as he sees me, and I'm beautiful.

I've been made so by his love - ! – love? for me? I can hear music in his mind that somehow means me, to him. Wind chimes and church bells and something deeper...chords on a pipe organ. Something about his mind feels so ancient it makes my spine try to tie itself into sailor's knots, but... his thoughts haven't become rigid with it. There is a quality within him that continually refreshes him, infusing his thoughts with vitality so that he doesn't carry his vast age with him like some sort of heavy cloak snagging on the sharp edges of new ideas and nearly throttling him. Instead, although his memories which span centuries are there forming his character and shaping his reactions from moment to moment; he still approaches new experiences with hope, openness, and even delight. And apparently I am the new experience he most wants to embrace.

He is wrapped so thoroughly around me, as if I might evaporate on him, and leave him standing in the cold alone. I'm so warm, enveloped in his arms and in his consuming devotion. A part of me wishes we're back in the café so I wouldn't have to try to concentrate any part of my senses on remaining upright, but it is a tiny part; this way I can feel his whole body pressed tightly to me through our clothing, and a longing that terrifies me pounds through my thought process, to have those clothes gone. Hmm, naked on the sidewalk in a Canadian winter. Stop it; you're not thinking again, you idiot girl! This could still be some sort of vampire magic. All the stories say the same thing about them seducing the girl with mind tricks and then biting her.

I want to shove him away violently, catch my breath, slow my heart rate, stop being scared, but his breathing is so helplessly ragged, I wonder how I'm going to tell some vampire spell and a good act from the real thing.

Is this hungry passion for my blood or for me?

I move away from his lips to his cheek and hug him tightly. He is inhumanly strong; he didn't have to strain at all when he kept me from backing too far away from him, and yet every time he touches me, it's so controlled, so delicate. Like I am precious and fragile, like it would kill him to hurt me. If this is an act, it's a damn good one, and I decide in that one still moment, that there remains somehow a small part of me, that knows something like faith. It is faith in my fellow man - right fellow vampire - and faith in myself, and a desire to just ride this experience to the end without looking ahead so excessively to see where it stops. I'll just have to keep my wits about me a little.

I have my own hands in his raven feather hair, one clasping his head tightly so he can't move back in for another sense stealing kiss.

This is a great idea, but I don't stop kissing along his jaw right away, and soon my lips graze his ear, the pulse point immediately below it, and down his neck. I am moved by the tender care he takes with me so that I want to thank him at least for that. He smells so good, and he's gone so still beneath my hands and lips, but for a fine tremor that runs through him.

That persuasive groaning sound comes from him, so close, above me, and at the same time, from somewhere against my stomach, vibrating upward, right along my jaw; it's as though he's speaking for both of us. Hmm, still in a public place...

*

We are in front of the bookstore; so we go in out of the frosty daylight, our passion-heightened senses drinking in the perfume of new books and the expectant hush, as the few people there enjoy in private silence their own selections.

Lucien's fingers are loosely wrapped around mine, and they tighten in anticipation, as he leads me upstairs and straight to the back of the reference section, where the books on religion are.

We are in the gloomiest corner; surprisingly dark for a modern bookstore. I can't see the track lights to ascertain if any are burnt out, and I smack into one of the shelves as I turn to glance up at him. He is smiling – no grinning wickedly down at me and my heart jumps and I feel a hot wave wash up my cheeks, and then alarm. I didn't see anyone on our way up here. His long sinister coat and extreme pallor now seem a warning beacon for anyone with the sense to look, that something dangerous hides inside the old-fashioned clothes and the male model features. Like all of the vampire TV shows and movies; he's seduced me into coming willingly to my doom...

Is this where he bites me?

Or commits something much more mundane but just as terrible?

He takes my hands in his and then Lucien draws them out in front of me, and with an almost feral glee, he begins loading me down with books from the shelf next to my face. All right, so it wasn't a trick so he could get me alone and assault me.

So much for my faith, eh?

From trusting him to potential bite/rape victim in a few minutes? That's pretty good Meagan. I wonder if he heard you. All of his attention is focused on his task and he pays no more heed to my questioning expression than if I was a handy stand to place the volumes onto. Lucien's face now reminds me of a harlequin mask, and although I've banished the fears of being attacked; I begin to doubt what I thought he felt for me downstairs and I shiver.

What is his purpose here and why is he worrying me like this?

He adds two more hardbacks and I'm not sure I can hold more, and he's guiding me by the elbow towards a table where he pulls a chair out, and eases me down into it.

I awkwardly shove the books onto the table and now that the illumination is better I can see the titles.

"Oh, it's all books on vampires. So, I have a little homework ahead of me," I ask him with a laugh.

This is just about full disclosure? It must be pretty complicated if he thinks I need to read it to understand it.

"Is this where I find out what the requirements are for becoming a vampire's girlfriend?" I glance up, and find Lucien's eyes on mine, and he appears nervous, frightened actually and... sad?

About what's contained here?

No way, a confession? That's why he went all horror movie on me. There's something awful in here; something he can't bring himself to tell me face to face, maybe. I'm instantly certain whatever it is I'll uncover in these books, it's not him. And now there is pleading in his eyes, and a sort of dread.

I can't get around the table fast enough to clasp his dear face in my hands. How quickly what I see in these features has come to matter to me, I realize as I stop in front of him. So much.

Too much?

Are you sure you're still retaining a healthy amount of skepticism, Meagan?

How are you so confident what's in those books isn't awful or it's not really him? You just doubted everything concerning him; how he feels about you, what his motives are.

But some of it was real outside in his head, wasn't it? Besides, I have to take that look off of his face. Nobody should look like this. His hands are on my arms, gently restraining me from holding him.

Lucian shakes his head slightly; his curls whispering across his broad shoulders, offsetting them and making him seem more vulnerable at the same time.

Or maybe it's more the way he now turns his face resolutely towards the book pile. The funhouse rictus from before is even absent; there is nothing humorous or happy left or any evidence he could ever be glad again.

What is going on here? I shake again.

What is so dreadful that I could see? His skin is sallow under the distant halogens and there are even lines around his eyes.

This can't be the same man, the same grown little boy who was so happy in the coffee shop.

Lucien's hands on me shake a touch and I fully regret my mistrust of him before. This is a lot bigger than whether or not I seem like an easy little dunce and I say a short prayer that he never finds out I – oh hell Meagan it wasn't just mistrust - you were afraid of him. But you can't live your whole life in fear of everything, or there will be no joy for you; no peace. You have to start trusting someone again.

Why not him?

I did tell myself I'd have some faith in him, didn't I? Mean it Meagan; if you want him to be honest with you, you'd better be honest with yourself and commit to whatever you decide to do. Besides, we've shared a good deal more in a shorter space than most mortals ever get to, and as soon as I stop reacting and think I know he's not going to try to hurt me. Whatever is in these books can't be that bad. I mean a vampire must have some grisly stuff in his past, but as long as it is in the past, and he's not going to try justifying some dark, heinous behaviour in the present; where he thinks of anyone not the object of his affections, as disposable or something; then whatever it is, I'm already good with it. And if this is a confession, then he's not a person without a conscience. So he's not going to turn out to be a sociopath, Meagan. He's a good man, and he really looks like he needs someone to believe that of him.

I lean in and kiss him on the forehead, and I whisper, "No worries Lucien, it's you."

He blinks up at me, bewildered and like he's going to argue; tell me that I don't understand.

I stop him before he can begin; "You're sitting there all honest and brave, and you don't get it, do you?"

I'm smiling down at him, at his old haggard/lost little boy face, and I explain, "You didn't have to tell me or show me anything. You could have swept me off my feet and never told me a thing about being a vampire, or what it's like for you, for ages before I ever wondered why you hadn't. You certainly could have left out the difficult bits; whatever you think I wouldn't understand. I would have no way of knowing if you had." His elbows are drawn in against his body, and his shoulders are hunched a bit. He was so tall and self-assured a few minutes ago.

"That you're sitting here right now giving me all this; whatever this is to see, before we get more involved, speaks volumes - pardon the pun - about you." Lucien's expression barely changes on the volumes crack, and I realize I'm not reaching him right.

"I know I'm sometimes idealistic, but I know it takes someone with real character to do what you're doing." His lips are a straight flat line, this time not in anger but some emotion he's trying equally hard to contain. I suddenly understand just how true my words to him are, and I find myself becoming more tranquil; which is just as well because he needs more from me.

I bend further down this time, and kiss him; his hands are too loose on my wrists to stop me right away. I can feel this immense anguish coming from him that would choke off my ordinary speaking voice. I put all of the passion we've shared, and all of the tenderness and compassion I have for him now into that kiss, and say to him in his head: "I already know you're a good man Lucien, you've had any number of ways to trick me; and I know what we feel is not a trick. It's been a little crazy so far, but it's also been wonderful, and whatever happens, I won't regret any part of it." I realize its true, and I feel even stronger and surer of myself. This roller-coaster ride that is our lives on planet earth is about learning and new experiences; when you stop learning or being open to anything new just because it's scary, you're already dead. Hmm, how easy, and uninhibited it is in our minds. I hope he can hear me... "You've been direct with me about your feelings and under the circumstances pretty direct about what you are. So no matter what I find out, I won't believe the worst of you, and I'll ask you about what I don't know. I won't jump to conclusions, I promise. Please stop worrying, it will be fine love."

I hear it then, he sighs and there is a kind of letting go, a release as his shoulders slump and I pray he's free of that dreadful despair. I can't tell what he's feeling anymore. I bet he's just hiding it from me, to protect me. My chivalrous one.

I peer into tired eyes the colour of the winter sky outside, and I kiss him again lightly on the cheeks and once more on the lips. That was the first time I've initiated mental contact with him where I wasn't angry and suspicious. In fact, that's all he's had from me until now, and he's shown me so much of himself, both here and in my head, and so much of his love for me. The guilt pours over me like honey that's been overheated in the microwave; piping hot and heavy. I owe him better than this.

What else can I say to him, to make it all right, I ask myself desperately.

My God, Meagan do you love him already? I called him 'love' a second ago. I wonder if he noticed. I haven't felt anything this good – ha! or this strange - in so long and maybe never anything so powerful.

It's been what?

A few days since I met him? And less than fifteen minutes since I thought he was toying with me; that I was the butt of some joke of his. And even less since I thought... we won't think about that, in fact we'll never contemplate anything like it again. I wonder if he knows how greatly things have changed for me. I think it wouldn't be enough to chase him off. That's actually a tiny bit alarming.

It's a positive thing though, Meagan, so be brave... just... what is this, that's already waiting to wreck it? What we have together feels like the new butterfly that has just struggled out of its cocoon, being watched by a hungry bird. Its wings aren't even dry yet.

How many seconds will it have to fly? I tell myself again it's not that bad. It can't be that bad.

The walk back to the other side of the table is a long one; I want to sit close to him, so I can reassure him with a touch – or words I haven't found yet - and maybe so he can help me to stay calm; but I suspect that I am across the table from him so he can watch my face to gauge what I'm thinking. I'll stay here and let him; it's really my turn to try to put him at his ease.

I have a thought that nearly makes me miss the edge of the chair as I go to sit down.

What if I'm across the table so that if this admission is so monstrous, and I suddenly decide that I just can't deal with what's in front me; I can simply stand up and leave?
Confession

My hands shake as I crack the first book. Literally; it nearly falls apart as I open it, and I need to gingerly lay the cover down on the table top with both hands. It's dusty, and the pages are thick with the patina of ages, of the oil from the fingers of people long dead at the corners.

Wait a second, what the heck type of bookstore is this?

This is a bookstore not a library, how do we get some ancient tome here, instead of a nice, tidy, hardcover with a brightly coloured jacket?

And how has no one noticed that it or any of the others in the pile are on the shelves with the new books?

I send the question to Lucien with a glance, but his gaze is fastened to the topmost book, lying open in front of me, as though he could see some vile darkness creeping out of it. This morning I was in my dusty cubicle, at work on another Monday, on a typical call, trying not to freak out from visions. Now I'm in the religion section of my favorite bookstore with a vampire sitting across from me, with his life in front of me to examine; and I find I'm still wondering about the state of my mind. Well no help for it, Meagan, maybe it'll make more sense soon \- or not – at least it's a chance to take a breath. If I sleep at all tonight, I'll sleep well.

I page through searching for something startling or terrible, but mostly it seems to be a history of where vampires came from, the Kentu Oino, or First Ones and how vampirism is transmitted. I find it fascinating now that I know they exist and I have to force myself to pick up the pace and skim through so that the poor creature sitting across from me so motionlessly can breathe again... er figuratively speaking. It seems pretty standard - you know - drain the person to the point of death, feed them the vamp's blood, let the body die and be reborn again, a hungry but not insane thing; still human inside and still possessing a soul. It says here that there is no religious talisman or holy item that can harm a vampire.

Insanity comes from finding one's self six feet under, or similarly restrained, and being unable to claw one's way out, and therefore starving slowly in the dark. It happens more often than one would imagine. Between well-intentioned burials of those that certainly seemed dead at the time, and the power struggles between vampires that begin with a vampire's maker and carry right through to the brand new baby vampire's rebirth and beyond; it seems that to die and be reborn and not find oneself imprisoned or entombed somewhere, is the exception rather than the rule. And it is the ensuing break with sanity, and the resulting violence that has convinced many, that vampires rise without souls.

I'm about to carry on with my reading, when it hits me. Oh God, Lucien, it must have happened to him too!

He was buried alive or something too, wasn't he?

I start to look up to ask him, and then I force my eyes back down to the suddenly blurry table-top, choking on too much saliva in the back of my throat. More has intruded into my consciousness: did my sweet man have that period of insanity?

Did he go mad and become some mindless thing, slaughtering anything he came across? My love – wait.

Is this the big bad thing? It can't be. I mean, it would have broken him surely because it is so far from who he is. But it would be like blaming a child for the way he or she was raised. Once the child is grown up and responsible for himself; then sure the man is accountable for the kind of person he is and for his actions. Whoever brought him across and didn't guard him, help him get free, and protect him from harming others – that's the, the - well at best the fool - and at worst...

To blame Lucien for whatever he became temporarily because he was locked in the dark and slowly starved to death; or what would be death for any mortal? I know I couldn't imagine starving, and not actually being able to die, and watching my body feed on itself, or just feeling it because I couldn't see or move.

What do I even say to that?

How do I let him know I know, or at least have some vague idea of what he went through, and that its okay, and I understand?

And how do I do that without sounding like I'm giving him permission, like it matters what I think? But it does. To him. To my Lucien, who's waiting for me to tell him. What a terrible responsibility. But it's a part of loving someone, to let them know you know all about their darkest parts and it's ok with you; you love them and they're not freakish or monstrous. Everyone has things which they are ashamed of that others wouldn't even care about, and everyone still needs that reassurance so grow up, and hurry up Meagan; he's still waiting.

I glance up, still searching for the words. He is leaning back in the chair, his eyes shadowed; I can't tell if whatever he has been seeing in my face has told him anything. No, not shadowed... his eyes look like two black caverns into which any softer human emotion could be sucked, never to escape again. I think he almost wishes the worst would happen so he can get it over with. Like he'd be relieved to have the crushing burden of hope removed once and for all.

"You?" I'm trying to ask him if that happened to him, and he gets it.

In the movies, when the ruler-type nods to the headsman, and then he nods once before the blade comes down; that's the nod from Lucien.

"I'm so sorry it did," I strain to keep my voice steady for him so that he doesn't misunderstand, "but it's not your fault – will you look?" And by that I mean to ask him if he will reach inside my head and see or hear it so there can be no confusion. I know that somehow he doesn't want me to come over to him and try to touch him and make things ok that way. He's afraid of course of what I'll think; that I'll be disgusted or panicked. And he doesn't want me to know how frightened he is by the possibility, so I can't go be close to him. He thinks I'll see the terror in his eyes and that'll make him come apart on me. He's holding on so tightly to this dread, that he's brittle with it. He'll shatter. He must really love me.

And I can see now that he's even too anxious to look in my head. He's paralyzed; afraid to move or initiate any action no matter how small. But I've told him its ok, and I'll just have to try again.

"It's not your fault love. Believe that, and know it for the truth. Did you really think I'd blame you?!" I soften my tone a little, "You blame yourself don't you? Please just... stop. I know you were a good man before, weren't you?"

"I was... flawed but not... evil, I suppose - but that does not excuse-"

"And you became a good man again, after what was done to you. You were strong and brave to regain what you were - and perhaps even surpass the man you used to be?

"I... you don't know the things–" He won't accept any sort of absolution from me as long as he thinks I don't have a clear idea of what he was like then.

"Do you want to share it with me?"

I watch him shiver and close his eyes.

"No."

"Because you are still afraid of what I will think of you?"

Realizing I won't be able to convince him to share any of it with me, I close my eyes and reach out from my mind for the darkness boiling somewhere behind the barricades and trenches he's erected in his psyche to guard me from it. He is so surprised – I can feel it in passing as I focus on my goal - that I make it further than either of us was expecting. It is a huge inky black cloud, churning and twisting, with jagged school bus yellow bolts of lightning leaping out of it to scorch the landscape of his mind. A landscape which is already pitted and cratered with old discharges; and where fresher holes still smoke. I can see that this cloud has been allowed to wander over his thoughts many times; randomly shocking and burning him, and often choking out the glow of sunnier emotions.

I tangle mental fingers in a wisp at the edge before he can react and drag it all back and suppress it somehow; at least I assume that's what he's done because as my thoughts come into contact with just those tendrils of cloud; I'm lost in faces and bodies and fire, grimaces of pain and anguish, sickening smells of charred flesh and singed hair, and screams and blood. Lots of blood.

And then I'm picking my chin up off of the book I was reading and tasting blood.

Ouch, I must have bitten my tongue I realize, as I open my eyes to blink in the now bright seeming light of the bookstore/library. Whew.

I turn my face away a second to compose my features. The enormity of it is appalling. Not for any particularly bloody vision, but just the sheer size. With no one to help him throw off his madness, and nothing but death and violence around him filling all of his senses, it must have continued some time. The faces blurred together and the screams connected into one long, mindlessly suffering howl. And all I saw was a mere edge of it.

My poor heart, how did you survive that?

I take a deep breath, shaking it off, and I ask him again, so he understands me; "Do you need to share them with me? If you can live through it, the least I can do is see it all."

"Aren't you horrified?" And he sounds horrified and a little angry? that I don't. Startled, I glance at him and he's breathing quickly though more from emotion than any real need to do so, and he looks... flushed.

How does a vampire flush?

I peer at him more closely and he stills instantly but for muscles working in his jaw. Pinkish perspiration has broken out across his face; that is what's lending it colour. It must have taken quite the effort to crush all of that horror down somewhere I couldn't reach. I still can't make out any more from his expression though, other than the impression of exertion; so I close my eyes and speak to him more honestly than spoken words can say.

"I am horrified it happened to you, love. And heartbroken that it's still there tormenting you. If sharing it with me helps you in the slightest; I'm ready. I would take it all into myself so you could forget... But what I actually saw? That was pretty much as I imagined, and even if there's more that's worse; I still stand by my original assessment. IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT."

This last part I tell him opening my eyes and beaming at him. I wonder if he can see that I love him. I hope I can impart some happiness to him just through my features. I can see his eyes better. Ooh, the lake in the summer when the sunlight puts diamonds in the water. He beams back at me, happily and warmly.

And now his lips part, like he's going to speak, but his gaze falls to the damned book and he folds right up again. His face goes back to its grim smooth-skinned-totem pole carving, and you'd never know he was capable of smiling. Aargh!

More?

I plow back into the reading, more determined than ever to get through this and put the smile back where it belongs. It mentions the making of human servants – pretty standard fare – pardon the expression - and there it is; the free will. When a vamp feeds on a mortal, the mortal loses all free will for a time. Endorphins and some slight hypnotic ability of the vampire make the mortal first happy and easily influenced, and then over repeated feedings nearly mindless, a helpless automaton in thrall to the vampire.

My scalp creeps and I shudder all over. Well of course Lucien would never do that to me. No matter what, he'd never take my mind, my self-control away from me. Like life without after-life, nothing but oblivion; the senselessness of being unmade, of there no longer being that unique me to experience any more life causes black, sanity-endangering panic. Uh-oh.

Will he need to feed on some sort of regular basis?

Would he want it to be from me? I feel sick.

Could I even sustain him by myself? Way to run away, Meagan.

Or do I need to be okay with the fact that he'll need others, and those others might have to be women? I mean a vampire-living-in-the-new-millennium or not, he may feel a little funny biting other men on the neck... at least, if they're not his enemies.

What would it be like if he fed on me? If it's anything at all like the way he's been 'wooing' me then... wow.

But to become some mindless thing whenever he feeds on me?

Susceptible to any suggestion? Losing my self is too large a price. My brain flees from the idea altogether.

So would other women he fed on feel the same way? Not all of them. Some would throw themselves at him, anyway.

Would I begin to question his fidelity eventually? Ok, so don't turn into the crazy jealous girlfriend then Meagan, be strong.

And who's to say getting bit would be a nice thing anyway?

Would you feed him if you had to, even if it hurt? Yes. I think so. If he was injured or in some kind of trouble; I just wouldn't want to stop being me.

I glance up finally; I've been feeling the weight of his eyes on me for a while now, but I've wanted to read all of it, and figure out how to react before he witnesses it in my eyes.

I have his precious heart in my hands, don't I? I can't let myself put a foot wrong with him right now. I'm not sure, but I think he's been giving me the privacy of not listening to my thoughts again. I presume so, and I don't ask, because if he has been eavesdropping... then I guess that's okay anyway because he needs to know. Besides, it's easier when he listens in. I love words, and I'm also the first to acknowledge they're mostly clumsy and inefficient. I'm grateful and intimidated that he is giving me all of this, and waiting for my judgement. And a little sad to think maybe he's been so hard on himself over all of this time. Either that or he must really love me to be so bound up by what I might think. I hope he hasn't been hurt by anything he might have heard in my mind. His face still looks wooden and he hasn't moved an inch.

I try to match my inner composure to his outward appearance.

He can't help what he is, can he? Jesus Meagan, you make it sound like some disease or mental condition! He's not some beast or ghoul or leper.

But he is something alien isn't he? He's other or at least... not entirely human anymore, even if his heart is human fragile. Better not let him see you thinking any of this in your eyes. I school my face into a shape that's a lot less expressive. Handle what you can, Meagan, and we'll sort the control problem out later. I don't think he can take you telling him there's anything that has you nervous – ok - afraid, or there's anything that you're unwilling to be a part of. He's watching me, waiting, his fingers laced together as if in prayer or supplication, but the knuckles are white. I form the thought; "Whatever you need to do, if there needs to be others... I'm okay with it. You shouldn't need to ask – it's not up to me to judge you, but I'm grateful you told me. Thank you." I could tell him this out loud, but this way he can hear the truth of it in our minds. It's so pure and direct when it's mind to mind; there's no room for deception.

Out loud, I say, "Is this it? This is the worst of it? What else have you got?" And I initiate a smile for him, hoping he'll smile back.

Has he been hearing my thoughts after all?

It's strained, my love's smile, and he gestures towards the stack I haven't even touched yet, and says hoarsely, "There's more."

Lucien's hand as he points to the books shakes, and I can see his face is glistening pinkly with perspiration and sticking smaller curls to his forehead. God!

What could it be?

Taxi!

I've been thinking I can handle anything, but these two things have been reasonably monumental; so what is left that could be so earth- shattering?

Is that what's wrong with him? Maybe there's something else as well.

Is he really a 'day-walker,' or is this hard on him still being up?

Could that be putting a strain on him too? An idea forms, and I may as well ask.

"Lucien? Can you hear my thoughts from far away?" He seems confused a moment and I realize he hasn't been listening in on my brain activity; just hearing specific thoughts directed to him. Now he reaches out, reluctance making his mind feel slow and clumsy, and he can hear the thought behind it; that I could go home with the books and he could go wherever he goes and rest.

Surprised, he answers me; "I can, my sweet angel but I would have to remain awake to do it from such a distance-" My face falls a bit and he continues, "If you would be comfortable coming back to my home..."

He swallows. It sounds painful.

"I will understand of course if you cannot," he finishes quickly. I still can't get anything from him, but a sense that he's nervous, afraid of spooking me, and it's something he wants, desperately. He feels like he's pulling back; as if he already regrets the invitation.

What love, why?

What do you need?

"But what sort of rest could you have, would you not have to stay awake?" Maybe there's more that he requires, or more he needs to hear. I take the opportunity to step around the other chairs pushed into the table, and I endeavor to take his hands in mine.

"Some of my... people are there, and through them I will be stronger." I nod and he continues, "From a place so close to you, I could rest if not sleep deeply, and still know..." he clears his throat, "I could still answer your questions."

I nod again, quickly, to try and put him at his ease. He moves his hands away, and I realize he's not going to allow me to take them until I hear this. I replay what he just said in my head. Wait.

To his home, to his stronghold? I see Meagan; going home with the guy on the first date because you think you love him. Yeah well, if he was some kind of creep he could have dragged me off by force. He said 'his people' would be there, so you won't be alone with each other. And I do love him. And he does love me – don't ignore that part, Meagan. But if his people are vampires then you're going to surround yourself with inhumanly strong people who you don't know.

So? He will not hurt me ever, and he will die before allowing me to come to harm. I know that. And maybe I don't know precisely what brand of trouble a tasty morsel of mortal food might bring him amongst a bunch of vampires who each might be as strong as him. That would make an amusing epitaph: 'Here lies Meagan Wallace. She trusted a bunch of strange vampires not to eat her. Carpe Carotid.' But he wouldn't have said 'his people' if he didn't trust them. Have some faith, Meagan. Try to let go of the doubts and ask yourself: 'Do you really think Lucien's friends are going to snack on you?' Take a deep breath; of course they won't.

"Alright Lucien, it sounds fun."

Does he know that I know how safe I will be? This time I'm successful in getting a hold of his hands, and I make him stop moving, stop trying to stand, and just look at me.

"I trust you Lucien. You know, you were surprised I could hear your thoughts in the café. I heard them again outside."

I feel a sizzling blush flood my cheeks at the image of us on the sidewalk, and I'm pleased to see his parted lips and he takes a few rapid breaths, in spite of his anxiety.

"I'm still figuring it all out, but I have a better idea than you think of how you feel about me." The stunned expression on my Lucien's face would have been comical, if I hadn't been so concerned with alleviating his distress.

"I'll be safe with you." I'm going to tell him the rest.

His hands are hanging loosely between his knees, and I'm struck by how human this poised, graceful immortal can still be.

I place my hands on his shoulders and as he gazes up into my eyes I tell him, "I love you." I stop worrying about how he'll react or if he'll react at all, and I push at my smile with the muscles in my face, and I focus on the emotion that caused me to admit it, and my features firm up into a grin for him.

A wondering smile begins on his face; that keeps slipping and warping with uncertainty. Hmmm, this won't do.

I kiss him.

He stands with me in his arms suddenly and I am forcibly reminded of his strength as my feet leave the ground. He's drinking me down, his lips and mouth pulling at me, drawing me out and into him; trying to fill himself up with my faith and love against whatever's coming. Now I'm pleased there's nobody up here with us.

Then, too soon and so gently, he sets me down again, and my legs almost give out.

I make my way along the table leaning on it, while Lucien buttons his coat and puts leather gloves on.

I reach for my coat and he's around the table behind me, helping me put it on.

As he slides it over my shoulders his gloved fingers brush my neck.

Trying not to be distracted by the frisson galloping down my spine to my toes, I say, "So, I guess I'm meeting some of your fellow vampires, and vampire-ettes?" I ask him this in a teasing voice; I'm hoping to jolly a smile out of him, and maybe some further information about what I'll find when I get to his home.

He looks uneasy a moment as he scoops the books off of the table, and then he puts the sexy, self-possessed smile back into place. It is the one he wore into the café and the ease with which he dons it tells me it's a familiar mask, a multi-purpose tool to be used in many situations.

"What you will find love, are my friends and my refuge; I hope you will enjoy both."

*

I'm not quite sure what I was expecting; flying over the rooftops, speeding through the streets so quickly the scenery was a blur. Most of it involved being clasped in his arms, marveling at his power, his strength, and trusting in him.

He pulls out a cell phone, and calls a taxi. Not a limo either, just some taxi.

Oh well, part of the whole laying low thing vampires must do, right?

Lucien pays for the books – the cashier doesn't bat an eyelash over their condition, and has sku's in the computer for them, and we stand outside freezing our butts off until the cab comes. He barely speaks to me. Ok, I barely speak to him either.

He's staring with such intensity at nothing; well nothing I can see. He's probably worrying about whatever else is in those books. And I'm worrying that I hadn't been reassuring enough.

What had I said wrong?

What hadn't I said, that he needed to hear?

We get into a taxi with split seats and a new vanilla air freshener and old cigarette smoke smell, and sit there in silence with all of the massive tomes piled up between us, which given that there are about a half a dozen ancient-looking texts, the pile comes up almost to my shoulder. Lucien sits slumped in the far corner fidgeting, staring out the window beside him at the office buildings gilded in afternoon sunlight. Immortals don't fidget!

How do I restore normalcy here? Normalcy, ha! If I read some more, he'll feel unable to react freely in a cab in front of some mortal stranger, and I don't want to send him a message that I somehow think I need that kind of protection; our love is new and I want to protect it – and him. And if I seem to feel the need to read more before I arrive at his 'fortress of solitude,' that too could convey the message that I don't trust him. I'll find some way to distract him and me from obsessing over these damn books.

What could I ask him about in front of the cabby, though? Certainly nothing about his past. Too close to whatever is bothering him, and probably not anything the driver should hear anyway. Let's not scare the other happily oblivious mortals. I unclench my icy fingers from the fists I've been making between my knees and fish in my coat pocket for a tissue, and wipe my nose.

"You said you'd been interested in me since before the café; since when, then?" Jeez, this must sound like I care nothing for what's going on with him and this book tower beside me. I stuff the tissue back into my pocket and try to reach his eyes with mine. "Please take this as something else to focus on for now," I think, hoping his mind hasn't wandered too far for him to hear me.

From his contemplation of the back of the seat in front of him, he glances over at me and Lucien smiles.

And it is so full of relief, and affection, and, and humor; I laugh out loud.

He laughs back, his teeth flashing as white as his skin which is reflecting the brilliance if not the colour of the golden early evening radiance.

And under my regard he ducks his head – a sweet moment of shyness?

From my own ancient, worldly one? It's hard to breathe he's so beautiful, and I'm rewarded with such bounty, as to witness even his temporary happiness; I'm not sure I deserve it.

I gasp when he starts talking, I've forgotten the question, or that I've asked him anything, or even where we are.

"I was coming home on the subway one morning. You were there, almost the whole trip. You remember that guy? The one with the newspaper over his chest and his hat pulled down?"

"Not really. When was this?"

"Hmm. Some time last October?"

"Lucien that was what? Just over a year ago?"

"Yes."

My eyes get a bit big and I blink twice.

"Everyone thought he was some bum, and kept their distance. You woke him up when you were getting off, because it was almost the end of the line. You even explained to him where he was on the route."

"People have done that for me, Lucien, it was no big deal."

He continues, nodding his acceptance of what I said, but I understand he won't stop listing my actions until he's finished his story.

"He was unsure of how to get back to his transfer point, and you got on the other train and road back with him a couple of stops and showed him where to go."

"I have a subway pass, it's not as though I was out the fare, Lucien."

"Can you not accept credit or any praise at all for your actions, woman?"

I'm sitting there blinking again in surprise.

"Can you not admit – blast!" He turns to the cabbie's reflection in the rear-view mirror and makes his appeal.

"Have you been hearing what we've said?" And he plows onward as soon as the unfortunate driver begins to nod.

"Help me please to make her understand. How many people do you know that would do something like that? Especially a woman alone; who could have justifiably given in to her fear, and permitted it to prevent her from being kind?"

The beleaguered older man trying to concentrate on the road catches my apologetic gaze in the mirror, and his eyes crease up at the edges, and I can hear the smile in his voice as he tells Lucien; "It sounds to me you have a lovely young lady there." And I can tell he's telling me, that I have a wonderful, good man, who adores me.

I grin over at Lucien, openly laughing at him for his charming enthusiasm, and he asks: "Are you laughing at me?"

As a delighted smile spreads over his dear face, and his eyes look like bits of midnight complete with stars in the glow of the setting sun, he leans over and kisses me. Joy! Pure joy inside him, and happiness. For these few moments, he's forgotten all else, and I revel in that freedom with him.

The cab feels like it's spinning around me, as I trace his jaw with just my fingertips and his lovely heavy curls spill over my hand and wrist.

The scent of him drowns out the taxi smell, and I set my other elbow on the stack between us and lean into him, kissing him more deeply.

Our tongues meet, fit as one and still a moment, to begin subtly applying the most delicious pressure to each other.

I sense movement and he's slid sideways to lean against the back seat as if he's as dizzy as I am; and in that moment of surrender he lets go completely. Suddenly, visions begin pouring forth from him to me of me. Things I've done, small acts of kindness, silly things, me laughing, getting angry with a customer and finally telling him that although satisfying, abusing me wasn't accomplishing much. There's even a snatch of whistling, me whistling and singing and dancing in the shower!

"Peeping Tom," I call him, and then there's more. Sweaty sheets tangled around my legs from some erotic dream, standing in front of the mirror sucking my stomach in and making faces at myself. There's one where I'm at Tae Kwon Do, teaching the little kids and hugging them when they do well, and talking to them in silly voices, and even one where I'm blubbering into my hot chocolate with Jen at Tim Horton's over the latest cretin I'd dated. And all of these carry the same weight with him. With this man who's been spying on me, he really has been stalking me, but he hasn't sent me any dead roses, murdered house pets, or heads in jars, and he loves me. If his love for me was some kind of trick, I think he'd gloss over the bad stuff, and just tell me what he thought I wanted to hear. But he's seen and loves all of me, the best and the worst parts. And he's told me the truth of what he's done both in the distant past, and admitted to the more recent reconnaissance in spite of his fear of my reaction to it all. The scouting me out; what feelings of intrusion I might feel, have been subsumed in this massive adoration I'm feeling from him, and that I'm reciprocating. This... seeing things about me I wouldn't have shared with anyone has already become nothing for him to worry about; not anymore, if ever. And whatsoever it is that is lurking in his past- I squish the thought down so that doesn't become our focus again; we've got plenty of time to agonize over it when we get settled wherever we're going.

We've stopped kissing while I processed all of this, our foreheads are touching, as we lean against the seats and he waits with his eyes closed.

Listening? I hope so.

His eyes open, and I imagine those fragile deep blue eyes with their thick curling lashes staring up at his mother when he was just an infant; how she must have looked down into his face and tenderly kissed these fingers, which I now hold. I'll take good care of him, mother of my love, I promise.

He's definitely listening; his fingers tighten on mine, tighter and just better by the second.

He's going to speak, but before he can, the angle of the cab changes abruptly, and we're climbing up a hill along a drive fenced off by huge old trees and blocked further up by a colossal wrought iron gate which is charming from a distance and looms threateningly up close. We've arrived. Swell. I get to meet his people and be friendly or at least civil with them, and then settle in to put him through the wringer again. They must be expecting him to return with an answer from me and instead I'll be making myself at home just so I can potentially break his heart. It won't be long before his people hate me – if they don't already. He's exhausted, and there's still more for him yet.

A tremor runs through his hands holding mine and then his grip is solid as a rock again. He's already bucking up for me, and maybe for himself.

He's been so strong and so brave, and I admire him even more that he has also has that sense of pride I realize, as I get out of the cab and turn to drag the books out.

Maybe instead of plowing right into the books, my battered immortal one can get some sleep first?

My gallant sweetie grabs the books ahead of me, and is around the car and offering me his arm before I've even crawled out backwards, and stood up. He seems a lot better, more relaxed. Well he is home; it could be he's already feeling stronger.

I shut the door and wave to the driver, who half turns on his bench seat and waves back before cruising away. He had a picture on the dash which I assume is of the wife and kids. I wonder if he'll go home and tell his wife about the young romantic couple he had today. I hope we were his last fare of the day; he was still smiling as he drove away.

I take Lucien's arm. Maybe he looks more relaxed because we've made it here. He suspected I might come up with an excuse to head home instead, but now that I'm here I'll be too proud to leave until I've seen this through. How well he knows me already... That's not fair!

Castle Dracula

The estate is positively gorgeous. Many levels to a Mediterranean villa style house with generous windows and terraces down one side, which wrap around to the back. Beautifully landscaped under a shroud of snow; shrubs, bushes, and trees fill up every nook and cranny, on balconies and all around the house, dressing it in an array of muted colours and softening its edges. Full of character; the house is neither imposing nor pretentious. It's just picturesque; if any building that could regularly sleep thirty people in luxury with room for company can be considered picturesque. Cottages are picturesque, but this feels just as inviting.

There is movement from a side door and someone is hastening down the path towards us, and I assume at first that it is some sort of attendant.

Do people have anything as formal as butlers anymore?

It's not an employee, whoever it is, whoever he is; he's staring at me from some distance away, as if Lucien's not here.

I put one eyebrow up and smile at him as we walk up the path, and he increases his pace without changing expression. He has short-cropped honey blond hair, on a face with wider cheekbones and a slightly wider nose than my Lucien. His skin is even whiter which I wouldn't have thought possible until now, and I have them next to each other for comparison. His eyes are also shades paler and manage to be gray as often as blue I think. He has a slight scar running across his upper lip to lift and draw it tighter at one corner. He's dressed in faded jeans and an old shirt over a plain white t-shirt.

I glance up at Lucien and ask him, "Who's this, and what's up?"

He answers me, "That's Lief. He is a good friend."

The emotion behind it encompasses lifetimes of camaraderie, and I guess; "He's your right arm – pretty much your brother. Isn't he?"

My heart smiles down at me, and I catch a toe, but his arm seems carved from stone and I'm all right.

I look up to Lief, and now he's beaming openly and almost to us.

Has he witnessed our exchange? Oh, duh. Of course he has and he's delighted his best buddy's bringing home someone with whom he already shares so much. He's truly happy for his friend; I can see that, and I reach out for his hand and say, "Lief. I'm Meagan. It's a pleasure to meet you."

And I clasp Lief's hand in both of mine, and give him a proper handshake.

His startled look matches the one Lucien gave me in the bookstore, and I laugh and it's loud in the twilit stillness under the trees, but Lief and Lucien join me.

I find myself hoping these mammoth trees can soak up much more laughter from Lucien and me, and Lief, and whoever else is in that house – Lucien's family over years to come.

Then I get a grip – pardon the pun - and remind myself of how many more people there are to meet, and how Lief might not have noticed the books yet, and there is still some gigantic, nasty secret in them waiting to land on us all.

I must have looked at them because Lief takes the books from Lucien next, and tosses a vaguely military salute and what I can only describe as a goofy grin at me and goes swiftly back up the path ahead of us and disappears inside the mansion. I'll bet he's trying to keep his friend from running the gauntlet for a while, and in my very deepest thoughts I imagine someday marrying my vampire and Lief is our best man.

Lucien has got that wondering expression of his on when I look up at him, and I lean into him for a step or two wondering if he heard me, and then we're heading up a few steps to one of many prettily dressed lesser entrances.

He glances over his shoulder and lets out a breath he was holding as we enter and I wonder what else he was worried about outside.

We step into a cavernous dimly lit hallway, and as we shut the door behind us a lovely blonde – make that two lovely blonde - vampires glide around the corner, and introduce themselves in musical voices as Tia, and Frieda. Long, straight, pale ash-blonde hair, tilted cornflower blue eyes filled with an ancient knowing, elfin cheeks and chins, and a polite deference to Lucien. They're as pale as Lief, and I hope to hear more about them – about all of Lucien's people, and where they come from. They're surprisingly – at least to me - dressed in soft evening lounge wear in coral pink for one, and lavender for the other, which although flattering; isn't overly revealing. They honestly seem like they're dressed for a comfortable evening in.

What did I think vampire women were going to look like?

Seductresses? They are both so graceful and aloof they don't need the stock-in-trade vampy clothes.

What would a comfortable evening in be like to hundreds-of-years-old young women?

What would they do for entertainment? I'll bet they spend a lot of time reading.

I shake both of their hands; my voice sounding turkey attractive compared to theirs, and someone detaches themselves from some shadows in a far corner and steps into the subdued light leaking in through thick diamond panes of glass. It's a man by the shoulders although he's as slim as the twins. He is dressed in tight black jeans and a grey sweatshirt. Under long raggedly chopped hair the colour of fresh cherries, there's truly olive skin and when he finally looks up; black eyes. I've never seen anything so strange and exotic, and then he speaks.

You know those voices? Sardonic, mocking; they affect you from your knees up.

The ones that can make you feel simultaneously stupid and still like you want to jump into bed with them? It is sort of a cross between Jack Nicholson and Alan Rickman, only richer, purer and more biting. I guess he's had centuries to hone his voice.

I hear that his name is Rafe, and then he's extending his hand and wonder of wonders I shake it and introduce myself to him without making a fool out of myself. A few years ago, a voice like that would have had me stuttering, or his bitter smile would have had me tripping over my own feet. He's yummy, but not a patch on my Lucien. Cool, my lovely one has made me immune to other men.

I gaze over my shoulder at him.

Was there ever any doubt?

Lucien looks at me questioningly, and I just grin back at him.

A little of my smile must have lingered as I turned back to Rafe, or he just saw he wasn't affecting me as he was used to doing with others; no matter the reason, he glances thoughtfully to Lucien, and then a warm smile slowly spreads over his exotic, fine boned face and it doesn't seem to be a familiar occurrence there.

What is it with these immortal-types?

Are they a naturally melancholy bunch without mortals to cheer them up, or what?

I suppose they've witnessed a lot of death, but the learning, the wisdom, they must have? Surely they must know how to live in the moment as well, and take what life has to offer. I don't think it's just the paucity of laugh lines in their faces either. I think it's that Lucien, Lief and Rafe give me the impression they find themselves somewhat surprised to be laughing or expressing enjoyment.

Ah, here it comes, one of those things that gave Lucien pause in the library. She sashays down a sweeping staircase, dripping jewelry, a heavy scent, and possessiveness with every step.

"She thinks you're hers, doesn't she?"

"How did you know?" Um.

"Lucien, oh you naughty thing, what have you brought home to us? And why didn't you call me? You know how I worry," she breathes in her Morticia Adams voice. She has auburn hair swept up on the sides to expose her neck and shoulders, and tumbling in shiny curls down her back. Creamy skin, brown eyes that smolder at Lucien, and a slinky red dress on with long red gloves to match almost complete the ensemble; but for a cat who ate the cream and the canary smile on very, very red lips.

I wonder if she knows what kind of cliché she is. She matches the stereo-type in my head better than the queenly twins.

"Oh you must be," "Meredith," he supplies smoothly in my mind, "Meredith," I finish, holding my hand out to her.

Her eyes narrow imperceptibly but she recovers and asks in a breathy voice; "Oh my Lucien has been telling tales again has he?" I already have a headache coming on from her perfume.

She extends her fingers to me, which gesture from one woman to another means what? One woman wouldn't kiss the hand of another unless...

She thinks of herself as my better? She did say 'what' instead of 'who'. Like I'm a cute but filthy animal that followed Lucien home.

And did she say my Lucien?

As in hers? Uh, huh.

"No, no, he was just telling me about his friends here." I avoid putting extra emphasis on the word friends, but I still have the satisfaction of seeing her face turn as if she's just tasted sour milk. I let her have a little more. "He didn't tell me how beautiful you are," and I shake her fingers and drop them, then move past her as if she holds no more importance for me. I realize that she doesn't, her would-be ownership of Lucien is already a failed thing; and I almost laugh out loud. A sound from Lucien, like a cross between a cough and a snort, tells me he's somewhat less successful at restraining the impulse.

Someone throws the lights on; it's getting a little dim in here – the heavy panes in the tall, narrow windows look like they're an inch thick - and I see that there is someone standing behind her Royal Vampiness, nearly hidden. Where Tia and Frieda are delicate in a Swedish or Finnish sort of way, this girl is waifish; as if she's gone hungry recently, and it's made dark circles under her eyes. Eyes that are the deepest shade of blue, but they are huge in her thin white face as she blinks in the sudden glare; making her come across like a living French doll (or a well-groomed pug), with shining yellow-gold curls, a beauty mark and net gloves on. Her precious bow mouth in her porcelain face sneers at me, and I can tell she's Morti-I mean Meredith's creature. As her mistress moves away, the life-sized doll darts a look at Lucien and tells me her name is Colette.

I take her dainty paw briefly telling her what a pleasure it is to meet her, and I turn around and I look up, way up, into what I hope is a friendly giant's face. Six and a half feet tall, with shoulders that must be two and a half wide, long brown hair beginning high on his head, styled back and flowing (this time I mean to use the word) past his shoulders to mix with the most luxurious, silky looking beard. He's got what must be a triple x kelly green sweater on that almost perfectly matches his eyes, dark slacks, and an enormous grin. He envelopes both of my hands and part of my arms in his own massive mitts, and flicking a glance to Morticia – right - Meredith, he tells me; "Glad to meet you girl," and there is laughter in his voice, "the names Connor. Welcome."

"Meagan, Connor, and I'm glad to meet you too, and to be here, thank you." I shake his hand back and bask in his approval for a second before turning around to see if there are more introductions to get through.

There is movement above me, and from a darkened doorway, an ethereal vision in blue radiance steps out. Where Tia and Frieda glided, this woman floats. Lovely strawberry blonde hair is pulled back a bit and laid in complicated curls behind her head, set with several somethings in diamonds and pearls, and her gown, from at least a couple of centuries ago; in diaphanous shades of night sky.

She seems to glow as she simply raises one hand languidly a moment, in an eloquent gesture of salutation.

Then she stands there perfectly motionless, as I return her wave and add a smile and "hello," and then she slowly lowers her hand in some ballet whose music only she can hear.

"That is Delphine," Lucien tells me as he nods to her and takes my elbow.

"I get the feeling she is ancient," I say, still gazing up at the slender Nike of Samothrace above me. Never mind queenly, this woman is some type of minor deity brought forth from Parian marble to cast a benediction over those assembled below her. She is everything Meredith probably wishes she were. She's certainly everything I would wish to be, if I'd any inkling it were possible for a mere mortal.

"She is older than any of us, although she chooses not to lead," he explains. He states it merely as a fact and not like he is the least bit puzzled as to why. Perhaps leadership has its own barrel of problems that never really goes away, especially amongst a bunch of immortals. Maybe it's not an enviable position.

"You run the major stuff by her anyway, don't you?"

"I respect her judgement, but I never have to tell her, or ask her anything. She already knows whenever I try, and so far, she hasn't so much as murmured over any of my decisions at all." This, he says as though he's mystified.

"She must think you're doing alright, then," I tell him with a smile.

He half-turns toward me startled, and then he starts to duck his head again before he catches himself.

Connor couldn't have heard him in our minds but he chuckles at the look on Lucien's face, making this vast echoing entryway with eight immortals plus myself finally feel cozy.

Someone else laughs with him – oops, make that nine.

That's why Lucien has my elbow, to turn me to face another man built like Connor, but with thick, fire-orange, curly hair jutting almost sideways from his head, and a matching beard, and eyebrows like Costa Rican hairy caterpillars. He's a little shorter than Connor but broader and deeper through the chest; the grey t-shirt he's got on is stretched to bursting, and it's already given way a bit on the sleeves. He is actually wearing a kilt, and his hairy knees below it are the trunks of birch trees by the colour and size.

Smothering the impulse to yell "'Hulk smash,"' I extend my hand to... Angus, as he turns out to be.

From under those caterpillars he peers into my eyes, gets a death grip on my hand, and when I don't react but for a raised eyebrow and a smirk; Angus laughs again.

"A lovely young lassie you've brought us, Lucien." And he laughs some more when his expression turns wolfish and all I do is grin back. I know none of them are planning on feasting on me, if only because I wouldn't make much of a meal to Angus, I think facetiously.

"Any more," I ask peering elaborately around corners and through doorways, and throwing another smile at Angus. Laughter is no stranger to this man. I hope he and Lucien are good friends; my love could use some conviviality in his life.

"That's all who stay here with us," Lucien tells me as he leads me through the halls. I wave at those who look like they're not coming with us, grateful to be away from the perfume and breathing fresher air. Meredith seems like she'd like to keep her eye on us, but can find no plausible excuse for now.

Angus and Connor wave back, the rest minus the Wicked Witch and Toto content themselves with smiles. Hmm, no takers. They know what's coming for Lucien, and they're giving him some privacy. They were awfully nice to me, though. They're good people.

What else was I expecting? They're Lucien's people.

My Prince Charming continues in his faintly accented, softly musical voice, "There are others who are away for now." Hmm, I wonder how many live here; this place goes on forever. Our footsteps echo as we pass through a cross-corridor with Romanesque arches, some of the larger ones graced with a slim white marble column to each side. The floor is dark and porous but polished to a glossy shine; I'm not sure what it's made out of, but the tiles are either so immense or so closely joined I can't see where they meet.

Lief joins us from some other part of the manor as we pass through an immense lounge full of modern, square club furniture upholstered in a cream colour to match the area rugs and the adobe walls. The furniture is grouped conversationally, and gives way to a black granite and glass bar with tall black stools, at the far end of the room. It would be filled with natural sunlight during the day, and now a few strategically placed pot lights lend a feeling of intimacy, and a touch of glitter to the area. There are also French doors at the end of the room beyond the bar; which lead out onto one of the many terraces.

"Still in one piece, I see," he rasps. Now his voice has an eastern European accent; maybe Russian. I still can't place Lucien's. I'd begin with a bit of French but he must have spent a great deal of time in several other countries as well.

I glance up, and Lief is looking out through the windows as we walk along at the lights coming on all over the different levels of the estate; so I can't tell if he's talking to me, or to Lucien.

We head into the kitchen, or at least one of them. It's perhaps a bit small for a dwelling this size. I wonder if this is the one for serving onto the terraces. I imagine the scale of the parties that could be held in this house. This room has a lower ceiling of nearly black beams, a speckled granite counter top and a small island at the end by the windows, in shades of white, cream, black, and caramel. Some blonde, buttery coloured wood cabinetry and shiny black appliances; including a fairly nifty looking stove with all manner of cooking surfaces on it. There are so many windows in this place; it's beautiful but not exactly what I thought I'd find in a vampire's retreat. I guess an ancient stone castle complete with portcullis and moat might stick out a little in Toronto.

Lief starts collecting stuff out of cupboards and a small fridge while Lucien pulls out a couple of stools and motions me to have a seat.

Sitting up to the counter beside me, with his hands neatly folded in front of himself, Lucien seems perfectly at home with this... well... domestic scene.

They drink blood, don't they?

I didn't get all the way through the chapter on feeding in the bookstore, but surely they don't eat stir-fry, do they?

But this can't all be for my benefit can it? Lief moves around the kitchen with surety; he must have some practice at this. He's fairly flying around, his movements so deft and quick.

"Most of us are old enough we don't need to feed very often anymore, Meagan." Lucien's voice touches me in an almost physical way, and I start a little. He continues; "we find we still enjoy eating food-"

"You enjoy food," I blurt out.

"And some of us enjoy cooking," Lief replies, not looking up, as he rapidly chops veggies like a professional sous-chef. I'm not sure exactly why, but I'm deeply happy to hear that.

He tosses them into a curved, wok-style pan, turns up the heat a little, and I get a whiff of sesame oil. A few dexterous turns with a wooden spoon, and he pours some dark substance into it - soy sauce probably. Mmmm, I didn't think I'd have much appetite, what with our upcoming ordeal with whatever else is in the books, but the smell has me salivating. I guess we read – well I read and Lucien suffered – the better part of the afternoon. We missed lunch. Lief adds a bit of what smells like ginger, and holds something – oh of course - bean sprouts in reserve. They cook quickly and shrink down as they go, so they need to go in later than the other veggies. Red peppers... mushrooms... ground pork... Hmm, he isn't putting anything else in. Oh well, it still smells wonderful.

"Maybe if you ask him nicely, he'll let you help him cook in his kitchen," Lucien advises me with a conspiratorial smile. Rats, he's heard me being dissatisfied with his friend's cooking.

I open my mouth to apologize to him, and to Lief who has overheard his comment and is coming over. Damn vampire hearing.

Lucien begins to laugh at me, and then Lief is around the counter and handing me down from the stool and ushering me into the centre of his kitchen. I don't even know what some parts of his stove are for. I can't cook in his kitchen!

"I learned by sharing with others as they cooked, how can I do less?" He's probably cooked with people from around the world at all levels of expertise.

What could I possibly show him? I'm still standing there and he adds with a laugh, "And who is to say I am finished learning? Show me what you've got." Great I have hurt his feelings or offended him, or something.

I glance up, and there is nothing but warmth, and... a youthful, good -natured challenge in his face.

I smile back at him, relieved and feeling up to the challenge until I approach a truly impressive spice drawer. After staring down at dozens of spice jars for what seems like an hour (but was no more than a minute), I find the ginger and add roughly a teaspoon more, and then a little rosemary, and the smell coming from the dancing contents of the pan is transformed. I don't know why, but rosemary does something wonderful to ginger.

I'm enjoying the heat over the pan; I've been getting chilly worrying about those damned books, but Lucien lets out with an "Mmmm," of appreciation right after the rosemary goes in, that I feel from my legs to my shoulders, and suddenly my face heats up and I'm too hot standing at the stove.

I thank Lief for letting me into his kitchen, awkwardly hand him back the spoon, and totter back to my seat on wobbly legs. I'm not sure if it's the pleasure of having my man appreciate my cooking before it's even on his plate, or if it's the images conjured by the sound he made, which have nothing whatsoever to do with bean sprouts.

As I regain my perch, Lucien leans in and kisses me.

Soon I am dizzy and gripping the edge of the counter so I don't fall off of the stool. It's a long way down for me. I am lost in him, the taste of him, his warmth, the way he kisses me, and the scent coming from him. His own personal scent, which smells like coconut to me. I'm starving, but not for anything on Lief's stovetop. Lucien's eyes are impossibly dark, and I give up trying to describe the colour, even to myself.

I close my eyes, and enjoy him, and nearly fall off of the stool anyway, when he reaches out and slips a hand under the edge of my blouse where it's come untucked. His fingers have merely brushed the skin along my stomach. It's like being electrocuted, only less frightening, and a good deal more pleasant.

I hear a distant click, and with a little help from my roguish one, I regain my balance on my seat, and realize its Lief turning off the stove. Our plates are in front of us, loaded up with sizzling stir-fry already. Lief has a plate on the counter by the sink, and he's already rinsing out the pan.

Isn't he eating with us? I'd love more of what we were doing before, but Lief shouldn't have to feel like he has to leave us alone. We could have embarrassed him with our sloppy public display of affection.

I turn to Lucien to ask him if we shouldn't try to get Lief to stay, and I find him grinning over at his buddy, and his buddy is giving him the same, "isn't she great?" grin back.

Heh, I don't even need the stool to stay up to the counter, I'm floating now.

Is that a giggle?

Did I just giggle, at these two?

How old am I?

I shovel a bunch of too hot food into my mouth to stop myself, and end up breathing through my teeth with my eyes watering, and listening to Lief and Lucien laughing at me.

Lief pours and sets a glass of water down in front of me, and I give him a rueful smile, and gulp down some of it.

Lief takes a bite from his plate before turning and heading out the opposite side of the kitchen from where we came in. He says, "Good night Little One, it is delicious, and you are welcome in my kitchen any time." He tosses me that same silly salute.

And being that my mouth is still full, I can only wave and smile back and try not to dribble at him.

'Little One?' (It sounds like Leetle One in Lief's voice.) Oh well, it was said with affection, and I've been called worse.

Goodnight

I'm standing at the sink with my arms in hot water, washing our supper dishes. I know I won't be able to sleep until I've seen it all; what is in those books.

Lucien comes up behind me, his arms encircling my waist, his lips moving from behind and just above my ear down, all the way down my neck. Soapy water sloshes out of the sink onto the floor.

I grab a tea towel, dry my hands and the counter, and toss it at Lucien.

Giving me a wicked little chuckle, and wiggling his eyebrows up and down at me, he takes it and steps up to the counter beside me.

When I get my breath back from laughing at him, I go back to washing, and Lucien starts drying dishes, and soon we have a rhythm going. And now there's nothing left to do, and no other way to put it off.

We turn most of the lights out in the kitchen but for cabinet lighting, and when I look at Lucien with those hollows in his cheeks and around his eyes in his white face; all I want to do is tuck him in for the night.

"Right you, off to bed, you've been up all day," I tell him, deciding that we can't stave off destruction, but at the least he can have some rest while I work out whatever I find. I'd almost forgotten why I came here; caught up in enjoying easy loving play and a companionable chore with this man I know so well – except for this one thing. One fact, one piece of information could somehow blow it all away.

"Only if you tuck me in," he says, trying on his lascivious face from before. That would be a nice way to distract ourselves from the books.

It falls off as he waits for my answer. The fear returns.

"Alright, I will, and I'll call you, if I need anything," I tell him sternly. We must get this over with.

He looks like he's going to argue as we make our way up a small staircase to the second floor. It's covered with this soft silky looking blue-grey carpeting like nothing I've seen outside of a castle I once toured. But this is in new condition, instead of having the dirt of centuries ground into it, and it's not threadbare as in the castle. The carpeting continues through the whole level as far as I can tell. It shimmers in the distance like heat haze on the highway. Nice.

"Wait darling, how will you find the library? Lief has most probably left the grounds. Shall I get someone else to show you?" He asks this with a triumphant smile, as we pass doors to either side of us, as well as an alcove with doors leading onto its own terrace. He knows I wouldn't want to disturb anyone. Uh oh.

Will I have to wait until the morning to finally read the books? Oh wait; thank you brain.

"Before you drift off, you can guide me – just listen in as I go," I reply as we approach the doors to his quarters.

"Hmph," he says sounding thoroughly disgusted, as he opens one and gestures me through.

I begin to laugh at him, and then I forget to. Massive, masculine, and opulent. Dark, hardwood floor in the living area, and a huge Indian rug spread over most of it. Solid furniture, heavy but possessing a grace of line that startles me. My man has exquisite taste. There are pieces from all over history, but every one of top quality. Paintings on the wall must also have been collected over lifetimes, none are ones I recognize, but I can pick out styles reminiscent of Botticelli, Fillipino Lippi, Michelangelo and others. I wonder if any of these are original works, which conceivably the rest of the world has yet to see. Very cool. What a way to bring home to me how positively ancient this being is, who has already become immensely important to me.

There is a huge desk across the room from us, in front of a generous window. But his work space is saved from feeling overly vast, as there is a single large column coming down at either end of the window, enclosing the space and lending it a feeling of intimacy.

The satiny finish on the desktop reflects only a thin computer monitor, and a Waterford crystal desk lamp. The desk sits on another rug, oh it's beautiful, Chinese, and silk I bet. I want to go stand on it barefoot to see.

I look around for photos, things that will tell me more about my Lucien, and he answers the thought.

"Over the years most possessions become... less important. I've collected some things, but..."

"They tell me much about you anyway," I reassure him. He almost seems embarrassed that he doesn't live like a typical mortal pack rat. Possibly, if you're centuries old there are memories you'd rather fade over time. Let's change the focus here.

"Your living room is wonderful, Lucien," and I indicate the door to his bedroom with raised eyebrows, and I turn the living room light off.

In the moonlight his eyes seem to have darkened, yet anxiety chases across his features, and he licks his lips.

Is he worried I won't like his room? Nah, don't be silly, Meagan.

Or is this about what happens once he's gone to bed, and I've gone back downstairs to the library?

Or what he'd prefer happen here, and that he hopes I won't be going back down until morning?

Of course there's some of that. I'd have to be in a coma not to feel him craving me the way someone lost in the desert craves a lake. I find myself yearning for him, because of him, and also so I don't have to face what's in the books. I have an image of my princely lover carrying me into the bedroom, kissing me, kicking the door shut, the feel of the mattress beneath me, as he sets me down as carefully as a precious, glass sculpture, and his weight over me moving the mattress. Lucien's eyes as he lays me down in the moonlight, his hands tracing up my body, moving my clothes aside. He will be so gentle and careful at first, but later he will not be able to help himself-

A groan from my love - my real living love - not some fantasy - hooks almost solid fingers into me, drags me back to the moment, and gives me a shaking for good measure.

He'd been standing on the far side of the coffee table from me; I don't know how he got over here so fast, but he's reaching for me. I'm in his arms, my feet don't touch the floor, and my fantasy was missing a lot. I didn't include his hair sliding down around us both, cocooning us in darkness, and his scent, heady and sweet, or the feel of his arms around me; their strength. And no memory is as good as the real thing, when it comes to the way he kisses me.

He starts out softly; he tries to. At least for a second he does; but he's immediately bruising my lips, ravishing my mouth with teeth and tongue, and I'm rougher with him. I nip him hard, and I pull back thinking I might have hurt him but the sounds he makes aren't from pain, and he looks at me a moment, and with his swollen lips he kisses me again like he's going to consume me. My head hits the wall a second before the rest of me, and when the rest meets – when both of us hit the wall, we grunt as we lose our breath with the force of the impact. I can feel him pressed against me through our clothes, and the room spins.

As Lucien shifts to fit even more of our bodies together, he trails kisses down my neck.

"Please Lucien..."

Is that my voice sounding so throaty?

"I want to take you in there now," he whispers like a prayer with his eyes still closed. I know, and I want him to, even though this is all so new. It's new and it's exhilarating and always seems like it's getting out of hand, but I know him. I feel like I've known him for years. I've felt this sensation before when a good relationship was beginning, but I've never before been able to reach backward in someone's mind for snippets of his memories and his impressions of experiences and realize I really do know him and everything about him makes me happy. I've usually just assumed that part, and hoped, and taken the inevitable disappointment as par for the course in real life dating. He amazes me at every turn and I can't wait for him to make love to me, and I'm about to beg him to do just that, when I realize we can't. It's why he hasn't carried me in there already. We can't have this with something horrible hanging over us. He still thinks whatever it is will tear us apart. No matter what happens I wouldn't regret tonight.

But how can I enjoy him, unite my body with his, and let him take me places – I know it'll be different with him than with any other - how can I do this knowing it might be over tomorrow?

How can I have that faith in us to relax and fully celebrate us?

And how can he? I want him to be able to enjoy our first time together with all of his mind, his senses, and his heart. I don't want him afraid. But I can't bring myself to leave his room now, not yet.

"I want you," I tell him. And then I have a brilliant idea. Something wonderful we can share. An ideal way to tire him out physically and make him get some sleep, and still save that very special moment for later. Oh, he must have heard me.

I start to fall as Lucien staggers back from the wall in surprise.

He catches himself against the back of a chair and steadies me easily with the other arm. His eyebrows have climbed perilously close to his hairline, and I give him a huge grin in the shadows, that he can easily see.

He's already shaking his head. He can't ask this of me.

No regrets. Even if the worst happens and I find something out that makes all of this nothing but a memory. It will be a good memory, and I won't feel used later, no matter what. Not when it's something I can see he really wants, and it's something he'd never dream of asking me for. "Yes you can," I tell him, laughing up at him as I gently pull out of his unresisting arms.

"I want to." I really do. I'm dizzy with it. He's shielding his thoughts tightly from me now, but I don't need to hear them anymore; I've already decided.

He backs up as he tries to argue with me, and bumps into the chair. Funny, he's getting a little less graceful for some reason.

He brings his arms up to fend my hands off, as I begin by pulling his shirt out of his pants.

I lace my fingers with his and kiss him again. He could stop me at any time and we both know it. There's a reason his responses are getting slower and less confident.

Gently, I disentangle my hands to explore under his shirt, and smooth my fingers up over his satin stone abs.

He gasps and uses both of his hands to hold himself upright against the chair.

"Don't," he begs me softly.

Lucien shakes his head as though he's trying to clear it.

I laugh up at him delighted with my effect on this being I'm coming to adore who is impervious to aging and disease, but not to me.

As I slide my hands down the front him, and around to squeeze his yummy backside, I ask; "Why not?" I really will stop if there's a concrete reason for my love, and not just that he somehow feels like he's imposing or some such.

I close my eyes and sample the taste of his mouth again. The coconut scent coming from his skin is stronger; like a warm breeze through palm trees. My sweet man's breathing is loud in the stillness. He still hasn't answered me yet, which is just fine by me. He's shaking; a fine tremor that does far more to convince me of my course of action than mere words anyway.

I try to undo his belt but I can't concentrate for some reason, nor can I see very well in the moonlight, and if I stop long enough to throw the light switch, he might start having second thoughts again.

Leading with my hands, I slide down his body until I'm kneeling in front of him. The moonlight makes caverns in his cheeks and around his eyes as he stares down at me. I wish I could simply scrape his pants off with my fingernails.

With much tugging, I get his belt undone and his fingers leave the back of the chair to tangle in my hair. There are deep grooves left in the upholstery I can see even in the semi-darkness, and I imagine what he could do if he let himself lose control. I have a short-lived thrill of fear before it melts under the heat of my anticipation.

I unzip him carefully, and go back up for the catches at the top. He's shaking harder.

Oh love, how long has it been for you? He's watched me for a year or so, so at least that long. I know him well enough to know that.

His hands come down over mine, and help me pull his clothes down, and I hear it; "Years." Oh, Lucien! My mind shies away from the length of time that one word encompasses in his thoughts. I hope he's not planning on trying to stop me again. I don't think I could now. I'm aware of every fiber of my clothing as it touches my body.

"Don't... stop..." he manages between breaths.

I glance up and his eyes are wild, and hungry. He is free of his clothes, and I take him gently in my hands, but it is his face I'm watching, as I slowly stroke up and down the silky length of him.

His eyes flutter shut, his lips part, and my darling man groans for me. The sound shocks through me, and it's a good thing I'm already kneeling.

I squeeze just a little on each down stroke deliberately and watch his face. My own face warms, but I don't look away as he bares his teeth to the night trying to hold on to his self-control.

My gaze wanders down to his throat as I use my tongue now to pleasure him, and I see him swallow back a shout. Lucien's entire body gleams in the moonlight, like the hand polished marble from Vietnam; but no pigment has been transferred to his skin to mar the flawless white. When we started, he was softer but now he's harder than anything I have words to describe. Not stone – too rough and too cold, and not metal – colder still. Heated metal; formed out of stainless steel like cutlery. It warms quickly with a little body heat like a spoon with your favorite pudding on it. An especially large spoon, which I can't quite get all of the pudding off of. I'm a little intimidated by his size and strength but I know how safe I am here with him. I know I shouldn't, but I want to experiment with how far I can stimulate his senses; how far I can push him.

He is breathing around clenched teeth, and just when it seems like he's adjusted to the sensations making his stomach muscles move, I take him into my mouth.

He bellows. That's all I can describe it as. Inarticulate and so loud I half expect the fanlight window high above the desk to break. I am aching for him; I've been completely hollowed out with wanting him. I wonder how long I can stand to drag out this delicious tormenting of my love, and of myself.

All night?

"Meagan!"

I laugh inside, and I promise my starved one it will be over soon.

He agrees. I have other things I'd like to try on his body, but a promise is a promise, and I'm eager to hear the sounds he'll make when I finish with him. Every breath I take, I inhale more of that sweet tropical scent and strain to take more of him in.

I suck as I move my mouth over him, and I'm not disappointed; it's a near scream as he releases, and his knees begin to buckle.

I lean into him, helping to brace him against the armchair.

I swallow, and suck harder as he spasms again and again.

I let myself enjoy making his body respond helplessly to me, moving with him as he bucks.

Even through this he's maintained a tight enough rein on himself that he hasn't hurt me, but now he's starting to slide towards the floor.

"Enough, enough, please," he begs me hoarsely as he hooks his elbows over the back of the chair to check his ungainly fall. I could keep going but I've ached so long, so fiercely tonight, that parts of me feel raw, and my clothes almost chafe me as I try to get up on drunken legs. I can't wait to get downstairs and get the books out of the way so I can get back up here to him. I'll take some more sick days. I'll make him groan like that for me all night – every night.

I smile up at him, and we help each other to stand, and I lean against him.

I can hear his heart hammering away in his chest! "Your heart is beating; it's pounding, Lucien!"

"Yes it is, isn't?"

Is he amused with me?

"I thought vampires didn't go in for that whole pulse and circulatory system thing."

"Our bodies still have to repair themselves... it seems an efficient way..."

He's already getting sleepy, and he blinks owlishly at me. I guess I'll have to wait for a more thorough explanation.

I laugh at him again, and I lead Lucien into the bedroom. A huge king-size bed up a step or two, and another sitting area with a fireplace, and the wall that divides the bedroom from the living room is wall-to-wall books. Nice. No coffin, also very cool. I don't pay much attention to the rest of the décor; he's going to collapse on me.

I go turn the covers down, throw open a wardrobe that I could fit my whole bed into, and search for anything he sleeps in.

"Don't," he says his voice gravelly.

"Mmmm, you sleep in the nude, huh?"

Lucien nods jerkily, like someone under hypnosis. I imagine waking up to him naked every morning. Lovely.

I pull him over to the bed, and get him to sit down.

He's smiling sleepily at me.

His pants are still in the living room, so I take his shirt and socks off, and lay him down.

Lucien is grinning lazily up at me now, sated and silly. Oh I wish I could climb in next to him and remain there with him forever. Those books aren't going to disappear just because I want them to though.

I tuck his feet under the covers, and pull them up over him.

My love is staring at me. He looks terrified.

"Oh love, what's wrong?"

He doesn't say anything specific; I just get this black dread that this will all be over between us soon.

Tears fill my eyes and splash over his forehead as I lean down and kiss him just above each eye and on each cheek.

"It will be fine, love," I tell him; I tell me.

He blinks up at me, takes my hand, and brushes a kiss across the palm. It had better be fine, I think. I can't lose him.

I retrieve the rest of his clothes from the living room, and put them with his shirt and socks into a hamper in the closet.

I return to the bed to bid him goodnight and reassure him again but he's out, so I turn off the light and go find some mouthwash; I can't find any spare toothbrushes in his ensuite and my purse is still downstairs in the kitchen.

I finally head down. I'll find the library on my own.

There's going to be a lot of reading for me, and with any luck, more time later to appreciate the décor in Lucien's bedroom; so I pull out my cell and leave a message at work that tomorrow's going to be another sick day.

*

I'm hoping not to run into Meredith; she's got it in for me, and it's not over yet.

I'm about halfway down a different staircase than the one I came up; it's broader and turns the opposite way, when a huge shadow appears suddenly on the wall.

It shocks my lungs up into my throat before it resolves itself into a man almost the same size; it's Angus.

He's coming up the stairs but he senses me descending, and politely waits at the bottom for me even though there is plenty of room for us to pass each other.

"A bonnie evening to ye, lass, where ye headed?"

"A wonderful evening to you, Angus, I'm trying to find the library. I have some reading to do," I say, deliberately making reference to why I'm here. I hope that Angus will respect me facing it directly; I need to know what Lucien's friends think of all of this, and Lief would try to spare my feelings I think.

"Well now, I'll be happy to play tour-guide to ye," he says, tucking my hand around his massive forearm. "And don't bother yer head about what you'll find inside those books. Yer made o' sterner stuff than that."

I hug him around the arm, and he continues; "Ye'll notice, none o' the others here, including meself, have much to do with mortals. Vampires, like mortals, come to unite with others who believe as they do. None of us in this house here with Lucien really believes it is a good thing to associate with mortals."

I accidently skip a step, and when Angus braces me up with his arm, he pats my hand and explains; "We're not the same things anymore, lass, and we none of us have a good track record with protecting the mortals who have ever come to trust in us."

"Or those we've trusted in," he continues as we make our way through a large study and enter the most impressive library I've ever seen. His words rolling smoothly and richly in a musical highland brogue crack on the last words, and go mordant.

I tear my gaze off of the floor-to-ceiling wall-to-wall books of this room, and at least two adjoining rooms I can see through the doors, and turn to look at him.

"If ye two make a go of it, then maybe now, in this time, there's 'ope for all o' the rest of us." Now it's Angus scanning the room restlessly.

So that's why when they're all against the idea of having a mortal in their lives they're being so accommodating of my little visit here?

Because they all need to have hope? It must be lonely having only other vampires to commune with. Maybe all of the conversations have been had.

Or because Lucien's their leader and they're following his lead out of respect? I can't imagine Meredith voluntarily hanging around with anybody, least of all a mortal; except possibly her cheering section. But Angus needs to trust again; that much I believe. I don't ask him about whomever it was that hurt him or whom it is he thinks he failed; he might find that intrusive in his present mood, and I'm grateful he trusted me enough to share that with me. I'm struck by his immense kindness, by all of their kindness in welcoming me to their home and making me feel as normal as possible under the circumstances. I owe him kindness and normalcy in return.

I curl my hands up over enormous forearms he's folded across his chest, causing him to look at me, and I say; "No pressure then, eh?" I smile at him, and then get serious; "As I told Lucien, 'no worries,' and when I get him sorted out and finally believing that, I'll find someone amazing for you."

The caterpillars over his eyes do pushups, and I have to laugh. "What? "You deserve it, Angus. If you call yourself a friend of Lucien's you must be good people, even if I couldn't already see that for myself. I hope you'll consider yourself my friend too."

"Lass," he says becoming more serious, his eyes a luminous, golden-brown under red, over-grown hedges; "ye'd better turn out as well as yer advertising." And he scoops me up in a rib-bruising hug.

"Oof," I manage and with what little breath I have left I whisper, "I'll do my best, Angus," and I get tears. It's become important to me that I not disappoint him.

"I'll leave ye to it, then," he says, his voice more gruff than usual.

He exits the room at human speed, but when I glance into the darkened hallway after him; he is nowhere to be seen and I thank him in my head for remembering that little detail.

Who Loves You?

The library is immense with elaborate crown molding throughout, and a huge fireplace along one wall between tall high-set windows with more of those diamond panes. These though, are clearer than the ones in the entryway and through them I can see the edge of a trellis. Oh, nice. Some plant that will climb up outside the windows in the warmer months. I wonder who does the landscaping. There is an old Victorian-style writing desk under each of the two tall windows, in addition to the two large tables in the middle of the room.

Alone with my book tower on top of one table, I drag a soft wing-backed chair up to it, sit down and dig in. I may as well pick up where I left off, on the chapter on feeding. There are lines in English but there are many more in the strangest script. It seems like there's a pattern here; like I should be able to understand it if I just concentrate more. Like a half-remembered dream or one familiar line from some old music; I know this.

If only I could... there... the words continue... for every English line there is an explanation in a kind of... older English possibly; something more formal...or... more precise? Under the latest entry concerning feeding, it mentions a recipe in another book...

Wait a recipe?

Like 'fillet of human' or one 'hundred and one uses for blood?' No... a different way for a human to share blood with a vampire...

With the blessing of some goddess? Maybe this book I'm skimming is a work of fiction... It makes references all along to various titles, but this one; Sa Bargo kom Skali kom Morrigan, is in the next room. I can see it from where I'm sitting, on a huge wooden pedestal carved with thick, blocky, vaguely scary looking faces. There is a beam shining down on it from somewhere, and it stands by itself. I mean obviously it does, in that it's on a pedestal, but space is cleared in a wide circle around it at one end of the room; and it's up a step, in an alcove. It stands open with a lovely wide green satiny marker hanging out of it, with some symbols all over it which I can't read from this far away.

Stop it girl, you're trying to avoid getting to the bottom of the pile. (By now you've noticed I talk to myself – a lot.)

Well, if I can't feed him or any of them directly without losing my mind, then maybe this recipe is the way to do something special for him, for them. I'm still holding on to the warmth I feel for Lucien's little family, one of whom even cooked for me. I wrap that warmth around me against the chill of the next thought.

You won't have the chance to do anything or have anything with him or any of them if what's in this pile is too terrible.

Don't you want to find out what that is?

No, no I don't.

So how will you do anything for him, or them, when all you see is questions in their eyes?

How will you ever stop wondering?

How will you have a life with him and his extended family?

Won't you feel like a coward that you buried your head in the sand?

It doesn't matter; we all want it to be ok, so it simply will be, with or without me reading the God-damned book.

And how will you explain that to Lucien?

How will you tell him that you will hide so you don't have to face anything you don't want to?

What about him, what he feels?

He looked terrified...

Do you really think he'll stop being terrified? You could stumble onto his secret at any time.

You'd let him live with that hanging over his head?

Of course I wouldn't, I love him.

Do you?!

More than anything in the world.

I swallow a lump in my throat, and keep going - scanning really - searching for the giant scary it. Wait; barring this follow-up on feeding, these next four are devoted to specific vampires throughout history. Personal accounts, histories; I look for Lucien and in the sixth, the last volume, I find him.

There, right there on the page, are words he's written over centuries... penned in his own hand. I lightly trace the letters with my fingertips, as I if could touch the Lucien he was all of those years ago. It changes a little over the years, look. Like he's had more practice, developed his handwriting style. I guess if you have centuries... wow, it was really rough in the beginni – oh no, this part is right after the madness. It's rough because of the state of his heart after... after all of that. So here it smoothes out... so it's probably interesting but not what I'm looking for... where does it get – ah, here.

I shouldn't have done it, I fed on her, and now she is lost to me, changed and resentful.

She?

She who? I scan back up the page and find reference to Catherine, and a great sadness fills me; he loved her.

Idiot, she's been dead for centuries, hasn't she?

He fed on her, so she must have been mortal, right?

So what, you're glad she's gone?

What about his pain, his sadness? You should be glad he had someone to love and who loved him. You've loved some of the guys you've dated. He lost her.

How did you feel when it was over with someone you'd loved?

So this might be it, the reason why Lucien is so bent out of shape?

I jump back down the page and find: It is over. It will never happen again. She died – Catherine died because of me. That's it but for one more line. That's the end of the book. There are a couple of blank pages... and that's it.

So she didn't just leave him; she died and he blamed – blames himself?

And you're glad?

No, of course not. I guess I'm just intimidated. She's already been such a huge part of his life. Look at this... Never forget what happened or why. That's clearly written to himself, my poor angel. I wonder how many times he's taken this out of some library, or how many times he's spent money for another copy, just so he could beat himself up with it. Damn her!

How in the hell could she be so stupid?

That's pretty arrogant.

How much did you know – that was accurate - about vampires before today?

Yes, but the point is, knowing he was new, and knowing he was a vampire with powers, shouldn't she have known something could happen?

Oh right, because if she had any questions she could have just looked it up on the Internet right?

He wouldn't have loved somebody stupid, would he? She would have had to have had a brain in her head, some common sense. "Changed and resentful."

Do you suppose even then he would have kept things from her?

And if she knew him at all, wouldn't she know that?

If there were anything wrong, why would she automatically blame him – resent him?

People can change. You have no real idea at all what he was like back then.

What if this was where he learned the lesson?

That he had to be so thoroughly honest that nothing like that would ever happen to him – to anyone again.

What if he didn't tell her she was in any danger?

I don't care how long ago it was; he wouldn't have kept something like that from her, or from anyone – if he knew – not if he thought he cared anything about someone.

So what if he didn't know? All the more reason she shouldn't have blamed him and he shouldn't blame himself more to the point. So this is the thing?

But I still don't know what "changed" is supposed to be.

What changed for her and why?

Who can I ask?

Lief? If he even knows...

I can't ask Lucien, it will be too painful for him.

But if I don't, how will he know it's truly all right – that I've sorted it all out, and it's still okay?

Wait, you dumbass, that's why he had you read the one on free will. Come on, put it together. "Changed" obviously means she started becoming whatever he wanted. K...

So why'd he change her into anything if he loved her so greatly?

Probably it was nothing big, maybe just little things couples find themselves noticing...

Some aspect that he changed involuntarily?

And she started noticing she wasn't herself quite, anymore... so with this recipe I can feed him and the people in this house - if they want, without being changed. It's perfect. No Catherine effect.

What about the part where she died – pay attention!

Is that because she went nuts or the like because he kept tinkering with her brain, and she ran out and played in medieval traffic?

Or is the hypnotic effect cumulative, so that someone doesn't even breathe without being told to?

Or could it be something else?

Wait, the second book here covers more of the effects of direct feeding... there doesn't seem to be anything about it causing mental instability or anything... and I'm not seeing anything about it impairing autonomic functions either.

All right, let's do this right, it mentions some other titles, go pull them down if they're here.

Sigh.

I walk around the room, searching for the two titles that look promising, throwing glances over my shoulder at that grimoire in the second library room, which continues to call to me.

I find them eventually without having to leave the room, so there's no excuse to go any nearer to that massive tome on its pedestal. The first one informs me that the benefits of a vampire feeding on another are negligible, unless there is a vast difference between the age and power of one vamp from the other. It says that any blood may help a vampire heal injuries, up to and including regenerating missing limbs. So I guess the book is moderately useful, but that's all it seems to have that's relevant. The second book Dano Kom Sa Trekki (Gift Of The Quick,) informs me that if a vampire attempts to alter a mortal's memories with his hypnotic ability, it can bring about madness.

Did Lucien try to make her forget about him, about vampires? I could understand that, whether it was to protect his secret or to protect Catherine from knowing things that distressed her or placed her in danger.

And there is a ghastly story here, which details how one woman was driven nearly mindless, but she remained alive to be fed on by a vampire for years before he tired of her, and just disposed of her. Great, at least I know that Catherine couldn't have simply stopped breathing.

I almost toss the book away in disgust, but there is further information in the final chapter. It says quite clearly that if a mortal allows more than one vamp to feed, it must be sparingly it warns - we mortals are more fragile than a new vampire might recall – then the mortal retains self-awareness and free will. Wow, so if I fed them all a little... but I couldn't envision letting Meredith bite me. This recipe is looking better and better.

Two possibilities run down and all but eliminated, and my imagination is just not up to conceiving of some other weirdness. No matter what it was that Lucien changed in Catherine, it couldn't have been more than incidental, and it was certainly accidental. And now that he knows a bite can change someone, he'll never do it again to someone he loves.

Hey, what if the bite of a vampire is also painful?

What if the endorphins kick in later so that the vampire gets a willing donor in the long-term, but the actual experience itself is painful?

What if Catherine came to resent the necessity of the feedings? That could be both 'changed' and 'resentful.'

Aha. The other donors he may have needed? Any self-respecting old-fashioned girl would have had a problem sharing her beau around.

Whatever the issue was, she almost certainly just had a dark ages-type response to something she didn't understand, or couldn't bring herself to comprehend; and Lucien had recently recovered from his madness and was still in the frame of mind to blame himself for her difficulty. It's all right, just like the madness itself; major guilt but it wasn't even his responsibility really. Whew.

Could there be anything else?

There's nothing left to go on in Lucien's book.

I shuffle through the other books which my love selected for me, double-checking title/names and I don't see – hey, this one says Lief... er sort of. It's in the strange script, so that I almost didn't recognize it. But this is Lief's story, then. This isn't my information to see then – or Lucien's for that matter.

Why would – of course. Lief, carried the books in here himself. It may have even been a deliberate thing; Lucien handing them off to him. He was letting Lief know we have his story. I still can't just sift through Lief's life like this; not when he's not even here.

I open it to random points, trying to avoid seeing anything too personal, while searching for Lucien's or Catherine's name. I don't see either one.

Why'd he choose this then?

If I were just supposed to ask Lief; he'd be here.

I scan through the other books and see nothing there either.

What was I supposed to find? One thing is certain, the only important book – the one bearing Lucien's name – has already given up any secrets it contains.

I stand there, my body trying to laugh in relief, but I feel sort of sick; I thought it was going to be so much worse. I don't know what I imagined exactly, but now I'm jittery with relief.

I'm staring down at a table strewn with strange looking books each owning stranger titles, and then I wonder if there is anyone to see me looking like I'm on my third round with Mike Tyson; and I turn and scan the room behind me. I'm alone with tier upon tier of books rising above me. It doesn't feel empty or imposing, it's just thrilling to imagine all of the information, and stories – the ideas surrounding me. Speaking of thrilling... time to go see Lucien, and dive under the covers with him.

He'll forgive me for waking him up if I bring him the good news and then stay for the celebration, right?

Hmmm, can he still be asleep? Aww, if he slept through all of his worry and through my little revelation down here, he must be exhausted; I think I'll let him sleep.

Hey since that first book wasn't fiction, then who is to say there isn't a goddess?

Where should I draw the line?

I'll believe in vampires but not any extra deities? Ooh, with any luck I can present him with this recipe in the morning or the evening or whenever it is that he'll get up – that is, if the recipe doesn't contain eye of newt or toe of snail or anything. I need to do something for him to make up for everything I've put him through today, and to let him know just how immensely I love him. I'm too excited to go to bed, a weight's been lifted, and as soon as Lucien wakes up, he'll listen for me, and I'll tell him the good news; I'm not afraid, it's all still ok, it's still not his fault.

I'm about to go explore the rest of this huge vault of knowledge and maybe – ok, definitely take a peak at that impressive book on the pedestal when I get a whiff of sickly sweet perfume, and I turn to find Meredith standing too close behind me.

Since the scent served as an early warning I don't embarrass myself by jumping or squawking, but I do take a half-step back and I eyeball her up and down. It would be marvelous if I'd done it deliberately to show her what I think of her, but I'm just floored by what she's wearing – not wearing. Black, lacy and only barely covering the essentials over her upper body, and then pouring over her hips to coat her legs in black satin (where they don't peek out thigh high slits in both sides). A matching robe she wears so that she can lay false claim to modesty, has slipped off of her creamy shoulders to flow over her arms to the floor.

How long has she been parading around like this? Since Lucien hasn't taken her up on her obvious offer, I'd think dressing like that to be ignored would get old fast. And scent that seems heavy to me must be caustic in the nostrils of everyone else in the house.

Is she new to the mansion then?

Or is this show for my benefit?

I don't quite know how, but I must not give the impression of being suitably impressed because she bites down on her superior smile and taking one look at the heap of books still on the table-top, she starts in. Oh duh, Meagan. No doubt she's had ample opportunity to read over what Lucien's written here. Now she's going to use it to screw with you.

"Poor little girl," she begins, and I thank her for beginning that way. Get my back up you sow and you'll never win.

"I'll bet you didn't realize when you set your sights on him, what sort of past he had, did you?" She doesn't give me a chance to answer her, which might be just as well. Telling her that he set his sights on me would only incense her, and would sound like I was defending myself. I'll wait until she says the right thing.

"Tell me you are not afraid of him now; tell me you will let him sink fang in you, that you want him to do it." How vulgar she tries to make it sound, but I'm no longer afraid of him, I wonder if I truly ever was. Hmm, this is getting better Meagan – just wait for one more good one.

She's not getting the right response from me and her next attack is less thought-out. "Tell him you can forgive him for what he did, and that you can still trust him. You will begin to doubt child, as the years pass and you age beside him. What changes will he make inside your head so that you continue to please him?" Perfect. Thank you, Meredith.

"I wish I could tell you what you would like to hear Meredith, but I can't. I don't think I could ever fear him, and if he needs to bite me he can. I've read his confession and he's made others directly to me, and I still find there is nothing to forgive."

I don't know if I've forgotten she's a vampire and she could eat me or crush me in an instant, but I take that half-step I moved back and undo it, so that I'm standing nose to nose – well nose to chin with her.

"I trust him and it seems to me, that you take far more issue with his past than I do. And as nearly as I can tell," this part I finish with a laugh; "I please him very well indeed, and will continue to do so." I laugh again. When I was upstairs with him, I hoped no one could hear Lucien's shout; now I hope Meredith could.

How can she be this clumsy when she almost has to be wise and poised?

Have I missed something? I continue anyway.

"I thank you though for your concern, it was... touching." Okay, that might have been overly mean. Maybe she's this clumsy out of genuine feeling for him. Only love can completely undo people.

If she's loved him a long time – and how long is 'a long time' to a vampire?

Years, decades... longer?

If she's loved him, and he hasn't returned the feeling, then what do I represent to her now?

That I have him, and so suddenly and seemingly effortlessly?

I don't know if it was rage at my last little jibe, or seeing a bit of pity on my face for her, but I get a brief impression of movement and then a blur, and she's gone. One of the pages of an open book rustles in the wind of her passing.

Way to clear a room, Meagan. That was stupid.

What if in her rage or despair she does something dangerous now? I strain for some sound to tell me of her progress through the house and whether or not she's confronting anyone or causing any destruction anywhere. Nothing.

What made me so cocky?

Had I been trusting in her fealty to Lucien to keep me safe from her?

Was I abusing his protection by escalating things with Meredith?

I reach out with my thoughts to find my sleeping lover, and his thoughts are still the random, indistinct things they were when I left him. He's still sleeping deeply, and I feel my own lids grow heavy in sympathy but I'm too keyed-up from the little confrontation with Meredith to consider sleep yet.

Surely, she'll leave me alone now that she recognizes she can't easily intimidate me? Nah. Being centuries old doesn't just mean loving someone lasts a long time; I imagine grudges can be nursed forever when you literally have forever in which to do so.
Double Bubble

I head into the second part of the library and cautiously approach the... dais, for lack of a better word. I'm cold from sitting there so long; my hands are icy and stiff. There's a pentagram drawn on the floor around the pedestal. A real honest-to-God pentagram! And not drawn so much as carved into the dark hardwood floor of the library. Hmmm, so since pentagrams are meant to hold big bad infernal stuff inside so it doesn't get out and go on a rampage of mayhem and destruction, maybe I'll have a look at this book without stepping over any lines. The stillness of the library and the fireworks with Meredith has my imagination fired up, I remind myself.

I lean over and catch my balance with my hand on the top of the lectern, and the marker shimmers in the illumination as my hand brushes it.

I find myself reading it instead of the book for a second.

'Morrigan, Macha, Badb, Morganna, Nemain, Fea, Anann, Sa Morrigna, Lilith, Lamia, Tuatha de Danann, Morgan le Fey...' it keeps going but I don't. These are all proper names. I know that Morgan le fey is Morganna who was sometimes referred to as Morrigan.

Are these all names for her?

I flip the book shut and check the title again. As I read it, it resolves itself into English done in a fancy script; The Book of Shadows of Morrigan, and below that 'Tuatha De Danann, Merka kom Ernmas, Nexta kom Nuada' – which becomes Tuatha De Dannan, daughter of Ernmas, granddaughter of Nuada as I stare at it. Hunh, sounds pretty formal; they must be names for her then.

Some of these names are pretty dark, and I double check I'm not touching the pentagram at all. And Lamia means Vampire, so perhaps she was one in life – so to speak.

The marker holds a place over a spell 'to heal one's self and increase one's magical energy.' This could be handy too – if this stuff really works.

Since I recently discovered the existence of vampires, I guess I can suspend my doubts about magic for a while, eh?

What's more magical than superhuman beings that live on nothing but human blood and are both immortal and perpetually young?

If I can believe in magic, then why can't I have more faith?

I'm about to ask some Goddess from a spell book for magic while ignoring my God. If a Goddess can exist then so can He, and He's been here all along. If all of us are His creations, then these vampires are His too. And because science might have some trouble explaining vampires, they're sort of proof positive that He or at least some higher power exists who can create what they like. The part of my brain that is already overwhelmed with all that I've learned today hopes He doesn't disappear in a puff of logic.

I go grab paper and a pencil from a desk along the wall under the window, and come back.

I page through searching for the recipe. Hey here's another one for healing, but it's for healing a vamp while the vamp is feeding on one directly. That could really come in handy, as well.

I copy it down carefully, and finally find the one for feeding a bunch of vampires at once. 'Kwu da-wi-ti quelu,' (To Feed Many) it's less a recipe and more a spell, or prayer, or at least a politely phrased request. It makes something called 'Kruwos Wlida' (Blood Feast.) The recipe makes certain recommendations about how to address the Goddess and says it will require great concentration. It also says that I'm supposed to do it by the glow of the full moon and to use my own athame to 'open a wound to source the spell,' and to use only black iron to put everything into.

Double bubble toil and trouble eh?

Well I'm reasonably certain that black cast iron cookware is all Lief has in his kitchen, and he did say I was welcome in his kitchen any time. I hope he'll be happy with the use I put it to. And I'm sure I can use that nifty letter opener from the desk - I grab it; it's got a handle that looks sort of like the petrified wood that goes into fish tanks - as an athame. There's no reason it can't look the part, since I have no idea what I'm doing. Oops, before I forget I'd better jot down the one the marker is on as well.

K, got it.

I restrain the impulse to rub my hands together as I fairly run through the vast house, back to the now cozy little kitchen I helped make stir fry in. As I skid to a halt, I wonder about my reasons for wanting to do this so badly.

Do I want their good opinion of me? Well, yes.

But do I need to do something like this in order to get it? No.

Don't I? Lucien is their leader and I'm his girl.

What kinds of questions are they asking themselves about me?

Am I doing this so that they'll like me, so they'll accept me in his life?

Would I need to? No. I think that's all the more reason to do it. Make Lucien's life easier with the others. They have to accept me into their lives and into their home because of him. They've already made me feel welcome and shared real pieces of themselves with me.

And if this recipe backfires? Then I've made his life a great deal harder, because it will be assumed that his new girlfriend is crazy. But if it doesn't go right, I can get rid of the evidence before anyone notices. Besides, Lief would understand if I thought the rest of what I read was real after reading all about vampires.

Wouldn't he? I'll volunteer to be the one to scrub the pot out and resweeten it in case he doesn't.

And what if it does work? Then I've got some chance with some of the other spells. A chance to do some really good stuff for Lucien and his people. Maybe make myself useful. A mortal being useful to a bunch of vampires as anything other than a food source. What a novel concept. With some luck this will win Meredith over, and I won't have to figure out how to avoid her without being obvious about it. Getting her into trouble with Lucien doesn't seem like the greatest way to call a truce. I wonder again where she's at, and what she's up to.

Lurking in the shadows, waiting to ruin this before I have a chance to see if it'll even work?

Since the spell calls for moonlight, I don't turn any lights on, and I actually turn off the cabinet lighting as well. There is tons of white light spilling in through the kitchen windows and from French doors off of the lounge area. It's as bright as daylight, if a cooler kind of light. I figure I'll see her coming once she's in the room, but being a vampire; Meredith can do anything she wants before I have time to blink. Somehow I still find it reassuring to know that I'll see disaster coming even if there is nothing I'll be able to do about it. Sad, but true.

I find a huge stew pot sized thing, and wrestle it up onto a part of Lief's strange stove top that had heat coming out of it for supper, and I manage to turn it on. The spell/recipe calls for low heat; I imagine this is so as not to ruin the blood I'll be putting in. Oh wait. It said something about the yolks of two new eggs; now I don't know about new, but I bet Lief's got his fridge stocked with all the basics.

... Thank you, Lief.

I crack the eggs and separate them, and set the yolks in individual bowls on the counter to warm up to room temperature. The last ingredient that will go in is my own tears. I know; I felt silly reading it too. I guess it makes sense though, with the third incantation... Well, nothing left to do but prick my finger and invoke the Goddess. There are so many prescribed ways to do so (many involving various types and colours of candles), but all the books that mentioned any recipe/prayers said the same thing: it is the intention behind the words that is important. If the Goddess finds me worthy, she will cause the blood to flow faster, and the spell will work.

I pick up my make-shift athame, and stab my left thumb with it. I use my thumb so I can squeeze it between my fingers pretty hard if I need to, and leave the other hand free.

A few drops plonk into the bottom of the pot, and I feel ridiculous again.

How can a Goddess who I've never even tried to 'contact' before, find a few drops of blood in the bottom of a stewpot worthy of anything other than a laugh?

I close my eyes and concentrate on framing my plea anyway.

I ask the Goddess in her maiden form to help me do something wonderful for the object of my affections.

I ask her aspect of motherhood to help me care for my new family.

And I ask her crone side to help me impart some youth and vitality to my very ancient friends.

I tell her that in exchange for her help all I can offer her is my gratitude, my faith and my love.

I'm not sure if it's working or not as I stand there, hand over pot, eyelids bathed in moonlight, so I start over again.

I tell her of Lucien and his torment, and how I hope this might help him.

I show her the faces of his friends, so unused to smiling and so hungry for something to believe in – something that won't betray them.

Finally, I just give her all the love I have for Lucien already, and what I hope his face will look like when I show him what I've done here tonight.

I'm still afraid to look, and my thoughts begin to drift a little towards what else I'll give my love in the morning. An answer to his worry about my reaction to what happened to his Catherine, and then with everything out of the way. I hope I will finally make love to him.

My hand is freezing and my eyes fly open. My fist is a bloody mess.

It drips from between all of my fingers and as my wrist has settled on the lip of the pot; the blood has come back to it and is sliding down in a shiny dark runnel on the inside of the pot, but it's also slowly soaking up my sleeve.

I hurriedly yank my blouse out of the way, push my hand further out over the cauldron and start mouthing thank-yous to the Goddess even as I shake my head in disbelief and resist the urge to giggle. Ok, so She exists.

Well that makes sense, doesn't it? We're created in His image, and all of us down here need a woman and a man to create more of us.

Why not a Goddess for the full-size job then? It's already time for the first of the spices, and the first incantation.

From Lief's spice drawer I retrieve the ginger or 'jinghar' and shake it into the pot. The recipe doesn't say how much, so I just continue adding it slowly as I say; "Awillo kwar-je quats-e." (Please cause it to grow)

During the spices part of the recipe, I'm to focus on the blood becoming enough to actually feed them all.

Now the cinnamon or 'cannial,' and I dump it in as I say the same phrase a second time.

I grab a wooden spoon and set to stirring it, and say it again for the third time. I can't see very well to the bottom of the stewpot but little reflections of moonlight tell me its working; either that or I'm bleeding even faster than I thought.

It's taken me a while to get the lids off of the spice jars with one hand but I haven't been standing here too long, have I?

I mean I'm not going to keel over from blood loss or anything? This humongous pot can hold easily enough stew to feed this house hold. Ok, this household minus Angus and Connor. I think those two would need their own pot to themselves. It seems like it's roughly a third of the way full, so if that were all blood that I'd lost then I'd already be dead, so it must be working. The Goddess must be helping me to fill the stewpot!

Now I add the first egg yolk, and say "Awillo qlin-e ag uqo-mene-kwe krimo-tero." (Please fill it with hope and strength.)

With the eggs, I'm supposed to concentrate on images of everyone becoming rejuvenated as they drink.

I add the second yolk and say it again.

Now I'm stirring it again, and I say it once more. From the sounds of it, the pot is half full.

The last part, the part with my tears should be easy. All I have to do is shed tears over the cauldron, and to do that, all I have to do is remind myself of what Lucien has been through all of these years.... Well... it should be easy... Problem is... I keep getting angry instead... with Catherine and her weakness... I'm not getting tears.

I imagine Lucien alone in the dark, afraid and losing his mind when he first became a vampire and that's enough.

A tear starts to fall into the black depths, and I say "Awillo kwar-je mene teuta-qlano-kwe sati-ag mene dano." (Please make my people full and satiated with my gift)

I'm not sure how many tears are necessary so I imagine losing Lucien over some misunderstanding, as perhaps happened with Catherine; being without him, now that I know whom it is that I'd be missing.

Now I'm crying harder, and I grab a paper towel for my nose; tears are one thing but...

I repeat the incantation again, and hold the image in my mind of something happening to Lucien, so that I lose him to death.

And now I'm sobbing, and it's all I can do to get the words out clearly, both hands gripping the edge of the cauldron. I almost forget to stir it.

At the last minute I grab the spoon and jam it in, and the liquid is almost up to the top!

Is that it? Yeah, that's the last of the instructions. The pot is filled which means the magic worked, which means – I hope – that I have something here that will be good, really good for Lucien and his people. I can hardly wait. I did magic! The Goddess did magic through me; for the people I care for already; like Angus with his fierce bright eyes, and his simple hope tremulous and precious as a candle flame. I still don't want to wake Lucien up. He'll get up when he's rested, and I can be alone with this... this new thing... that involves a deity who I'd had no idea was really real before tonight.

I begin thanking the Goddess again. She has my gratitude already, and my faith. In my mind or my heart though, I can't be dishonest with her. I can't say yet that I love her – I just met her and I'm very much awed by her - but I'm quite sure love will come in no time. Especially if she makes a habit of providing little miracles like this that let me take care of these good people. I wonder why Meredith hasn't been by yet, to hassle me. If she'd come earlier, she could have destroyed what I was trying to do here. Maybe my sweet thoughtful man has planned for that, and somewhere around here someone is still up, keeping an ear out for her. Angus perhaps if Lief is still out. Wait, this is their daytime.

In fact, only Lucien should be in bed, right? That turkey! He didn't tell me I wouldn't have really been disturbing anyone anyway, if I'd asked for a guide to the library. The others should either be off of the estate hunting or doing such things vampires do; or they are here somewhere. I know they're giving me time alone to discover what I can about Lucien's past, but they've got to be curious. I wonder where they all are...

I've rinsed the blood off my wrist and hand. There's still just a tiny cut on my thumb.

Colette appears in the lounge doorway. She glows as Delphine did in the moonlight still shining down, and she stands perfectly motionless like her too.

The effect is spoiled as she brings her little gloved hands up to her mouth in an apologetic movement.

She balls those hands up into tiny fists as if regretting the gesture.

"Why did you come 'ere?" She starts out angrily but it becomes mournful and... frightened?

"If you ruin 'im...," she tries again to be angry – threatening even, but it falls flat once more.

Ruin Lucien?

Oh no, does she love him too? He's made his feelings for me clear, but if yet another of his people is going to make things difficult for him because of it...

She must have seen my confusion because she continues; "This is the first place..." Now she just sounds wistful, and sad. Standing there I can see she is a good three inches taller than me, but she seems so very much smaller... And then I get it. She seemed timid when I first met her, and from what I glanced at in the library, being buried alive when becoming a vampire is not the worst thing that can happen to one. It mentioned torture.

"You are safe here," I finish for her; "And if I hurt him, and so wreck that – what he's built for you all... then where you'll all go..." and then I can't finish it either.

Setting aside the horror of somehow leaving Lucien to hurt, the idea of taking Lief, Angus, and the rest away from their home is enough to dry my words right up. And now there is one more to care about. Someone who may not be my biggest fan, but still someone who came to me and talked to me. Not like a vampire to a mortal; just someone who has realized there is yet another person who has control over her life. Colette is a real person, with a lot of fear in her.

She waits; this small frightened doll with her lips pursed around what all else she's not saying, for me to address her concerns, and I have no idea how to reassure her that I'm not a wrecking ball aimed at her life.

"You want a guarantee that this will all work out perfectly? I can't give you that, but I can promise you that I'll never hurt him deliberately, that I'll never interfere with the way he does things here and that if things don't work out between us, I won't play any sort of mind games with him or say stuff to leave him all scarred up."

She's gone still again listening to me, and as I finish she doesn't move so I go on; "I'm beginning to get some idea of what Lucien's created here, a home, a safe haven for all of you, and whatever else he and I become to each other; this," and I gesture up and around at the house and the people in it, "is precious to me now too."

I give her a small tight smile; it's the best I can do, as I'm beginning to feel a bit...strung out I guess, with all that's happened today.

She returns it with a watery smile of her own, that grows bigger and stronger. Her eyes lose that over-large appearance in her face and she is truly lovely.

Then she folds it up and puts it away and says, "She will still contest with you over 'im."

And she disappears on me, as thoroughly as Meredith. 'My, people come and go so quickly around here,' I think, feeling a new sympathy for Alice. I'm tired, and getting numb inside. I can't think anymore, but it occurs to me somewhere in the condemned building that is my brain, that I owe Colette something for her warning me against her mistress.

I wash the letter opener and dry it with a paper towel instead of one of Lief's tea towels, just in case I missed anything.

The mixture is still on low heat, and it will probably taste better warm to people who are used to getting it fresh, so I drag one of the stools over and climb up on it, stick one elbow on the counter, prop my head up on my hand, and I stay stirring it slowly; trying not to fall asleep, until I hear my love start to awaken.
Good Morning

I'm nodding off when I hear the first stirrings of my sweet man's mind. I listen to his disorientation until he replays the day before in his head, and there is so much joyous discovery, and hope.

Then the dread comes, and I flinch and almost fall off of my stool.

"Lucien-love, good morning. Why don't you come down here, and see for yourself how I feel about what's in those books?"

I give the brew a more serious stirring as I call my darling.

"You are here," he sounds amazed; "... I will be there soon..." Oh, he sounds so frightened.

I try to project all the love and approbation I can into a wash of feeling I direct at him and say, "All is well, I read it all, but come down anyway, I have something to show you," and some of my excitement must have come through.

I slide down off of the stool and nearly fall right over as I land on legs that have gone to sleep.

There is a pause as he processes what I've just said, and then with a catch even in his mental voice he asks, "Where are you, what have you done?" Either I've set his mind at ease enough that he can focus on other matters now – Hallelujah! - or he's so worried about what I might have done that he doesn't have time to have doubts about whether I understand what I've read. I can't reassure him about the one until he knows from touching my mind again the truth that I believe in him, and that everything's ok. And he's already on his way down here to see it in my face, and feel it in my touch. And as for the second, I'm beginning to be a little afraid to tell him any more about what I have done here in the kitchen until he sees it or until I can see him and read his face as I explain.

As I shake the pins and needles out of my legs, I stir the thick, too red stuff in Lief's stewpot, and my doubt deepens. The smell of the ginger and cinnamon with the blood smells not especially appetizing, but the similarity of it to food has my stomach trying to find it appealing anyway. Yuck! In the brightening kitchen, I keep feeling like the small child who tries to make her parents breakfast in bed, and ends up with liquid pancakes with crunchy bits, burnt toast, and a kitchen it takes her mother three hours to clean up. They're just going to smile kindly at me, wait 'til I've gone home, and dump it out. Then Lief will toss the pot, and lock the rest of his cookware up in case I visit again. Which won't be likely, since most normal people don't fill pots other people eat real food out of with blood. I'll have creeped out the vampires.

That'll be a feat, won't it Meagan? Hmmm, now I know where the expression 'in the harsh light of day' comes from. I told my Goddess last night that I had faith in her, even as she filled my cook pot with more blood than I could ever have given. Real magic had happened here, and my faith wasn't supposed to be conditional on moonlight being present.

Where is he? I'm pacing the length of the kitchen, giving my concoction a stir every time I reach it.

I turn again – here. He's here. "Lucien..."

A quick impression of sleep-fuzzed hair hanging in a tangled mess in front of sun-washed blue diamonds, and he's kissing me.

I hear music. "Angel-"

We're holding each other so tightly it's painful and I wish it would never stop.

His eyes snap open as his doubt returns, "You read all of it?"

"About Catherine, and what happened – yes; I'm not afraid, you were new and it's not your fault," I tell him as he sets me down – hmmm, when did my feet come off of the ground?

"She DIED!" It's a shout in my mind as he spins and starts to stride away.

Oh no, what did he want me to say?

Was I supposed to assume the task of beating him up over it too? Ok, possibly he did hope I'd forgive him, but it's not something he's ready to accept for himself. He's not done scourging himself with this yet...

Well, I'm done with watching him do it; I've had enough.

"It was an ACCIDENT," I roar back.

He stops, but he doesn't turn around.

His shoulders slump and his head hangs.

"You don't understand. It was no accident - I should have protected her better."

"Yes, you should have protected her better," I try to restrain the sarcasm from becoming too heavy as I prod him out of his self-castigation.

"While all the other new vampires in history were busy screwing things up, blundering around, getting hurt, and hurting others; you should have been a bloody superhero! And I should abandon you because of one mistake?

I step around him and turn so I'm looking up into his face and I talk to him now, not with the outraged anger I have on his behalf for his pain, but with all of the gentle caring I have in me for the man who has hurt for so long and who I love so much that his anguish is mine. "Lucien, that you're still beating yourself up makes you a good man, but it's also going to make you a crazy man. Cut it out, would ya? I love you, your friends love you, and they don't think this was a huge deal. And if you think that's because they're vamps and they don't have anything in common with mortals anymore, then you're mistaken. If Angus, Colette, and Lief are any indication at all; they're very much human." His eyebrows rise a little at Colette's name. "And this very real, mortal human happens to agree with them. I'm not dismissing Catherine's life or her importance to you, but if she loved you even a little, she wouldn't want you feeling like this any more than any of us do. She would be telling you its over and so should your guilt be."

He's gone preternaturally still on me, his hair shading his eyes so I can't see if I'm getting anywhere.

The steel doors have clanged down in his mind so I can't tell that way either.

He's up a bit on the balls of his bare feet and his hands are clenched; he looks like he might actually run.

"Just stop, Lucien please ." I step cautiously toward him and gingerly reach my fingers up to his bare chest. "No matter what happened, you had no idea it would turn out that way." I encircle his waist with my arms lightly as I try to peer up under the heavy drape of his hair to see anything of his face. "But it's over now, and you're allowed to live your life," I say turning my chin back down and hugging him as tightly as I can.

I can feel tears for him under my eyelids, and I try to squeeze the remorse out of him physically. He still hasn't responded in any way.

"Stop, stop, stop! Be happy, be well, live your life looking forward again – you are a good man, Lucien. Stop all of this, please."

The please sounds a little squeaky, even in my head, because by this time I'm definitely crying. It has to be over because it's been over for so long, and it was one mistake that he'll never repeat. Everyone is allowed one of those in life; even vampires – especially vampires – what with so much life to learn in.

He kneels – kneels! \- in front of me and I'm suddenly afraid this is where he says 'the regret is too strong, and he can't force me to endure life with him like this, so please forgive him when he asks to take me home, and maybe someday...' I can't breathe.

Instead, he has tears in his eyes, and taking my hands in his, Lucien pulls me toward him until our foreheads are touching – well mine's slightly higher than his and our tears fall between us. Hunh, I didn't think I'd have any left after last night.

Is this just his way of telling me it's over?

His fingers tighten around mine and I'm reminded of our first kiss in the coffee shop.

I peer down into his eyes, and feel myself start to smile shyly. Aww, now he is too. God he's beautiful.

Or is that Goddess? Ok, both of you, thank you for this lovely man in my life who loves me so much, and who I love more than I thought I could love anyone.

Our smiles keep getting bigger and bigger, until we're just laughing at each other, and then kissing each other; cheeks, chins, temples, jaws and we're holding each other tightly. I guess I'm not going home yet.

I want to go straight upstairs with him, when Lucien says "What is that smell?" Ha! I've forgotten all about my experiment on the stovetop.

"Is it a good smell?"

Lucien stares at me like he's wondering if I'm serious.

As he realizes I really don't know, he licks his lips deliberately, and although I've been warm enough leaning over the stove; I'm suddenly a good deal warmer. The line of his upper lip was perfectly drawn for an angel but his full lower lip wanted very much to experience the sins of the flesh so his mouth found a mortal to live upon, and someone hundreds of years ago preserved this mouth for me to taste today. If his sweet lips haven't known much that is sinful or delightful before now; I'll make up for it.

Lucien stands and pulls me to my feet, and Connor appears in the doorway behind him. Oops, maybe later.

"What smells so good?" He sniffs appreciatively, but remains in the doorway. Aww, he's holding back in case we were in the middle of anything. Kind of Connor, I think, but I guess I can't just leave my concoction here unattended.

I climb back up on the stool, and give the sickly smelling stuff another stir, and wave him in.

"Come on in, I made it for all of you. It's all right if Lucien gets first dibs? If he wants it..." I turn to double check he wasn't just being nice before.

Lucien begins rooting around in a drawer for a ladle by way of an answer, while Connor laughs and says, "Well if he must, but that means I get double the portion then."

"Oh, you think so do you," I ask him, with one eyebrow up and then I have to laugh. At the moment, I feel like I'm in my parent's kitchen on a Sunday morning, joking around with my family as we make breakfast.

One of the twins comes in, and with an inquisitive glance at the pot, she takes a seat next to Connor on one of the stools where Lucien and I ate dinner last night. Lief must serve food here regularly after all. I guess I thought some of last night had to be for my benefit. Not that anyone needed to; they'd already made me feel quite welcome.

Lucien gets bowls down, and comes over for a closer appraisal, and freezes. He's stopped moving completely. No blinking, he's not breathing, he's absolutely motionless.

"What is this?" Here it comes, here's where it goes all to hell.

"It's called Kruwos Wlida – it means 'Blood Feast," I tell him, sliding down off of the stool again. I'm closer to him but I can't bring myself to reach out and touch him until I know what the rest of his reaction is going to look like. I'm hoping he'll start moving again soon; his lips barely even moved to ask the question, but it seems much more likely that everyone's smiles will get falsely large and it will suddenly be time to drop me off home.

He blinks – well I guess that's a beginning, and everyone else in the room goes still.

Angus walks into the kitchen, oblivious to the pause button effect I've created and asks; "What's for supper, lass? It smells heavenly."

I look at the stunned faces arrayed around the kitchen, and try to find a way not to root Angus to the spot too. And then I realize there is no good way to say it. I wish some more that I hadn't done this.

"What would you say if I told you, blood, tears, egg yolks, cinnamon, and ginger?"

For some reason I've been trying to braid my fingers together, and it's not working out very well. I haven't been able to look at anyone's faces since I told them what it is, but now I force my eyes up to meet his.

"I'd say whatever it is ye've been slaving at, ye've been at it too long," Angus says with a smile as he approaches the pot.

"It's 'Sa Kruwos Wlida', Angus," Lucien says softly and I wonder if it's something Angus will know about, and whether he'll think it's a good thing anyway.

"Now don't be daft, Lucien. No one's even heard o' somebody mak- Yer not pulling me leg, are ye?"

"No, I'm not," Lucien murmurs as he comes closer to peer into the pot again.

"It's full!"

He grabs my arm as if he's afraid I'll keel over any minute.

I blink up at him. This hasn't been going quite how I pictured it, and now I've frightened him.

He lifts me so swiftly onto the stool I get a little dizzy, and he has to take hold of me again so I don't fall.

Before he can whisk me off to the hospital or anything, I tell him, "It worked. I couldn't have bled all of that."

And as Lucien stares at me, distress and astonishment warring on his face, I take hold of his restless hands which have been travelling over me as if merely by touch he could find and address anything wrong with me.

"It worked. She - the Goddess - accepted me, or my request," I blurt out. My voice gets unsteady at the end and I realize I'm getting shaky; my hands tremble in his, and they're sweaty. Oh, blood donation, right.

I look up from them to ask someone to bring me a glass of water and something sugary out of the fridge, and Lucien is beaming at me.

Sunlight and moonlight so bright - the love in his eyes, so shiny with pride, and so fierce with his regard for me – I gasp and the words dry up, and all I can manage to give him back is a goofy, relieved smile.

"I did good?" I can hardly dare to hope it's turning out this well.

Lucien steps into me, sweeping his thumbs over the insides of my fingers and across my palms. Oh!

"You did good," he says huskily, and I'm laughing giddily and tearing up a little, and wishing we could go upstairs now. He wears only pajama bottoms and everything from his broad ivory shoulders tapering to his smooth flat belly is bared to me and within easy reach. It's all I can do not to start sliding my hands over the muscular marble treasure before me.

Lucien frowns and it is an effort to look all the way up to his face, "Did you have anything to eat or drink yet?" I wonder how long I've been staring.

"No, I could do with something, please." My mouth is dry but I can't tell if it's in anticipation of fulfilling last night's promise or because I have very little moisture left to spare.

Lucien looks around at the others to ask someone to do it; I don't think he's going to let go of me (not that I'm complaining) until he sees me eat and drink.

The others are still doing that unnaturally still thing but their faces are expressive. Awe and hunger combined; have suddenly become a palpable, living thing.

It is the dark steed which bore the horseman who chased Ichabod Crane; it gallops around the room on silent hooves, sweeping up sharp-eyed riders until the midnight charger wheels around to bear down on me – or at least the cook pot I'm unwisely standing in front of.

Even Lucien's eyes go dark and his gaze keeps coming back to it even as he holds my hands in his.

Something is distracting me from the hunger in his face though...oh there's one more here... the other twin is here – she smiles a little more frequently than her sister even if no expression seems to reach their eyes.

She heads for the fridge, and Lucien turns to her as she comes back with chocolate milk, and a yogurt.

"Thank you, Tia," he says and he sounds funny, like his mouth is full.

When he turns back to me he seems fine, but I'm thinking it's about time they all got to taste what I've made.

Lucien agrees and the thought vibrates in my mind as he begins ladling the warm, rich concoction into bowls.

Tia hands me my snack, takes one look at what's in the pot, and before I can thank her or explain she curtsies deeply, breathes 'Qari-Kleid-Essa,' and remains in that position eyes down and face away as I sit there, swaying on the stool.

"Lucien? What's going on?"

He's turned around to see Tia, with the ladle still in hand, and he looks like an especially determined mouse might be able to push him over. So he's as shocked as I am. All right, I'll try again.

I half-slide-half-fall off of my stool and grab Tia's arm.

"Please, stand up Tia."

She rises but she holds her eyes averted.

"Lucien, say something, please," I beg him.

Out loud he clears his throat and says, "There's nothing I can say. You are 'her lady' by virtue of what you've accomplished here today. You are favoured of the Goddess. Not many have tried to do what you've done. I haven't heard of any who were mortal. And of those who have tried, few are found to be acceptable to the Goddess." He says it so matter-of-factly, and I realize he's leaving me to deal with Tia on my own. I can no longer hear the approval in his mind, but then I can no longer hear is mind at all. I think he's shielding me from his hunger.

Does he honestly think I'll be frightened by it? All right so I was a bit surprised by it at first, but only because I'd doubted what I made for them. It's a little late to start getting weirded out by all of this vampire stuff. I'm glad he trusts me to handle one of his people properly at least, but I'm wishing they'd both picked a better time; like when my head didn't feel as if it would float away.

Lucien's finished filling ten bowls for his people, and the pot is a little less than half full. Okay, so it's slightly impressive, but there is no way anyone is worshipping me.

Giving the chocolate milk a vigorous shake, I try again with Tia.

"Tia, no matter what I might be, I'm no one's lady. I don't know how the Goddess would feel about me being venerated for anything She did, but I don't want to find out. All I did, is read some words out of a book, and wreck one of Lief's pots. If you want to worship her, and love her... please, but not me, ok?"

Tia finally stares down into my eyes, and her eyes - so distant even in their near-religious fervor - warm and soften at last, and she smiles at me shyly.

I hug her, and as she finds a perch at the island beside Frieda; I chug my chocolate milk. Frieda stares at me a moment longer, and then she too says "Qari-Kleid-Essa," and nods to me, and even finds a small smile for me from somewhere. I must look a little stunned.

"Where did you get the recipe for this?" Lucien asks, as he passes out the bowls. No spoons – it'll probably go down too fast for spoons.

"From that gigantic book in the library," I tell him, opening my yogurt. I guess he's over his surprise. I wonder what that 'lady' stuff was; it sounded sort of formal.

"What gigantic book in the library?" I pull out a spoon for me.

"The huge one – on the pedestal?" I dig in and my stomach grumbles in anticipation.

"No, no, where did you read it?" He bows his head over each bowl as he presents them to the other immortals, and they return the gesture as they receive them.

"From that giant spell-book," I say around a spoon-full, not understanding why he doesn't understand.

I didn't make it into the third part of the library.

How many giant volumes on pedestals have they got around here? Wait.

"Wasn't I supposed to read it?"

"You weren't supposed to be able to."

Lucien's finished offering the bowls and he's returned to the counter for his own blood feast. Instead of picking it up though, he's gazing at me again. He looks so young standing there. He can't be centuries old.

Now it's amazement and incredulity that flit over his face.

"What do you mean? It had a spotlight on it, and it was sitting on a pedestal, with a beautiful green satin marker. And the marker had words embroidered on it in the same style as the writing in the book."

I find myself getting a bit defensive. I've been practically brandishing my yogurt smeared spoon at him with each point. "If it wasn't meant to be read, why call all of that attention to it?" From their seats and doorways most of his household watches us intently. Instead of climbing back up on my stool I'd rather hide under it.

I turn back to catch his face as he responds and Lucien has finally picked up the bowl. It pauses on its journey as he answers me though, and a sub-vocal groan blows through the room.

"Attention?! You don't understand. To the rest of us, and to most mortals that corner of the library is especially dark, the words in the book illegible, and if someone could see them, they'd see the words in the book and on the marker are in the same language, not just the same style."

He sets his bowl down on the counter, and anxious near-panic sweeps through the assembled vampires. Oh, I get it; they won't eat until their leader does. Not too swift, Meagan. Must be the blood loss making you slow-witted. One can hope. I'm chilly from the chocolate milk and yogurt and I suppose from donating blood to the spell. I think I can risk the climb up the stool to sit next to the warm stove again.

"What do you mean most mortals? So what does that make me?"

"A witch," Meredith supplies, sweeping into the room in a cloud of scent; with Colette trotting after her again like a poodle. So much fear in her to have to become anything of Meredith's. I guess it's still on between us. I can definitely risk it if it will put me on eye-level with her.

"Ah well, I've been called worse, Meredith. Yours is on the counter," I tell her sweetly as I resume my position next to the lovely heat radiating from the burner. Delphine, Lief and Rafe still aren't here.

Have they left the house? Daylight's here, this is their evening for all intents and purposes.

Unless they have something pressing they'd want to be indoors and preferably somewhere safe wouldn't they?

Will Lucien wait until they return? I hope not, and I think everyone else in the room shares the sentiment.

"Most of those books are in other languages, Meagan-girl. Some of them dead. Didn't you have any trouble at all with reading them?" Connor can barely take his eyes off of his bowl as he asks me this.

"No, not really," I reply, getting uncomfortable with all of the attention. I wish they'd just tuck in, and tell me how awful it is; and get it over with.

Toil and Trouble

Lucien picks up his bowl and drinks without any further ado, and they all follow suit.

I polish off my yogurt and contemplate being a witch. No one contradicted Meredith. I'm not as surprised as I should be. 'Cauldron,' and 'brew,' are words I've chosen in my own mind; it could be on some level I knew, or at least I was entertaining the possibility. That's presumably why I can read those older languages as well.

And with this new label... well... the implication is that I can do something different from other humans, and from what Lucien said about the book; something different from vamps as well?

I reach out for Lucien's mind to ask him, and I'm nearly bowled over with the warmth, the pleasure, and the pure, greedy gladness filling him, as the 'Blood Feast' does. A rush of heat floods up and out to all of his extremities as he suddenly becomes more aware of his own body. Everything is more sensitive and standing there wearing clothing is just this side of painful.

My face warms imagining they're all feeling this way, and I find something else to do with my brain. Namely, going in search of more food.

I come up with a carrot out of Lief's fridge, and I'm just shutting the door when Lucien groans and falls heavily to his knees. His bowl is on the counter; empty.

What's going on? There was nothing in the book to say this could hurt anyone.

I expect him to clutch at his belly but it is his head he reaches for.

I lurch towards him dropping the carrot somewhere along the way, sick to my stomach at what I might have done to him.

What was I thinking? Too much "Buffy The Vampire Slayer".

I mean, did I think I was some uber witch who could do something for these immortal types no one else could do, and do it better, or safer?

And on the very first day I'd tried magic? But the Goddess had made the spell work.

Why would she make it that which could hurt him?

Faith girl, remember?

His arms give way and my whole reason for being rolls over onto his back and grips his temples in both hands.

"What's going on? What did I do? Please, will someone tell me? Did I poison him?"

"It is the Purging, and it isn't your fault, but you may have been the catalyst."

It is Lief who answers me as he strides into the room, and mixed with the concern on his face, there is a sort of longing, and...a...respectful awe?

And fear?

How can he fear someone he calls Little One?

I kneel down beside my Lucien on the floor, and I try to help him, talk him through it, but my words aren't penetrating to where he is and I can tell before I even try that touching his mind right now would be a very bad thing. Not only would it drag me in with him to whatever he's going through and make me as helpless before it as he, according to one of the books I skimmed last night; the touch of my mind or my 'energy' might cycle this up for him if I try before identifying what type of assault it is.

"Are you sure that's what this is, and how do we stop it?" I raise my voice to be heard over the sounds Lucien is making.

"I'm not sure what that is," he says gesturing to the counter and the untouched bowls with his chin as he gently restrains the man I love, "but I've seen the Purging before, and there's no stopping it once it's begun."

"It's Sa Kruwos Wlida," I mumble miserably through numb lips. "What's the Purging – what happens?" I'm cold and the food sits like a rock in my gut.

I get no answer; Lief reaches out to grab my shoulder and stops before he can touch me. He's staring at me like he did on the path outside the house yesterday – like he's not sure what I am or what I represent to his family. I feel tears coming.

A bowl crashes to the floor. Connor! It's hitting him too. Never mind tears; I'm going to hurl.

It's going to get all of them, isn't it?

"Do you know of a way to stop this?" Lief fights to keep his voice calm as he tries to restrain his best friend from hurting himself. Lucien is thrashing and twisting more violently now.

"N-no, I do-don't think so, this is the only one I tried and the others are for healing." I swallow rapidly. "Could one of those help?"

Crash! Crash! It's Frieda, and Tia. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. Make it stop, please!

"What's happening to them, Lief?"

It's a wail, and I bite down on it before I can start bawling.

"They will relive-"

He can't finish; even through this Purging that has him writhing on the floor, Lucien has a crushing grip on Lief's wrist, and he's telling him with his eyes not to finish explaining to me.

And then he says it and I'm sure this whole bloody monstrous mansion is caving in on me; "Get her out of here. Lief, get her out of here now!"

What? Icy panic rises to threaten my sanity. Desperately, I peer into Lief's eyes for some sign that he'll disobey his leader, and I find none.

Even as I'm wishing to see something else in his pale blue eyes besides sorrow, fear, and resignation, I hear an abbreviated grunt, and Angus pitches sideways off of his stool to land heavily on the floor. He'd been turned, trying to help Connor. Oh God, help me, I'm not what you thought I was Angus, please be all right, I'm sorry!

And I can't weep; the tears already spent, so I'm kneeling there like some remorseless monster staring at what I've wrought amongst these immortals who've so trustingly welcomed me into their home and blithely eaten a meal I've cooked for them. I'm supposed to be feeling, reacting and I'm empty. I just don't understand.

Lief grabs my hand and hauls me to my feet.

He hands me my coat from somewhere, and we're hurrying out of the kitchen. I still haven't said anything. I don't know what I should say anyway.

Meredith leans against the doorway with Colette trying to help her; she's slowly sliding down, and all I can feel even for her is blank panic.

I stop to help ease her down the rest of the way, and she can only offer a somnambulistic resistance as she feels my hands on her arms, and then Lief is dragging me onward. I hear another crash.

They're not all pine trees outside and one tree's brittle, winter branches are clattering against a high window. I wonder if the elderly recognize a kinship with those cold, stripped things. I realize I do. Oh, now that's attractive Meagan, self-pity, and your love is laid out on the floor in there, because of something he drank, that you made, because he had faith in you. Remembering the warming pride in his eyes as he looked down on me, I wish Meredith had found a way to stop me; at least then I'd only be humiliated or just disappointed – not responsible for pain terrible enough to knock a bunch of immortals on their backs and force my Lucien to make sounds like that. Now I'm crying.

Lief places his hands on my shoulders and I'm still hoping as I peer up through my tears, that he'll tell me what the hell is going on.

He steps into me, his arms coming down around me, and the world lurches, and over the edge of his sleeve, I can see a blur of treetops and then empty sky.

We're flying!

I look down.

Now why did I look down? You never look down. I know that, and I did it anyway, and I haven't ever been afraid of heights, but there's usually an airplane around me when I've been up this high. I can feel my yogurt in my throat.

I bury my face against Lief's chest. This should be Lucien and I should be breathless with laughter; like when I'm on a roller coaster ride. But Lucien is sick, and maybe dying; he's certainly suffering and he's getting further and further away.

I can feel my face heating up as I fight back more tears and the full- on blubbering that leaves you with a headache.

Lief looks down to see how I'm doing. It's not his fault that it isn't Lucien flying me high over rooftops like Superman with Lois. It's mine.

I let the freezing air burn away my tears before they can upset Lief.

"He will not die on you, little one; none of them will," he tells me gently.

I hug him more tightly a minute and feel like a heel for being so selfish. I'm not the only one leaving someone I care about to suffer with no one to help him.

I look up to the underside of Lief's jaw. He scans the sky restlessly, and I wonder what he's thinking about.

"What's happening to them, Lief?"

He takes a breath and tries to find a way to answer me.

Oh, you jackass, of course he can't answer you; you saw Lucien order or beg – I'm not sure which – ask Lief not to tell you.

"Never mind Lief, I shouldn't have asked you that. How long will it last for – will he – will they be all right?"

"They will be. And Lucien... will be." He doesn't sound like he wants to clarify the pause, and he's not permitted to tell me details as to why I shouldn't worry. I tell myself I shouldn't worry, but the sounds that tore their way out of Lucien's mouth keep reverberating off of the insides of my skull. I continue repeating Lief's words to myself like a prayer; 'he won't die,' 'he'll be all right,' over and over again.

"Hold on," Lief says, and shifts me around to one side of him.

I do as I'm told.

He shrugs out of his jacket on one side, and then we switch sides.

He puts the jacket around my shoulders over my own coat. I was shivering, and I guess the chill doesn't affect a vampire. If we weren't flying through the morning brilliance over streets and homes, I'd swear Lief is human.

"Thanks, Lief." Hang on... sunlight... he's not a day walker either, is he?

"Lief?"

"Hmmm?" His face shows me his thoughts are still back inside the mansion.

"Are you okay?" And as I ask the question, I realize it applies to more than the sunlight.

"Me?"

"You're up and out in the sunlight, flying me home, and you're probably worried about your friend – friends."

"I'm fine," he tells me gently; "Lucien was especially exhausted yesterday. That's why it was a good thing for you to bring him home. He... that is also his story to tell you." Lief looks pensive. I wonder what happened yesterday or before then. Doesn't seem like I'll find out any time soon.

I sigh softly. I suppose Lucien's had a lot to tell me in a short time; I can't get frustrated he hasn't enlightened me on every topic. I hope when – if I go back, he'll tell me more.

"Being exposed to sunlight is a bit draining for most of us; nothing more," Lief says kindly as treetops come back into view. The sunshine is the same warm, pinkish-red as it was last night in the cab. I wonder if the last twelve hours were a dream. The cowardly part of me wishes the sounds of dishes and people hitting the ground were. Maybe I've been avoiding hearing anything else about what I might've done by asking Lief about his own well-being.

We're landing. It's actually scarier than straight flying because with scenery, I can appreciate how fast we're travelling.

We descend between a couple of large pine trees, and we're in my back yard. I try not to feel some sense of betrayal that I'm back on the outside of Lucien's warm full life – cut off; and yet he can come along and sample anything he wants of mine whenever he'd like. I find myself hoping he still wants any part of me or my life at all. It's my doing that I'm back here anyway, and I'm not taking it out on Lief.

"You have to get back, don't you?" I speak softly into the still morning air, and it is right to do so with all of the emotion scraping me raw inside.

"Yes," he says just as softly, shading his eyes with one hand, "See you soon," and he accepts the jacket back as I hand it to him. 'See you soon,' he said, and I can feel more tears coming now. I hope so. His words didn't make any fog in the air. He is a vampire, and he's standing in my yard after flying me home high above the city, and nobody knows but me. And none of that matters beside what's been happening. I want to tell him I'm sorry for what I've done to them, and I want to thank him for being kind to me. I wish I could ask him if I've done something awful that I can't fix or take back. He's in a hurry to get back and check on his friends, and the words wouldn't be enough anyway; I just say, "Thanks for the lift, Lief. See you soon."

He gives me a tired looking salute, and the ghost of his usual smile, and he's up above the trees, faster than I can track with my eyes. A raven caw, caw, caws somewhere close by.

Why couldn't it have been a blue jay or some other light-hearted bird song? I'm cold, and getting colder and I don't think it's all from the flight home, or blood loss either. I should have told him how sorry I was – still am.

I let myself into my house, peel off my clothes and go hide in the shower.

As I step in, and I recall the last time I was in here; I wonder if I'll hear from my phantom shower man and he'll tell me he's alright. That it wasn't as bad as all that, and that they've already got it all sorted out, and he'll meet me for another coffee.

I reach out for his mind... and there's nothing. Oh. That hurts. More than I'd have imagined. I've reached for his mind so many times in the past day, to gauge his emotional state, to get clues about social situations, and to just share with him our love. And now there's nothing, and twenty-four hours ago I never would have thought I could miss it so much. Sigh. I'm drained, and freezing, and more alone than I can ever remember being.

Is it a deliberate nothing?

So I will forget in time and it will all be over? Fat chance I'll forget any of this.

Or is it just too far to reach in his current state?

And what does worrying about him accomplish? I can't help him from here and he doesn't want my help right now if ever. He sent me away; maybe it's over. Colette believed me that I wouldn't wreck anything. Angus believed he could trust me not to betray them in any way. And Tia and Frieda called me their lady.

Shouldn't a lady protect her people? I've let them all down. My throat hurts with unshed tears but there's no real point in bawling about it either.

I get out, and I don't even stop to dry my hair.

I stagger into the bedroom, turn up the cordless in case they call – do they have my number?

Of course they do, they know where you live and can get here in no time – if they care to – and I do a face plant in my pillow. I'm asleep before I can pull the covers up.

A Soul Free of Sin

I wake up sometime in the afternoon; hair still damp on a soggy pillow, freezing cold, and cursing my own stupidity. I have a kink in my neck and my head is pounding.

I reach out again in my mind for Lucien. Still nothing. I'm so cold.

I pile on layers and layers of warm clothes, go downstairs, and throw on 'As the World Turns' for company.

I make myself a coffee, and go down and sit in front of my computer.

I look up Purging to see if I can learn for myself what Lucien wouldn't tell me. Wikipedia gives me the definition of Purge, the forcible removal of undesirable people from political activity, etc.

Hunh, like the forcible removal of me from Lucien's home?

Alright, enough with the self pity, grumble, grumble. It also has entries for Great Purge, Ansei Purge (which turns out to be something that happened in Japan), Pride's Purge, Great Jedi Purge, Purge (album), Purge (Marvel Comics), and Purge (an fps game)... This is going to take awhile.

I'm still shivering, so while Meg and Paul tie the knot in a garden with a dead girl and some rosebushes on t.v.; I go grab myself another coffee.

In the kitchen, the wind drives tiny frozen granules of ice at the window as if to grind right through it, or etch a message on its surface.

What's happening with him?

There's no message waiting on the phone, and no new callers, so I head back down to the computer. Let's see now... it also mentions purging as it relates to bulimia, as do several other sites... there are some more definitions... there's even one on smoking purging a certain gene that repairs the lungs... nope, nothing at all relating to vampires, witchcraft, the Goddess, or any of Morrigan's names.

Now what? I refuse to sit around here and feel sorry for myself. And since they can find me anywhere, there's also no point waiting and worrying about why I haven't heard from Lucien, yet. Of course there's no way I can try and go about having a normal day off and not end up obsessing about him anyway. The bookstore is still open; I wonder if I can find more of those strange old-but-not-old books. See what I can find out about The Purging there.

I'm still not much more than freezing, so I call a cab and go straight back to the bookstore; skipping the bus ride. I could drive, but there's never any parking near the bus depot since it's practically down town.

I go straight back to our corner, and search for some more of those ancient volumes and marvel again at how they seem to have gone unnoticed by any staff or customers. They must have fixed the lighting; it's almost painfully bright back here now. I wonder whose books these are; and who sees the money for them.

Why make this information available?

And for whom is it intended?

Just vampires or witches or anything that can see them for what they are? That could be why it seems brighter to me now. Maybe I'm more in touch with whatever magic camouflages these books. Like at Lucien's home. I wonder if there's anyone watching to see who takes these particular books from the bookstore. I think I'll just read them here, and take notes. That way if Lucien or anyone else needs them; I won't be interfering – or calling any trouble down on my head that I'll have no idea how to handle. Hmmm, problem is... there don't seem to be any referring to Purging. And there are easily two-dozen titles up there. Now either I have to hope the Purging is mentioned incidentally in one, or (and this one's more likely, I think) I have to figure out what else it would be called. The Purging seems to be a fairly significant event for a vamp judging by Lief's reaction, so it might be safe to assume many, many books have been devoted to the subject. So what I really need is a thesaurus.

I go find one and drag it to the table top Lucien and I stared across at each other. It seems like it was weeks ago, instead of only twenty-four hours. All right according to this exoneration, absolution, exculpation, purification, and vindication are all synonymous with purge. And four of those seem to relate to the state of one's soul.

Hunh, so is that what Lucien and the others were going through?

Something to do with their souls? I go back to the corner, and I get a moment of déjà vu. Lucien's near manic artificial good cheer, and his eyes, and his face as he waited for me to release him from his crippling fear and remorse. How vulnerable he looked, and then the wonder he sometimes showed me; it made him suddenly young every time. And the way he'd go still and his eyes would go so dark for me. I miss him. I hope he's ok. I've been reading titles without knowing what I'm seeing. I think I've been trying to find a trace of that coconut scent I've come to associate with all things good, somewhere in the new book, and ancient, dusty book smells. Try again Meagan. Concentrate this time. ... k... we've got... Seno Oino Kwe Sa Jowanko (Old Ones and the Young)... hmmm, old ones... like Delphine maybe... Kredra Katako (Relic War)... Kwu Snade Towo Triko (To Protect Your Home)... ooh, that sounds kinda handy... protect it from what, though... Sa Anaman Reidi kom Kulo (The Soul Free of Sin). Aha.

I grab a little step ladder and climb up so I have enough leverage to pull the thing down without reefing on it the wrong way and tearing it or something. Just as I'm about to step down, I grab the volume on protecting one's home as well.

There's actually a bounce in my step, I realize; it's really wonderful having a task to do, something that gives a person a sense of accomplishment. The perfect remedy for worry, and self-doubt.

So... the Purging is... is sort of... instant replay for any action the vamp took that resulted in gaining power from taking someone's blood.

Oh, and specifically something that somehow brings about the suffering and especially the death of that person as well?

It seems so... so what they were all going through was like a... a reliving?

Of whatsoever they'd done - or rather whomever they'd bitten and possibly had died because of being fed upon?

So then how often does this happen?

Usually... what... every so many years?

No... according to this it's more like every so many feedings...

So how did they all do it at once in Lief's kitchen? That's no coincidence – I mean they're all different ages and would have become vampires at all different times in their lives and all different points in history.

So... was it so powerful my \- well mine and the goddess's - blood feast... was some sort of jump-start – a fast forward thing where they're all at the same place now?

They're all to the same level of power or experience?

But how does that make a 'soul free of sin?'

Is it supposed to be a sort of punishment thing?

And that cleanses the soul, like some ring of hell where you feel whatever you've inflicted on others? Hmm, I know I'd never want to go through that twice. I wonder if that's how the madness at the very beginning of their vampiric lives ends. Like suddenly becoming aware of the destruction and pain they're causing jars them out of it. Or it could make things worse.

I mean what happens when in the midst of an insane rampage, a vampire suddenly feels pain and suffering like nothing they've felt since they were entombed, and subsequently tortured into madness in the first place? Maybe if they were too far-gone for any ability to reason, it would goad them onward; it wouldn't be enough to snap them back to sanity.

So it's possible some of them woke from their madness before experiencing a Purging.

Then could this one – the one I've just inflicted on them – be the one in which they relive everything they ever did while insane? No! Dear God, I hope not.

This Goddess I've sworn to be grateful to, and to have faith in, and to love; she's using me to punish them?

She thinks it's necessary and right?

God, why? They've already become good people.

What would be the point now?

It says they grow stronger from the blood taken, and if they can face the pain they've caused getting it, they may have more power.

So this is my responsibility, because I imagined while I prayed to her, that the spell-recipe would make them stronger. I wonder if any of them will think it's worth it. Hell, I should have left well enough alone. You're an idiot, Meagan. You've hurt them all – badly, and it's not even the Goddess's mistake and you should apologize to her; it's yours.

On auto-pilot, I begin copying out spell-prayers for protecting the home, and after I realize with a start that I have almost a dozen of them scratched out in a notebook; I have a eureka! moment, and I go lay the book on the photocopier and start feeding change into it. I shouldn't even be doing this, I think as I stand shivering next to the warm copier. As if they'd want your help again Meagan. They never asked for it in the first place.

And if the blood feast could backfire so dramatically, what will spells to protect the home do? That is, if the Goddess bothers to answer them after I've blamed her for something stupid that I did.

And if they can't do magic themselves, then what use are the vampires going to make of these photocopies?

I finish with the spell I'm copying and then I close the books up and return them to the shelf.

Stuffing the pages of copy into my purse, I go next-door for a comforting beverage and avoid looking around the café until the girl hands me my hot chocolate.

I've ruined everything haven't I?

I finally glance at the table we sat at together just yesterday, and I get this suffocating terror; a, a, black despair that it's all over between us and I scream in my head. "Lucien! Please are you alright?"

And he answers me! "I am well enough, Meagan. I have to go." And no more.

What?

What does that mean?

He's all right?

But he can't forgive me for what I've done? He called me Meagan; not angel.

He's angry with me? He was so abrupt. Cold.

It's over? Calm down Meagan.

What if it's just some small crisis he has to cope with in the house? Yeah well, it's still something I caused. Whether it's the blood feast or Meredith it's something you did, Meagan. Good going. Well no matter what is happening there good or bad, concerning you or not, it's not his job right now to make you feel better. And those immortals have lived a long time without you stirring up trouble in their lives. They've probably already forgotten you and found themselves glad to. Go home and finish your day off. A hot bath and a romance novel would be great right now and a typical day off, but I can't go next door again for my favorite vampire romance.

A little too close to the real thing, eh?

Yeah, but I can't go back there and be where we were – not without some purpose to distract me – I can't even stay here anymore.

Ah well, it wouldn't be the first time you stopped going somewhere when a relationship went south because it was just too painful.

It hasn't gone south! It can't have...

Go home and try out that bath Meagan, I think, fighting back tears.

*

I'm not getting a good soak in lobster-cooking water anyway, the downstairs bathroom is under construction and the upstairs bathroom just has a generous shower. Besides, I've already had a long shower today so there's no point in wasting hot water. Getting out of the cab, a drift of snow blew over the tops of my boots, and now my socks and the hem of my jeans are soaked.

I march into the living room and kicking aside rolls of wrapping paper, I flick the fireplace on and plant the seat of my jeans against the front of it while it warms up. Once it reaches full heat it will be too hot to lean against comfortably.

I nearly fall asleep standing there, almost falling over and jerking awake as I overbalance. With the heat pushing at me, I had a little daydream that Lucien was feeding on me instead of that damned Blood Feast, and I'm surprised to admit I don't feel any fear to contemplate having him bite me this time. I'm aroused to think he'd feel as he did when he took that first sip; the heat that would fill him, how all of his senses would be heightened and teased as he slaked his thirst with me.

But as reality reasserts itself in my mind and I realize there's a good chance I'll never see him again; I get colder than before I turned the fireplace on, and as I pull away I find I'm rapidly getting icier still. The sun is setting and as the shadows lengthen in my house, everything from the floor to the very air around me seems to be trying to suck out all of my body heat through the hole where my heart used to be.

I walk through to the kitchen, turning on every light as I go... hmm... I need to put up the tree – it's the first week of December already.

Well of course Meagan, that's why you're so cold; you haven't eaten since you got home, you've lost a bunch of blood, and you've been through sort of a lot, lately. Get something with protein into yourself, and go to bed. Spaghetti with meat sauce, plenty of garlic; it's not as though you have to worry about your breath now, Meagan – knock it off with the self-pity you maudlin thing you. You're going to eat, go to bed, get up tomorrow feeling well- rested, and you're going to go to work. It'll be as though all of this never happened. Maybe it's better that way. Vampires, spells, magic, some horrible Purging, and a too-good-to-be-true dreamboat immortal banishing you from his home the first time you cook for him because you nearly kill him and his friends. It sounds like a bad dream. Probably better for you to forget how thoroughly you failed them all. You can't save them from their loneliness or fear or disappointment. That role is somebody else's. You don't belong there. You need to go back to work and bury your hurt in the usual petty abuse from the customers. You won't even notice you feel this way.

I bolt my food and climb the stairs to brush my teeth, set my alarm, and fall face-down into my pillow for the second time today.

*

I'm up; I'm up, dammit! Bloody alarm clock.

Now why did I think I'd be able to go back to work? In the real world it's Wednesday and not yet two days since I left, taking a sick day. It's not beyond the realm of possibility for people to expect me back today. But there's been so much in those two days, and what should have been a restful, recuperative night's sleep last night was anything but. I was so chilled, and when I finally managed to get warm enough to sleep at around three o'clock this morning; I had roughly an hour and a half before I was awakened by a nightmare to end all nightmares.

I was surrounded by some bat-like, intangible things that screamed; high and piercing, like some sort of small black banshee. I was trying to find someone and they were so close, so thick with their wings beating before my eyes as they sought to injure me, pull all heat and life from me, that I couldn't see anything at all. They tore into me and then I was falling, and then I was so cold and as the darkness closed in they cried again in sick triumph. They were so real and so close I could smell them. Like the way leaky boots smell in the winter coupled with the stink of carcasses hung upside down to let the blood drain out. And then when I was surrounded by the icy blackness, their hateful shriek ringing in my ears, I began to choke and then I couldn't move and I began to panic...

So from about four thirty on I'd been trying to get back to sleep, and now it's six a.m. and I'm going to leave them a voicemail at work, and stop trying to sleep in my fear-soaked bedroom. I'm grabbing a hot shower, cranking the Christmas carols and putting up my tree so there will be a place for the gifts.

I wonder what the etiquette on Christmas present giving for the brand-new-probably-already-ex-vampire boyfriend and members of his extended vampire family is.

Under five dollars, ten?

Or like an anniversary; paper, crystal... blood... just not wood, right?

I have the giant tubs of decorations and the one containing just the tree in the middle of the kitchen floor.

I put the radio on, and find a station with over-the-age-of-five carols playing, and turn it up. I have a ribbed turtle-neck on and a sweater over it, my jeans and a pair of extra thick holiday socks on.

I'm still chilly, so as I sing along to O Holy Night, I pour myself a coffee, and when Carol of the Bells starts up, I begin to dance too. Maybe I'm glad I don't have to have anything more complicated than decorations and Christmas shopping to deal with right now. A life with a bunch of vampires is a life I'm not cut out for. And I have no business trying out my amateur magic on a bunch of immortals that are trying to keep a low profile and just now learning to trust in mortals again. Imagine me thinking I could carve out a place for myself with them! They were right not to trust mortals – well at least this one. The tree must have gotten pretty dusty in its box because my nose is starting to run and my eyes are watering.

*

I finally have my Christmas tree up in the living room and its branches uncrushed, and the hundreds of lights that are my usual worked into the length of its every limb.

I sit down in the chair to study my handiwork through slitted eyes and enjoy the blur of fairy lights, and unsurprisingly I fall asleep again listening to Drummer Boy.

What happens next is... disturbing. I get a repeat of the nightmare from this morning, and a shadowy form beyond the bat creatures, which now seem sort of rubbery; like those fake ones my brother liked to toss at me. The figure behind them pulls strings attached to each of them, causing them to jerk and bounce. I really don't want their icy wings touching me, as I'm pretty sure I won't be able to just throw them back and yell for Mom.

I jerk upright from the dark vision and scare Tigger right off of my lap; the place he laid the only warm part of me.

I flick the fireplace on, and go out to the kitchen for some hot Shreddies like my mom used to make on winter mornings before school, and more coffee.

The living room is heating up a bit and I begin putting decorations into the tree, sprigs of holly, clusters of berries and pine cones, and large fat poinsettia blossoms. Then sand dollars dressed in plaid bows from Bermuda, and the small pewter ornaments I've been given every year for Christmas since I was a little girl. Large and small red balls and glass icicles finish it off. Except for the medium-sized white angel with feathery wings for the top.

As soon as my heels touch the floor again after putting the angel up, I start getting cold again, and I realize how dark the house has gotten around me. The tree is the only source of light and the house feels massive around it, like its darkness could smother the tree's glow.

The wind thinks I'd be a lot better off if I stopped all of this worrying about warm, cold, and too-cold. It's going to pull the siding off of the house or go up under the eaves and drag me out to dance with it until I don't care about such things anymore.

Shivering, I begin walking around the house throwing lights on, and I double-check the doors are locked. This wouldn't be the first time I've felt a tiny bit jumpy being by myself after dark – you know, a woman living alone and all of that – but the panicky feelings don't go away with the lights or the door check. In fact, they're getting worse.

I've been replaying my last communication from Lucien around and around in my head.

What if he is angry with me?

Why, why, why, when he knows it was an accident?

Doesn't he?

Oh God, please, he knows me, he knows I'd never do something to hurt him or anyone; not people he loves – not anyone!

What am I going to do?

What if he doubts what we shared in his kitchen before... before I poisoned him – poisoned them all?

If he thought I just couldn't handle what I'd read; would he think I'd try to hurt him – try to end him in some way?

And his family?

Breathe.

I've come to a dead stop in the kitchen, and I want to sink down into a ball on the floor. The wind outside screams and gibbers for me.

You're being insane, Meagan. Even if Lucien somehow thinks he could deserve such a blow, and that you could be the one to deliver it; the others believe in you too.

Yeah, when they thought I'd made them a small miracle; not a fatal witch's brew.

What about Angus? He showed some small faith in you back in the library.

What about him? The last you saw of him, he was in a heap on his kitchen floor.

You think he trusts you now?

My brain is running in panicked circles trying to escape the fires of guilt licking at all of my thoughts and causing massive amounts of incidental smoke damage.

I crank the carols until they'd be obnoxiously loud to my neighbours if they were home but they work most nights. Maybe I can extinguish the flames if I deluge them with holiday cheer.

I go searching for something a bit more substantial to eat than cereal.

I find some leftovers and after zapping them, I go upstairs from the din I've created in the kitchen and call my mom.

As I down yesterday's spaghetti and meat sauce I tell her of the very nice guy that I've been dating. I tell her it's been a week since that's when I first shared coffee with him, and I admit I went home with him Monday night and his friend cooked us dinner. Then I tell her that I cooked last night, and it wasn't a hit with his roommates, and that I haven't heard from him since. I don't know what I hope to accomplish by telling her something so far from accurate but it's about as close as seems safe. I mean otherwise, I say what; 'Yeah, so I just started dating this vampire on Monday – yeah a real-live-bite-you-on-the-neck-'i-vant-to-suck-your-blood'-vampire, and when I went home with him - the same day I met him formally by the way – yes everything you taught me went in one ear and out the other, and every bit of common sense you thought I had was a lie Mom – and the reason I say 'formally' is because he's been sending me visions – I got very up close and personal with him, even though I knew almost nothing about him other than he was dangerous and that he loved me. Then I tried to do magic and he kicked my ass out of his house as he writhed on the floor from whatever it is I did to him, and now he hasn't called me, and he could be dying or dead already. Waaaahhh!' Hmm, not thinking that would go over very well, so this is as close as I can come. She'd think my 'fever' (the excuse I have for not being at work) was a lot worse than I thought, (I didn't tell her about the blood donation or the research or the nightmares either), and she'd be down here from three hours away to take care of me. Not that I'd complain, and Mom would probably come to believe me eventually about vampires. She tells me fairies live in the smoke bushes outside her house. But it's probably all over before it's begun and maybe I don't need to put her through it all for nothing. Blood-sucking immortals are a tad more to accept than fairies.

And she does exactly what I called her for anyway. My mother tells me I don't have to worry about impressing his roommates just him, and I can't tell her that they're his people; formally sworn to follow him and I'm pretty sure that winning them over, or at least not killing them off would be a good thing. She says other things to me full of sympathy, and good advice, and it doesn't accomplish anything except that hearing her voice makes me feel a little better, and I'm glad I've called her. I ask her about her boyfriend, and then I tell her I love her, and say goodbye.

Freezing

I go back downstairs, throw my dishes in the dishwasher and hit the treadmill for half an hour to warm up. I watch the resistance counter, my heart rate, my miles per hour and how far I've walked fiercely; until I stop thinking about anything else.

Then I head back upstairs and curl up in bed with the spells for protecting the house. Since it wasn't the Goddess's mistake but mine and I know it, maybe if I can apologize and she can forgive me, I can cast a spell to protect the house. Maybe then, I'll stop feeling like I'm going to jump out of my skin. Actually no, it's more like full-blown terror. I want to weep and I don't know why. I mean other than all of the reasons I didn't tell my mom, there's another source for tears. It's this unreasoning fear. Setting aside somehow that this person I love, that already I can't imagine living my life without probably hates and fears me; I feel like something is coming to get me. It's like when I was younger, and my brother would wait around a corner or in the shadows of my closet to jump out and scare me. Only this is bigger. So much bigger. And it won't just shout 'Boo!'

So where is it coming from?

I ask the Goddess to forgive me for blaming her for what I've done to the man I love and all of his family. I ask Her to help me stop being so frightened. And then I formally ask Her to protect my home if She finds me worthy of Her intervention with the words; "Awillo-wo-ret-e-sme moi treba writi moi namant."

I wait for something to happen in silence. My room is so still and empty. There's nothing; not even the wind and I imagine even it has abandoned me in disgust at what I've done. You're just overtired Meagan, and that's the last realization I have until the nightmare comes back to get me.

This time as I fly up out of sleep hurting my neck a bit along the way, I decide that just like when I can't sleep because I have an idea for a story; I'm going to put this down on my computer and with any luck, out of my head.

I go downstairs, chase Tigger out of the tree on my way by, and go down to the basement. I turn on the computer and sit down while the apps load.

Tigger decides to forgive me for robbing him of his fascinating perch and jumps into my lap.

I pet him absently and begin typing as soon as I can.

'Cold, dark, icy, black things, flying, claws or fangs... something sharp, strings? both claws and fangs I think, shriek, loud, buffeting with wings, can't see, someone behind them, I have to get to him – him?, holding me down, can hear water, so cold, black, cars?, engines or something, stink of tar and blood and death... highway?, sign...21...just outside town?, so dark, cold, can't breathe to scream, to call for help, can't see them but I'm still so frightened, I'm trapped, why am I trapped?, why am I so cold?, I'm smothering and I can't move! Please no, not again!'

A sort of stream-of-consciousness exercise, I just type and type without analyzing it as I go and this is what I have.

Images I caught from Lucien associated with his madness? What happened to him to cause his descent possibly.

Then what are the bat things and why the very modern highway marker?

Am I just tapping into his nightmares or something? Well then he's always sleeping, Meagan; you've had enough scary images for any two people asleep and dreaming. So he's recovering from the Purging you gave him; that's why he couldn't talk to you. He's still not even over the fear and the horror and it's just expressing itself in his dreams now. Good job. But he seems so helpless to it. Like he can't escape. Surely Lief and the others are there and they can wake him up and talk him through it.

What else could it be?

He's in trouble? Don't be so melodramatic. He's just being the stoic vampire leader who doesn't share his troubles with his people.

What sort of trouble does a vampire get into anyway, that he and his friends can't get him out of? It's just your over-active imagination again or his as he sorts out what you did to him.

I save what I've written and head upstairs thoroughly frozen and more guilt-ridden than ever, and I climb back into bed.

*

More lurid visions before dawn, and the part that has me drenched with sweat, is I'm positive I heard his voice, Lucien's voice saying my name.

Could he be trying to contact me?

After what I've done? More likely, he's just naming the culprit who nearly killed him.

I'd know it if I had- I can't finish the thought.

Before I can lose it altogether, I head into the bathroom and give my face a good scrub with a hot washcloth.

Then why hasn't he just called me or something?

Told me it's over?

Warned me against ever calling him or trying to see him again? It's just about bedtime at the vampire mansion I'm thinking when the phone rings.

The washcloth lands in the basin with a wet plop and I'm scrambling down the hall and over my bed to find the cordless. It's Lief. "Hello Little One," he says softly – apologetically? It's all right I think; I wasn't sleeping anyway. He called me Little One.

Dare I hope?

Then why aren't you Lucien?

I close my eyes once again in my darkened bedroom with the cordless, and blame the ambience of the room for my bleak thoughts.

"Hi Lief, how are you – how's Lucien?" I start out with quiet resignation but I can't keep the strain out of my voice by the time I ask after my love. Please be ok, please be ok.

"I'm fine Little One, and he-" Lief stops before he can say whatever it was he was going to.

He what?

"How bad was it Lief?" I can feel tears beginning.

"It... he... has put it behind him." I sway, and almost fall over a laundry basket. He's alive. I've still had no communication from Lucien, though.

"I take it he doesn't want to speak to me - that's why you are calling me?" I try not to sound bitter with Lief. He's only ever been kind to me, and he's taking the time to call and tell me formally that it's all over. Besides, he doesn't owe me anything. The fact that I put everyone in that house through hell hasn't changed.

How do I begin to apologize?

There is a pause.

"Lucien did not ask me to call you." His voice is so full of things he won't or doesn't know how to say.

What's going-? He's sick then.

Too sick to call? Or there's something to your dreams after all...

Is he in trouble?

"Lief, where is Lucien?" I let the blind up and stare out over the lake as if I could see him if I looked hard enough. It snowed again in the night; easily eight more inches.

He hasn't answered yet.

Trying to spare my feelings?

"I don't..."

What had he been about to say?

"... He did not come home yesterday morning, and I have not yet seen him today." I thank him silently from the bottom of my heart for being honest with me. And then I take in what he just said.

So he's not sick or dying or anything at all.

Just a day to a day-and-a-half missing and Lief is calling me? So not a usual occurrence then. Maybe something really is wrong after all; like you drove him mad with whatever was going on inside his head. No, Lief said 'he put it behind him.' But something is up.

What if it's even half as serious as you've imagined? Tell him about your nightmares, Meagan.

I take a deep breath, and I tell Lief all about them, and I go downstairs and read him my dream-litany from my computer screen. I speak rapidly and without pause before I have a chance to reconsider the wisdom of babbling hysterically about bat-things and daydreams. There is silence for so long at the other end.

Is it dread or amusement at my theatrical take on nightmares brought on by guilt and fatigue? The pause is just Lief being polite and waiting until he can get his laughter under control.

"And you say the man and his creatures have left?"

He's taking this seriously and I'm glad I'm sitting down. Lucien has been imprisoned somewhere by those creatures.

"I don't know Lief," I tell him in a jittery voice; "I don't see them or hear the bat-creatures anymore." I press the phone more tightly to my ear as if I can squeeze an answer, some reassurance out of Lief by force through the line. I'm getting nauseous and I'm glad I haven't scrounged up breakfast yet.

"I believe I know what has happened," he says slowly. Dread, and a note or two of rising anger... for whom?

For me, that I somehow drove Lucien to this? I should have known he was in trouble. I have to help my love even if he hates me; even if his friend hates me. I have to go apologize at least.

"Lief, I'm coming over."

I get dressed in warm layers; wherever Lucien is its freezing, and I'm already cold.

I scrape my hair back from my bloodshot eyes and screw it into a knot on the back of my head.

I grab my bag and jam a few copied spells into it. Maybe this time, if I can get the Goddess to work her magic through me it can do some good.

*

I arrive at the mansion to find only my love's second in command.

"The others sleep," he says in a voice gravelly with – judging by the slight jerkiness to his usual preternatural grace – anxiety, and takes my hand briefly to draw me into the house as he closes the door.

He looks past me as he does so and I feel lucky to have made it inside ahead of what it is he watches for.

"Do you think they'll come here, Lief?" I can't imagine a cloud of black nightmares descending from the silver sky in the middle of Toronto.

He pauses, and then shakes his head once decisively. "They have what they want."

I swallow hard. Lucien. He must be terrified wherever he is. I want to rush back through the door to his rescue. My stomach hurts.

He starts walking through the echoing halls instead, and I follow him on wooden legs. He didn't have to take my hand to let me through the door. In fact, he was able to look me in they eye, and nothing showed on his face but friendly greeting – and preoccupation.

"We must go and get him tonight as we will all be stronger then," he says briskly as he leads us to the vast stillness of the library. The darkened tiers looming overhead are a little intimidating but I've worked up the courage to protest, when Lief continues; "We will use the time to pinpoint his location and prepare for a fight." I can't argue with his logic and it will give me some time to go over the spells I've brought with me, and to dig up some more from the vampire's collection. I suppose we'd better be properly prepared for the upcoming confrontation; it's not like we'll get to start over from our last 'save-point.' I hope I can find something that won't possibly backfire; no matter how badly I mess it up.

I stretch out with my mind and try to find Lucien's but I'm not getting anything. Nothing at all.

"Lief?"

"Yes Little One?"

"Can a vampire's heart be stopped?"

"They can only when the vampire dies," he begins until he can see the expression on my face; "but a vampire can die any number of mortal deaths and not truly die," he finishes and I resume breathing again. I wonder how many 'mortal deaths' I put all of these good people through. Lief looks as if he has more to say but he's uncertain as to how to proceed.

"Go ahead Lief," I try to reassure him, but that's about all I have in me right now.

"Only cremation or decapitation can truly kill us," he begins and I'm slightly sorry I gave him the go ahead now; "which are grisly things to think about I know, but Lucien is cold, not burning, and it was just this morning you could still hear his impressions so he's still with us."

I start to smile but the muscles pull the other way involuntarily and before I know it I'm crying and turning away from him. Not because he's failed to comfort me but because he has, if for no other reason than that he's made the effort. After everything I put all of them through; Lief is still making me feel better. I haven't even apologized to him yet. And even if I'm the cause of Lucien's capture, and he despises me for it; I just need to see my love and know he's all right and there's nothing else Lief can do about that yet.

He stands, pulls my chair out, takes my hands in his and my heart's best friend folds me in against him and holds me while I cry.

"It will be all right Little One." I wish he'd stop calling me that. I don't deserve his friendship and his attempts to comfort me.

"Lief? About what I made? In your pot?" Coward! You can't even say the words.

"Meagan, one did not cause the other-"

"But he-"

"He does not blame you, I – none of us blame you." I want to leave it there. He looks and sounds so sincere.

"You know I never would have h-hurt him," I start sniveling again; "or you – any of you," and I swallow hard.

He pulls me into him again.

"Of course not. You couldn't have known it would have been received that way, Little One; none of us did."

He steps back a little, with his hands on my shoulders so I can look through his eyes to see the kind soul inside and he says; "We'll find him, and you will see for yourself that it is all right."

I smear fresh tears off my cheeks with the backs of both hands and force a smile for him that hurts my face. "I hope so, Lief."

Soon we're back to me feeding him details as he looks to see exactly where Lucien might be. I expect the time to drag, knowing my sweet love who hasn't decided he's better off without me, but who has been in trouble all of this time is still in such torment; but I focus on what I will do to help him, and on trying to find out exactly where he is, and soon it is dusk already.

Lief and I have finally honed in on the location using clues from my dreams and using a map on the computer in the far room I never explored the last time I was here. I've been making runs between the library and the kitchen for snacks out of the fridge. I'm finally hungry now that I'm focusing on what we can do next instead of guilt or dread. I've noticed Lief's pot sitting on the counter, and I deliberately ignored it each time I came through. He's probably got oil of some type in there slowly soaking into the porous metal of the inside surface, after having to scrub and soak the damned thing for hours. If I ever get to come back here when there is no crisis going on; I'll let Lief do all of the cooking from now on.

I'm just devouring some truly memorable brownies, when Lief pokes his head into the kitchen to tell me he's going to go awaken Lucien's people.

The last bite of brownie goes down like cardboard, and I strive for Lucien's mind again with mine. For just a second it feels like I might have touched something of my love, and then it's gone again.

I find myself pacing between the library and the kitchen, as I wait for the cavalry to assemble.

*

"Narakasura has had him imprisoned somehow. I don't know what defenses he'll have in place," he informs the others as we stride through the darkened corridors and past many huge empty rooms of the mansion about twenty minutes later. When I meet the eyes of the other immortals they don't look away; nor do they glare or look like they're disappointed in me. In fact Tia gives me another warm smile like she did so long ago in a kitchen filled with sunlight. It may be as Lief said with Lucien's people.

"What exactly is Narakasura, Lief?"

"The Demon of Chaos," Meredith fills in sweeping along behind us. For the second time Colette doesn't remind me of a poodle, her hair is pinned back, and she has a minimum of makeup on. They both seem focused – even grim, but not specifically towards me.

Whoa. I almost skid to a halt but my feet resume the pace even as I register it. "A demon?!"

"'E is a vampire who 'as never regained 'is sanity. 'E calls 'imself the Demon of Chaos. It is a name 'e took for 'imself some years ago. No one knows the real name. Maybe, not even 'im." There is something compelling about Colette's voice when it is stripped of affectation.

They do not explain further and I realize it's because this isn't the first time they've clashed with the self-styled Demon of Chaos; for them no further explanation is necessary.

I shiver, and then shiver again as the rest of Lucien's people file in behind us; the moonlight strobing over white faces with hollow cheeks. It doesn't sparkle off of sunglasses, or gleam off of leather, or even glint off of gun barrels. No, their skin is the brightest thing about them; their clothing is plain. The colours are varying shades of dark, but they are matte and not for show. And they move so silently! There is no leather, nothing that will squeak or creak. Their footwear, boots or shoes it's hard to tell; are also of some softer material than leather, and make no sound on the marble floors. They carry no weapons but themselves, and that's more frightening than any arsenal. The biggest difference though, is in their faces. Lucien's family and sworn allies don't have those cool movie faces right before the fight. They're angry and in Lief's case, a little afraid; he glances back at the rest often as if he worries about them. With Lucien missing, the safety of his people is in Lief's hands. I can see in their eyes the anticipation; the visions of what they're going to do to Narakasura when they get a hold of him. They don't have fangy faces; that'd be superfluous to the menace they're unconsciously exuding. That's it; there's no energy wasted or any extraneous movement anywhere. Just... wrathful intent. I'm almost running to keep up with Lief, and for a crazy second I imagine tripping and this machine behind me, made out of arctic, centuries-distilled rage and a more immediate desire for vengeance will simply grind right over me on its way to clash with Narakasura.

Even Delphine is here and although her face may be somewhat more remote, that does not reassure; she moves like some sort of spectre. She wouldn't grind over me – I'd have to be made out of something that could effect her enough to impede her momentum - but her power seems less in check; it reaches out restlessly like so many ghostly serpents searching for something to latch onto, and she floats through the mass like a sentient – if barely living - blade. I don't think I'd like her so much as touching me the way she is now.

I'm expecting to have to pipe up and defend my right to help them rescue Lucien (since I'm not entirely convinced that I didn't have a hand in putting him in harm's way) or at the very least to supplicate to be allowed to tag along. Instead, upon arriving at a small terrace off of a cozy sitting room I never set eyes on at the end of the library, and our company has come to a halt under the moonlight; Lief extends his gloved hand to me silently. I take it and step into him, and we're aloft and hurtling towards the river and a bridge at the west end of town, to rescue one of our number and make whatever has him pay for anything that has been done to our leader without any further need for words. I shiver not from the cold but from being part of this unstoppable force that is so united and so ruthless in its purpose. One that moves so swiftly towards what waits.

Thawing

I get him over the step, and onto the shower floor, propping him up against the seat.

I grab his feet and turn him slowly so that he's angled towards the faucet and I reach up to turn the water on. I'm shaking. It might be partly my body's reaction to holding onto a block of ice, or maybe it's the screaming dread I have as I imagine him shattering like some porcelain figurine if he falls over.

I realize the water will hit him like bullets right in the face and upper chest, so I angle the shower head against the wall first and let the warm water slide down the wall and around him, until I can get the tattered blue blanket off of him; it must have frozen right to him sometime between the river and my car.

I had the heat on full blast in my car and still, it had stuck fast to a body coated in a layer of ice, and yet otherwise deprived of all moisture. Body – God! er Goddess! - what they'd done to my Lucien! They'd taken his humanity, his mobility, that animation of his face and body, his, his... his grace; it was gone, sucked away by the cold.

Now, he's so still with such white limned features as to be unrecognizable. He is some caricature of himself like you get at the fair. But nothing as lighthearted as that. He has no pulse now; he's died a mortal death and likely more than one. But there is supposed to be somebody real in there, trying to get out, trying to come back to me, who had tried to get out from under ice lying like the door of a bank vault over the black water.

I can see smooth places, where the colour is deeper, there on Lucien's forehead, the heel of his right hand, where he's pressed against the bitter glass of his tomb, trying to escape before he lost all feeling in his limbs, and then lost consciousness.

I feel my lips peel back in a snarl, and for a moment I see red, imagining what I'll do when I get my hands on these nameless them, these things who support this Narakasura. Lief and the others didn't know too much about the bat creatures, and so far my research hasn't touched on them. According to Colette it would have been the bat things that brought some power to bear which helped the water freeze so quickly after Lucien went in. The river was moving sluggishly further downstream. And it was the same shrieking nightmares who tried to keep him there, and tried to take his people apart when we arrived in order to do so. They looked like so many lumpy, misshapen pieces of stone work attached to the bridge at likely corners or hiding in the shadows underneath it... until they became aware of us.

We'd tracked him to the right part of the river from what I'd told Lief and what we'd found on the map, and discovering those fiends there waiting, helped us to be certain of his location. They had wings, and talons, and pinhole sized red glowing eyes whatever they were. Whatever causes their eyes to glow that way, whatever hellish plane of existence their eyes are portals to; it's a place that burns with a cold fire. A place where the very atmosphere would boil the flesh from the bones of anything not native to that plane and yet provide no scrap of life-giving heat. Anything unfortunate enough to find itself there would die freezing and burning at the same time. They were the apparitions from my nightmares and evidently Lucien's too. They flew up in a cloud and swarmed his would-be rescuers as we arrived. I wondered at the time what sort of wounds beings like that would inflict. Leave it to some immortal type to have some bizarre henchmen or legions of foul beings do their dirty work for them.

Keeping their hands clean, as if they still possess anything like a conscience; I mean how do the uber-baddies order mob-hit style killings in the first place?

Don't they realize they're hopelessly wrecked inside already? Their hands get just as bloody from a distance. It doesn't matter that this self-styled "Demon of Chaos" didn't lay hands directly on Lucien. It might have been better if he had.

Or is that the point?

Was he especially glad to injure my love with the freezing fire commanded by his minions?

Or is it that Lucien is somehow so far beneath him; he doesn't deign to involve himself personally? That's probably it. That's the only reason we were lucky enough to still have someone to rescue. Narakasura is so arrogant he believed he could just freeze Lucien into the river and hope to hold him there; that he didn't need to use fire or something sharp on his lone enemy, because we'd never be able to find Lucien in that place.

How long would he have left my love down there in the dark? It occurs to me, I'll frighten the daylights out of somebody just waking up to my angry countenance.

I jump and realize I am sitting in the same puddle of water as my poor frozen man is, and it is pretty cool but no longer icy. Perhaps now, I can remove that blanket and find some clues as to why he got like this.

How does anyone, even an insane vamp with a whole host of bad black flying things, get the drop on another centuries old vampire with a bunch of followers of his own?

His people weren't exactly forthcoming, the focus being on getting out of there before anyone noticed what we were doing down there on the banks of the river, in the dark. Lief didn't mention anything about why Lucien left or how it came to be that he went alone, and I couldn't find a way to ask that didn't sound accusatory or screw up the courage to ask anyway as we worked to locate him.

Had I caused some rift between Lucien and his people by poisoning them? Sure, they didn't blame me; I'm just some bumbling mortal girl... but Lucien – he is their leader and protector. They could have blamed him for bringing me into their home and their lives. Maybe blame would be possible for some, but not Lief.

So at the least Lucien should have had him right? Unless he went by himself on purpose. He snuck out so Lief couldn't go with him.

Why?! To see Lief safe of course, you know that much, Meagan. He did it to keep them all safe; it's what he does. I wonder how long he's been fighting this Narakasura.

I scan my memories to see if I can locate any of Lucien's from the treasury of impressions I've received from him so far, but I think he was concentrating on not giving me anything too frightening; there's nothing there about bats or this Narakasura guy. After I stole a piece of his madness to prove to him that I understood what he was trying to tell me; I can see how he would have wanted to give me nothing else but positive happy memories.

I haven't fooled myself into thinking that thawing him out will take any less than all night, so I figure I have some time on my hands and this is something to focus on, other than whether he'll wake up. Not for the first time I wish Shannon is here with me, or Jen, or my mom, or hell, anybody.

I grab a hold of a corner, and start trying to work the blanket off of him, and then finally getting a brainstorm of an idea; I stretch up, grab the shower wand and bring it down and train it on the folds of the blanket with one hand, and prize it off with the other. He looks fragile and small sitting there, unresponsive to my tugging and pulling, his knees still stuck upward, bent, the way he's been for two days, with no one to help him. The water is only lukewarm for now; I've had enough frostbite to know the electric burning sensation that comes when your flesh begins to thaw.

I've been trying not to concentrate on these immobile features, but now, this close, I can't resist gently bathing his cheeks, and hair, and trying not to graze his skin with my fingers. Not because it is wooden still, but because that hurts worst of all when feeling is returning. Assuming he is aware of anything at all right now. I need to help him, reach him inside this damnable shell somehow and heal him.

I lean forward and place a kiss just above his raven-wing brow, wondering as I do so, why, when he can't possibly feel the warmth yet, or if he can, it's lost in the all-over fire that will be claiming him. I concentrate on trying to pour all the gentle warmth and life-giving heat, and tender caring I can into that one kiss, and then I have a crazy image of my lips freezing to his forehead like the metal you don't stick your tongue on in winter.

Is this what hysteria feels like?

I find myself thinking it's been less than a week that I've known him, and I'm already falling apart to think I could lose him.

What if he doesn't wake up?

Oh God, what'll I do?

What if they were wrong to let me take him, and so was I? If I can't help him, my arrogance, my selfish need to be the one to take care of him will be the reason I never hear his voice again!

What if he's been down there too long?

Or I never again have him smiling down at me?

What if it's done something to him?

Something permanent?

How will I stand it, if I can't feel his mind brush mine again?

I reel back and sit down hard on the tile, the wand still in my hand, soaking my feet. A million nights over a cauldron in the moonlight couldn't have prepared me for this.

I stare dully for a second at my skin through my socks, and then I hear it!

Is that my Lucien, whose voice is pure seduction? It is barely a whisper, a croak, even in his mind, and it sounds like, "Here." And then no more, even though some part of me is screaming, pleading for more, to convince me that it wasn't my own imagination, driven by some instinct of self-preservation, as my neurons break down from corrosive terror.

I choose to believe it his him, (my imagination would have made him sound healthier) and I turn up the water a little, to truly warm and begin playing it across his upper body. I would still find it too cool to shower in, but I have to go easy on his tortured form.

I scoot my butt over, and slide my legs under Lucien's back, so it is me holding him instead of the front of the seat, since I'm theoretically softer than marble and tile, and I wrap my arms around him from behind, my left arm tightly, and my right hand still aiming the stream of warm water down the front of him. There are tears in his clothing as though something sharp was dragged through the fabric in many places. There is no sign of blood though and I wonder if Narakasura's bats did this. There is a split that runs down the length of one sleeve, and as nearly as I can tell, still no sign of the wound it must have caused.

With my left hand I begin trying to undo his shirt, and I wish the downstairs bathroom weren't under construction so I could put him in the tub, where he would have been properly immersed. I try to press as much of my own heat through his back and around his shoulders as I can, and I replay the struggle to get him here in my head.

The others, his friends, companions, doesn't matter what you call them – alright, be nice - just because you're upset they couldn't give you any more answers - they're good people - were locked for hours in battle with those banshee-gargoyles trying to save someone we all love.

As Angus and Connor helped the others to their feet, and assessed their wounds, Lief and Rafe helped me pull Lucien out after those things had fled shrieking into the night. They flew us back to the mansion and then acted as though that were all that was necessary. They were off to research other ways to make war on these minions of Narakasura, and dress their own wounds. Now don't get me wrong, nothing appeared life threatening but every injury seemed painful. Oh and instead of the usual if-looks-could-kill glare, Meredith even seemed content with me taking him. I guess helping to find him had earned me respite from her venomous attempts to frighten me off.

They let us go with barely a word, except to ask if I could make it home without help and to warn me of the already painfully obvious, no hospitals.

Really?

You mean they might have a problem with a guy with no pulse or heart rate?

And they might have an issue with his total dearth of i.d. or health card?

Or wonder how he came to be in the river, and somehow not dead yet in spite of lacking vital signs, and not pressing charges against anyone? I suppose they'd spent a lot longer than I'd been alive trying to stay alive themselves and off of everybody's radar. And I should be grateful for the fact they hadn't just cut me out of everything. Lief hadn't needed to call me or they could have left me at the mansion... it's not as though I could have forced the issue.

Had I earned it by charging to the bumbling rescue like I had? Once we'd landed and Lief had warned me back from the battle, I'd more or less stepped in anyway, and used what modest amount I'd learned of the Goddess to ask her to slow them down, make things harder for Narakasura's minions to hurt Lucien's people. Unable to do a lot otherwise but wait through the fight and then while they chopped through the ice. Otherwise, I wasn't much use while they shoveled and strained against the weight of ice, and slushy snow - and then they'd more or less handed him to me and stepped back.

Or had Lucien said something to them before he disappeared?

What had he said exactly? I wasn't sure if I was cool with that.

What did they think of me, that I had the boss telling them to listen to me or something? Just because I was supposedly Tia and Frieda's Lady didn't mean I knew the first thing about leading them, or even that I had any right to. Or he could've only said something about trusting me; that he did, so he'd appreciate it if they did too. Or maybe they followed Lief's lead. I so need to find a really wonderful woman for him. But I don't know why he, or Lucien, or anyone would trust me with anything.

I'm still pretty close to useless when it comes to this supernatural stuff, whatever anyone else thinks, and what little I could have accomplished might have backfired disastrously again.

So what would I have done if I'd come face to face with old Nary-scary anyway?

Slain him with sarcasm? All I'd managed to do for Lucien is to run to Lief with tales of nightmares and vague impressions of darkness, and ice and water.

Maybe that's why Lucien hadn't told me where he'd gone. Why he'd cut me out of his life so completely. He thought he was protecting me. Maybe he knew I'd find a way to get myself directly in the middle of it, in danger; in fact be a complete liability to him. And be unable to do anything to help any of his people who'd feel obligated through him, to guard me.

Maybe they turned him over to me so easily because they knew he'd really truly be all right?

All I'd be doing for him is making him comfortable while he inevitably recuperated?

How could they be so sure that Narakasura and his bat wraiths wouldn't attack me while I was driving alone with my Lucien snowman?

Lief helped me to get Lucien into the back of my car; and it was Connor who put the blanket around my love and it was Angus who gave me a number to call if I needed anything. They're definitely the most human of Lucien's people, but none of them were offering any explanations about how he managed to get himself like this, or why they were amenable to me taking him. Maybe they thought both answers were obvious, or maybe as human as they can be they just don't think like mortals all of the time.

When I got home, I didn't think I'd make it up here with him, but between how stiff he was, and scared I was; he seemed pretty light. Considering the strength and the age within him, I must have been expecting him to be massy and nearly immovable. At the very least he's got a minimum of sixty pounds on me, usually. I think he weighed less than I did when I carried him to my bathroom from the car. Part of it was that he was so dry. Just desiccated, as though he were a voodoo doll made to represent himself. Strangely, there were no bite marks I could see; no wounds of any kind.

But what happens to a vampire who is hungry enough, damaged enough, and without any source of life?

Nothing to feed on? From what I'd read so far on vampires, it seemed as though if exhausted to a certain point, a vampire's body would naturally begin to drain moisture through his very skin just to try to stay alive.

And what happens when he's encased in ice, so he can't absorb any moisture to help himself, even though he's surrounded in it?

Where does the moisture come from? Wherever it came from, he wasn't getting enough and my Lucien was distressingly insubstantial. I nearly called Lief dozens of times to tell him there'd been some sort of mistake; that Narakasura had put one over on us and made us take home some evil doppelganger that would crawl down my stairs upside-down like in 'The Exorcist' and try to eat me or something.

But I just lifted and bumped him down again one step at a time, to get him up the stairs, telling myself that he stayed somewhat conscious in solid ice which would definitely have killed him if he was mortal and he'd be himself again if I had enough faith in him.

Now I finally manage to remove his shirt, and start to work on his belt buckle. He's so gaunt, starved looking, but there still don't seem to be any wounds. Maybe it's just as well, that I couldn't put him in the tub, he would have been harder to hold upright. He would have bobbed around like a buoy on the lake.

I bite down on a deranged giggle.

What is the matter with me? He is less rigid than when I first wrestled him in here and now there is nothing but me to hold his precious form straight as we sit simultaneously in the puddle of water and under a stream of it. With one arm against the smooth skin of his bare chest, and the other tugging at his clothing further down, it feels more like some sort of shower seduction, than a rescue. And with that thought I have another. If he's in there, part of him, maybe a part that's not in agony can feel me.

And I wonder if he can feel this, and I turn my head a little and lay my lips against his ear; some of the shorter sable curls at the back of his neck tickling my nose.

I pull his earlobe into my mouth between my teeth, and warm it with firm strokes of my tongue. He has perfect ears and I've wanted to do this almost since I met him.

I search his profile for some clue this is penetrating to wherever he is inside this fragile Lucien-shell I'm holding, and then his eyes open!

Those gorgeous lashes lift slowly, mechanically, and I ask him in my mind, "You liked that?" I get a wave of heat, lust, and gratitude back, but before he can stop it; pain. What he felt must have been me enjoying him, because there was no way what his body was feeling was anything other than purest agony. But he is more aware inside, more Lucien.

The mental contact must have helped him somehow – have I sent him some of my energy?

I gently, oh so gently, touch his mind again, and even that slight touch makes him retreat, as it brings him to a greater awareness of his physical self. Tears sting my eyes.

Steeling myself, I delve deeper and grab hold of him inside, that self I guess that is Lucien, and then before his inside voice can begin to cry out and retreat from the rush of throbbing, tearing pain bearing down on him (his body's reaction to extensive freezer burn), I change its direction, aiming the tumult at me, and send him a 'thumbs up' before I am submerged.

The stolen flames that consume me darken my vision on their way through and send insects swarming across it in glowing crimson, gold and teal green, and I hope that I've taken all of it from him because I can't imagine there is any more left. If I haven't; then at least he doesn't have to endure this alone.

A clang sound lets me know I've hit my head off the glass wall of the shower, and I stifle that momentary pain too, dragging myself upright again, and I try to send him back all the remembered pleasure a hot shower holds for me instead; quick flashes as my concentration just isn't up to more.

How do I keep massively unpleasant appropriated sensory input from him while imparting the memory of something healthy and pleasant to him? It's a skill I've never had to use before, and although the volume dedicated to feeding mentioned 'energy transference,' it never covered anything like this.

I give him days at the beach, like he accidentally gave me after we first met, or rather when I met him, and body surfing, riding the waves back to the shore. I try hot bubble baths, the electric blanket on my bed in winter, and hot chocolate after I've shoveled the driveway.

I even give him the hotness of the gas fireplace through my jeans on my butt when I've been trying to get warm all day, and the gradual heat that wafts up out of the furnace vent and toasts my feet through my slippers if I stand on the grate.

If I can give him everything good about heat, getting warm, being warm, without any pain, maybe his consciousness will - I don't know, wake up more?

Come to the surface and see about getting the rest of him warm and whole again?

Direct his healing and accept the heat pouring over him?

Just come up to a more permanent place, so I know it won't go away again? My lower jaw trembles. Don't cry stupid, you'll never manage this if you do!

I fight to hold the searing ruthless force down somewhere, where he can't feel it, can't know I have it, or that if he knows I do, doesn't realize how bad it is. If he launches a struggle to take it back, I don't know that I can stop him. I've never done anything like this before, and dammit, it freakin well hurts! I might be pansy enough to let him have this dreadful fire back. I'd better not be that sort of coward I tell myself. For two days and nights he was trapped under the ice, in the ice, locked within it, dying by inches and just aware enough to feel it happening; and all of that is now coming in a torrent at me. And with it the crawling, itching, shriveling pain of frostbite all over his body, as feeling and circulation return.

*

I don't know what time has passed, my head aches and I am curled forward against the back of his left shoulder. I am otherwise free of pain and the relief is so intense I get a wave of dizziness. My fingers are cramped with holding onto the shower wand, and – gasp – his left shoulder!

After all that, have I hurt my dear man anyway?

I pull my hand away leaving white marks in the flesh, but even as I upbraid myself for causing him more pain, I'm thrilled to feel that his shoulder and upper arm are much softer than before. His body is still frighteningly cold, but it is fuller somehow, the muscles the right shape and size. The water is still warm and Lucien leans slumped to the right against the tiled wall of the shower.

I crabwalk back and left a bit, until I'm leaning left on his left side, legs still stuck out behind him though, in case he falls. I no longer feel like an ember under over-enthusiastic bellows, but he doesn't seem to have pain either.

Is he hiding it from me?

Warmer

I've left the wand in his lap, so my right arm is free to pull him away from the wall toward me, where I can see his face.

His eyes are open, and oh! They turn to mine, and they sparkle, and then darken as they have before for me. And it's not with suppressed agony as I start to fear, but appreciation! His eyes move slowly; he must be exhausted, and now he's staring at me as if he's never seen me before. Wait.

Is his mind all right?

"Lucien, are you ok?"

"Are you you – do you know me?"

"Are you all there – whole?" His face doesn't move yet but what I get, on a Christmas morning when I'm little and unwrap what I've wanted all year, his chuckle in my mind, rich and right and sexy and warm.

In the wringing relief that immediately follows, an ache comes and I don't know if it is his wish or mine, but I kiss him; his frozen face and motionless lips. I kiss him anyway, and I hear him in my mind calling me angel, and laughing at me, and wanting me.

Lucien's lips move under mine now, and soon he is kissing me back, and suddenly something is crushing me, pinning me to his chest, and I can barely breathe and I really don't care. I think it's his left arm, and I can feel him shaking, fine tremors that are involuntary; he's about as flexible as the Tin Man (before Dorothy finds the oil can).

I want to revel in the feel of him and the indomitable strength of his arm flattening me to him, but I grope backwards for the tap and fumble it to as hot as it will go. The warm has already begun to run out, so with the hot water at the max, we have a few glorious seconds of heat welling up between us from the shower wand, and from inside us as we cling to each other and kiss again and again.

Lucien begins to shake uncontrollably, harder than he was, before the hot water has a chance to finish running out. He needs more than warm water, and passion, so I turn the faucet off, and try to help him stand. It is like watching a praying mantis unfold, so stiff and brittle are his movements.

He must have lost his shoes in the river, and suddenly it's painful to breathe; I'm going to cry.

I glance up, and let my breath out in a thankful rush; he is reassuringly towering over me again. Maybe I'll cry later, I think as I swallow the rock in my throat back down somewhere.

Leaning against the wall, a perfect white mannequin wearing Europe's latest fashion from the waist down; he breathes slowly but with some effort, as though just standing up has cost him any energy he had left.

He lets me help him shuck his water heavy pants, then I peel off his socks, and I stand again to brace him as he steps out of the pile of wet clothes.

He gently takes my arms for balance, and I can't help it; I lean into him instead of helping him, and begin to kiss his chest, and then to lick the water drops from him. He is freezing and getting colder, he is most probably miserable and he needs to be dry and wrapped in blankets and drinking something hot. And I stop him and make him stand there while I indulge myself on his body!

What is wrong with me?

I put my forehead against his chest to pull back a bit and catch my breath, but he doesn't resume trying to step out of his clothes again.

Lucien sways forward a touch until his chest and upper stomach bump me, and I gaze up into eyes that are black with needing me to do it again.

Was that his thought or mine?

"Please," I hear him say, and it's both of our thoughts and I do do it again, and I trail lips and tongue over his frozen nipples; coaxing circulation to return and changing them from purple to pink. I lick down over his abs, sucking the water from his body like a two-scoop ice cream cone before it can melt on me. I ache and I burn to taste all of him, to unite my body with Lucien's in the most profound way two people can, to bruise my body hammering against his over and over again.

And suddenly I have to catch myself on the seat, and guide myself to sit down. I am too hot all at once.

Is this what they call a swoon?

Am I swooning, like in a romance novel? It's so much sensation and so frighteningly fast.

Can I be feeling what he feels too?

"Yes", he rasps through his teeth, groping blindly down the wall with his left hand to take mine. His eyes are closed and his breathing sounds painfully irregular.

I use the wall to help me up so I don't pull on him, and stand before him, suddenly shy.

He places his hands gently on my shoulders and steps out of the clothes puddle on the floor.

My eyes travel back up him, and I imagine us in my bed, the pale length of him arced above me, and I have to grab the handle of the shower door so I don't fall down.

Lucien's eyes go blue-black once more and he steps toward me so swiftly I don't have time to do the right thing and get out of the way; he is on me, around me, his damp hair sliding forward to cloak me in his scent, and he is murmuring words so impossibly sweet, I've never dreamed I could hear them from anyone, ever. I feel giddy laughter, and tears inside, and I want to wrap myself around my darling forever and never let go.

Then, "You are getting me warmer – you're giving me your energy I think - and I'm sure drier will take care of itself."

And he starts nibbling from my ear down my neck, and makes it to my shoulder before I have another conscious thought.

I'm about to say something, maybe tell him we need to get him warmer, when he suddenly lifts me against the glass wall of the shower, and I'm amazed for a second at his strength.

Wasn't he just having trouble getting a breath?

Is he getting better that fast, or have I really given him that much of my energy, my life force or whatever that book on feeding called it?

Hmm, maybe this is um, therapeutic? My body is begging me to wrap my legs around him but he is still very cool to the touch, and I can't imagine he is done hurting for the night.

"We need to get you into blankets," I tell him regretfully.

"Hmm, yes, yes we do," he says, setting me down and dropping kisses across the top of my breasts through my now transparent shirt.

"That's not what I meant."

He grins at me shamelessly, and I'm laughing up at him even as I try to be serious. Dark hair hangs over his eyes and trails over the alabaster skin of his chest.

His full lips part and he is going to kiss me again, so I twist in his arms and dive for the stack of towels under the sink.

I turn and toss one at him, "Some demon-vampire guy almost killed you Lucien!" And I am instantly sorry as the colour and animation flees from his face. "We have to figure out what's going on, or you have to tell me please," I continue in a softer tone. Trying not to look at him, I go on; "We need to get you warm, and make sure you can stay that way, even when I'm not touching you."

I'm pulling my own wet socks off so I don't slip and kill myself; I can change the rest of my clothes later.

"And maybe you can explain to me just how you ended up fighting that guy alone..." I mutter under my breath. Maybe I am upset with his people. You have no right to be Meagan; you understand nothing and even less of it is any of your business.

In fact you still haven't apologized to him for what you did to him, have you?

He sighs in what I take for agreement or maybe contrition as he towels off his hair, and I grab another towel to wrap around his waist. Oops, that was silly.

As I'm briskly rubbing down his belly, back and upper legs, his arms descend; the towel I gave him stretched taut, coming between the door and me, and pulling me into him.

I go gladly, I admit, but the wracking shivers begin and all he can do is shake.

"I'm s-s-sorr-ry, mayb-be you were right."

"I want you where I can see you; can you make it downstairs?"

I have to grab at the frame of the door as we leave the bathroom together as I think again of him in my bed. Not the time for that kind of thinking, Meagan. He'd just let it all go if you let him. It's up to you to bring up what you did.

His teeth are chattering so hard he not only can't talk, I'm a bit worried they'll break.

He manages to nod and we make it down a couple of stairs, and then he sways and starts to pitch forward. He is a foot taller than I, and it seems like it is all upper body.

I shift down one step and over in front of him, turning and reaching up to catch him, but then his knees begin to buckle, and it's even money whether we're both going down the stairs in a painful, runaway snowball or not.

Finally I just end up hugging him around the waist (which might have been more interesting at any other time), and I ease him gently down onto the steps.

He smiles gratefully at me, which comes out more of a grimace with his teeth chattering like the Trident commercial wind-up teeth with feet, and I step between his knees to hug him. So far, mental contact has made him take a more active role in his healing, and physical contact has allowed for "energy transference" and it's distracted him from his pain; and I want an excuse to touch him again.

I imagine myself radiating heat from head to toe like a giant curling iron, and I kneel one step down from him and hug my dear vampire-sicle as tightly as I can.

He can't do a lot to help me; he is shaking so hard, so I start kissing him, across the silky smoothness of his shoulder, up his neck, and it becomes nibbling.

Then I get to go for his earlobe once more; grateful beyond words that I have him to hold again.

I tell him so, in our minds, and a sob works its way up inside me; how close I came to losing him.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't realize what was happening to you, what had happened to you, I should have known, oh my love I'm so sorry. I don't know what I would have done..."

Now I am weeping; my tears dripping hot down his shoulder. He is still so cold.

"You couldn't have known my darling, I shielded from you all of it for as long as I could. You had no way of knowing – how could you? It was all still so new – this thing – our telepathy, vampires, and the Purging? What were you to do with all of that? A moment to breathe to think, it must have been something of a relief..."

"No! Never! It was like dying myself, having you gone."

"Angel..."

"I thought I'd done something wrong; that I'd hurt you and your friends – I thought I'd killed you Lucien with that stupid Blood Feast, and I'm so sorry-"

"Don't-"

"I had no idea it would hurt you – any of you, and I wasted time being angry with you for not telling me what I'd done, pretending I was better off, and then being angry with myself for nearly killing you all, and the whole time you were actually dying. And then when the nightmares started-"

"What? His tremors have abated somewhat, so I can feel Lucien jerk back in surprise.

"I kept dreaming I was freezing to death. Sometimes it was that I was smothering, and one or two were even that I was drowning. I've had them before when I've had pneumonia, but I'm not even sick now and it was so dark, and strange." My voice breaks again, and I whimper some more, and sniffle in his ear. Gross.

"In my nightmares, no matter how bad, even the ones where I can't breathe, I usually am somewhere familiar and even safe, like my own pool in our backyard, when I was a kid. This was just so mysterious, and unlike anything I'd experienced before."

I pull back so I'm not in danger of snotting on him, and try to find a Kleenex or something in my pocket.

I also let myself weep a little more at thought of him down there in the dark without me.

"It dawned on me, that you might be in trouble and trying to call for help, but maybe you didn't want certain people, or things, to hear you, or maybe you just weren't conscious. So I asked Lief when he called, and he admitted you were gone, a-a-and he didn't know where! I went over and he got me to tell him details about the riverbank and some bits of scenery, like the bridge and the exit ramp."

Lucien is staring at me again as if he has never seen me before, but I am focusing on the fact that he's completely stopped shivering for the moment.

I look up to his face in delight, and I find there a promise, an intention to do everything carnal with me that we've wanted since we met.

My mouth goes completely dry. Oh baby!

Wait; is he going to be ok now?

Or will he begin to refreeze, as soon as I stop trying to heal him, or warm him? Ok girl, be responsible, get him wrapped up and something hot into him; then jump his bones.

"Wait, one for the road?" he asks me as he reaches for me.

"Hmm, let me think about this," I tell him, grinning through salt-stiffened features.

"I need some more therapy," he says laughing, as he leans in. His lips meet mine and I'm quite sure he's going to climb right inside me and get warm that way. And that's ok; I want him as close to me as possible, inside me, filling me up with all of his strength, his humor, and his love.

I ache from somewhere at the centre of me outward, and this grows and sharpens suddenly to something that rolls over any other purpose, as he groans for me.

It is the prettiest music, and I sigh softly, and I hear it again in response, deeper, rougher, like his control is coming undone. Like he will lose it and simply ravish me, right here on the stairs...

Every bit of my body is tight and yet more relaxed than I can remember being at the same time. There is nowhere on the planet I'd rather be, and the air in my lungs is coming in shuddery bursts from emotion spent, and the anticipation of more to come.

When I realize how little I want him to retain his self-control; I start to go limp and my foot slips off a step, but I don't have a chance to fall as his arms tighten around me.

The spell is... not broken, but paused. Clearer headed, I pull back, stand up, and take his hand to help Lucien to his feet.

We make it to the bottom of the stairs without further mishap, and at some point a game plan has formed in my foggy, punch-drunk brain.

I get Lucien to have a seat in the living room, and drag the heavy, soft throw off the loveseat and put it over him; tucking it in around his shoulders and under his legs stretched out over the ottoman.

"Stay put," I tell him with a smirk, as I dodge his attempt to reel me into his lap, and I turn the lamp on beside him. Even if he hasn't died of hypothermia in the river like a mortal would've, he's exhibited the other symptoms of extreme chill and frostbite.

He'll be fighting the battle to get permanently warm, one round at a time, for probably the rest of the night, right? Since I'm not about to let him go anywhere but here before he's recuperated, he'll be lodging on my loveseat once I get it made up for him. As for my bed, I won't go there; even in my mind – it'll just give my ravenous man – and maybe me too - ideas.

I'll make up a comfy nest in the living room for him, so I run up the stairs to get clean sheets and a blanket out of the linen closet, and the electric blanket off of my bed. Ravenous, hnnuh.

An idea comes to me that has me clutching at the linen closet door, and I quickly squash it before Lucien overhears it. That would be something to get him warm, and somehow the usual panic that accompanies thoughts like this one is missing; instead, it gets me warm – very warm indeed.

On my way back downstairs, I pursue the thought down a different track.

Why did Lief and the others let me have him?

Wouldn't he have been better off if he'd gone home to be with his friends? He said he was stronger with them.

Or is there some vampire code that showing weakness gets one set on by other vamps? That doesn't sound like any of the people I've met in Lucien's home... but then I wasn't expecting quite the reaction I got in Lief's kitchen to The Blood Feast either. Maybe it just goes to show you never know, especially with immortals.

So Lief has gone with the others to throw off any suspicions of how weakened Lucien is?

That fits with the wonderful friend Lief seems to be to Lucien, but I also haven't read anything like that about vampires so far either. Something else to research. Besides they were all more or less on hand when we pulled him out. I don't know how Lief and Rafe could have concealed Lucien's condition.

So what can I feed him? There's nothing but mourning doves and squirrels.

Would something that wretched even do anything for him? My mind boggles at the idea of trying to come up with a way to catch anything for him, and I don't think he or I would like to consider him feeding on one. Lief must have known I'd have some trouble finding anything else to feed Lucien.

Did he mean for me to wear him down somewhat?

Have we deliberately been left alone with one another, while Lucien tries to recuperate, so I can work my feminine wiles on him, and overcome all of that tragedy with Catherine? Yeah, right.

Be Careful What You Wish For?

I get to the bottom of the stairs and find to my horror Lucien; his every muscle straining, holding himself rigid, tendons in his neck corded, his beautiful face contorted with fighting against wracking shudders again.

I throw the linens down and launch myself at him, crawling under the throw, against the towel, and wrap as much of myself around him as possible. Wait, my clothes are soaked.

I frantically tear them off, until I'm down to bra and panties, and yank the supposedly damp towel out from under him. My wet clothes were warmer to the touch than he is, and where the towel was, isn't clammy.

In fact, the towel was pretty dry, wasn't it? He's pulling fluids again even in the depths of cold. His body is still so wrecked inside.

A wail builds inside me, and the only thing stopping it is I'm beginning to notice his shudders aren't as violent as they were. I think. I thought he'd come right apart with quakes that would have shattered the spine of a mortal. Either he's exhibiting more of that superhuman self-discipline, or he's getting warmer again.

I try not to disturb the throw as I wriggle up higher in the chair and smooth my exertion warmed hands up over his chest.

I peer into the face that has become the sun my world orbits, my fingers fitting into the hollow of his throat, and then sliding up the sides of his neck, to clasp his jaw, and tangle in his already dry curls.

The muscles in his face and neck are still cramping in response to chill only he can feel, even when I grasp for his mind with mine. I realize he's shielding his thoughts from me, protecting me, even through this.

Tears sting my eyelids again, and I gather my feet under me in the chair beside him for leverage, and I kiss him. I imagine the hottest heat pouring down inside him from me. Molten metal in a factory to be poured into a mould, to make a shining Lucien statue. We'd just crack this frozen shell with one blow, and a golden living figurine would get up and walk around and live, and never feel cold again.

The original half-frozen plaster of paris one is kissing me back and smiling up at me with his eyes sparkling happily, and I have a second to gasp in surprise before his arm is snaking out from under the throw, and fastening me against him like the safety bar on a roller-coaster ride. He's all right again. I guess I just can't go too far yet. I can't say I'm displeased with this aspect of Lucien's recovery.

I have to get some hot fluids into him, but first...

There is precious little between us in the way of clothing, and feeling just a teensy bit brazen I slide into his lap and straddle his hips with my knees.

I hook my wrists behind his neck, as Lucien tucks the throw up around us with one arm at a time, always leaving the other one locked around me.

While he's distracted, I begin somewhere in the middle of his chest, kissing, licking, grazing him with my teeth, and by the time I reach his throat, he is shuddering but not with chill.

I can feel his body responding to me, and I have an image suddenly that's so powerful, of making love to him, right here, our bodies entwined under the throw; that it has me biting him, harder than I intended.

"Meagan-angel, God! Please!" It's a shout, which shakes the room and quivers down my spine, sending this wild ache through me. I have no idea where I am, and I'm so dizzy I'm glad for his arms to keep me from falling.

I race up his throat, his neck, to that impossibly delicious, tender skin below his ear.

I suck hard on his earlobe, hoping some of this lovely passion translates through his flesh to shoot through the length of him like lightning, too.

The thought is enough and whether it's a conscious act on his part or not, I can now feel what he's feeling, and it's going to consume us both. I'm burning up, so is he, and there isn't a trace of perspiration between us! His damaged body is still straining to find enough moisture to heal itself.

The idea I had upstairs comes back and as our minds are joined he's there to hear it.

What if I let Lucien drink... from me? Let me heal him now, and maybe fix what happened centuries ago?

I'm not in his arms anymore, I'm sitting on the ottoman and it is skidding across the floor to crash into the far wall under the window narrowly missing my Christmas tree. The jarring of my frame causes me to rock back, and my feet to come down on the parquet floor, hard. I'm cold and trying to breathe around the shock pressing on my chest. Lucien is staring at me, and now the lack of recognition is not a good thing. His already white face is incandescent with incredulous fury.

I'm too much of a coward to reach out and touch the rage that must be in his mind, so I try to tell him, "I don't understand."

It comes out a pathetic whimper and I clench my jaw as hard as I can, so I can't blubber. I'm already having trouble breathing; my chest really hurts around a solid weight in it. I've told him I understand about Catherine and I don't blame him, and I know I can go through losing my mind just this once since it's an emergency. He's so angry.

My hands are clenched, and not really analyzing it, I wad the throw up and hurl it at him, and shove my fists between my knees to stop them shaking. I'm sitting there just gasping like a fish, and blinking back tears.

He's going to try to explain, and I'm too hurt to listen, and even if what he has to say now has any merit; I can't just sit here, waiting for him, helplessly wanting him to make it right. Ugh!

I spring up and busy myself making up the loveseat not even checking to see if he's replaced the throw over himself.

I'm smoothing the bottom sheet along and tucking it down the edges of the cushions more tightly, and trying not to look over my shoulder at him, when I become aware of how quiet it is behind me.

I glance over against my will and he's gone out of the chair, and I spin around in a panic thinking I've driven him right out of my house and into the night. And in his state!

Ack! He's standing in front of me as I complete my three-sixty, and he is giving me a full-on fangy snarl.

I jump and squeak; I squeak! and I instinctively punch him hard in the chest and begin to lurch away.

My higher brain functions kick in, and I stop but now I'm glowering right back into that fang-face, because I'm angry that it's already bothering me that I hit him; I mean he scared the hell out of me. I should have hit him. The anger helps me overcome my remorse right away, and I feed it. I like rage better; it's warmer and I feel stronger – less shaky. Not only do I let myself be angry that he scared me; I'm getting angrier. I'm about to tell him just what I think of him, and how does he dare; when he, well, speaks I guess... a sibilant challenge that ends in a whip-crack. "Be careful what you wish for."

I stare at him.

"What?"

I start to laugh; I can't help it.

"Are you kidding me?" There is an even mix of hilarity, rage, and despair in it, and maybe I'm getting hysterical again.

I begin poking him in the chest as I begin to tell him what's wrong with him, or his thinking lately. More rage than the other two, definitely.

"You start sending me visions." Poke.

"You start courting me, for all intents and purposes." Poke.

"You whisk me away to teach me all about vampires, and have me meet all your friends." Poke, poke.

"You give me all of your secrets, and let me try to comfort you over them." Poke.

"You scare the hell out of me with this Purging thing, and I find out with a few cryptic words, long distance, that I haven't managed to kill you or your friends." Hands flat on his chest, clenching and unclenching. That one was partly my fault anyway and I'm not sure if I get to be angry with him over how he handled it.

"Then you drop me like a f***ing hot potato, so you can go up against some big bad thing all by yourself, nearly get dead anyway, and make me wonder again if I'd killed you after all." Three jabs successively harder.

"And after all of that, when I help them rescue you and all I want is to do the most logical thing I can think of, to help you – to stop you from suffering; you go all fangy-scary-pissed off at me." Instead of poking him again, I just fend off his hands as he brings them up to hold me, or something.

"Be careful what you wish for? That's what you call an answer? You will explain yourself to me properly, you, you, argh, you jack-ass you!" I want to call him something far worse but even now he's got that wondering expression on his face again, vulnerable and young.

"And you don't get to look like that at me either," and even to myself I sound petulant, but realizing that only makes me angry some more.

"Not after you..." and all I can do is stand there, gulping in air, possibly heading towards hyperventilation, which would be humiliating. I've got images of skidding across the floor on the ottoman again; only in my mind it sounds even louder scraping along the floor than it probably was. Dammit, he can explain to my back while I do something with my hands or I'm going to hit him again or bawl. And I'm not the type of person to solve anything by hitting people, especially people that feel like hitting velvet-covered concrete. And I won't bawl. I won't. My right hand is throbbing but it was a nice square-knuckled punch and nothing seems broken.

I begin to turn, to head out to the kitchen and maybe make him some hot chocolate or something, but he's caught me by the left wrist, halting me.

"You read the last tome, obviously. Do you still stand by your original assessment?"

I pause. I don't think I'm trying to hurt him with it; it just takes me a moment to switch gears from hostile to reassuring, and part of me is angry I have to do so.

"Yes." I sound sullen, even to myself. "Didn't I tell you that in your kitchen?" Ok, that's not clearing anything up, Meagan. You told him you didn't blame him for what happened to her but you didn't tell him you'd be any stronger or that it would work out this time for us. "I'm not her, Lucien. I won't break, and I won't blame you for my own actions."

"It does not matter what you think." I don't know what he was expecting me to say, but saying this in return hurts. I've tried so hard to understand what that obscure little message of his meant, in the book; to read between the lines and really know what he went through. And make it better for him.

"Fine." And I try to leave again, and he is crushing me to him, kissing me, seeking to pour love and tenderness down into me as I did for him ages ago – five minutes ago. I'm standing under a waterfall after days in the desert, and I almost start drinking it all down. No! It does not matter what he feels I think feeling petty and stomping on that feeling. I shove him back as hard as I can, and I succeed in budging him maybe two inches. Good enough.

"Why did you bother, Lucien?" He's got a fierce grip on both of my upper arms, which loosens as he blinks down at me.

'What?"

"You didn't want anyone in your life, complicating it. Why'd you even bother looking?"

I fold my arms across my chest. I'm standing in my living room in my underwear and that's not what has me quaking.

"Why daydream about me, huh?"

Hell, I'm starting to cry. My arms aren't holding body heat in, and they're failing utterly at stopping the waterworks too.

"And why in the hell did you come looking for me a second time in that God damned coffee shop?"

The tears are pouring down my face and my nose is running.

"Why, oh why did you let me love your friends, well, at least most of them, and then have one toss me out?" Why was it him, I want to ask.

Why was my first time flying not with you? But I'm not aiming to put some guilt trip on him, and things were a tad beyond his control at that point. I can just see our lives together – such as they will be – in which I'm always on the outside looking in; never his confidant, never his partner, or his helpmeet. I'll be so much baggage to him that he'll have to decide if it's worth the bother of dragging after him.

I swipe uselessly at my face, and then lean past him awkwardly to the Kleenex box on the coffee table.

What I say next is a bit more intelligible but my voice sounds thick; "Why'd you care what I thought, God, why'd you let me love you, if you were never going to trust me to handle anything you were going through? I mean what – what am I, really, to you Lucien, that you can cut me out of your life so completely? Like you don't even care – like it doesn't even hurt you." And I start to sob in earnest, and I can't breathe and I'm still striving not to make any noise. I hate it when I cry. I stare downward and away so I'm not sniveling right at him. "Why can't you trust me to give you more than you were given before? If you're so sure I'm going to turn out to be the same as her, why love me? Have I already hurt you; because you trusted me – what I made for you, and it hurt you? Is it because you trusted me, and I hurt the people who trusted you?" Maybe I deserve all of this after all. Fooling around with magic and the lives of immortals like it was some game.

And if it's all downhill after this as he comes to realize he can't trust me? There'll come a time when he feels he has to end it. At least he – they'll be safer that way.

This time, when his arms go around me, I don't resist him. I haven't slept properly in days between the nightmares and mourning our relationship and then with worrying about what I might have done to him. And now that I know he's not going to die on me, learning that he's never going to trust me not to hurt him and his people or really want me to be fully in his life (or maybe even at all); I just don't have anything left. I'm exhausted, wrung right out. I can't move except to shake. I don't even care what he does with me. I tell myself I'm not going to fight him, no matter what he decides.

"Your act that night, was an act of love. And I will only remember it as such – as will they," he tells me firmly. He's so good and kind – even if it isn't true... but there's a 'but' coming; there always is, and I've earned it this time.

He picks me up, with the throw around both of us, and my head slips down his shoulder; leaving me staring sideways over his arm, and away from his face.

He sits down with me in his lap. A nice way to say goodbye; one breakup which will be a bitter-sweet memory, instead of just bitter.

And he begins to speak, to explain, and he doesn't insist that I look at him, and he doesn't attempt to force any further intimacy on me so he can feel better about the situation, and I find myself absently giving him points for that. He just holds me and pours his heart out to me.

"I never wanted to love another." He doesn't make reference to her, to his Catherine. It's too much for him, even now.

Why are we doing this?

It's over isn't it? I'll never be enough to heal him. And it doesn't look I'll be the one to get to try.

"For centuries, I've more or less succeeded. The odd pretty girl here or there over the years to take dancing, arrive at functions with – what is the expression? Arm candy?"

I'm so tired I'm starting to feel nauseous but I nod against his shoulder, and that's all I have to do.

"That moment on the subway – it – I... I hadn't seen such simple, easy, openhearted kindness in easily decades." There is movement, almost a shrug as he tries to articulate what he is thinking. I realize I'm glad we're using words. I just don't trust that emotionally charged endorphin saturated mental exchange we've been indulging in lately. It makes me feel good; too good for goodbye.

"I had to know if it was a fluke. You know if you were real. If you were really that kind; if people living in this time were really capable of such caring for one another." Sure, I can care. It just isn't always enough.

He stirs again, impatiently.

"We came here not long ago, to this city and took that house for our own. A simple thing, to convince the owners to leave and sell to the wealthy 'Euro-trash' as they thought of us." I get indignant on his behalf but I stay silent – he's finally telling me what I've needed to hear. It's something I'll replay when I'm trying to remember if he loved me.

"I spent some time just watching people and listening, and then you were there again, on the subway, dragging groceries home. There were some who showed compassion for the little girl managing such large bags. And in response, instead of self-pity over your burden, or resentment for their assumptions about your age, you gave them humor, and you listened to the complaints of one woman for much of the ride. At the end you wished her luck with whatever it was, I forget exactly – her children or something I think, and do you know? You made her day. You were the first person to so much as listen to her all day. And then you acted like you cared - like you really heard her. She went home and made supper for her children and the old lady who lived next door to her – I followed her to see." His voice sounds like it did in the taxi so long ago, and wild stupid hope starts bouncing around inside of me. "I – most of us, come from darker, more... savage times. And I went home to my friends, my family, and told them, some of them, about that and about other things, and they didn't believe me. Well, not at first. They thought out of loneliness I saw virtues that just weren't there – couldn't be there. I brought Lief with me to watch you about your day." My shoulders tense up a bit. Lief already knew who I was when I met him then.

"He did not spy on you as I did. Just who you were out in the city while you were anonymous." I still feel like cringing. Not about what Lief might have seen about me, but about this litany of good deeds of mine, especially as they were passed along to someone not already in love with me.

When is he going to get to the part where he's seen me being a perfectly selfish so-and-so? Like right now, making him make me feel better while he's half-frozen. I mean even if I hated his guts, common human decency – the same ethics he's been singing my praises about – entitles him to help from me if he is suffering. Even if you're breaking up with someone; you don't send them out into the cold alone while they still have hypothermia and frostbite do you?

Lucien's arms tighten around me.

"Soon, you can go back to caring for me. I should finish this once and for all." I struggle not to take that as something ominous – but he wouldn't anticipate my continued care of him if this were all over, would he? I try to let go of forecasting our future and just try to follow his thread of reasoning. I suppose I could just ask him outright where he's going with this but as you may have noticed; I'm a coward, and dread or hope keeps making me wait.

"It wasn't just about you being tremendously good," he says. He's still doesn't seem to be reading my mind, but through sharing our thoughts in the past; he knows how neurotic I am. You can't just love one feature about a person because if it slips at all then what becomes of your feelings for that person. Being a paragon of goodness is not enough to build love or a relationship on.

"It was your humor, as I observed you. Your imagination, your quirks, things that lifted you up or made you weep. You still cry over The Ugly Duckling, and you first saw that Disney movie when you were what; five?"

"You became an obsession to me, but I had convinced myself it was all about studying humanity – about simply understanding this new species of human and deciding if the time was right to approach them with who we are; until Narakasura and his minions attacked me as I watched you the night before I came and found you in the coffee shop. I had let my guard down so completely. I almost didn't make it home that morning. Lief might have kept it from the others, but Rafe had to help set some bones."

I get tears, imagining this, and I plant a kiss on his bare shoulder. This is the story Lief mentioned – the one that explains why Lucien was so exhausted the day he brought me home with him.

"They issued me an ultimatum: stop following you - drop you completely from my thoughts, or tell the others and bring you home where it would be safe to pursue a relationship."

Wow, that's nice.

Wait, so he chose to come for me, anyway?

"I wasn't going to bring you back with me, Meagan, I couldn't let myself... I couldn't go through it again."

His arms tighten around me, and even sitting here against him, trembling and exhausted by all that has happened recently, I'm glad he returned for me. If I could have wished things into being; I wouldn't have undone any of the good moments we've shared to spare myself this moment now. I pull the throw up over his shoulders where it's fallen down.

"I was in the coffee shop, waiting for you to go into the bookstore; I knew you'd missed your bus. I wanted to see you one more time."

I stretch up and kiss him on the cheek, and leak a couple more tears onto his shoulder. They disappear.

"When you came in to the coffee shop instead, I tried to leave but there were so many people crowding in. I could have moved quickly enough to get around them all but I might have hurt someone in my haste, and then we were face to face."

He pulls back a touch to search my face. His fingers come around to trace my left cheek and jaw.

"I thought maybe... for just an instant... and then it changed for me, and it was fitting that we should meet, because it would be 'goodbye.'" His voice breaks on goodbye, and it doesn't matter that we were fighting or that I've felt so abandoned recently – or that it may become more permanent. He was heartbroken at the thought of losing me, before I'd ever met him.

Drier Will Take Care of Itself

I kiss him softly, sweetly, and watch his closed eyelids, as he lets his head rest on the back of the loveseat for a moment.

They're all smudgy and purple, and I kiss them too.

Lucien's eyes open, and in the morning sunlight beaming in sideways around the curtains, his eyes are endless skies through which the two of us fly in tandem.

When did the sun come up?

He blinks as he continues and the spell is broken, but at least I can concentrate on what he's saying.

"The visions, what I sent you; they were accidents, and on the second one, I realized you could hear me. I had wished to take you away, where it did not matter what I am or who I have to be to anyone, and no one could tell me it was wrong to be with a mortal again, and we would be safe to love each other." That's the second time I've heard that Lucien's little group just isn't in to mortals. If the others didn't think he should be with a mortal then maybe I wasn't sent home alone with him to seduce him into biting me. The thought doesn't make me any gladder that I've missed the opportunity now.

He sighs and I wonder if he heard that thought but he continues; "I came to the café a second time to tell you goodbye. I was going to try to convince you that what you'd experienced – the visions – were all in your head. But I was listening to you, as you sized me up, and I started to hope, that maybe it could be different with you; you were so different." So different from her.

"So when you laughed," I supply, hoping he doesn't begin dwelling on the past again.

"I was happy." Oh. Just three short words: 'I was happy.' And I'm happy, and sad for him in his loneliness, and just grateful that he took a chance – and sorrier than I know how to say that I'll be sending him back that way – lonely once more.

I hug him tightly, my face buried in his hair, and one hand clasping the back of his head; gently pressing him to me.

What am I going to do?

What is he going to do without me? Eat fearlessly at any rate Meagan, I tell myself, getting angry with myself again.

The words continue coming; they're not going to stop now. I've pulled the plug on the bathtub that is the stuff he's been waiting to tell me, and I've lost that plug in the soapy water so there's no putting it back before the tub empties.

"You surprised me again. When the hot chocolate went over, and you could feel how hot it was-"

"How I burned you."

"We heal quickly Meagan, and it had been so long since I'd had to erect a barrier between my mind and another's. It was a shock to find that you could feel what I was feeling."

"How often does that happen with vampires – that they can share minds with a mortal – not just hear their thoughts?" I lean back a bit and watch his face closely to capture his response.

"It has only happened to me once before..." His words get abruptly quiet as his eyes drop from mine. And I've hurt him again; even when it should have been a tender moment of discovery for us, and a cherished memory; I've dredged up the ghost of Catherine again. Good going, Meagan. And vampires 'heal quickly;' my ass.

"I wanted to take you home with me, but I had to tell you the truth. It wasn't an accident we went to the bookstore. I had to show you something you would believe. Give you proof of what I was – am."

"What you are, and what you were aren't the same two things Lucien," I tell him with some heat; "we all have things we wish we could take back." I finish a little more softly; I don't want to hurt him again. I want to leave him better off than I found him; not worse.

"But not like this. You're supposed to protect the people you love." He stares at the heavily draped window as if he can see through to the lake beyond the deck. Maybe he can.

"And you're also supposed to let them be a full part of your life. Let them make the decision to be at risk or not. It wasn't your job to keep her from all harm Lucien – you didn't do anything wrong there." I lean over to catch his gaze. I hope I'm reaching him. I wish I hadn't looked.

What did I say wrong? He hid something away inside – I saw it disappearing just now.

"Love, she was a grown-up, capable of making her own decisions; you weren't supposed to be able to keep her safe all the time." He flinches like I've hit him.

"What's wrong," I ask him endeavoring again to read his eyes. He won't hold his face still; I get the feeling he'd rather not be here now, or have me in his lap a second longer.

I move to try and climb down, and his arms tighten and he holds my eyes with his for an instant before dropping them. I hear "Please" in my mind and then he's gone again. Well then, he'll just have to tell me. I can't fix anything if he won't share it.

"I do not wish to discuss Catherine anymore," he tells me not looking at me, and I've never heard his voice so flat and unfriendly. I struggle to be the strong person who isn't intimidated or hurt by that. He's building towards something; some rationale that he thinks will justify never trusting in me – and that won't help us rebuild anything at all. And I'm supposed to just let him so he can stop holding it all in.

Is there anything I can say here that will stop this from unraveling our relationship? I pick up my courage and roll it into a ball and hug it to me. I have to try one last time.

"Alright, answer me one question, and I'll never bring her up again."

He drags his eyes up to mine, waiting for it, and I realize that's all the acquiescence I'm going to get.

"Did you see her in your Purging?" He doesn't answer so I explain; "If you didn't see her, then she didn't die as a result of blood you took from her, or from any action of yours that resulted in her death while her blood was in your bloodstream." He's still not moving or answering me. He looks like he's been bludgeoned repeatedly and is trying to figure out which one of me is real. "If you weren't responsible for her death, then there's no way for you to profit by it; so no strength from her or images of her in your Purging."

Have you ever seen an abused animal? Sometimes, in a new home as it tests out whether it's going to get beaten or not; it will immediately and often repeatedly do whatever the behaviour was, that used to get it struck, and then it stands there shivering, waiting for the blow to land, and it is uncertain and nervous until the new owner addresses the behaviour.

Lucien reminds me of some hurt animal now who doesn't know how to cope unless he's got the guilt pummeling him flat.

"I didn't..." He trails off and I take his clenched fists gently in my hands.

"You didn't see her?"

"I didn't let it finish." His hands shake in mine.

"What?"

"I stopped the Purging before it could finish – before it could go all the way up... to her." Lucien's eyes are wide and I'm glad I can't see what it is he sees now.

"With what – willpower? I haven't seen a spell for it, and you guys don't do magic. Is there some vamp trick?"

"Not that I'm aware of... I just had to stop it."

I hug him tightly, and I give him warmth and love in his mind. I just push it at him, and I carefully don't look to see how he's receiving it, so that he can put back or conceal all of the wounds associated with her. Such fear and grief in someone who is otherwise so strong. I've never seen anything like it. Like the iceberg lurking below the surface of him, waiting to sink him; I have no frame of reference for something on this scale. I am awed by it. Maybe I'm not supposed to be in his life so that he can find someone else who can help him with this.

And who else will he find Meagan? You heard him; you and she were the only two who he could share thoughts with like that.

Is that an automatic 'soul-mate finder' though? Maybe it's just an indicator of who has the most power to hurt you.

Well since you don't actually know what it means, maybe he deserves better than a pity-party from you, Meagan?

Why don't you fight to hold onto him?

At first he sits outwardly unyielding and unresponsive as I attempt to squeeze the hurt and the sorrow out of him, and then he slowly bows his head forward, and takes a deep shuddering breath, and another. What few soft sounds he allows himself to make, he cuts off almost before they can begin.

Aww, love – is he trying not to cry?

'It's all right if you are,' I start to think; but maybe I'll keep my thoughts to myself until he feels like sharing. Sometimes I've felt stronger simply by being able to maintain a tight rein on my emotions and I know he has that same kind of pride. He's also had the habit of centuries to bolster his resolve, and if he does permit himself to give in to what he's feeling; that act alone could cause him discomfort or even pain in its own right. I don't want him to feel humiliated by displaying his hurt, but I realize I can't stop him from feeling that way if he is going to. All I can do is be with him through it and let him know its ok.

I wrap my arms and legs around him instead and hold him tightly for a time. He could have been free of the entire tragedy that was Catherine but it is just too much for him to handle. This isn't going to go away for us. It will always be here getting between us if we let it.

Can I live with that, and fight to keep him, and stay firmly in his life?

Then I begin to kiss my Lucien-love; first just to comfort him and then in real appreciation for all I have in my life through him. This precious sweet man who risked his heart all over again for me. His strange, lonely family who need to learn to trust in mortals again – even if they poison them.

I try to tell him without words and without intruding on his pain that I'm willing to hang on through it all.

I enjoy his lips, his cheeks, and I move down his neck until he isn't crying anymore, he's gasping; first in surprise I think, that I haven't given up on him, and then in pleasure. His startled eyes flutter shut in pleasure, and I hope in trust. Yes. I can fight for him. I'll teach him to trust me not to rip his heart out for him, this time around; I'll cherish it and guard it instead. His arms still sit loosely about me; as if he's still holding onto a concern somewhere – a resolution maybe, that we'd be better off... I have to derail that train of thought.

I lean into him, angling my whole body forward against his. Parts of my body are as cold as his and they harden and sharpen abruptly as they come into contact with his silky chest. His eyes are shocked open and then he closes them, smiling, and he sighs softly and brings his arms up around me tightly. A thought occurs that is definitely a change from what we were talking about.

"Lucien?" Ask him Meagan, and maybe we can think about something else.

"Mmmm?" His tongue has begun working in circles down my neck, applying such force, it's as though he can taste something well below the surface. Oh, of course.

I tremble, and before he can misunderstand and pull away, I beg him "don't stop." This isn't the time to tell him I'd like it if he could taste me in that way. I'd like it a lot. That time might never come. But you can enjoy this much of him Meagan; focus on that. And knowing he is tempted warms more than the blanket has been able to so far.

I tangle my fingers in his hair so that as he moves me with what he's doing to me, I move him.

It's difficult to concentrate let alone speak, but I manage; "It was different in the shower."

"Hmmm?"

"From your living room." He pulls my earlobe into his mouth and sucks hard, and a starburst goes off in front of my eyes, and from so close his every shaky breath shudders right through me.

"Don't ever stop!"

What was I going to ask him?

And every time I move against him in response, it makes his stomach muscles ripple and he breathes harder.

"In your suite?" You know, it doesn't seem like he needs distracting but now I want to know.

I pull his earlobe with my teeth. "Hey. You."

"Hmmm?"

"I could feel what you could feel in the shower but not in your living room. What was different?"

"I didn't want to influence you. Use any vampire tricks on you. Not until you'd read it all." Great, I've brought him right back to it again.

Wait, he held himself back? Oh love! And I'm grateful and amazed with his monumental strength all over again.

Hang on... so that, in his living room in the moonlight... was him holding himself back?!

"Well I guess we'll just have to do it again when you aren't holding yourself back, Lucien. Practice makes perfect."

He groans and seizing hold of my hips with fistfuls of my panties he grinds himself against me. I'm astounded all over again that something that solidly hard is made out of flesh and blood.

"Maybe next time you won't hurry me through it?"

His mouth crashes into mine, I'm lifted up and back down – hey where'd my panti – oh! Lucien!

It would have been wonderful; we try, and try again. I'm so dry; he's pulling fluids everywhere.

This can't work yet, and I'm making sounds, and it's not pain – he's already pulled back for fear of hurting me – it's frustration.

As his breathing stills, he lets his head slump forward slowly until his forehead touches mine, and he hands me back my panties; meeting my eyes with a surprisingly smug smile on such innocent looking lips. I'm expecting to find all of the seams ripped out but they're fine –

How did he – one ankle is tingling slightly, and my eyes widen. So often he's had to practice rigid self-control with me; I am still surprised when he demonstrates his otherworldly abilities – especially in such an eminently practical way.

"Alright, help me with this, and we'll get some liquids into you," I tell him, and untangle my limbs from his and start putting the loveseat together.

He stands and walks away, around the living room. Typical guy leaving me to do the domestic stuff I begin to think; then again he might just be composing himself.

When Lucien returns to help me, I refrain from checking, I make an effort to, I really do!

The loveseat's finished, and he's not laughing at me for peeking, he's struggling not to, ok he's about as successful as I was.

"Get under there," I order him, my cheeks heating, as I head out to the kitchen, "I'll get you some hot chocolate."

I wait to see that he's obeying me, and then I beat a hasty retreat and go in search of some hot chocolate packets left over from last Christmas.

The fear that he's responsible for Catherine is just too large a threat to him; he'll never let the Purging hit him, will he? And that will start to weaken him. Lucien's been such a leader that a way older vampire has had faith in his decisions, but they'll all lose him.

Will Colette lose her safe haven if the leadership in the manor changes?

What else will Lucien lose when he loses his position as leader? Too dark and heavy to think about in an already overfull day.

I find a couple of flavours – good, we'll need more than one cup – and I fill the kettle and turn it on. I have a line from You Learn going around in my head; 'I recommend walking around naked in your living room.' Not bad Alanis but it's a bit chilly.

I grab down a mug, and empty the packet into it.

I put a couple of tablespoons of milk in with it and stir it until it's a thick paste. When I pour the water in; it will be smoother than if I added the milk at the end. Time to check on my love and make sure he's tucked in and warm.

At first all I can see is his feet and I almost go back to the kitchen; he's still and I nearly conclude that he's resting, but his feet are uncovered and I would have thought he'd cover up to hold the heat in. Not that vampires are huge into body heat exactly.

I come around the end of the couch and find Lucien; the covers have begun slipping off of him, his chin is down to his chest, his arms folded tightly across his middle, and although his feet are still – sticking out over the arm of the loveseat – it's because they are locked that way.

As I draw nearer to him, I can see his teeth are clenched and his lips have lost what slight colour they'd begun to take on so far and are nearing a pale bluish shade again. No!

I grab his blankets and the sheet and tuck it all in around him, and slowly get him to bend his legs and get them under the covers too.

Hurrying back to his head, I notice we never plugged in the electric blanket so I do that quickly setting it to low, and I jump in next to him. Low is great for now; it's toasty and anything higher might feel too hot against his cool skin.

He's lying more or less on one side, so I face him pulling the covers up 'til they cover half of his down-turned face; taking the opportunity to inhale the scent of him again.

Half-drowned, unshowered for days, and only water-washed when he finally does get a shower, and he smells so good!

I twine my legs with his to share more of my warmth and put my arms up around his head; endeavoring to avoid leaning on his hair.

Lucien's attempting to smile at me, but he's still feeling so miserable.

I kiss him instead, wanting to put heat into him and colour back into his lips. He's had so much happen to him lately and a great deal of his strength has been taken away.

I'm not aiming to revisit what we started before; I just want to get him warm, but just the feel of him, just... enjoying being able to touch this living piece of my heart again, and translate my caring for him into actions once more; after being utterly separated from him for what felt like months... I'm going to cry on him again. Meagan you can't rehydrate him with just tears you know. Stop trying and go make him a hot chocolate.

Lucien's arms unfold and come around me.

"Not yet," he asks me softly in our minds and I can see the darkness he lived in for days, and I just hold him more tightly.

His arms tighten around me, and we hold on to each other. With blackness become a solid thing encasing him, cutting him off from all life, he could only imagine what Narakasura was doing to his friends and then having destroyed them; what he'd do to me. After and worst of all my love began to lose his sense of the passage of time, and he wondered how long he'd been down there and how long before anyone found him. The panic that found him and savaged him, sending him fighting again and again against the ice until he exhausted himself and he lost consciousness, would return and it would begin all over again as soon as he reawakened. The mind-shredding terror that he was going to die down there over and over again in the dark like he did so long ago, and finally wake up only to find himself that soulless murdering revenant again. He's shaking.

Is it the lingering chill or leftover fear?

"You're safe now angel, you're alright. You're home and you're safe love, and everyone you love is safe. You're alright and he can't hurt you now, and you're still yourself." He's shaking harder. "It's alright angel, there is warmth and light and someone to hold you. And you'll never become that again. You'll never hurt anyone like that again, love. Shh, its okay, you're all right baby, you're all right. I love you."

My ancient angel breathes like he's fighting not to sob any more, and his lips come down to my shoulder; where he kisses me and then it's his teeth resting on my skin.

You know, when you don't want to cry, or make noises but it's too enormous to remain still and your jaw is forced open around the emotion?

When you want to bite down with the force of what you're feeling but you don't want to hurt the other person?

I can feel his breath on my shoulder and I tremble with the pleasure of it. It's not an erotic thing though; it's wonderful, but it's about the fact that I have the gift of him in my arms – safe and getting warmer - which almost seems too much to take in, and on top of that I have the benediction of his trust that he feels safe enough to feel what he needs to – also in my arms – where he belongs. There are different ways to trust someone I guess, and I can definitely be satisfied with this kind for now.

His body is still cool to the touch, so I fumble above our heads and turn the blanket up to medium. His arms are locked so tightly around me, I wonder insanely if the cold inside him has risen up to reclaim him and freeze him solid.

Tigger wanders in, squawks at us, and jumps up and curls up in front of Lucien's feet. Ooh, more body heat for my dear man.

"Aww, good boys, Tigger," I tell my pushy orange friend who always knows just when I could really use his company, and I go back to kissing my sweetheart's face, and thanking any and all deities I know of that I have my Lucien home.

Plenty of Rest and Fluids

His breathing slows, and I debate on getting up again as he falls asleep; if he won't take blood then he'll need fluids like hot chocolate, but if I'm not here when he wakes up he might get a bit disoriented. But I'll be here for him as soon as I bring the hot chocolate back, and I'll make sure I'm never more than a few minutes away from him for anything. And he'll always be able to reach out and touch me with his mind.

I ease my way out from under the covers, peering down at his face to see if I'm disturbing my love and I notice how very dark the skin under his eyes is. I wonder if the extreme cold and the expansion of the ice against his face have broken blood vessels around his eyes. Rage rises to choke me and as I struggle to banish it before it can wake him, the top of my head feels like it's on fire; and now I know where the expression 'hot head' comes from. Narakasura is going to pay for this.

I sneak out to the kitchen, push the button on the kettle to re-boil it since it's started getting cool again, and I hurry up the stairs as quickly and quietly as I can. I get clean socks and slippers on, and grab a truly enormous blue bathrobe down off of the back of my bedroom door, throw it on, and tie it as I half run – half slip down the stairs in my hastily thrown-on slippers.

I peek over the back of the couch and seeing that Lucien is still alright, I go out to the kitchen and make us a couple of hot chocolates. I feel almost fever-hot even though I'm naked under the robe, and I realize if he's been pulling fluids from me, then I might be a bit dehydrated.

I pour myself a mug of hot water and chug it before I carry the hot chocolate in, and set it down on the coffee table.

I take a sip of my own hot chocolate and then turn seated next to him on the couch, and I put one hand on his shoulder to wake him.

He startles and sits bolt upright almost slamming into me, but I catch him in both arms and begin speaking to him right away to reassure him.

"Oof! You're alright love, you're home and you're safe."

Lucien scans the room without recognition so I tell him; "You're in my home, we pulled you out of the river. You're safe now."

He looks at me as I say this and his eyes are blank for me. He doesn't recognize me either.

Panic sets in again as he searches the room frantically until his eyes light on the front door. Uh oh.

Where is his head right now?

"Lucien it is 2008 and you've been frozen in the river for days after fighting a battle with Narakasura. Your friends and I found you, and they let me have you to take care of you."

He looks at me again and I realize his breathing had sped up the more trapped he felt.

"Meagan?"

Oh thank God and Goddess and the fates and Buddha and everyone else too. He's absolutely still again, and with tears in my eyes I manage to nod, and he's crushing me to him once more.

"Oh honey, you're alright, please be alright. It's over now, you're safe. Aren't you getting any warmer? Where were you just now? I won't go anywhere except to go to the washroom – I won't let you be afraid – I'll stay right here, I promise... Lucien?"

"Don't let go," he answers me.

I want to lay him down under the covers but he won't let me move in arms he's wrapped so thoroughly around me.

"Will I be too heavy on you and make you feel trapped again?"

He answers as though hypnotized by what he's replaying in his mind; "No, you are far too light for that... and to hear your heartbeat and feel you breathing in my arms... I might sleep and not dream-" he looks at me suddenly.

"I won't keep thinking I'm back there," he says in a clearer voice.

I close my eyes and we lie down together and just listen to each other breathe.

After a few moments I ask my beautiful man to prop himself up and let me move over a little. He seems bewildered and hurt and so young.

"I can't reach your hot chocolate," I tell him gently smiling down at him. He blinks. He's so frightened.

My words aren't making any sense to him are they? I wonder how many times he regained consciousness only to have the nightmare begin anew.

And how many times when he tried to call for help did he touch surface thoughts and images in my mind and strive to cling to them through the darkness?

How many times did he think it was over upon finding me, only to be torn away by the continuous hell assaulting his body?

I slide one hand up, and then the other to cradle his face in my hands and he flinches. And as I kiss every feature, every point and hollow on his face and neck softly, he blinks as if expecting to wake up. But with every kiss I tell Lucien "I love you," and his eyes come to focus on mine, and I add; "you're safe," or "I have you," each time until his eyes lose that cornered animal look.

I reach again for the hot chocolate with my eyes still on his, and this time he lets me go – barely, and I carefully draw the mug towards him, and moving woodenly, he sits up just enough to drink it.

His lips are suddenly so red with the heat and life entering him against the pallor of the rest of his skin; the hot cocoa may as well be blood.

He's panting as he finishes and I realize he's going to need a lot more, and there's also no way he's going to let me go long enough to make it. Not now anyway. I already feel better with the water in me; I'll just give him my cocoa.

This time he brings shaking hands up to mine to steady the mug and drains it even faster. He swallows the last of it with his eyes shut as if to focus on nothing else but the heat pouring down his throat. With a shuddering sigh, he opens his eyes at last. Aside from the lurid colour of his lips, Lucien's eyes are the only bits of him with any pigment at all. Even the broken blood vessels under his eyes are disappearing and as I watch the sky blue leeches out of them to leave them not even grey but almost clear. Strange glass eyes that still somehow manage to communicate such a pain filled need for me to just stay right here.

I can do that. I give him lullabies and every pretty song I've ever heard in our minds where his senses don't have to be assaulted with my singing voice. So much raw, nerve-scraping hunger, and freezing dark terror, see-sawing back and forth in his mind and emanating from him in choking waves.

I'm aware of him drifting away from the terror at last, and some of his thirsty hunger easing and then his thoughts start getting foggy and indistinct, and I fall asleep right after my love does.

*

I'm having a nightmare I haven't had since I was about seven. I've stepped on the vent in my bedroom and it's suddenly widened to suck me down through scorching, winding, battering pipes to drop me into the indifferent metal belly of the furnace monster in the basement to have my skin crisped every time I make contact with it as I blunder around frantically trying to escape like a fly in a jar... all my parents find in the morning after calling for me all over the house is a lump of lead like the little tin soldier in the story.

I wake up, and realizing what's happened, I work my arms out of the robe and leave it under the blanket with my lover. I ease back out from under the covers as he sleeps, and nearly fall as I attempt to put my feet under me. I can barely move at first, and only the determination that he not wake up to find me like this (and be shattered over it) is enough to stir me.

Foal-weak and wobbly, I half stagger-half crawl out to the kitchen, turn on the tap and cup my hand under it to drink down all of the cold water I can. His health is still so flattened that he's pulling fluids from me faster than is probably safe, and without me there to provide his body with moisture... I don't know what will happen, but I think I'd better get some more liquid into him fast. Maybe I'll get him back up into the shower again. The hot water has to be back by now.

My teeth and throat are aching with the cold, so I take the opportunity to make him another hot chocolate and while the kettle boils, the phone rings.

Leaping across the kitchen before it can ring a second time; I answer it, and rub my elbow from having smashed it into a chair back on the way by.

I guess I don't have a lot of friends, just a couple of really good ones. Jen has this strength of will, a force of personality, that not only keeps her going through two jobs and two small kids, and a house that spends more time under construction than mine; it still shines through to make her family and her friends feel loved and comfortable in her home, and I love being there to help out or just to visit. She's calling from work, and as she quickly downs the last of her lunch she asks me; "So, what's new with you, my dear?" And I plow into what I've been doing since we spoke on Friday. I describe briefly and mostly inaccurately what's been happening to me over the past few days; telling her that his disappearance over the past couple of days has been some 'police work'. Her faith is one of the solid pillars of the foundation of her strength, and I don't think I'd want to cause the sort of earthquake the concept of vampires would in her life. She'd trust me if I said it was so, either that it was so, or that I thought it was. Either way would cause her distress before she found a way to deal with it. That's not the way I want to repay her for her friendship.

Her words to me? "Typical guy pushing you away and not communicating with you at all." And we have a laugh over that one. Then, "It must have been hard for him to do it, and it must have hurt him. It sounds like he might actually love you to put your safety ahead of having you love him back and having a relationship with you."

I feel my eyebrows go up. "Yeah, he just might. I suppose it's a kind of bravery to risk having someone hate you just to keep them safe." I sigh. Jen is the first person I call when I need to vent and vice versa. Being able to say, 'yeah, I know,' helps a lot, so when whenever either of us points out something positive, I think we both take it to heart. She's probably right. "That makes it harder to stay angry with him." And we share another giggle.

"Don't worry, he's a guy, he'll give you another reason," and I smother a belly laugh before I can wake up the subject of our conversation.

"I'll let you get back to playing nurse to him." I have also told her he had pneumonia from letting himself get run down. "Call me on Saturday and we'll do something."

"Sounds good, thanks for calling me and letting me complain."

"Don't worry, I'll have lots for you on the weekend, we'll get together and talk."

"Hug the kids for me."

"I will."

I hang up with Jen and run and peek guiltily around the corner at my sweetly sleeping vampire. He's up higher on the pillow and his brow is smooth and his eyes with their wealth of lashes remain peacefully closed.

I make him another cocoa and take it out to the immortal lying on my couch, and I gingerly sit down beside him once more.

I don't want to wake him, his sleep seems so deep and restful, but liquid is what will most help him recuperate, right? And Tigger will very definitely have his head in Lucien's cocoa if I leave it here - at the first opportunity.

I lay my hand against the skin of his left shoulder where the electric blanket has slid down a short space and it's cool to the touch, and I slide my fingers up over his collar-bone, the side of his neck, to explore his jaw, his cheek and the shape of his ear. He's so beautiful and he's mine.

His eyes snap open and his body stiffens, and then his eyes come up to mine, and the panic fades.

A softly glorious smile begins in his eyes for me and grows upon his cupid lips and his hand comes up to guide my hand towards them.

My breath catches as his lips brush my fingertips, and then his gaze moves to them and he considers them a moment before slowly sliding one into his mouth and meeting my startled eyes with his. The sensations of his tongue as he slides it over such an ordinary part of my body shoot through me and tighten less mundane areas immediately and painfully.

Then he sucks hard, and my breathing gets uncaught long enough to let me gasp and pull in some air before he licks again and sucks harder.

Oh! The oxygen is good for my brain I think. It's enough to tell me that I should be doing this for him, but then all higher brain functions shut down, and I lean into him making eager sounds. The only way I'll let him stop this is if he puts his mouth on other parts of me. In fact I want his mouth all over my body.

Maybe if we really make an effort he can get me wet enough – he groans and it shudders down the length of him where I'm leaning against his hip and straight through me.

His mouth is at mine feeding, and then Lucien is first pulling me against him and then changing direction, he leans me back over his legs to lick and suck and bite down to my breasts before struggling to fit one all of the way into his mouth.

I gladly tangle fingers in his hair, the hot chocolate forgotten, and pull him more tightly to me. Vampires don't need to breathe. I'm too big but he doesn't stop trying to hold my entire breast in his mouth, and I want him choking on me, and begging for more. And then I imagine choking on him, taking the whole thick length of him inside me first through my mouth, him abandoning himself to it and thrusting without worry, and I'll be urging him on with my fingers embedded in the ripe flesh of his butt, and then later I want him over me, sliding in and out of me slowly, his eyes on mine. I want him smiling his pleasure, his satisfaction, and his knowledge of the pleasure he's giving me down at me.

His eyes roll up to meet mine and he makes a muffled sound and pulls my legs up and around him swiftly. His jaws squeeze me just a little more. "Oh yes, oh yes please Lucien, now and just as hard as you like." He groans and I return the sound.

"Yes love," he agrees and his fingers whisper over my straining body to slip inside the most intimate part of me. I'm not as dry as I was earlier, but for our first time he doesn't want to hurt me. I guess I can live with that. I don't want tearing pain; I want the bruising, hammering, make-a-place-for-himself-inside-me-so-we-don't-ever-come-apart-again kind of pain from my most perfect love. I need to be slick for that so that he glides inside me like an engine piston.

On his knees between my legs, he moves down the length of me, to taste me, to wet me, to ready me, but his progress begins to slow. He's having trouble finding any more moisture for his greedy tongue, I realize with such sorrow I might weep. With my next breath, I realize my mouth has quickly gone so dry I doubt I could speak, and my breast has begun to feel as though I have sunburn. His starving body has wicked all of the water from the surface of my skin and what feels like several layers down.

He cries out our frustration and his voice rasps as it did in my shower, and then Lucien lays his face down on my belly, one cheek against the skin, his curls tickling me all over and he slowly lets his body relax against me.

His fingers absently stroking the skin on my outer thigh, my lover's breathing begins to return to normal as I play with the wealth of glossy hair streaming over my chest and belly to pool beside us on the cushions.

"Lucien," I croak. I'm exhausted, and thinking seems a chore, but there seems to be some point this exercise might have made, that we're missing.

"Mmm?" It comes out a whisper. His throat must be painfully dry. Aha!

My hands still in his hair and tighten a bit. "Drink your hot chocolate."

"Yes love," he agrees, and I sit up a bit to free his hair and Lucien reaches out to snag the cup with trembling fingers. There is nothing hesitant about the look he gives me though, or in his gaze as his eyes continue to hold mine as he drains the cup, and he deliberately licks suddenly very red lips. I had no idea drinking cocoa could be so erotic I think, as I become conscious of our position with him half leaning-half sitting between my still parted knees. And with such heavy promise in his lovely lapis eyes, my lover leans down and plants a very warm, wet, kiss low on my inner thigh.

"Oh!"

"Please Ma'am, may I have another," he asks me, and I forget to laugh lost in the dark blue intent behind darker lashes. It takes me a long second to figure out he means the hot chocolate.

I give my head a shake and another to clear it, and he laughs at me, and he sounds so pleased and so masculine.

I take the opportunity to give his hair a quick tug, and I get up and scoot out to the kitchen with his mug, before he can attempt to tug on some portion of my anatomy.

I bring him another cocoa, a mug of plain hot water, a hot lemon and honey, and more hot water. Then we repeat beginning with the cocoa again, and each time I wrap my hands around his long fine-boned fingers holding the cup to warm his hands, and each time as I go to take the mug back and refill it, he pulls it towards him bringing me with it to kiss me softly and slowly before releasing me and watching me walk back to the kitchen.

I'm on the fifth water, and I must have taken too long getting the kettle to heat up, because when I return to the living room he's fallen asleep.

I pull the covers up higher to Lucien's chin and appropriate his water for myself. As soon as he wakes up I've got to get him into the shower. Without any more kisses to look forward to I don't know how I'm going to wait that long. Shaken, exhausted, and so elated I don't even need a vampire to fly – well I do have a vampire to get me flying, don't I? I have to busy myself; distract myself from climbing right out of my skin imagining to what heights he would have taken me and waiting for him to wake up. I can't go downstairs and put it into my computer as I'll be too far away from my slumbering passion, and he might still need me. He seems much better though, stronger, more assertive, more himself. It won't be long before I can rest assured of his safety and comfort – and just as soon as I can I'll splinter that comfort and express everything I feel for him on Lucien's body. I'll see the knowledge fill his eyes over and over again of what he means to me, and I'll see that wondering, discovering radiance in his eyes for me. Alright already, you're getting hot and bothered standing here all by yourself in the kitchen Meagan, and he's going to be asleep awhile yet.

What are you going to do now?

I take my water and sit down by the phone. I call Shannon.

"So. Does he sniff good?" After the hellos this is the first thing she says to me.

"What?" Sometimes we pick up conversations right where we left off, but today I'm feeling a little behind the moment for some reason.

"You don't remember following a guy half across the school because he sniffed good and I was left there talking to thin air because you didn't say anything; you just weren't there?"

"I just had to find out what he had on," I complete the familiar litany with a laugh. "Yes, he does, but it's his eyes I really might have followed him home over." I haven't told anyone all of it yet but I find I can tell Shannon more of the truth. In school together, she seemed the most likely of anyone I knew – and that hasn't really changed – to be capable of believing in witchcraft, vampires, dreams and destiny. I don't get into the whole Purging with her, but I tell her about flying, and that unless even the store-bought yogurt and the carrot in Lief's kitchen had something funky in them; I was in full possession of my faculties – and we really flew. I tell her about being able to hear what Lucien is thinking and I wonder if I should be a writer after all because I just can't seem to get into words how very alien and yet exhilarating the experience is. I can't even approximate the sheer scope of his years on planet earth or how rich his character is, and how that hasn't made him or his thoughts stilted or jaded and how delightful, how awe-inspiring I find that to be; with any of the adjectives at my disposal.

She asks me wise questions about what I'd eaten or drank after apologizing to me for asking them. And I'm glad she's asking so that I can be certain all over again that at least some of this couldn't have been induced in my brain by slipping ecstasy or some hallucinogen into my food or drink. Then Shannon asks me insightful questions about my feelings for Lucien. The first being whether I think the belief that he is vampire is encouraging my feelings for him. I have to admit it adds a certain dramatic romance to our exchanges but vampires aren't known for their fertility and I've always thought I'd like to be a mother. I don't think a bit of extra romance would stand up very well to any long-term plans that include a family. Nor would it stand up to all of the drama with Catherine I think, attempting to take an objective appraisal of things.

"I think it's the real thing, because nothing is as painful, crazy, frightening, maddening or fun as what I feel for him."

"Well I'm not too sure I believe he's a real live – er, real vampire but it sounds like you're really in love with him," Shannon tells me, and I'm glad that she's called me already.

"So far it seems like the only time he doesn't tell you everything is when he thinks he's protecting you," she continues; "maybe he still has something left he hasn't told you and he thinks there is still a really good reason not to." She doesn't always say the most comforting thing; Shannon is my Buckley's – a little of her medicine and 'everything's gonna be all right'.

"Hrmm," I respond, indicating my displeasure at the idea of being protected by being deceived or that there is yet more for me to sort out.

Shannon knows she's got me right where she wants me anyway and she sets up the final volley. "That's some kinda guy, he must be pretty mature – dare I say it, wise? (I can see why you'd think he's centuries old) to keep putting your well-being first when he'd probably like nothing better than to prove to himself that he can get it right. Most guys would let their pride get ahead of not hurting you."

"So what you're saying is that I shouldn't be angry if he's got more in there, and he's not being straight with me, because he's heroically protecting me from it, and I should even admire him," I ask her with ironic humor.

"Well, when you put it like that..." she trails off laughing.

"Okay, I get it; I'll take it easy on him. There's other stuff for us to focus on for now anyway," I agree.

"Meagan!" And my friend starts to kill herself laughing. It takes me a second to get it, and then I join her until I remember I'm trying not to wake Lucien up.

"I'm trying to let him sleep, but I'm getting so loud..." I say stifling my giggles; "but I feel so much better. Thank you."

"But you've got to go," she tries to finish the sentence.

"No, no, I just have to be quieter. I want to know what's going on with you. This has to be pretty early in the morning for you right?"

"No, not really," my friend answers lightly; "I just got the kids off to school, and I had a few a minutes before I go to work."

"So you have to go?"

"Yeah I should get going. I still have to work on my finals."

"Are you sure you're not a vampire? I don't know how you fit so much into a day."

"Well that would explain why I'm so pale," and she begins to laugh again.

"You are not pale, you're porcelain-skinned and slender, and I'm so squat and gray, I look like a toadstool next to lilies standing beside you and Jen!" And my friend nearly dies laughing on the other end.

"You <gasp> do not <giggle> <gasp> look like <gasp> a toadstool <chuckle-gasp>. You're beautiful <gasp>."

Listening to her I start to laugh and maybe even snort (although I'll deny it if anyone asks) and I tell her; "On that note I have to go before I wake him up."

And we tell each other goodbye and I thank her for calling me, and we say goodbye again.

The sun is setting over the lake and the brilliance glittering in through the panes in the front door window is glorious. I'm debating the selfishness of waking Lucien up to share it with me but I must have woken him with my laughter after all, because he stirs in his blanket and bathrobe piled nest and comes to stand behind me. His thoughts no longer hold that dreadful panic; in fact I've never heard him sound so... contented. It's as if we'd already shared that moment we came so close to before.

He still wears the comforter and he wraps his arms around me so that we both stand inside it. It still holds a lot of heat from the electric blanket but his skin as it comes into contact with mine feels cooler. He hears me noticing and acknowledges it peacefully, eyes still focused on the coral and ruby spell coming through the window. The worst seems to be over regarding his recovery, and maybe I can let myself relax a hair's breadth. My one and only is going to be just fine and if he still hurts or feels chilled it is lesser to him beside sharing a silent perfect moment with me.

We watch the sunset, and then without having to speak we climb the stairs in concert leaning into each other, and turn the water on in the shower. Now that our moment together has arrived I begin to get a little shy. Maybe I should let him see to his ablutions by himself first until I'm sure he's well...

Getting Cleaned Up

Lucien steps inside, and I start to leave and he seizes a hold of my wrist and smiles his naughty cherub's smile at me. His eyes promise magical things will happen and he's not going to let me go before he's shown me. And again I feel shy standing in my own shower in my own bathroom in my own home. But here, here is where anything we build between us doesn't have to end. It is here finally that he will take in enough moisture that we can enjoy each other all night.

I step in and pull the door shut behind me and I can't take my eyes off of him. He stands naked with the warm water streaming over him, snagging the bottoms of his curls and plastering them to the flat planes of his chest.

I move towards him, uncertain now of how to proceed.

Lucien leans down and picks up the shampoo his eyes never leaving mine.

"Clean up first? I guess I could use some soap," I say feeling more than a little embarrassed. Mortals do things like perspire more than vampires probably and now I've gone at least a day without a proper shower.

He kneels before me letting the spray soak his hair, and smiling softly up at me; he draws my hand out and pours some shampoo into it. And before I can ask or even begin to wonder, Lucien guides both of my hands to his hair. Oh, lovely. He's going to let me wash him; he wants me to.

And he's not going to get too shy?

Turn his eyes away?

Get self-conscious on me and spoil it? His eyes stay on mine and a soft smile remains on his lips and neither one of us looks away as I lather is hair gently and smile down into his upturned face.

How have I found someone so perfect?

Is this his wish or mine?

Is he only enjoying this because he knows I am?

"In your mind I learned that you've come to know that that original tenderness, and trust that a virgin knows in her lover's arms may be duplicated in other acts of deep intimacy like this," Lucien explains; "I was immediately... intrigued and... anxious to experience it with you." Tiny droplets of water have caught in his lashes to throw even more sparkles at me. I gaze past them to the smoldering glow in his eyes and I kiss him gratefully, gladly.

My fingers move slowly in his hair sweeping over his scalp and I watch his eyelids lower in somnolent pleasure.

Can he really be enjoying this so much?

His breathing catches and his eyes widen an instant in surprise and then he shares with me what he's feeling.

Oh! He aches. This lovely tension is growing and spreading over him along his skin making him hurt pleasantly so that he anticipates and revels in every touch, every brush of my fingers. I ache right along with him and I don't register him picking up the shampoo bottle.

I just have this lightning shock of feeling his fingers work into my hair, and feeling him mirror my movements in his hair, in my own.

It's no surprise at all when our lips meet, and our tongues leap to dance with each other, making love to each other with our mouths and our hands, the rest of our bodies barely touching.

Abruptly we taste shampoo and have to rinse it all off of each other sputtering and laughing. And it's okay that we're laughing; it doesn't spoil the mood at all. It enhances it with a sense of trusting ease between us.

We both measure out conditioner, and I have to cup my hands to hold enough for his mass of curls.

As I work the conditioner in, I have a question pop into my head, seemingly from nowhere.

I seek to banish it so as not to ruin the mood, as I know this sort of question will put a damper on things. But even if my vampire lover's thoughts weren't touching mine, my face probably gave it away and I wasn't fast enough to hide it again before he noticed.

"What," he asks me as I attempt to bury the thought somewhere and avoid eye contact.

"It's nothing really," I try to deflect him. His hands have stopped moving but they remain in my hair and it sinks in for me that he's not letting go of my idea any more than my hair.

I sigh and attempt to locate words that don't sound angry.

"Why did you go off alone?" Hmm, that doesn't sound as mild as I'd hoped. He rinses his fingers off and I'm sure it's all over; I've killed it, but he reaches for the soap instead and works up lather in his hands as he considers my question carefully.

"Why didn't you have your people with you for something like that," I try again more softly. But that's not all I want to understand. I want to know why he had to fight Narakasura then, immediately after his Purging.

Had it affected his mind somehow and made him do something reckless?

I start as his hands come up to slide over my cheeks; how tender he's being with me as I interrogate him again.

He smiles down into my eyes and then he focuses on what else I've asked him. I have to be kind and gentle with him and ask this in the right way just for the love-light in his eyes.

I bring my hands up to stroke his and slide down his arms.

"What happened after I left?" There, that's more accurately what I meant to say, and if I caused him more pain through the Purging than he's admitted; then I need to know about it.

"There was more than one reason I asked you back to the mansion to examine those books."

Somehow the beginning of his explanation doesn't seem to be in the same vein as my question – if you'll pardon the expression. I slide soapy hands up over the satiny lines of his chest and shoulders and wonder why I'm not worried that I have no idea where he's going with this. I guess we'll get there eventually even if we keep distracting each other.

"We've fought Narakasura off and on for centuries. While we were always relieved to have him turn his focus elsewhere; we could never determine what else it was that was unfortunate enough to have drawn his attention, so we could never predict when we'd see him again. When he does show us his interest, it usually takes the form of trying and sometimes succeeding in killing mortals that have become dear to us or who for one reason or another are under our protection. When I came to watch you and he attacked me; I hadn't seen him in decades. I knew it wouldn't take him long to figure out who I'd come to see, and he'd... seize you and perhaps... torture you before killing you... in front of me." His voice wobbles and he has to pause several times as he speaks and I step into my love, sliding soapy hands around behind him and hugging him tightly.

He hugs me back the same way, and it is probably the nicest way I know to wash someone's back or have one's back washed. Pressing this closely together does fascinating things to the front sides of both of us.

"That's why it was so important to you that I come back to the mansion! You wanted to protect me even then. But what would you have done if I hadn't come back with you?"

"I wouldn't have risked having him take any further notice of you; I would have had to go home and tried to hear your thoughts from there." His voice has faded to a whisper. We wouldn't have shared our evening together, and I wouldn't have met any of his friends, or found out about the Goddess or that I'm a witch and that someday I'll have the ability to protect my new family.

Might that be the reason they let me take him home?

To keep us both safe from Narakasura's interest for a time?

It's hard to speak around the lump in my throat but I manage; "I'm glad I came home with you, love."

His hands slide up to cradle my head and I don't care that they could still be soapy; I'm hoping he'll kiss me, but he continues instead and his eyes are so sad.

"Since I hadn't let the Purging hit me, I knew I would be forever weak, a liability to you and to the others. My people would have to try to protect you and me both from him and from his minions."

"You're not weak, Lucien! You stopped a Purging which threw even Angus and Connor on their butts just because you decided not to have it."

He steps back to seize hold of my eyes with his and hold my wrists as if I needed anything else to grab my attention and says; "I'm just really good at running away Meagan and I'm tired of it. If I killed him then I could stop worrying finally about what I'd be faced with one day, and if he killed me then you would no longer be in danger as he'd no longer hunt you, and the others would be free to battle him at a time and place of their choosing."

"You'd have let yourself die to make us all safer?" I step into him again and this time he lets me, but it isn't his back I smooth my hands down this time; it's as though I hope to feel the heat that must be generated by his noble heart as it beats in his chest.

"They've put their lives on the line every day that we've been under assault by Narakasura-" Lucien gasps as my hands work in leisurely circles down to his lower belly.

"But they've known the risks and had some measure of confidence that they could prevail against him with their natural abilities. Until you met me you didn't even know vampires existed." His hands clasp my face tenderly and my brave and gentle angel has that look again for me; wonder and discovery and unabashed delight.

Is he reliving that perfectly marvelous Monday?

Which part means the most to him?

"You had no idea who or what Narakasura is or what sort of danger you were in just by virtue of your association with me-" he tries again more seriously, but I slip deliberately lower this time and watch his eyes flutter shut and I'm aware of every inch of my own skin acutely. I don't need him to continue to explain. I need to do things to him instead. It's as I guessed; he was protecting his people and protecting me, and as reckless and dangerous and just plain foolish as it was, it makes perfect sense to him. I want to argue with him, chastise him, and make him promise me he'll never do anything like that again, and I just can't right now. The warm tide of love, surging up through me to pour into him is just too immense for anything else to express itself. I'll just have to work harder at staying involved with everything in his life so there can't be any more hidden dangers to my only love.

His eyes open and they're pitch-black. I feel a tremor run through him as I hold him in my hands, and he leans forward to kiss me the way he did in the café and I learn all over again how soft his lips are.

Lucien is under the stream of water and the soap is rinsed from his chest and all below it. Our kiss ends and our minds are no longer separate things but a pair of ducks floating mutually in the same pond, gently bumping into each other's thoughts. Good; I want to drive him to such heights, and I want to know every step of the way what he's feeling. I wonder how I could have ever wished to avoid this mind to mind contact; this is where we both belong.

I slide my hands back up to brush his nipples and press the perfectly sculpted vessel for my love's spirit back against the wall. It is still slightly warmer than he is, but my hands on him are a shock of heat that makes first his stomach flutter and then his nipples ache sharply under my fingers. His heavenly body sparkles with drops of water in the light and I have to taste him.

I lean into him and I drink every droplet I can find; as if I were the one whose body was so dehydrated. My mouth on him is even hotter than my hands were and every movement of my tongue draws the tension I've already created in him outward over his whole body. I lap every drop up, and then suck hard in case I missed anything. And when that makes him stop breathing, I use my teeth to force sounds out of my Lucien love, and each one is a new melody to me. For every time I graze him, bite lightly and hold him, there is pleasure that is almost pain on his newly sensitized body until he feels like he's on fire with it. I work my way back down to where my hands were before, no longer biting but savoring every inch. I get an image suddenly of him lifting me against the glass walls, and I can't tell if it's his thought or mine. I hear something I almost have to ask him to repeat because even his mental voice sounds unintelligible.

"Stop, I can't stand it!" He almost sounds like he's in pain.

"What's wrong? Have I hurt you?"

"God no; I'll go soon. I-"

"Good." And I drag the tip of my tongue along the top of him from the base to the tip, and then slide the entire length inside my mouth at once.

"Meagan!" He flings his head back and it's stopped by the wall. It hurt but he's oblivious; caught in a cyclone of debilitating ecstasy centered where our bodies meet. The walls are ringing with his shout and I'm glad it wasn't in our minds it was so loud, but I note that when it's time to join in the festivities I won't need soap or anything else to be ready.

I pull at him with my lips as I draw him slowly out and suck hard when I come to the end, and then shove him back in as hard as I can; once, twice, and a third time making him hit the back of my throat with bruising force, and I hear "God help me."

His stomach flexes hard, squeezing a small sound from him as he pours himself down my throat. I don't think he was breathing much at the last; he didn't have any air to shout with. His hips twitch as he fights not to thrust into my mouth under his own superhuman strength and risk hurting me. My love is staring down at me with the panicked-but-reasonably-certain-he's-having-fun expression usually reserved for people on the old wooden roller-coaster rides, which leave you sideways long enough for you to feel your weight shift and wonder if you're going to fall out. Vampires don't really need oxygen, I remind myself.

I slow down a touch but I don't stop what I was doing to him. I don't know why but for me this is some of the very best kind of foreplay.

And hearing my thoughts this time, he lets me make him writhe there pinned to the wall until the pleasure becomes excruciating and his knees buckle to slide him down to collapse in a heap with his legs splayed out in front of him on either side of me.

Ah, the perfect position to begin from when he gets his second wind.

He blinks cerulean kaleidoscopes at me, and my Lucien starts to laugh.

"You make me so happy," he tells me and pulls me toward him to lean against him.

I listen to his heart's Taiko drumbeat and I lay a kiss on his chest there. Me too, love. His arms are loosely wrapped around me, and with the shower still steaming up our space and puddling under us so that we are delightfully warm, I can't think of anything more perfect. He still smells like a private tropical island to me.

I feel something strange all at once. A tugging and pulling that has nothing to do with my body or that of my fallen-angel lover I'm cuddled against, and somehow I know what it means. "Someone's here, at the house."

"How do you know?" He looks and sounds so tranquil; as if all is right with the world. I guess it is.

"I cast a spell I found and copied from one of those books in our bookstore. It's only the second one I've tried – barring the Blood Feast - and I don't know one to find out who it is yet."

We help each other to stand up. "It's Lief."

"How do you know?"

He pauses as he tries to put it into words; "Centuries of saving each other's lives... we've shared blood... does that bother you?"

My cheeks warm and I don't know why.

"I don't think so... I love him even more that he has saved your life, and I'm a little jealous of him I guess that he has shared that with you, even if it's a bit silly to be, given that he was doing so way before my great grandparents were born. I really want to find someone for him who can rock him with his feelings for her and who will guard his heart carefully... I don't know... I think that's it... I think it was feeling a little embarrassed that I was jealous for a second there."

"I hear you sometimes marveling at how young I can be. Would it surprise you to know a tiny part of me is glad to have made you jealous, no matter how briefly?"

He ducks his head and I'm not sure if it's that sweet gesture I love to

see, or that he's glad he's made me jealous, but I want to stay in the shower with him all night; causing him over and over to need cleaning up again.
Qari-Kleid-Essa

The doorbell rings, bringing us back to the moment, and we rinse off and bail out of the shower; our joyous interlude abandoned in our shared concern.

What could have brought Lief here?

We wrap towels around ourselves and hurry downstairs.

"Narakasura's minions attacked the house," Lief says by way of greeting as soon as we open the door.

I open the door wider so we both stand before Lief and I ask him the first question that pops into my head; "What defensive spells do you guys use?"

"We don't have defensive spells."

What?

"But you have books full of spells. Who or what are they for?"

"We accumulate some things and dispose of others. They simply seemed of interest, but they weren't anything we could immediately use."

Could I be the only witch they've had around?

"We've got to go there and fix that. Was anyone hurt?" Lucien's hand comes up to my shoulder and I can tell he's glad I asked the question. I wonder why he's letting me do all of the talking... faith in me or something? I love you too.

"Some minor injuries. There is more of your infusion left."

"Yuck, that's got to be stone cold, Lief."

"We took it off the heat, but it stayed warm. We keep it covered and no one touches it but for emergencies. Also, you should know both of you; there have been some changes with us. The Purging had some unexpected side effects."

"Like a true Purging then." This from Lucien.

"Yes."

"Like what sort," Lucien asks, and I'm glad he asked because I wouldn't have been able to. I think I'm really going to enjoy this 'being on the same wavelength' thing which has us speaking each other's thoughts.

"Powers... I move faster than I ever have. Usually I can move too fast for a mortal to see; now it's even other vampires. Rafe... Rafe's Purging was harder, but now he can draw energy and not just trace amounts but something equivalent to a blood feeding by touch." Something passes between Lucien and Lief at this, and he continues; "Connor can confuse the minds of others with his gaze. Angus can know the minds or at least the conscious thoughts of others also by establishing eye contact. Meredith can induce lust with her gaze," he smiles wryly at Lucien and me. "Colette can induce fear. Tia can call animals telepathically to help her in all manner of things. And Frieda can speak to people also telepathically; she's working on the distance. Delphine's power is something. You know how she already seemed to be a bit otherworldly? She sort of glowed, like moonlight? Now she can disappear into moonlight; become part of it, and reappear anywhere else moonlight falls." I realize I must have been even more out of it with worry for Lucien when his people battled those black fiends to retrieve him. I only noticed how long the battle seemed to take as I envisioned what we would find under the ice.

They call Delphine otherworldly? I wonder how they see themselves.

Then my brain snaps its fingers under my nose and replays what he just said for me.

"I'm sorry, you, and Rafe, and Delphine all had the blood feast too?" I establish a solid grip on the kitchen counter as I stand there with winter air curling around my wet legs. "Lief, I don't mean to be rude, but didn't you tell them not to drink it? Why would you drink it?"

"Because we wanted to. We recognized it for the real thing, Meagan."

"Lief, it nearly killed them... or at least it seemed like it; it couldn't have been all that fun! Why would you voluntarily go through that?"

"For the power and... for the cleansing." Now Lief's not talking to me; he's looking straight into Lucien's eyes like he's endeavoring to tell him something.

Suddenly he turns those ice blue eyes on me, and says: "None of us are proud of what harm we've done to innocents or those we care about, Meagan. And we don't want to profit by it. But centuries of living with guilt and regret leads to such a loss of spirit as to kill the will to live and even leads to madness."

Again he looks to Lucien, and then back to me.

"If any good at all may come from this; that we may atone formally to someone, and that we may then grow stronger for it. Stronger than Narakasura who is mad, and who wants to wipe us out in his madness; that, that is worth it. Isn't it?" His face becomes flatter and yet younger as he continues; "He can't grow any further, whether from fear or because he's killed too much and a subsequent purging has shattered his reason, but he's turned inward and will be no more than a monster. But we, we can learn and become more still, be better people and learn how not to harm anyone; even by accident... someday. We still have more in common with humanity than with Narakasura, don't we?"

"I keep thinking so every day I know you, Lief." He looks away smiling.

A new idea rears its head.

"Wow Lief, we really need to go set the house up. If Narakasura hears about your new powers and the blood feast and your books, and finds out you have no defenses; all of the battles will be fought at your house, and soon. Let's go."

For the first time, Lief gazes down at us, and it's deliberate and... amused?! "Don't you two want to get dressed first?" We look down at our towel -clad selves and then at each other. Oh. Right.

"C'mon in the rest of the way and have a seat then," I tell him, making an effort not to sound embarrassed.

*

Lief had a back-pack on which he passed to Lucien, and with the ease of long habit; my mate took it from him, nodding his thanks. A spare change of clothes for Lucien, and he changed in the bathroom while I threw on some clean layers in my disaster-area bedroom.

There was a taxi waiting outside for us, and Lief road up front with the driver while Lucien and I sat beside each other listening to each other's thoughts. We had a taxi instead of one of any of the vehicles the vampires might own so as to avoid Narakasura taking an unhealthy interest in me.

*

Now, I'm back at what is rapidly becoming my second home. Every time I leave I'm not gone long, but so much happens each time it's almost a different person entirely that comes through the side entrance and marvels at the scale of everything around her. I can't cast any sort of defensive spells on the house until I know more about Narakasura's minions and the types of attacks these walls will have to withstand. There was little damage done during their attack as they came at sunset and didn't stick around long. The consensus seems to be that it was some sort of reconnaissance mission; maybe they noticed Lucien wasn't there, and I'm glad Lief came to retrieve us when he did. Generally though, they threw themselves at the windows until they'd broken through in enough places and then they engaged the vampires directly. I'll need a spell to keep them well away from the windows, so they can't break or peer through them.

*

I'm on my way out to the library when I hear what sounds like an argument on the other side of a massive granite pillar in one of the grander entryways. I'm about to just breeze past; it's none of my business anyway, when I become aware that one of the voices is Lucien's. And close on the heels of that knowledge is the fact that the other voice is Lief's.

I wait to hear a third voice; they can't possibly be arguing with each other.

I step sideways a foot to see.

There isn't anyone else there, and now I make out words, and I'm trying to back up and leave the way I came before they know I'm there.

"... never brought it up, and I never will; you are my friend."

"Lief -"

"We both know it's never been about that. They – we need you -"

"Lief, I shouldn't have done that to y-"

"Never mind me, Lucien; with this Purging and the new abilities to learn how to control, you can't just aband-"

I'm out of earshot again, and I go back to Lief's kitchen and climb up on a stool to wait until the hall is clear. There are other routes to the library, but none I've tried that I haven't gotten immediately and hopelessly lost following. So Lief has an issue with Lucien going off on his own too. I hope whatever he's saying sinks in, and not just because I want my own feelings or anyone else's spared. I'd rather Lucien not go out and get himself killed by going it alone.

I glance around Lief's cheerfully lit kitchen. This time I gaze deliberately at my cauldron sitting on it's tripod on the counter, and when I lean over and brush my fingers across its surface, it still feels warm. Hmmm, they weren't kidding. And it seems they really do like and want this stuff. Thank you Goddess, for looking after them for me. I don't know how I'm going to be their witch. I have no idea what I'm doing, and it looks like I'm all they have.

Aren't I? Well since we're all up, and I'm going to have to see to the defenses of this place; I'd better find a way to stay awake, and maybe see about some supper/breakfast. I'm starving.

I'm making coffee when Connor comes in through the east doorway of the kitchen, and I have a moment of déjà vu; I've just made the Blood Feast and he's telling me how good it smells.

Returning to the present, my gaze is yanked to the counter with its still warm cauldron, and I attempt to make the smile I have for him less sickly looking.

"Smells good, Meagan-girl," and then his smile goes a little pale. I want to laugh at him and I fight not to whimper instead.

What have I put him through?

"Connor, about the Purging; I had no idea-"

"Girlie, girlie, you did a wonderful thing for us all-"

"I helped the Goddess punish you for things you hardly had any control over, and even less idea what you did or how bad it was."

The coffee maker has stopped gurgling and I pull a mug down and gesture at him with it to see if he'd like a cup; I can't make eye contact with him until I get this all out.

"Meagan – yes, please, just milk – look, that's just the way it is; it works itself out."

Now I have to stare up at him stunned. All the fury, and remorse, and the sense of betrayal I've come to feel over this comes spewing out in a scalding torrent.

"It works itself out?! That's ridiculous, Connor! Why should you be punished for stuff that wasn't your fault? Why punish you now, when you've learned – woken up – come back to yourselves again? And why when the whole point was to do something wonderful for you; did she use me to torture you all?" Great, I've dumped half of his coffee on the counter.

I'm hunting around for the dishcloth when I turn and find him standing next to me; he's blocking out all of the light in the kitchen, and I jump, and the tears let go and spill down my cheeks.

He seizes hold of me around my waist and lifts me up, and sets me on the counter (away from the coffee) so that I'm almost eye-to-eye with him.

And he can't find the words for all that he wants to say; so he just enfolds me in his massive arms and squishes me tightly. Immortal hugs are better than mortal ones. Especially Incredible Hulk-Connor hugs. He starts speaking as he holds me, slowly stroking down my back with large, touchingly gentle hands.

"Meagan-girl, you never set out to do us a whit of harm; so I don't want to hear another word about what you think you've done to us. As you're so fond of saying, 'It's not your fault.'

He pulls back a bit and thumbs away whichever tears are left on my face, and not in his beard.

"Think about it a moment. Even the very best of us, are taught compassion and responsibility for those we'd otherwise become alienated from. We are often persecuted simply for being different from them, and thus scaring the hell out of them. We do live far longer and know more, and become much wiser, and more patient. We also become jaded and uncaring of them and their concerns. How else are we reminded of their suffering, and kept from adding to it?" I'm not sure I think my new family members need this done to them in order to be the good people I've come to know, but I'm not ready to argue with him yet; I don't have the resources right now.

He continues in his lilting Irish accent, "And then there's the worst of us; and they need to be reined in somehow. The quest for power and the cruelties they'd be willing to inflict for it, are curbed only by the threat of having to experience it all themselves to truly benefit by it."

He draws my hands into his and holds them, warming them up again. "I don't know much about your Goddess, but if there is a power that exists that can absolve me of what I've done be it God, or Goddess, or the fates themselves, and I can truly believe that my soul has been cleansed; then such punishment as it is, is well worth it. It is well worth it," he repeats giving my hands a shake with each word.

"And you've given us through your Goddess, a gift. A really fantastic gift. Has Lief not told you? Do you know how much stronger we are now? What you've brought us? You didn't just bring happiness like we've never seen in him, to our leader; you've made us your own people as much as we are his - like a true lady, a queen should. You've cared about us, and done for us – why, you've bled for us - and beat yourself up on our behalf. You have made all of us stronger and this place where we have chosen to congregate safer. It is more of a refuge now than ever. You are truly powerful in your own right, and how quickly you've picked it all up. If he is our liege lord, then you are truly his lady; our lady."

"Connor... I don't know what to say." I can't seem to stop crying but these tears don't bother me as much as the ones in my living room.

"I'm honored Connor, and grateful to have you for a friend and part of my extended family."

I glance up to see if he thinks 'extended family' is a bit corny, but he doesn't look anything other than moved. "Thank you for everything you've told me. You've fixed a lot for me about this Purging and about what I'm doing here... but you'd better watch buttering me up like that, I'll never be able to walk around properly with such a swelled head."

I laugh, and so does he.

"Seriously though, I'm flattered. I hope I'll make a good lady for all of you."

"Meagan-girl, I have no doubt of that," he says as he steps back to let me down off the counter and reaches for his mug.

He peers into the half-full cup and says, "But you make a dismal cup of coffee."

Lucien and Lief come into the kitchen with storm clouds still roiling between them. They don't appear to be angry exactly, just like their argument is far from over and now it's going to soak the rest of us too. Angus, Meredith, and Colette enter from the lounge side door, and the twins and Rafe follow. I turn to glance back at Lucien to see him looking just a bit cornered and I notice out of the corner of my eye that Delphine has arrived but I'm not sure by which door she entered the room.

"Are we not your equals?" It is Meredith of all people challenging Lucien, and I can't even fault her; if I'd been a vampire it's exactly what I would have said to him as well. Before he can answer that of course they all are, she continues; "Then we're in this collectively and there will be no more of this 'sacrificing yourself to protect us from all harm' foolishness." She says it so calmly and certainly, as if telling someone who landed on Earth for the first time that water is wet and fire burns and there is no use arguing about it.

Now it is Colette's turn. "You are our leader. What will 'appen to us, if you die on us, Lucien?"

"You gave us quite a scare and this time he'll send all of them for you. But they'll be no match for the lot of us, I say." This of course is Connor, and I want to hug him again.

"They will be coming 'ere, and they will not give up now that they know how we've grown," Colette contributes again; "they will want our power for their own."

"Will ye really fight it out with one hand tied behind yer back, lad? From Angus.

"One of the things that have made you strong as a leader is that you never fought being so. You let them rely on you and you relied on them, as a true leader should. Will you let all of that fall apart now?" Lucien recoils slightly in hurt. If anyone other than Delphine has the right to question him, it's Lief; so I clasp my nervous hands behind my back and bite down hard on a tongue that wants to leap to Lucien's defense.

Until now the twins have watched this little confrontation like a tennis match, politely waiting for the right time to voice their approval. "Lead us in battle Lucien, as in all things" they chime together.

Delphine stirs from her contemplation of the frost patterns in the window at the end of the kitchen, "Lead them." The softly spoken words resonate in the air as if someone has struck a gong. It seems that's all she plans on saying. It won't be enough. He can't face what he expects to see in the Purging, and he still thinks he's endangering them by being weak, so he'll just carry on struggling to go it alone. At the first opportunity he will go off and get himself killed.

Lucien looks around for Rafe. "I haven't heard from you yet, Rafe."

Rafe seems startled and then amused and finally intrigued. "Don't you want to be cleansed of it? All of it?" And just like that Rafe's gotten to heart of the matter. I've thought his focus was mostly inward; maybe I've misjudged Rafe.

Colette pipes up again; "Don't you wish to know? The truth – once and for all?" She means Catherine and whether Lucien is to blame for her death as he believes, and just how much torment he really caused her.

He looks to me, and he doesn't have to voice anything. He wants to know what I think too. "Can you think of any better reasons? Or a better place," I ask looking around with a warm smile at everyone assembled here. People who are his family members who don't want to lose him and who are tired of seeing him slicing himself up with this razor-edged thing.

Lucien looks tired himself suddenly and I notice that although we've restored much of his colouring, he is still missing some essential vitality. Maybe at the least if he has some more Blood Feast, he'll lose that flattened by a Mack truck look.

My stomach reminds me loudly that I'm famished, and my brain finally wakes up. Maybe I'm hungry because Lucien is, and as I become aware of it, it sharpens abruptly and I'm dumbfounded that he has resisted it.

Will his privation trick him into the decision? I hope not, or it will be no decision at all and my mate will never be able to put such weakness as he'll see it behind him.

I touch his thoughts gently so as not to distract him, and I find that the fear of the Purging makes the idea of drinking it positively nauseating. Hmm... maybe hunger won't be motivating him after all.

"You all deserve better than I've given you lately," he begins and I'm delighted to realize that it's not only my voice clamoring to assure him that he's a great man who leaves us wanting for nothing, and that we love him.

Rafe fills a bowl for him from the cauldron, taking a moment to peer down into the depths. I wonder what he sees. He hands it to his leader and without further ado Lucien drinks the Blood Feast again and waits. He seems less nervous than I expected him to be but then he might be bucking up again. He is the figure meant to inspire his people after all and from the looks on many of their faces, he's moving them now with his courage. They've all had to face their own Purging but they didn't have a choice in the matter. Lucien's demonstrated he's strong enough to hold it off, and now he's voluntarily enduring it anyway. I can't reach out to see how it really is with him now that it could begin any time, but I have some idea - I hope – of just what it is that his face masks. I'm glad his people are here but part of me wishes we could be alone for this so I can hold him as I did in my living room.

He sways suddenly and grabs for the counter and misses. He groans and it is not in pleasure although it still tears through me, and I wince in sympathy.

Angus and Connor grab him from either side and ease him down to sit on the floor before he can fall. They stay kneeling beside him with me in case he begins to thrash around.

I take one of his hands in mine as they wander across the floor and Colette comes over and takes the other. If I thought she looked prettier when she smiled; I had no idea. An expression of tender caring transforms her face into something awe-inspiringly beautiful. Just looking at her I am struck with gratitude to be part of this process, this strange Goddess-magic, and this loving family. This time I'm also fortunate enough to share Lucien's pain with him. If this is one of Her miracles, then it might be official; She has my love now too. That I'm here to help Lucien with this; is such a gift. I realize I was putting off spelling the house because I had doubts it would work because my faith in the Goddess had taken such a beating. I apologize to the Goddess and ask forgiveness for doubting Her. Maybe She meant for them to be stronger so they could survive against Narakasura and finally beat him and end his presence in their lives, and I find that my faith in Her is strengthened.

When at last it's over, I ask him if he saw Catherine before he starts to pass out, and Lucien whispers, "No," with such a beatific smile; I share wide silly grins with each of his family members.

*

I get Lucien tucked in with Lief's quietly efficient help, and then I'm alone with my unconscious love. Lucien's skin has always been roughly room temperature to me, even under his clothing. But now he is quite warm to the touch; in fact he's almost mortal hot, and I fold the heaviest blanket on his bed back halfway.

There is nothing left I can do for him so I return to the kitchen for something to eat. I find some more eggs in Lief's fridge and some cheese, onions, peppers, mushrooms and there is garlic in Lief's spice drawer and I have to laugh a little. Maybe I can cook in Lief's kitchen after all. I'm feeling giddy knowing that Lucien didn't see Catherine in his Purging and that maybe he'll be all right now.

I make omelettes and fry two pounds of bacon. I toast about a half of a loaf of white bread and a quarter of wheat and a quarter of rye. Lief and I will get on famously if he keeps stocking his kitchen so well.

My new family members begin drifting into the kitchen, drawn by the smells of the foods cooking, and take up setting the table in concert and serving themselves as if this too were a familiar ritual. They don't wait for each other to start though, and I guess they're used to being on different schedules or having different tastes. I'd love nothing better than to sit down with some of them and enjoy a big breakfast but that guilty feeling is coming over me. The one that says something like; 'Procrastination never got anything done, Meagan get in that library and do something.'

I snag another piece of bacon for myself.

On my way out of the kitchen, Connor raises a slice of toast to me in salute and thanks me (at least I think he thanks me) around a mouthful, and the others chime in.

I smile back and tell them they're welcome anytime and head for the library with a lump in my throat. Such simple things that can mean so much.

I find another desk in the first chamber, and speakers and surprisingly, an mp3 player.

How did I not notice this when I was here last? Oh. Easy answer, because you were a little distracted then. Well it's time to celebrate as much as possible while still preparing for a yet worse ordeal. I'm beginning to think I should be more nervous about what we're going to do. It's not every day I help a bunch of vampires face down the Demon Of Chaos. But whether is was Connor's touching pep-talk or just having something to do; I'm looking forward to launching spells at the badguys and contributing again towards my vampire family's well-being.

I pull my Shuffle out of my bag, plug it in, and soon have some UB40 going. It seems pretty loud... I wonder if there are other speakers around the house that are playing 'Can't help falling in love'.

I search for books on Narakasura's minions but all I can find are notes made by some anonymous reader that suggest cleansing fire might be useful against them, and that unless one still bears wounds from them; normal household materials and basic spells should hold them at bay. If one is wounded by them, then few if any of the most powerful spells can keep them out.

I rifle through my spells of protection and warding, and I notice some notes I've made about athames. I discover two things. One, that it is possible to write things down and have absolutely no recollection of writing them, and two, that the kind of wood required for an athame is the petrified form of certain types of wood. Ha! It was dumb luck I found the right one in the form of the letter opener from the desk \- no, it wasn't dumb luck Meagan; it was the Goddess's guidance.

Why me?

What makes me so special the Goddess thought I'd be able to handle all of this magic and vampires and do anything to improve their lives?

A Deliberate Change

On my way through the house, moving to the music that pours from speakers located in every room as it turns out, I spy Tia and change direction to ask her a question.

She too moves to the music and gives me a grin to acknowledge her approval of my musical taste.

"Tia, I've haven't formally checked yet but I haven't seen anything so far; has any other vamp stopped a purging through sheer force of personality before?"

Not losing her smile or her rhythm she replies, "I've never heard of anyone doing so or come across any record of it."

Is there no end to the ways he impresses and awes me?

"No wonder Delphine lets him lead."

"It's one of many reasons," she tells me warmly and I grin back at her.

He is wonderful but is that reason enough?

What would make her think she shouldn't lead them instead?

What is different about her?

Delphine seems less fearful and less... pensive... than the others. Maybe Delphine is reassured by Lucien's strong character in spite of what went before.

What if that strength of will fails him?

Now that Lucien has made it through a Purging without seeing Catherine, will that crippling fear return to strip him of it?

Has it been so long for him that he's lived with fear and doubted himself that it's too much to recover from?

Is it really over? Worry about it later Meagan, you have things to do.

I move apart from Tia gesturing that I'm heading out and she nods and sings along to 'Tell me is it true,' and I have to laugh.

I turn around and find Tia before me again – oops – Frieda, and she looks like she has something to say.

"Hi Frieda, what's up?"

Frieda doesn't dance. "You know about my power?" Wow, this is serious.

I stop dancing too. "Yeah, Lief said something about hearing other's thoughts?"

"I saw and heard some of what Lucien was seeing and hearing when he was trapped. I never said anything." She leaves it there.

Waiting for my reaction?

"How come?" I keep my voice neutral; there could be any number of reasons I can't think of at the moment.

"I didn't know what they were – that they were from him," I open my mouth to assure her that there's been a lot of that going around lately and it all turned out ok anyway, but she continues; "and I did not choose to focus on them to be certain." Well of course not, she was probably overwhelmed. Let's change the tack here.

"Frieda, what is your new power like?"

I don't think she was expecting this but she answers me anyway; "It is strange... you are aware that we get what we ask for in the Purging, correct?"

"Yes."

"So you know that it is something I asked for... and yet it is not something I was prepared for."

I nod and let her get it all out.

"I had involuntarily heard the minds of others in this house, and merely because I also had their subconscious impressions in my sleep; I chose not to hear more, or focus on anything but eliminating them from my mind. If I had only paid attention to the newer visions, I would have understood and we may have rescued him the sooner and not had to endanger you at all."

My goodness, she's worried about me too? Queenly is the right word for the twins. Without Lucien, Lief, or Delphine, the vamps would still have a leader. Come to think of it... Connor wouldn't be bad choice either, or Angus; I definitely misjudged Frieda though. I didn't see enough in her and apparently I'm not the only one.

"So what you're trying to tell me, is that with a brand new power and the minds of at least eight other immortals with their lifetimes of memories invading your brain; and even their dreams were intruding into your unconscious mind you did the logical thing and tried to shut them out? And you blame yourself for that, and for not realizing when a ninth mind joined their assault on you, and for not being able to interpret what it meant; even though it took both Lief and I and some quality time in front of a computer to figure it out? And you honestly think I won't find ways to do silly things and end up in danger anyway without any action or inaction on your part?" Her eyes are large; perhaps she wasn't expecting me to become so militant on her behalf. Of the somewhat reserved twins she is the more distant.

"And you're trying to tell me that Lucien gets to make his mistakes with Catherine and in going up against Narakasura without help, and I get to make my mistakes with this Purging thing, but you don't get to make any? Wait 'til you develop your new skill before you start worrying if you have been using it right, eh? And give yourself a break!"

She is still so long I wonder if she's heard what I've said or is just not sure what to say. Finally she smiles at me warmly and proudly, and it widens into a wry grin and she says; "I will think on your words Qari-Kleid-Essa," and Frieda nods to me and then goes away humming to the music.

I stand there a second or two just shaking my head. Somewhere in the past hours as I've skimmed over more on the subject, I've realized I never noticed the energy transference from myself to Lucien at my house, and that could easily be because I might live in my own head too much. And if I can, then maybe these immortals can and have lived in their heads too long. They find it entirely too easy to blame themselves in any given situation. Okay, maybe I do too.

I begin the spells in time to 'Light my fire,' and once again because I'm doing something useful I find I'm actually having fun. The first spell is to confound evil's sight, and the other is to protect this enormous property from tampering; so that their little preserve may not be tainted as part of any plot of Narakasura's. I save one more spell for last as I ponder what 'home' means and whether or not I have two now.

*

"You read his entry."

I jump a little. I didn't see or hear Lief come into the library. I've cast a spell on the house and I have two more to go but I've come back to Lucien's book, and the last words concerning Catherine. I can't let go of worrying about what might still be lying in wait deep inside the man sleeping somewhere above me, and it's interfering with my concentration.

"Yeah, 'I shouldn't have done it, I fed on her, and now she is lost to me, changed and resentful,' and then later, 'It is over, never again, she died because of me,' and precious little in between, Lief. Is it over for him now that she wasn't in his Purging? I mean what else do I do with that? What else can I say to put it to rest for him?"

"You start with more detail," he says dragging a heavy armchair out, and sitting down. There is more then.

"You've read the rest of this?" He gestures to the piles of books scattered over the immense tabletop, to one at the top of the nearest heap.

"Yep – oh... you mean about having a break with reali-" I stumble to a stop.

Lief too? Of course. He is watching me, and it is his eyes that are sympathetic.

I roll my eyes at my own foolishness, and look away; but when I glance back, he's smiling warmly and we both laugh at me.

On impulse, I grab Lief's sleeve for leverage, and kiss him on the cheek.

He looks startled a sec, gives me a funny little lop-sided smile, and continues.

"He'd only been a vampire a few years, and only himself again for maybe the better part of a year." I curl up in my chair; I sense this story will be a long one, and I don't want to miss any detail.

"He met her, loved her, and she was the first human he ever allowed himself to feed upon." I nod politely; this much I know.

"Wait," I say, stopping him.

How do I ask this?

"There is nothing here to say... what..." I sigh and fling the rest out, "If you don't mind me asking Lief; what recourse do you have now? I mean, it's not as though you have forests teeming with life."

He answers me easily, as if he's been waiting for me to ask the question. "We are older and more powerful, and we can go longer between feedings, and less is required to sustain us." He shifts in his chair as if something doesn't sit well with him. "And there is much life in a city this size."

Oh, I understand. 'Life,' small animals like around my house, hmm, hence the huge property? For hunting in?

"Changed and resentful," Lief quotes startling me back on track.

"What does it mean," I gasp.

"At first of course, it was little things..."

Lief pauses as if trying to explain.

"Couple things, stuff when the first glow fades, and maybe you wish they wouldn't snore or something," I supply.

"Yes, exactly," he says smiling briefly at me in appreciation.

"But the difficult part... is that when he learned what was happening, what he could do... there was one change he made deliberately."

I'm glad I'm in this big wingback armchair. My limbs go spaghetti noodle limp, and heavy; like when I have the flu. I try to ask, but if I open my mouth, the salt water in the back will come out, along with my last meal.

Lief waits patiently for me to ask it, even though I'm pretty sure he knows what the question will be.

Is he studying me to see if I'll be strong enough for the answer?

I swallow a few times, and my stomach hurts, but everything stays put, and without concentrating on the meaning of the words, I blurt them out loud quickly for Lief.

"What change did he make?"

"He told her to stay away from danger. To not follow him when he went out and sometimes encountered other vampires, or did battle with them. Finally he told her not to go out at night."

I begin to smile.

"That's it? Staying in at night seems like a bit of common sense in this time, let alone in hers. And the 'stay out of danger' line seems par for the c..." I want to laugh, and I want to shed tears; so I decide to do a little of both. Just like he did with me, dropping me like a hot potato without a word of explanation. No wonder she got resentful.

Resentful? I'd have gotten furious. And he did it again! After all of that. After it wrecked him for centuries, he did it with the very next one - me. He didn't mess with my free will; he just never gave me any choice in the matter.

"Just like me Lief," and I give him a watery smile. Lief isn't returning it though. He looks scared, and... grim. Ah, he's wondering if now I'm going to drop Lucien like that proverbial overdone potato, and wreck him again for a few more centuries.

"What am I going to do with him, Lief? How am I ever going to get through? I don't suppose you have a couple of bricks lying around here somewhere, do you?" Lief seems like he wants to smile, and be relieved, but he'd like to be sure.

"Until I acquire a way better handle on whatever abilities I have, I don't plan on charging into the thick of things anyway. It'd be like having a giant target painted on me. I'd be about as effective as Robin was to Batman. Everyone would get dead trying to protect me, and I don't have any 'bring vamps back to life' spells, yet." I can't be sure, but I think Lief might be letting himself smile; he's got his elbows on the armrests of the chair and his fingers laced together, and his arms form an arc so that his fingers are before his mouth and jaw. His eyes look brighter.

"All I can do, or will be able to do for some time is a few basic charms I can give from here; before anyone goes out to do any battles. I could go along and stay back from the battle and help heal the damage. From what I've read, there's no danger to my mind if vamps take turns having a little of my blood. I mean, I'd only be able to help a slight amount anyway, there's only so much in my veins and I need the rest to walk around on." I'm hoping for a laugh to break the tension but he's not there yet. He's so immobile sitting there, not even blinking; I'm thinking that if he did laugh it would break him.

"But if it was a sip here, a sip there, sort of thing; I could manage it. And I wouldn't get hypnotized because it would be all different vamps. Happy, sure; but not missing my free will. There's just one problem though, Lief. That dough head is going to try to cut me out again with no explanation, and I don't know how well that flew back then – not very, I'm thinking – but it doesn't even get off the ground with me. I'm not sitting around waiting and wondering what he's facing, what's happening to him, whether he's bleeding somewhere or dying on me." I sound angry and I don't want to anymore; I want to reassure Lief that we – Lucien and I – can work this – wait.

"Lief? Maybe I need your help." He stirs but he doesn't speak.

"I'm going to have to tell him, remind him why this doesn't work; leaving people in the dark, people who love him. And when we've got that all sorted out, and he tries it again – we both know he will – maybe more than once before he gets it – I'll need someone on the inside when I'm dropped off somewhere; to clock him hard on the jaw and tell him to go get me and bring me back into the loop."

Lief moves now; he sits up and in a voice as thin as mine had gotten before he asks, "What?"

"Well maybe you wouldn't have to hit him that hard, or maybe you could just whack him in the shoulder. I wouldn't want you to mess up that face." Maybe I'm putting him in a tough position having to gang up on his friend. I had the impression when Lief took me home, and again when they were arguing in the hallway, that he didn't agree with Lucien's decision. Maybe I was wrong.

Lief is blinking at me, like a deer caught in headlights. I'm about to apologize for asking that of him, and tell him directly and without any attempts at humor that I'll keep fighting to stay in Lucien's life, even if he pulls that same trick on me again; when Lief laughs. Now I've heard him chuckle at me a little, like in the kitchen, but this... Like he hasn't enough breath for how huge it is, which is a feat for the eternally un-breathing. Like he's on a roller coaster ride. He's flattened down in the chair with what I can finally see is relief.

He's gone boneless with it and he slides down and sits on the floor in front of his chair still laughing helplessly, and I can't help but be caught up in it with him. We're both laughing – well I'm wheezing – I need to breathe more than he does, and between gales of laughter Lief says, "I know where I can lay my hands on a couple of bricks," and I'm going to die; I can't breathe I'm laughing so hard. It's all going to be ok, other than the upcoming brawl with Narakasura and his minions.

Before that thought has a chance to put a damper on my mood, Lief says; "And when I get tired, I'll just sic Angus on him," and we both make scared eyes at each other and kill ourselves laughing some more. He must have been afraid to come in here and give me the rest, but he did it anyway because he thought it was important. How courageous, but then he's Lucien's best friend and has been with him through a lot.

What else was I expecting in someone my love trusted, and relied on? His lieutenant, his comrade in arms must be just about as strong as Lucien.

I pull Lief to his feet and I glance down at the book lying open on the table.

"So what happened - how did it end?"

"She heaped abuse on him. Asked him what else about her he would like to change, and told him that he was playing God, and that one day he would be struck down for it, and she would like to be there to see it." I hate her all over again.

"She left him, and warned him against coming to see her again; that she would expose him and ensure that he met with those who fear us and hunt us."

"Bitch," I blurt out and then cover my mouth and glance up to see if Lief is disgusted with me for my language.

He looks startled a moment and then he simply nods agreement, grinning down at me.

"He let her go, and stayed away from her home, and when next he encountered Narakasura, he was told she'd been taken, tortured and killed by his creatures. That her body was now their plaything."

"You know, he really needs killing."

"Yes he does. But later, when Lucien went to her father to tell him what became-"

"Wait, he was going to tell her father in person? Did her father know what he was? God he's brave."

"Braver than I would have been..."

"Lief, that's not true-" He smiles and puts a hand on my arm to forestall me.

"She did not die in that way. Her father already knew she was dead, and it was some mortal disease she caught shortly after she returned that killed her."

"And he blamed himself for not keeping her safe - even from illness, didn't he?"

Lief nods, "He blamed himself for driving her away, and for not saving her from the mortal life she was leading. He wanted to pluck her out of the darkness she lived in and give her something better."

I have a thought, which I quickly put away to study later. What else is left to say?

"He's not getting rid of me, Lief, and it will take more than being overprotective of me to make me leave him. But I – we have a vested interest in keeping him alive, so when you go out tonight to get Nary-scary once and for all; I'm coming too."

"Nary-scary?" And Lief starts to laugh again, and then he surprises me by hugging me. Did I mention how great vampire hugs are?

They last longer and Lief and I are both so relieved we just lean against each other, and breathe, and let ourselves discover what it's like to be free of worry – for now. If Lief hadn't come here and told me the rest; I wonder if I'd have ever known the whole story.

Was Lucien hoping I'd never find all of it? No. He's been too brutally honest with me to have staged bringing home all of those books or his worry about what was in them.

"Why come and tell me this part, Lief? How did you know I didn't have the whole story?"

He throws me a wink and his half-smile, and reaches for the nearest book on the pile. He lets it fall open where it will and points at the script.

"Latin," and gestures at another line further down the page; "Old Celtic – the root language for Welsh, Scottish, and Irish Gaelic."

My mouth is starting to hang open and I close it.

"Some of these are even more complex, and far older;" he explains eyes dancing. I had thought there might be an upward limit – at least initially," and here he laughs; "to what you could absorb." The mirth drains from his expression suddenly; "and there was something about your voice when I called you, or your face when you came over..."

He places one hand on my shoulder so swiftly I don't see him move. "You weren't just worried – afraid for him; you were hurt by his absence, by his cutting off all communication with you; which suggested it may have come as something of a shock."

He was concerned for me. That's what his hand on my shoulder is for; sympathy and commiseration. Even as gratitude for his friendship fills me; I don't want him unhappy for so much as a second on my behalf. I open my mouth to tell him its ok, and he heads me off; "I know things are well between you now, but if you'd been properly inured to it, it couldn't have injured you so deeply." His fingers tighten on my shoulder. "I knew you couldn't have reached to the very bottom of it. There had to be more for you – even after you were reconciled there would be, because it has never gone from him in all of this time." Now his chin comes down as he looks away at something not here in library. "I have to hope it's over now, but if it isn't; you are properly armed." He returns his faded blue gaze to mine and I realize it's not just his eyes that seem that way to me now. Lief looks tired, and people often look that way most when they finally start to relax. Even if I don't have all of the solutions; just sharing his burden with someone who cares as much about Lucien as he does must be a welcome relief. When he laughed before, it wasn't just about not having me overreact to his information; it was finding out he wasn't alone anymore too. I want to reaffirm – to really bring home for Lief that we're a team now.

"I wonder if he knows how lucky he is to have two such wonderful people loving him."

Lief looks away again almost vampire-quick but not before I see a tell-tale glitter in his eyes.

I fold some of the nearer books back together to give him a moment. I realize that Lucien was with me in the bookstore as translator too. I wonder if some subconscious part of him wanted to postpone my reading of the truth in his book with the simple device of a language barrier.

I scan the titles of the personal histories again.

"Hey Lief?"

"Yes, Little One," he replies as he replaces the heavy wingback chair at the desk with one-handed ease, and begins stacking huge volumes.

"In all of the accounts I've read, Lucien's and others; there is never any reference to anyone's last names. I know it's been a while for some of you, but you couldn't have all forgotten them. Is it just that you all know each other so well after centuries that you just don't bother?"

"Surnames give others the power to hurt one through his or her descendents, Little One. Very few of us know each other's last names and it is... taboo to ask. Perhaps Lucien will share his with you." And he smiles at me and it is such a strange secretive smile filled with so many things.

He goes and lets me search out some offensive spells and jot them down. I realize that the reason the Goddess gave me the magic to give them the Purging was in part to end Lucien's guilt over Catherine. If she wasn't in the Purging, then he's not really responsible for her death no matter what convoluted reasoning he employs to destroy himself with. Thank you Goddess; I'll never doubt you again. If these vampires have spent years, decades, even centuries together and they've read some of each other's history and perhaps shared more details with some trusted few; I wonder how much Meredith really knows about Lucien and Catherine. From her brief tirade Meredith seemed to know a lot.

Maybe she's spent a long time striving to understand what happened to that doomed girl too?

And wondered what broke Lucien so badly all of those years ago that he's just beginning to get over it?

Partners

A prickling of shame creeps up my neck and over my cheeks at how immaturely I behaved towards her. She just thought I was going to come along and wound him all over again. After Catherine, Meredith probably has no more use for mortal girls or any inclination to watch someone she loves self-destruct over one again. She truly loves him, and I beat her up with it. Tsk, I'm going to have to apologize to her. I don't plan on being away from Lucien again, and it might become problematic if I can't even look one of his people in the eye. I find a couple of other spells which might come in handy for later.

If there is a book here for Lucien... are there books for the others?

Would they keep them here where the rest could read them?

Maybe out of courtesy - or resignation – realizing it would only be a matter of time before someone just had to look them up? There is nothing to say all of their private thoughts or outright secrets have to be contained in a personal volume anyway. So anything I find here is something they have for whatever reason decided to share with the others.

But does that necessarily mean me too? I won't pry but I will check to see if there are logs here of everyone in this household. At least that way if something comes up... hunh... everyone but Rafe. I wonder why.

I go set up the rest of the defenses around the place, while I consider the thought I had in the library. He thought he could save Catherine.

Did Lucien plan to make her a vampire to save her from her mortal life?

Or was it merely that he would show her so much more and teach her so much more than a mortal could? I wonder if he plans on making me a vampire someday. Not yet I hope; I want a family.

Wait, he wouldn't be able to contribute biologically at least... so what does it matter if I can?

Would I go to a sperm bank or something?

Would it be that important or could we just adopt? There are so many children who need homes. And the biggest change in my life would be that initially I couldn't be a day-walker so no sunlight for me. Apparently, I'd need a good century for that. Hmm.

What would the conversation with my parents be like? 'Hey guys, good to see you, I'm immortal now, so no grandkids or visits during daylight... so plus-one ok for Easter Dinner?' That would be interesting.

I ask around, as I spell doors and windows to prevent those bat creatures from seeing inside, if anyone can see the pentagram on the floor around the book. No, they can't, and the looks they give me in response range from amused to confused. I wonder who drew it.

*

I cast the last spell I've been mulling over; "Awillo-wo-ret-e-sme moi treba writi moi namant," for a second time to protect this, my other home.

I go upstairs to see how Lucien is doing.

I find him with one arm flung over his head and the covers on his bed tossed.

Nightmares?

Or does he sleep that roughly usually, so that the bed is trashed the next morning – er – next evening? I find myself grinning like an idiot at his left forearm where it rests above his face. I won't mind making the bed up every morning after he's wrecked it... or after we've wrecked it.

He stirs in his sleep and then draws his arm down from his face to look at me and Lucien is still such a shock to my senses I forget to breathe. From his magnificently luxurious curls streaming outward from his face to his cheekbones gleaming like twin curved blades against the darkness of his hair; from the permanently upturned corners of his lips to the startling cobalt of his eyes and his amazing eyelashes to the gleaming moonlight planes of his slim, muscular body, I still can't quite grasp that all of this belongs to me now.

His expressive eyebrows quirk up and his lovely lips begin to smile for me, and my eyes can't get there quickly enough to check, but I find with all delight if no surprise at all, that his eyes are a more navy blue now for me and getting darker.

I'm sitting on the edge of the bed leaning toward my fantastically beautiful lover before I process that I've left the doorway I was standing in.

Lucien reaches for me to kiss me, and says; "Will you stay here, until we return?"

I freeze.

"What?"

What sort of pillow talk is that?

Let him and the other people in this household I've come to love go into danger without me? Boy, that didn't take long for him to try to put me on a shelf somewhere. I've only ever had specific thoughts or memories from him; it would be impossible to simply copy all of his mind over into mine. We wouldn't be two individuals anymore. I suppose there'll still be surprises no matter how much we share, and for the most part I'm glad of it.

"Stay here? I'm coming with you!" I set out smiling at him, hoping his comment is only an attempt at humor.

He doesn't honestly think he can stop me from coming along does he?

"No. No, you're not, Meagan." And it hits me again. 'Be careful what you wish for.' Oh no. Everything was going so well; it was finally ok. I guess it wasn't.

"Is that why you said it, Lucien; 'Be careful what you wish for?' Because if I don't do as I'm told you'll take blood from me directly so you can make me?" I'm not going to have my life dictated to me, and setting a precedent for it would be a very dire thing and will only help to reinforce his fears anyway.

I straighten up a little on the edge of his bed, and square my shoulders.

"She left because I wouldn't let her be hurt, and I lost her forever. I won't risk you because I'm afraid of the consequences if I don't." I guess I don't have to worry about him losing his phenomenal personal resolution over her.

I can feel an affectionate smile pulling at my mouth.

"Love, I'm a witch. Who's to say I'd be hurt? Couldn't we-?"

"And what if you don't get your own way on this, Meagan?" He spits my name out like an epithet. "You'd be gone anyway?"

He rises in one movement from the bed, to stand facing me a few feet away towards the sitting area at the end his bedroom.

What had I said or done to make him think that? Nothing that I know of. He still thinks I'll be no better than she was. After all we've shared and all we've faced so far. I let the hurt become anger and it helps me stop from shrinking away from his words.

"Who do you think you are speaking to me like that?"

I stand too in indignation; the massive bed at my back.

Did Catherine let him get away with talking to her that way? Not this girl and not in this day and age.

"Your people have faith in me, Lucien. Why not you?" And as he blinks in the face of my anger I can see he's just terribly frightened. I've told him a couple of times now I'll be stronger than she was, and we've shared our minds, our hearts with each other so many times lately. He should know I'll do better than Catherine.

What else am I supposed to say to him?

I sigh and take a deep breath. I'll need to be kinder to him and not yell at him anyway.

"No," I answer him more softly; "I wouldn't do that to you, and you know it."

Without another word he scoops his jacket out of the chair and heads for the door without looking back.

So now he has what he wants from me, he's leaving? I'm feeling manipulated.

"So what, I have to prove it to you by staying home like I've been told," I ask him outraged. So much for not yelling at him. I promised Lief, and I promised myself I wouldn't let him leave me behind.

He stops moving just before the door, but he doesn't turn around.

"You almost died once on me, and now you're challenging the guy who almost killed you right in his own fortress with all of his hell-spawn, and you'd like me to just sit at home and wait?!?"

What will I do if something happens to him, while I hide here, safe?

He turns now, and I've never seen my mate in a cold rage before. I haven't been able to hear his thoughts or even get the usual general idea of his emotional state for the last few minutes and maybe I've gone too far. His face must have been chiseled out of granite. If granite could seethe. His eyes are some sort of blue fire like nothing native to planet earth. I'm expecting death-rays to come shooting out of them, putting a whole new spin on the expression 'if looks could kill'.

He moves toward me like some large cat pacing in its cage; oblivious to his own deadly grace as it's secondary – less than that – a tool – for his purpose. His generously appointed suite hasn't seemed confining before now.

I take a step back involuntarily, bumping the bed and then stop myself from taking any more right up and over it; but Lucien stops coming toward me and just breathes through his teeth as if he's struggling not to do something unfortunate. I can't lose this argument though, and I doubt I'll ever truly be afraid of Lucien or his temper. I was just thinking he should know me better, and I know him. He'll never hurt me; he'll just try to force me to do what he wants one way or the other – for my own good. Not today. The Goddess has given me these powers, and my friends the Purging and their new powers for a reason; to bring this all to a head. I wouldn't have found those offensive spells if She hadn't wanted me to. I am meant to be there for this battle.

He's off balance now so maybe I can tip him right over on this. Instead of smoothing things over, I launch another assault before he can find his words; "So your fears for my safety matter, but mine for your well-being don't?" This is fighting dirty. He could say the same thing to me.

"The Goddess cleansed me of my guilt and remorse over Catherine... I can't imagine what... how... it would be... if anything happened to you," Lucien breathes as he steps toward me again into a sunbeam. His voice is too soft for even the wintriest of anger. His eyes shimmer in the light through every shade of blue I've imagined with unshed tears. I've never seen them so lovely, and I hope I never have reason to again.

His lips are compressed into a level line, which means there's more he's holding onto, so I reach out to cautiously brush his thoughts with mine.

This time I get through, and I bite my lip hard when it hits. He is panic-stricken and unable to take any action or speak any further words to assuage it. All he can hope to do is live through it and hope I understand his fear enough not to be angry with him or let it drive me away. No amount of logic will dispel his terror; irrational or otherwise. He knows keeping me locked away from all harm is impossible and yet he has to try; even thinking he could lose me anyway.

As he feels my thoughts brush his and feels the knowledge of what he's going through penetrate my mind, he makes a strangled pain sound and his shoulders slump. I can't be angry with him anymore; I can do nothing else but hold him. I close the distance between us practically throwing myself into his arms.

My arms encircle his neck and I'm kissing him and burying my face in his hair. I sense that he's given in; he has no other choice but to wait and see how this turns out because he's run out of logical ways to fight it, and he's too exhausted and too paralyzed with fear to come up with more. He's defeated and I never wanted to see him broken or even changed; just willing to accept help from his partner.

He stands there with me wrapped around him not moving; completely unresponsive and expressionless.

What can I say to him to ease his fright? He's been afraid for so long thinking he was responsible for what happened to Catherine, and then wondering when Narakasura would find a way to take something else equally precious from him, or that Lucien himself would find a way to drive me away, and now that he's stopped fighting all that's left to him is this miserable quaking dread as he waits for me to abandon him in some way.

I let go a little until my feet touch the floor so I can see his face better and I see his lips thin a little more in his otherwise vacant face.

"Lucien?" His face is angled down towards me but he looks past me, his body almost vibrating with tension as he stands there motionlessly.

Tears fill my own eyes.

"Lucien-love, I would never leave you. I'd never let some argument drive me away; no matter how frustrated I got. You love me and you don't want to lose me. Why would I punish you for trying to keep me in your life by leaving it? Why would I do that to myself? You are the single most wonderful thing that's ever – or ever will – happen to me. You and I will find ways to argue about all kinds of things together and you have to understand that's not going to make me just get up and leave. Ok? Lucien? Never. I promise."

Should I give in and wait for him to be stronger? This is the one place where he can't be strong though Meagan, and if I stay back from the danger now it will be all too easy to do so again; for him and for you. If he can only make that leap of faith – once, just once – I could prove it to him beyond words; beyond any shadow of a doubt that I am strong enough and I love him enough to be his true companion through everything.

He peers into my eyes shaking his head, and kisses me so tenderly I tear up again and it starts becoming hard to breathe.

His arms come around me and Lucien kisses me more deeply, until I have to stop for oxygen.

"I'll stay back from the worst of it love, and stay safe," I whisper to him; "and whatever happens, it's my responsibility, no matter wh-" my words choke off as his arms tighten around me.

He crushes me against himself as if he could steal some essential piece of me to keep inside him.

He gasps with something else he has to say behind it, and he kisses me again. I get an impression from him that's so strong and yet nothing that is articulated in words. I just have the sudden knowledge that that's exactly what he wishes he could do; keep a part of me for himself so he could never truly lose me.

"Angel." Biting at my mouth, pressed so tightly to me, one hand tangled in my hair. Breathing is overrated I think, as I wrap myself around my Lucien and drink in every sensation of being in his arms and feeling his heat, his life, and his love for me. We've labored so hard to make this work and we've waited so long to be united and soon the worst could happen and Narakasura could find a way to take him from me forever. His thoughts now mirror mine.

I have to have him now, and his answering groan is so sharp it is a cry, as he lifts me suddenly against his impossibly firm body and pins me to the wall. I'm sure I'll be very sore later with so little foreplay and in such a position, but there is no way I'll ask him to stop or even do anything any differently. I need him to do all that he is going to do to me and I need him to do it now.

There is a soft knock at the door and Lief's voice sounding suspiciously apologetic; "We're all assembled when you're ready." You've got to be kidding me!

"I really do have to find somebody for Lief," I whisper into Lucien's curls; "if only to keep the man busy."

Lucien begins to chuckle which does interesting things to his lower torso where I'm wrapped around him, and I find it such a pity we can't stay so I can experiment some more with making him laugh.

*

Now, we get to drive around in the requisite black shiny limo that I've imagined vampires must travel in. But this time no one has the pre-battle duds from before on. There's no point when there is no stealth needed, no guile. We are bearding the dragon in his den, and over dull, ordinary street clothes our warriors just have small knives strapped around their waists. Unassuming things that can be left in the limo should the need to pretend to be mortals going out for dinner or something arise. Before it was about passing under ordinary mortal radar; now it's about blending in – at least until some plausible excuse to remove Narakasura from view can be arranged.

We all pile into the back but for Lief who drives, and there is room enough to easily hold our number again. We're heading further east into Scarborough and although there's less traffic on the 401 than the usual blockage at rush hour, it'll still take us a good twenty minutes to arrive at Narakasura's base.

I undo my seat belt and begin preparations for the upcoming brawl. I won't be in it; Lucien's made himself plain on the subject.

He's making me stay back where I'm useless and helpless and I can't argue because I've already pushed him so far and he's made so much progress; away from centuries of crippling fear, and anxiety and loneliness towards something healthy and beautiful for both of us.

I'll do what I can for them before they go into battle, and wait somewhere safe and attempt to heal them of all of the damage they sustain that I am able to.

From my bag I draw out a sheet with a prayer that was too long to memorize. It is necessary to swear this to the Goddess before casting spells to aid your allies in battle or the spells won't work. With the Blood Feast it would have been beyond my control if they'd gone on to misuse their new power, but since I'm more or less present for this conflict, it is my responsibility to see that any further gifts I ask the Goddess to bestow on them be used properly. Otherwise I could lose Her favour altogether. We could lose her favour, and with all that my family and I have gained through Her beneficence; I don't want to chance never being able to gift them with more or not having an edge when endeavoring to keep them all safe.

I say a prayer to my God and to my Goddess that they continue protecting the people I love no matter what I manage to screw up in my ignorance.

"Mon-eje ni-me ta-ro wrag-a ans-kridjo writi kwinnako-sam-bu sa kreiwo kom keiwo." This means roughly 'I swear I won't do injury against whatsoever comes from the flesh of man. It is the bat creatures' attacks that I'll be trying to defend them against. They'll be on their own with Narakasura, but I'm hoping nine to one odds in their favour will see them through that part safely. It occurs to me belatedly to be embarrassed in front of these somber immortals for chanting in another language words that sound like they're from a TV show; but words just like these said over a stewpot are what have brought them all here to defeat Narakasura once and for all, and it's what has turned them all to face me expectantly.

"I've only found two for allies so far guys – at least... only two that didn't seem kind of... dark. Some of those spells call for some... odd things. I have to cast them on you individually by touch. The first is 'Skin Of Iron,'" and as Lucien speaks softly to them about staying together and relying on each other; I move amongst them all, touching each on the hand or arm but always on bare skin saying; "Skramman kom isarno." With each casting something black and heavy rises (ponderously to me, but taking no more than a couple of seconds) up through the floor of the car and into my hands, to spread outward from them to coat each vampire briefly in a dully gleaming black skin, before fading from sight.

"The second just translates as 'Fast.'"

And I maneuver through them all again saying, "Aku;" and focusing on them moving even faster than they are capable of. This causes a wind out of nowhere to sheer through the walls of the car as if they weren't there and ruffle everyone's hair (and blow my notes around) before rushing straight into each person I cast the spell on. I hope Lief won't find himself bouncing off of things what with the double speed boost; one from me now and the one from his Purging. As I look into eyes ranging from blue to black, all filled with wisdom and with hope and acknowledgement of what I'm attempting to do for them; I hope in turn that it will be enough. Depending on the room available I'm sometimes kneeling before someone but each no matter what my position nods to me as I finish... all except Delphine of course; but then she doesn't seem to register anyone's presence in the limousine. Her eyes are a little unfocused and I wonder what she sees.

For Lief I stretch over the back of his seat and he raises one hand from the steering wheel to accept the magic I set into him. I left him to the last so he'd have a chance to observe and then steel himself for the effects against driving right off of the road.

As he takes his hand back Lief throws me that silly salute of his in the rear-view mirror, and I wink back at him.

I settle back in my seat and buckle up again resisting the urge to wipe my now sweaty palms together. I don't want them to see that I'm nervous; that I wish I could have found more that would be useful or at least would make me feel surer about their survival. I try to relax as our car glides through the night.

*

Lucien is finished speaking to his people and we've arrived. Another skyscraper in a sea of them, and then we're heading into the underground parking, and the arm is up as if Narakasura is expecting us. They hardly betray themselves, but here and there I can see them watching out of the tinted windows for signs of ambush. I have a vision of them standing with their backs to the huge limo trying to protect me while I cower inside. I should have cast spells on the limo too, but at the least it would be capable of slowing a hypothetical first wave of Narakasura's bats.

At last we come to a stop across from a disreputable looking elevator. There are no other cars here; not even the obligatory one or two cars that always seem to be in parking garages – even over holidays – as if there are solitary lost souls who never go home. I wonder what lie Narakasura told the people who work here, to get them all to clear out.

Could he have done it out of concern for their well-being? Or to keep from having his cover blown? That implies that his day-to-day life will be something to consider. He mustn't have any doubts as to the outcome of today's confrontation, then.

We pile out of the behemoth black vehicle that was our last refuge, and the rest of the gang minus Lucien heads for the elevator. Lief turns at the last second before he steps onto the elevator and sticks his tongue out at me quickly and says, "Beep, beep!" I start to laugh. This is so the wrong time and I can't stop. Maybe I needed the tension release. I hope our Road Runner doesn't get hurt.

He smiles at me, that sweet lop-sided smile and gives me his trademarked salute, and withdraws to stand with the others.

And Lucien reaches out to me and touches my cheek so lightly it tingles as he strides away until he vanishes behind the elevator door.

My laughter cuts right off as the door shuts. I love him even for his superstitions, and maybe that means I am a believer in luck and whatnot as well; no goodbye kisses between us. I launch a quick prayer to the Goddess that none of them be hurt. I know it's a tall order but just in case there is even a chance that it will help them...

Trust

Silence, pacing, chill night air drifting in and temporarily dispelling the motor oil, and gasoline smells. More quiet so intense it stings the ears and adding the diesel stink of the garage, it initiates a doozy of a sick headache. More pacing, listening to my boots over the gritty pavement at each turn instead of concentrating on that awful empty stillness. Striving not to imagine the worst, to avoid seeing all of them crumpled and broken; strewn like marionettes flung down by a spoiled child over the floor. Toys that can bleed and whose eyes stay closed.

*

Bang! Crack! And the screech of tortured metal, and then a series of muted thumps. Each bump and crash may as well be connecting with my body. My nerves have become stretched so I tightly, I jerk hard with each one.

What the hell? I draw out my athame with shaking fingers, and I almost start fumbling for my notes but I've read them so many times I can see the words behind my eyelids when I close them.

Something is coming down the elevator shaft and I'm pretty sure those wraith things could simply fly out a window or something so it has to be my people, and by the sound of it they're in trouble.

I stand well away from the elevator and put my back to a wall and raise my athame.

The doors open at last and Meredith's eyes widen in surprise at the sight of me brandishing my athame at her, and then they pile out of the elevator with various injuries I suppose, but I only have eyes for Lucien. I guess he'll be last out of the elevator being their leader but I don't even see him.

What's happening – they couldn't have left him!

Lief is striding toward me and raising his hands to my shoulders. No, no, no, no, no, I don't want – I can't –"Where is-" I can't breathe. He's blocking my view of the elevator.

"He's been hurt – badly," his hands squeeze my shoulders; "he needs your help," and Lief slides one hand down to take my free hand in his and takes each step with me back to where my love waits. He hasn't been left behind, of course.

What was I thinking?

What I find on the floor of the elevator looks like so much meat that my mind freezes to avoid finding his face and having it brought home to me that it's a real person. Maybe I should wish they had left him behind rather than have him be this. But it is a real person, who I love and who I wish I could trade places with, who got this way while I paced and worried and did nothing just a few stories below him. My relief at knowing he wasn't just abandoned up there turns to sharp stomach pains and the taste of acid in the back of my throat.

"Lucien!" I would run the last few steps to him but I'll just skid across the bloody floor and plow right into him and hurt him. I think I appreciate having Lief's hand to hold me upright now anyway.

Why have they all left him there on the floor?

I know they're hurt, but can they really be afraid to move him? Or they don't know what to do for him? I had thought to prepare for injuries – damage. Seeing blood saturating his clothing and even his hair, I understand there's no way I could have braced myself for this.

I step inside the elevator and gingerly kneel beside the still form. I reef my jacket off and wad it up and shove it under his feet like any other shock victim, trying not to focus on any one injury yet.

"Lucien, please wake up!" My throat burns as though the scream I've been stifling has torn its way out, injuring the softer tissues.

His eyes open at last and find mine slowly.

"Angel." He starts to smile but that one word makes him cough and his white, white lips are suddenly stained brilliant red with his blood. The sharp, metallic-sweet smell of it is thick in my nostrils; blotting out the usual comforting scent of coconut, and my stomach heaves.

I swallow painfully, and try to assess the damage done.

"God and Goddess help me Lucien," I say leaning over him carefully with one hand on the far side of his head, beyond his curls; "we've got to get some blood into you."

"Not you; send Lief in here," he demands brusquely.

"All of the others are injured too, if not as badly as you, and they have to go back and finish this – or are you leaving tonight – will you come back and try again?" Maybe I can go back to that sanctuary of learning and peace that smells like books, and not blood. I'll find new ideas in Lucien's library and figure out how to be stronger about this. A stronger witch and a stronger person who can handle seeing what feels like her own heart cut up and spread out on the ground like this.

"He will not let us leave without finishing this, even were we so inclined."

As he speaks I can hear Narakasura's hellish minions above us rattling and scratching at the door to the shaft.

"So it's Lief who'll have to rejoin the battle depleted and wounded? And just what good would his blood do you anyway?" I sound like Rafe; all biting, cutting, bitterness. He's not being reasonable and there's no time to argue about it now. It would either have to be Delphine's blood as she is a much older vampire than my Lucien; or it has to be me. And I'm not entirely certain Delphine is old enough.

His eyes have closed as we've spoken but now they flare open again in surprise and outrage. I continue before he can speak. "I'm back here out of the battle doing nothing precisely for this moment when I can heal you and the others Lucien; I've prepared for it." For the magic, if not the concussion of seeing the inner workings of a living person I've loved and tasted, torn out and displayed before me.

Before he can answer there is a sound I'm not sure I can describe. It is the wind shrieking down on us. Then it is one loud, unending banshee shriek of impossible volume that shakes the building right down to the foundations like when a plane takes off close by. I wonder at the size of the thing bearing down on us. It's a good thing he's not speaking, because even sitting this close to him, I'd never hear a thing. Then, the moonlight is obliterated and the sound breaks into hundreds of separate voices and I realize at least part of this fight will be fought right here in the parking lot where it was supposed to be safe.

I see Lief gesture toward the elevator at us and he says something to the others that is lost to the deafening howling of the host closing with our people. They will risk themselves for us as they did at the river and as Lucien tried to risk himself for them before.

"Love they're defending us right now and neither one of us is going to be of any help to them until we do this."

"I cannot. I won't do it. Never again. Not you," he insists.

His chest heaves with the effort of his words and the blood flows faster. So much blood! He is papery white, his face is a skull, and his eyes are the only things living about him.

"Love, I know what you're thinking and it'll be alright. I learned it from Lief. He told me all about her; she left because you changed her, you made her stay safe. But we've made a pact to not let you encase me in bubble wrap and leave me on the curb every time you get worried about me. Even if you change me by accident through wishful thinking, it won't take as long, as you'll all still have the Blood Feast. Besides, I love you too much to walk away, and I would never hurt you like that. We'd sort it out if you still somehow managed to alter something about me." I'll tell him this as many times as it takes for him to believe it. How calmly we're just sitting here, talking, and his chest and belly are a shredded red mess.

His legs bend and push at the wall as his body tries to scramble away from the torment he can't escape.

"But could you ever forgive me for robbing you of your free will? Wouldn't you come to resent me? You would come to wish to be free of me." He seems so sad, so sure and then he begins to cough again and I can see things move in his chest.

"Never!" I've been so selfish worrying about witchcraft and being a part of everything in his life while he's been so isolated still. And a light bulb goes on for me. The thing that doesn't have anything to do with Catherine but me. Something that remains unresolved for him. It too has been holding him back and has been moving beneath the surface of our new relationship like some tentacled monster, since our day at the library. Another doubt piled onto so many. Something I put on the pile myself; I can recognize it for my own work. I want him to hear the truth of this; "And it won't matter that I'll be helpless to you after. You've thought that was a deal-breaker for me. But don't you see? I am already, because I love you; it won't make a difference. It won't be the end for us, Lucien. I was afraid of being changed into something else if you fed on me; of losing myself, but that image I have of myself and that control just isn't that important to me anymore. I've already been changed just through knowing you – for the better! I won't really stop being me, and I wouldn't want to be the kind of me that would let you suffer if you needed me." I hope he understands now.

His eyes glitter but they move mechanically; like a doll's eyes. He can't answer me out loud in case he starts coughing and choking again, but he's not responding in our minds either. "Oh love, I've made this so hard for you. I should have told you sooner." It comes out a whimper; he's going to die on me in terrible pain (there is so little left of his torso his injuries may well end up being as bad as a decapitation, and as long as he's like this he's terribly vulnerable to further attack), and I have to be still, and continue to try where I know I can reach him. "I love you, I'm sorry, I don't care what happens - I trust you to never have me be other than what I am; not in any way that matters. I trust you. I trust us and that we'll be strong enough to sort through anything that comes... I want to do this for you. Please love, please let me do this. I really want to; I've wanted to for a while." My knees are warm with what I realize is his blood; spreading in an ever widening pool around him and tears flow. This crazy roller-coaster ride that has been my life with him and our vampires has been about so many things other than letting me be in control of much of anything. And I realize I'm really truly ok with it and with our lives; there's nothing I'd change beyond this one thing. He can't die on me.

"Is there anything you would like to change about me, Lucien," I ask, going at it in reverse.

He pauses out of what feels like frustration and then he says; "No."

"Then there's nothing to worry about," I tell him firmly.

"Angel..." He's going to argue with me as he bleeds away his life on the scuffed floor of some elevator in the bottom of his enemy's lair.

I blurt out the hardest part; the part I haven't been able to admit, even to myself.

"I want to see your face when you taste me. It's hasn't just been about saving you. I never could have imagined something like this happening to you but I've wanted you to feed on me. Do you understand?"

I'm not sure I understand, and I start to shake. I've wanted him to trust me, to feed on me for what feels like forever, but that's not entirely what's motivating me. There is only one thing we could possibly share that could be so intimate, and the idea of him drinking me down has been the stuff of my latest sweaty dreams. It's been more than intimacy. I've wanted it to be my life flowing into him, filling him, drugging him, and making his senses sing, and no other's. I've actually looked forward to the moment when he'd have to turn to me for sustenance and I'd give him freely and without reservation what she only managed to poison him with all of those years ago. "I want to feel your teeth sliding into me, drinking me down – I've dreamed about it, and I want all of you that's in your mind, and I haven't let you know just how much or why, and I'm so sorry. Please, you're going to die! God, I can't stand this. I need you to be all right, and I need to be the one to do this for you, now. Please my love, my darling, my own angel, drink. Taste me. Fill yourself up with me. Please."

I see it there in his eyes; the key in the lock behind his eyes as the knowledge and acceptance of what I've said penetrates. All of my Lucien is there behind and filling up his eyes, darkening them and I have just a second to be awed by all of him that is coming up to meet me. There is a soft sound from him of surrender and anticipation, and then he is reaching for me, tangling his fingers tightly into my hair, and I'm bending over him gladly; pausing only to avoid touching the horrendous wounds that extend from his shoulders to his lower belly.

There is his breath on my cheek and neck, shuddery with anticipation and probably the excruciating pain he's in, as he angles my head to bear the artery.

Then, his lips; just a feather's touch.

Then, I feel his teeth and I go still the way one instinctively does after a haircut and someone has the razor on the back of one's neck.

Hmm, and two needles going in; ironically a little thicker, like the ones when I donate blood. The pain coming at the first press of his teeth sharpens and burns as they slide below the skin. There is a pulling and then a delicious languor; like an ideal Sunday morning sleep-in when your body wakes you at the usual time for work and you lay there knowing you have the day off and enjoying the comfort of your bed and the sunlight streaming in through the window.

I look up to near mirror perfect reflections of us in the walls of the elevator, and I can see his eyes in one as the first hot wash of my blood spurts into his mouth. All I can think of is the aurora borealis before I'm swept up in the sensations I'm receiving from Lucien, and I'm grateful for his steel girder arms around me to keep me from thrashing around and hurting him. I can taste the liqueur, sweet and metallic as it fills his mouth immediately, and it is delicious and pure and intoxicating.

I'm pressed so tightly to him, I have to be hurting him anyway, but even as I attempt to speak; he swallows that first precious mouthful.

"Oh! Lucien..."

I gulp down a scream as all conscious thought is blasted out sideways through my skull.

We cling to each other, each just holding on as the pleasure rips through us, and threatens to tear us apart into tiny pieces. Endorphins don't even begin to cover it. Mine and his, I can feel all of it; the first few seconds when he initially tasted the Blood Feast in his kitchen is a pale precursor to what we're sharing, and the walls come down in our minds and there are lights and music growing between us as heat floods through us, tingling and burning. But it is nothing like frostbite; it's a healing fire, full of life and love. I can hear him in his mind, how long he's wanted this, and how he's never even allowed himself to think of it until I shared the idea of it in my living room. How ruthlessly he's suppressed that longing for fear of hurting or frightening me. And now he's let go, and I'm dizzy with his release. Centuries since he's tasted human blood; the heat, the pure life pounding through him. Centuries too since he trusted anyone again or let a soul touch his broken heart. A good year since he first began wanting me. And days since he first entertained the possibility of endeavoring again to share himself wholly and completely with me. Days spent frozen, isolated and terrified in a more literal sense than his life before he met me, but still not that different in many ways. He is drunk or high or both with the easing of his emotional torment and with the quenching of his endless thirst, and I am too.

We're flying, no we're falling, we must've been thrashing around after all, and we've dislodged the elevator's brakes. No, we're still, and we're relatively safe (considering the bats could fall upon us at any time if they get past our friends), but the top of my head is going to come off. The rapturous light and thunderous music filling me, is pressing outward, ready to spill out from anywhere it can. My skin feels tight, stretched to bursting; I'm going to burn up with the heat that intensifies between us with each urgent sip.

He gazes into my eyes on the wall, and Lucien swallows again, and oh! the light! and he holds me tighter to avoid tearing me. An ache spreads within me, and I don't have to even form the thought.

We're sitting upright, still clinging to each other with both arms, and I have my legs wrapped tightly around him over his legs.

I want him inside me for the next time he swallows, and the thought rewards me with that perfect music; my Lucien groaning for me, and I'm blindly tearing at his clothing and mine. I don't care where we are; we've waited so long. And if the worst happens and Narakasura wins, I don't want to regret never having had this union with the other half of my heart. The sounds of battle outside have moved further away and then stopped altogether. They are without their leader but our vampires are lethal killing machines in their own right, and they've left us to give us the time we need to see Lucien fully healed, and I mean to be thorough about it.

Do you know how handy a generous skirt is? Practical in any situation... and this... Feeling Lucien's teeth enter my body, hearing him make sounds for me and fight his own body so he doesn't hurt me, being filled up with this lovely fire, and feeling him feed... knowing I am satisfying, satiating his hunger at last – because I can feel it with him! It's all the foreplay I need.

He pauses before he enters me, and finds my eyes again in the glass walls of our bower, and holds them as he slides inside.

We fit together so perfectly, his body filling mine until it feels just slightly overfull and the heat races up over my body so quickly I shiver, and the goose bumps chase after it; even over my cheeks.

Lucien's hands, his strong, fine-boned hands have been kneading down my back, translating his need as if they'd been on much more sensitive areas.

Now his hands are at my waist, his thumbs working in circles lower and lower over my stomach.

He carefully lifts my hips as my arms are still wrapped over his shoulders and around his neck to hold us still where his teeth are still inside me. I don't bother searching for his eyes in the wall now, I can feel his intention, and I beg him with small inarticulate sounds of my own to follow through.

He pulls me down and forward against him suddenly, thrusting up and more deeply inside me at the same time. It forces a grunt out of me and I lay my teeth against one of his shoulders; bared when his shirt was torn to ribbons.

As my teeth make contact with his skin, he groans more roughly, like on my stairs, like soon he'll have no control left whatsoever. The thought has me making sounds for which words can only come from a romance novel. Words like whimpering, gasping, and then I lose all of my words when he does it again, lifting me up and then impaling me on him, again, and again.

"God, yes, please, Lucien, please my love, please, please, please..."

He finds a rhythm within me, loses it as his pace grows frantic, and finds it again, and all the while I'm begging him to drink more from me. Do it again, just one more swallow...

"Not yet," he tells me softly and I sob in delicious frustration, tugging at his hair a little.

The sensation puts a hitch in his breathing. "Meagan, my angel..." and it's a low guttural sound even in our minds as our rhythm grows ragged again, and I'm biting him hard, breathing him in; and I wish on some level that I could taste him the way he can me. He hears me.

"God, yes, Meagan!" And what we've built between us rises further at once and then it breaks over us, coming down on us, pounding through us, and I am coming apart and so is he. Bones, muscles, and skin are collapsing as an old building in an earthquake, and I don't mind being buried in the debris as long as the destruction doesn't end. We cling to each other, shaking as we are unmade and put back together; one person in one skin, with one mind and one shining heart.

And now he swallows, just as I'm thinking the light can't be any brighter, and we couldn't be any more perfectly joined. And the brilliance breaks into pieces, diamonds and sapphires that'll shatter our new self all over again, and my chest hurts with struggling to breathe.

I think I scream, and I hear something bounce off the walls of our modest space, and it's his shout.

He swallows again, and I don't hear or see anything else at all.

Healing

I'm dreaming I'm on a beach somewhere, and I feel very warm and safe, and blissfully contented; yet there is an odd snarling, roaring sound coming from somewhere close by. I wake up; it doesn't feel as though much time has passed, with my head on Lucien's chest, and his thick curls before my eyes. Our bodies are still joined, and I'm tempted to move a little, just to enjoy the feel of him. Wait.

Is he snoring?

I peer up through a tangle of his hair and mine – when did my hair come down?

I push it all out of the way, and then something catches my eye, and instead of making it to his face, my gaze is fastened on the smooth, unmarked skin of his chest; skin that feels as warm as my own.

He's whole, all the way up to his shoulders, and all the way down to – I flush, and things tighten lower in my body, and there's a sound from him that isn't a snore, and I look up and catch eyes grey with exhaustion turning indigo.

I stretch up to kiss his lovely lips, reveling in the feeling of his body against mine.

"I love you, Meagan-angel," he tells me softly, his arms coming up around me as contentment and wonder dance inside him, inside me.

My heart sings and I want to cry at the same time, and I ache again for him as if we hadn't just expressed ourselves thoroughly only moments ago.

"I love you, Lucien-love," and our lips, and then our tongues meet.

What would have happened next, I'll leave it up to your imagination; mine is very definitely up for the job.

There is a polite cough, and we glance up to see Lief's profile in the elevator doorway, as he is very carefully not looking at us. He is backlit by the lights of the parking garage, and other shadows move around beyond him.

"While you... were in here, we fought off more of those bat things – I think they're gone for now, so if you're ready... are you both all right?"

He glances over at us quickly as he asks, and then away, and I love Lucien's friend for being concerned, and embarrassed, and considerate of us. Poor guy just has the worst timing.

We are more or less tucked in, and straightened up, so Lucien simply says, "Look," and laughs out loud, when his best friend risks a cautious glance over his shoulder, and then does a fast forward triple take, as the sight of his best friend and leader standing there whole and uninjured registers.

He steps into the elevator past me, giving me a wide berth, to grab a scrap of Lucien's shirt and pull it away so he can see better.

Is Lief afraid of me? No.

How could he be?

I dimly register him laughing in relief and punching Lucien in the shoulder.

Intimidated by my powers? I haven't even lifted a truck off of anyone yet. I mean, ok, I did sort of jump-start their Purging and my blood works a little better than all but older vampire's for healing.

But why would that make Lief treat me any differently? We're the co-presidents of the stop-Lucien-from-getting-too-noble-for-his-own-good club, and Lief let me help him cook in his kitchen. I feel a lump in my throat. I don't think I like the idea that he's in awe of me one bit.

Lief and Lucien are doing that 'I'm glad you're not dead and there's a lot I'd like to say to you, but we're manly men, and manly men don't talk about their feelings' shoulder clasping thing, guys do.

"Lief?" He looks down at me, and it's definite, in another second he's going to nod to me like Lucien does with Delphine. I can't imagine anyone having any pet names for her.

"I'm still me – 'Little One,' remember?"

He blinks and begins to smile uncertainly, and I launch myself at him and hug him around the middle as hard as I can, feeling tears under my eyelids.

"You're not going to start treating me any different, Lief! Do you hear me?"

It's kind of muffled against his chest, but as I peer up to see if he gets it he is gazing down at me, smiling tenderly. He gets it.

He wipes the tears off of my cheeks, and kisses me on the forehead.

All is well and I hug him again, and bound out of the elevator to see how everyone else is after tangling with those winged black nightmares again.

They're all here, faces that have become familiar and dear. Even Meredith; I wouldn't wish those injuries on. They all have some damage. Some just a few nasty scratches and bites that are healing even as they lean or kneel at rest, and I search for those that are worse off. Rafe, oh hell, Rafe; his arm's hanging on by a few pieces of tendon or muscle or something!

He glances up; I think I made some sound, and his face is grey and slick around the edges with reddish sweat. I should probably go to Delphine first; because of her age or position or whatever, but like everything else relating to magic that I've fumblingly found my way through; I'm going to do this my way, and Rafe definitely needs my help first.

He's propped up against one of those enormous round support pillars with the harsh yellow paint on the bottom so nobody hits it. His eyes are closed now and I'd assume he's lost consciousness except that he still holds what's left of his arm in place with the other hand. Someone has tied the remnants of his shirt around his upper arm above where it... almost ends.

I take this in, in the two and a half seconds it takes me to cross to him, and kneel down next to him.

I offer him my wrist, "Have a drink, Rafe, it's alright."

He pulls back – or at least he tries to with the pillar behind him – as if my arm were poison, a startled hiss escaping from between his teeth. He's already looking to Lucien as he comes out of the elevator with Lief.

I wait, wondering if this is where Lucien goes all protective, and drives a wedge between his friends and me. If he stops this, they will always wonder just what is appropriate with me; whether or not they should take any offer of help I make them at face value. It will progress until they feel uncomfortable around me; unable to speak freely for fear of putting me in the position of having to fight with their leader for my place with them. Uh-oh, he just fed on me...

Does that mean he'll be able to say no and I'll just obey? No, not with everyone having the Blood Feast so recently. I hope.

Would I really fight his wishes anyway, especially in front of his people? I'd never undermine him if I could help it; the conspiracy with Lief notwithstanding. There's no way I could leave Rafe like this though; Lucien can't want me to. He can't.

He merely nods at Rafe and moves on to check on the others!

I don't have time to marvel at my love, and his new approach. Rafe's hair has fallen forward to hide his face, and I gently draw it back on my side. He looks at me and away, but not before I see hope, hunger, bitter amusement, gratitude, and doubt flicker across his face, and I wonder when the last time was that anyone offered him something like this.

"Please?"

He grasps my wrist in his left hand – his good hand, and slowly brings it to his lips. His face has gone still now, and it tells me nothing of what he's thinking.

Gently, he brings his teeth to touch the skin, and draws a shaky breath. He must be in horrific amounts of pain, and he's being so careful with me.

Rafe looks at me again, as if asking for my permission. He must know I just healed Lucien in the elevator, so he knows I'm capable of fixing his arm...

Why does he think he needs to ask me if I'm okay with this, again? As long as he doesn't take too much I should be ok, and I have a trick or two up my sleeve.

Because this means more than just blood? Of course it does; it's a bond. But that's why I'm offering him my wrist instead of my neck. I want to heal him because he's my friend.

Is there some formal way to ask him?

"Rafe, I don't know the words, but Lucien is okay with this, and I want to do this. You're my people now too." Ooh, that stings; I guess those were the right words. He's staring into my eyes as he bites me; just long enough to see my eyes widen first in pain, and then almost immediately in relief, and pleasure.

And then he's looking away, and I think we're both glad to ease away from the intimacy of such an act.

He swallows, and I have only moments to say the words I learned from Morrigan's book before he's had too much of my blood and there isn't enough left for anyone else. As it is I need magic to help me heal him, instead of just my blood.

"Awillo wo-ret-e sme jikka moi karrant." It translates roughly to `please help me heal my friend,' but it is the intent behind it; something I'm still learning about, and how you ask – politely - that makes it work. I say the words softly, and feel something gather, and just as Rafe swallows again, it bursts into him.

It sends him thrashing and bucking, and I brace him as best as I can around his shoulders with my one arm, so at the very least he doesn't bounce his head off of the pillar or the floor. His teeth are still in my wrist, and he fights not to shred right through to the bone, but he can't make himself let go either. Rafe is making sounds like the large mean dogs in the action movies make.

Is it hunger or pain?

Or pleasure? His eyes are nearly closed but from what little I can see of his pupils, they must be huge. Maybe all three.

As his shoulders and head come up again I slide in, so that my legs support him on either side, and I'm behind his head. This takes some of the strain off of my arm, and lets me help hold him steady.

He hauls my arm away from his mouth, but he's still got it in a vise grip. Urg, that hurts, but at least it's probably slowing the blood flow – can't go wasting it.

I look up and away from my arm so that I can stop dwelling on it, and there's Lucien, Lief, and Angus crouched down by Rafe's feet peering at me, ready to come to my rescue, and pry Rafe away from me.

As I gaze in surprise from one white face to the next, Connor comes up to join them, and Frieda.

Uh oh, where's Tia? Well she's next then, after Rafe. She's probably too injured to stand if she's not with her twin. Even Delphine, from her contemplation of the still moonlight outside of the parking garage; looks over at me.

I make an effort to smile, "We're good," I tell them all; my features aren't really obeying me, and then I have to hold Rafe's mangled arm up with my right hand, and immobilize it as best I can. He's striving to smash it against the ground – one of those irrational things usually associated with animals caught in traps but people do it too if the pain is bad enough – in a frenzy to eliminate the awful sensations rippling up his arm as it heals.

Lucien steps forward and grips Rafe by the shoulder to help me. Rafe jerks and the growling sound sharpens and deepens.

I feel one icy-hot bolt of terror go through me, and then I force myself to relax. I concentrate on making all of my muscles loosen as I whisper, "It's alright, Rafe."

I gaze into the beautiful eyes of my perfect other half and I find a touch of that wonder I love to see, and admiration; and then I put my head down beside Rafe's and tell him to hold on.

I slowly bring my arm back in front of his face again, pushing gently but steadily against the resistance in his hand and arm.

His teeth slide in and it feels instantly better, but he won't drink again.

"It'll be over soon Rafe," I tell him, "We'll be alright." I can see from the corner of my eye, the bones reattaching, and the flesh knitting. It's actually pretty amazing how the tissues seem to flow together. Sort of like water or something a little thicker.

Mixed in with the snarling are strangled pain sounds, and I kiss the side of his head where I can reach.

He starts to drink again panting with the pain, and then he bucks again, hard. It bounces me off of the pillar and my breath comes out in a whoosh, and Lucien's grip tightens on Rafe's shoulder.

Rafe's gaze is jerked up to Lucien's and as his eyes focus on whom it is staring down at him; he regains just enough control to dial back the challenging rumble coming out of him.

"I'm alright love," I tell Lucien, and his hand loosens - fractionally.

"You're alright, Rafe, it's almost over. Take it easy. I can't imagine it – what it feels like, but it is almost over, I promise."

I glance down at his arm and the tissues are mostly all reconnected; his hand twitches with sensations and signals that aren't all sorted out yet.

Rafe eases his grip on my wrist and curls his fingers around mine, and I squeeze them in spite of the electric pins and needles that shoot up my arm.

"It's going to be alright Rafe, it looks good, not long now, just hold on." I tell him more of the same, holding him tightly with help from my wonderful love, and friends looking on. I'm aware of being happy... strangely, but honestly happy. Of course Rafe was in terrible pain, but I'm the one - with a lot of help from the Goddess - who is helping him, and he's really getting better.

And I give Lucien the biggest smile, and I receive a radiant one in return.

I yawn, and I realize it's over. Rafe is still now within my arms, and his arm is whole.

My arms are heavy, and it takes me awhile to figure out how to disentangle them.

Rafe sits up and turns to thank me shyly, and then his face matches Lucien's stricken one.

What? Glancing down, I notice my once cream coloured shirt is now dark reddish brown with Lucien's dried blood; from my neck to my waist and down to the elbows. Oh, I must look a sight, between that, my bitten arm which hasn't healed the way my neck did, and how tired I am all of a sudden.

I throw what I hope is a wink at Lucien and a warm smile at Rafe with a fatigue-slack face, and I try another spell-request-prayer that I memorized.

"Ni wor-od-ber-o-ako kwu wrag-a, awillo wo-ret-e sme kwu dewa-lawero," which translates very roughly into `I have additional work to do, please help me to be strong enough.'

This time it gathers more slowly, from somewhere far below and around me, and it begins to rise and draw inward like some silvery net, bringing me something. Its tendrils are as fine and many as the hair-like roots of a plant; but it doesn't pull at anything or drag. As it sweeps along it simply passes through living things like they're water and brings in contributions from all that is alive and willing on some level to share what it has to spare, so that it leaves my vampires alone, but everything else; flowers, trees, the small animals my friends would ordinarily be reduced to feeding directly upon - everything gives what it can.

The energy gallops up my body, and it's itchy, like static electricity or something. It's also spring water icy, and invigorating. It splashes through me; refreshing me and making me feel like a child playing in the sprinkler.

My arm heals fully as my family looks on, and I laugh at their incredulous faces, and then I jump up, and head over to find Tia, and see what's wrong with her. I feel so good I'm giddy and I want to shout and laugh some more, until I see her.

A pair of deep gouges runs down each cheek; deep enough that the skin around the edges has curled back. On one cheek though, what was pulling at her face managed to rip almost all of the skin away, so that it hangs from her jaw.

As I stare, her eyes track to mine, and I realize as the tears spill down my cheeks that she's still aware.

I can see her teeth through one side; they part – she's going to try to speak!

"Shh Tia, don't. Hold on," and I dip into my shoulder bag for my athame. She's still making wet bubbling sounds and I get another flash of teeth. I swallow hard past the sour taste in my mouth; I smell meat.

"I have loads of energy and some blood to spare, Tia, and you're literally not in any shape to argue with me," I say, setting down my bag and kneeling beside her. The blood runs down her face, her neck, and has soaked the entire top of her clothing almost to her waist.

A hand sticky with blood reaches out and stops me from using the athame.

I look to her eyes to try and understand without making her talk, but she makes a bubbling whimpering sound, and there's movement in the devastation of her face. It takes me several seconds to sort out what it is; there is so much blood, and, and, gore. Her teeth have come down to pierce my wrist. I don't know how she manages to think so clearly given how nearly mindless she must be with pain, and yet she's just drawn those teeth of hers down, against what's left of her lips and gums, so that I don't have to slice open a vein the hard way.

Is this some sort of fealty thing – another ritual – like how formal it was with Rafe?

Like to accept this gift of life, a vamp must do no less than to use his or her own teeth to spare the giver extra pain?

That maybe that's the formal way to accept and acknowledge the significance of the gift?

Is it because I'm her 'Qari-Kleid-Essa'? If I thought I didn't want to be anyone's lady before when I didn't know what that meant; I really don't now. I don't want anyone feeling like they are that far beneath me, that only my discomfort matters and that their pain is nothing beside it. Especially someone centuries old, who has seen empires rise and fall and all of the wars and famine and disease and philosophy and invention and music that come and go with them.

Or is Tia really that kind? She's Lucien's; they're all that wonderful probably – maybe even Meredith.

As I'm thinking all of this I'm endeavoring to figure out a way to lay my wrist under Tia's fangs in such a way as to avoid putting pressure or friction on her torn face.

She understands my hesitation, and her lower jaw slowly scrapes backward, and I can see she's holding her jaws tightly clamped with whatever working muscle is left; to avoid letting teeth fall out. Oh God, Tia!

Lucien kneels behind her, and gently grips her head between his hands; up by her temples where he won't hurt her, and braces her so she won't injure herself further when this begins.

Frieda kneels on her other side, and I wonder if maybe they're communicating with each other with Frieda's new power, or maybe something more inherent to twins.

I squeeze Frieda's shoulder, hoping they both take reassurance from such an ineffectual gesture, and then I focus just on Tia.

I offer her my wrist, and she takes it, and slowly brings it up to her teeth.

I'm waiting for it to hurt; so that when she releases my arm, it starts to drop I'm so surprised. She was so gentle! There are two neat little holes with blood slowly welling up in them. Now another problem presents itself.

How does she suck? Setting aside the agony of swallowing; as her tongue moves involuntarily, she can't suck with half of her face missing. If you're not sure about that, just try sucking something up through a straw, but only use one side of your mouth to do it, and imagine that your mouth isn't airtight either because there's a giant hole in the other side.

I lift my wrist and turn it over above her ruined cheek, and let the blood drip across her tongue.

She swallows painfully, and as her tongue moves I see that pieces of it are missing too.

I chant the spell, and I have just a second after I finish before Tia's breath goes out in a spray of blood that coats my face so quickly I can't see.

Careful not to move my wrist, I reach up with the other hand and wipe some of it away with my sleeve.

Lucien has her head immobilized, and Frieda leans on her legs, while Tia's eyes roll back in her head. Somehow she's got to be devoting some small part of her mind to forcing herself to breathe through her nose if she breathes at all, so no more blood comes shooting out through the side of her face. This is just so wrong; what Narakasura has done. There was real hatred in this act, this destruction of Tia's face.

Maybe he feels threatened by her new power because he thinks she could wrest control of those bat creatures away from him?

Or maybe he's jealous of that kind of power, if maybe he thought he was unique in his ability to control some kind of animal and he wants to wreak devastation upon someone who has stolen that from him? I wonder if Tia's had a full mouthful yet. I hope so.

I move my wrist so that it drips over the strings of flesh at the edges of the gaping hole where her cheek should be.

I look into Lucien's eyes, and he takes my free hand in his a second and he doesn't have to say anything inside my head or out. He knows how hard this next part will be for me, and he's here.

I let go of him and gingerly pick up the still living meat dangling from Tia's jaw; I ease it up, turning it over until I can lay it back in place.

A small sound comes out of her and she tenses, but she doesn't otherwise move, and I breathe a short sigh of relief. Relief that I'm done hurting her, and that Tia's being so brave, and God and Goddess help me; relief that I can no longer see straight to the inside of her mouth and her broken teeth and lacerated tongue anymore.

I drip some more blood across the edges of the horrible wound, and along the gouges above it, which reach into her eye socket to just below her eye. Her body seems to be absorbing the blood, and I tell myself that there must be a lot of healing going on now where I can't see. I'm not sure how much of my blood Tia's had by now, but I'm beginning to see her flesh knit around the, the... cheek flap? Maybe now, there will be enough of a seal that Tia can drink directly from me now. My wrist has been throbbing but I haven't noticed until now. It doesn't seem to hurt as much when it's a bite than just bleeding freely. Oh yeah, the endorphins vamps give when they bite.

I stop the selfish train of thought before it can travel very far but Tia's bringing my wrist to her mouth.

Did she hear me?

Did she see it on my face, or did Frieda hear it in my mind and tell her sister?

I drop my eyes from hers in shame, but they're yanked back up in shock as her teeth enter my wrist; going into the same holes she already opened. That feels a million times better! If she was hearing my thoughts second-hand, Tia hasn't acknowledged it. She could be a bit busy with other things, Meagan, or she really wasn't hearing what was going on in your head. In that case, maybe she took my wrist because it would actually be better for her. Maybe her body can use my blood more efficiently that way.

I reach out and gently turn Tia's face toward mine more and check her other cheek. It's already smooth and lovely again and even as I bring my eyes back to the more mangled side of her face; it too smoothes out and I wipe the blood away. I don't have time to do more than smile at her as she sits up hands coming up to explore her face, as I still haven't seen what shape Meredith and Colette are in yet.

Meredith displays real tenderness and concern for Colette, holding her carefully around the shoulders even though her injuries aren't as bad as Tia's and Rafe's. Colette has a deep, angry looking bite on her left forearm that something worried at, like a dog with a bone before they pried it off. It's started to heal slowly but it still seeps blood, and her features are drawn with the pain of it. She gives me a sparkling smile though as I approach, that holds some secret amusement, as if we both share a private joke. I suppose in a way we do, and even as I smile back, I feel guilt coming on. Colette is gentle with me, and lets me take her other hand with my free one to keep my balance as I stand before her. I start to apologize to Meredith when I'm finished with her friend and she stops me with one hand held up imperiously; "It is not you who began the conversation at such a level."

"Yes, but you had known for a lot longer -"

"Let us just say we will both agree to do better."

I close my mouth in surprise, and blink. "Ok, sounds good."

"And I can see you will be good for him."

I open my mouth and close it again. I must look like a fish. "I'll try my best. For him, and for you. All of you," I tell her softly.

I turn and take a deep breath so I can address myself to whole lower level of the parking garage. I will tell them how I think this needs to be won, as they congregate around me; the worst of their wounds attended to. They come together in ones or twos, and after looking for Lief's eyes, and I get an encouraging smile back, I find Lucien's eyes and I dive in. "I stayed back from the battle and I came to no harm but there are things I can do to help and maybe you guys won't get so damaged. And you've seen what I can do, and that I'm able to heal myself. I know I promised to stay back but I can be useful to you all, and there is no longer any guarantee that sticking me down in the parking lot, or letting me drive home by myself or even with an escort is going to keep me safe from Narakasura and his minions. And you can't afford to divide your attention right now anyway. I can do this, Lucien."

I glance up and find his eyes on me, and there is no anger this time that I've suggested risking my life. I wonder if maybe now that he knows he can bite me; maybe he hopes he can turn me and make me indestructible since he no longer has to fear me blaming him for my own decisions. Maybe he thinks he'll never have to really let me take risks because I won't be at risk if I'm a vampire. I'm not sure how I feel about that. Immortality is attractive, and a truly awe-inspiring gift to give someone, but I hope he can wait a while. I still like daylight and I'd have to forgo it until I got older, and I have lots of family barbeques and reunions and playing with relatives' kids to enjoy first.

I wonder if I wait on becoming a creature of the night, will it become a problem for him to have me still be mortal-vulnerable. That's all the time I have to think.

Lucien takes a step towards me capturing my eyes with his. He peers through them into me a long instant and then he says; "I will not have you be other than as you are." He continues; "You are favoured of the Goddess – although I don't know how she puts up with you," he adds tartly.

"Hey..."

"Perhaps you'll have more than just us looking out for you... but stay... well... back," he warns me.

I beam at him and dive into my bag for my athame as we head for the elevator.

I cast the quickness, and iron skin spells on me this time.

Then we wait.

Battle

All too soon we attain the floor below the one they retreated from and cautiously step out. This floor of corner offices with huge desks, and leather chairs, and tan lounge furniture in the centre by the secretaries' desk, is already well trashed and we're going to wreck it some more. At the far end there is a security door leading presumably up stairs to the rest of the building. My view is obscured by a churning, inky knot of squealing black creatures, with balefully glowing red eyes that look more like cutouts; as if they're made from paper or something equally flimsy – as if they're not really here. I know from the injuries I just helped repair that they are all too solid. These are our foes; Narakasura's bat gargoyles in the flesh – or not flesh. As I watch I can see moonlight through the wispy edge of one.

They become aware of us and suddenly let out high-pitched buzz saw screams and dart en masse toward my family and me.

The vampires change and go to clash with them, faster than I can watch but one transformation I do manage to see; and I wish at that moment that I hadn't been so curious. It's Angus and that gruffly kind visage alters far more than I could have expected.

Bones or at least bony sort of ridges, rise up under his skin, causing his dear eyebrows to undulate like the Golden Gate Bridge in an earthquake.

The bones draw downward between his eyes to form a frowning mask far more terrible than any scowl Angus could normally have produced. It gives the illusion of more space between his eyes than there is, so that at first glance, Angus is no longer recognizable as himself. I never thought I'd have to find reassurance in looking for a deep chested, Lou Ferrigno physique; it's always in his face where I find something softer, more comforting. I understand my Lucien, even when he was attempting to scare me off of the idea of feeding him, didn't want to terrorize me, and only gave me fangs in my living room. He reined in the rest of his transformation. I wonder how hard that was especially while I was jabbing him in the chest and giving him all of that trouble. I guess I never really watched them during that first fight at the bridge; I just kept aiming to slow the bats down, and I prayed for help, and stared at the ice as if I could see through it to the man trapped underneath.

I glance around quickly this time and catch pieces of several other similar transformations and the dark music from Fantasia begins playing in my head. I missed Lucien's change but now he too is barely recognizable. Look out Narakasura I think, as he tears into the thickest clot of black writhing bodies.

I help where I can with spells. A larger bat-thing bears down on Colette and I point my athame at it and say "Kend," which means 'burn' and it bursts into flames to crash into the floor at her feet.

Her mouth makes a surprised 'O' at me and then she turns to engage another one.

She stares it down! Lief had said her power was to induce fear, and now I understand. By the time that flimsy gargoyle-looking thing draws even with her, it's back-pedaling in midair, working to escape.

Colette calmly reaches and without altering expression, she neatly twists its head around on its neck with an enviable economy of movement.

She drops it onto what was a glass-topped coffee table that is only the metal framework anymore, and brushes her gloved hands off fastidiously. I know that the stink of these things will be in all of our clothes when we get back; I already have their rotting smell assailing my nostrils and I'm haven't even gotten close to one yet. I'm standing there marveling at how coolly diminutive Colette killed the ugly monster so I almost don't duck in time as another crazed gargoyle bat aims for my head screaming.

As I scramble out of the way, I point my athame in what I think is its direction and it misses! Instead it hits a large window in an outer office and heats it so quickly; it explodes and tears out part of the wall around it. Moonlight streams in and helps Delphine maneuver around the banshee bats more swiftly, and I see four or five of them drop – including the one that missed me - without seeing how she killed them. Almost like I knew what I was doing... if I'd done that on purpose. I could have hurt her or worse with a spell that burns. I have another spell for when I can't use fire which will be more useful or at least less reckless. It's the same one I used at the river so I know it will work, even if it isn't as satisfying as setting them on fire or blowing them up.

Now I point at random black badguys and say "Dowjo," which just means 'Slow' and that combined with the 'Fast' spell I cast on our people, means the banshee bats may as well be standing – er – flying still.

I can't see everyone for black, fluttering bodies. The stench of blood and decay is overwhelming.

I slow one down that hasn't yet picked a target and stab it with my athame over and over again until it dies. Its blood feels kind of greasy. Now I can see a little more of the room around me.

Rafe is just fighting hand to hand with a few of them with his back to the wall behind where the secretaries would have sat through the day. The company logo has long since been knocked to the floor and the space it occupied is embarrassingly bare. I wonder what they'll make of the damage on Monday morning. I realize Rafe doesn't use his new Purging-power at all.

I aim the slow spell at each of the reeking things in turn, and he flashes a feral grin in my general direction by way of thanks.

As I watch, one of them catches his right arm, the one I just healed for him and tears through the skin as easily as his shirt; if there was still a shirt there.

He lashes out with the other arm and it clears the desk, the lounge furniture, and it slams into another wall a good thirty feet away.

I take the opportunity to blast it with fire now that it's far enough away from Rafe that I won't hurt him as the other two close in on him.

I turn around in time to see him use his new ability on the one trying to go for his injured arm.

As it fastens on to his arm to sink it's fangs in, his lips pull back in a soundless snarl and the bat thing seems to shrink, to collapse in on itself, it's mindless shriek diminishing along with it's size so that it sounds as pitiful as a balloon deflating.

It falls to the ground lifeless, but it is the expression on Rafe's face that holds my eyes. He doesn't look anything at all like himself; it's just cartoonish, mindless, avarice there. Although he feeds with a touch now instead of blood, it's as though he can still taste what it is these black wraiths are made out of. As his arm heals, Rafe shudders and I have a suspicion that they must be pretty vile.

Is that how his arm got so bad?

A growing reluctance to take life from such as these?

I stab the third one in the back as it goes for his face. The angle isn't right and the blade slides out to carve through its wing but it's enough to stop it from tearing at his eyes.

It flaps awkwardly to the ground, tiny clawed hands still grasping for him, and then as it flops around, Rafe steps forward and sets his foot down on the thing's neck. As he twists his boot to grind the last bit of fight out of the mindless black menace, he looks into my eyes.

He's not aiming to scare me or upset me though. His face is soft, not quite in gratitude, but something even softer and more open. He's trying to ask me for something but I have no idea what.

I'm about to ask when his face goes back to its usual mocking smile and then he turns away and rejoins the fight.

And that's all I have time for anyway. In front of the doorway to another office, a thick knot of them have congregated and I can't even see which poor soul is lucky enough to be enjoying all of that attention.

I start slowing them as I approach and I can see Meredith standing there transfixing them. I get it; it may take her awhile to work her way through them all but as long as they feel the lust she induces in them, they're not attacking, so she's not only drawn a pile of them away from the others, but she can finish them off at her leisure.

I slow each of the rest of them so she has an easier time of it and she nods to me before I go see who else I can help.

We have to work our way through this floor and the one above it to where Lucien and the others were so badly hurt just to regain lost ground.

We make it to the stairwell and up, Connor and Angus in the lead as it only takes the two of them to block the stairs with their bulk and their combined reach.

Connor confuses each with his ability and then there's not much for Angus to do but club them, crush them, grab a couple and smash them together; whatever his imagination lets him improvise. Angus seems to be pretty creative and I'm not positive, but I think he's enjoying having the opportunity to address Narakasura and his minions' ongoing torment, as part of such a decisive event as this direct assault.

We make it across this floor and past the elevator door I heard them bouncing off of.

Was that today? It seems like it's been weeks. There is blood down it; some places just in streaks and in others like it's been poured down the door in rivers. In one place it is dented in a good four inches and it's pulled the doors apart just enough that I can see through to the darkness of the elevator shaft beyond. We're almost to the end of executive suites and drawing near to the private stairway that leads up to two floors of exclusive penthouse suites.

We all breathe heavily, and wipe blood and other substances from our hands and from around our eyes while we peer around at each other to ascertain whether we're all here and still in good health.

Colette is standing closest to the stairs leading up and ever deeper into the inner sanctum of the loony-tunes boss vampire who has made so much trouble for us, when a fresh wave of flying black horrors comes at us.

I have an instant to be terrified for her but she calmly turns and bespells the first few into panicking and retreating to collide head-on with those coming down from behind. In no time it's a confused tangle of screaming nuisances all fighting each other in the doorway; some to escape and some to reach their intended victims but all of them mindlessly lashing out at anything in their way, even other badguys. It creates a bottle-neck and I realize even petite Colette could successfully hold them all off indefinitely with her power.

She stands, a dainty porcelain faced doll in her powder-blue trench coat with her legs braced wide apart, her hands in fists at her sides; but there is nothing tremulous or fearful about her now. Colette has her head thrown back and her eyes sparkle, her lips are parted as if she's enjoying herself and her chin juts forward in open challenge. I'm not the only one staring at her in open-mouthed awe. And if I'm not mistaken, that looks quite a bit like pride on Connor's face. I hope that the Purging and her new powers have been good for her. She seems stronger and more self-confident than before. I wonder what Colette sees as she sics these things on each other.

Does she see what was done to her all of those years ago that made her so afraid?

Or does she see what Narakasura and his hell-spawn will do to the people she loves and to the house that has become her home, her sanctuary?

Is she glad to have such powers now?

She steps back a little to let a few more into the room at a time so that we may kill them more quickly, and soon we've all joined the fight again.

*

When there is a lull we push forward and work our way up through a heavy metal security door that is already hanging by a lone hinge. I'm glad to see it's nearly off; Lief staggers along like he's drunk and the rest move more slowly than when we started.

This floor and the one above appear to be living quarters; for whom I have no idea. There's no one here... yet... more wraith creatures are no doubt on their way. There is a central hallway and two living spaces; one on each side that upon examination seem to be well appointed apartments. Baroque gilding on walls, molding and ceilings, paintings cramming every spare inch of wall space. Rich solid colours or busy patterns on the furniture with yet more gilt on every corner and edge. White marble floors with area rugs so costly as to inspire envy in all but the most decadent Arabian palace. Vases, pottery, burial masks, urns, musical instruments, and other artifacts and objet d'art fill every corner, every available surface.

We have maybe a second or two to take this all in before another wave is upon us and all impressions narrow down to those of battle again. Aside from the incessant grating wail of the banshee wraiths that is quickly replaced as one dies and another one or two or even three appear in a doorway to take up the attack; there is also the odd explosion when I have room to work, and the grunts of effort from the vampires as they grapple with their foes. There is also the crash of furniture being destroyed and costly wall-hangings or canvasses being torn or coming down completely. It's quite a din in here (although the loss of art and artifacts from history is tragic) and that coupled with knowing this destruction will hurt Narakasura, I realize I'm having a grand old time flinging spells and fighting supernatural badguys alongside supernatural allies.

I finally get to see my Lucien-love's new power. He trains the same power that a group of them managed to focus on him at the river, on each of them individually. He freezes them. Some just enough to use the fluids in their ever-open mouths, and freeze them shut so that they are at best blessedly quieter; but those with wounds he freezes so thoroughly they fall because they can no longer fly, and some even shatter upon the floor. Hmm, a little karmic justice there. We're all becoming weary though; Narakasura's minions are legion and seem almost eager to be wiped from the face of the earth. Maybe our God and Goddess look down and are glad to see it. I hope so; there's no other mortal I know of who could withstand an attack from even one of these things, and even if they could I'd wonder about the health of their mind afterward. The only reason I haven't fled babbling in terror, is that I have already seen the strange and terrifying; they just happen to be the people I love, and the good guys.

If Narakasura is this determined now, and is otherwise capable of being distracted, what is going to happen to a city full of people as he makes open warfare on Lucien and company or finds someone else to torment? Letting the demon-bats get outside of the building where they could be seen in the middle of Toronto – not some lonely river in the dark out by the highway – is a little irrational.

What happens when he takes this to the next level, as he must if he wants to win?

I never do see Lief except when we pause between rounds with the bats, and I shouldn't be surprised. He already could move too fast for me to see, and there's no reason for him not to use his abilities to the fullest. Occasionally I catch a blur and a battle that is tipping in the bats' favour will suddenly go our way as several fall to nothing I can actually see.

Finally, after passing through the penthouse levels, there is nothing but the sometimes charred yet always quite mangled bodies of the bat-things lying where they've fallen, sometimes in great tangled heaps. My arms are numb and heavy from casting spells and just stabbing the creatures to death. I have blood splashed up to my shoulders and very little of my shirt's original colour is visible now. There are consistencies and colours of blood on it that never appeared on any infomercial for a detergent or a bleach alternative. The occasional sounds of small pieces of rubble tumbling out of the demolished walls into the room compete with the wheezing and panting of one very defeated, crazy, old vampire who seems to be out of the magic that summons the bats. When I say old, I don't mean that he's ancient the way my dear friends are. I mean he's aged. His hair hangs in long thin straggles of gray cobweb to his shoulders and there is a latticework of creases deep in the powdery skin hanging from his face. His eyes are deeply sunken, but they burn a mad yellow, as with a fever. His gnarled fingers clench and unfold randomly and separately from one another.

He retreats slowly before us in silence, making the most gruesome faces; his lips and tongue working like he's having a conversation with someone not present.

We advance on him cautiously; on the alert for further assault, until we're standing in some sort of ante chamber with a sort of bench seat running around the circumference of the room. Beyond it I can see a massive gold-plastered throne in another huge, and what I hope is the last room. There are old blood stains on the floor and nearly fresh blood getting nicely tacky from one side of this room to the other, although it seems like the greatest concentration is in the middle.

We haven't killed any banshee-bats here so it begs the question: where did all of the blood come from?

The missing occupants of the penthouse apartments?

Or maybe some sort of altar room where he makes bloody sacrifices in order to summon these odd paper gremlins we've been fighting? We're more or less standing in the middle of the room; spread out in case the 'Demon Of Chaos' tries anything, and I wonder where the altar has gone.

Narakasura

As if waiting for us to finish taking stock of his blood soaked display; he makes his move. Cackling madly, Narakasura launches himself backwards in an impressive leap through the doors to the throne room, and they slam shut seemingly by themselves with an echoing boom.

I turn and notice the far door we came through must have shut at some point as well; we're trapped.

That's all I have time to register before something has me by the arms and is dragging me up and away.

I open my mouth and all that comes out is a startled squawk but it's Tia and Frieda who have me and we're all off of the ground; even Lucien although he's an instant behind as he searches for me.

He has time for the beginning of a relieved smile for me as his eyes light on me and then we're lurching suddenly in the opposite direction, and my arms feel like they'll be jerked right out of their sockets.

There are spikes growing out of the ceiling, and that's also why we left the floor behind; there are spikes down there too.

Tia and Frieda touch down lightly on the bench running along one wall and I can see in my periphery that the others are doing the same; I guess that vampires can't hover indefinitely. Or maybe they'd prefer to have me safely landed so their hands will be free in case of further attack.

I catch movement and I'm looking right at the wall we're facing when odd-shaped spikes and spiny things begin sliding forward to meet me.

Even as I watch, more spikes slide out of the other walls, and we can hear Narakasura's fiendish laughter thundering through some speaker system somewhere. Nice touch. The ultimate in 'insult to injury.' The doors themselves don't seem to be growing any pointy parts and I have a second to think before I hear a truly horrifying sound.

It is a grinding, massive stone over giant rock sound, and I randomly pick a corner and watch, using particular sharp points on the walls as reference points; the walls are closing in! You're kidding me!

This is how it's going to end for us?

With such a ridiculous, clichéd, tired coup de gras as this?

The door!

"Angus?" He's easing himself gingerly onto the floor; placing his feet carefully to avoid the spikes. He's biggest through the shoulders and already having a hard time staying on the benches as they recede into the advancing walls.

"Aye, lass," he replies distractedly.

"I don't know what hit the security door we came through before, but I bet if you and Connor hit either of these doors hard enough..."

"Aye lass," he growls enthusiastically, and grabs Connor. Connor looks confused but he catches on as they build momentum hurtling toward the door to the throne room so that they both have their bodies angled to hit shoulder first. Go ahead, and ask me if I'm surprised they tried that door first.

Were you?

Lucien steps into the doorway and signals to Tia and Frieda and we're sailing for the door too. Lief, Rafe, Delphine, Meredith, and Colette are still waiting to go through and I realize the only reason Lucien went ahead of me was to see to anything that may have gotten past Angus and Connor. I'm appalled the others are still in there but I can't be angry with Lucien; I'd have probably seen to it that he got out ahead of the others if the roles had been reversed.

Still, I have to turn and watch to see the others escape, so I don't see Narakasura rise from behind the throne. I'm looking back into the spike room and I see massive curved blades descending from some corner of the room to swish through the air; narrowly missing Colette.

I grab her arm as she reaches the door and haul her through it before anything else can get her.

My attention is jerked from her startled face by words; the first I've heard from Narakasura.

"Your little witch give you the powers, my foolish friend?" Uh-oh, Lucien will lose it if this guy continues saying things about me to get under his skin. He'd never fall for it were the comments just directed at himself, but if he believes I am in any danger... If Nary-scary succeeds in baiting him, it's Lucien who will be hurt.

"That and I let the Purging hit me." Lucien is so calm! If I had to describe the look on his face I'd have called it... pity.

"What? Liar! You've been no more able to face it than have I." Snarling and spitting, he launches himself at Lucien, but it is clear immediately that he's not entertained himself with personal hand-to-hand combat in some time.

I step sideways to obtain a clear view to zap him, and before I can do more than raise my athame, he's on the floor on his back with Angus', Connor's, Rafe's, and Lief's boots on his shoulders and thighs so that he can barely move. Wow, I guess they got through the doorway alright.

I breathe a sigh of relief for that and for the certainty that they wouldn't have had to use any Goddess given abilities to subdue him. I hope that means I still have her favour so I can still take care of them all.

I check behind me quickly for the other two faces that simply have to be here and not in that medieval torture chamber. Delphine and Meredith have made it too.

Lucien has taken one of the many ancient looking swords down from the wall behind the elaborate throne, and he returns to the fallen 'Demon of Chaos,' and says; "This is what I could have become," and with no further ceremony he decapitates Narakasura.

What? Never! Not you love. But I have a new-found sense of compassion for old Nary-scary. His magpie collection in the apartments downstairs, his over-the-top torture chamber, his huge empty throne room, and his nearly exclusive reliance on those bat creatures...

How lonely, and frightened, and paranoid, and lost was he?

Lucien's face is peaceful until he remembers that I'm standing there and then he's aghast that I watched him behead someone.

His movement toward me is stopped as soon as it's begun, and now he doesn't know what to do.

"He never spoke but to hurt and frighten, and all he understood was blood and torture, and death. You did him, and this city, and all of us a huge favour, Lucien-love-of mine. Will you please hug me, and take us home so we can have a shower now," and I tell him; "I love you," and "How could you think I'd think any less of you for doing what we all came here to do? If not you than any one of us; even me, love." And he drops the sword to the floor with a clang and sweeps me up in his arms first just holding me tightly, and then laughing breathlessly; we all laugh in relief and joy that it's over and we survived, until Tia says; "There is something here," and her tone shuts the hilarity off like turning off a tap.

We proceed to the back of the throne room and find a heavy door, with a metal bar that is bent and twisted and nearly off at one end. Something large and very strong has bent the door, the brackets and the bar itself - outward. I'm not sure what I would have said; Angus is already moving toward it and he can see the damage as well as I can. Whatsoever is behind that door needs to be dealt with I suppose.

Angus steps forward and tentatively reaches for the bar. Just as his fingers touch it, there is a noise from the other side and he narrowly misses getting pizza'd when the door is slammed open to embed itself in the wall.

He jumps back with a muffled oath as some of the oddest and most frightening damned things you've ever seen come pouring out. They're even more twisted, dark, and reeking than any of the banshee bats we've seen so far. A pair of especially large bat-things with elongated talons and deeper buzz-saw screams is first. Two things that look partly like spiders in that they have mandibles and eight legs, but somewhat like monkeys in that they have prehensile tails and each of four of the legs end in hands and the other four in simian feet. They hoot mad laughter as they scramble along, and randomly snap at the bats ahead of them. A couple of bulbous greenish things with a human looking mouth in the centre of each and greasy green feathered wings hiss their pleasure at being free as they bob through the air. A pair of beetle looking things both the size of small dogs, that make high-pitched whining sounds and emit a stench that reminds me of an outhouse in the summer scuttle along the floor. Two pairs of long blue-black fuzzy frog legs each under a jet mass and covered in red bug eyes like a pulsating sack of giant flies stride across the room like extras on a deranged muppet show. These things ooze some oily ichor over everything indiscriminately as they pass; even the other monsters. Maybe they can't help themselves. Twin giant black millipedes the size of Shetland ponies with scorpion stingers curving up over their backs and having eyes that are human instead of insect wind across the floor like black syrup. The creeping, flying, oozing terrors keep coming, each species uglier than the last, like Noah's famous scene in reverse from some monstrous ark, and I wonder how long it will take these loathsome pairings to populate the world with their horror.

They take a stab – literally – at us, and then perhaps realizing how costly a battle could be when they spy their headless master lying on the floor; they change direction mid charge to escape through the window. Staring at the millipede things I'm glad they've changed their minds about confronting us.

The over-grown demon bats in the lead drip some corrosive substance onto the windowsill as they crash through the pane, and whatever the caustic substance is; it eats partly down the wall before it's done.

They stream through it, chittering, screaming, whining, clattering, slouching, howling and hissing; a near-solid mass of writhing stinking creatures hurls themselves into the night.

We look at each other.

We look at the window.

We look at each other.

We peer at the door they came out of.

And we look at each other again. I think we're all a little too drained and in shock to process what's happened.

What did we just let loose on Toronto?

Where will these things go if they'll not eat people or do worse?

What would worse look like, anyway?

Is everyone all right? It seems so.

Now what?

As Angus scans the... um... stable I guess you'd call it, where those things were housed, Tia speaks up again; "I can hear them."

I think, 'that's not an enviable talent, is it?'

Delphine speaks for the first time all night and says; "This isn't over until we eliminate them."

Before we can decide what to do, and before Lucien can agree, she nods to him and takes Tia's arm, and they fade into the moonlight. Frieda accepts it calmly and turns to us. "I can hear them; they'll be fine," and she smiles.

Just two of them to tackle those things? If Tia will be safe with anyone it's Delphine, and her own power will allow her to anticipate any attack those things make. I guess they're both uniquely equipped to track, kill, and escape the monstrosities out there. If Frieda is all right with it then so should we be but I'm wondering if Lucien is fine with having Delphine usurp control like that.

I know she's older and more powerful, but if she's going to allow him to lead, then where is the consensus we've come to over any other major decision? He's done everything right; he's even gone through the Purging and gained further abilities when if left to his own devices he would have avoided such self-discovery.

Is that it?

Has Delphine lost faith in Lucien that quickly?

Would a failing so understandable, so courageously overcome be reason enough to find fault with his leadership?

I ask him with a look and my angel admits; "I'm exhausted. I was going to take us home and tackle those things tomorrow night." Oops, that would suck. Sorry Toronto; just go home and don't answer the doors people. Nobody panic. That's not like Lucien at all.

He's weaving on his feet and he blinks rapidly as though he's having trouble keeping up. He's been through a bit tonight; he was the most gravely wounded and had only my blood to heal him, but no spell – no divine magic. Maybe I'd just better see him home and trust Delphine and Tia to mop up. She's just shouldering some responsibility because he's had it for the evening. I should have known better.

What's the matter with me?

"She and Tia will be all right and you look like you've been flattened by a Mack truck again; she's got this one."

"You're not quite yourself either; Meredith has tried twice to hand you something."

I look up in surprise from my blank stare out of the gaping hole in the wall where the window used to be. He's right! Meredith stands beside me.

Where'd she come from? I have to try a couple of times to focus on her words to make any sense out of them. "... found these in one of the apartments... ...thought you'd want to see them."

I paste what is supposed to be a smile on my face and take the sheets of paper she's presenting me with, and manage to thank Meredith in English – I think.

I stuff them into my bag without taking the time to look at them; I guess we'd better get out of here before someone comes. Any silent alarms should already be ringing, and it's long past the time someone should have noted something strange going on here and called the police, but we're not going to abuse our luck, or the Goddess's efforts on our behalf – if that's who and what we have to thank. Maybe Narakasura had some sort of contingency plan for the law enforcement types. A spell, some way to camouflage what went on here; it's not as though anything in this building is your average run-of-the-mill anything.

My blouse is now black in places and slashed in others and some of the fresher red may even be mine. I don't remember any particular wound, but moving tugs my clothing where it is drying against my body, and everywhere it pulls stings with dozens of tiny scratches.

As we shuffle back toward the altar/torture room, I flash back to one or two disjointed images of my friends snatching those foul near-bats off of me just as they reached me with their talons. I guess they got a little closer than I thought. I may have been faster than usual with my spell, but not vampire-quick.

The adrenaline is wearing off, and now they're beginning to throb. I wonder what sort of infection I could contract from those nasty stinking creatures' claws.

I tell Lucien of the last spell I memorized which will put me to sleep and heal me, but I tell him I won't use it until I know what's really happening with Tia. I'm starting to feel like I've had the flu for days; thin and washed out, as if I were an old sheet hung on the clothesline that sunlight and wind could pass through.

I am clasped in his arms as they jog through the building down to the elevator. I don't remember him picking me up; I'm fading in and out. We could descend on the outside of the building and be gone more quickly, but I don't think that would diminish the chances of being noticed by the ordinary citizens driving by. I miss the elevator ride altogether; it's just blackness to me. I'm fading fast, but I have to hold on until I know if Tia or Delphine needs me.

As we clamber into the limo waiting like some faithful black steed, Frieda starts announcing the details of the cleanup blow by blow first with excitement and then with mounting trepidation as Tia sustains one, two, three blows from one of the larger pairs of somethings. Connor is driving; with all of the running around at high speeds, Lief passed out as soon as Angus could set him tenderly inside and buckle him in. Frieda's already white face pales further, as she listens for signs of her sister's well-being.

I send a spell of protection to Tia and it seems to take the last of my body heat with it. "Justjo oiwo-brusk reidi-da kwu moi karrant." I held onto this last little bit of insurance for exactly this kind of situation; when none of us had anything left and no way to help one of our number in trouble.

The spell borrows a piece of my energy to guard Tia, and when the cold closes over me as I feel that bit of me depart, it's somewhat of a relief. The waiting is over; there's nothing left for me to do now.

With an envious glance at Lief's unconscious form, I cast the sleep spell on myself. "Deko-nok ni-broxd-iti reg-sme krimo ati-exs-reg-o." I don't need it to slip under; blackness is already pulling at my peripheral vision. It's meant to make my body focus its energy on healing so it diverts energy from everywhere else. No speaking or thinking or processing sensory input, no waking suddenly to flashbacks or nameless fears, and no pushing myself to cast just one more spell, or see just one more thing; just blessed sleep.

Homecoming

I come to in the car and it's been at least a couple of hours; the sun is well up, but we're still not home yet. Just opening my eyes was an effort and I contemplate letting myself drift away again, but Lucien is speaking to someone and his words are clipped and hard.

What's going on? I open my eyes again but all I make out are murky silhouettes near the windows and shadowy areas further away.

Who could he be speaking to like that, and why?

Who knew someone's coat could be so comfortable?

I let my eyes close again.

"... I wouldn't have made it to her in time. If it hadn't been for you, the two of you... you cannot tell her these things... she will push herself..." Not hard or cold; cut off.

This time when I open my eyes, the sunlight touches someone's light blond hair. He's not angry with... with... Frieda and... Tia? She's back! He's worried about someone.

Delphine? He stiffens suddenly beside me and turns to peer eagerly into my face. Oh hi, love. Me! He's been worried, afraid for me.

"Angel..." And he's pulling me into his arms. I'm not entirely sure what the major concern is but I am sure it has been precisely that for him, so I hug him back as hard as my sleep-heavy limbs can manage.

"What's wrong love; what happened?" I look around the car at the people who have just spent most of the night with me, battling an evil host and keeping each other alive. There are smiles from each of them; my family, my friends. Their expressions are joyful, relieved, if a little strained around the edges. I ask them with my eyes what has my love this upset now that Narakasura is gone and the nightmare should be over, and Frieda answers me softly; "You were out a long time."

"A long time," Lucien asks incredulously. "You were so far gone for at least five hours that none of us could wake you, and in your mind-" he finishes the thought in our heads; "-there was only darkness."

He pulls me more tightly to him although I didn't think that was possible, and I can feel him trembling from head to toe. "No images."

Five hours? "No dreams."

He wouldn't have let himself have any rest while I was out like that would he? He must have been beside himself. It wasn't too long ago that I was the one striving to reach his mind for some hope that he could come back to me. Tears begin prickling behind my eyes. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know it would do it like that, I needed to sleep - recover, I should have known."

What did I just put him through on top of everything else?

"I thought you weren't coming back; that he'd won after all, and you'd never look at me like that ag-" and even his mental voice cuts off as he bites down to avoid making any sounds the others could hear. "-or call me love... Call me love, Meagan-angel." It is a plea, and I could sob but I have to laugh in joy and gratitude that I have him, that we have each other and all of us are all right. It's a huge relieved belly laugh that has me breathless, and I tell him exultantly; "Love, my love, my Lucien-love, I love you and it's over, and we're safe, and we're going home love, and when we have a little privacy..." And he pulls back just a touch, so I can watch his eyes go navy blue for me. I lay just my fingertips on either side of his jaw and kiss him softly; I'll save the rest for later. I don't need to rub Meredith's nose in the fact of us.

I'm not budging from Lucien's embrace, but I reach out for Frieda's hand and give it a squeeze to let her know I'm glad she told me about Tia, and that I don't regret using that last burst of energy to help her. I include Tia and Delphine in the warm smile as I'm glad they're both ok, and they both smile back and nod to me! Wow.

Lucien turns to apologize to Frieda and she stops him with a headshake and the most affectionate smile I've seen from either of the twins yet. "Don't you dare; you were worried about her. It's sweet."

And then she sits back in her seat beside her sister as if that is the end of it. I guess it is.

It seems the creatures scattered once they cleared the building. Tia and Delphine had to hunt them all down. We think they got them all; they stayed together in pairs for some reason and I shudder to think why. We followed their progress around the city in the limo, and then just as the last faint glow of moonlight ran out Tia rematerialized with Delphine, and we scooped them up. The last of the critters Tia could hear – the flying ones – had made it as far as Kitchener before the girls put them down.

Lief is still out and now that we are all safe; the others lean against each other and the seats as if content to doze lightly until we get home.

Angus is driving now, and Connor throws me a wink before letting his head ease back against his headrest and closing his eyes.

Lucien and I are left listening to each other's thoughts in silence again. Judging by Lucien's reaction before, we still have work to do on the whole letting-me-put-myself-at-risk thing, and I'm ok with that. It's just another way he has of telling me how much he loves me, and since I met him he's appeared to be the kind of guy who can embrace new ideas – especially concerning me - so it can only get better. Yes, that sounds as smug in my head as it is to read, and upon hearing it, my love laughs out loud and I smile a smug happy smile up into his dear face.

We're nearly to his home - our home, when work calls to see if I'm still alive. At first I can't figure out why my bag is making noise, and then I forget how to answer my phone. So much has happened; vampires, witchcraft, a Goddess to believe in and faith restored in my God, finding the love of my life and nearly losing him, and a Nemesis complete with ghostly howling black henchmen with glowing eyes. It's all happened in less than a week and somehow technology and a nine-to-five seem more like the fantasy than the whirlwind we just lived through. Eventually, I tell them that I'm staying at the family home to recuperate...which isn't far from the truth at all... and I tell them I'll be back to work on Monday.

*

When we arrive home, we wait long enough to see the others moving off toward other rooms in the mansion, and then I'm in his arms again and we're flying up the stairs to his suite. As I feel his weight settle over me on his huge bed, and I drink in the light in his eyes for me, I thank both Deities, my parents, fate, work, the Toronto transit system, and anything else I can think of that might have had anything to do with bringing me into his life, and bringing us to this moment. I thank Lucien with my hands, my lips, my body, and my heart for taking a chance that day in the coffee shop.

Afterward, as we lie together he asks me to move in.

"Will you stay? Here? With me? Permanently?"

I have to laugh. He's so sincere in his effort to ensure I don't misunderstand. Since the big bad is gone, I can hope that it's not just to ensure my safety but because he really wants me here. Love. "Are you sure about this, Lucien? All I've brought you is confusion and a severe case of food poisoning, and a bunch of chaos and upheaval for the others."

"You've brought me love and a strength I didn't know I'd done without over centuries, and you've made yourself so very much my mate, my partner; you've made yourself their leader, and their queen. To live in a new time and in a more intimate way with mortals seems less daunting now."

"I did all of that?" He starts to smile and then the radiance of his expression is drowned in the darkness of his eyes and the parting of his lips as Lucien groans and reaches for me...

*

I tell him I can't stay away from work too much longer; I have to go back on Monday like I promised, and he flies me back to my house to grab a few things to last me for the next few days. I'll be driven to work in the huge limo. Cool. Even better; I get to be Lois to his Superman as we fly to my house, and I stop laughing only long enough to kiss him. I kiss my Lucien-love so thoroughly he abruptly loses altitude, and we're both left gasping and giggling as we soar over buildings and parks. I don't feel the cold this time at all.

*

I let us into my house, and my Christmas tree stands in the sunlight looking sort of small and forlorn.

"We'll come back for it soon," Lucien tells me; "and would you do something for me?"

"What love? Anything."

"I know it'll be a big job so close to Christmas but... would you decorate the mansion too?" I feel a surge of pride and dizzying levels of happiness. "My love."

"We seldom remember to celebrate the holidays anymore," he says by way of explanation, and my joy is tempered by determination that the situation be rectified at once.

"Yes. I can't wait." "Thank you."

I have some clothes, a picture frame or two, and a cat-carrier with a noisily unhappy Tigger in it, and Lucien flies me home to his place – to our place again.

*

As we land on the terrace outside the kitchen, the sun is spreading warm orange light over the west side of the house and pouring it through the windows to pool in every hallway and landing.

I answer the question he asked me before, which his eyes still ask me. We've made concrete plans for the next few days, and definite plans for the holidays I guess, but he's still anxious to know I'm not afraid of all of the craziness that comes with vampires and magic. That I'll be with him as soon as I can and for as long as I can and I won't decide it's too much and run out on him. Something has made me stronger than the other woman he hoped would be his partner; whether its faith, or parental guidance, or love, I don't know. But I know there is nowhere else I'd rather be, and that my future is with him, my Lucien. Together, we can handle anything else that comes up in life. "Of course I want to live here in the mansion with you, Lucien-love! Forever... I want to spend as much time here as possible," and now I throw him a wink; "in the library."

"Hey," he says and grabs me from behind to begin kissing and cuddling me as we head inside for breakfast in Lief's kitchen with our family.

