I didn't like the game Lestat was playing, or the
rules I had to play by, but at least he had the basic courtesy to leave the
house for a while. As I stared down at Nathalia, still cradled in my arms, I
tracked Lestat's location rather absently. The fact that I could do it at all
meant that he was letting me; the fact that it came easily meant that he
intended for me to know he was gone from the flat. 

I suppose he wanted me to know that he wasn't the
one hundred percent first-class bastard he liked to pretend.

Dismissing him from my mind, I turned my full
attention to Nathalia.

She didn't resist my touch on her, quite the
contrary. She huddled against me as though a storm were raging all around, and I
was her only refuge. Ironic, that, since I knew full well I was the storm, too.

It came to me, that the last time she had laid
eyes on me, I'd been drinking blood from her boyfriend's heart. It had been
supremely satisfying at the time, of course, but now I couldn't help but think
that *that* hadn't been one of my finer moments. 

I gently disentangled Nathalia's arms from around
my neck, and laid her on the lace coverlet of the bed. She stared up at me, her
blue eyes glowing so strangely that she almost looked a fledgling already, but
then I realized what was causing the brilliant spark in her irises. This was the
first time I'd seen her close up under modern electric lights. 

That brought home to me an image of the dungeon
I'd kept her in. The perpetual gloom, the smoking torches.

I wished I could wipe all that from her memory,
and give her a fresh start with me, one untainted by such desperate pain.

But I couldn't do that, and not because
Lestat would undoubtedly seize on it as a violation of the "rules."
Much more important was Nathalia's mental stability. Her memories went too deep
to be erased without a care. They were integrated with her personality, now,
part of her reality. Taking them away was tantamount to ripping the ground from
beneath her feet; she might fall into an abyss from which she would never
recover.

I stroked a hand over her forehead, untangling
the strands of hair that had gathered there, and softly said, "Nathalia?
Can you talk to me?"

No answer, not even in her eyes which had always
been so expressive before.

Sighing, I sat on the bed beside her and slipped
off my Italian leather shoes, then lay down full length and gathered her against
me. Ah, perfection. It was as though I
had been waiting centuries to find the one I could hold throughout the rest of
eternity. 

I held her closely, listening to her breathe,
listening to her thoughts. She wasn't thinking much, though; she was trying not
to think much. Occasionally an image or perception would surface in her mind,
and she would shove it away, jerking slightly against me as she struggled to
force it back to oblivion. I caught a few of these fleeting pictures.

Esteban........... the ocean..............
Lestat's hypnotic eyes............  the pit.............

And the one that came up most frequently:
herself, her face wrinkled with age, her long hair straggled and grey... and she
was still in my pit, I was still coming to bleed her at regular intervals.

It gave me a sense of her hopelessness, anyway,
seeing a thing like that in her mind.

Didn't she understand that I wouldn't let that
happen to her? She wasn't destined to grow old and die! When she was ready for
it, I'd give her the Dark Gift and spare her the agony of slow death by aging.

I know, I know, I had told Marius that if she was
alive I would bring her over in an instant, and I had meant it, too, but when I
had said that, I thought she was dead. Now that Nathalia was alive and with me, I could
stand to wait. It was better to wait.

I was firmly convinced that she had to
want the gift I could bestow, and that meant she needed time to ponder it, to
appreciate it, and finally to ask me. Yes, ask me, the words echoed in my
head, a new resolve taking shape in my mind. I won't force a change like that
upon her the way Lestat did David.  I won't bring her over until she
requests to share this life. I want her to love me, after all. The way I love
her.

It was love that stayed my hand, that kept me
from draining her right then, and giving back all the blood she could hold. A love willing to wait until she
wanted to be born to darkness.

But that same love had me glancing at the clock
when the chimes struck midnight. I had five hours until dawn, perhaps six, and
then I would lose this woman to Lestat's whims. 

And if that happened, she would never have a
chance to ask me for the dark blood. Lestat would hide her as he had this past month, so securely I'd never lay
eyes on her again, and she would grow old and die. All that had been
precious and special about her would be utterly lost until the end of time.

Thanks to Lestat's interference, though, the only way to
spare Nathalia an eventual mortal death was to make love to her now,
tonight, whether she was ready to think of me that way, or not. I had to make
her want me the way a woman wants a man.

But of course I wasn't a man, I was a vampire. I
couldn't fulfill her desires the way a man would, but I could do something far
better: love her with my vampire nature. She'd seen just the briefest glimpse of
that nature during our one true kiss; I would have to hope that those memories
would be enough to buttress her wounded spirit for what was to come.

Lestat was right to think I had wanted her crying
with passion beneath me all along.

He was probably also right to think that I
couldn't accomplish that tonight. Nathalia needed time. Time to get to know my
spirit instead of just my authority, time to recognize that pleasure could exist
even between such dissimilar creatures as ourselves. Time to recover from the
cruelties I'd subjected her to, time and again. 

And most of all, time to forget Esteban; I could
see in her mind that her love for him had been real, strong, and pure.

But time, of course, was the one thing she
couldn't have; the one thing I couldn't let her have.

For to grant her time now was to deny her the
rest of eternity.

Sighing, I rose from the bed and switched off the
light, and then went to open the heavy damask curtains so the moon could
suffuse the room with a gentle glow.

If I lay perfectly still, and wished myself into
some distant place, maybe I would find myself magically transported there, I
thought, but even as I tried, I knew better.

I knew better than anyone that wishes didn't come
true.

How many times had I wished to never lay eyes on
him, again?

How many times had I wished with all my heart
that Lestat might actually keep his promise?

Instead, he'd forcibly dragged across the living
room and had given me back to living death.

Otherwise called Santino, although I knew deep in
my soul that I would never call him that. Why would I? He'd just beat me
for it, like he had beaten me for every other miniscule error I'd ever made in
his presence.

Oh god, those beatings! When he got up to plunge
us into darkness, I thought for sure he was about to start in on yet another
one, to remind me that I was his. That I'd been wrong to stab him, wrong to
escape, wrong to deny his claim of ownership. 

To teach me, as he'd striven to teach me all
along, the essential lessons I had to learn.

Sometime in the distant past, those concepts had
just been words to me. Labels.

So real I could taste them like bitter gall
thickly coating my tongue.

I had learned them at his hand, learned them
well. How had I ever dredged up the courage to dare defy him? To flee? It seemed
another life. Another girl. Another reality.

Respect and obedience. Yes, that was me. I was
respect personified, wasn't I? Of course I was, it was all I could be. There was
nothing left inside me but what he had put there.

As he crossed to open the curtains, my mind fled
back in time. I saw myself as he had seen me so many times. Naked, I crouched on
all fours on the stone floor of my dungeon, my back unmarked, perfectly smooth
and pale. It would be, he healed me well between beatings. 

I wasn't bound, I wasn't restrained in any way.
By then, I didn't need to be. On occasion, he would still chain me in
preparation for punishment, but more often than not, he forced me to endure it
unaided. I was required to hold whatever position he had decreed, and let him do
as he wished with my body. No matter how agonizing, I had to endure it, to
submit. 

Of course I had to. Anything less only led to yet
more discipline, yet more training.

I had hated his chains at first, but when he
stopped using them, I grew to realize that they were the lesser of two evils. At
least when bound, I could flex my muscles, could fight against the manacles and
chains that held me fast throughout the punishment. Now, I couldn't move at all;
the slightest motion could be interpreted as breaking position.

Yes, hold position, Nathalia, I told
myself as I crouched there like some animal waiting to be trained.

He was standing behind me, his feet widely
planted apart, a thick leather strap in one hand. He played with it, lightly
slapping it against one palm as he lectured me. Respect and obedience,
Nathalia, he said. I will have them. I will always have them.

Yes, my lord, I said, and he all at once
viciously sent the strap flying through the air to sting my back. I felt the
shock, the blaze of fire, and then the beastly afterpain as a welt slowly rose
up on my skin.

Respect, I said! He rebuked me. You
know how to speak during discipline, you know what I want! Address me properly!.

Yes, my gracious, loving lord, I moaned,
gasping to draw enough breath to say the words. 

Ah, better, he returned, and once again I
heard the slap, slap, slap of the strap striking his hand as he
considered how best to proceed.

How many do you think you can endure before
the strength in your slender arms gives out, Nathalia? Before you collapse to
the floor? he asked, his voice contemplative.

I didn't know how to answer, didn't know what he
wanted me to say. 

Think carefully, Nathalia, he instructed,
as he unfurled the strap to teasingly stroke it along my welt. I flinched,
perhaps as much from his words as from the stinging throbbing that ricocheted
through me at the contact. I have my own ideas of your tolerance, my dear.
Don't underestimate yourself or I'll prove to you just how much you can endure.

Ten? I finally choked out, sweat dripping
down along the curve of my ribs as I strained and struggled to hold position.

Ten, he slowly repeated. Ah, very well
said, my beauty. Ten it shall be. 

I saw myself taking blow after blow, my mind
whirring with pain, losing count, but somehow  managing to hold position
until he announced, Enough, my Nathalia, and the bones in my arms turned
to pure water.

I crashed to the floor, heaving in gasps as I
struggled not to be sick.

And then the aftermath, his muscular form above
me, his tongue gently lapping up every drop of blood that oozed from my welts. I
lay quiescent, waiting, knowing that when he was done he would at last take away
the pain he had given me. And so he did, his healing blood smeared all across my
back, and I welcomed it.  

The vivid memory fled when I felt his weight
descend beside me on the bed. He gathered me to him again, and simply held me
for a time, and I allowed it, my breathing shallow to the point of panic.

"Shhhh," he gently urged, reaching out
one finger to flick away each tear as if slipped from my eyes. He had seen the
vision, too, seen it in my mind, for he told me, "It's all
right, Nathalia, my dearest. That's all past, I won't harm you again."

I heard him as though through a low fog that
clouded all my thoughts. He wouldn't harm me? I'm sure I didn't know what that
meant, let alone what he meant. His soft, caring tone didn't take me aback; I'd
heard loving words from him before, too many to count. He had often been
sympathetic and sensitive with me. It didn't mean anything; he punished me just
as harshly after such words as before them.

I was afraid to answer him, but I was more afraid
not to. "Yes, my lord," I softly breathed as he cradled me against the
long length of him. "Yes, my gracious, loving lord."

"Santino," he said. "Call me
Santino, my sweet."

The command was simple enough, but that didn't
help me. I didn't understand. Didn't he know I couldn't use his name? Didn't he
know it would show a lack of respect?

I felt a great sigh fill his chest, and then he
moved me out of his embrace to lay me flat on my back. Propping himself up on
one elbow, he trailed his fingers along my cheekbone and down my neck to where
the high, lace collar of my nightgown concealed my creamy skin. His thumb and
forefinger caught on a tiny pearlized button and effortlessly slipped it free
from its loop.

"Does my hand on you feel frozen,
Nathalia?"

Frozen? I wondered about that. I
had often thought of his skin as cold, but that word was far from accurate. His skin wasn't cold, not like ice was. It was cool, or rather, it was
the temperature of the ambient air that surrounded him. His hands could be quite
warm when he had just laid a torch aside. In the murkiness of the dungeon, of
course, that heat was quickly dispelled. He had always felt close to cold when
he touched me.

But now we were no longer in a subterranean pit,
a chill grave. 

New Orleans was thick with heat, even this late, and besides, Lestat kept his furnace going all night long, for Louis
keenly felt the cold and suffered from it.

No, this vampire's hand on me wasn't cold, not
now. It was just cool enough to make me shiver, the way you shiver when you have
a high fever and someone lays a hand on your brow. But was I shivering from
his cool, silken touch, or from undiluted fear of what he would do to me?

Please, not that, I thought.
I can't bear that. But I would have to, wouldn't I? 

"Not frozen, my lord," I finally
answered his query, then wished I hadn't, for he popped another button free, and
then another, until my nightgown was parted to my waist. Yet he didn't move to
place his hands beneath the fabric, or bare me to his gaze. He just lightly
stroked his fingers along the tiny strip of pale skin that showed, tracing my
breastbone, swirling his touch downward to rest against my navel.

"How have you gotten on with Lestat?"
he asked, his voice suddenly so casual that it took me a moment to assimilate
the question. Of course, I couldn't really think. His touch alone disconcerted
me, never mind his words. "And Louis?"

"I like Louis," I managed to come up
with a coherent answer. 

Lestat, of course, was another story. I couldn't
like him, not by any stretch of the imagination. He only cared about himself;
proof positive of that was the way he'd given me back to Santino. Besides, as
Louis had so succinctly pointed out, Lestat had treated me like the soup du
jour.

The vampire abruptly pulled back from me and sat
straight up. In the moonlight, I could see his black brows drawing together in
something approaching fury. "Lestat attacked you, Nathalia?"

I swallowed. Attack? Could I call it that? "I
don't know, my lord," I slowly answered, wondering myself. "He
mesmerized me, then he drank."

"How many times did this happen?"
Angry, now he sounded angry. I shivered.

He relaxed then, just marginally, and placing his
broad hands on my shoulders, lightly tugged to help me sit up. Then, without a
word, he was pushing my white sleeves down my arms and working my torso free of
the garment. I let him move me like a doll. No, not really like that, for a doll
doesn't cooperate. I did. My flesh was malleable to his whims, his wishes. I
utterly complied. What else was I going to do? Fight?

I'd learned long ago that there was no real point
in that. No point at all.

Even when he slipped the nightgown down past my
hips and off my feet, it didn't seem worth it to bother with resistance he would
just sweep aside and punish.

He'd seen me before. It didn't matter that he saw
me, now.

He'd touched me before; it didn't matter that he
touched me, now.

And he'd drunk from me before; it didn't matter
if he did so again. It didn't even matter if he drained me of every drop and left me to
rot.

When the clock struck two, I knew I had to form
another strategy, and fast.

I'd lain beside her, I'd tried to still her
fears, I'd even tried a bit of small talk to help her accept my abrupt
reappearance in her life, but nothing I did made the slightest difference.

She had locked herself into a state of utter
acceptance, she was mine to do with as I wished, but she was emotionless.
Resigned. Her body was present, and at my command, but her heart and soul and
mind weren't even in the room.

It wouldn't be enough simply to make love to her,
I knew that. She had to respond.

Respond naturally, of her own free will, as the
passionate woman I knew she could be.

But passion requires an undercurrent of emotion
to set it ablaze.

Not this apathy that was wrapped around her like
a funeral shroud.

I didn't want to shock her, I truly didn't, and I
cursed Lestat for precipitating all this. Nathalia's first time with me was
supposed to be wonderful. Why else had I kept her for months and never touched
her as I truly wished? She hadn't been ready. She wasn't ready now.

It was either that, or let her go; and to let her
go was to surrender her to the ravages of time that would eventually cave in
upon her and put out her glorious light.

Emotion, emotion... I had to make her feel
again, had to drag her up from the pit of despair she was determined to lock
herself into.

I understood her choice, oh, I truly did. For how
many centuries had I denied my own emotions? Too many. I'd done it because to
accept them was to risk having them trampled.

Now, Nathalia was doing the same thing. Hiding
all she was, all she felt, deep deep down; because if the least part of it erupted, she
thought I would hurt her. Punish her. Maim her. Kill her. Or worse.

But I had to make her release those feelings,
painful as they were, and I only knew one way to do it.

It would shock her, what I meant to do. Nathalia was an
intensely private person, as I'd told Lestat; and while I'd
frequently insisted it was my right to touch her wherever I pleased, I'd never
touched her with an intent to shame her. I'd only ever stroked her gently, as
tonight, wanting her to see that we could touch. That it didn't have to
bring pain, or fear, or shame.

But now, the time for that gentle, soulful
touching was at an end. It wasn't working, it wasn't reaching her. And I had to
reach her, or lose her.

That was all I was thinking as I lay there
enduring his touch. I want to sleep, I might as well sleep, this means
nothing to me, you can touch my body and it will never matter, for you aren't
touching me, oh, let me sleep.

You know, his hand on me was actually quite
familiar. Down in the dungeon, he'd touched me like this almost every night,
only holding back when I'd been beaten so badly that I lay unconscious. Of
course, he might have touched me then, too. I wouldn't have known.

It was nothing to get alarmed about, it was
nothing to upset me.

Or maybe I had it backwards, and I was nothing.
It certainly felt that way.

Hands tangled in my hair, large palms spanning my
waist and stroking downwards to massage my hipbones, fingers that parted my
nether curls and teased the heat of me.

Except, there was no heat. I was as cold as I'd
always thought him.

He spoke from time to time as he touched me.
Words of comfort, words of care. Sometimes, when I listened, those words even
seemed to ring with love. 

Then he suddenly left me and I heard the noise of
a shirt discarded, fabric ripping.

Like lightning striking he was at the bedside, a
wide strip of cloth in his hands. Without a word, he proceeded to wrap it
securely around my head, covering my eyes with one layer, then two, then three,
before he tied it off securely, blinding me.

I almost shrieked, I was so surprised. He'd never
blindfolded me before, never. All at once the nothingness, exhaustion, and apathy
that had held me in thrall winked out of existence. Into its place came a huge
wave of pure adrenaline, a rush of potent fear.

All I could think was that, contrary to my
expectations, he was going to do something new to me. Something awful, something I hadn't endured
before. Something I couldn't endure, couldn't live past.

And on the cusp of that thought came another, God
help me, please God, please, please help me.

 "He doesn't hear you," Santino
rasped, harshly holding my head between his palms as he twisted it to and from
to check that the blindfold was well secured. "Only I hear you, Nathalia.
Say your prayers to me."

Another first, for he'd never mocked my religion
before. Disputed it, yes, but not like that. Before I could come to terms
with it, though, he gave me more to worry about. Flinging me back against the
bedcovers again, he lay full length atop me, the weight of his solid body
grinding me deep into the mattress.

Skin to skin above the waist, we were, and I had
never really felt so much of him, all at once, before. I couldn't see a thing,
but I could feel. The heavy pressure of his body. The drag of wiry hairs across
his chest. The strength in his every limb.

And then he kissed me full upon the mouth, his
hands once more pinioning my face so that I couldn't move aside.

I'd been kissed before, but never like this,
never with an urgency that flashed through me like a lightning bolt. In one
instant, my whole body came alive, electric currents licking along my skin to
singe me. I screamed against his mouth, wanting it to stop. I didn't want this,
I didn't want him! No, no, never him, I thought, thrashing wildly, and
even as his chiseled lips moved firmly over mine, I heard his answer inside my
head. Yes, Nathalia, yes. Tonight and forever, yes.

I began fighting, flailing, every trace of lethargy
displaced by roiling pain and rage. Not just tonight's, but all the anger I'd ever held towards him.
It spilled out across my body, demanding release, and it hurt.  It
hurt so terribly! Great sobs tore from my chest, the blindfold grew wet from my
tears, but all the while he kissed me, and I knew my fury was somehow feeding
his own passion, his own resolve. I had to stop it, had to get back into that
small, dark place where nothing mattered. I didn't want to hurt like this! 

But the pain in my soul was awakened now, awake
and screaming, and it  was too strong to kill. I couldn't
make it vanish into nothingness.

His lips moved firmly over mine, demanding
everything, forcing my mouth to part, and his tongue slid over mine. 

And it was true, what I'd said before. He wasn't
cold, just cool, and his open mouth on mine only made me feel heated. Like I had a
fever, yes, but more than that. Like he'd set me afire, and the blindfold made
it ever so much worse, for there was nothing to distract my senses from the rage
and flames rising up to engulf them. But there was more to it than heat.
Sensations consumed me. A whirlwind. My heart pounded so fiercely in my chest
that I could hear it.

Fear, I told myself. He's driving you
wild, but only with fear.

Would fear make my toes tingle, though, or make
the roots of my hair ache as though I wished to feel his fingers weaving through
my tresses once again?

He was making me feel again, and feel too much,
and wanted it to stop. I wanted to go back inside my hole, I needed that. Needed
to hide from myself, hide from the wicked knowledge that was washing over me in
waves. You remember the blood-kiss now, remember the forbidden pleasure of
it, remember secretly wanting it again. 

"No!" I screamed again, this time out
loud, but his ravenous mouth on mine swallowed the sound, and deep inside my
mind I was thinking, Lestat was different, Lestat was calm and slow, but this
one is a firestorm consuming you whole.

Pain spread through my body to trace every vein,
every artery; anatomy itself betraying me to his desires.

And he knew it, he knew everything. Where before
he had been forceful, his kiss now veered toward violence, his fangs
cutting my lip until I tasted blood in my mouth. I knew the instant the first
droplet fell, but not from the pain or the metallic salty taste. I knew it
because my veins sang, their wish fulfilled, because it was as though my whole
body strained to yield him blood.

Blood-kiss, indeed, and he lapped it up as his
right, this homage to his dark nature.

I couldn't bear it. The blood frenzy was spinning
in on itself as he clamped onto my tiny wound and pulled, the sensation of
yielding to him was so foreign that my woman's body, of its own accord, put it
into a language far more familiar.

Passion. Human passion, the only kind I really
knew.

But I didn't want it, not with him! My body was
my enemy just as much as he was. 

My frenzy took stronger shape then, and instead
of wrenching my body to try to get loose, I began pouring all my wrath out on
him. Hitting him, over and over, with every gram of might I could possibly
muster, my tightly clenched fists colliding with his head, his jaw, his arms and
shoulders as they loomed over me.

I hit him until my hands ached, until I thought
the bones in my fingers would shatter from the impacts with his hard body. It
was like striking a stone coated in flesh, he was that rigid. But I didn't care
if my hands broke, not then. I couldn't stop hitting him, any more than I could
stop the overpowering physical sensations his kiss provoked.

I'd broken through to her, no doubt of that, and
while I didn't care so much if she hit me all night, when I looked in her mind
I could see spasms of pain reverberating through her knuckles and the sides of her fists.

Not her disobedience, not her defiance, and
certainly not the arousal beginning to take animal hold of her body.

I caught both her flailing wrists in one hand,
and held them down, over her head, and broke off the kiss to move my mouth to
lick and nibble at her neck. She arched it beneath me in offering, though I
sensed the motion was instinctive rather than deliberate. Ah, Nathalia.

Her skin was slick now with a mingling of the
sweat from her exertions, and while it wasn't blood-sweat, the scent still drove
me mad. I wanted her, all of her, her blood filling my mouth while she gasped
with passion beneath me.

She fought against me still, although her hands
were pinned, but I paid that no mind. It wouldn't last long, it couldn't. I'd
tasted her blood singing to mine, felt her pulse pounding with a tantalizing delight
she couldn't long resist, heard her remembering the forbidden pleasure she
wanted again. 

I rolled to the side and raked my hungry gaze
across her body. Beautiful, so beautiful. She was almost too beautiful,
really, for what I longed to do was drain her of every last drop. To sate my
dark passion.

I ran my free hand across her belly and thighs,
seeking the moist heat of her, and this time when I parted her curls, she edged
her legs apart. Another offering. 

I lunged against her neck, my fangs primed, and
clamped them over her pulsing vein, but I didn't break the skin. I hovered
there, holding back my own need to see to hers, my hand working her magically,
teasing her. Fragrance poured from between her legs, the smell of human lust,
and she gasped, jerking her hands in my grip.

I licked her vein then, and slid my fingers
inside her while the pad of my thumb stroked maddening circles around the center
of her woman's pleasure. She writhed, but not in protest. Her arms went slack,
all her energies directed downward, her thighs straining and quivering as she
panted, no more thought in her to resist.

My teeth broke her skin, the sensation of it
driving her closer to the edge, and her veins began to sing again in that rhythm
that I knew she recognized. That she wanted. That she craved. But she had to
crave it yet more, so I stopped short of letting any blood flow.

I felt her shuddering, her whole body convulsing
with need, her nipples hardening with it, and in her mind I saw no longer a
consciousness of her human passion alongside my vampire's need. The two were
mixed together, inseparable, all one. Unified. A pounding force that needed
slaking, by her as much as by me.

She was almost ready, almost there. Letting go of
her hands, I wrapped my free arm around her to pull her into the curve of my own
body. Her slender limbs lay passive above her head for a moment, as though
forgotten, and then she brought them to my back, and felt the blood-sweat that
slicked my own skin.

Her thoughts flew into a dizzying whirl that
seemed to center around one idea. I want to taste this, she was thinking.

And that sent me spinning out of control, unable
to wait any longer. My thumb flicked across her woman's nub with preternatural
speed, until she begged aloud, "Please, please, please!"

My fangs slid into her vein upon the word, and
her hot blood filled my mouth to overflowing, and as I drank, she screamed in
pleasure and raked her fingernails down my back so fiercely that she left
furrows even in my tough skin. Her life's blood spurted from the punctures in
erratic surges that marked the peak and wane of her climax, and the taste was
thick with the sensation of fulfilled desire.

It was almost more than I could bear, to stop, to
pull back from that fountain of purest Nathalia.

But I did, and watched her, stroking my hand on
her more gently now as she descended from the heights, and I thought, You'll
be safe now, Nathalia, safe forever; not even death itself will touch you.

And as the clock struck three, she fell into an
exhausted sleep in my arms, and I slowly unwound the blindfold from her face,
and dropped a soft kiss on each of her closed eyes.

I knew the instant that he had her, the moment
that she began moaning wildly in his arms.

"Damn!" I swore aloud, and Louis looked
at me strangely.

"He's done it," I explained, pulling
Louis close so I could take to the air. "Santino. We have to get
back."

"He hurt her?" Louis asked as we rose
aloft. "You swore he loved her!"

"He does, Louis, and tonight he made her
want him."

"That's impossible!" Louis' green eyes
flashed with outrage and concern.

"I know, I know. But he did it, and he
didn't cheat," I confirmed in heavy tones. Even now, she was sleeping like
a baby, without a care in the world, with Santino right beside her!

"Oh, so what?" Louis thought to ask,
and I could tell from his voice that he didn't really understand. But that
wasn't so surprising; he hadn't been inside Nathalia's mind for the past few
hours.

"Louis," I told him quietly,
"Nathalia begged him to take her blood, and when he did, she came."

"In the bed!" I shouted, out of
patience. I mean, Louis was pretty innocent, especially when it came to women,
but he wasn't that dumb.

"Oh," he slowly said. "You
mean...?"

I glanced at him, puzzled, as we descended into
the dark courtyard. Nathalia's light wasn't on, I noticed, but why would it be?
She was sound asleep. Santino had moved out to the parlour, though. No doubt
he'd sensed Louis' arrival if not my own. "There's not much to do,
is there? She's Santino's now. He won her, fair and square. But don't worry,
Louis, he's not planning to torture her again. He wants a fledgling."

"What about what she wants?"
Louis insisted, raising his voice.

"That was the point of the whole
exercise," I growled. Who was Louis to question my judgment?

"Oh, please," Louis scorned, much to my
annoyance. "You're not going to claim that you wanted to be eternal
companions with everyone you ever climaxed with, are you?"

I must say, that was really rude of him. I almost
smacked his face, but I knew that if I did that when he was genuinely worried
for Nathalia, he'd probably go into the sulks for the rest of the decade. Better
to humor him.

"Well, what do you suggest?" I asked,
raising expansive hands.

I shook my head, wondering *what* was going on up
there in his. "Louis, she doesn't have many choices left. Santino has
guaranteed it."

My mind went into overdrive, considering the
possibilities. And came up with one, of course. Louis wasn't going to much
appreciate it, but it actually had some merit. For Santino, at least. And for
Nathalia, too, I suppose, although only in an oblique way. 

Yes, I decided, Santino might be able to make her
want him in a crass sexual sense, but that didn't mean he really
understood her. She'd be better off if he did, even though making him really see
her fathomless despair was going to take a toll. On her, mostly, although
Santino would come in for his fair share of it.

"I'll give her a choice," I told Louis,
my tone rather ominous. But it would be, wouldn't it, considering what I had in
mind to do. "And after she makes it, I'll do her one hell of a favor to
boot, but only on one condition."

"You can't interfere, you can't say a
word," I told him, poking him in the chest to underline the point. "I
mean it! No matter what, you just watch and keep quiet, and try to remember that
I know what I'm doing!"

Louis swallowed nervously. "Should I point
out that you almost never know what you're doing, Lestat?"

"No!" I shouted, vexed. "You
either agree to go along with me on this choice business, or resign
yourself to Nathalia leaving with Santino this instant."

"All right, all right," he conceded,
swatting my finger away. "But what are you planning?"

"I can't tell you; Santino will read your
mind and try to stop me." I can't even tell you that I'm going to fake a
temper tantrum, I thought. "But I have to do this, Louis, it's for the
best."

I was relaxing on the sofa, my head thrown back,
listening in on Nathalia's dreams, when the back door slammed open and Lestat
stalked in, followed by Louis.

For a moment, he just glared at me, his grey eyes
glittering, and then he yelled, "You're dripping water on my floor!"

It was an exaggeration; my hair was still wet
from my shower, but it was hardly dripping. 

"Sorry, couldn't find a hair-dryer," I
lightly answered, quizzing him with my eyes. "Would you rather I smeared
blood-sweat all over your furniture? Things got a little heated between Nathalia
and me, and you know how messy that can be."

Louis was staring, half-angry, half-worried. He
was concerned about some insane notion of Lestat's, but more than that I
couldn't tell.

"What happened to your shirt?" Louis
asked as I stood up.

I flipped the torn edge of it back into my pants.
"Oh, nothing," but sent him a potent message :::It's personal, all
right?:::

"Get Nathalia out here," Lestat
suddenly growled. "I have to talk to her."

"She's asleep," I protested, chuckling.
"Worn out, really. But hey, once we get settled in together, you can come
visit anytime. Just put whatever you have to say on hold, all right?"

"Well, well," Lestat drawled, his eyes
taking on a menacing violet hue. "Aren't you in a good mood? Overconfident,
one might almost say."

I didn't like the sound of that, and dryly
reminded him, "Moaning wildly, wasn't that the criterion? Set, point, and
match, Santino."

"I thought you claimed she was no
game," Lestat hissed.

"I guess we've overstayed our welcome,"
I tried to sidestep his obvious hostility. Funny, I'd never seen Lestat be a bad
loser before. A brat, yes, and a damned jerk, but not really a bad loser.
"I'll get Nathalia and we'll be on our way."

"Where are you going?" Lestat nastily
inquired. "Back to Norway, to the pit you built especially for her?"

Well, that was overstating the case. That well
dated from antiquity, I had just altered it to serve as a prison.

"No, not Norway," I told him.
"She'll never see that pit again, all right, Lestat? Satisfied? I thought
you understood."

"I thought you understood," he
echoed, "but you obviously don't. You can't have her unless she wants
you."

"Weren't you listening?" I protested.
"She does want me!"

"You think?" Lestat flashed me an evil
smile, his fangs hanging halfway out. "We'll see, Santino. We'll see if she
wants something else even more."

"What the hell are you talking about?"
I shouted, stymied. I couldn't read him; his shields were titanium plates. And
Louis quite obviously didn't know any more than I did.

"Get her, now," Lestat
thundered. "Or I will!"

I didn't want him going near her alone, not in
the mood he was in, so I reluctantly complied.

"Esteban?" I groggily murmured as my
consciousness rose.

Oh God, I realized too late, wrong
thing to say.

I opened my eyes in the half-light to see the
vampire staring moodily at me, his expression dark. But he didn't say anything
about my comment, he just swept his gaze over me, and his gaze softening, said,
"Get dressed, my beauty."

Then he sat in a chair, crossed his arms in front
of his chest, and waited.

I chewed my lip, reluctant, but stopped when I
felt my teeth hit a spot he'd bitten earlier. Ouch.

His stare bored into me. "That wasn't
supposed to hurt you. Shall I heal it? And your neck?"

I blushed then, and wondered why I hadn't sooner.
Probably because Lestat had told me that smelling blood close under the skin
made a vampire hungry. I'd been supped from enough for one evening.

"What? Oh, no, they don't need healing, my
lord," I weakly answered. What else could I say? I didn't want him near me.

Wrapping myself awkwardly in a blood-tinged
sheet, I fished in a drawer for a underwear, jeans, and a sweater, then turned
around to quickly dress. It was an awful experience, for every time my fingers
touched my body, I remembered his touch, and how I'd responded. God, what
was wrong with me? He had absolutely shattered my pride and my resolve, and I
could only shudder.

Now I was destined not to be just his occasional
snack, but his sex toy.

"You worry too much," he said, and old
habit had me automatically responding, "Yes, my lord."

He snapped his fingers the way he used to always
summon his servants. Was that what I was to him? A servant?

"Come with me," he ordered, and I, of
course, obeyed.

I must say, I was surprised to see Nathalia
wearing jeans. She must have bought them with the money I'd slipped under her
door. After she'd come to Louis' defense like that, I really felt a heel for
telling her to get a job. Louis was right, she didn't have the documents she
would need to work in the United States.

But I hadn't seen her in such form-fitting
clothes before, and I had to admit, she was really a stunner. Besides, the jeans
were a good choice, not that she would know it, yet. It was damned cold where we
were going.

"Sit," I told her, pointing at the
wooden chair furthest from the settee. "Over there."

To my great annoyance, she shook her head, her
long hair hanging tangled and loose, and knelt at Santino's feet. Her thoughts,
actually, were more tangled than her hair. After her time alone with Santino,
she felt more vulnerable than ever. His lovemaking might have brought her
pleasure (hell, had brought her pleasure), but it hadn't given her any
confidence in the future. And too, she was lost in the past, in memories of the
mortal lover. Now she felt not only that she'd killed him, but that she'd
betrayed him too, and in the worst possible way.

Louis went to try to lift her off the floor, but
I growled at him to stay back and let me handle this.

Then I turned my fury on Santino. "You sit,
and where I say," I menaced, pointing to the place farthest from the
girl. When he didn't appear willing to respect my request, I summoned up an
energy pulse and shoved him into place. "Now stay, or I'll make you
stay! I want to talk to Nathalia."

Stepping right up to her, I knelt as she was
doing, and tipped her face up so that I could see her eyes.

"Do you want Santino?" I asked, my gaze
assessing and watchful.

Her eyes filled with shock at the question, but
then she lapsed back into the thought I'd heard from her a few moments before.
"Do I have a choice?"

"Oh, yes, there's always a choice," I
assured her, fishing deep in my pocket for the knife I used while hunting.
Sometimes it was just best to slash a victim's throat after the kill. The police
don't notice bite marks when the guy's vocal chords show.

Drawing forth the knife, I carefully flipped out
the longest blade, the one I always kept razor sharp. 

That was Louis and Santino both, reacting to my
little object lesson. I silenced Santino with the power of my mind, rendering
him a statue that could watch and understand, but not move or speak. Of course I
couldn't do that to my Beautiful One, he'd never let me hear the end of it, so I
did what I'm best at; I yelled. 

"I know what I'm doing, Louis!" I
reminded him of his promise to me. "Nathalia here doesn't want a life with
Santino. She doesn't want a life, full stop, not if it has to be on his
terms!" I turned my eyes back to her to see her staring at the gleaming
blade resting in my palm.

She blinked, almost hypnotized by the bright
silver glitter that had captured her attention. "What?"

"Do you want to live out the rest of your
days as Santino's body slave? Blood slave? Tortured and tormented, in bed and
out of it? That's what he's offering, but I give you a choice. A way out.
Escape."

Her eyes went out of focus for a moment, and then
she glanced fearfully at Santino, and again at the knife. "I... What do you
mean?"

I leaned closer to her, bringing the knife within
easy reach. "Take it, Nathalia," I urged, my voice as convincing as
could be, although I stopped short of mesmerizing her. "Use it, you know
how. Santino taught you well, didn't he, when he made you play all those games
with knives? You know what it is to cut yourself, to do it deeply."

Her gaze strayed to him again, and she didn't
appear to notice that he was being forcibly held in place. "But it will be
for nothing," she moaned, clearly tempted. "He won't let me die, not
yet. He wants to kill me himself when he tires of me."

I must say, she surprised me with that. Didn't
she know by now that Santino was setting her up for a lifetime of
forever?

"He won't heal you this time,
Nathalia," I solemnly promised her, laying a hand across my heart. "I
won't let him."

"Can you stop him?" she whispered, her
fingers reaching out toward the knife.

Santino saw that and tried to lunge with all his
might, but all he could manage to do was twitch slightly. I had him in an iron
grip. Blood sweat broke out across his forehead as he fought it. I ignored that,
and dropped the knife on the floor in front of Nathalia. Then I stepped back and
gave her room to make her choice.

She picked up the knife and stared at it
wonderingly, almost like a child with a new toy.

"It's her choice," I threw back at
him. 

"Of course I'm not," I denied. What
would be the point of that? Santino would sense it, and then he wouldn't see
what I wanted him to see, that one night's lovemaking didn't even begin to bind
the wounds he'd dealt Nathalia, time and again. 

Louis made a move as though to get the knife from
Nathalia, so I threw him back in his chair, too. Great. Now there'd be hell to
pay when this was all over with; he didn't like it when I abused my powers,
etc, etc, blah blah blah. Sometimes I just wanted to tell him to shut up. I
didn't have to tell him now, though. He couldn't speak any more than could
Santino, whose eyes were oozing blood now as he watched, horrified by the scene
I'd staged.

I stayed well away from Nathalia to ask, "Chérie?
Wouldn't you rather join your lover, than make love to the man who killed
him?"

Santino really lunged when he heard that,
but it did him no more good than before.

It was an underhanded thing to say, especially
since I could read the guilt she felt. It practically oozed from her pores, she
was so drowned in it. She'd betrayed her lover, she thought. She'd given herself
to the demon who'd ripped out his heart. She deserved to die, she thought.

"One quick slice," I quietly urged her,
my body tensed. "One cut, and it'll be done. You'll be safe forever."

She looked up at me. "You won't let him near
me until it's all over? Until I'm passed on?"

"Of course not," I crooned. "This
is your choice."

She traced the sharp edge of the blade across her
wrist, but she didn't press down.

Well, Santino was really going to hate me for
what I would say next, but he was going to hate me in any case, so I figured I
might as well play this hand out to the bitter end. "I promised you to him,
you know," I told her, "and if you won't free yourself, I'll have to
make good on it. But is that what you want, chérie? Don't forget what I
told you before. He's angry that you took a lover. He wants to kill you slowly.
The rack, Nathalia. And worse. I can read his mind, it's all there, every last
bit. That blindfold was only a prelude, he'll pluck your eyes from your skull
before he's through---"

"Stop," she said, and I did. At
once. 

She sighed, and slowly crossed herself, and said
out loud, "Suicide is a mortal sin. I'll go to hell."

"Where do you think Santino is going to take
you?" I had to ask, and that question got to her, deep down. "He's a
demon, don't you know that? We all are, even Louis. You've fed his hunger and
taken pleasure in the act; you're going to hell in any case, chérie. The
only thing you're deciding now is if you want to live through hell on earth,
first."

:::Lestat, stop this, stop this at once!:::
Santino screamed out in my mind. I hadn't expected that; I'd shut him out when
I'd pinned him to his chair. But he was so frenzied for Nathalia that his mental
powers had broken free. He was strong, stronger than I'd realized. But he was no
match for me. :::What the hell are you playing at, she'll do it, don't you
understand, she'll really do it, she's on the edge!:::

:::You put here there,::: I only said, and shoved
him out of my thoughts.

She must have sensed something from Santino,
because her eyes went wide with fear. "No! It won't work, and he'll punish
me for even trying, I know he will!"

Ah, hysteria. Now we were getting somewhere. I
walked straight over to Santino and punched him in the jaw.

"See? He's in a deep-freeze, and I won't let
him out until you're long gone." Then I gestured at Louis. "Same
thing, he won't save you either. Don't ask me to hit Louis though, ok?"

She was past appreciating my feeble attempt at
humor. "What about you?"

"Of course," I told her. "That's
the idea."

Her mind was so clouded with fear, grief, and
shame that I couldn't clearly read her anymore, so I was actually surprised
when, without any more warning than that, she made her move. 

With one smooth, forceful motion, she slashed the
knife across her wrist, cutting deeply to sever the artery, for Santino had taught
her well. Blood surged from the wound, and for a moment that seemed to stretch
into infinity, she stared at it.

And then she clutched her hand to her chest,
crying, and waited to die.

The moment Lestat took out that knife, I knew
Nathalia was in serious trouble. The way she looked at it was telling, even
before Lestat began taunting her.

I tried to scream at him that this was dangerous,
that she was good with a knife. I should know. 

But I couldn't get past the invisible wall he'd
bricked up all around me.

I watched through a crimson haze of blood tears
as she began to play with the blade, testing it out, considering what he
offered.

Sit and listen to him tempt her, the
bastard. 

Worse than that, he was a lying bastard. His lies
got worse and worse, until I thought I would explode just hearing them. What the
hell was he talking about, telling Nathalia that I would rack her? That was
sick, absolute sick filth, and it had never crossed my mind for one fucking
instant! Just the word made me want to vomit forth the small amount of
blood I'd drawn from her. Of course, Lestat had probably never seen a rack in
operation, but I had. Why the hell would I want to maim Nathalia? I loved her,
he knew I loved her! Even when I'd been stupid enough to punish her, I'd never
deliberately inflicted any damage I couldn't completely heal!

And then he said I'd gouge out her eyes! It was
like he really, truly wanted to see her kill herself, the sick twist! Why else
would he spew forth such horrifying visions for her to choke on?

Then he went completely over the top, and told
her we were all demons and she was damned to hell already! Great, just great!
The one thing that might have made her think twice was her faith, and in
one short sentence, he blew it to smithereens.

My rage finally broke free then, to echo in his
head, but he just threw it back at me, blamed it all on me, when he was
the one positively egging her on. And to add insult to injury he had to punch
me, but you know, he pulled that punch. Not so that Nathalia would realize, but
he did do it.

That was when I started to watch more carefully,
for I had a feeling there was more to Lestat's showmanship this time, than met
the eye.

Sure enough, the instant she hacked her arm open,
the wall around me disintegrated.

My feet didn't touch the floor; I flew across
the room to get to my Nathalia, my teeth already ripping a huge gash in my own
wrist. The instant I reached her, I grabbed her arm and mashed our wounds
together, but I only kept the pressure on for a second. I healed far more
quickly than she did.

Holding her as though I'd never let her go, I
tore my arm open again and again, until her bleeding stopped, until her injury
scabbed over and fresh new skin wove its way through the scar. But she'd lost a
lot of blood by then; it was all over her sweater and spreading out across the
rug. Nathalia's blood. I tried not to look at it, I really did, but I
could smell it all the same. Ah, Nathalia.

She hadn't fought me, but not because she had
changed her mind about wanting oblivion. She was just in too much shock to mount
a defense, not that she could have stopped me in any case.

Lestat had stood back while I tended her, but
once she was completely healed, he came and knelt in front of her, as before,
and his visage was as grim as I'd ever seen it. As though it had hurt him, too,
to see her do that to herself. As though he actually cared.

Her eyes a wounded blue, she stared at me, and
then at him, and only said in tones of weak reproach, "But you promised,
Lestat. You promised."

Lestat took her healed wrist gently in hand and
raised it to his lips to kiss it. "I lied, Nathalia," he quietly
explained. "I lie all the time."

Her head rolled back, but then she righted it,
and groaned, "No, no, I read the books, you said you only lie to those you
love."

"Exactly," he agreed, and tears slipped
free from Nathalia's eyes to drip upon my fingers as I held her.

Lestat leaned over and smoothed a hand across her
eyes to shut them as he whispered, "I'm going to give you a greater gift
than death. One you'll want, I promise, and this time I promise in truth."

Then he went into her mind, letting me see him do
it, and told her, :::Sleep, Nathalia. Sleep deeply, without anxiety.:::

She instantly submerged into a sea of peaceful
dreams.

Then Lestat finally turned to me. "Jaw all
right?"

It took a great deal of self control not to lay
him flat with my fist, especially since I had the feeling that he'd let
me. But that would mean setting Nathalia to the side, and I wanted her in my
arms.

"What's your problem?" I threw all the
scorn I could muster into the question. "You're bored? There's nothing on
TV? You've nothing better to do that drive an innocent young girl to her
death?"

"Sorry, that's your idea of entertainment.
That, and torture," he returned without remorse. "You didn't think
she'd do it, did you?"

"I damned well did!" I hotly refuted
him.

"Right, you believed it once I'd started,
but I'm talking about before, Santino. You thought your little bedroom tricks
were enough to seduce her will, not just her body! I know you did!"

Well, he had me there. "Look, Lestat, I was
finally getting somewhere with her--"

"No, you weren't," he hotly
interrupted, "and you were too wrapped up in your victory party to see it.
She is on the edge, Santino, but not because of anything you or I did
tonight. She's been teetering at the abyss for the better part of a year, that's
how much you scarred her, and I wanted you to see it for yourself in living
color!"

That impassioned speech took me aback, I must
say. It's not like Lestat to have dealings with mortals beyond the obvious,
except in rare cases like David Talbot, who ended up a fledgling...

"What's your greater gift than death?"
I rushed to question, clutching Nathalia more tightly to me. I had to lay off,
though, when she groaned in her sleep. "What are you going to do, give
her the choice *you* never had?"

He laughed, which I took as a good sign, although
with Lestat you never can tell. "Don't quote the stupid movie to me, I get
enough of that from Louis! And no, Santino, I've got no need for another
fledgling. She's all yours, that much you can be sure of."

"Then what were you babbling about?" I
demanded to know, and for good reason. I didn't trust him. I knew better.

"Oh, you'll find out," he assured me,
pocketing his knife and jumping to his feet. His gaze assessed the night outside
the window, and I heard him thinking, Two hours until dawn, enough time, but
we have to leave now.

His grey eyes focused on the hallway, and
suddenly a door crashed open and a heavy coat, wool socks, and boots came flying
through the air to land at his feet. He glanced at Nathalia, then, and a couple
of heavy sweaters shot down the hall to join the other clothes.

"Get Nathalia out of that blood-soaked
sweater and put all this on her instead. She'll need it, where she's
going."

I didn't like the sound of that. "The hell
I'll put them on her," I snarled. "She's not *going* anywhere, except
with me."

"Wrong," Lestat said, his voice flat.
"Now, put them on her, Santino, or she's likely to freeze. I'm pretty sure
you want her whole, not minus some toes from frostbite, so don't be an
idiot!"

It didn't come easy, kowtowing to the likes of
Lestat, but the simple truth was that I loved Nathalia more than my pride. I
wrapped her up securely in the warm clothes he had provided, and then gathered
her close into my arms again.

"Touching, just touching," he sneered,
although I could see that it was a façade. Whatever he was up to, he was having
a hard time doing it. "Now, you have the choice, my friend. You can
hand Nathalia to me, and rest assured you'll get her back safe and sound in one
week, or we can play tug-of-war with her. Imagine the mess that would
cause."

I shook my head at his lunacy. "What are you
playing at now? You can't convince me you need another week with Nathalia!"

"I don't have to convince you," Lestat
came back, as arrogant as ever. "But I do need the week. Don't worry,
Santino. She is yours, and I will return her in one piece, but I have to do
something first."

"Why, what are you going to do?" I
pressed.

"You'll see," he said again, and
started to lose patience. "Give her to me! I don't want to have to grab
her, you fool! If we start fighting over her, she's the one who'll be torn to
bits, and I have news for your addled little brain: Nathalia's in no shape to
lose yet more blood!"

I didn't see much alternative at that point; I
couldn't let Nathalia get hurt. Still, though, I had to lay out some ground
rules of my own. "You will not drink from her, Lestat."

"Never crossed my mind," he airily
denied, casting me a haughty look, as if to say, How dare you suggest I would
partake of human blood! Shame, shame, shame on you, Santino!

I ignored his antics. Lestat always was insane.
"And you will not let her out of your sight! She might finish the job you
started here, tonight."

"Well, gee, Santino," he softly purred,
"I do have to sleep, sometimes, you know. What do you want me to do, chain
her like you used to? That'll sure help her state of mind a whole bunch."

"You can mesmerize her during the
days."

"Oh, good thinking," he tossed back,
the sarcasm only growing. "Mind control. She'd like that, wouldn't she, not
having any conscious will at all? Say, maybe I can drive her stark raving mad.
Think a week'll be enough?"

"Well, what is your plan?" I ground
out, frustrated.

"None of your business, that's what. All I'm
telling you is that she won't get away and she won't get hurt. Now, time's up!
Hand her over!"

Defeated, I did. It was that or have him rip
Nathalia from my grasp. Lestat was strong, too strong, and when he was
irritated, he didn't always temper that strength. He might have pulled her arms
from their sockets if we'd gotten into a tussle.

"Ok, then," he said, preparing to
leave. "One week."

Then he sighed, and glanced at Louis, who still
sat frozen, watching and listening, but unable to interfere.

Lestat walked to his fledgling and bending down,
kissed him on the cheek.

Instantly awakening, Louis started, and his first
thought wasn't for himself.  "Lestat, you're taking Nathalia
somewhere?"

"Yes, Beautiful One, and you'll be glad I
did." He swept his glance toward me. "So will you, if you've got the
brains God gave a fly."

And then he vanished with preternatural speed to
take Nathalia far away into the night.

I woke up thirsty, but Lestat was right beside
me, holding a glass of something to my lips.

"Slowly," he instructed as I gulped at
it.

He might not have bothered; the liquid tasted so
vile that I jerked my head to the side after the first swallow. "What the
hell is that?"

"It's good to see you acting more like your
usual self," he murmured, then explained, "It's mostly water mixed with
sugar and salt, but I think he put in vitamins too, and something called
electrolytes."

He? I shoved Lestat's arms aside and
struggled to sit up. Ooooh. Bad move. Dizzy.

"He who?" I croaked.
"Santino?"

"No, no, not him," Lestat told me, then
urged, "Come on, Nathalia, you have to drink this. It'll help your body get
back into balance."

"This is better for what ails you. Do I have
to pour it down your throat?"

He would, too, so I gave in gracefully and slowly
drank the glass dry.

"Good," Lestat said. "You rest
some more, all right?"

Right, like I could rest when I didn't know where
I was or what was going on! Now that I was more cognizant of my surroundings, I
knew for sure I'd never seen this room before. Although, it was a bit rustic to
even call it a room. The walls were made of thick timber construction, and above
head, I could see that whole logs had been used as beams to support the roof.
There was only a tiny window, much too small for me to crawl through, but I
could see that it was full night outside. Absolutely black.

"Where's Santino?" I had to ask.
Really, that was the only thing that mattered.

Lestat tilted his head, his gaze blurring
slightly as he listened. "He's in New Orleans, playing chess with
Louis." Then he grinned, "Louis' beating the pants off him."

He smiled, and vaguely replied, "Oh, I
decided to take you north for a while. We need some time to ourselves."

Now, you have to understand that at some level
Lestat didn't frighten me. I don't know why he didn't, he just didn't. But that
didn't mean I was completely without judgment. When a vampire who has just
practically begged you to kill yourself decides he wants time alone with you, it
can't be a good sign.

So I shrank back from his smile, as friendly as
it was, and said, "A while? How long?"

He shrugged. "I told Santino a week, but the
truth is that we might need longer. We'll see. You just get some rest and I'll
tell you all about it, later, all right?"

"No, it's not all right," I started to
dispute, but halfway through the sentence, I felt too tired to go on. Damn his
black soul, but he had a point. Rest was probably well in order.

Besides, I thought, I wouldn't be able to leave
come morning unless I took advantage of the night to recuperate. God only knew
how much blood I'd lost.

"It wasn't that much," Lestat assured
me. "You'll be fine. I can tell just looking at you."

I bet he could. His comment alarmed me, though,
because it meant he'd heard me plotting to leave when the sunlight incapacitated
him. Great. Now I wouldn't have a snowball's chance in hell of making my way
free, vampire death-sleep or no. 

"Oh now, none of that," Lestat chided. "I wouldn't dream of it. In fact, I'll go you one better and tell you that
you're at perfect liberty to leave when the sun rises. All right?"

"You're lying again," I tried to say
through gritted teeth, but since I was weak as a kitten, it came out more like a
mewl.

He looked hurt, the hypocrite. "No, I'm
telling the truth, it's just not the whole truth. You'll figure it out."
Then, with a somber gaze that seemed to see right through me, he added, "I
am sorry I put you through that trauma with the knife."

"Why did you?" I moaned,
remembering. "If you weren't going to let me go?"

He stared down at his feet as if deciding how
much to say. "Santino didn't seem to understand that you were breakable,
Nathalia. I had to get it through his thick skull before he drove you over the
edge without realizing. But I did it for you, too. He'll think twice about how
he handles you in the future. Hell, after what I made him watch, he'll think way
more than twice."

Oh God, the future. A future I didn't want, a
future I'd turned my back on the moment I slit my wrist.

"Lestat," I said, my voice urgent
despite the weak, sick feeling in my stomach. "Don't give me to him,
please. I'd much prefer to have the knife again. Really, I would."

He looked... I don't know how to describe it,
really. Mournful, maybe, or as though he wanted to soothe my distress. 
"Ah, ma chère, it will be all right. I think Santino's learned his
lesson. You'll see."

Right, I'd see. Great. Thanks to Lestat, I
knew just what I'd see. More torture, truly unspeakable ones, the rack, my
eyeballs ripped out of their sockets....

"No, no, no!" Lestat's voice rushed
across my thoughts to silence them. "I made all that up, I used your own
fears against you, I said whatever crossed my mind; but none of it had
anything to do with Santino's intentions."

I closed my eyes, not believing him. Why should
I? Everything he'd said had been perfectly in step with all I knew of Santino,
right up to the part about him being a demon straight from blackest hell. 
Oh, dear God, I thought, devastated as it came to me. I'm going to end up
in hell.

"That was a lie, too," Lestat urgently
insisted.

I groaned, tired and sore, and just so sick of
my whole life. "Get out of my thoughts, out," I muttered,
trying to turn away from him and failing. Too tired.

"Exactly," he agreed, his voice coming
as though over a long distance. "Sleep well, Nathalia."

A single tear trailed down my cheek, for of
course I would sleep. I wanted to sleep. I just didn't want to wake. 

Marius was frowning when I returned to the only
other room in the cabin.

"Are you sure you can manage this,
Lestat?"

"Of course." I smiled, maybe too
glibly, for it only made him point out the obvious.

"What if she doesn't have
these abilities?"

"But she must," I
insisted. "She's just untutored. Her methods were crude, and impossible to sustain over the long
term, but Nathalia must have some innate talent. How else could she have blocked Santino for
months?"

"Still, what you're suggesting..."
Uncertain, Marius looked at the fire crackling behind the glass in the wood
stove.

"Look," I told him, "it's not so
very different from what David did for me. When I was in the mortal body, I learned
astral projection. That's a whole lot harder than just keeping your thoughts to
yourself!"

"You had two hundred years of vampire
consciousness backing you up," Marius argued.

Impatient, I snorted. "Well, if I can't do
it I can't do it, but it won't be for lack of trying."

Sensing the impasse, Marius adroitly changed the
subject. "How is she?"

"Weak. But as obstinate as ever." A
sudden laugh crawled up my throat. "Oh, she's precious, really she is.
She's planning to leave when the sun comes up, you know, when I'll be dead to
the world. I told her to go ahead."

"Oh, don't worry, she might even laugh at my
little joke. Once she gets it, that is." I looked around the cabin a little
more, then. Really, it was quite compact and efficient. A perfect little
hideaway, and of course, it was in the absolutely best location on earth. Marius
was a godsend. If not for him, I'd have had to build an igloo or something. Brrrr,
I thought, thinking more of Nathalia than myself.

"Have I thanked you for showing us to this
place?" I thought to ask. When I'd stopped at his home in Alaska, it had
really only been to ask for directions. How far north do I have to go? He
would know, I was sure. Instead, I had found out that he'd thought of my
brilliant idea years and years before. "And does anybody else know you have
this little bolt-hole? I don't want to be interrupted."

"No, no, you'll be completely without
interference. I trust that's what you want? I'll take my leave, then."

My eyebrows rose. "I didn't mean for you to
go, Marius. In fact, I'd appreciate your help."

"You want me," he slowly said, "to
assist you with this little endeavor?"

"Sure. It should be interesting to see what
Santino makes of it." I smiled, thinking of what Santino had done to
Armand, all those years ago. We'd see how he liked a little payback,
good-natured, of course.

It took me a while to realize what he'd meant
about not lying but not telling the whole truth.

And if you go far enough north, at the right time
of year, you're plunged into endless night.

There wasn't going to be a morning for... I
strained to recall something from those science lessons I should have paid more
attention to... upwards of three months!

Ooh, now that made me mad. Not the fact
that he'd brought me to the one place where he could keep me under constant
vigil, but that he hadn't just said so when I'd asked. All those books
were right. Brat fit him perfectly.

His cleverness really made me wonder, though.
Even if there was no sun to knock him out, wouldn't he still need to sleep, at
least sometimes?

"I would," he answered, strolling
casually in as though he owned the place. "If I was only
as strong as Louis, or even Marius here." He gestured toward another man
--I mean, vampire-- who had followed him into the room.

I think I closed my eyes. Marius? Oh, God,
it was him. He was just like Lestat had described him in the books.
White-gold hair, startling blue eyes, a face that held twice as many years as
Lestat's. Mortal years, I mean. In vampire reckoning, he was far, far older.

My heart sank right to my toes, thinking about
it. Two thousand years. Two thousand years. 

I suppose the idea shouldn't have shocked me so
much. Obviously Lestat came from a time long before my birth, too, and I'd never
really given it much thought. And Santino came from the Dark Ages, even further
back...

But still, two thousand years? He'd been walking
the streets of Rome back when Julius Caesar had been king of Italy!

The one called Marius suddenly laughed. "No,
he was before my time, and he wasn't a king, he just wanted to be. And as for
Italy..." He chuckled. "Let's just say that there wasn't really any Italy
yet. Not the way you think of it, at least."

I looked at him, then. "Oh, sorry. History
never was my best subject."

"What was?" Lestat teased, as well he
should. He'd heard me say the same thing about science, math, literature...

"Shut up," I came back, and then
shrugged. "Music, actually."

Lestat nodded as though he could understand that,
which really surprised me. He had, after all, scathingly insulted every piece of
music I'd played in his presence.

"Nathalia, this is Marius de Romanus," he unnecessarily
explained. "Marius, Nathalia."

Oh God, two of them, it suddenly came to me.
And who knows how many more? 

I felt sick, really sick, because I had no idea
what was going on. I could remember being in bed with Santino, and acting like some
terrified yet  crazed wanton, right down to wanting him to drink. I could remember it,
but I couldn't believe it, if that makes any sense. And then the scene
afterwards, Lestat, the knife, plunging over the cliffside towards death, and
being forcibly pulled back into this world.

And now I was trapped in a cabin with two
vampires who were just staring at me. It was too much to take, really it
was. I lost my temper. "Well?" I shouted, pushing up to sit up
straighter in the bed. "If you bloodsuckers are going to eat me, just get it fucking
over with!"

Marius, in contrast, raised a pale eyebrow and
regarded me unflinchingly. "Do you know," he said, making every word
seem one of great import, "that relying on profanity to make your point
only demonstrates the limits of your vocabulary, and therefore your range of
thought?"

I almost yelled at him that I didn't fucking
care, but he must have caught the thought; his serious visage suddenly went
stern, and I realized that getting on his bad side wasn't the best move, in the
circumstances.

"Sorry," I said instead, glancing at
him from beneath my lashes.

He nodded, and rapped Lestat on the shoulder to
make him stop chortling. "Tell her, Lestat. It's time."

Lestat's grey eyes were still amused when he came
to sit beside me. "No, Nathalia, we're not going to quench our thirst with
you. If we need blood, we'll go hunt up a seal or something, God knows there's
not another human within about a thousand kilometers. Say, Marius, have you
ever had seal? Do you get to live out their aquatic memories if you drink from
them? I know, let's dive into the Arctic and try to latch onto a killer whale,
that would be really interesting---"

"Lestat, get to the point!" Marius firmly
directed.

"Okay, okay," he muttered, then
returned his attention to my wide eyes. I had concluded by then, you see, that
Lestat was the one who needed therapy. I might have tried suicide, but at least
I had good reason. He was simply psychotic. "It's like this, Nathalia. I want you to give you
something that will make your life with Santino bearable."

"Bearable?" The word came out
half-scoff, half-shriek. "What are you going to do, pump my veins full
of anti-freeze?"

He laughed, and Marius did, too. I was the only
one not laughing.

"No, not that," Lestat recovered to
say. "I'm going to teach you to shield yourself."

Lost, I echoed, "But Santino's so strong, there's no weapon in existence that can even the odds. Can't you just
let me go, instead?"

"Nope," he blithely answered. "I
didn't mean that kind of shield, anyway. We're talking mental powers, and not
those half-assed ones you patched together on your own, you know, your little trick
with the Spanish." Marius rolled his eyes when he heard Lestat
resorting to language almost as crude as mine, but the younger vampire ignored
him.

To say that I distrusted Lestat was like saying
that the sun would rise tomorrow.... except, he had shown me that sometimes, the
sun wouldn't rise at all....

"Why give me this?" I asked, eyeing him
with suspicion.

He flicked his long fingers before my eyes as he
recounted his reasons. "One, Santino's habit of reading your every thought
is going to drive you insane, and Louis'll be hard to live with if you end up in the psycho bin.
Two, you had enough guts to try to help Louis that time, so I sort of owe you.
And three," leaning down closer to me, he said in a low, deliberate voice,
"once your mind is closed to his, you can start to stand up to Santino. I'm not saying it'll be easy,
Nathalia, but it'll beat the hell out the enslavement you've known so
far."

"Stand up to him?" I gasped, choking. I couldn't even stand in his presence,
he reduced me to a kneeling heap of nerves. I certainly didn't want to dare the
fates with some idiotic stunt like trying to stand up to the likes of
him!  "No, that's out of the question. What I need is to get away, from him and everyone else with
fangs."

"Too bad," Lestat announced, gripping
my flailing hands to underline his point. "Because you're pretty much stuck."

"Thanks to you!" I scathed, yanking my wrists
free. It was a hollow
victory, knowing as I did that he had allowed me the small defiance, and that
made me so mad that I lashed out with a fist, striking him full across the face.
Ouch. It was like smashing my fist against a marble statue.

Lestat snatched my hands in his, and raised each
in turn to his mouth, scraping my knuckles across his fangs. "Enough of
that, chérie. You can't make me mad enough to kill you, if that was your
intent."

Tossing my hands aside as if they weren't even
worth biting, he continued, "Now, so far, Santino has had every conceivable
power over you, but you can shift the
balance to your favor if you can learn to keep him out of your mind, Nathalia."

"Well, I'd like to shift the balance of
power, as you put it," I sneered, frustrated. What was he talking about? "First
thing I need to know is how to break chains with my bare hands. Oh yeah, you'd
better make my body invulnerable to torture, and give me the strength of a
hundred men while you're at it! Then and only then, will this
mental claptrap start to be worth something!"

Marius stepped closer to me, then knelt on one
knee, bringing him closer to my eye level. He didn't say anything, he just
stared. Shaming me. And the worst part was that I knew I deserved it; I was
acting like a bitch. A hysterical bitch. It
certainly wasn't Lestat's fault that Santino was strong enough to crush bones and had
no qualms about doing so.

"What I meant was that I don't
understand," I whispered, miserable. "Why can't you just let me
go?"

He stared at me as if I wasn't thinking straight,
and pointed out, "Santino would find you in ten seconds flat. And don't
tell me that he didn't last time, Nathalia. He's wise to you, now. You can't run
anymore, you have to learn to deal with him. Now, do you want it to be like last
time, when he could read your every thought?"

"No," I admitted, although I didn't
agree that I *had* to do anything. Wasn't Lestat the one who'd told me there was
always a choice? That had been no lie.

Sure, I'll work on it, I thought, and
then he won't find me in *ten* seconds flat. He won't find me at all.

Lestat grinned ear to ear. "I knew it
wouldn't be long until you got around to thinking that, Nathalia."

"You're still going to help me?" I
asked, shocked. 

"Oh, sure," he waved a careless hand
through the air. "So is Marius. But let's get one thing straight before we
start." Leaning down close, he looked me straight in the eyes, his own as
grey and turbulent as storm clouds about to burst.  "Santino's not as
dumb as you seem to think."

Well, that baffled me, because the truth was that
I didn't think he was dumb at all. Callous, crass, and cruel, but not dumb.

"And you're not as smart," Lestat
finished.

"What do you mean?" I asked, frightened
despite myself. There's something I don't know, I thought, something
he's not telling me.

"You're damned straight there is,"
Lestat bit out, sounding irritated all of a sudden. "And that's the last
thought of yours I want to hear bouncing off the walls."

"Good," I answered, my voice composed
as I laced my
fingers together. "And thank you, I think.  Let's begin."

"No, no, no!" I yelled again. "Not
like that!"

Nathalia sighed and flopped onto her back on the
braided rag-rug that covered the wood floor of the cabin's small living area. I
suppose it was the parlour, but really, it hardly merited the term.
Rustic was one thing, but this... well, let's just say that in only two
days I'd tired of the cabin's dubious outdoorsy charm.

I pushed my irritation aside and tried again to
explain to Nathalia.

"You can't just think your shields
into place. Well, at least not until they get to be second nature. Fledglings
like you have to feel them--"

"I'm not a fledgling!" Nathalia hotly
disputed. "Stop calling me that!"

Had I done it again? Oops. I knew I
shouldn't use that word with her, because if anything was for sure, it was that
she didn't want to be Santino's latest contribution to vampire society. The word
fledgling itself set her temper roaring, these days at least. The first time I'd used it,
she'd just stared at me, her eyes darkening to azure with bafflement, and you
know, that color was just so enchanting, I found myself explaining why the word applied to her.

I should have kept my mouth shut, as Marius so
succinctly told me later that same night.

And I should have, because when Nathalia
heard that Santino was almost certainly planning to make her a vampire, she went
off like a bomb. Ballistic, I mean. She threw a chair at me, for starters. I
suppose I could understand that, it was the old kill the messenger reflex
kicking in. Then she argued, on and on until I thought she'd never still that
tongue. 

Santino hated her, she said.

Santino was a vicious bastard who only wanted to see how much torture a human
woman could live through, she said.

Santino would drain her to her last drop, she said.

Well, she had a point with that last one, I must
admit. But Nathalia, I reminded her, that's how it's done, except that
he'll give you vampire blood to replace your own. Remember?

And then she'd slammed out the door and stomped
off into the snow. No matter, she wouldn't go far. She couldn't. It was dark out
(of course) and damned cold.

I almost laughed, because Nathalia was so very
like *me*. She won't drink it! Yeah, sure she wouldn't drink it. It was
easy to say that, wasn't it? I'd said it myself. I'd screamed it to Magnus when
he taunted me with the promise of immortality. But after you're drained, you
can't really stop yourself from drinking it! You're too weak to move, you can't
avoid that first drip of blood, and when it hits your lips, its the most potent
stuff on earth. Addictive. Irresistible. Well, of course it is. By that time,
you *need* blood as never before in your life, and what blood it is! Light
made liquid, I had called it in my novel. Definitely, good stuff.

Nathalia didn't come in for a long, long, time,
but I wasn't worried. She could freeze her little ass off, I thought. Do her
some good, she was too much like a chili pepper with that temper. But then
Marius said that I was a reckless fool and didn't I realize that for a mortal,
the temperature out there would do just as well as any knife? He went out
and found her sitting in a snow bank, forlorn.

When they got back inside, Marius pointed out that denial
and anger were normal first responses, and encouraged her to stop reacting and start thinking.
So she had.

"Oh God," she'd finally said, crossing
herself before turning horrified eyes on me. I could see the truth dawning in
her eyes, the truth she could no longer deny. Yes, Santino would do it, and no,
she wouldn't be able to prevent it, any of it.

"You have to help me, you
can't allow this!" she pleaded.

Right, like it was my business who Santino
wanted to bleed into.

"Look," I told her, "Louis' the one who has a horror of loosing new vampires
upon the world."

I guess she figured, and rightly so, that there
was no way she could persuade me to interfere, so she piled all her
hopes on Marius. "Please," she entreated. "It's wrong. I don't
want that, I don't want any of that."

He was less than sympathetic, I must say. I
supposed he was going out of his way not to interfere with Santino. I
happened to know for a fact that Marius didn't want their old feud blowing up in
their faces. Sure, he was helping me develop Nathalia's mental powers, but he
agreed with me that Santino was too smart to resent that, not once he
understood what we'd done for him. 

"I didn't want it, and neither did Lestat,
or David!" Marius told her.
"Plenty of us were forced, either by circumstances or an individual, so
what makes you so special? Besides, there's a difference between not wanting it at first, and
being profoundly grateful you have it, later. Don't worry, sooner or later
you'll get used to the idea."

"Really," she scathed, slamming herself
into a chair and glaring straight at me. "Has Louis, then? I got the idea
that after hundreds of years, he still doesn't want it!"

I shook my head, bemused. My green-eyed love just
loved to drip pathos all over everyone he met, so I wasn't too surprised that
Nathalia was coated with it, but it did amaze me how few people saw the simple
truth, the truth I'd seen within a month of making him. "Chérie,"
I informed her, "if Louis was really so miserable being a vampire, why
wouldn't he just lay out one day and try to get a nice tan?"

"I have no idea why he loves you,"
Nathalia quietly said.

I could have said the same about Santino and her,
but I held my tongue. Marius was furious enough that I had initiated this
whole discussion of fledglings.

So anyway, like I said, I knew better than to use
that word to her. She hated it with a purple passion. (Maybe someday
someone can explain that phrase to me.) 

But, you know, I couldn't help calling her fledgling
from time to time. Honestly, the word
said itself, and for good reason. Nathalia was as good as his fledgling already, it was a fait
accompli. Just like David, she didn't stand a chance.

Wasn't it better for her to come to terms with
it?

Maybe that's why the word came out my
mouth at least twice a day.

"That's right," Marius scolded me, now.
"I'd think you'd have learned your lesson after two full days. Cut that
word out of your lexicon." And then, mind to mind his oh-so-sage advice,
:::It's between her and Santino, and that's final..:::

:::It's  *up*  to Santino, you mean,:::
I shot right back.

Marius shook his head, and came away from the
window, where he'd been standing for hours, alternately watching the snow and my
efforts to instruct Nathalia. Pitiful efforts, I must say.

"Let's get back to work," he suggested.
"I think you don't really understand what Lestat wants you to do."

Nathalia sighed, and rubbed her eyes. "Oh, I
understand. Make a wall in your head. I just can't do it, that's all."

"You were right, Marius," I admitted, grumbling. "Waste of time. She can't do it."

Marius, though, had a thoughtful look burning
behind his pupils. "No, you were right. She's got potential, she just has
to learn how to channel it. She needs to--"

"Stop talking about me like I'm some lump of
clay you plan to mold!" Nathalia objected. "I'll tell you what I need, I need some food!
Real food, do you know what that is? Oh, I forgot, you don't! Well,
let me tell you, I'm sick of electrolytes, broth, and
that powdered pap that dares call itself milk!"

Well, I must say that was an exaggeration if ever
I'd heard one. I'd realized all along that she needed to eat, (duh, Nathalia), so before she ever
woke up I had cajoled Marius into going to the nearest town to stock
up. Nearest town, now that was a laugh. Saying we were in the middle of
nowhere didn't even come close! But anyway, there was plenty to eat in that
cabin. She had stuck to simple foods by her own choice -- or rather, her body
had chosen for her. Her last night at Rue Royale had taken a toll we could still
detect.

"Is it my fault you've been so
nauseous?" I sneered. After all, Marius and I had been perfectly
hospitable, and we'd yet to hear any thanks.

"Well, gee," she came right back,
"YES!!! How am I supposed to feel, trapped in the Arctic Circle with a
bloodthirsty vampire who tells me at every turn that my future career is to be one,
too?"

I was getting sick and tired of her temper
tantrums, I must say. "You know," I drawled, pouncing on her and
holding her down the way she'd seen me do to Louis, "if the future bothers
you so much, I can make it your past instead, and there'll be nothing more to
worry about!" My mouth against the creamy column of her throat, my fangs
scratching a thin line of red onto her skin, I menaced, "What do you think?
You want to be made into a fledgling this instant, Nathalia? Because that's what
I'm going to do if you don't shut up!"

Marius tried to intervene (when had he not?) but
my glacial gaze stopped him short. He probably knew that telling me to stop was
only guaranteed to make me continue.

No, it was Nathalia who made me stop, by the
simple fact that she refused to rise to my taunts. On some level, that really
irritated me. I mean, she wasn't supposed to see right through me... but she
did. And the truth was that I liked her the better for it. 

"I really am starving, Lestat," she
said, in a tone that also announced, You're holding me down, so I guess I
have to just lay here until you tire of it, but it's sort of boring to just lay
here hungry.

"Starving, are you?" I asked, rolling
off her, amused despite myself. I mean, at least the cabin was stocked for her
needs. Marius and I were the only
ones in danger of starving. Although, I suppose starving is a bit
strong, at that. We could go great lengths without blood, it just wasn't any fun
to do so, and especially not when Nathalia's mortal fragrance permeated the
cabin. Oh yes, I could smell her blood, and it smelled good, it really did, and
it certainly didn't help matters that I'd put my fangs to her delectable little
neck--

"Stop it!" Nathalia suddenly yelled,
jumping to her feet and backing away. 

For just a moment, I assumed I had been tactless
enough to state aloud that her blood had a certain appeal. Since I often speak
without thinking, it was a distinct possibility. But no, that hadn't been the
case;  the only place that idea had echoed was in my own mind.

Marius had noticed that too, I could tell, and he was
stupefied to realize that Nathalia's mental potential went beyond mere defense.
I hadn't had my shields up, of course. I mean, the whole vicinity was blocked to
the outside world, just in case Santino got impatient, but inside the dwelling I
hadn't bothered with any such measures. Why would I? It was just Marius and
me... and her, it came to me. She was a player, too, now.

"Heat up some chili if you're hungry,"
I told her, waving a distracted hand at the boxes of supplies I'd stowed against
one wall.

And then I looked over at Marius and projected,
:::Let's go somewhere and talk.:::

Nathalia glanced at me, almost as if she'd heard
something, but then she went and searched for her chili.

I fished around until I found a can opener, and
then I popped the lid off the chili and set the can on the wood stove to heat
up. Inelegant dining, to say the least, but it was the best I could manage,
seeing as the cabin had no kitchen.

When it was time to eat, I started shaking so
horribly that I could barely lift the spoon to my mouth. Delayed reaction, I
suppose. Would Lestat really have done it? The truth was that I didn't know. I
was just grateful that my hunger comment had diverted him.

One thing was for sure. He could call me
fledgling from now until kingdom come, and I'd never react again. No way. It was
just too horrible, the idea that if I pushed him too far, he might do a thing
like that.

I couldn't trust him, not really. After all,
David Talbot had trusted him, and look where he'd ended up!

Ok, so no more childish fits if he said the word fledgling.

I guess I must have fallen asleep after I'd
eaten, because the next thing I knew, Lestat was shaking me awake.

"Go away," I mumbled, huggling under
blankets I couldn't remember having before. 

"You've been asleep for ten hours," he
chided me. "Come on. We've only got four more days."

I sat up and tried to smooth my tangled black
hair into some sort of order, finally just flipping it back over my shoulders
where it hung limply past my waist. No doubt about it, I could use a bathroom;
that was another thing the cabin lacked. I didn't mind traipsing into the great
outdoors to take care of my personal needs, but not being able to wash my hair
and take a proper bath was really irritating.

Still, I'd gladly forego cleanliness forever if
it would keep me out of Santino's clutches. "I thought you said we might need longer
than that week," I reminded Lestat.

Lestat sat down across from me and shook his
head, his eyes knowing. "Marius thinks, and rightly so, I should add, that Santino
has been damned
tolerant already. It's best if I stick to what
I told him when he let you go."

"He let me go?" I echoed, confused.
That didn't make much sense.

"I told him it was that or we'd play tug of
war with you as the rope."

"Nice," I commented shortly, although I
was bemused Santino hadn't chosen the latter. Sounded like the rack, after all.

"Nathalia," Lestat scolded, and then
appeared to change his mind about what to say. "Anyway, like I said, four
more days. You have to get serious about learning to control what you emanate
and what you don't."

"I am serious," I protested, laying
aside the blankets so we could start.

"No," Lestat astutely observed,
"you've been playing for time, hoping that week would stretch into two,
then three..."

I flushed, but a blast of icy air from the door
opening saved me from having to answer. Marius nodded to me politely as he
entered.

"Ok," Lestat suggested, "let's get
started. Raise your wall."

I tried, I really did. I went deep into my mind,
like he had taught me, and visualized a thick brick edifice, then tried to do
all my thinking behind the barrier instead of in front. But it was no use. I
couldn't keep the wall standing up straight, and thoughts just spilled out over
its slanted surface.

"Ow," I finally moaned, rubbing my
temples as I quit trying.

Marius glanced at Lestat, then took charge.
"Explain what you feel, Nathalia, what's going wrong."

"It's too heavy to keep up," I
complained, "but if I construct a lesser barrier, it's not strong enough to
block thought!"

"It shouldn't be heavy at all," Marius
murmured. "It's made of energy, not matter."

Lestat sighed. "She doesn't have the vampire
consciousness needed to perceive the difference. Maybe once she's a
fledgling--"

He broke off, but he didn't need to; I was
studiously looking away.

Marius snapped his fingers as an idea came to
him. "Right, you're right," he told Lestat. "She can't relate to
the way we explain things because she's never experienced the world as we do.
What we need is a physical corollary." He lapsed into thought, and then his
smile brightened.

Crossing the room to me, he pulled me to my feet,
then told Lestat to get him "that geode."

I must admit, I didn't know what he meant any
more than Lestat did.

"You know," Marius explained,
"that rock, the one I use as a doorstop."

"Ah," Lestat murmured as he went to
take it into his hands. I had admired the geode before; it was a fabulous array
of purplish crystals that seemed to grow from the inside of a shattered egg
rock. Really weird looking, but beautiful.

"Give it to Nathalia," Marius
instructed, so Lestat did.

Well, it was lovely to behold, but not so lovely
to hold. The thing must have weighed twenty pounds. "Ugh," I said, my
arms dragged down by the tug of gravity.

"Hold it at your waist a few seconds,"
Marius said, so I heaved it up to that level. "Now, hold it straight out in
front of you."

The strain on my arms increased at least tenfold
when I did as he had asked.

"Ok, enough," Marius pronounced.
"Put it down. Now, think. You were lifting the same weight both times, but
the first way was much easier to accomplish. Why?"

I shrugged as I massaged my sore upper arms.
"Leverage, I suppose."

"Right, leverage. That wall you need to lift
and keep up isn't too heavy either, not if you use the right technique. Don't
try to heave the wall into place by brute force, that's what gives you the
headache. Apply a small amount of judicious pressure; leverage."

I think I must have been staring mutely at him,
for he said, "Go on, try it."

So I did. It wasn't exactly as easy as he had
made it sound, but it was at least doable. For the first time, I felt that heavy
wall lifting and settling into place without also feeling like my skull would
split in two from the pressure. Drawing in a deep breath, I relaxed enough so
that my eyes were just shut instead of clenched, and concentrated on keeping the
wall upright.

"Good, good," Marius droned. "Now,
practice keeping your thoughts behind the barrier. Start with simple things. A
childhood memory. Yes, good. Now, someone you love. All right, fine..."

He kept this up for several minutes, gradually
directing me to think of things that were progressively more disturbing, until
he said, "Good, Nathalia, good, now think of Santino---"

The moment I did, the wall broke into fragments
that flew in all directions, and I could feel my thoughts exploding outward.

Groaning with defeat, I opened my eyes, then
jerked when I saw Lestat's face almost touching mine.

"No," I complained. "I'm never
going to get it."

"But you did," he assured me, smiling
so that just the tips of his fangs were visible. "You kept your shields in
place for at least ten minutes, which is no mean feat for a mortal, but I knew
you had the talent. Now we just have to improve your duration, and help you
learn to keep them strong even when your thoughts disturb you."

And then will I be safe from Santino? I
wondered, but I had learned something important already. Before I started
thinking, I got that wall firmly into place.

Once Nathalia got the hang of channeling her
thoughts, her strength and duration improved by leaps and bounds. It got
downright quiet around that cabin; no longer was there a constant hum of her
emanations echoing around the two small rooms.

Of course, she occasionally let her guard slip,
but that was all right. I actually encouraged her not to keep her thoughts
blocked every second; she was just a mortal, after all. Her brain could only
take so much strain.

Our week was up, and I was anxious to get back to
Louis, even though he was still ticked off about my having turned him to a
statue. Even an irritated Louis was better than no Louis at all, though, I
thought, and saw Nathalia smile. She could do more than shield, she could pick
up a thought herself, here and there, but not on any consistent basis.

And certainly not when I bothered to
shield, I'd tested that.

Marius had left the day before, but before he'd
gone, he'd given me strict instructions. (Of course.)

"You have to tell her the rest," he'd
sternly argued.

I had given a theatrical yawn. "She'll
figure it out, eventually."

"At great cost," Marius reminded me.
"The least you can do is let her know her limits."

And now we were about to leave; it was time to
have the discussion I'd been putting off all week.

Nathalia emerged from the bedroom wearing all her
warmest clothes, and said, "Isn't there any way to change your mind about
this? You know I don't want to be handed to Santino like I'm an appetizer
tray!"

"Sit down," I commanded, my tone sharp.
"I have to talk to you."

She perched on the edge of the sofa, her eyes
soulful. I couldn't read her thoughts just then, but I didn't have to. Hope was
alive in her expression, hope I had to crush now.

"You need to understand the vast difference
between vampire powers and your own," I began. "You can block your
thoughts, sure, but that doesn't mean that Santino can't read them anyway, if he
really wants to."

"What?" she gasped, nonplussed, but you
know, her shields did stay in place. Good girl. "All this was for
nothing?"

"No, not at all," I assured her.
"What you've learned to do is keep casual onlookers out of your head, and
that's of great value. Nobody --and that includes Santino-- will be able to pick
up your thoughts just from being in the vicinity. But Nathalia, there's more to
using shields than just slapping them in place. Someone with strong mental
powers is able to shatter the shields that stand in the way."

"Someone like Santino," she dully
guessed, her eyes darkening to cobalt as I watched.

"Of course. Any defense you mount will be
nothing to him if he really wants in your mind."

"Great," she sighed. "Just great.
So what you're telling me is that it'll be just like before."

"No," I gently contradicted.
"Santino can break your shields at any time, but he won't unless you give
him good cause. In the first place, it's a great deal of trouble, but what will
stop him is the other problem with the technique. It hurts the mind being
bulldozed, you see. It can be intensely painful for a vampire; for a mortal it
might cause lasting damage."

"So what?" Nathalia asked, those cobalt
eyes somber. So somber. "Santino could care less if he hurts me."

I didn't argue with that. I knew it would be
wasted breath. "My point is that if you try to use these powers to hide
from him again, you will fail. The moment you go missing, he'll break your
shields to reclaim you, and trust me, it's an experience you should do your best
to avoid."

Nathalia snorted. "How's he going to find my
shields to break them, if he can't find *me*?"

"It doesn't work like that." I tried to
think of a way to explain, wishing Marius was here to help. "Santino will
recognize the hum of your shields, like a frequency that matches only you."

She looked like she didn't understand, but then
she suddenly gasped, "The buzz in my ears!"

I glanced at her, and she lowered her wall to let
me see what she had experienced in Norway.

"Ok then, you've got the general idea. Just
magnify it at least a thousand fold, and you'll understand Santino's fix on you.
He couldn't use it before, because you weren't shielding. But now, if you shield
and he wants to stop you, he'll use that buzz, hum, whatever you want to call
it, to break into your mind. And if you don't shield, he'll read your
thoughts straight off. So you see, the defense you have doesn't double as an
escape hatch. It's only use is to help you live with Santino in relative
sanity."

"Thanks a whole fucking lot, Lestat,"
she said, but without much heat. She felt too defeated to rant and rave.

And imagine, she hadn't even heard the worst of
it yet, the part Marius didn't know. The part he wouldn't want to know. Before
her shields had settled into place, you see, I'd heard no end of suicide
thoughts spinning through her mind. It wasn't like she was making definite
plans, but she was certainly keeping the option open.

I knew who would get blamed if Nathalia killed
herself, or even tried. You guessed it, me! I'd deserve the blame, too. She'd
never given suicide much thought before I'd made it sound like such a good
idea. I'd have to live with green eyes full of recriminations for I don't know
how long, and that wasn't even counting Santino's reaction.

Forget that, I thought. It wasn't worth it to put
up with decades of crap just so that Nathalia could take the coward's way out.

Besides, I didn't particularly want to see her
dead, and I was pretty well determined that I hadn't gone to all this trouble to
give Santino a second chance with her, only to watch her toss it away like
garbage.

So I'd thought of a way to stymie her. A plan.
Well, more like a scheme, but I'm good at thinking those up.

"There's more," I told her.
"Something else you need to know."

She raised haunted eyes that looked like nothing
so much as shattered sapphires.

"You can't get away from Santino,
period," I told her, making sure my voice was nice and harsh. It would have
to be, wouldn't it, with what I was fixing to let loose. "Face facts. You
begged him to drink of you, then you came screaming your pleasure when he did.
That made you his, Nathalia. He owns you. Now you've got to live with it."

Oh, no I don't, she thought, her shields
slumping at the picture I painted.

"Yes, you do," I grated, grabbing her
shoulders and digging my glossy fingernails into the heavy sweater she wore.
"You do have to live. Because if you don't, you'll really piss me off! I
don't want Santino on a rampage and Louis depressed because I gave you
the fool idea to kill yourself! So you know what I'll do if you off yourself?"

She gave a wan smile, as though she had won.
"What can you do? I'll be dead."

"I can kill your mother and father, that's
what I can do," I menaced, watching the hue of her eyes lighten with shock
and horror. "Yeah, you weren't shielding back in New Orleans, I know how
you feel about them. And you know what? You were willing to let Santino drink
all he wanted from you, as often as he wanted, if he'd just spare that servant
girl, weren't you? I think you'll do at least as much, be a good little pet, to
keep your own parents safe!"

"You've never seen me hunt, have you? It can
get ugly. Didn't you wonder why I had that knife? It's not like I need it."
I bared my fangs and dragged her right up against them to hiss, "I like to
carve them up when I've drunk my fill. Sometimes I do it when they're still
living. Imagine, mommy and daddy filleted into nice, juicy slices!"

"Shut up!" She thrust me away and
whirled around to cover her ears.

:::But I'd like to see more of England,::: I
snarled directly into her mind. It was easy, her shields were gone by then.
:::Is the Lake District nice this time of year?:::