I started hanging out a lot at Santo's house. Oh,
not every night; I didn't want to be that much of a pest. But three, four
times a week I'd go over there and shoot the breeze for a while. It got so that
I didn't even knock, I just strolled right in. That was Nathalia's idea,
actually. 

Oh, I really liked Nathalia. She was warm and
funny and friendly, although I had to wonder how much of that was really her and
how much was due to her amnesia. Certainly the way she talked these days had
been influenced by her memory loss. For one thing, she never swore and she kept
nagging me to clean up my own language. Hilarious, considering the phrases she'd
let fly at Lestat, let alone me. But I was good, I really was. I toned it way
down around her and saved my most colorful expressions for when Santino and I
would go for a walk.

And that was the other thing - our walks! I mean,
we called them that to be polite; Santino told me that he'd agreed a long time
before not to throw his kills in Nathalia's face. And that was fine by me,
really, but the funny part was that we weren't fooling her, not one bit. I
thought we were, at first, but she came out with so many smart remarks that I
couldn't help but catch on.

Real hackneyed smart remarks, at that. Nonsense
like, Gee Daniel, you sure look dressed to kill tonight, and one time to
Santino, Daniel here's a real ladykiller, and on and on. At first I just
stared at her; I didn't know what the fuck to say in reply. Then I decided I
should treat it like a joke and laugh, so I did. And Nathalia laughed too, just
as if she didn't have a care in the world.

Then she started in with Daniel looks like he
could use a walk, Santino, and when we got back, a casual, almost flip, Nice
walk?

"She knows," I said one night to
Santino when we left the house. "That wife of yours knows exactly what we
do on our walks."

"Well, of course she knows," Santo shot
back. 

"And this massive shift in her values
doesn't interest you?" I pressed.

Santo there, he heaved a heavy sigh. "Hell
yes, it interests me," he assured me, "but I don't know what to
do about it. The doctor advised me never, ever to tell Nathalia what she should
be remembering. Thought it would be counter-productive. So I can hardly stroll
right up to her and inform her that she's supposed to go around the bend at the
idea of me having a nice meal! Besides, her acceptance of it makes for a nice
change, Daniel!"

I was sure it did, but Santino talked all the
time about wanting Nathalia to recover her true self; he didn't want her brain
fucked-up forever, he thought that would be just awful. At the same time,
though, he couldn't help but recognize that the memory loss was actually
convenient... and the turn her amnesia had
taken --not minding his kills-- really had put him in a bind. 

"What do you think it means?" I
asked.

"Her shift in values?" He shrugged.
"I've got theories. Maybe she secretly wanted to give in on that all along
but the guilt thing was too much, and she couldn't admit it, even to herself. Or
maybe she still hates it but her deeper mind knows she isn't up to dealing with
the conflict quite yet. Maybe she's just learned to accept that vampires have to
be that way, as in, she can't change it, so why fight it? Who knows?"

I had to frown, then. "You know, Lestat is
probably wondering how I'm doing with her. He said it might take a while and not
to rush things, but it's been what? Over four months since he sent me to look
for you on that atoll? I should probably pop over to New Orleans and fill him
in. He doesn't know she's had a baby, he doesn't know she's lost her
memories---"

Santo stopped walking and rounded on me, his
black eyes furious. "Nathalia is none of his business, Daniel. You just
leave well enough alone."

"Look, he'll at least want to know that his
guitar made it through all right, and that she's even composing like he thought
would be so good for her---"

"No," Santo flatly commanded.
"Don't you call him, don't you do a thing to contact him. I mean it,
Daniel. Nathalia is vulnerable like never before, and she's got enough to deal
with just groping for her memories. If Lestat gets wind of this, he might take
it into his head to see what will happen. Isn't that his favorite phrase?
And whenever he pulls one of his fool stunts, people get hurt."

"You don't think he would hurt
Nathalia!" I gasped, and it wasn't a question, it was a statement of fact.

"No, I don't," Santino agreed. "I
think he would concoct some idiot plan to make her remember. Or worse, with his
powers, he'd just decide to solve matters for her and pour information straight
into her brain. And that's not what she needs, Daniel. She needs time, as much
as she wants, Jolene said. Just name me once, once, that Lestat was ever
willing to wait for anything he wanted to see happen?"

Well, he had me stumped there, I will admit.
"I'll wait a while then," I conceded. "But sooner or later he's
going to be calling me, Santo. And what do I tell him, then?"

"Lie," Santino advised. "You're
good at it. Just make sure you shield damn well when you do it."

"Yeah, right," I groaned. "Lie to
Lestat. Good idea. Won't Armand be pleased? Once Lestat turns me into a charcoal
briquette, that maker of mine can forget he ever had a pesky
fledgling."

"Don't talk that way," Santo quietly
bid me. "Armand's suffering too, he's just not good at admitting it. Call him
again."

"No thanks," I scorned. "I laid
myself out like a rug to be stomped on. He wants to talk to me, he can swallow
his pride long enough to ask help finding me. I've had it. It's over. We're
through."

Well, he had that right, but I wasn't willing to
say so. It was easier to blather on about not needing Armand anymore. What a
farce. I was nothing but one a crying ball of need. And it wasn't pride that
stopped me from phoning him again. It had been at first, sure. But that had died
out about a month after Nathalia had come out of hospital. I didn't call now
because, pure and simple, I was dead sure Armand would hang up on me,
this time. And I couldn't take that, I just couldn't. It was better thinking
that he didn't love me than knowing it for certain.

"Well," I said, trying to get the
subject off myself, "how's your love-life?"

Santino didn't answer, but that was no great
shock. All in all, it wasn't the most brilliant change of subject I'd ever
engineered. I knew how his love-life was going. Santino was downright paranoid
about Nathalia's health. I knew for a fact that he hadn't touched her since
she'd gotten out of the hospital. Really touched her, I mean. He hugged
and kissed and petted her all the time, and anybody with half a brain could see
what that did to her. Santino lit her on fire, he really did, and she was
seething with frustration by now. Sexual frustration, yes, and blood-lust, too.
She wanted him, she wanted every part of him; it was all there in her
eyes. They blazed with it when he would kiss her hello each evening and then
walk away. And Santino didn't have a single clue. He couldn't see the
forest for the trees, I swear.

And of course it went without saying that he
hadn't tasted her again. It'll be a while before she's recovered enough for
that, he'd told me, but that was two months ago! And you know, it was none
of my business, but I picked up a little flyer from United Blood Services that
said a woman could donate blood just six weeks after giving birth. I showed it
to Santino, and he just shrugged and told me that mortals didn't know squat and
he could tell that Nathalia wasn't up for it, yet.

Ok, fine, whatever. Personally, I thought he was
full of shit. My theory was that he was terrified to touch Nathalia in case it
brought back bad memories and she went loco like the doctor had warned him
about. 

And I could respect that, I guess, but how long
could it go on? Santino didn't really need to hunt every night, but he was doing
it. He was killing two and three a night, and it didn't take a genius to figure
why. He wasn't getting what he needed from those random kills. He needed a
little taste of his Nathalia, a little lovin', and until he got it, he wasn't going to be his
nice, relaxed self. 

It was almost enough to make me want to talk to
Nathalia -- except that now, she couldn't care less about his kills. And that
was weird, really weird. It gave me the eebie-jeebies, it really did. My memory
had no holes, you see. I could still hear her on Rarotonga, over lobster, so
damned offended that Santino and I dared kill a precious human. 

And now, that was just A-ok? Man, I'd heard of
amnesia, but this? It was downright spooky. 

But you know what?  I had to talk to her
anyway, I really did. I'd talked to Santino for a solid month, and I was getting
but nowhere. Anyway, Santino wasn't the only one who
needed help, here. Nathalia needed some, too. I mean, she was only human, and she was
a passionate woman. Santino was driving her crazy with desire, night after
night. And she was doing the same to him, although to give her credit, I really thought she had no
idea what his thirst was like. 

"The movies?" I echoed, staring at
Daniel. Why would I want to go to the movies when I never even watched the fancy
satellite-TV system Santino had bought? I had just one life, and I wasn't about
to spend it staring at some screen. I played with Nela and took care of her, and
I spent loads of time working up songs on the piano and guitar. That had been
Daniel's idea, actually. One night, he'd led me over to the piano, sat me down,
and told me to play. And I had, although I hadn't realized that I knew
how. 

The whole exchange had made Santino glare. I knew
he was speaking silently to Daniel -- the two of them could do that although I
had lost the knack since my coma -- but I also knew what he said, for Daniel's
out-loud reply made it clear. 

"I didn't force her to remember
anything," he'd defended his actions, throwing his hands in the air.
"I just showed her something familiar, like the doc said to
do!"

"It's all right," I had broken in, my
fingers dancing over the keys. Ah, it felt good to wring forth beautiful music,
it really did.

And now Daniel wanted me to go to the movies.
Well, I guess I owed him. I had a feeling I'd never have realized I liked music,
let alone that I could compose, if he hadn't pointed me toward that piano. You
know, I'd actually avoided looking at it until then, and didn't know why. But if
he wanted to go to the movies and didn't like to go alone, I supposed Santino
and I could
oblige him.

"I'll get Lucia to watch Nela, then," I
murmured.

Daniel raised a golden eyebrow and put his hand
on my arm to stop me. His touch was cold, too, and I was used to it; he often
brushed against me as we would both lay on the floor playing with Nela. It
didn't faze me, his cold touch, although sometimes I wondered why he seemed so
very much colder than Santino. Maybe that was just because Santino's touch made
fire race inside my veins. Daniel's... well, it was just like a friend touching
you, if you know what I mean.

What he said as he stopped me, though, that
surprised me. "Santino can watch Nela while we go to the movies."

"I don't think so," I murmured, and to
my vast shock, Daniel growled at me.

"What's the matter, don't you trust him with
his own daughter?" he challenged me.

I laughed. Of course I trusted him with Nela; he
was wonderful with her. Kind and tender and careful, all the things a father
should be. He loved Nela to distraction. "Yes, I trust him," I said, smiling,
"but Santino's rather possessive, haven't
you noticed that? He's not going to want you and me out on the town alone."

"Oh, I asked him already, it's okay,"
Daniel assured me. "He knows we're just friends."

I knew that my husband knew that, but I
still thought he should just come with us if Daniel wanted company. 

"Okay, okay," Daniel admitted when I
pressed him. "You're right, there's more to it. Santo there needs more time
with Nela. So I sort of maneuvered him into thinking that I had some problems I
wanted a female's opinion on. You know, stuff I couldn't really discuss with
him, but your input sure could be useful. So he said fine, take her out tonight,
I'll watch Nela."

I raised confused blue eyes. "Santino needs
more time with Nela? But he's with her every night, Daniel. He's a wonderful
father, he feeds and bathes her, he plays with her, he even changes her
nappies---"

"Time alone," Daniel stressed.
"You hover like a mother hen. Let the two of them bond for a change. Come
on, a movie'll be fun. What do you like, kung-fu, Chuck Norris, all that macho
bullsh--,
sorry, all that macho stuff?"

I shuddered theatrically. "Comedy, maybe.
Let's just go and pick something once we arrive." Fetching my purse from my
bedroom, I saw through the open door that Santino was laying on his bed holding
Nela on his chest. He made funny faces at her, and she gurgled with delight. It
would have been a scene of absolute tranquility if not for the fact that his
wide smile revealed his sharp, pointed fangs. But I supposed you couldn't have everything.
Fangs or no, he was very good to his little girl.

Something about Daniel's glib story still just
didn't ring true, so to be on the safe side, I called through to my husband,
"Santino? Did you know Daniel and I are going to the movies?"

Whew! I wasn't sure Nathalia would come out with
me, all things considered. I knew she wasn't scared of me or anything like that,
but she quite wisely reasoned that Santino wasn't too likely to be thrilled. She
was right, he was possessive of her. But that made sense. I mean, come on,
he was a vampire, and he'd laid claim to her. She was most definitely his, and
no amount of love was going to
change that. 

But I knew what she didn't, that I'd already
gotten good old Santo's seal of approval on our little outing. I will admit,
though, that I
hadn't used any half-assed story about me having woman-trouble! Please! No, no,
I'd gotten to Santo with the old I really should get back to doing what
Lestat sent me here for, anyway. You know, talk to Nathalia.

At first Santino had objected, saying that
Nathalia didn't need anything more on her mind right now. So I'd gone, Yeah
man, but it's not like I have to hit her over the head so she'll understand the
killing end of things, is it? That's not even an issue, these days. Nah, I've got no end of other stuff to talk to her
about. Perspective, mostly. You know, how she can cope with your age difference?
I've got lots of experience in that area!

So finally Santino had said he could see why that
might be useful, but cautioned me not to break any of the doctor's little rules.
At that point, I figured it was just as well that he had no idea I'd mind-fucked
that same doctor after he'd said not to. Oh well. It had all worked out, hadn't
it?

I hadn't even lied to Santino, not really. I did
want to talk to Nathalia about perspective.

Could I help it if the conversation was likely to
veer off in directions all its own?

"You said the movies," I stressed.
"You didn't say dinner afterwards."

"That was before your stomach growled
halfway through!" Daniel's eyes twinkled with mischief. I didn't quite know
what he was up to, but he definitely had some plan in mind. "Now choose something to order," he said.

I read the menu for what must have been the tenth
time. Starving, I was absolutely starving. "Well, I can't decide," I
mused. "Hmmm, lemon chicken or mu-shu shrimp..." I smiled, then.
"How is it that I know I love Chinese food but I can't remember ever having
any?"

"Instinct," Daniel told me. "Yeah,
instinct. You go with that and you won't be too far wrong." He suddenly
waved over a waiter and ordered both the things I'd mentioned. But the way he
ordered really caught my attention. Chicken for him, he said, and shrimp for the
lady.

"You're going to eat?" I asked in some
disbelief once the waiter had gone. I had a sudden flash of memory --those came
every so often-- of me offering coconut pudding to Santino and him explaining in
detail that he couldn't tolerate food at all.

"Listen," Daniel said, grinning,
"if I could eat, I wouldn't waste my time on dinner, I'd go straight to
dessert. Hell, I'd go straight to cocktails. I ordered both those dinners for you."

"I can't eat two dinners!" I exclaimed,
my hands automatically going to pat my taut abdomen. It had taken hard work to
get my body back in shape after having Nela; I wasn't about to stuff myself like a pig.

"Just sample them," Daniel yawned,
uncaring. His gaze raked across the restaurant, back and forth, back and forth,
and even in the dim light I could see the purple highlights in his eyes start to
spark. It was a look I recognized from long ago; I knew Santino's eyes did that,
too, when he was hungry... but that was memory, again; I'd never once seen him
look that way since I'd emerged from the coma.

"You see anybody that looks good?" I
joked, and his gaze returned to me. Incredulous, those eyes now. I didn't know
what I had said to surprise him, although, come to think of it, Santino often
looked at me baffled, too, when I kidded Daniel about his kills.

Daniel covered it pretty quick, though, and only
said, "Why do you ask?"

He tossed me a wicked smile, and drawled,
"The correct term doesn't exist, not in any language I've ever
heard. There aren't words, Nathalia."

"Hmm? How's that?" Just then, our
drinks arrived. Iced-tea for me, steaming coffee for him, but he did no more
than wrap his hands around the warm cup and inhale with distinct pleasure the
nutty aroma. 

I thought he had forgotten, but I should have
known better. "Well?" he prompted. 

I blushed, blood rushing into my face, and noticed his eyes sparking again.
But that was all right; I didn't have the slightest fear that he would attack
me. No, I would trust Daniel with my life. 

"Um," I blushed still deeper, just
remembering. "Don't tell Santino."

"Oh, secrets?" His smile grew more
expansive. "I just love 'em. Go on, do tell."

"It was just about words," I murmured,
looking away. "You said there really aren't any, for the thirst? And I can
understand that because when I was sick, and Santino was giving me his blood..."
Ah, just remembering that made me shiver. "Anyway, I tried at the time
to define how it tasted, how it felt, but the English language just didn't have
any words that could remotely capture it."

I swigged some iced-tea to keep from answering
that, but Daniel saw right through me. "Hey, you don't have to shy about
that, Nathalia. It's normal for it to taste nice, really it is. But why don't
you want Santino to know you thought so?"

"Can we discuss something else?" I
pleaded.

"Well, you know," I hedged, but Daniel
just waited. "I mean, he'll think I want more."

I was tired of his questions, so I thought I'd
just shut him up with one of my own. "Is yours the same?"

Well, it hadn't quite shut him up, but it
had come amazingly close. Which was a real feat, considering we were talking
Daniel, here. "Your blood," I murmured, leaning close across the table
so no one else could hear me. "does it taste the same as his?"

"You're kidding, right?" By then he was
glaring. "Either that, or you're trying to get me skinned alive!"

"Could you live like that?" I asked.
"Skinned alive? Just how resilient are you folk?"

I guess he'd figured out by then that I was just
trying to irritate him, for he heaved a sigh of relief and leaned back in his
chair. "Okay, okay, Nathalia. You're sick of talking in circles? Then let's
lay it on the line. How come you're letting your husband head for the deep end with no
life-preserver?"

Daniel waved a hand randomly through the air, as
though he wasn't quite sure where to start. "Look, it's like this. Santo
there is going bonkers over you, but he's convinced himself you're too sick
to... you-know... but you aren't the least bit ill anymore, are you?"

"No," I murmured, "except
for..." I tapped my temple with one long fingernail.

"Aw, don't start in on that. Your noodle
will untwist itself in its own good time. But you know, I think living a normal
life would help with that."

I flipped back my hair and stared at him.
"Normal life, eh? So your suggestion is that I ditch Santino? Because the
life I have with him is a far cry from normal, I can tell you that much!"

"No, no, that's not what I fucking
meant!" Daniel exclaimed. I saw people turning around to look at him, and
he stared back, his eyes blazing, but not with those hunger-sparks. Something
else, something that made them turn a deep, deep purple as I watched. Glancing
around, I saw that the people who had noticed his outburst were all quietly
eating again. Nobody had even taken issue with his rude, antagonistic stare.

Daniel seemed rather startled, but after a moment
he must have recalled my amnesia. "Oh, you don't? Sorry. Santino and I
--and the others-- we can do little mind tricks on mortals. Make them believe
stuff--" he shrugged. "Hell, make them do stuff."

The waiter brought our meals then, but I ignored
mine to ask, "How often do you or Santino play these little tricks on
me?"

"Oh, God, never," he assured me.
"Santo would string me up for a century. And him, good grief,
Nathalia, you should hear him go on. He stays way clear of your mind. He's told
me no end of times that he doesn't want you to be a damned robot."

"Santino wouldn't use a word like
robot," I disputed.

"Right, right, actually he said automaton.
Okay, then?"

I supposed it would have to be. There wasn't much
I could do to stop them from meddling, was there? When I said that, though,
Daniel explained a little bit about my shields. So yes, I guess things were all
right, after all.

"Now," he continued, just as though
we'd never gotten sidetracked, "what I meant by normal is that you
should really live the way you did before your accident. And yes, you lived with
him. Sort of like you do now, except for one thing."

"Yeah," he said, clearing his throat.
"The two of you would... well, you know. What I said earlier."

"I didn't understand you earlier, either,
Daniel," I gently told him, sorry by then that I'd teased him as I had.

"Great," he groaned. "Look, I'm
not cut out to play marriage counselor so you'll have to excuse my French, but
this bugs me too much to just sit back and not say a fucking word!"

That time, the other patrons ignored his foul
language. I suppose whatever suggestion he'd made before was still holding. I
ignored the nasty word, too, mostly because he seemed genuinely upset. The last thing he
needed was a lecture. What he needed was to spit it out, whatever was on his
mind.

"Then say your piece," I gently told
him. "What's the problem?"

"You are, you and Santino! When are the two
of you going to stop this flirtation-dance and hop in the sack like married
folks ought?"

I blushed a deep, deep red. Cherry, no doubt, and
it wasn't just because I was uncomfortable with Daniel asking me that. No, my
humiliation had deeper roots. Far deeper.

"Ask Santino when," I croaked, and after
another swig of iced-tea, I set myself to eating in earnest. Anything to keep
from looking at Daniel.

"Santo there's never been married--" he
started, but I slammed my fork down on my plate to stop him, right there.

"I think you're what, about twenty-four, so
you're not exactly set in your ways. But Santino? Well, has he told you how old
he is, Nathalia?"

"Okay, then trust me, this is harder for him
than it is for you. He wants this marriage to work, and you can't remember being
with him, so it's all up to him. But it's been so long since
he even thought about what husbands should act like, he's foundering about
without a clue. Plus, he has this weird idea that he'll hurt you if he puts a
move on you, 'cause you're not well enough yet. Who do you think needs to set
him straight?"

I'd only had three bites of the shrimp but I
switched plates with Daniel to try the chicken, and said, "He'll figure it
out." Actually, I thought he had figured it out long before; he could think
circles around me. So I could only assume that if he wasn't putting any moves on
me, it could only be because he didn't particularly care to. And you know what?
That hurt, it really did, deep down. I mean, we had Nela, so I had to assume
that we'd once had a more complete relationship, but the baby had apparently
changed all that. I'd done a little reading on the subject in the past few
weeks, and come to the depressing conclusion that family life and romance must
not mix.

And of course I could hardly forget that my
husband was a vampire. Probably he was regretting having tied himself down to a
mere human. I know, I know, he said he didn't think of me as one, but that was
just plain daft. What else could I possibly be to him?

"Look, Nathalia," Daniel
argued. "All you have to do is tell him that you're better, and wear
something slinky, black would be best. Did you know he loves black? And just
start kissing him, and then, hell yes, he'll figure it out."

It was news to me that Santino loved black. Well,
I guess he usually wore dress slacks that color, and shoes, but his shirts were
always dark hues of other colors. Really, I loved seeing him in those shirts ---
but what was I thinking of that for? None of that could possibly
matter! 

"You're asking me to totally humiliate
myself on the off-chance that Santino would actually welcome such
behavior," I pointed out.

"Isn't love worth a little
self-humiliation?" he asked, in a voice that said he'd given that very
question a lot of thought, lately.

"Maybe," I spat, "but I don't love
Santino. I can't, I don't even remember him."

"Yeah? Well, what if you never ever
remember? You can't ever love, either? That's total cr--, nonsense!" His
voice quieting, he added, "Besides, you do love him some. You can't help
it. You love how he is with Nela, you love that he takes such good care of you,
you love to feel his touch, you loved to taste his blood. You want him,
Nathalia. And that's good, that's what makes a marriage strong--"

Well, I had heard just about enough. "It's
not good!" I disputed. "It's awful! What use is it wanting my husband
when he doesn't want me?"

And Daniel, like a total selfish bastard, laughed
in my face, actually laughed out loud! "Oh, God, that's precious, that's
priceless!" he guffawed, almost gleefully. "Christ, Nathalia! Are you
deaf, dumb, and blind? How can
you even think that?"

"Well," I sniffed, humiliated,
"I'm not the one who put us in separate rooms, am I? And, I'll have
you know, he has never once in two months so much as invited me into his room!
Why would he act like that unless he was trying to say, loud and clear, you have
your own space, so don't invade mine?"

"Let's just think, shall we?" Daniel
smoothly questioned, watching as I ate. "Let's see. How about it's because
he's lived alone for hundreds of years and he's just in the habit of having his
own room? Hmm, how about it's because he figures you're the one wanting
your own space, seeing as you're this modern woman he's trying to figure out? Or
wait, how about this, you were just recently in a coma and he's paranoid that
you get quality rest when you do sleep, not be interrupted all night long by his
comings and goings--"

"All right, I see your point," I
interrupted. "And you talk a good game, I'll admit that much. But you're
not the one getting these chaste kisses and pats on the head, are you? He treats
me like Nela! Not once in two months has he touched me in any remotely romantic
way. So you'll understand that I just can't credit that he wants more from me
than he's been getting, Daniel."

"Oh, for God's sake, how could he not?"
Daniel erupted.

"Let's just think, shall we?" I snidely
echoed. Normally I wouldn't want to be rude to Daniel; he was really nice, but
this was none of his business. I probably should have just said as much and left
it at that, but sometimes I just had this temper that wouldn't be
stopped. "How about it's because he looks like some dark Adonis
and I don't have a prayer of measuring up? Hmm, how about it's because I just
recently had a baby and I've got these ugly stretch marks to show for it, not to
mention that now I come across as maternal instead of sexual? Or wait, how about
this, what he wants is healthy blood and mine's infected with hepatitis? The
doctor told me as much, and she also told me that Santino knows all about it!"

Instead of reacting to everything I'd said, Daniel
latched onto that last little bit. "Oh, so you know? I wasn't sure you
realized."

"That for Santino, making love, passion, all
that is very closely tied into the taking of blood?"

"Well, I didn't exactly know that,
but thanks for clearing it up," I retorted. I'd guessed something of the
sort had to be true, mostly because I'd found just a drop or two of his blood to
be so very arousing. I figured it had to work both ways, and that him being a
vampire would magnify the effects on his part. Plus, of course, Daniel's
reaction to my teasing had been very telling. He quite obviously believed that
if I so much as tasted his blood, Santino would kill him. And I bet
he was right, I bet Santino would do exactly that.

Fat lot of comfort that was. So he was
possessive, so what? It didn't mean he was mine the way I was his.

The proof of that was in what Daniel had just
admitted. I didn't like the implications, didn't like them at all. "So what you're telling me is that when he
takes off
on his walks, he's cheating on me? Every night, he's making love to
someone else, sharing his passion with all and sundry? I suppose the pickings are better down the block? Great, just great!"

"No, no, no," Daniel assured me.
"It isn't quite like that. There's food, and there's
love; you're the latter. I can see how they maybe look like they overlap to you,
but trust me, they don't. I've taken thousands by now, but I've only ever made
love to one."

"Who?" I asked, and by that time I was
actually trying to be rude. I mean, why not? If Daniel was going to stick his
nose so far into my personal business, he could just find out what it was like
to be on the receiving end.

Daniel sighed. I could tell he really didn't want
to discuss this, but he sort of recognized that turnabout was fair play.
Doubtless he thought that if he clammed up, I'd do the same. And so I would,
serve him right!

"His name's Armand," he finally said.
"He lives in Miami. Well, near there."

He? But I didn't want to go there, not
really, so I said instead, "Well, why aren't you with him if he's so
important to you?"

"It's complicated," Daniel backed off
the conversation.

"Lame, Daniel, really lame," I
criticized. "Pathetic, even. Is it more complicated than amnesia? Is it
more complicated than a seven hundred year age difference?"

"Oooh, you think you're smart, don't
you?" Daniel came back. He wasn't quite sneering, but he wasn't exactly
delighted with me at that point. "It's a four hundred fifty year age
difference, for your information!"

"Oh," I said, really stunned
now. "You mean he's... er, like you and Santino, instead of like me?"

Uh-oh, now I felt like I was skating thin ice
during the spring thaw. "Is that common, then? Relationships with your own
kind instead of with mortals?"

Daniel shrugged. "Well, sure. I mean, humans
have a nasty habit of dying."

Until death do us part. I suddenly felt
bad. Really bad. My head ached, and all I could think to say was a weak,
"Let's go, Daniel. I want to see Nela. Besides, my loving husband will
probably be waiting for us so that he can go on one of his famous walks!"

"You don't get it, do you?" Daniel
exclaimed, "Santino's starving for you, and thinks he can't
indulge; that's what's making him so aggressive. That's why he's going off
on walks when normally he's so strong he doesn't often need that. And you're almost as
bad. I see the way you kiss him, the way you drink in his touch, the way you
grind your teeth in frustration when he leaves off with them---"

"Shut up!" I grated, and Daniel did.
Finally. He paid the bill and settled me into the nice little Ferrari he'd
bought a few weeks back, and drove like a demon until we were back home.

But he had to have the last word, he just had to.
As I moved to sidle out of the car, he threw an arm across me, and it was like
granite, that arm. It pinned me and I couldn't hope to move.

"Do you want this marriage?" he said,
and his voice was tender even if his arm was solid stone.

The question threw me. Did I? I hadn't really
given it much thought. But Daniel had been right, before. In some ways I already
did love Santino. I wasn't in love, though, that was different.

"Maybe a more physical relationship would
help you find out," Daniel suggested. "Think about it."

I stared at him; I had to. Didn't he realized I
thought about it all the time? And I'd concluded that it was hopeless, that
Santino didn't want a physical relationship with me. He seemed utterly
content just having me around to talk to, and to mother Nela. But what if I was
wrong? What if he took all those walks with Daniel because he wasn't content,
because he was trying to fill a void that needed filling?

"I'll think about it," I said in reply,
and then watched stupefied, because Daniel did let me have the last word.
He moved his arm, let me exit the car, and then roared off into the night while
I stood there, lost in vaguely surging memories.

Will you writhe with passion in my arms? Santino
had asked me once. Will you come to me for that pleasure?

I guess it all led back to Daniel's final
question.

Chapter 36:  Would You Like A
Drink?

I had been flipping through channels on the
wide-screen TV, but I turned it off when Nathalia came in. She didn't seem to
like TV at all; just as well, considering how long I'd kept her away from all
media, first in Norway and then on that atoll. Actually, I was rather surprised
she'd even wanted to go to the movies, but no doubt Daniel had talked her into
it. He was good at that. I just hoped she'd had a good time and that he hadn't
pressed her about her memories or anything. Then again, would Daniel do that? If
I had really thought he would say things to disturb her equilibrium, I'd have
forbidden the outing.

Glancing up at her, I saw that her creamy brow
was wrinkled, her mouth turned down in a frown. For some reason, I didn't think
it was worry over our daughter making her brood. Daniel.... I thought,
but I was careful not to let my anger show. The few times I'd been so much as
irritated in Nathalia's presence lately, it had obviously unnerved her. Better
to keep my temper in check, I thought, than remind her too strongly of those
nights in the dungeon when she'd paid a heavy price for the slightest
disobedience of body or mind.

"She's sleeping like a baby," I lightly
returned. Lithely standing, I moved to take her in my embrace, wrapping both
arms securely around her. She went rigid, but there was nothing new about that.
Nathalia tensed up a lot around me; it was just one more reason why I thought
she needed more time to adjust to married life. And to me. It couldn't have been
easy for her, waking up to find herself married to a vampire, and one she
couldn't even remember. But then again, it was definitely to my advantage that
we were having a fresh start. "But how are you?" I asked.

"Oh, fine, fine," she tossed off,
restlessly shifting her body until she'd jammed a shoulder against my chest. It
was about all she could do to get loose, since I wasn't letting go. 

"Don't lie to me," I rebuked her, but
gently. "You aren't fine, Nathalia; I know you. Come on, tell me what's on
your mind."

I felt her sigh, but strangely enough I didn't
hear it, not even with my vampire ears. But then she was admitting, "Oh,
it's nothing, really. Daniel and I had a fight."

I must admit, that really floored me. Daniel was
such a happy-go-lucky kind of guy, it was pretty hard to imagine him fighting
with anyone. Except Armand, of course. They certainly knew how to push each
other's buttons. On the other hand, though, it was remarkably simple to envision
Nathalia fighting. Picking one, even. She hadn't forgotten how to do that.
And if she'd been fighting with Daniel, I could only think of one cause. He'd
ignored all my warnings and cross-examined her or something. I wondered just how
overboard he'd gone, or if he'd actually had the temerity to tell her
things about our past.

"What do you and Daniel have to fight
about?"

Nathalia shook her head, hair flying everywhere,
and I had a sudden premonition that no amount of questioning would make her open
up. I didn't want to push her, either, so I told myself I'd ask Daniel about it
when he came over next. Ask him, hell. I'd pummel him until he confessed all!
But I showed none of this inclination to Nathalia.

"Would you like a drink?" I offered,
and Nathalia shrugged.

"Sure, why not?" She followed me to the
kitchen and perched herself on a chair, then watched as I took down a crystal
wine glass and poured a measure of dark red burgundy into it. For a while she
just sipped it, apparently lost in thought while I studied her. Then she glanced
up at me, appeared to notice me standing there, and waved at me to sit down with
her.

"Did I used to drink a lot?" she
suddenly asked, clear out of the blue.

You know, that was the first time she'd asked me
anything about her past so directly. I remembered what Dr. Hanson had said: she
asks, you tell, and don't stint. "Not really," I disclosed.
"You used to go to parties in Rome and drink to be polite, but I've also
seen you go months and months without missing it at all."

"Rome," she mused. "So we met in
Italy, did we?"

Met wasn't
the most apt word. It would be more correct to say that I'd seen her, stalked
her, and abducted her in Italy; but I wasn't going to volunteer all that.
"Yes, I met you in Italy," I answered, which was a true answer, for
all it was carefully worded.

For a moment, I thought she would pursue that
line of thought, but her blue eyes went cloudy, and I sensed the whole topic
made her uncomfortable. Deep down, she wasn't ready to ponder our early days
together. That was no great wonder. I constantly worried that I'd say or do
something to trigger those memories, and she wouldn't handle the trauma well.
And yet Dr. Hanson had told me in no uncertain terms that I had to neutralize
those memories, which meant evoking them, at least to a certain extent!

I still hadn't figured out how to quite comply
with doctor's orders.

Nathalia stared at her half-empty wine glass for
a moment, and I could only think that the contents inspired her next question.
"Do you ever wish that you could drink wine, Santino?"

Now that I wasn't expecting. In all the
time I'd known her, Nathalia had never asked me one single thing about my
perceptions of being a vampire. She'd been too busy telling me what I ought to
think. But now she wanted to know what I actually did think? I had to
wonder, I really did, what she and Daniel had been discussing. He'd said he
wanted to talk to her about perspective. Maybe he hadn't misbehaved; maybe
something he had said had actually sunk in. Amazing, considering how
closed-minded Nathalia had always been. But of course the amnesia had changed a
great many things about her way of thinking.

"No," I told her in answer. "I
don't deny it has a certain appeal, but I don't truly wish I could drink it. It
would be like ignoring intimate friends in favor of a mere acquaintance. Or a
rich man fantasizing about a few pennies."

I needn't have bothered to be so indirect;
Nathalia was smart enough to interpret my metaphors. "So you mean that
blood is so far superior that wine just can't really compare, then?" she
asked.

"Right," I smiled, relieved. Sometimes
I still thought that she would grow irate at my kills; likely that was why I
tried to keep all mention of them strictly away from  her. But it didn't
seem to matter to her, it really didn't. This conversation was a case in
point. 

"Does that apply just to the actual
taste," she pressed, "or to... um, you know, sensation?" She
laughed, clearly embarrassed, which I found just fascinating. Why would talk of
blood discomfit her? Why indeed, unless she had caught on to the fact that for
vampires, taking blood could be an intimate, sensual act?

"Oh, blood overflows with sensation," I
assured her. "Vastly more so than fermented grape juice."

"Can you get drunk on it, then, like I could
on wine?" she asked.

I wasn't sure where she was going with all this.
Actually, I had no idea, but the talking was probably good. We'd never done near
enough of it. Arguing, yes. But real discussion? Not at all. "I can't
really get drunk the way you mean, unless the blood itself contains a
good deal of alcohol. Or other drugs. Yes, those can affect us, but only if we
absorb them second-hand."

She stared, and looked down at her wine --nearly
gone by then--, and then at me again. "Really? So it's not just a case of
blood is blood is blood?"

I shook my head. "Not any more so than food
is food is food," I answered, trying my best to find a parallel she could
relate to. "Like, you could survive on a constant diet of beans and rice, I
think." Actually, I wasn't too sure about that, but Nathalia nodded, so I
supposed I'd guessed well enough. "But you'd rather have a thick, succulent
steak for dinner. The one just keeps you alive, but the other, now that's really
living. Does that make sense?"

Nathalia closed her eyes and drew in a long, deep
breath. When she opened then, they weren't cloudy any more; they were brilliant
sapphires reflecting the glints of the crystal chandelier. She held herself as
still as a statue, her lips slightly parted, and she looked exactly like a woman
who had something of import to say. But she didn't say it, not then.

Instead, she came to life and poured herself a
second glass of wine, then drank it straight down, her throat convulsing as she
swallowed. The sight had me all but hypnotized, that throat, that beautiful,
slender white throat, the muscles and tendons distending, the light tracery of
pale blue veins just beneath the surface of her creamy skin.

Her voice quivered with something. Nervousness, I
thought, since her every word was tremulous. Unbelievable, too. "And me,
Santino? Have you ever taken blood from me?"

You know, I had feared that very question,
because I was expecting it to precipitate an almighty row. But the way she asked
it now, so softly, almost with hope, or something else... hunger... I could see
she wasn't resentful, or accusing, or really any of the things I had
anticipated. She was looking at the floor now, so I couldn't see her beautiful
eyes, couldn't even know if they were misting with tears, if the question was
painful for her.

But somehow I knew it wasn't, except in some dark
way related to the hunger I sensed in her voice.

"Yes, I have," I told her truthfully,
my own voice thick. It wasn't just desire making it that way. What if my answer
made her remember the terrible way I'd treated her in Norway? When it came to
blood-play between us, she'd had but one truly positive experience. Every other
time --and there had been dozens-- had been rife with fear, or threat, or
violence, and most often, all three. 

She swallowed, started to say something, stopped.
Then, as though she needed something to do with her hands, she was pouring
herself yet another glass of wine and draining it. I watched transfixed, my mind
racing, analyzing our conversation, half of me cursing Daniel who had obviously triggered
all this. Yet I couldn't blame him entirely, because as odd as Nathalia was
acting, she didn't appear to be truly troubled. Not as though she were
descending into madness, I mean. She just seemed uncertain. Shy. Inhibited. And
more than anything else, insecure.

And she
was relying on that wine to give her Dutch courage. For what, I didn't know, but
enough was enough. When she reached for the bottle --half empty, now-- I shook
my head. "No more, Nathalia. You don't need that to talk to me. Say what
you want, dearest. I'm your husband, you can tell me anything that's on your
mind, anything at all."

She cleared her throat, the sound raspy.
"All right," she murmured, her words slightly slurred. I doubt mortal
hearing would have picked up on it, but I was sensitive to every nuance. The
drink was relaxing her, loosening her tongue in more ways than one. "Was it
good?"

That question was so off-key, I had to doubt my
own hearing. Was it good? How could she need to ask a thing like that?
"Ah, yes, my beauty," I groaned in remembrance, leaning on the table
so I could be that much nearer, but still not pose a threat. "It was good.
Better than good. Transcendent, my sweet one. I've wanted more forever, and for
all I said that vampires have patience, I don't have enough when it comes to
you---"

I stopped talking because she was suddenly on her
feet and moving toward me, her steps unsteady with the wine. Hesitating just a
moment, she placed a palm on my shoulder and pushed me until my back connected
with my chair again. I didn't know what she meant to do, I really didn't, but in
the next moment she was settling herself onto my lap, looping her slender white
arms around my neck, and arching her head to one side so that I could gaze down
on the smooth column of her small throat. I could see her pulse fluttering,
could hear her rapid heartbeat pulsing waves of blood through her body.

The invitation was obvious, but I felt absolutely
nerveless looking down at her. My hands wrapped around her slim form more from
habit than intent; I did so love holding her warm mortal body near to mine. I
just stared, drinking in the sight of her like this. So close to me, so calm, so
accepting. Offering, truly offering all she was, finally trusting me
fully.

I wanted to suspend the moment and sit with her
like this for hours, just adoring the sight and smell and feel of her.

Nathalia misunderstood my patience, I think, or
she didn't know that waiting could spin the pleasure in her blood ever higher.
Of course she didn't know, but I did. This wasn't a hunt, this wasn't a kill, it
was making love, and to my wife, my mate. I didn't want to ever take her like I
took those humans I sought out on the street. It was true, what I had told her.
She wasn't just mortal to me, she was something more, something special.

But yes, she misunderstood my serenity. I guess
she thought that mere proximity wasn't enough to make me drink. And I began to
sense quite clearly that she wanted me to drink of her. This wasn't just some
tipsy impulse on her part; she wasn't simply resigning herself to the
inevitable. No, she actively, desperately wanted me to taste of her. I
had to think she craved it. Why else would she take one of my fingers in her
grasp and lift my nail to her throat? She knew my nails were sharp. Weapons,
really, if I wanted to use them that way. I didn't, but she did. She
scratched the edge of my nail along her skin and drew her own blood.

And she spoke as she did it, just a single word:
"Please."

I could resist no longer. I was well-fed already,
but that made no difference; I was starving all the same. Starving for her, for
her special essence, for the one I loved.

And finally, for the first time since Rarotonga,
I loved her not with just my deepest heart, but with my whole nature.

I hadn't planned to offer myself like that, I
really hadn't. And I certainly hadn't planned on getting drunk to do it. But
once I'd had that first glass of wine, I felt so much more relaxed around
Santino. Normally he had me wound tight like a spring, so much so that I
stiffened up whenever he touched me. And you know, until Daniel had pointed out
the obvious, I hadn't really understood why.

As I let myself into the house, I told myself I
had nothing to be ashamed of. After all, I was a healthy young woman and it had
been a long, long time since anyone had really touched me. True, I didn't know
how long, but I knew it had been at least since the onset of my coma. Actually,
I had a sneaking suspicion that it had been since Nela was conceived, not that I
remembered anything at all about that blessed event. And anyway, we were married,
Santino and I. Why should I be ashamed to turn to my own husband for my needs?

Then Daniel had let on that his needs
---Santino's, I mean-- were rather different from mine. Not that I hadn't
guessed that, or something like it, already, but I hadn't given it a lot of
thought, either. How could I? I didn't know what to think. 

But it was like the wine loosened me up, and I
could at least talk about it, a little. Chit-chat, no big deal. Can you get
drunk? Stupid questions, really, but they got him talking, and they got me
thinking...

And then, you know, our relationship started to
make perfect sense to me. It never had before. A vampire with a human? Why would
he want to be with me, especially considering that he never indulged his thirst
with me? But we talked on, and Santino seemed to be drawing the same distinction
between mere eating and love that Daniel had tried to explain. That was when I
realized that Daniel was likely right; it seemed like Santino did actually want
me. Me, for myself, like my blood was special.

Or rather, like he loved more than just my blood,
although he did want that part of me as well as all the rest.

One way to find out,
I told myself. By then, actually, I didn't have too much doubt that he would
drink if I offered. As we'd talked, you see, the more the conversation wound its
way around to blood, to hunger, the more his eyes started glinting. He tried to
hide it. He looked away, he tamped it down, but it was there -- brilliant
coppery flecks in his black eyes. Surreal, it looked surreal, and at first I
told myself, hey, it's just the wine making me imagine things, but I knew
better. I could suddenly remember him looking at me like that. Not once, not
twice, but dozens of times. Month after month, I thought. And in my memory we
weren't in a house, we were deep underground, surrounded by stone walls. 

I discounted that image, since it made so little
sense.

But the bronzed cast to his eyes as he looked on
me... ah, I knew what that meant. In some respects, my memory was pure and
faultless. And this next bit I didn't remember, but I did know it from
instinct: his tasting me would be good. Not just for him, but for me as well.

Instinct, Daniel
had said. You go with your instincts and you won't go far wrong.

So I did, I tried it. Santino was leaning
forward, intent on our conversation and on me, and that felt good while it
lasted, but I suddenly wanted more. I wanted to feel for real the things my
memory was telling me could happen. 

Shy, I felt so shy. It was strange, really,
almost as if I were stripping off my clothes while he watched. Of course, I
wasn't doing that. I was just pushing him back so there'd be room for me on his
lap. Part of me knew I couldn't possibly manage to move him a millimeter unless
he was compliant, and that gave me some confidence, it really did. And then, I
realized I was already curled up on his lap, both my legs bent around one of
his, and I was leaning my neck at an extreme angle so it could be his for the
taking.

I expected him to dive his head straight down and
pierce me with those fangs of his. I'd often studied them --when I thought he
wasn't watching me, of course-- and wondered about them. Would it hurt me if he
ever did bite? I somehow thought it must, since his fang teeth were so long and
sharp and prominent. Yet my instinct told me something else. Or was it
memory? I had no way of knowing, but I did have a strong sense that his kiss
would be slow, and sultry, and utterly painless.

Blood-kiss.
The word jumped straight from the past into my thoughts, and you know, I liked
it, I really did. What a phrase. I wanted his kiss, his special kiss that no
mere man could ever bestow, his blood-kiss.

But it seemed he wasn't too inclined to give it.
Part of me thought, This is what I was afraid of, and I am going to kill that
stupid Daniel for putting me through this, but there was another part that
said, What's the matter, Nathalia, are you so little woman that you can't
tempt your own man?

Well, he wasn't quite a man, but I did want him
to be mine own, and he never had been. Not that I could remember, anyway. So I
held my breath and tried to think past the wine that was clouding my head. 

I didn't know what I was doing, I truly didn't.
It was instinct again, guiding my every move, and I just let it. I used his own
nail to nick my throat so that a drop of two of blood would well forth, and when
they did, I sighed with pleasure. He wasn't drinking yet, but my veins were
already singing, screaming, throbbing with an intensity that was one step
removed from pain. Yet it wasn't pain, it was heady need, and when I forced my
blood to flow, the need exploded all across my neck and throat, then radiated
downward, sweeping like a tidal force along the length of my body.

I arched my back with it, my sigh deepening to a
sound more like a moan, a moan that begged him Please, so shamelessly.
And I mean that literally -- there could be no shame in this, it was all
too natural, instinctive, and it was spilling over with love I didn't know I
had. Not love like Daniel said, either. Not love because he was a father to my
daughter, not love because he took such good care of us both. Not love because
he'd saved my life and healed me when I needed it. 

No, this was real love. In love, bonding
love, the kind a marriage should be built on. Feeling it fill my heart and mind
was like taking vows with him again, only better, for these were vows I would
never forget. And instead of rings to seal our union, rings that could be
slipped on and off at will, we had something better, we had my life's blood. He
could drink me in, and we would be connected forever; it could never be undone.

My back arched still further, my nipples
tightening until they ached, and I almost cried out with my need for him to
drink, for him to take the devotion I was offering.

Will I see you writhing with passion in my
arms? Will I see you coming to me for that passion?

My convulsive motion brought my bleeding neck up
closer to his mouth, and finally, when I thought I would simply die from
anticipation, he dipped his head and placed his mouth firmly upon the tiny cut.
Cool, strong lips surrounded it, and his tongue rasped my skin as he lapped up
the blood. I moaned aloud, my whole body relaxing into his, and ran my hands
along the smooth silk that covered his back.

Slowly, ever so slowly I felt him start to draw
on the wound. The sensation was sweet and gentle, and rhythmic, too, for he
pulled my blood for a few seconds, and then he was loving it, savoring it,
licking it clean with his tongue, only to pull again, and again. Ah, it was
sublime, it made me go hot and cold all at once; but most of all, it made me
want more. My heart thudded against my ribs, demanding to yield, demanding to be
taken. 

Teasing, that was it; he was teasing me. Not
drinking, not really; he had yet to sink his fangs.

And that was what I wanted, what I needed. Him,
all of him, locked to me as he alone could be, taking from me what was his, what
would always be his.

I own you right down to the blood in
your veins, I heard him saying, the memory surging
from deep in my soul, and I knew that it was true. He did own me, every last
part of me, but that was all right. It was more than right, it was perfection,
because I wanted to be his. I wanted to belong to him body, blood and soul --
and so I did.

Ravenous for it, I moved my hands to his head.
For a moment, it was all I could to do stroke my fingers through the heavy
curtain of his hair, every strand silky, that perfect black I envied. Then
instinct had me shoving down, trying to force his mouth more fiercely against
the side of my neck. But of course I couldn't hope to succeed. He outmatched me
in strength and speed; if he didn't want to bite me, there was no way I could
make him.

Like lightning he moved, one of his hands jerking
both my wrists away from where I'd held his head, and in the same instant, his
head was coming up, away from my neck.

I gave an incoherent moan of disappointment,
frustration and deprivation, and opened pleading eyes.

But my God, the sight of him! Amnesia or no, I
knew I'd never, ever seen the like. His eyes weren't even black anymore; they
were so overlaid with bronze and copper highlights that they glowed like primal
fire. But the expression deep set in them was by far the more startling. So
much, so intense, emotions mixed together like molten ingots: satisfaction,
lust, thirst, love. His skin was pulled taut over his bones, giving his whole
face an angular, almost demonic cast.

Yet he was no demon. I couldn't love a demon, and
I knew by then that I did love him.

His mouth was stained with crimson blood, but
only slightly. And then I saw his tongue dart out to lap it up, and he smiled at
me. Lazily, as though he hadn't a care in the world, but also with a hint of
danger, for he knew that he was tormenting me, and I knew he was far from
finished.

I yanked my arms from where he held them at my
waist, but it was futile; he didn't want to let them go. That didn't scare me,
but it almost drove me wild with frustration, for I knew his game by then. He
was teasing me still, and I couldn't stop it.

Still pinning my hands, he used his free arm to
gather me so close that I could feel his own heartbeat thudding through his
shirt. Steady, strong, and slow, that heartbeat. Controlled, really, as I felt
controlled. 

"Please," I gasped. "More,
Santino, please take more. Drink, really drink--"

"I will," he promised, his head
descending, but not to the wound on my throat. His lips hovered nearer my ear,
and then he was pulling my delicate earlobe between his lips and massaging it
with his tongue. The sensation was exquisite, teasing and tempting all at once,
and I could feel my blood pulsing in response, could actually feel it oozing
forth from that tiny cut to slide in petite rivulets down my neck. I couldn't
bear it, the sensation was too much; I needed it to end. I jerked on my hands
again, but he held them fast, and all I managed to prove was that I was at his
mercy.

Vampires have patience,
he had said, and remembering that, I almost screamed. He could probably make
this last all night; didn't he know that this waiting would kill me long before
then?

"Shhh," he whispered against my ear.
"I know, Nathalia, of course I know. But you are safe with me, always, I
won't let you die, not even of the desire you feel coursing in every vein."
He kissed my neck, licking the blood again, but he didn't latch on, and then he
was kissing my clenched eyes, my hair, my hands he held imprisoned, as need and
want and desperation spiraled inside me.

It was only later that I realized he must have
read my mind, and even then, I didn't much care.

"I can't stand this," I groaned, and
finally, he kissed me on the mouth. Very vaguely, very slightly, I tasted my own
blood where it lingered on his fangs, and it made me long for just a drop of
his. As though he knew that, he ran his fangs along my tongue, scratching it.
Not drawing blood, not at first, just threatening, as his hand behind my back
moved upwards to cradle my neck and press my mouth more firmly to his. A long,
thin line of pain streaked along my tongue, but it was good pain, the kind born
of stinging desire. 

And then he let one fang pierce me, and my mouth
filled with the hot, salty flavor of human blood, my own. It wasn't his, it
wasn't even close to that ambrosial fluid I'd had from him, but it was good
because I felt it bonding us. Opening my mouth more fully, I strained in his
embrace to give him every drop, frustrated because again, he savored me but
didn't truly seek to drink. The flavor slowly ebbed away as he kept kissing me,
worshipping me with his mouth. Desperate, I twisted position, and lapped at his
fangs, but he sensed what I was doing and ended the kiss before I could manage
to cut myself for him.

"Ah, Nathalia," he moaned against my
lips. "I do so love you, you've no idea--"

"Oh, but I do, I do know," I said
through kisses, for I could no more resist his mouth on mine than I could leave
this half-undone. "So don't hold off any longer, please," I begged,
and snapped my head to the side to bare my neck once more.

He didn't move, but then I said, "Please, I
want you ---" and that was all it took.

His lips again, cold like stone yet malleable as
no stone ever is, latched upon my wound and he drew hard, harder than before,
and I could feel my blood rushing through my body and pulled to the surface by
the force of his kiss. In the next instant he sank his fangs, but it wasn't
painful, it felt just right, just perfect, twin incisions of such care that
there was only a sensation of yielding, of giving, of loving. And then the blood
flowed through them as well, and he drew it strongly, and I sighed with pleasure
in his arms.

My hands held only loosely now, I ripped then
from his grasp and reaching around behind him, pulled his shirt free so I could
slide my palms beneath and feel the strangely smooth texture of his resilient
vampire skin. I wanted to do more, I wanted to feel him all over, every inch of
him, but the swoon took me then, and all my muscles went slack as I relaxed in
his embrace and felt him truly drinking of me, drinking me down, pulling my
thoughts straight through my veins and into him.

Chapter 37:  Answer Her
Prayers

She'd really taken me by surprise with that offer
of her sweet blood. Part of me actually thought I should refuse on account of
the three glasses of wine, but I couldn't, I just couldn't. It had been too
long. Besides, I sensed quite clearly that it had taken all her nerve to come to
me, and the worst thing I could possibly do would be to reject her. Doubtless,
she'd draw the wrong lesson from it. She might conclude I didn't want her.

I didn't dare drink as much as I wanted; I
couldn't do that until I she was ready to be born to darkness. Don't get
me wrong, the temptation to drain her completely was quite intense, but then
again, it always had been. I could control it, I had to, that was all there was
to it. 

As her passion crested, her shields began to
fall. I could tell she didn't realize this was happening, but when the swoon
took full effect and she slumped under the force of my kiss, her thoughts came
clearly through, but what thoughts they were!

Well, I loved her too, so it shouldn't have been
a problem, but it was. How long would her love endure? For all eternity, like
mine? Only  as long as her
memory failed her? Or was it strong enough to survive the trauma of knowing I
hadn't always loved her as I did now?

She fainted before I stopped drinking, although
not because I'd taken that much blood. I was careful, but the
experience was just too intense for her. Quite likely, that was my fault; I'd
driven her passion and her desperation to a razor edge. And my own as well, of
course. But the moment her consciousness fell off, so did her thoughts, and the
blood lost much of its potency. Withdrawing my fangs, I quickly healed the twin
punctures and carried my Nathalia to her bed. 

About to tuck her in, I had second thoughts. No,
no, this was a new beginning for us, and I wanted it to feel like one for her,
even in the morning, when I couldn't be there to greet her. So I strode through
her own bedroom and slid her slim body into my bed instead, then joined her
under the covers and held her close. Ah, her scent was fragrant in my
nostrils, her heartbeat and her pulse forming soft music as she lay across my
arm, her head tucked against my shoulder. If I didn't love her so much, I'd have
drunk again as she slept. But I did love her.

So I just kept her close with me and waited for
the morning, listening idly to her dreams. Coconut palms and beaches, gentle
warm rain, Chinese food and Daniel's violet eyes, the images whirred past me as I lay beside
her. 

And then the approach of day forced me from her
side, and I had only enough time to visit the servants' house and leave a few
instructions for Pietro.

I woke up later than usual. The digital clock on
the nightstand said it was past ten.

Wait, digital clock? I had a nice wind-up
one that I liked; it's rhythmic ticking was a rather soothing sound that helped
me get to sleep. Opening my eyes wider, I looked around. Disoriented, for a
second or two I didn't know where I was, but then the truth came clear. 

I almost laughed. I mean really, there I'd been
the night before complaining to Daniel about how I resented the separate
bedrooms! Well, that certainly seemed to be one problem solved, especially since
I could tell I hadn't lain here alone throughout the night. His pillow was
dented, the sheets and blanket on his side in disarray. He'd been with me, all
right. It was just too bad he couldn't stay to greet me in the morning. 

Although, I must admit, he did do what he
could. 

He left orders that I was to be served breakfast
in bed! In his bed, no less, which the servants certainly recognized as a banner
event. They weren't stupid, those servants. They knew where I usually slept, and unless
I missed my guess, the pretty much knew he didn't sleep. Not at night,
anyway. It wouldn't have surprised me, actually, if they knew full well that he
was a vampire. Of course I didn't ask them if they realized, although my Italian
was getting good enough that I could say nearly anything I wished. It was
hard for it not to improve by leaps and bounds, seeing as I had nobody much to
talk to in the days except those servants. And Nela, but by then I had decided
that she'd best learn both Italian and English, so I talked to her in
both languages.

But those servants, I soon came to learn, had an
old-world loyalty to Santino. Of course he paid them extremely well, but that
wasn't the true source of their fealty. Some of their fathers and mothers had
worked for him, and their grandparents had worked for his "father,"
and on and on. It didn't take me long to figure out his game; it went right
along with his practice of inheriting from himself. 

Anyway, no sooner had I stretched and yawned than
did Julietta, a housemaid who couldn't have been more than 16, enter the room
with a wide smile on her face. She was carrying a breakfast tray beautifully
adorned with a single long-stemmed red rose and a small folded note. 

I had this thing about not putting the servants
to any extra trouble, so I tried to explain that I would come out to the dining
room for breakfast, as usual. Julietta understood me well enough, but she set
the tray over my knees anyway, and assured me that this was gli ordini del matrice.
Orders from the master?

Well, they all called Santino that. It had
disconcerted me at first, but it quite obviously seemed normal to him. They
kowtowed to him, too, just as if he were a lord of the manor and they his humble
vassals. Then one night he told me about his estates in Italy and I realized he
was a modern-day lord of the manor. Well, with enough money you could buy
anything, I supposed.

Once Julietta left me alone with my breakfast, I
picked up the rose and deeply inhaled its fragrance. It had been freshly cut
from the garden, and by someone who didn't know much about floral arrangement,
for the thorns were still on the stem, and wouldn't you know it, I pricked my
thumb on one.

A drop of crimson blood welled forth as I
watched.

I licked it off, and until a moment later, didn't
even realized that I was pulling a little on the tiny puncture. 

Okay, okay, that blood-kiss had gotten to me on
more levels than I'd thought. I stopped sucking at the pad of my thumb and
picked up the folded note on the tray. As I opened it, I smeared a small streak
of blood across it, but I hardly noticed that; I was too eager to see what
Santino had written.

My beautiful Nathalia,

I will adore you always.

Your loving husband, S.

Short but sweet. I smiled when I read it, but
then the word always caught my eye, and I sighed. Always was a long time
for a vampire, wasn't it? And not so very long for me, or for Nela. Life just
wasn't fair.

Oh well, it couldn't be helped. About all I could
do was enjoy what time I had.

I drank the freshly-squeezed orange juice and the
mineral water, but just nibbled at a slice of toast. I ignored most of the other
food. Really, I wasn't hungry. I felt too hung over to have much appetite. How
much of that was due to the wine, and how much to blood loss, I really couldn't
tell. But I wasn't worried about it. I could stand, I could walk, I wasn't even
dizzy, and even if I had been, I would still trust Santino. I knew he
drained people dry for a living --so to speak--, but I didn't have the slightest
worry he would do so to me. 

Because I was his, that made me special. And you
know, I had no choice but to think of myself as wholly human, but I understood
what he had meant when he said he didn't see me that way. He just hadn't used
the right word. He should have said prey. He didn't see me as his prey.
Of course not; I was his wife, his lover, and he expressed that love through the
bite.

I wondered what he would think if I wanted to
bite him.

Oh, sure, who was I fooling?  If?
Daniel had been right about a lot of things, not
the least of which was that Santino's blood had tasted good and I did want more.
But, you know, I still worried what my husband
would think if I were to ask for such a thing. After all, I wasn't like him; I
wasn't a vampire, and I wasn't ever going to be one.

No, I was just mortal, and so was Nela. We were
destined to live, and die, while Santino just went on and on.

It was getting so that as much as I loved
Santino, I did truly hate all those
words.

Just as well I'd found my own lair the night
before. Something had told me it wouldn't be a stroke of brilliance to hang out
at the hotel where Santino and I still bunked together. Uh-uh, no fucking way.
Nathalia was totally unpredictable. If she'd gone in that house and come unglued
all over Santo, I'd just as soon not be in his vicinity for a while.

I mean, thank God he wasn't like Lestat; he
couldn't just burn me to a cinder with a glance, but if he was mad, he could do
plenty to make me suffer. 

So I thought, Lie low for a while. Give him a
chance to get over it. Hell, give her that same chance. 'Cause Nathalia had
one hell of a temper, too, and when it came to a female wanting to stomp all
over me, I'd just as soon run like hell in the other direction.

I hunted out my own resting place after I roared
off in my Ferrari, although I will 'fess up that it took a bit of will power not
to turn the car around so I could peek --just peek, mind you-- in Santo's
windows and see if the shit had hit the fan. But I wasn't stupid enough to
actually do it. Yep, better to hide out for a while.

And that's how come I was alone when the call
came. I'd sort of been expecting this call, and I'd tried to warn Santo about
it, but he was into this big ostrich phase. You know, sticking his head in the
sand so he wouldn't have to face his problems? Avoiding his hunger for Nathalia,
that was playing ostrich. And denying the fact that Lestat would start
wondering about her? You got it, ostrich all over again.

Right past my shields he sent his voice, and
since I knew damned well he could hear me hearing him, I didn't have much
fucking choice but to reply. I tried not even to think about Santo's bad advice.
Lie to Lestat? Yeah, maybe when I'd had more years on this earth than I could
count, but not now. I had loads of plans for the future, but frying my ass off
--literally-- just wasn't one of them.

:::Yeah, Lestat,::: I answered. :::How's
Louis?::: That was good, I thought. Get his mind on matters closer to home.

:::Depressed,::: he only answered. :::But what
else is new? So how's it going out there with Nathalia?:::

:::Oh, you know,::: I hedged. :::She's pretty
mixed up.::: There, that was good, I thought. It was perfectly true, and it
would keep Lestat in the dark. I should have realized that it was pretty hard to
keep him out of the loop, if he wanted to be in.

Uh-oh, big time. :::Santo moves around,::: I
threw back. :::Uh, Lestat? I'm not like you, this intercontinental mind-crap
tires me out. Got to go.:::

:::Call me on the phone,::: he ordered. :::We
have to talk. I want to know what the hell Santino thinks he's playing at, still
leaving that girl a mortal! Doesn't he realize that she could be hit by a bus or
something?:::

::Sorry, I broke my phone.::: I excused
myself. 

:::Buy another one, and call me in no more than
ten minutes, Daniel!::: he snarled in my mind, and then he hung up, so to speak.

You know, though, phoning him up was a whole hell
of a lot better than having him in my head. Not that I thought I could get away
with lying either way, but I could probably bend the truth just a little more.

I knew he'd be all over my brain in eleven
minutes if I didn't get cracking, so I shoved my way out of the crypt I'd found
--really, Hollywood had some great cemeteries, movie stars with fabulous
monuments and all that--
and ran to find a Radio Shack or something.

---Santino---

"I didn't expect you to show your face
around here so soon," I said to Daniel as I touched down just outside my
front door. "After you never came to sleep at the hotel, I figured we
wouldn't see you for a week."

He looked nervous, really nervous, which made me
wonder what he'd said to Nathalia at the movies. I wasn't angry, of
course; I had a feeling that he'd been meddling, but it had all worked out.
Instead of upsetting Nathalia, he had somehow managed to make her face her
demons. Well, one demon in particular --me--, but she'd learned that I wasn't
all that bad.

Actually, she'd learned more than that. I love
you, Santino. Mmmm. I never thought I'd hear those words, not from her.

Anyway, if Daniel was looking high-strung, I
figured he hadn't seen Nathalia yet and didn't know that everything was fine.
That would go right along with him cooling his heels in the front courtyard
instead of going in as usual. "Come on in," I bid him, and stared
briefly at the door so it would unlock. Nathalia insisted on keeping it bolted
all the time; she thought America was full of gun-toting thugs. I had resisted
an impulse to tell her that Daniel and I were doing our part to clean out the
local vermin.

"No, no, no," Daniel declined, sort of
hopping around on one foot and then the other. He could hardly stand still,
literally, and jabbered away, "I have to talk to you, Santo. Alone. Let's
go for a walk, and I do mean walk---"

"Later," I told him, waving a hand to
usher him inside. "I want to see Nathalia first."

"No, no, no," he chattered again, even
as he crossed my threshold. "That can wait, really it can, we have to talk now---"

Well, my mind was most definitely not on Daniel's
latest antics. Actually, I was just the littlest bit worried about my wife. The
previous night had been absolutely marvelous, but I had to wonder how she'd
taken it come morning. For all I knew, the blood-kiss might have helped her
remember something she'd been trying to forget. Probably not, though; I hadn't
seen much indication that she even wanted her memories back. Probably she would
just be shy with me after our raging intimacy, which was one more reason I
wasn't about to come home late, not this night. Daniel could just wait.

So I ignored him and walked through my house to
find Nathalia.

What I found, though, wasn't what I was
expecting. She wasn't angry, or remorseful, or bashful; she didn't have time for
any of that. She was too busy rocking Nela, who was screaming bloody murder
(great turn of phrase, that.) Poor Nathalia had a pained look to her face as she
clutched the baby, holding her in loving arms, and rocked her back and forth,
back and forth in the comfortable padded rocking chair I'd bought for just that
purpose.

"What's wrong with her?" I exclaimed,
rushing to kneel at her side so I could be on an eye level with my daughter. Oh,
dear God, her beautiful little face was crunched up into an absolutely horrible
expression, and worse than that, it was as red as a tomato. And the noise, she
way she screamed! Well, it was piercing, that was all there was too it, and
non-stop, except for when she paused to suck in a fresh draught of air so she
could howl anew.

"Nothing's wrong," Nathalia gently
insisted, moving one hand from the baby to stroke the side of my pained
face. "She just had her shots today, that's all."

"Someone shot her?" I gasped,
horrified. Ignoring Nathalia's shout of disapproval, I ripped Nela from her arms
and started peeling away her blankets so I could check her over, head to toe. My
wife wasn't the only one who disapproved of the maneuver; my little daughter
screamed all the louder for having been yanked from the warm arms that had held
her.

"Of course no one shot her!" Nathalia
rebuked me, and more gently than had I, took the baby back. Her face tucked
against Nela's, I heard her croon, "Hush now, shhh, yes, that's right,
Daddy loves you too, we both love you, hush..." and on and on. Nela didn't
exactly quiet down, but she did grow marginally calmer under her mother's
influence, and when she did, Nathalia turned her brilliant blue eyes toward my
worried black ones. "She had her shots, Santino," she quietly
repeated. "Medical shots, immunizations. Haven't you heard of those?"

"Oh, yes," I murmured. Of course I had;
by that time I'd read dozens of how-to baby books. "Sorry," I said
then, rather sheepishly. "I just... well, when someone says shot
that's not the first meaning that comes to mind."

Nathalia smiled at me, a slow smile, secret
pleasures lurking in her eyes, and I knew she was remembering our special night.
She seemed fine with it, really. No bad memories haunted her, and no regrets
either. Perfect, she was perfect. Standing up, she began to pace with Nela, and
the motion calmed our daughter further, although she still whimpered and let
loose an occasional outraged grumble.

Only then noticing our visitor, Nathalia threw
out a casual, "Hello there, Daniel," and then with more feeling,
"Thanks for the dinner conversation last night; it was fascinating and
informative."

He gaped, his mind obviously still on other
things. What, I didn't know, but I didn't really care. I was too wrapped
up in my little family. One happy family. Nathalia had mocked the phrase
more than once, but really, it was working out just fine to have a mortal wife
and daughter.

:::Santo, we have to talk!::: Daniel shouted into
my mind, but I raised my shields to shut him out.

I had to; more important matters were taking
place. Nathalia was telling me something about Nela. "So, can you do
that?" she asked.

I glared at Daniel. Because of him, I'd missed
almost everything my wife had said. "Sorry, I was distracted," I
admitted, and kept my shields well in place so I wouldn't be again. "What
was that, my dearest?"

Sighing, Nathalia kissed Nela's little forehead.
"She has a fever, but that's normal, they said. But the reason why she's
screaming, I think, is because her little legs still hurt where they injected
her. Four separate shots, they gave her! Can you heal those for her, I
asked."

"Oh, of course," I instantly agreed,
and took the baby in my arms again. This time, Nathalia had offered her, and
Nela reacted much better to the shift from mother to father.

"Daddy's going to make you feel all
better," Nathalia soothed as she adjusted the blankets to reveal Nela's
chubby legs. Carefully, she peeled back the tape and bandages that dotted both
her thighs, and pointed. Not that she needed to. Both of Nela's thighs had two
distinct puncture wounds, although they didn't look at all like what my fangs
tended to leave. Raising Nela higher, I quickly slashed my tongue on my fangs
and licked my blood across all four marks, rubbing slightly to force my blood
into the partially healed punctures.

I wouldn't say that Nela instantly calmed,
although her legs did look much better in just a few seconds. Bit by bit though,
her whimpers fell off to little sucking noises as she comforted herself with her
thumb. "There, there," I said, pacing rhythmically myself now and
patting her back as I held her on my shoulder. Here little head fell forward, as
exhausted, she gave up holding it. It rested on my shoulder, her face turned
toward my body, the sweetest little weight I'd ever felt. Her warm baby breath
brushed my neck each time she exhaled. "You see?" I crooned, "of
course Daddy made it better. That's right, Daddy loves you, you go to sleep
now."

"Ah, thank you," Nathalia moaned,
coming to stand on my other side, her arms coming around me as I held Nela.
"She's been distraught for hours. I gave her baby Tylenol like they said,
but it wasn't working well enough. Thank you, Santino." And reaching up on
tip-toe, she laid a gentle kiss against my cheek.

I glanced over at Daniel, who was practically
insane with whatever was on his mind. So much so that it made him rude outright,
which was not much like Daniel in the normal course of things. "If you two
are finally done with domestic tranquility," he yelled in a sneer,
"then I have-to-talk-to-Santo!" Every word was punctuated with worry.

I sat down in the rocker and still soothing Nela,
said, "Well fine then, Daniel, talk."

"Alone!"

"Nela needs me now," I declined to
leave. "Just talk, Daniel. What is it?"

He heaved a heavy sigh and flopped himself onto
the sofa to sit slouched, his mouth a grimace. "Lestat."

Nathalia was kneeling on the floor now, one hand
on my knee, the other one stroking Nela's black curls, but Daniel's phrase
caught her attention. "The Vampire Lestat?" she asked, and I jerked.

"Do you remember him?"

Her azure eyes were wide with confusion.
"Him? Is he a person? I thought he was a brand of guitar."

And then a new voice joined the fray. A sardonic
voice that spoke from the hallway just beyond sight of my eyes. "Well,
that's one I haven't heard before," the voice drawled, and in the next
second, Lestat walked forward and showed himself.

"I tried to tell you," Daniel
gasped, throwing a hand over his eyes.

I stood up to greet him, and it never dawned on
me until it was too late that such a change of posture would leave Nathalia
kneeling at my feet. It was an image Lestat had seen before, an image he didn't
like. He glared at it now, even glaring at Nathalia, who just stared back,
bemused. She didn't know who he was; she didn't have the slightest clue.

"Why are you here?" I asked, figuring
that the direct approach was probably best.

Lestat, however, was anything but direct. He
flashed me a wicked smile that said he had concocted some devious plan I was
bound to resent, and menaced? "Why? Well it's simple, Santino." His
smile wider, he quoted from that movie he so often disparaged: "I've come
to answer her prayers."

And then he advanced toward my Nathalia.