Date: Mon, 18 Jan 1999 23:12:44 -0000 From: Barbara Vainio Subject: Old Acquaintance (01/11) To: FKFIC-L@lists.psu.edu Permission for Mel to archive at fkfic-l. Anyone else, please ask permission. Disclaimer: LaCroix, Et. Al. are not mine. They belong to Sony/TriStar and I thank them for letting me use them briefly. There is no intent to profit from the use of the Forever Knight characters. Kalmia is mine, please ask permission if you want to use her. Special thanks to Freesia, who encouraged me to start this story and gave me several cyber pep talks when I wasn't sure I would ever finish it. Many thanks also to Lori Dehn, cheerleader, editor, historian and beta reader extraordinaire. Not to mention new Mommy. Notes: I've chosen to spell Seline's name as it's spelled in the scripts (Thank you, McLisa), rather than using the more common spelling of "Selene". In the absence of specific information, using one of the most common choices, I've assumed that Divia was 13 at the time she brought LaCroix across. The current day action takes place 2 weeks after "Ashes to Ashes" The Pompeii flashbacks start 6 years before Vesuvius erupted. ************************ Old Acquaintance (01/11) By: Barbara Vainio ***Toronto, 1996*** The sun rose slowly, a pale circle with smudged borders. But even this weak, unfocused light would scorch. "I can't believe I cut it this close," the woman thought as she drew the hood of her russet cloak more closely around her face. "I really *am* out of practice." She hissed sharply as her eons-old nemesis found the hand she'd exposed so briefly. Although her many years of immortality gave her some resistance, it was still painful to feel the direct rays of the sun. At least she would heal quickly, although she'd been feeding irregularly enough that she'd probably have to wait days instead of hours for the burn to disappear completely. She shook her head slowly, an ironic smile playing briefly across her lips. "That's what you get for racing off without a plan," she reminded herself. No food and no way to know where it was safe to hunt or even if she still knew *how* to hunt. She'd been scrambling for shelter on those mornings when she couldn't get back to the private jet one of her children had loaned her when he couldn't dissuade her from what he considered her foolish quest. None of her children really understood why she'd suddenly chosen to leave Florence and the hilltop villa where she never had to worry about finding the necessities of life. How could they, who never had to know fear or deprivation, begin to comprehend the compulsion that drove her - seeking final assurance. The thin tendrils of smoke rising from her cloak were a pointed reminder of the increasing vulnerability of her refuge. The alley that only minutes ago had been completely in shadow was slowly filling with sunlight. The boxes and bottles littering the ground would provide no safety. She chuckled quietly.> Although, the surprise of having me come out of a bottle could most definitely prove fatal..> Not that her normal appearance was all that frightening. Most people would assume she was a wealthy woman in her early thirties; slender, but without the exercise-honed muscle she'd seen on so many women of her mortal age. Her chuckle grew to a hard-edged laugh as she imagined the look on the face of any mortal unfortunate enough to see her alter ego emerging from a bottle, eyes glowing gold and lips pulled back from her fangs. She dismissed the thought quickly. Mortals were not worth even these frivolous thoughts. She throttled her laugh as she saw a dumpster at the end of the alley. Hoping no one else had gotten there first - although she'd at least have a good meal in that case - she covered the distance to it in a blur and, pausing only briefly to easily flip open the lid, gracefully slid inside. She pushed her mental shudder away - this was no time to think about the past. The sounds of rustling in the paper beneath her and the small pockets of heat reminded her of her hunger. She'd never been able to tolerate the presence of carouches, but she suddenly found herself more sympathetic to their choice as she quickly grabbed one of the rats that shared her refuge and felt her fangs drop. "Desperate times," she mumbled to herself. She tried to settle herself more comfortably in the small space - at least she was the only thing moving in here now - too tired to care what was clinging to her clothing. The cloak would probably be a total loss, along with her clothes and shoes. Even if any of them could be salvaged, she knew she'd never wear them again. She curled into a ball, snuggling into her cloak to cushion herself from the lumps and sharp edges that interfered with her comfort, trying to keep her long hair tucked under the hood. She should have coiled it into a knot before she ventured out last night. As her eyes closed, she smiled coldly. She'd learned a long time ago life became very bitter if you held on to the "should'ves/could'ves/would'ves". Rats, garbage, "sunburn" - she couldn't believe what she was putting herself through. But then she reminded herself once again: she'd been through worse. Much, much worse. And with far fewer resources for survival. She woke quickly, every muscle tense, her extraordinary senses scanning for danger. She relaxed slightly when they found nothing to be concerned about. Her hunger gnawed at her again - a few rats were no more than a snack, after all. She slowly and quietly lifted the lid on the dumpster. Seeing and hearing nothing in the gathering dark, she slipped to the ground, only then becoming aware of the dreadful smell coming from someplace nearby. She looked around, but could find nothing that could be producing the repugnant odor. She walked a few feet towards the end of the alley, but the foul smell didn't lessen. She stopped abruptly, laughing out loud, with just a small touch of hysteria, as she realized *she* was the source of the pungent aroma. Or more precisely, her clothing, which she now realized was stained with various forms of liquid and solid matter that were best left unidentified. Her musical laughter became even louder, delight playing harmony to her original chagrin. What would the rest of the family think if they knew that she, "Kalmia the delicate" as they affectionately called her (or "Kalmia, the prig" when they thought she couldn't hear), had spent the day sleeping in garbage, dined on "terrine of rat" and now smelled like the rankest sewer in the ancient world? Maybe she would tell them someday - once *she* figured out why this whole miserable experience had her laughing like she hadn't done since she was still mortal. She choked off her laughter and brushed futilely at her ruined clothing. She'd come this far, following the trail of her Master's last journey. It was time to find out what had happened. It had been shocking when the essence of the Master whom Kalmia had known to be truly dead for centuries suddenly whispered across her nerve endings, only to stop abruptly once again. Learning the truth about those occurrences was a challenge too great for even this most reclusive of vampires to ignore. She just wanted to be left alone to enjoy the life she'd evolved with the family she'd created over the centuries. She'd suffered enough from the capriciousness of both nature and nurture. She would not have anything interfere with her cherished isolation - certainly not the possibility that her Creator would return to command her obedience. No, she would not let Divia, especially not Divia, destroy what she had fought for more than a millennium to create. She walked to the front of the building her search had led her to. "Raven". Kalmia could sense an echo of her Master's essence inside; mixed with other emotions and experiences - some of them tantalizingly familiar. Not able to hold the wisps of memory long enough to fully understand them, she reached out to open the door, but pulled her hand back before completing the action. Why was her throat suddenly tight and her stomach fluttering frantically? It wasn't fear for her physical safety - even out of practice she could defend herself easily against attack. She took a deep breath, realizing her mistake too late as the aroma of the dumpster filled her nostrils once again, and exhaled with an explosive laugh, which did very little to ease the constriction in her throat. She forced her hand once again to reach for the door handle. The sound of melodic laughter somewhere outside the club momentarily distracted LaCroix from his inspection of the repairs to the bar. It sounded vaguely familiar, containing notes composed long ago...remembered now only as fragments of a more complete symphony. The sound was cut off before he could remember where he had heard it before. He was surprised when it reminded him of how much laughter there had been in his life. Not everyone would have found amusement in the same things he did, but that was unimportant. That he had found, and continued to find, pleasure during his long existence as an observer and manipulator of humanity was all that mattered. He went back to the bar to check the glasses. He slid one off the rack to be sure it was clean, leaning over to open the beer fridge with his other hand. How long would it take until he stopped hesitating before he looked inside? He chuckled quietly - a sound he permitted very few people to hear. He raised his glass, now filled with one of the more special vintages he kept on hand. "Here's to another unsolved crime on the books of Metro homicide." He tilted the glass and took a small sip. "Exquisite. Young, but full of passion." He savored the drink, allowing his thoughts to run where they may. The Raven was reopening tonight; Divia was taken care of; and Nicholas...aaah, Nicholas. He seemed to have changed a little, becoming more tolerant of his Creator's presence. Maybe they could finally have the relationship he'd always envisioned: mentor and student, certainly; but also companions - friends. Nicholas had surprised him, not something LaCroix found very comfortable admitting. He would have thought it more likely for his son to let Divia kill her father before staking her. He stared at his glass, his long fingers twirling the stem of the glass, watching as the dim lights of the bar created subtle highlights in the dark red liquid. "Why did you spare me, Nicholas? I didn't expect your humanity to extend to me. I would have said 'be damned to you' and watched as you died, pleased that such a prickly thorn had finally been removed from my flesh." LaCroix drained the last of his drink, raising an eyebrow as he rinsed the glass in the sink. He wondered what he would do next - what he and Nicholas would do next. Perhaps Janette could be persuaded to join them. His lips lifted briefly into a one-sided smile. After all, she now had ties to both of them. It would be interesting to see how their new relationships would play out. Yes, immortality still held a great deal of pleasure. He spun around at the sound of the front door opening, blue eyes streaked with pale gold, fangs ready to descend. He wasn't expecting anyone this early. The invitation-only party wasn't scheduled to start for several hours and any deliveries still to be made would come through the back door. Could it be Nicholas stopping by on his way to work? LaCroix savagely buried his disappointment when he didn't feel his child's presence. Although there was something familiar teasing at his senses. Something related to the laughter he'd heard earlier perhaps? That - and something more. He glided quickly to the foot of the staircase. "May I help you?" LaCroix' voice chilled the air almost to freezing. He stopped abruptly - someone less graceful would probably have fallen - as the intruder came closer, his eyes widening as he tried futilely to close his nostrils. There were very few times he regretted his enhanced senses - but this was definitely one of them. "What IS that...odor?" That tantalizingly familiar laughter was all he heard in reply. Where had he heard it before? Why did it pick at the locks of doors he'd long ago bolted? He turned away fighting to retain control, forgetting for the moment about the physical intruder in the club. Kalmia was waging her own battle as she reached the bottom of the stairs. She wanted to believe she hadn't recognized that voice; that it hadn't spun her already upside down world briefly out of control. she thought - the truth impossible to hide from as she had to grab the railing to keep from stumbling, Grateful for his hesitation, Kalmia took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She smiled slightly at the thought of how, even after almost 2 millennia, she still relied on mortal practices. Next she'd probably start to whistle. With a twitch of her shoulders she moved onto the dance floor of the club, the rustling of her cloak loud in the tense silence. "It is rather...pungent, isn't it? This afternoon's accommodations left a great deal to be desired." LaCroix was sure his senses had betrayed him. This was a voice he couldn't possibly be hearing. Its owner should be long dead, buried in the ashes of Pompeii. He clenched his hands in an attempt to stop their shaking. Kalmia stepped closer, pushing the hood to her shoulders, gently raking the tangles out of her hair with her fingers. She used the distraction of the swirling strands to cover her quick appraisal of the man standing in front of her. She wasn't surprised: as much as she'd publicly ridiculed the stories her family had reported, she'd always believed that if anyone could have survived - by whatever means available - it would be Lucius. She shook the thought away, the dim light playing through the folds of her cloak like autumn sun on bronze leaves. This was certainly going to make her investigation more difficult - not to mention very painful...and oh so interesting. "Kalmia?" He spoke her name hesitantly, his voice thin, his chest too tight for him to take in enough air to support its normal tone. "Yes, Lucius. It really is me. I hope you don't mind if I remove my cloak. I'm sure it offends your senses almost as much as it does mine." Glad that Kalmia was still adept at the art of small talk, LaCroix bantered back. "By all means. If you'd like it burned, I'm sure I can find someone to oblige." Kalmia was surprised at how easy it was to fall into this give and take again. It wasn't something that pleased her. Her fingers fumbled at the clasp before she shrugged out of the cloak and let it slide to the floor. As she turned to be sure it had fallen out of her way, her face was caught in the demi-light of the dance floor and the breath LaCroix tried to take caught in his throat, painfully choking off his words. Hearing his gasp, Kalmia turned to face him, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. She'd forgotten over the centuries how much taller he was than her 5 feet 4 inches. Her voice was flat as she asked, "Am I so abhorrent, Lucius, that you can't even welcome me?" LaCroix' eyes slid away from hers as he swallowed convulsively. He fought for the control he had always been able to command even as a mortal, even as he felt the locked cages of his emotions begin to rattle. He dug his nails into the palms of his hands, the pain finally breaking through his confusion. "N-no...of course not, my dear. I'm just so shoc...surprised to see you." He sounded almost as urbane as he normally did. He hoped Kalmia wouldn't know the difference. Kalmia laughed, not the musical notes he'd heard earlier, but much harder, more brittle. And suddenly he was back in Pompeii at Seline's brothel, remembering the first time he'd heard that sound. ***Pompeii, 73 AD*** "Welcome, Lucius. I'm glad you could come. Seline says she has a surprise for us tonight." "Good evening to you, Flavius." Lucius raised his cup of wine, flashing his predator's smile. The Senator involuntarily took a small step back, knowing he never wanted to see that smile from the other side of a battlefield. Lucius noted his companion's reaction and filed it away. Perhaps it might be useful in the future. "Seline's "surprises" are always so...entertaining. I look forward to whatever she has planned." He drained the contents of his goblet in a mocking toast and went to find another. By the time Seline entered the room, her guests had been indulging in all the pleasures her hospitality offered for several hours. The energy they brought to the room had been banked, but was by no means extinguished. Another successful night, with still one more interesting experience to come. She kept her satisfaction hidden as she reached around to pull someone in front of her. "This is Kalmia. She came to me only today and I want to share her with you." The men looked toward where Seline stood with her hands on a young woman's shoulders. No one was fooled by the seemingly gentle touch. They knew the girl would be unable to move until her owner allowed her to. Conversation stopped as the brothel's patrons appraised the newcomer. She stood with her head down, the vibrant red of her chiton, worn in place of the toga that would have proclaimed her profession, overshadowed by the heavy auburn hair falling straight below her shoulders. There was something in the way she stood in her captor's grip that drew Lucius closer. Her slim body didn't flinch from the contact. She stood with her back straight, not bending to Seline's will. He looked a question at the madam, moving across the room with his soldier's easy grace without waiting for her response. Lucius lightly took the young woman's chin between his thumb and index finger & tipped her head up. After a moment's resistance, she followed the increased pressure of his fingers, showing him the most amazing eyes he had ever seen. Round and widely set, they were a deep gray and locked onto his without hesitation. He searched them for additional clues to her feelings - he already know she would be a fighter - and smiled with satisfaction at what he saw: pride, determination, brief defiance and only in their farthest depths a small flicker of fear. He looked briefly at his sometime lover, asking imperiously, "To what do we owe the pleasure of this exquisite creature's company?" "I bought her today from a trader who said her previous master was unhappy with her attitude." Another look into those extraordinary eyes reinforced his original opinion. "That I can well believe." "Her looks are quite exotic. I thought my...guests would enjoy the variety." Lucius pinned Seline with a cold look, challenging her to deny his unspoken command. "I know *I* shall." The madam lowered her eyes, hiding the flash of amusement that lit them. The general was so predictable - a trait he shared with their - her - daughter. She took a step away from her latest acquisition, but her hands remained firmly on the slave's shoulders. Lucius moved his hand to slide the backs of his fingertips across the young woman's cheek, turning her face to catch more of the light. She appeared to be in her late twenties, her skin pale with just a hint of honey in her cheeks. Whether this was her natural coloring or just the result of her current circumstances he would enjoy finding out later. "*What* is your name?" he demanded, his thumb stroking her cheek in a gesture that held more menace than pleasure. The young woman pulled away from the hand, her back straightening even more, twisting to break away from her captors. Her act of defiance was short lived, however, as Seline tightened her grip and Lucius locked his fingers in her hair, dragging her around to face him again. He riveted his eyes on hers, seeing the embers of fear threaten to flare, but still controlled by her incredible pride. "When I ask you a question, I expect you to answer. Is that clear?" Recruits in the Emperor's army often heard that whisper backed by steel and always quailed in terror at what would come next. He emphasized his words by tightening his grip on her hair, pulling the strands taut, wrenching an unwilling gasp from her beautifully shaped mouth. He could see the young slave debate another show of resistance and then reject it as she said, " Kalmia," her voice soft and flat, but holding the promise of music. This young woman promised him many things and he would see to it that she delivered them all. His lips curved into a smile that never reached his eyes. "A very unusual name for a most unusual girl." He kept the pressure in her hair as he lightly touched her lips with his. He could feel her tense, but she had already learned not to waste her energy in futile protest. He loosened his hold on her hair as he turned his attention to Seline, who still held the girl's shoulders tightly. "Has she -?" Seline took the risk of interrupting him, knowing he would be pleased by her answer. "Why don't you find out for yourself. There's a room available if you'd like some privacy for your...investigation." Lucius did choose to ignore her interruption of his question, only saying pointedly, "Thank you for your thoughtfulness." He moved his hand to the back of Kalmia's neck forcing her forward as he looked triumphantly at the other guests. He loved the feel of victory. He stopped to turn Kalmia's face toward his once again, bending close to her ear to whisper in a tone she would be foolish to mistake for seductive, "I'm sure we'll have a very enjoyable evening." His hand tightened once again in her hair, his lips curving briefly as he felt her stiffen. "Don't you agree?" The sound of her laughter was like shards of glass breaking on the tiles. Please send all comments, etc. to bevainio@att.net See disclaimers in part 01. Old Acquaintance (02/11) By: Barbara Vainio ********************************* ***Toronto*** "Lucius? Where are you?" Kalmia asked the question gently, already knowing the answer. She, too, could taste the brothel's wine and smell the spices used to scent the air. She shivered as she remembered Lucius' first touch. LaCroix dragged his thoughts back to the present, his memories overwhelmed by the musical voice he had spent so much time tuning so long ago. A voice that he'd heard often in dreams quickly - brutally - suppressed. A voice he shouldn't be able to hear, coming from a woman who shouldn't be standing in front of him in this club, in this century. He shook his head rapidly to clear the last of the memories from his mind, his eyes studying the ceiling tiles as though he'd never seen them before. As his composure returned he looked at her blandly, one eyebrow raised. "I have many things on my mind this evening, my dear. As delightful as it is to see you, I must admit you've come at a bad time. I have other things to attend to." His hands, clasped tightly behind him, were wet with the effort of the lie. He turned his back before the vision of alabaster skin framed by russet hair could overwhelm him again "If you'll excuse me -" "No, Lucius, I *won't* excuse you. I've *never* excused you." His sardonic laughter interrupted her. She also still knew how to coat her words with steel, sharp and cold. He hadn't anticipated feeling the pain of its cut so deeply. "Nor would I have expected you to." He continued walking toward the bar, his voice too low for anyone to hear. "You taught me well, Lucius. Lessons I've never forgotten." Bitterness played counterpoint to tenderness in her tone. The answer to words she shouldn't have heard stopped him abruptly as he assembled all the pieces to the puzzle. Her skin without it's hint of honey; her mention of 'afternoon accommodations'; her unchanged beauty and heightened senses; the very fact of her existence here and now. How could he have been so blind - and so careless? He assumed she wasn't here to kill him: he'd have joined Divia by now if she had. His laughter sounded rusty, scraping painfully from a throat scarred by too many years of swallowing his emotions - controlling his feelings. But his eyes smiled, the ice softening at least a little. "How could I have not known? You're - " "One of the community." Her laughter contained all of the music he remembered and more that she had composed for herself. "How? - When? - Why?" Kalmia's raised eyebrow exactly mirrored the expression she had seen on Lucius' face during their mortal lives. Her tone was playful as she deliberately called him on his lie. "Don't you have 'other things to attend to', General? I'll be glad to come back later if this is a 'bad time'." She hoped he wouldn't raise her call. She began to understand the attraction those high-stakes poker games held for Lindsey. Perhaps she'd finally accept her granddaughter's next invitation to Monte Carlo. Lucius folded his hand graciously. "No, no - please stay. I always have time for old...friends." He said the last word almost silently, not sure how it would be received. Kalmia chose to ignore it for now. "In that case, I would love a drink while we talk. The menu in your dumpster wasn't exactly 'haute cuisine'." "My dumpster??!!" His laughter came more easily this time. The thought of this woman, so fastidious even as a mortal - he smiled at the memory of how she convinced him to ensure she could bathe immediately after each of their...encounters - spending time in a dumpster was almost impossible to imagine. "It's not the worst place I've spent the day, please believe me." It took all Lucius' control to keep from reaching out to smooth the shadow from her face. Instead he put two bottles on the bar, hesitating only briefly before opening the fridge. "Would you prefer your repast mixed with wine or undiluted?" The contents of the glass slid smoothly down her throat, the unaccustomed mixture of wine and blood bubbling along her nerve endings. "Interesting sensation. How did you begin using it?" LaCroix paused before answering, his thoughts hidden by suddenly lowered eyelids. "The wine adds a certain...excitement without diluting the essence of the drink. Don't you agree? My - former - daughter discovered it." Hopefully he wasn't referring to Divia - the loss in his voice made her heart ache. She wondered if he knew how much she was still attuned to his moods. Instead she said lightly, with what a less dignified person might call a giggle threatening to overwhelm her words, "I think I'll bring the recipe back as a souvenir. So much more practical than a tee shirt, don't you agree?" Remembering the wild assortment of bizarre clothing her children and grandchildren wore when they returned from their various trips made her smile indulgently. Before Lucius could ask her why she was smiling, she suppressed the memories and hardened her expression. She wanted - needed - to get some answers. She needed to force the issue. She stood up abruptly, surprised to feel her head spinning slightly. "As you said before, you have other things to attend to. If you'll just give me the answers to the questions I have, I'll be glad to leave you alone to do them." Why did he suddenly feel as though the stars were being snuffed out, taking the remaining light from his world? Why did he care? His world had been deliberately dark for centuries. The sooner he removed this distraction, the better. He would quickly answer her questions and let her go. He stood up as well, prepared to answer her as he escorted her to the door. Instead he surprised himself by saying, "There are still several hours before my guests are scheduled to arrive and my staff can handle any issues that arise before then. We can talk in my office so we won't be disturbed. And I believe I can offer you something to wear so that we can eliminate the last of your current...perfume." "Thank you, Lucius, that's very kind of you." He extended his hand, the ice blue of his eyes deepening slightly at the thought of her touch. "Not at all. Please come with me." Kalmia slowly put her hand in his, after all the centuries still unable to forget what those hands were capable of. ***Pompeii - Kalmia's View*** The hand on the back of her neck compelled her forward. She knew that if she didn't keep up, that hand would brutally push her to her knees with no regard for anything but ensuring her submission. How was she gong to deal with this? How would she survive it? She wanted to run, to scream, to cry, but she only walked forward, trying not to trip as she hurried to keep up with his long, military stride. As soon as they were inside the room the hand shoved her toward an alcove as he walked toward a table on the far side of the room. He poured himself a cup of wine, his back straight and his hands steady even after several hours of drinking. She had hoped that he'd be too drunk to carry out whatever plans he had for her. "Lonely? Don't be. I'll join you shortly." There was no comfort in his tone, no hint that he was dealing with anything but a minor battlefield matter. Kalmia turned so that she could watch him warily, backing away until the backs of her knees hit the side of the couch. She sat down quickly, stifling her gasp. Despair mixed with fear, causing her stomach to churn. She drew her knees up to her chest and rested her forehead on them; maybe she could make herself small enough to be overlooked. "How sweet." Her head snapped up at the drawled comment so close to her ear. She scuttled farther away, stopping only when her back reached the wall. He drained his cup, negligently putting it on a small table as he grabbed her upper arm, pulling her off the couch. When she almost fell, he tightened his grip until his fingers bit into her thin flesh. His smile was a cold counterpoint to the heat in his eyes. "I do not wish you to fall. The only bruises I want to see are the ones I cause." He backed out of the alcove, dragging her with him. Kalmia tried to stop when he did, but couldn't prevent herself from colliding with him. She used her free hand to push herself away. His free hand whipped out to grab her wrist, holding the palm of her hand flat against his chest. She let her eyes briefly seek his before she dropped her head, deliberately blocking his view, hiding her horror behind a heavy auburn curtain. The pressure on her upper arm was removed as he pushed her hair behind her shoulder, jerking it hard to raise her face to meet his mocking gaze. He searched her face, looking into eyes smoldering almost black in her suddenly pale face. She wondered what he saw as he stared so intently. "No, my dear Kalmia, *you* do not get to choose what happens. That is my right and I intend to exercise it." His voice dripped with menace. She fought to keep from trembling as she saw the heat in his eyes; heard the threat in his voice. She knew without a doubt that he would never forgive a show of weakness; he would exploit it as surely as if he were planning strategy against one of the Emperor's enemies. She forced herself to look at him - there had to be some way to fight him. The hand holding her wrist moved to her shoulder, sliding the sleeve of her chiton down her arm, caressing the exposed skin - if anyone would consider the stiff fingers sliding across her flesh a caress. He smiled as the skin under his hand began to blush. "So honey *is* your natural color." He kept his hand in her hair, twisting it around his fingers as he walked across the room and poured another cup of wine. He took a sip and kissed her shoulder. He turned his head slightly to whisper, "I do believe I will always be partial to wine and honey." He slowly finished his wine, punctuating each swallow with a kiss, exposing more and more of her gold-blushed skin, laughing softly at each of her futile attempts at evasion; looking into her eyes each time he put down another rebellion. He picked her up, leaving the chiton a puddle of red on the floor, and carried her back to the couch, trapping her between his arms as he reclined next to her. She quickly turned her head away as he bent down to kiss her, feeling his lips graze her hair. He pinned her down with his body and roughly turned her face back to his. "I wish some of my soldiers would show as much fight as you have, but now the time has come to surrender. My terms are really not all that onerous." Kalmia tried one last time to break free, but realized it was futile as he dug his fingers into her shoulder, his nails breaking the skin. She lay still and waited for what she knew she could no longer avoid. She offered no resistance this time as he leaned down to kiss her. After a few moments he broke the contact, his eyes boring into hers as though he were searching for an answer she couldn't give him. He roughly pushed her aside, slamming her left shoulder into the wall as he stood up. Fumbling his toga back into place, he strode to the door. Kalmia, her vision red with pain and her other senses reeling in confusion heard him calling for the madam. "SELINE!!!" Kalmia forced herself off the couch, crawling to the door when her trembling legs wouldn't hold her. What was he going to do? He had the right to ask for her to be punished if he wasn't pleased with her. Even through the haze of pain she smiled - she was definitely sure he wasn't pleased with her. She heard the madam walk rapidly over to her guest. Her voice held more than a hint of concern. "Is something wrong, General? Did my newest slave not please you? I'll be glad to offer you someone else. Do you wish her punished?" Kalmia heard him draw a rasping breath, his whisper grating along her spine. "I wish her to be kept for my private use. No one, absolutely no one, is even to speak to her without my permission. Is that clear?" This last phrase was growled out. "But, Lucius, the expense of keeping her -" "I will cover the expense," he interrupted brusquely. Kalmia remained on her knees behind the door, not sure what had just happened or why, but grateful that she had at least a brief reprieve. She heard her inconstant suitor take a deep breath and when he spoke again, it was in a more normal voice. "As for offering me someone else, send Aurora to me." The madam, though obviously confused, quickly acquiesced. "I'll have her come to you immediately." "Bring her to the room next door to this one." Kalmia pulled herself to her feet and slowly walked back to the couch that had so recently been her prison. As she sat down, she heard her captor - she didn't delude herself that she was any freer now than she had been 5 minutes ago - greet his new partner. "Come over here, Aurora." "Certainly, Lucius. I'm glad you asked for me. I've been -" The sound of a slap, followed by a short gasp cut off the rest of her reply. Her muffled cries were a dark variation to the scattered theme of Kalmia's thoughts for the rest of the night. ***Toronto*** The solid walls of the office slowly replaced the memory-shrouded columns and wall hangings of Seline's brothel as Kalmia forced herself back to the present, fighting the compulsion to physically push the memories away. She dragged air into her lungs as if she actually needed it to sustain life. "Why didn't you take me that first night at Seline's?" LaCroix' head snapped around at the abrupt question before he could control the reaction. This woman seated across from him, now wearing the black silk robe he'd found after Janette had left - although he idly noted she should be wearing dark green - left him with very few defenses. But then she never had. He pulled the tattered remains of his self control around him, receiving no warmth from the result and pondered his answer as he watched her drinking undiluted blood from one of a pair of 12th century Murano glass goblets. "I was drunk, you were tired. What pleasure was there in that for me?" His voice, as always when he had given her this answer, shared nothing but the words. Kalmia's voice, deliberately razor-sharp, challenged him. "I know what you've told me before. Maybe you've told it to yourself for so many years, you actually believe it. But now, I want - I need - to know the truth." If he couldn't tell her the truth about this, would she able to believe him when he told her about Divia? She looked at him closely, her voice softening to pianissimo. "And maybe you need to face it, too." Her desperation battered the walls of one of the cages that had rattled so hard earlier, forcing him to clasp his hands tightly behind his back to keep from touching her, to keep from trying to erase the pain he saw so clearly in the charcoal smudges of her eyes. And for the first time in centuries, he allowed himself to see the furnishings of that small room at Seline's and remember the only battle he never knew if he'd won or lost. Please send all comments, etc. to bevainio@att.net See disclaimers in part 01 Old Acquaintance (03/11) By: Barbara Vainio **************************************** ***Pompeii, the same evening - Lucius' View*** He felt her staring at him, frozen where the momentum of his shove had carried her, undoubtedly calculating how she could prevent what he planned to do. He kept his back rigid as he poured a cup of wine. He knew he'd almost reached his limit, but one or two more cups would make no difference. They might even add to his enjoyment of this game of cat and mouse. Time to see how brave his little mouse really was. Without turning to look at her, he remarked casually, "Lonely? Don't be. I'll join you shortly." He heard her sandals sliding on the tiled floor as she moved farther away from him. He turned around to see what caused the gasp she couldn't quite prevent and saw her huddled on the farthest corner of the couch, head on her knees, eyes closed. He walked silently over to her small figure and bent down until he was close enough to smell the scent of her hair. He wanted to touch it, to feel it pour through his fingers as it cascaded back to her shoulders. Instead, he drawled softly, "How sweet," and was rewarded as her head snapped up, giving him a brief glimpse of the black pinpoints of fear dotting her dark gray eyes as she slid as far away from him as she could. He finished the wine in his half-full cup and put it down without looking away from her. He wanted to touch her, to feel her skin against his, to look into those incredible eyes and watch them reflect her changing emotions. He grabbed her upper arm and pulled her forward. She slid toward him more quickly than he expected and almost fell. He had to dig his fingers into her arm to keep her from tumbling to the floor. As she steadied herself, he brushed his hand down her arm, eliminating any kindness from the gesture, saying only, "I do not wish you to fall. The only bruises I want to see are the ones I cause." He backed up, dragging her with him. When she tried to push herself away from him as he stopped abruptly, he grabbed her wrist, pinning her hand to his chest, hoping she wouldn't feel his suddenly racing heart. When she briefly looked at him before hiding behind the auburn waterfall of her hair, he was pleased to see that she was still ready to fight. Wanting more than just the quick glimpse of her eyes she had offered, he moved his hand from her arm to her hair, jerking her head up so her eyes would meet his. He watched intently as the color drained from her face in response to the pressure on her scalp. The irises of her eyes were so dark they were barely distinguishable from the dilated pupils. He was pleased to see that even his blunt statement of his rights didn't quell her spirit, although he could see the effort it took for her to meet his intimidating stare. What would it take to make her yield her pride, her dignity, to him? Why was it so important to him? Why did *this* slave, magnificent though she was, reach so deep inside him to probe areas of his soul that a soldier couldn't afford to admit existed. The legionnaire took control again and slid her chiton off her shoulder, stroking the exposed surface. He felt the skin grow warm under his hand and watched as it blushed a medium gold. He was pleased that his earlier deduction was correct. The honeyed blush of her skin complimented the deep red of her hair perfectly. He shared his satisfaction with her, murmuring, "So honey *is* your natural color." He was unable to let her go even for the short minutes it would take to pour another cup of wine - one he needed desperately to calm his suddenly ragged breathing. He twined his fingers through her hair, reveling in its weight, and walked over to the table where the wine pitcher waited. Lucius forced himself to take only a sip from his goblet before kissing the still warm skin of her shoulder. Color bloomed under his lips and he exhaled a promise, his eyes warming with pleasure. "I do believe I will always be partial to wine and honey." He continued to sip his wine, his hands creating an ever-larger area for his lips to explore. He laughed as his slave tried to twist away from each new assault on her skin, observing how her eyes reflected her frustration as she realized he wouldn't let her go. Playing the cat to this fierce mouse was certainly the most enjoyable battle he'd initiated in quite a long time. But a soldier always knew when it was time to declare victory and Lucius was more than ready to enjoy the spoils of this war. He picked her up, surprised by how light she was. He pushed at the tangle of her chiton that threatened to trip him, dropping it to the floor as he carried her to the couch. He made sure she couldn't escape as he lay down next to her, one arm on each side of her shoulders. He tasted the spice of her hair, as she turned her head away from his kiss and he lost the small remainder of his patience. Pinning her down with his body, he took her head in both hands to drag her back to face him. What would it be like to possess this woman who so exhilarated his senses? He anticipated the contest of wills, the physical battle, the emotional jousting with what he would never admit was pleasure. He captured her gaze once again to be sure she was paying attention, saying softly, "I wish some of my soldiers would show as much fight as you have, but the time has come to surrender. My terms are really not all that onerous." He grabbed her as she tried to slip from underneath him, his fingers curling around her shoulders, the nails biting into her flesh. He quickly released the pressure. He really had no interest in damaging that exquisite honey-tinged skin. Lucius leaned down to claim this most special of prizes, preparing for her refusal, anticipating the glory of riding the wave of her anger or her fear - it didn't really matter. He eagerly wanted to share in all this young woman promised, so different from the contrived responses of Seline's other whores. His kiss was gentle as he waited for her response; his strategy to gradually escalate his assault as she intensified her fight. He felt...nothing. No anger. No fear. No resistance. No hatred. Not even acceptance. Nothing. He broke the contact, glaring at her, staring into her eyes. How dare she cheat him of his enjoyment of her body, her spirit, her soul? Her eyes, that only a few moments ago had smoldered with life, glinting with carefully suppressed fear, now were empty. She might as well have been one of the sculptures that decorated the brothel's main salon. She'd given up. His fierce anticipation turned to a sting of regret. He slowly shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Why did he hesitate to claim what was now his for the taking? That's what he had wanted, was it not? Her complete and total surrender. The word echoed hollowly in his mind. The general who had reveled in countless victories, who had ordered his troops to commit unspeakable atrocities to ensure his enemies' subjugation, looked at the face of the slave beneath him and questioned for the first time whether the price of victory could be too high. Instinct, honed sharp by years in battle, warned him of the trap an answer to that question would be. He ruthlessly subdued the rebellious thought as he would a physical enemy. He needed to regroup, to plan new strategy. This campaign was not over. He would have what he wanted - on his terms. After all, this was only the first skirmish of what could prove to be a most complex battle plan. He shoved the slave aside, the sound of her shoulder slamming into the wall not giving him as much satisfaction as it should have. Fumbling his toga back into place, he strode to the door. "SELINE!!!" The tone of his voice was one his field troops would have recognized. And avoided. The madam walked rapidly over to her guest. Her voice held more than a hint of concern as she asked, "Is something wrong, General? Did my newest slave not please you? I'll be glad to offer you someone else. Do you wish her punished?" Lucius drew a rasping breath, whispering raggedly as he pulled the woman roughly to his side, his fingers tight enough to bruise the skin, "I wish her to be kept for my private use. No one, absolutely no one, is even to speak to her without my permission. Is that clear?" This last phrase was no more than a growl. "But, Lucius, the expense of keeping her -" "I will cover the expense." He finally mastered his emotions well enough that the next words were spoken in something close to his normal patrician tone. "As for offering me someone else, send Aurora to me?" The madam, searching for the excuse she'd need to separate Lucius' favorite from her current companion, quickly acquiesced. "I'll have her come to you immediately." "Bring her to the room next door to this one." He'd make sure that his little mouse-turned-scorpion would find it difficult to sleep tonight. He rapidly poured and drained 2 cups of wine & was halfway through a third when he heard someone step into the room. "Come over here, Aurora." The words were slurred, but there was no mistaking the command in his tone. "Certainly, Lucius. I'm glad you asked for me. I've been -" Even the reduced force of his drunken slap left a welt on Aurora's face. Her gasp of pain was only the first of many through a long night during which the once-more-tightly-controlled soldier had no concern over the cost of his victories. ***Toronto********** With Aurora's cries still echoing in his mind, LaCroix found it difficult to focus on the present. He hadn't thought about her in years - centuries; he was surprised he could even remember what she looked like. He tried to force the ancient memories back into their cage in the deepest part of his soul, but their dark residue clung to him like wet ash. He blindly reached for his glass and would have knocked it over if Kalmia hadn't reached it first with the speed of their kind. "Your hands used to be much steadier, Lucius. Do you need some help?" Stung by her dry tone and the flash of laughter he saw in her eyes, LaCroix made a last effort to ignore the distraction of his lingering thoughts and plucked the glass from her hand. Air rattled in his throat as his hand unexpected brushed hers on the stem of the goblet. Kalmia jerked her hand away as though the glass had returned to its molten state. Immediately realizing the advantage he now had, LaCroix removed his hand more slowly, ensuring that the priceless antique would tumble toward the floor. Kalmia lunged for the goblet, but it was already past where even her extraordinary speed could catch it. She closed her eyes in defeat, waiting to hear the shattering of centuries-old glass. She reopened them in the unbroken silence to see Lucius gently cupping the bowl of the goblet with both hands, his lips curved into a smile that almost reached his eyes. "What were you saying about my hands, Kalmia?" "I - What? - How -? You couldn't have reached that glass before it fell. It was way beyond either of our abilities to save it," acknowledging for the first time their shared condition. Her words came faster, reflecting her confusion. "It was less than an inch from the floor. There was no way to even know which way it was going to fall. You couldn't -." The flow of words stopped suddenly, comprehension lighting her eyes. "You did that deliberately. You knew all the time what was -." Laughter rising through the notes of the scale effectively ended her accusation. LaCroix' smile finally warmed his eyes as he - gently - replaced the goblet on his desk and watched as Kalmia composed herself. "You're not too angry, I hope." "Angry? I'm furious. If I had a regular heartbeat it would have stopped. Suppose you'd misjudged your timing. Suppose I'd gotten in your way? Suppose -." LaCroix' gentle interruption halted her litany. "Then a piece of glass would have shattered." , he finished silently. "A piece of glass!! Do you know how old that 'piece of glass' is? Do you have any idea - ?" Her indignation modulated into chagrin. A chuckle escaped through her nose as a snort. "Lucius, I'm sorry. Here I am, treating you like one of my children. Of course you know how old that goblet is. You probably had it commissioned personally - or found a way to acquire it from the person who did." Her light tone clashed with the brief flicker of sorrow that lit her eyes. Not stopping to analyze his reaction, LaCroix tentatively reached out to caress her face, unsure whether she would accept the gesture and ready to abort it if she didn't. Kalmia warily watched his hand move toward her, still not completely free of the memory of their first meeting. When she flinched, LaCroix dropped the hand to his side and turned away, the pain of her rejection reflected only in a slight softening of the military bearing he'd deliberately retained over the millennia. Instantly regretting her unthinking reaction Kalmia grabbed his hand, stopping him with an ease he found unsettling. Hiding a smile at his discomfort, she turned the captured hand palm up and laid her cheek gently on it, pressing a light kiss on his fingers before she moved away, the touch so light and quick a mortal might not have felt it. LaCroix was disappointed that his heart could no longer pound. He wanted to feel it race in reaction to that simple gesture. Fighting his instinct to push her away, to continue to deny long-repressed feelings, he hesitantly reached down and cupped Kalmia's chin with fingers still tingling from the touch of her lips. He wasn't surprised when she shifted to close the auburn curtain of her hair across the mirror of her eyes. "Musette." His voice was thick with emotions too numerous and tangled to identify. Kalmia's head snapped up, body tense, eyes wide, searching his; not sure what she would find; not sure what she wanted to see. Her eyes sparkled as she acknowledged the conspiratorial glint he permitted to highlight blue ice. "It's been a long time since I've heard a version of that nickname. And almost as long since I've let myself think of it." Her eyes took on the smoky tint LaCroix had learned long ago indicated she was trying to hide from something that troubled her. "You never did tell me why you chose to call me 'mus'" LaCroix took a deep breath, not willing to admit how deeply his use of the name had affected him; even less willing to face the astonishment that he had used it at all. He attempted to camouflage his vulnerability, as always, his voice lightly teasing as he replied. "What else would you have been but the mouse to my cat? I apologize for the translation. I must admit, I'm much more comfortable with French these days than I am with Latin. I trust you won't hold my lapse against me." Kalmia heard the truth of his explanation through the smoke screen of his tone and acknowledged how fitting the nickname had been. But no more. She had learned over the centuries how to play the cat as well. "You really need to keep in practice, Lucius. Or perhaps age is interfering with your memory," Kalmia said in perfect Latin, her right eyebrow arched and her tone as pointed as his was. This time, LaCroix laughed deeply and freely, relishing the banter, remembering how they had learned to enjoy it so long ago. Please send all comments, etc. to bevainio@att.net See disclaimers in part 01 Old Acquaintance part 04/11 By: Barbara Vainio ********************************** ***Pompeii, 3 weeks later**** "SELINE!!" Lucius strode into the main salon, anticipating an immediate response to his presence. Before the madam could answer his summons, his attention was caught by movement in one of the far corners of the room. His gaze flickered in the direction of the activity, his warrior's senses automatically sharpening to identify any possible threat. He relaxed when he saw the 7-year old girl appear from behind a column, her soft brown hair falling in wisps around her face. He smiled a welcome and opened his arms. "Divia, come here. I'm glad to see you." The young girl tried to walk slowly across the room as her mother had taught her was proper, but after only a few steps gave up the effort and ran to accept Lucius' warm hug. "Fath- Lucius." Her pleasure shattered by the legionnaire's warning stare, she stiffened in his arms and backed away from his kiss. Her large eyes clouded with tears and she looked up at him through partially lowered lids. "I'm sorry,...General, I won't forget again." Her voice was soft as her eyes begged for his forgiveness, her thin body seeming to become even smaller. Lucius looked at the daughter he couldn't acknowledge, seeing how like him she was as she struggled to keep him from seeing any more of her sorrow, blinking back the tears that she wouldn't let fall. Lucius moved his hand to comfort her, to try to find some way to indicate his deep affection for her. "Lucius, what a surprise to see you so early." He dropped his hand before it could smooth his daughter's hair away from her face, schooling his features into a blank mask before he turned to face her mother. "Sarcasm doesn't become you, Seline." His voice hardened to steel as he moved to stand directly in front of her, his voice a menacing whisper. "It could even prove dangerous to your continued...employment." Having made his point, Lucius moved back and smiled coldly down at the madam. "How is - the slave?" Divia, following the exchange between her parents with a child's curiosity, allowed disappointment at her father's disregard of her presence to show on her face only briefly before she deliberately covered it with an expression her father would have recognized if he had ever seen himself as he went into battle. The young girl walked regally from the room, refusing to allow herself to look back to see if her father noticed her exit. Her mother's lessons also were worth learning. Seline marked her daughter's departure, tallying it on the debit side of Lucius' ledger. She focused on her sometime lover's ice blue eyes and matched his frigid smile. "The same as she has been when you've asked for the last 5 days. She's healed enough to begin earning her -" Lucius felt his stomach twist with, it couldn't be fear and certainly not disappointment, annoyance perhaps. His voice harshly cut off Seline's response. "You are, I believe, being compensated fully while...the slave is out of work. If my calculations of your expenses are incorrect, please provide me the appropriate numbers." Seline knew that she wouldn't win this argument. Her desire to punish him for his callous treatment of their daughter would have to wait for another time. She removed all emotion from her voice as she acquiesced. "You're right, Lucius. I have no complaints about your support of the young woman. If you want to see for yourself how she's doing, I'll be glad to get her." The soldier quickly suppressed the smile the thought of Kalmia brought to his lips, but not before Seline had noted it with surprise. What was this woman to him? Had she but known, Lucius was asking the same question of himself. But the only reply he made was to casually command, "Bring her to the usual room." Stepping out of the bath, Kalmia rubbed her left shoulder, probing the muscles for any remaining tenderness, and finding very little. Whatever else might happen, she had received the best care available for the injury she'd suffered that night two months ago. "You have a visitor." Kalmia knew who it must be from the coldness in Seline's voice. Would the madam believe her if she said that she was no happier about the general's continued visits than her owner was? Could she even convince *herself* any longer that it was true? The last 3 weeks had been the most puzzling of her life. She knew that the legionnaire had paid for the medical care she had received - even as isolated as she'd been kept she heard the other girls speculating about it - but she wasn't sure why. The cold, unfeeling warrior who had tried so hard to intimidate her that first night (and mostly succeeded, she had to admit) hadn't been in evidence during Lucius' frequent visits. He'd been deliberately charming, asking solicitously about her shoulder, telling her about some of the lighter moments in his campaigns, but making no attempt to assert the authority he had over her. Not that she was ready to trust him - she knew very well that he was only playing a role - but she was intrigued by his ability to hide the darker side of his nature so completely. Was this light, pleasant gentleman a complete fabrication or was it actually another part of himself that he normally repressed? Seline's harsh voice interrupted her reverie. "The general doesn't like to be kept waiting." The madam turned toward the door, leaving a final sharp edged comment as she walked through the door. "I'm sure you remember where he'll be." Kalmia quickly settled the red chiton on her shoulders and ran a comb through her hair, leaving it loose around her face, knowing that this was Lucius' preference. If she pinned it up, he would remove the combs and shake the tangles free. She shivered at the remembered touch, the lingering warmth of the bath banished by the memory of his hands placing the strands of her hair on her shoulders. She shook herself free of the unwelcome thoughts but still hurried to the room where she knew he would be waiting, hesitating in the doorway. "Seline told me your shoulder is almost healed. I'm pleased that you've recovered so quickly. Come in and share a cup of wine with me." Kalmia continued to linger in the entrance. There was a different quality in Lucius' voice that she tried to analyze. While not containing the edge of command he'd used the first night, it was more aggressive than his more recent conversational tone. She wanted some time to evaluate the change, to understand what it meant to her. Lucius didn't give her that time, however, walking to the door holding the cup out to her with one hand, using the other to draw her into the room. She held back a moment more before yielding to the gentle pressure of his hand on her elbow. Lucius smiled with pleasure as he read the look on her face. So his little mouse wasn't sure what game they were playing tonight. Good, it was time to change the rules. Sometimes confusing the enemy brought better results than a direct assault. The general led her over to the couch and sat down, the light pressure on her arm forcing her to perch beside him. Fear shivered down her spine, settling in her stomach as she fought to control the memory of the last time they'd been so close. "Stop trembling, my charming mouse. I want nothing more right now than to share some wine with you." Lucius tilted the cup toward her lips, forcing her to sip quickly to catch the dark liquid before it splattered on her clothing. The wine was excellent - much better than what was served with their regular meals and she took a larger swallow from the cup still in his hand, taking enough so that several drops pooled in the corner of her mouth. Lucius reached out to sweep the liquid from her skin but stopped, his breath rasping deep in his throat, as her tongue flicked out to catch the ruby specks before his finger could reach her lips. His stomach lurched as he fought for the breath her unconscious gesture had stolen from him. Confused by to her companion's reaction, she slid away from his side. Maybe if they talked for a while she'd have enough time to figure out what he had planned. "This is very good wine. May I have some more?" Still unable to trust his voice, with only his battle discipline keeping his hands from shaking, he held the cup out to her. Leaving her with it, he strode to the other side of the room. A soldier used to instant obedience, a warrior with no need to justify his actions, he had no experience in analyzing his emotions - most often not even acknowledging their existence. But this - this...mouse continued to turn each strategy inside out, forcing him to confront things he had hidden away long ago. He fought for control, finding it as hard to maintain as it had been during his first battle. Refusing then to be seen as weak by the other soldiers, he had throttled the terror that would have made him weep, choked back the revulsion that caused bile to rise in his throat - burying them both somewhere deep inside and replacing them with...nothing. Feeling nothing was safe. This way he would never have to be concerned about being betrayed by the wrong emotion; never worry about having to decide which feelings were acceptable and which had to be denied. It was a practice he had refined to an art over the years, until he could order rape, plunder, slaughter or torture with the same stoic manner. It had allowed him to rise rapidly through the ranks, his reputation as a ruthless enforcer of the emperor's will growing with each victory. He knew at the most visceral level that the instincts that had won him so many laurels on the battlefield would not serve him well in this campaign. Now he, too, needed time to adjust, to understand what forces were in play and how he could counteract them. He turned around to face the gaze he could feel boring into his back, catching a brief glimpse of clouded gray before she shifted her eyes away from him. He smiled to himself. He poured a cup of wine for himself and brought the pitcher with him as he walked slowly back to the couch, the soldier momentarily back in control, a new plan ready for implementation. "Of course you can have some more wine. I'm glad you're enjoying it." He began telling her an anecdote about one of the senators who frequented Seline's brothel as he sat next to her and refilled the cup in her hand. Kalmia sipped the wine and found herself laughing at his cutting portrayal of the pompous politician. Lucius savored the notes of her laughter as they rang lightly in the air. He chuckled, surprised at how easy it came, a baritone counterpoint to her soprano fugue. The laughter continued through the evening, a natural reaction to the acerbic portraits he sketched of the mighty and those who wished to be. In the main salon, the other patrons listened with surprise, wondering what wiles the new slave had to make the General laugh like a schoolboy, and anticipating how enjoyable it would be when they could find out personally. In the next room, Divia also listened, curled up on the floor, and continued to blink back tears as she had for so many nights, storing her dark thoughts as she imagined the time when she would be strong enough to command her father's attention. ***Toronto*** LaCroix could see that Kalmia, too, was remembering earlier meetings - pleasant ones to judge by the slight smile that played across her lips. Her next words confirmed how in tune they still were. "Do you know that the descendants of some of the people you skewered that night live near Florence? I hear about them occasionally from various family members." Her eyes suddenly shone with pale gray highlights as that delicious, full-bodied laughter peeled out. "And from what I've heard they're just as pompous and annoying as their great-great-great-great...whatever grandfathers were." She wiped the pale red tears of laughter from her cheeks with a beautifully manicured finger, leaving a dark smudge from the forgotten dumpster trash in their place. LaCroix reached behind him to wrap his index finger in the linen cloth he'd had the antique goblets stored in. The gentle touch of his hand as he wiped the dirt from her still exquisite skin belied the tartness of his words as he remarked, "You really do look like a street urchin with your grimy hands and dirt streaked face. And I must say, it doesn't -." He stopped abruptly as her eyes darkened to charcoal, no longer focused on him - or anything else in the present reality - and her hands began to rub convulsively over the silk of her robe. She'd always been fastidious, but he'd never expected this reaction to what should have been a gentle tease. He reached out and grabbed her hands to stop their movement. "Kalmia - Musette - what's wrong? I had no intention of upsetting you so." He had to use all his strength to keep her from pulling her hands away. He couldn't bear to watch them return to their mindless brushing. He shifted his grip so he could hold both of her hands in one of his and used the other to cradle the back of her head, trying to bring her face to rest on his shoulder. Damning himself for doing whatever caused her reaction, he whispered gently, "Musette, it's all right. There's nothing here to hurt you." , he finished silently, astounded at the tenderness that rushed through him, escaping from one of those cages that Kalmia rattled so effectively. Kalmia, deaf and blind to everything but her own horror, continued to fight against her memories - against demons she thought she'd exorcised centuries ago. LaCroix started to stroke her hair, for once not conscious of its texture or its scent - trying only to break through her resistance which was reinforced by the immense strength of their kind. He continued to murmur sounds too soft for mortal ears to hear, wishing they shared a blood link that would enable him to reach places his voice could not. The thought almost made him smile. Kalmia had always made it impossible for him to do things the easy way. Suddenly, her resistance evaporated and her head fell hard against his shoulder. He turned her face toward his, asking quietly, "Mus, what happened? What do you need?" Kalmia's eyes were still unfocused, her skin covered with red droplets of sweat. She began to struggle in LaCroix' arms, not against him, he realized, but against *what* he couldn't begin to imagine. A cracked, broken sound escaped her lips, so different from her normal voice that LaCroix was not even sure it had come from her. He held her as gently as he could without losing her and leaned down to whisper near her ear, "Kalmia." Again the use of her real name surprised him - he probably hadn't used it more than 10 times in almost 2000 years. "WHAT'S WRONG?" The urgency of his tone seemed to get through to her and she turned her face toward him, her voice empty of all reason, of all life, as she mumbled over and over again, "Clean. Want to be clean. Have to get clean." Kalmia's voice became clearer as she repeated the words like a mantra, thrashing convulsively again in an attempt to break free. LaCroix tightened his hold and once more asked insistently, "WHAT---DO---YOU---NEED??!!" The struggling woman focused on the voice and its obvious desire to help, and said very clearly, as though she were amazed he hadn't already figured it out, "I need a bath." Eyebrows raised in surprise at the request, LaCroix easily scooped Kalmia up and carried her to the apartment Janette had built behind the office. Stripping off the robe, he held her upright in the tub, not sure she could maintain the position on her own as he turned on the shower full force. As the water began to sluice over her body, Kalmia shuddered, comprehension returning slowly as her eyes darted rapidly around the tiled enclosure, obviously searching for something. They stopped when she saw LaCroix standing next to the antique bathtub. She had fed recently enough that she could blush, and she did, as the realization of what had just happened flooded back. Attempting to ease the tension for both of them and hoping he wouldn't again say something wrong, LaCroix drawled slowly, "So honey *is* still your natural color." Thankful for the respite his comment offered, but knowing it was only temporary, she managed a brief, embarrassed smile, her blush becoming even deeper and asked simply, "Is there any soap?" LaCroix looked in the vanity, glad he could turn away momentarily from Kalmia's still too-large eyes and fragile smile. He found a hand-milled oval, scented with some kind of spring flower, freesia perhaps, and handed it to her. "I hope this is all right. My - daughter - found it pleasant." Kalmia had recovered enough to hear the regret in his voice as he again mentioned his daughter. she thought as she took the soap and began to rub it into a lather. "And may I have some privacy, please?" She noted the sudden tension in Lucius' shoulders and said quickly "I won't have another 'fit', I promise. I'm fine. Really," she reassured him, her smile a little more natural, as he raised one eyebrow in disbelief. LaCroix turned toward the door, looking back to be sure she was all right, feeling his heart stir as it hadn't in almost 800 years. Kalmia. Fleur. How would his life have been different if he had been able to keep even one of them with him for eternity? How would *he* have been different? He went back to the office and refilled his glass. He savored the bouquet of the wine-diluted blood, drinking deeply and slowly, reveling in the life he tasted in the potent mixture. He listened carefully to be sure Kalmia didn't need anything and tried to summon the will to silence his troubled thoughts. He failed. ***Pompeii, 2 Months Later*** Divia had stopped anticipating her father's arrival at the brothel. After all these weeks she already knew what time he would arrive and where he would go, and none of it involved her. She waited in the shadows outside the private room he used almost every evening and saw *her* walking quickly toward the doorway, her steps light and her eyes shining. It was as if she had drained all the excitement Divia had felt at Lucius' visits & transferred it to herself. The young woman recognized her father's steps as they came closer. She could always tell it was him by the measured pace of his sandals slapping against the tiled floor. An unbidden smile briefly lit her face as she remembered hearing him come to the door of her chamber, entering the room when he thought she was asleep and lightly touching her face as he whispered, "Sleep well, my child." She banished the pleasant thought, her eyes narrowing as she stared at her father's back as he entered the private room. Divia knew with all the certainty her 7 years of experience could provide that if *she* weren't here Lucius would spend his time with her. She retreated to the nest she had created in the room next door and curled herself into the cushions, listening for the laughter to start, her feelings hardening into a small cold ball that rolled farther and farther away from her heart. Lucius walked over to the table where Kalmia was pouring two cups of wine. He lightly caressed her shoulder, smiling as she leaned into his hand. He took the cup she offered him, marveling at the difference in her reaction to him over the last 8 weeks. He moved his hand from her shoulder to sweep her hair off her neck, feeling its weight as he held it in his fingers before letting it slip slowly back to her shoulders. Kalmia shivered as the electricity of his touch coursed down her spine, although she was anything but cold. She picked up the pitcher of wine and carried it and her still-full goblet to the divan. She fumbled the pitcher down with a small clatter, drawing Lucius' gaze as she sat, tucking her legs beneath her. The action reminded him of Divia settling down for one of their infrequent visits. He'd have to spend some time with her soon. He looked again at his fiery-haired mouse as he placed his untouched cup of wine next to the pitcher on the table. Kalmia returned his gaze steadily, her eyes warming the ice blue of his. She took a brief sip from her cup, continuing to swallow even after the liquid was gone, and slid her goblet onto the table, knocking the pitcher to the floor. Lucius bent down to pick it up, but Kalmia's hand on his arm stopped him. His breath caught in his throat as he turned to see the bright red of her chiton clash with the darker-hued puddle of wine as she let it slip to the floor, her tunic nowhere in evidence. Her laughter was at once bold and shy, afraid that she had misread his intentions, but hoping that she hadn't. She stared at the floor as she whispered huskily, "This *is* what you've been working toward for the last several weeks, isn't it?" , he asked himself in exasperation. He stared at the young woman he'd thought to conquer only a few short weeks ago, his heart singing with the knowledge that the greater victory was in the gift she was offering him. His rueful chuckle made her look up. "And if I have?" Kalmia's answer was in her smoky gray eyes as she drew him toward her. In the next room, Divia fell asleep to a lullaby of laughter softening to sighs. Please send all comments, etc. to bevainio@att.net See disclaimers in part 01 Old Acquaintance part 05/11 By: Barbara Vainio ********************************** ***Toronto*** LaCroix drained the dregs from his goblet and reached for the bottle to fill it again. When had he emptied it, he wondered, when only a few drops rolled into the glass. The opening of the door to Janette's apartment brought LaCroix completely back to the present as he realized that the shower had been silent for quite some time. Kalmia walked into the room, wearing one of his high-collared black shirts, the red band around the neck dulled by the auburn of her still wet hair. She'd bloused the material above a black silk scarf so that the hem ended just above her knees; the sleeves were rolled to her elbows. "I hope you don't mind. I needed something a little more...substantial than the robe." Again, LaCroix heard that mix of siren and saint that defined Kalmia to him. In an effort to deny the emotional impact she still had on him, he focused appreciatively on the physical effect she created, his hands suddenly warm with the memory of caressing the body hidden by the shirt hanging loosely from her slim frame. He started to answer her, swallowed to loosen his tight throat, finally drew breath to speak and stopped again when he realized he had no idea what to say. He had always been off balance when he dealt with her. He had never totally understood - deliberately avoiding the introspection required - what compelled him to want a different response from her than he demanded from almost everyone else in his life, male or female. Afraid to accidentally resurrect her demons and no more willing to deliberately incite his own, he abruptly turned and left the office, eyes glowing like molten gold, fighting frustration at his own indecision and anger at her for causing it. The door slammed into the wall as he blindly flung it away from him. Kalmia wanted to go after him but forced herself to stay in the room. She had witnessed occasions during her time at Seline's when he had allowed himself to loosen control over his emotions, measuring how much to show and how much to hide. But she had never seen him lose total control. Perhaps she still hadn't. But he was far closer to it than she had ever witnessed. She knew nothing she did right now would make any difference. He wouldn't want her to see him this vulnerable. He would always be, at the deepest level, the warrior that needed to be in charge. She had found ways while they were together to soften the steel of his will, but she'd always known it would never be converted to a more malleable alloy. So, for now, she locked her concern away and waited in the office. Lucius wouldn't - couldn't - accept anything from anyone until he reestablished some self-control, some self-respect. Until the soldier was back in control. She heard bottles thudding against the wood of the bar, delicate glass shattering and being swept angrily out of the way. She reached for the Murano goblet, glad Lucius had waited until he'd gotten to the bar to begin breaking things. She poured some of the undiluted blood into it, turning the bowl, watching the liquid it held reflect the artificial light of the office lamps. The last of LaCroix' anger exploded with a convulsive swipe of his right arm that sent the remaining bottles on the bar crashing to the floor. Dark red beads dropped into the existing pools surrounding the shards of glass already littering the floor. Blood smell permeated the air. His vampire senses suddenly overrode all other emotions and he fumbled blindly for an unbroken bottle, needing to feed, to know the reality of the promises he scented on the air. He pulled the cork and poured half the contents of the bottle down his throat, using the back of his hand to wipe the excess from his chin. The familiar rush of sensations flooded through him, sending his own still unmastered emotions into the background, giving him time to begin rebuilding barriers he'd spent centuries constructing - walls that Kalmia continued to destroy as though they were made of mist. He found an unbroken glass and carried it and the half-full bottle to one of the tables that ringed the dance floor. He noted absently that Miklos had begun to clean up the shambles he'd left at the bar, but paid no further attention to the effort that would be necessary to put everything back in order before tonight's guests arrived. LaCroix forced himself to sip the contents of his glass slowly, gratified that he had regained even that much control. He hoped it was enough; he knew it wasn't. The general made the only prudent strategic decision and withdrew from a battle he couldn't win, willing to wait until he could regain the advantage. Accepting the result of his decision, he closed his eyes wearily and surrendered to the inevitable memories. ***Pompeii, the Same Evening*** Lucius was content for the moment to stroke the heavy auburn cascade that spilled across his chest, not yet ready to resume the armor that protected his emotions so successfully. He took a deep breath, astonished that it was so easy, that it felt so free. The movement interrupted Kalmia's reverie and she lifted her head to stare into Lucius' pale blue eyes, mirroring their pleasure and questioning the flicker of confusion he wasn't quick enough to hide. She stroked his cheek with the backs of her fingers and smiled gently. Sweeping her hair aside, she turned away to find something to tie it back. Lucius, as if he knew her intention, caught her face with both his hands and closing his eyes, whispered only "Nooo." Kalmia chuckled softly and ran her hands through her tousled hair, trying to move it off her face with a hard shake of her head. Lucius watched as his mouse once again moved with the grace of a cat, stretching her neck as her head tilted back. Not wishing to lose his touch on her face, she settled back onto his shoulder, turning her head so her lips grazed his ear. Lucius wasn't expecting the words she whispered, her breath tickling his skin. Kalmia sat up and he followed, keeping her head on his shoulder, amusement softening the line of his mouth. "You want what?" "A bath." Amusement became laughter as he asked, "Now?" Kalmia pushed herself far enough away so she could see his expression, hoping it would reflect the tone of his voice. Seeing his arched eyebrow and warm eyes, she quickly leaned in and dropped a light kiss on his lips, then suddenly shy, lowered her gaze to her lap. "Yes, now." "*Why* now?" Lucius asked again. Kalmia's mumbled answer provided no understandable information and he tried to read her expression, but got no help there. As she began to move away from him, he tried to delay the moment when he would have to return to the battle he waged against himself. He grabbed her arm much more forcefully than he meant to and heard her small gasp. He dropped her arm and tried to reassure her by caressing her cheek that he hadn't meant, didn't ever again want, to hurt her, but she only moved quickly away. Her eyes darted from his face to the floor as she spoke quickly, her words running together. "If you want me to stay I will. I know you have the right to command me." Lucius wanted to speak the words that would let her know that he would never command her - force her - to do anything she wouldn't offer him as a gift, but he had forgotten what those words were and how to say them. He'd had no need of them when dealing with the enemy. He merely nodded and said coldly, "By all means bathe if *that* is what you want," and moved out of her way so she could walk past him, as she quickly donned her chiton. After she'd left the room, he resumed his own clothing and followed her out. "Lucius, I need to talk to you." The last person he wished to see right now was Seline, but she effectively blocked his path as he tried to return to the main salon. He arranged his features into their usual cold mask and stopped impatiently. "Not now, Seline." "*Right* now, Lucius." The edge in her voice surprised him enough to force him to wait. "Now that you've been the first to enjoy the charms of my latest addition, it's time to discuss allowing her to perform her regular duties." Lucius' stomach tightened threatening to expel it contents, and sweat soaked his body. He fought to keep his voice steady as he replied, "I told you I would pay for all her expenses. What possible reason would you have to change that arrangement?" Seline looked briefly at the next room where Divia still slept, the tears sleep prevented her from controlling still wet on her cheeks. Lucius would pay for those tears just as surely as her daughter suffered from her father's unknowing neglect. Her voice was hard as she argued her case. "Lucius, you leave again in two weeks. Even if you continue to reimburse me for the slave's expense, how long do you think it will be before my other clients want to share your private stock? Some of them have already approached me about using her services." "Seline - " She hurried on, ignoring his threatening tone, hiding her smile as she presented what she knew to be the winning point. "If you don't allow her to assume the duties I bought her to perform, I'll have no choice but to sell her. There are any number of brothels in the smaller towns that would be more than willing to pay top price for her even though she's no longer - " Lucius' breath hissed through his teeth, stopping the barrage of words that battered against the emotional armor he'd only been able to partially resume. He knew she would carry through with her threat even if he didn't understand why she'd made it. He'd issued too many ultimatums using the same tone of voice to not recognize the will to carry them out. But he tried once again, fighting for what he knew to be a lost cause. "I'm sure I can convince your other...guests that there's no need for them to sample my 'private stock'." Knowing she - and Divia - had won, she said calmly, "I'm sure you could, but this is a business decision. I'm sure you can understand that - you make difficult decisions all the time in battle." Not accustomed to negotiating from a position of weakness, he began rapidly calculating and discarding alternatives. He absolutely believed that Seline would sell Kalmia before she'd let him buy her for himself. He briefly considered beating the reason behind her action out of her, but rejected it just as quickly - he wasn't at all convinced she'd tell him the truth. He immediately realized his best option was to gracefully accept defeat. Additional arguments would only result in Kalmia being sold to someone who would treat her much more roughly than Seline. Whatever her reasons for this maneuver - and Lucius had no doubt it was directed at him - she was first and foremost a very shrewd businesswoman who wouldn't allow Kalmia to be injured badly enough to prevent her from producing income. Also, if she stayed here, at least he might be able to limit the damage the others would do to her spirit. He did, after all, still have a certain reputation for exacting painful retribution when his wishes were ignored - even by his acquaintances. With the knowledge of how large a betrayal his agreement would seem to Kalmia squeezing his heart with icy fingers, he stiffly acquiesced to Seline's demand, negotiating the best terms he could. "Very well, I accept the need for Kalmia to participate with the other girls in the business of this establishment. However, I will retain exclusive use of her services until I leave and whenever I return. When will you tell her of the new arrangement?" Seline had to turn away to keep her triumph from showing. She still had one last condition to impose. "I think you should be the one to tell her. After all, you chose to develop a relationship with her rather than allowing her to look to me for guidance." The madam stepped out of Lucius' way, ushering him in the direction Kalmia had gone with a dramatic sweep of her upturned hand. "I believe you can find her in her bath?" Lucius started to protest, but then accepted the duty. He was the cause of this decision and would shoulder the responsibility for communicating it. He had never refused to deliver bad news, not finding it particularly difficult. But for the first time he understood the reluctance of his subordinates to volunteer for the duty. Seline watched her lover move out of the room, his back rigid and his hands clenched at his sides, before she went in to gently brush the tears from her daughter's face prior to waking her. Kalmia was surprised to see Lucius standing under the archway to the bath, but ran to gently caress his face and lift hers for the kiss she hoped he'd offer. Her hand dropped as she felt him stiffen at the touch. Had her inexperience displeased him that much? Or her request for a bath? "General, I apolog -" Lucius quickly moved her to arms' length and backed away even further, wanting to hold her, but knowing he would very soon forfeit that right. It would be easier for both of them if he kept some distance between them. He stood staring at her as stiff and cold as the marble columns that framed him. "I've been asked to inform you that as soon as I return to the field you will be expected to - to - service the other patrons of Seline's house." Kalmia gasped at both the words and the manner of their delivery. Lucius' tone left her no option but to believe that she had indeed profoundly displeased him. She staggered back, tripping on the hem of her robe. Without thinking Lucius reached for her arm to keep her from falling and felt her trembling beneath his light grip. Suspended between the feelings of the soldier who should ridicule her weakness and the lover who wanted to soothe her fears, he did nothing. As soon as she had regained her balance, she shook his hand from her arm and gathered her robe tightly around her. He could see the skin of her knuckles turn white as she clutched the folds of material, her eyes darkening from the gray of dusk to the black of midnight. He watched her accept the edict, her closed eyes and a convulsive swallow the only outward signs of her struggle. To keep from touching her, from offering meaningless reassurance, was the most difficult battle he had ever fought. Kalmia willed herself to breathe, to unlock her fingers from her robe, to remain standing. She fought to understand what had happened. When she left him he had seemed puzzled, but not angry. Surely, even someone as skilled as he was at hiding his emotions would have been unable to suppress feelings strong enough to result in this punishment. She reopened her eyes to see a slight weakening of his almost deliberately military posture and a hint of - was it pain? - in his not quite carefully schooled features. It was gone too quickly for her to verify her impression, replaced with the studied indifference she had seen the first night they met. She wanted to batter the walls of that indifference with her fear, her anger, her confusion; to shatter his control as he had crushed the last of her illusions; to demand that he share some of the strength he used to reinforce his fagade with her. She'd known since that first night that she'd be required to - what was the word? - "service" Seline's clients. She wasn't naove enough to think that she and Lucius would live happily ever after in their little corner of the brothel. But she had stopped considering that he might lose interest in her after he had taken what he wanted. (Although, to be fair, tonight he had only taken what she had offered first.) She knew she had no option but to submit to his will - at least none that she wished to exercise. She could at least accept his order with dignity. She reached down to lift the hem of her robe off the floor and inclined her head slowly before turning to walk past him. "I understand, General. I'll make myself available immediately -" Lucius' voice ripped through the fragile veneer of serenity she had attempted to wrap herself in, anger at the consequences of Seline's order making it much sharper than he'd intended. "You will spend the next two weeks with me - at my convenience. Not until I've returned to my troops will you even consider being available to anyone else." he finished silently. But he needed those two weeks to do what he could to protect her; to ensure that no one would try to use her to settle their debts with him. He almost smiled as he began to identify his adversaries, pinpointing where they were most vulnerable and how he could best exploit their weaknesses. Kalmia was watching him closely as that hint of a smile crushed the last of her hope. She wouldn't have expected him to take pleasure in something he owned being used by anyone else, but, of course, he didn't own her. Even if he had, she was still just a slave, a piece of property to be used or discarded as he chose. she screamed silently. Self-pity wouldn't change this; wouldn't make it possible for her to survive this; wouldn't return her to her home; wouldn't help her keep the promise she'd made. A deep breath contained her rising hysteria, forcing it back down her throat until it no longer threatened to explode into sound. The rest of her emotions swirled through her for a moment until they, too, sought the hiding place she had made for them. Her voice, as she replied to his order, gave no hint of the turmoil she'd succeeded in vanquishing. "Very well, General. Just ask for me - whenever it's convenient." Her remote tone and haughty posture as she left the room were an exact duplicate of his. End Old Acquaintance Part 05/11 Please send all comments, etc. to bevainio@att.net See disclaimers in part 01 Old Acquaintance (06/11) By: Barbara Vainio ******************************* ***Toronto*** LaCroix' head jerked up, yellow eyes focusing on the source of the sound that had mercifully released him from his memories. His fangs retracted as he recognized Miklos substituting a full bottle for the one he had emptied. Nodding his acknowledgment of the service, he filled his glass and inhaled its bouquet without drinking. Completely sated from everything he'd already consumed, he put the glass down, astonished that he could smile at the thought that he'd have to find out what vintage he'd drunk during the last several...minutes, hours - he truly had no idea, so that he would know if he'd enjoyed it. Drawn by the soft notes of a violin, the vampire moved slowly toward the office, reluctant to reenter a present that compelled him to open the graves of the past. But the music at least brought a pleasant memory. Part of his private collection, it had been recorded live during a gala performance by The Royal Ballet at New York's Metropolitan Opera House. What a glorious experience that had been: Isaac Stern's magnificent interpretation of the first act adagio from "Swan Lake" and Margot Fonteyn and Rudolf Nureyev's breathtaking dancing combined in a moment that transcended time and place. It really was too bad that Nicholas' typical overreaction to the inevitable death of that French dancer had prevented them from enjoying that moment together. LaCroix stopped for a moment to savor the last notes of the piece, pleased that the digitally remastered CD improved the sound quality of the original tape. "Will you be able to clean up the mess before your guests arrive tonight?" Kalmia asked softly when she heard him reach the doorway. She had twisted her hair into a knot, securing it as best she could with the sheathed "skean dubh" she had found on the desk. LaCroix spoke carefully, like someone translating his thoughts into a language he didn't know well. "Miklos has everything well in hand - as always. Luckily my guests won't be drinking the house special - most of that appears to have found its way to the floor." Kalmia smiled at his light self-mockery and finally turned to face him. "Lucius, I apologize -" He covered the distance between them in less than an instant, stopping behind her, one hand gently resting on her shoulder and the other sliding the ceremonial dagger out of her hair. They had shared enough apologies spoken or implied; he definitely wasn't in the mood for any more. "For pinning your hair up, I imagine. Since your action was so easily remedied, there's really no need to apologize." He returned the dagger to its proper place and used that same hand to free her hair from its knot. Even damp, it flowed like heavy silk through his fingers. He sighed as Kalmia stretched back in the chair to touch her head to his hand, her eyes closed, her lips upturned in a gentle smile. Her voice fairly purred as she murmured, "Gods, I thought I remembered how your hands felt in my hair. How I felt when you caressed it. Perhaps I'm the one whose memory isn't what it used to be." LaCroix' hand closed convulsively, crushing the ends of her hair as he raised them to his lips. He gently released the strands, savoring the play of light on them as they settled around her shoulders. Only small pleasures allowed - nothing large enough to be burdensome when they escaped their cages. He allowed images to flood his mind: silent pictures rolling across the screen of his memory evoking neither pain nor pleasure, words and music erased by the abrasion of the centuries. He smiled at the confirmation that he was back in control. "We are not meant to be like mortals - with their foolish birthday parties, class reunions and Auld Lang Syne, Mus. For us there can be only the present. To remember too much, to dream for too long -." He turned away, overwhelmed by one last image - this one bringing with it almost unbearable pain: Kalmia deliberately turning away from his touch as he left to return to his command. Her loathing for him obvious in her unyielding posture, her distant expression unsuccessfully hid the fear in her eyes. He'd wanted to hold her, to feel her lean into his embrace; to see her eyes sparkle and hear the bright notes of her laughter. But, he had no strategies left to employ and no weapons available that would produce that victory. So he turned toward the door, breathing a hoarse sound that might have been "I'm sorry, Kalmia," the vision of her stiff back a cold and constant companion during his months in the field. LaCroix shivered as the memory chilled him again. He rubbed his eyes to clear the last of the image, chiding himself softly with the words of one of Nicholas' mortal friends - "This way madness lies". "But surely it's equally mad to ignore what we've experienced over the centuries." Kalmia pointed at the full bookcases and well organized CD collection. "You keep literature and music that spans the millennia. First editions of Dickens, recordings of early 20th century operas." She gently brushed the bowl of her now-empty goblet. "Exquisite 12th century glass. If you choose to keep these why not -" LaCroix' voice snapped off the remainder of her thought, his tone harsh. "*Things*, my charming little mouse. They are only things. Things exist only in the present. They need have no past or future. They provide diversion for a moment and then can be returned to their proper place." "But, Lucius, what about that unsigned, but nonetheless quite authentic, Titian hanging over the bookcase? Surely you must remember what you felt when you first saw it?" He remembered quite well what he had felt when he had first seen the small portrait. It had literally taken his breath away. The painting was hanging on the wall of the library a Colonel Schmidt was using as his office as he cataloged a French chateau's contents. Unable to speak, he'd stood staring at the portrait of a young woman lying on a sofa, her magnificent red hair cascading down her back. Had he needed air to breathe he would have lost consciousness before he had the ability to inhale again. The Colonel had looked up to see him motionless under the exquisite piece of artwork. "Yes, it's quite beautiful, isn't it, Herr...?' The Nazi checked the list in front of him. "Von Kreuze. We believe it to be an unsigned original. We'll know more when our experts begin to catalog this room for shipment back home." Deciding that this was one painting the Fuhrer would never enjoy, LaCroix merely smiled and replied in flawless German, "It is quite magnificent. The subject reminds me of someone I once knew." He'd concluded his business and left after learning when the room would be cataloged. He'd visited occasionally over the next several weeks, the painting disappearing on the night before the scheduled inventory. The unfortunate Colonel Schmidt was not in any condition to be interrogated about the empty spot on the library wall. LaCroix looked from the painting to Kalmia, raising a questioning eyebrow. "No, Lucius, I didn't pose for the portrait." Her laughter bubbled on the air as she deliberately pushed a stray strand of hair from her cheek. "Although I've always enjoyed looking at his work." "I'm pleased you had sufficient time to enjoy Monsieur Titian's handiwork without it interfering too much with your investigation of the rest of my private possessions. Is there more you need to look at? I can leave the room to give you more time if you like." His tone was dry, but he didn't prevent his still-raised eyebrow and the slightly quirked corner of his mouth from communicating his actual feelings about Kalmia's invasion of his privacy. "I had to do...," She paused to swallow another peel of laughter. "...something while you were...," - this attempt to prevent a giggle from escaping ended in a snort - "...rearranging the furniture." She finally gave up the fight to control her mirth and with it any possibility of retaining her dignity and collapsed forward in her chair, her unrestrained laughter releasing the last of the tension that had gripped her since she'd left Florence, her tears for a change those of happiness . Why did this man, who could, and had, so easily hurt her always make her feel so safe? *There* was a question for the ages - perhaps she'd spend a few of them trying to answer it. "Actually, the furniture is fine. It's only the wine cellar that suffered from my attentions." With that, LaCroix surrendered to the moment and joined in Kalmia's laughter, lifting her out of the chair to watch her eyes - sparkling with joy all the way to their depths. In the bar, Miklos looked toward the office from where he knelt scrubbing the last of the stains out of the carpet. He shook his head in disbelief. LaCroix laughing? - no it couldn't be. When they finally regained control, Kalmia leaned comfortably against LaCroix' shoulder on the leather sofa, allowing him to wipe the moisture from her cheek, his tentative touch a reminder of how carefully they still needed to deal with each other. His obvious struggle to keep from licking the blood from his fingers gleefully reminded her of another assignation in another room almost 2 millennia ago. She searched for a way to ask about it without touching another only partially healed wound. She'd done enough of that this evening and knew she would probe more painfully still before sunrise. Until then she wanted to tread lightly on the memories of their mortality. "How did you do it?" LaCroix wiped his fingers on the black silk handkerchief he'd had in his breast pocket and folded it carefully before slipping it into one of his trouser pockets. "How did I do what?" "Intimidate all of Seline's patrons before you left Pompeii." LaCroix started so violently, Kalmia was sure she'd found another of his "hot buttons". They both had so many, carefully guarded and nurtured over the centuries it would be impossible not to stumble over more than one. So she was amazed when he merely looked at her, astonishment lighting his clear blue eyes. "You do have the most remarkable penchant for turning my every plan to your advantage, sometimes even before I execute it. Do you do it to everyone, or is it only me?" "Wh - I - Uh -" The look of utter confusion on her face triggered another paroxysm of unaccustomed laughter. This time it flowed from deep inside him at an easy tempo, quickening as Kalmia's fluting giggle joined it in an intricate fugue. Kalmia recovered first. "I haven't laughed like that in years - centuries. To answer your question, I don't know if I do it to anyone else; you're the first person who's ever mentioned it as a problem." "You have no idea how much of a problem it was, my charming little mouse. You would have made an excellent field tactician. I wouldn't have wanted to face you on the battlefield as you anticipated every plan I tried. Of course, I had first-hand experience at how well you thwarted any number of perfectly sound strategies without the inconvenience of living in a tent and eating soldier's bread." "So you *did* treat our...relationship as a battle to be won. I was never sure." LaCroix gently touched his ancient "adversary's" cheek and smiled quietly. "And I was never sure if I'd won or lost." He lightly brushed his lips across her forehead and was rewarded as a hint of honey appeared to warm her exquisite skin. Knowing she couldn't let this go any farther and still be willing to hurt him enough to get the answers she needed, Kalmia reluctantly moved away from his kiss. Gods, not yet. She wasn't ready to give all of this up again. Not so soon. She deliberately returned to her original question. "So, how *did* you intimidate all those men?" Sensing that there was something Kalmia was avoiding & already dreading the moment she decided to tackle it, LaCroix stoically answered her. "Everyone has a price, a secret, a weakness. Just the knowledge that someone else has that information is usually enough to guarantee cooperation." His voice was totally matter-of-fact. He could have been reading stock quotes or giving directions for getting to the Via Appia. He really was the most ruthless person she had ever known. She wished she felt more uncomfortable with that quality in him. That she didn't said more about her than it did about him, she was afraid. She also wondered if he had ever learned her...weakness. And what he would have done with it if he had. Kalmia refused the hand LaCroix offered to draw her back to his side, instead sliding to the other end of the couch. She looked at him intently, mirth still dominant in her eyes, but he could see the stirrings of something else, something much darker, in their depths. He once again worked to postpone what he now knew to be inevitable. "Why do you think I...influenced Seline's patrons? And for what purpose?" Kalmia chuckled, relishing the memory. "Lucius, it became very obvious when night after night my "clients", all of them successful businessmen or politicians were unable to look at me directly and fumbled around like virgins when they'd finally drunk enough wine to do what they'd paid for." Her chuckle exploded into a full-throated sound that echoed around the office. "Senator Quintullus was the worst. He -." A low growl from the other end of the couch stopped her reminiscence. She looked up to see LaCroix' eyes flashing gold, his fangs budding over his lower lip. "Quintullus." He snarled the name as if it were a curse. "His appetites were best indulged in the sewers. His ideas of pleasure I, literally, wouldn't have visited on my worst enemies." The vampire's fangs retracted as his initial anger faded, his eyes now only flecked with gold as he paced the room. "He was warned not to hurt you. He didn't do more than...?" He broke off the question, knowing he still didn't want confirmation of what he'd known intellectually for 19 centuries. . Kalmia shuddered. "Given what I heard about him, I don't think I'd be standing here if he had. Actually, under the circumstances, he was quite gentlemanly in his attentions." Although LaCroix' features no longer displayed any trace of his immortal alter ego, his voice still reflected its menace as he asked, "Who else disobeyed my instructions?" She opted for a light response, hoping to turn the discussion away from memories suddenly too fresh to buffer. Tilting her head to one side, a half smile bending her lips, all but batting her eyelashes at him, she asked flirtatiously, "What "instructions" did you give them?" The ex-soldier started to bark out an order for her to answer his question, but the former lover, alarms triggered by her totally out of character response, pulled it back unissued. She had never been a coquette, not when they first met or when she'd looked up at him through lowered lids, her chiton falling in waves around her feet. She had always been honest with her emotions. they were always there to be seen - if you looked deeply enough and if you were willing to pay the price. Unwilling to face either the truth or the consequences of what she chose such obvious artifice to conceal, he brushed her shoulder in gentle acknowledgment of her choice - and his acceptance of it. Gracefully assuming the seat near his desk that Kalmia had used earlier, he leaned toward her, his mouth resting lightly on his steepled fingers and spoke softly, wondering if this topic would be off limits as well. "You never did explain why you accepted my return with such...equanimity. Our parting held out no such hope." The coquette vanished as Kalmia fought to prevent the past from overrunning the present once again. She knew Lucius had no idea how much pain his question caused - she'd made sure of that very long ago. But that also meant she had no way to stop him from asking. So once again she felt the despair of that night in the bath overwhelm her; the fear his words had rekindled flowing like ice through a body once again warm with life. Seeing only the past, forgetting that he would have no trouble hearing her in the present, she whispered, "I had no hope left to give." End Old Acquaintance Part 06/11> Please send all comments, etc. to bevainio@att.net See disclaimers in part 01 Old Acquaintance (07/11) By: Barbara Vainio ******************************* ***Pompeii, continuous *** She'd maintained her rigid control until she left the bath. Glad the others were busy in the main salon, she fell onto her bed and surrendered herself to the emotions she'd refused to show to Lucius. She curled into a tight ball, her tears soaking the straw of her mattress, her sobs shaking the wooden frame that held it. "I see that Lucius informed you of the change in your duties." Seline's icy voice stopped her tears - and froze her soul. She would *not* allow the madam to relish her misery. The young woman stood up, straightened her clothing and faced her owner. Although her eyes were red-rimmed and she had to wipe her nose, there was no mistaking her acceptance for servility as she inclined her head. "I'll be prepared to begin my duties as soon as the general returns to his troops." Her voice contained not quite a challenge, but much more than mere curiosity as she asked, "That is the agreement you negotiated, isn't it?" Seline raised her hand, but swiftly dropped it to her side. She'd pushed Lucius far enough tonight; slapping his current favorite, while providing momentary satisfaction, would almost certainly have less than pleasant long-term consequences. Besides, there would be other opportunities for discipline if the slave continued her defiance. She contented herself with saying, "Use the next two weeks to improve your demeanor. Lucius may have enjoyed this attitude, but I'm quite sure Senator Quintullus won't be as tolerant." The madam smiled as she saw her message strike home. She was glad that the Senator's reputation had already reached the girl's ears. It was unfortunate that he took his pleasure so savagely, but his reputation in the Senate ensured that other high-ranking officials came with him...and he paid well for his entertainment. Kalmia fought to keep from gasping as she heard Quintullus' name. She'd heard the others talking about him and how his preferences often left his partners unable to work, or even leave their rooms, for weeks. She merely inclined her head again and moved back to the bed as Seline left the room. Kalmia had thought that there could be nothing worse than her capture and enslavement. The next 14 days proved her wrong. She and Lucius met each evening - at his request - in their usual room, sitting uncomfortably at opposite ends of the couch, barely speaking after their initial greeting, eyes focused on the wine goblets they each emptied too often. Torn between wanting to sob her fear away on his shoulder and refusing to let him see her panic, she sat with her hands in her lap, stealing glances at his face, hoping to see some crack in the unyielding mask his features had assumed. All too soon, that hope was gone as well. As he left that final night, Lucius turned in the doorway, his hand reaching to caress her cheek, wanting one last moment of contact. He dropped it, unused, to his side as she turned away, unwilling to touch the glacial cold of her condemnation. He looked at her rigid back, knowing it would haunt his dreams. "I'm sorry, Kalmia." His voice broke on the words, but his face betrayed nothing as he walked past his colleagues in the main salon. The next few weeks passed numbly, flowing unconscious on a river of wine. Kalmia moved from day to day, from name to name: Quintullus, Marcellus, Flavius, Gracchus. She saw no faces, heard no words, felt no touch. If she had dreams, she refused herself the pleasure of their memories. "Kalmia, attend Senator Quintullus in his usual room." Seline's voice penetrated her self-imposed isolation, forcing her to focus carefully on the words being spoken. Why was she being asked to do this? She had already completed her work for the evening. Wasn't Aurelia with Quintullus? She looked quizzically at the madam, trying to ask the questions her mind could barely formulate. "Why?...Aurelia?...Where?" It was so hard to say the words out loud. "Aurelia is...indisposed. The Senator is waiting for you." Kalmia knew Aurelia had been fine several hours ago. Why would she suddenly become indisposed? This first tear in the net of detachment she'd woven around herself made her gasp at the emotions it released - emotions that ripped the rest of her cocoon apart and allowed her to begin to regain the control she'd surrendered. Assuming Kalmia's gasp was caused by her fear of suffering Aurelia's fate with Qunitullus, one of the other prostitutes whispered as she walked by, "Don't worry, he won't hurt *you*." Kalmia stared at the older woman in confusion before walking slowly toward the Senator's room. The next several weeks seemed to confirm what Kalmia had heard, but she was unable to speak to the woman who had made the comment. Finally Kalmia followed her into the bath and grabbed her arm to keep her from walking away. She asked her questions rapidly, knowing she didn't have much time to get the answers. "Why did you say that Quintullus wouldn't hurt *me*? Why have the others been less than aggressive in their attentions? What's going on?" The prostitute, whose name Kalmia had never heard, searched her face intently, a smile slowly lighting her face. "You really don't know, do you?" The woman started to laugh. "Lucius...convinced the others to treat you well in his absence. None of them, not even Quintullus, would dare ignore the General's 'suggestion'". Kalmia's eyes opened wide as she tried to absorb the meaning of what she'd just been told. Lucius hadn't abandoned her, hadn't hated her, hadn't consigned her to this fate. Why hadn't he told her? Her laugh was ironic as she answered that question easily. Lucius would never let anyone see something that could be considered a weakness - that could be used against him. Thank you, -," Kalmia hoped the woman would supply her name. "Cecelia." Kalmia thought as she heard the pronunciation. Perhaps they could become allies - maybe even friends. She smiled at the thought and felt the other woman relax, an answering smile curving her lips. The younger woman decided to try for additional information. "Cecelia, since General Lucius wouldn't have tried to protect me if he'd ordered my participation in our activities," (her heart sang as she accepted the truth of her words) "do you know why it happened?" "I -." She shook Kalmia's hand from her arm as she turned her head to the side, breaking their gaze. Her words raced out in a jumbled whisper. "No one knows for sure. I have no idea. Please, don't ask me again. Be thankful you have the General's protection and accept what the gods have ordained for you." Having no interest in what the gods wanted - unless it agreed with her plans, Kalmia asked again, urgently trying to reestablish some level of communication. "Cecelia, please -." Fear glittering in her eyes, she pushed Kalmia toward the doorway. "I can't. I'm sorry. I wish - ." Not waiting to hear the woman's wishes Kalmia left the bath. Kalmia and Cecelia forged a cautious alliance, never mentioning the conversation in the bath but always aware of what had been shared - and what hadn't. They were often requested to work together and Cecelia adopted Kalmia's habit of bathing immediately after the evening's efforts. They would seriously discuss the preferences of new patrons and laugh about the requests of regulars. Kalmia never asked again about who had engineered her change in status, but she was pretty sure she knew - once she became aware of the small, slim figure who seemed always to be nearby, looking intently at her, hatred smoldering in eyes much older than her 7 years. Late one evening Kalmia sat easily in Qunitullus' embrace - a position she had assumed more and more often during the previous six months. He rarely requested her private attentions, but seemed to appreciate her companionship in public. Although she despised his continued harsh treatment of his partners - Aurelia still hadn't returned to work - she found it easier and easier to enjoy his conversation. His attention also limited her participation in the other activities of Seline's establishment. As she laughed quietly at some comment the Senator made, she stiffened at the sound of a familiar voice in the entry. Quintullus looked toward the sound as well and smiled with triumph. He watched as Kalmia tried out several expressions before settling on polite disinterest. He tightened his grip on her shoulder until it was hard enough to make her wince. He waited until Lucius' gaze was near their location and ground his mouth against hers as he held her brutally against his chest. Divia heard the General's voice from her usual place in the shadows near Kalmia. Unable to prevent the burst of joy that propelled her forward, she ran to the edge of the lamp light waiting to welcome her father home. Seline's soft gasp of surprise was audible in the sudden silence. She hadn't expected him this evening. She had heard he was back, but assumed he would follow his usual routine of remaining at home on his first night in Pompeii. She looked toward the entrance, a smile fixed on her face, trying to rearrange the evening's assignments to ensure he had whatever companionship he required. Lucius had taken only enough time to bathe and change into appropriate attire before he came to the brothel. Years of military discipline compelled him to ignore the insidious whisper that it would be better to face Kalmia tomorrow evening. He knew that such weakness could become habit - one that he would tolerate in neither his troops nor himself. As he reached the atrium, he paused to reinforce the invisible armor of his self-control before pushing past the house slaves and calling, "Seline." He walked into a scene that might have been carved on a frieze. No one moved and the silence was absolute. He enjoyed the reaction his entrance caused, the knowledge of the power he had as intoxicating as wine. His gaze automatically swept around the room, noticing who was there and who was not; who was with whom and who had changed partners - information to be used at some later time when he needed an advantage. But even *his* self-control couldn't prevent him from pausing briefly at the unwelcome sight of Kalmia and Quintullus locked in a fierce embrace. How dare Quintullus ignore his specific order? How could Kalmia...? He mastered his anger quickly, but the pain of Kalmia's betrayal was harder to ignore. Obviously her hatred of him hadn't lessened in the 6 months he'd been gone: she couldn't even look at him. He forced his scrutiny past the Senator's couch to see Divia standing in the background, arms at her sides, head lowered, up-turned eyes desperately begging him to see her. She began to move toward the invitation of his smile, pleasure smoothing the scars of her father's past neglect. Kalmia wasn't sure she had heard Lucius' voice over her laughter. She turned toward the sound and froze when she realized it was really him. She wasn't ready for this. She hadn't had time to sort out all her feelings. . The truth of the thought escalated her panic. Fear... pain... disappointment... confusion... curiosity... comfort... joy all coursed through her in a split second. She glanced at Quintullus and was sickened by the expression of cold victory she saw on his face. Before she could react, he forced her against his chest and ground his lips against hers, making it impossible for her to cry out or even to breathe. She tried to pull away from him, but was able to manage only a small movement of her head, one that resulted in her teeth cutting through her lower lip as the Senator applied additional pressure. Lucius opened his arms to Divia, genuinely happy to see her. He would enjoy spending time with her while he was here. Divia quickly closed the distance between them, relishing her father's gentle hands on her shoulders as she smiled up at him. As the General bent down to greet her, he was distracted by a small movement from one of the couches. If he hadn't been fresh from the battlefield he might not have noticed it at all. He turned his head to find the source of the movement and the anger he had successfully throttled barely a minute earlier flared hotly as he saw the thin ribbon of blood trickling down Kalmia's chin and realized that it was her movement that had caught his attention. He moved Divia aside so quickly that she would have fallen if her mother hadn't steadied her with a discreet hand. "Quintullus." The growl was easily heard by everyone in the room even though Lucius' voice was barely a whisper. He walked deliberately toward the couch, ignoring the now frightened Senator and lifted his hand palm up. "Kalmia, come with me." The command in his tone could not be denied. Kalmia stood up from the floor where the Senator's hurried release had sent her and rubbed the back of her hand over her lips, whether to ease the pain or scrub away the taste of Quintullus' mouth she didn't know. Lucius stopped her before she could wipe away the blood,. With his eyes freezing Quintullus in place, he used his thumb to remove the still moist red line. Pitching his voice no louder than before he asked, "Did...I...not...warn...you...about...mistreating...my...property?" The Senator gulped and backed away from the fury in the General's gaze, almost falling off the couch himself. He wondered briefly how it was possible for eyes the color of ice to contain such fire. He tried a smile, but produced only a sickly substitute. "Ask her. I haven't hurt her. I've been very careful to treat her well. She enjoyed spending time with me. ASK HER!!" His words tumbled out, his voice becoming higher and more shrill as he realized he might very well be begging for his life. "I never forced her. I did what you asked. I didn't hurt her." Lucius looked intently at the red stain on his thumb, transferred his gaze momentarily to Kalmia's obviously cut lip, and favored the politician with a contemptuous smile. "I'm sure the Emperor will be distressed by the pressing personal problems that require your withdrawal from the Senate. I'm also sure he'll approve your request to retire to one of our more remote outposts." "Gods, you can't be serious. I didn't do anything to deserve this." Lucius leaned down until his lips were right next to the Senator's ear. "It will be much more difficult to live in comfort without the gold you've been hiding from the tax collectors. And besides, how much respect would even a *wealthy* eunuch be able to command?" The Senator looked into the warrior's eyes and knew these weren't idle threats. He looked around the room, saw no support from men he'd considered his friends, and said, "I'll leave for Rome tomorrow." Lucius held out his hand toward Kalmia again and waited until she rested hers on it before saying no one in particular, "I assume my usual room is available." Confident that the no one would contradict him, he started walking slowly forward, his hand closing around Kalmia's to ensure she followed. The habit of the last several months made her look at her owner to ask permission to leave. She stumbled at the sight of Divia shrugging off her mother's touch, tears streaming down her face from eyes that stared at her with the fierce concentration of a predator who had sighted her prey - eyes that would haunt Kalmia's dreams for centuries. Lucius merely tightened his hold on her hand to steady her and without looking back led her through the room. Please send all comments, etc. to bevainio@att.net See disclaimers in part 01 Old Acquaintance (08/11) By: Barbara Vainio ******************************* ***Toronto*** LaCroix remained in the chair, waiting for Kalmia to return to the present. He'd wanted to hold her, soothe her as he watched her battle the memories his question had awakened. Was there anything that they could share that didn't cause one of them almost intolerable pain? He wished he knew if his touch would help or hurt. He'd never been totally sure what she felt about him...for him; had never been willing to risk knowing for certain. He dropped his head into his hands and closed his eyes, unsure if he had the strength to find out now. "Did I ever tell you that the moment your hand closed over mine that night at Seline's I felt totally safe for the first time in months?" LaCroix' head flew up, his eyes wide at the content of her question. Kalmia's laugh was short and rough, but her eyes reflected amusement around their dark centers. "Did I do it again? I'm sorry - I really didn't plan it." He stood up and walked toward her, but stopped a few feet away when he sensed her withdrawal. His eyes softened as he searched her face, wishing they could regain the easy relationship they'd shared at Seline's after his first return; wondering for the first time if it had ever really existed anywhere except in his imagination. Had she merely accommodated his wishes, as any slave - any well trained whore - would? He shook his head and consigned the thought, and the sharp stab of sorrow it brought, to the emotional limbo he'd maintained since long before he'd been brought across. He forced his voice to be light as he spoke. "So that's why you didn't reject my company when I returned, Mus? I made you feel safe?" "Certainly safer than Quintullus did." Kalmia watched as LaCroix' head jerked to one side as though she had physically slapped him. She half rose from the couch, reaching her hand toward him before slipping back to her seat. The answer to the last question, at least, was easy: from the moment she'd heard his voice this evening, she'd known she wouldn't ever return to her comfortable, secluded, completely organized life. Even before Lucius had tipped everything upside down, she'd realized it was time for her to rejoin the world - just this short glimpse of it had fascinated her, pulled her to experience more of it. She tried to ease the sting of her words, partial truths at best anyway. She took another, still physically unnecessary, deep breath and let it out in a sigh. Time for the whole truth - or at least more of it than she'd faced in a millennium. She looked at his face, still turned away from her, and quietly began to speak of things she'd refused to even think of for centuries. "Being rescued from Quintullus was certainly part of it - although that really *was* the first time he'd deliberately hurt me." LaCroix's snort of disbelief interrupted her briefly, but she gathered her thoughts again and plunged on. "None of Seline's patrons were anything other than considerate - given the circumstances. I think they would have avoided me altogether if she hadn't encouraged them to use my services. Initially, I was too - I suppose now it would be called depressed - to notice anything that was happening to me, but once Cecelia told me you had -" LaCroix turned to face her, smiling delightedly, like a child who had correctly placed a difficult piece of a puzzle. "That's why you asked me to make her part of my household staff when she was no longer useful to Seline." Kalmia almost missed the smile, so quickly was it replaced with a look of detached inquiry. "Thank you for your help. I owed her more than even that favor could repay." The backs of her fingers briefly rubbed her breast bone as though that could ease the pain of Cecelia's loss, but it was as sharp as it had been the evening Lucius had told her of her friend's death. He had held her for hours, allowing her tears to soak his tunic, occasionally brushing or kissing them from her cheeks. She willed her sorrow, and the sensuous warmth the memory of Lucius' embrace had brought, back into hiding and took up her narrative again, the tempo now faster, the tone more insistent. "I had totally convinced myself you had dictated everything that had happened to me. I had no idea what I'd done to displease you so horribly that you wanted to punish me, but I couldn't imagine any other reason for Seline to send me to work. You had made it very clear that you were in charge of me and my fate, so what else could I think?" She stood up and paced the floor with increasing speed until even LaCroix saw nothing but a blur. When she finally stopped she was as far away from him as it was possible to be in the confines of the office. Whirling around to face him, she flung a final question across the room. "WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME?" LaCroix wasn't prepared for the anguish the question held - or for the golden stare that that demanded his attention. His fangs dropped and the color of his eyes reflected hers as he instantly accepted the challenge. Kalmia's canines lengthened as well and they began circling, low growls their only form of communication. The part of him that he always kept in tight control, ( he thought as he remembered his recent decimation of the house special inventory) wondered if she would actually attack him. he noted wryly, as she feinted forward, like a fencer probing for a weakness in an opponent's guard. He backed up quickly, refusing to hurt her no matter what she did to him. He speculated on how much control she had left. He knew she'd used a great deal of her reserves to recover from whatever had preceded her need for a bath. He also assumed that she was struggling as hard as he was to keep from being overwhelmed by either present emotions or past memories. There was only one way to know for sure. He slowly compelled his body to relax, feeling his teeth retract, his vision clearing as well. He looked carefully at the vampire across from him: if he guessed wrong about either her level of control or her interest in exercising it... When Kalmia didn't press the advantage he'd given her, he turned his back, and said so softly even she would have trouble hearing it, "Gold compliments the honey tones of your skin quite nicely, Mus." He tensed as he felt a rush of air, followed by the grip of a very strong hand on his shoulder spinning him around as though he were no stronger than a mortal child. . Her musical laugh trilled on the air as she slowly removed her hand and stepped away. "Did you drop your defenses like that very often on the battlefield? If so, it's remarkable that you weren't carried home on your shield." The shadow that briefly dimmed her once again gray eyes at that image pleased him. He smiled as he reached for her hand, gently kissing the fingers, his eyes always on her face. "But I had a significant advantage here: I know my enemy." Answering his unvoiced thought once again, she smiled in return. "At least you hoped you did." LaCroix drew her towards him with only a gentle increase in pressure on her finger tips. When she was close enough, he released her hand and, giving her time to retreat, slowly bent down to kiss her, touching her only with his lips. She didn't return the kiss, but when she didn't back away he brought his right hand up, palm flat, to smooth the hair back from her cheek - still making no request for her active participation. It took all the self-restraint he still had to pull away when he tasted the mix of copper and salt (and so much more) on his mouth. "Mus?" Too tired for the moment to fight her emotions, Kalmia let the tears run unchecked, the dark red rivulets garish against her pale skin. Reluctant to push their intimacy any further, LaCroix silently handed her the folded handkerchief he'd used earlier and moved back to the couch. She turned away, wiped her eyes, scrubbed at her cheeks and tried to blot the drops that had fallen on his shirt. She sniffled several times, rubbing the square of black silk under her nose as well. When she turned to face him, her smile was tentative but genuine. "I'm afraid I ruined your shirt - and your handkerchief." She dangled the crumpled, blood-smeared silk square at arms length, her thumb and index finger gripping only a small corner. LaCroix lifted an amused eyebrow as he caught the bedraggled piece of cloth in his up-turned palm and let it spill slowly to the floor. Someone would pick it up later. "A fact of our chosen lifestyle I've learned to accept over the centuries. It's not important. What *is* important is why you -" "Lucius, I really need to know why you didn't tell me the truth about what happened at Seline's." His eyebrow lowered quickly as he once again schooled his features into an impassive mask. "Whose truth do you want? Mine? Seline's?...Divia's?" Why was it still so hard to say her name; still so easy to feel the heat & smell the smoke of her funeral pyre? "Yours will do for a start." Kalmia's soft voice barely carried across the inches that separated them. LaCroix moved to the side of the desk, the fingers of his right hand pressing heavily on the polished surface. "Why is *my* truth so important? It has no more significance than any other. Whatever truth you've lived with for all these years is all you really need." "What makes you think I've *lived* at all?" He could almost taste the bitterness of the question on the back of his tongue, like blood left standing too long. "You mentioned children, grandchildren. You recognize fine art and appreciate great literature. How can you do all that without living, Mus? "Everything was brought to me. Anything - anyone - I wanted, delivered to me. The Renaissance? Paraded in front of me as I sat in my villa. A sip of Botticelli here; a taste of Michaelangelo there. Nothing too damaging, just enough to let me enjoy their art. The 1960's? Watch the protests on TV; ask your children what they were like; drink the violence from your grandchildren's blood." She drew a ragged breath, the acid of her confession burning more painfully than the brightest sun. "Paintings were brought to me by their artists; I read books when their ink was barely dry. Titian offered me the painting on your wall shortly after he finished it. I refused it because it reminded me too much of you - of us - of life... Her thoughts swirled in turmoil. She readied herself to take flight - to run back to the safety of her completely regulated existence, where she wouldn't have to fight these emotions; where her defenses were strong enough to repel anything that was allowed to get too close. She looked at Lucius one last time, to remember enough about him to last an eternity...and stopped. She'd come too far to hide again - from the world or from herself. Could this man who had always gone out to meet life - to savor and conquer it - even begin to understand any of this? She saw only curiosity in his expression, but she wondered what he really thought, what he refused to let her see. For one of the rare times in his very long life LaCroix was stunned. Kalmia had confused him, surprised him and turned his emotions upside down many times (including this evening), but never to this extent. The vampire community had buzzed for centuries with rumors of a member so reclusive she never ventured out; so powerful that she could command that anything be brought to her; so protected that very few people even knew her name and those who did were either loyal - or afraid - enough not to reveal it. LaCroix had always dismissed the stories as inventions of minds that had become bored by centuries of monotony. To find out the legends were true and that they centered around Mus was beyond even his ability to accept stoically. He sifted through the tales he'd heard and had to suppress the shiver that wanted to rush along his spine. If only half the rumors were true, he was very lucky Kalmia didn't hold a grudge - or had something more important on her mind than collecting old debts. The thought didn't make him feel any more comfortable. "Lucius?" He dragged his attention back to this woman he no longer knew, who was at least as powerful as he was and, if the stories were true, no less hesitant to use her gifts. He recoiled slightly when he realized she had moved to stand next to him. She deliberately reinforced his uneasiness, allowing her eyes to become dark with tiny flickers of gold deep in their centers,. "So you've heard the rumors." It was satisfying - one might even call it fun - to put Lucius at a disadvantage for a change, to be in control. She smiled wolfishly and lightly touched his arm, her voice expressionless as she told him, "Don't worry. If I really wanted you dead, you would be." "Why doesn't that reassure me?" He easily picked her hand from his arm and gently stroked the fingers before letting it fall to her side, never doubting that she meant what she said, but refusing to let her see how much the thought unsettled him. The silver notes of her laughter chimed as she pirouetted away from him, her eyes again the color of clouds heavy with rain. She stopped next to the couch and gracefully sank onto its leather cushions. She crossed her legs at the ankles, hiding her enjoyment in their sudden role reversal with a gentle question. "Now will you tell me why you left Seline's without letting me know what you had arranged?" She patted the sofa next to her and LaCroix read the invitation in her eyes. Not capable of ignoring the challenge only partially concealed by her quiet voice, he quickly seated himself on her right and turned so he was facing her, his black-clad left arm blending with the leather where it rested on the back of the sofa. He dragged air into his lungs as he fought his millennia-old instinct to hide his vulnerability from everyone - enemy or friend. He searched Kalmia's profile looking for a clue to which camp she was currently in. Not willing to cede control, but unable to refuse him a small gesture of reassurance, she reached for the hand resting a few inches from her head and, without looking at him, covered it briefly with hers. The tactician assessed the options available and the general once again tried to negotiate the best terms. "Will you answer one of my questions when I'm through?" Kalmia chuckled softly. "Still looking for an edge, Lucius? Even when your mouse transforms herself into a cat - or is it a snake? - you still won't concede defeat." She glanced sideways at him and finished softly, once again unable to keep up her pretense, "I guess that's why I learned to feel safe when I was with you." She turned to face him completely so he could see the light dancing in her eyes as she agreed to his terms. "Very well, one question. Choose it carefully." The fingers she'd so briefly touched clenched tightly as he again fought for control - whether to keep from tearing her throat out or caressing it until she moaned with pleasure he chose not to examine - right now either would have given him equal enjoyment. He looked at her face, now in profile again, as he forced himself to begin speaking, his words as dry as the mouth that shaped them. "Seline informed me two weeks before I was scheduled to return to the field that if you didn't spend time with her other clients she would have you sold to the worst brothel she could find. I had - have - no idea why she reached that decision, but I knew she would carry out the threat. I negotiated the best terms I could, giving me those final two weeks to...mitigate the impact on you." He paused to see what effect his explanation was having on his former lover, but she had already swung her hair forward to hide even her profile. Kalmia refused to accept the touch that would have pushed her hair back, asking quietly, "Why didn't you tell me all this when it happened?" "Your knowledge of my plans would have had no benefit and might have even caused problems if you had reacted differently than expected. I was only trying to protect you - " "By encouraging me to believe that you were deliberately abandoning me with no regrets? I knew I would have to service Seline's clients eventually. After all she did buy me to be a whore." Kalmia allowed the word to echo on the air between them as she paused for breath, seeing her former protector grimace at its harsh implications. "It was believing that *you* saw me that way that made it so painful. I'd begun to think - ." She flung herself off the couch and whirled to face him, her eyes again amber. "The hell with what I thought. What were *you* thinking? No, what were you *feeling* as you carried out your orders? You *were* "asked to inform me personally", if I remember correctly?" Her memory of his exact words after all these centuries made him wince. He'd obviously hurt her much more than he'd realized. a small, usually silent, voice asked insistently. Damning the thought back to the hell it came from, he spoke deliberately in answer to her question. "I was a soldier, Mus, a general. I learned to accept responsibility for the results of my actions - even reveled in accepting it in some cases. Even though some of those duties were considered unpleasant I still carried them out. Letting people see how I *felt* about what I had to do wouldn't change anyone's reaction to the news that their son or husband was dead or that the legions had suffered a significant defeat." His pride required him to add, "Not that I had to report the latter very often." Another time Kalmia would have laughed at the boast, or just ignored it, but now it pierced the last layer of her restraint, releasing feelings buried for hundreds of years, shattering the pretense that their relationship after his first return erased the anguish of the months before it. Completely her mother's daughter, not knowing what she said, not caring what Lucius would have left when she was finished, her pain exploded into words as sharp as diamonds hardened by centuries of unending pressure. "Did you ever really *feel* anything, General? Anything human or moral or even remotely civilized, I mean? Or did you just feast on the misery you caused and the power it allowed you to claim?" Please send all comments, etc. to bevainio@att.net See disclaimers in part 01 Old Acquaintance (09/11) By: Barbara Vainio ******************************* LaCroix reeled under the verbal assault, feeling every word tear through flesh into spirit like the strokes of some bewitched sword. He looked up at Kalmia, and left the couch, unwilling to give her the continued advantage of height. He forced himself to walk slowly across the room to as he tried to assess the damage her attack had caused. Everything he had ever felt for her, for Divia...Fleur...Janette...Nicholas, was seeping out of a hundred small wounds, threatening to drown him in a slow but inexorable flood. The reemergence of lifetimes of emotions became physical anguish as his vision blurred and nerve endings sparked with emerging pain. He reached the desk and hunched over it, his head almost touching the mahogany surface, his arms barely strong enough to hold him. Her demand echoed in his mind, muddling his thoughts, refusing to allow him to consider his options. He collapsed into the chair as his legs refused to support him and slumped forward. He could feel her across the room: unmoved and unmoving, staring coldly at his back. This time, there would be no quick touch of her hand in reassurance, no brief burst of bright laughter. He had no doubt that she was determined enough to get whatever she needed and powerful enough to leave him dead in the process - a fate that didn't seem all that bad right now. If he told her what she wanted to know, spoke of feelings he hadn't acknowledged even as a mortal, he knew he would never again be able to retreat to the safety of self-deception: this last surrender in addition to everything else that had happened to him, to his children, in the recent past would deny him that luxury. He felt movement behind him and turned to see Kalmia walking toward the office door, her carriage regal and her face expressionless, ignoring him as though she were alone in the room. . He lifted his hand toward Kalmia's unyielding back but dropped it as he had all those centuries ago. , countered that annoying voice that he suddenly couldn't seem to stifle. The warmth he felt at the memory of her laugh had to be an illusion...didn't it? He watched Kalmia cross the threshold - and the trickle of emotion her words had started became a torrent, tearing open wounds that his vampire strength had no power to heal. He knew, as surely as if he had tasted it in her blood, this was what Kalmia had felt when he left her at Seline's: despair, sorrow, hopelessness...fear. Trembling from the effort to control the waves of anguish crashing through his spirit, the soldier acknowledged the tremendous strength it had taken to survive not only his leaving but also what had followed it, and admitted that she had earned the right to have her questions answered. "I wanted to hold you, to look into your eyes one more time, I even reached out to do it, but in the end I didn't have the courage to watch you as I left." The soft words, rasped out in uneven rhythm, reached Kalmia just before even her extraordinary senses would have been unable to hear them. Another two steps and she would have been able to convince herself that leaving in silence was the best solution. Instead, she was forced to decide if she wanted to ride another emotional roller coaster with this man who made her feel totally alive even as she contemplated dying to keep from being hurt again. She took another step, trying to walk away from the decision that had already been made. Her next step turned her around, unsure whether it was taking her backwards or forward. "Then I'm guilty of cowardice as well. I was to afraid to see the look that would confirm my feelings." She took a few more hesitant steps and reached the doorway. "I think I'll refuse the blindfold as we're brought in front of the firing squad. Cowardice *is* still a capital offense, isn't it?" LaCroix had looked up at her first words, trembling now with relief. He accepted this reversal of fortune with the fagade of detachment that had been forged in the tide of battle and refined by centuries of survival, but it could no longer completely disguise his true reactions. He stood up and crossed the room as Kalmia finished speaking, his back once again straight, his stride graceful. His eyes were warm as he joked, "It would definitely be...educational to face a firing squad with you. Perhaps we should find some place where they still use them." Kalmia's spirit soared at his words. The thought of exploring the world with him, the fact that he seemed to want her to do so, was exhilarating. She didn't even hesitate to consider the consequences. Where had the reserved, constrained matriarch gone? She smiled as she contemplated her family's reaction to her decision. Could vampires have their elders declared incompetent? She couldn't quite suppress the giggle that delighted LaCroix as he reached for her hand and drew her back into the room. "But I'm afraid our search will have to wait -" Kalmia's obvious disappointment made him smile as he walked toward the sofa. "- until you've answered *my* question." He turned his head toward her as he preceded her to the sofa, the smile still softening the ice in his eyes and asked, "How did you become - what was your phrase - a member of the community?" Kalmia's elation vanished with the question. She jerked to a halt and would have fallen if LaCroix had been mortal. Even his superhuman reflexes were almost not quick enough to keep him from pulling her off her feet as he continued forward. The lingering blush from her earlier feeding drained from her face, leaving it blue-tinged. LaCroix spun around to pull her against him with one arm, tearing at his other wrist before his fangs could even descend, shredding both cloth and skin. Kalmia smelled the blood and instinctively reached for the strength and comfort she knew she'd find in it - and pulled away before she could taste it. "NO!" She forced herself to turn her head from the tantalizing liquid welling up from his wrist and broke away from his supporting arm to put more distance between herself and the headily seductive scent threatening to overpower her too slowly returning defenses. LaCroix reached for her as the jagged gash in his forearm began to close. His thoughts now hooded by half-lowered eyelids, he gently guided her to the end of the sofa and swung her legs onto the cushions as she sat. "I'll be right back. You obviously need to feed, and since you choose not to use my blood I'll try to find something more palatable." His words, which scant hours ago would have been delivered with seeming indifference, held more than a hint of regret. Kalmia used his absence to take a deep breath and try to gather her thoughts, but the intoxicating scent of blood - *his* blood - in the air forced her to abandon her efforts. She had wondered for several lifetimes who the tightly-controlled, unyielding man she had welcomed as her lover really was. Was he only as he allowed himself to be seen - arrogant, ruthless...cruel? Or was that just the buffer he created to deflect things he couldn't control? Kalmia was amazed that Lucius would have even taken the risk of allowing her to read his blood. Of course, he had probably learned to shield his thoughts quite as effectively as she had over the centuries, but she didn't really think he retained enough control to do a good job of it right now - she knew she didn't. LaCroix took his time looking through the bottles that Miklos had restocked, his disappointment at Kalmia's refusal to drink from his wrist replaced by relief. He couldn't believe he had offered her his blood with so little shielding. He really would have to silence that aggravating voice - although he couldn't disagree with its point. For those moments when he had reacted to Kalmia's distress he felt alive in a way he hadn't since Nicholas had forced him to leave Fleur. He grabbed a bottle, rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to hide the torn cuff, and returned to his office, determined to limit his "feelings" quite severely. He stopped at the desk, picked up the two Murano goblets and positioned the office chair near enough to the sofa so that he could hand Kalmia the glass of bloodwine that she still seemed to desperately need. He sat facing her, searching her expression for an indication of what had gone wrong this time. She drained the glass to the dregs in one swallow and held it out for a refill, trying with only partial success to ignore the well-shaped forearms exposed by his rolled-back shirt cuffs.. She took several small sips of bloodwine, this time savoring the delicate bouquet and exquisite aftertaste of the excellent vintage. She would have to ask him where he got his supply. Her cellar was renowned among her small circle of friends for its exceptional quality, but what she had tasted here overshadowed most of what she kept on hand. - the pain of that thought knifed straight to her heart - Her annoyance at the internal conversation exploded in a silent command: Was this constant debate a permanent part of "living"? Perhaps she should rethink her decision. It had been much easier when her discussions were totally one-sided. The thought brought a rueful smile to her lips. Briefly wondering if she would ever smile again, she made her choice, took a deep breath and plunged into everything she'd hidden from for so long: pain... disappointment... betrayal... fear-. LaCroix watched Kalmia's fingers curl into fists and wondered who she planned on killing. He'd been amused at first to note how similar her expression was to Nicholas' when he was in one of his "trances". But he became concerned as her face reflected more and more conflict and the muscles in her arms became tighter and tighter. He reached over to unclench one of her hands. Startled by the unexpected touch, Kalmia jerked away, although she did appreciate one of its side-effects: it had silenced the seemingly incessant babble in her head. The corners of her mouth quirked up (the smiles hadn't been permanently dimmed yet), she gave Lucius a rueful look and shrugged her shoulders in apology. She tucked her feet under her thighs and rested lightly on her heels, her eyes almost black as she turned her head to face her mortal paramour. LaCroix blinked hard as her gaze found his. Whatever Kalmia had come here seeking she was finally ready to find. He wasn't quite so prepared. His stomach knotted with a sickening lurch as he fought to keep from literally flying out of the room. His jaw ached with the effort it took not to tell her he had no need to continue their "conversation", knowing that would make her leave without further intrusion in his life. He growled deep in his throat as the unwelcome answer released another burst of emotion repressed for too long. Now it was his turn to mime an apology. Kalmia's eyes lightened briefly in empathy, but then she leaned forward slightly and forced herself to speak. "How much do you know about your daughter, Lucius?" Whatever LaCroix had been expecting, this wasn't it. "My daughter?" "Come now, General, it was an open secret, at least among Seline's...employees, that Divia was *your* child." For a moment he hated Kalmia for the anguish her reminder sent screaming through him. He closed his eyes against the vision of his child reaching her hand toward him as she pleaded for her life. Without Nicholas' intervention he didn't know if he could have resisted that gesture, even having experienced Divia's brand of revenge first-hand. Kalmia felt Lucius' agony as though they were joined in a blood link. She wished she could comfort him, but she knew her question had taken them past any easy resolutions. She ran her fingers through her hair. How she wished there were a kinder way to end this. "Is Divia really dead this time?" She overrode her impulse to stop as she watched Lucius' eyes open to spill liquid pain down his face. "I thought I was free of her more than 19 centuries ago. When I felt the link snap, I thanked every god I could think of. Initially, I thought I'd gone insane when I felt her presence again two weeks ago. And then it was gone once more. I need to know if she's going to return. I *have* to know if it's really over." LaCroix sat staring at Kalmia unable to speak, too numb to wipe the red streaks from his face. Why was she asking about Divia, talking about sharing a link with her? Only someone who was bound by blood would have -. He began to laugh as he reached the only possible conclusion. She was...Divia was...they were...! His laughter spiraled up the scale as uncontrolled as a newly fledged bird trying it's wings for the first time - and just as likely to crash back down. The instantaneous transposition of Lucius' emotions brought Kalmia full circle - she didn't need the answers to her questions this badly. She gently put the goblet she'd refilled on the end table and unbent her legs to put her feet on the floor. It was time to leave - before she did more damage. She groped for words, searched for any action that would take them back to before she had started this. Whatever her uncertainty required her to deal with she would handle. If that meant going back to Florence & hiding for another couple of centuries she'd even do that. But how could she help Lucius, silent now, additional tears shining red on his face, accept whatever horror she had forced him to face? She reached for his hand and ran the backs of his fingers across her lips, opening them to press the palm against her cheek. "My love, I'm sorry." She wasn't even aware that she whispered the words aloud. LaCroix' eyes warmed at the words, his emotions back in equilibrium - but he had no illusions that this was a permanent state. "Thank you, Mus." He quickly brushed his hands across his face to remove most of the evidence of his tears, wishing for the handkerchief Kalmia had dropped. He caressed her face tenderly and surprised her with a short, amused chuckle. He held her face immobile so that he could watch her as he returned a small amount of the trust she had just placed in him. "So, you're *also* Divia's child." Kalmia choked on the gulp of air she'd been taking as the emphasis in his statement sunk in. She echoed his chuckle - and his bemusement. Words tumbled out as she searched his face for confirmation of the most unbelievable revelation of an already astounding journey. "Oh, my God. *That's* what I kept trying to figure out. You were the same but different. But even your difference was familiar." She knew she wasn't making much sense, but couldn't stop herself. "But I wasn't sure why. I thought it was just something that had happened when you came across. But that wasn't quite it either." Her words came faster and faster. "Then I thought maybe it was me - that *I* had changed when I was brought across & so I didn't quite see you the same way. But now - now it all makes sense. It wasn't either of *us*. It was -." Lucius' laughter, which had started again when he saw his knowledge of their relationship mirrored in her eyes, finally broke through Kalmia's babbling. She listened for a moment and smiled when she heard no hint of the hysteria that had colored his last outburst. She turned her head slightly to brush his wrist with her lips, but jerked away again when the pulse of his blood made her fangs descend. "No...I can't...not yet -." LaCroix gracefully moved to the sofa and slid his hand from her cheek to the back of her head until he could cradle it gently on his shoulder. "Ssssh. It's all right." He finally made the promise he hadn't known how to make at Seline's. "I don't want you to do anything you don't want to do. I'll never require that of you." Kalmia relaxed in Lucius' embrace, not needing to verify the truth of his words - she had heard it in his voice and felt it in the caress of his hand on her hair, as she had hoped to feel it hundreds of years before. She allowed herself to savor the pleasure singing through her for a few more moments and then gently slipped from his arms, standing up & moving toward the door. She turned back and smiled sadly at LaCroix. She would miss their fencing matches - again. But it was better to end this now. "Thank you for your time. I better leave before all of your guests arrive." LaCroix wasn't surprised to realize that the noise level in the club had risen perceptibly while they'd been...talking. His time with Kalmia had always been a respite from the realities of his life. With a deep sigh, he accepted that he needed to return to them - starting with the one he owed the woman walking toward the door of his office. "Divia is truly dead. My son staked her and I...burned her body & scattered her ashes." The last words were no more than a hoarse whisper, but they stopped Kalmia as though they'd been shouted. Relief was overwhelmed by sorrow so profound she had to grip the door jamb to keep from crumpling to the floor. How could anyone survive what Lucius had just described? She thought of how difficult it had been only to banish Erik after his disobedience and couldn't imagine how much more painful it would have been to participate in his death. And he wasn't even her natural child. Without thought, she responded to the pain she'd heard. "Oh, Lucius, I'm *so* sorry." Earlier he would have turned away from the words with a sneer and buried his reaction to them so deeply he could convince himself it had never existed. But now...now he smiled briefly to acknowledge Kalmia's response and sought desperately to find a way to keep her in the room a little longer. He held out his hand and gently asked the only question he could think of, "Mus, will you tell me how you came to be Divia's daughter?" Please send all comments, etc. to bevainio@att.net See disclaimers in Part 01 Reposted with permission for those of you who noticed that parts 9 & 10 were the same. Here's the actual part 10. Barb ******************************** See disclaimers in Part 01 Old Acquaintance (10/11) By: Barbara Vainio ************************* Kalmia's nails gouged deep gashes in the mahogany of the door frame as she fought to remain standing under the onslaught of pain and anger wrapped in joy that Lucius' request unleashed. Through the swirl of emotions one thought kept surfacing: he didn't want her to leave - at least not yet. But as she regained more self-possession, her first reaction was to use it to escape. She truly didn't know how much more of this "reunion" she could survive. She had the answer she'd come to get. She could return home free of the terror that the specter of Divia's reentry into her life had caused. <"And maybe it's time to exorcise that ghost once and for all."> Kalmia's fingers dug deeper into the wood, her eyes and lips narrowing in annoyance - annoyance at that damnable mental voice that it seemed nothing could actually quiet. LaCroix watched fatalistically as the exquisite paneling was shredded beyond repair. He supposed it was his own fault in a way, he *had* asked the question. And the wood could be replaced - unlike Kalmia's presence if she wouldn't - couldn't? - answer his request. He let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding (and certainly didn't need) as his long-ago lover reluctantly loosened her grip on the wall and stepped further into the room. He gestured her to the desk chair, but she walked past him and remained standing, pacing agitatedly from one wall to the other. LaCroix had difficulty hearing her words even though she was no more than 15 feet away from him. "It was about two months before Vesuvius." She stopped speaking to swallow quickly, as the last word barely squeaked through her suddenly tight throat. She stood still and looked toward the desk, her hands once again rubbing repetitively down the soft fabric of Lucius' borrowed shirt. LaCroix couldn't prevent his hands from reaching out to quiet hers, but she turned away before he could cover the distance between them, balling her fingers into fists and restarting her mindless walk from wall to wall. "It was several hours before Seline's clients arrived and I had just finished my early evening bath -." LaCroix missed the rest of her sentence while he tried to suppress the sudden memory of the soft scent of spices heralding Kalmia's arrival in their room at Seline's, her hair still damp from her first bath of the evening. He refocused on her words with difficulty. "Divia had been ill, so I was surprised to see her in the hallway as I walked back toward my room. I attempted to walk past her - we hadn't spoken since your first return from the field -." Kalmia shivered as she again saw the predatory glare Divia had directed at her as she left the room on Lucius' arm. Little had she known how afraid she should have been. "- but she blocked my path. I said 'I'm glad to see you're feeling better, Divia', and suddenly she was forcing me to my knees, her hand in my hair, wrenching my head backwards. I remember wondering why she was so strong. I tried to cry out, but there was no time. She looked totally demonic as she brought her face closer to mine. The last thing I heard before her fangs ripped into my throat was 'Now, he'll have to learn to love *me*.'" Kalmia paused, tears streaming down her face, fingers rubbing her throat to relieve the phantom pain, wishing she hadn't returned Lucius' handkerchief to him. She scrubbed at her face with the sleeve of her shirt and choked out a broken chuckle as she thought about how badly she was treating her former lover's wardrobe. Surprised to find herself holding the almost full goblet of bloodwine she'd left on the end table - she must have picked it up in one of her trips past the couch - she steadied it with both hands and gulped down its contents. Still clutching the glass, she turned away from Lucius' horrified stare, leaned her hands on the wall and rested her head against them. She briefly wondered what his expression would hold when she finished her story. LaCroix inched forward wanting to be close enough to the obviously exhausted vampire to support her if she needed help, but the slow, grating rasp of her voice as she resumed speaking forced him to stand still or risk missing her words, now muffled by the paneled wall. "When I regained consciousness, the first thing I was aware of was a gnawing, burning *need* for...something. It consumed me, almost overwhelming all my other senses. The craving was so intense I knew I would kill to ease it." Still not completely caught up in the memories, she turned her head to search for Lucius. When she saw him standing only 10 feet or so away, she smiled ironically and whispered, "But I guess that's just stating the obvious, isn't it?" When he made no reply, Kalmia turned into the room and tipped her head back until it contacted the wall with a sharp thump, her body slumping to join it. LaCroix, now merely an enraptured audience of one, was surprised she kept to her feet, her lack of control evident in her failure to conceal her face in its usual auburn veil. "The intensity of the desire literally forced me backward. That's when I discovered the first of the limitations imposed on my existence. I'd only moved back about 5 feet when I painfully ran into what felt like a stone wall. I felt around behind me and discovered that that was exactly what it was. I was terrified. I fell to my hands and knees and began scrambling along the floor, which was solid, but covered in some kind of thick liquid. I should have been able to see more than I did, but I was still thinking like a mortal. Eventually, I figured out I was in some sort of enclosure about 5 feet square, with one wall and floor made of natural material and the other 3 walls constructed of wooden slats with sharp spikes pointing into the...cage." She paused and her voice became even lower. "It took me a long time to accept that that was what it was." Kalmia paused again and drew in a ragged breath. When she spoke again, her voice was stronger. "Then I began to notice the smell. It was overpowering. It reeked like -" 'So you've figured out you're in the sewers under my mother's...establishment. Very clever. Have you figured out the rest of it yet?' She still could hear Divia's voice in her mind, taunting her with the question. "Divia's presence destroyed the little sanity I'd managed to regain in my explorations and I began to scream, 'WHAT ARE YOU DOING? WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS? YOU WON'T GET AWAY WITH THIS!!!' I flung myself to the front of my cage and grabbed two of the slats, trying to pull them loose. When the points of wood jabbed into my palms, I'm sure my shriek could have been heard in Rome. "Divia laughed and pressed her face to one of the openings between the slats I'd tried to remove. 'It looks like you'll have to make some adjustments in your escape plans.' "Her fangs were fully extended and her eyes were deep red. I suddenly remembered the 'demon' I'd seen before I lost consciousness and realized it wasn't figment of my imagination. I whispered, 'What *are* you?' and she smiled. 'Your teacher. Your jailer. your...mother.' She held my gaze as she finished pronouncing my sentence. 'And your only chance for survival.' "I backed away from the laughing creature in front of me, offal coating my tunic and splashing on my exposed skin as I slipped on the waste-coated floor. I tried to wipe it off, but only succeeded in spreading it to the few remaining clean spots. I forced myself to meet Divia's gaze and asked, 'Why are doing...this?', gesturing at the cage surrounding me. Divia stopped laughing and said matter-of-factly, 'Because I can.' "Suddenly, I doubled over as the worst pain I ever felt twisted in my stomach. I crawled to the farthest corner of my 'living quarters' and groaned as I rocked back and forth trying to relieve the agony that by now had spread throughout my body. The craving I'd had when I first awakened had multiplied in intensity and was now burning it's way into my mind. I heard Divia chuckle and then say teasingly, 'How could I be so cruel? You'd think I was raised in a brothel. You must be quite hungry. Come here, slave, and let me feed you.' "The thought of food made me nauseous, but then I caught the first scent of what I knew I'd been craving. It overpowered the stench of the sewer and the reek of the excrement that caked my body. I *had* to have it...to taste it...to feel it on my tongue. I stood up and started back toward Divia's voice, which continued to encourage me to come and take what I needed. My night vision had become sharper and I could walk rapidly to where she waited, but I stopped in horror as I saw what had drawn me so strongly. I tried to turn away from the blood welling from Divia's forearm. I even took two steps back, but the compulsion to drink was too great. I fell to my knees, heedless of the additional muck that splashed over me and began to lap at the still fresh cut. She pulled her arm back through the narrow opening between the boards after only a few moments, but they were the most glorious seconds of my life. I fought to keep her arm inside my cage, to take in more of that magnificent liquid, but I was no match for her strength - I never would be. But I knew that I would do anything to taste that ecstasy again - suffer any humiliation or accept any torture." Kalmia took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Little did I know how soon or how intensely I would prove the truth of those thoughts." Kalmia interrupted her recitation when she heard LaCroix' sigh of understanding. She focused on his eyes, as warm as she'd ever seen them, looking at her with sympathy. She smiled weakly at him, appreciating the chance to share that most intimate of moments, as difficult to talk about as it was, with someone who'd held similar memories for as long as she had. The brief connection made it easier to continue, to put some observations into her narration. "I wiped my chin, which of course smeared more of the sewer's contents on my face." Kalmia unconsciously brushed her fingers over her cheekbones and rubbed them against each other, relaxing slightly when she felt nothing unexpected. "I tried begging. 'Divia, please let me have some more. I've never experienced anything like that.' When she didn't reply, I tried flattery. 'Divia, thank you for sharing that amazing experience with me. I - '. This time I got an answer. 'I have no interest in your thanks. My first plan was to kill you, but that wouldn't allow me the pleasure of watching Lucius' reaction when he sees what's become of his favorite...*whore*.' "My gasp of outrage was cut off by Divia's venomous laughter. "You can't think I have any interest in you for yourself. When my fa - General Lucius - sees how you're willing to live, he'll realize he should have been paying attention to me.' "Her voice broke slightly as she floated away from my cage and I had another puzzle to solve. Her words had resonated with something I vaguely associated with the brief taste of her blood. I tried to see her face to find out if there was anything displayed there, but she moved rapidly out of view. My attention was diverted from one puzzle to another as I realized she had been hovering off the ground the entire time we'd been talking. I shouted my question again at the last place I'd seen her, 'What *are* you? What did your illness do to you?' "Divia's soft reply rode the air currents back to me. 'I think the better question is what have *I* done to *you*?' "I stood and backpedaled to the wall behind me, leaning against it for both physical and emotional support. I think that feeling the solidity of stone against my back is the only thing that kept me sane in those first hours as I tried to understand what had happened." LaCroix watched in fascination as Kalmia rubbed the wall she was leaning against, totally absorbed now in her memories. He instantly rejected his impulse to close the final distance between them to take her in his arms, not sure she could differentiate the past from the present and not sure he wanted to suffer the consequences of that inability. His eyes turned golden as he wrestled with both the depth of Divia's malice and his role, however unwitting, in fostering it. There was no way he could ever make amends for this. The fact that the thought of atonement hadn't been immediately suppressed made him snarl: this would have to be controlled very carefully. The sound brought Kalmia back to the present enough that she jerked her hands away from the wall as though it were bathed in sunlight, dropping the Murano goblet to the floor. It bounced unharmed on the thick carpet and rolled into the corner. Her fingers ran once down the black material covering her thighs before she could control the obsessive mannerism. She stared at Lucius, her eyes golden, trying to determine what had caused his rough bark of sound, but his lifted eyebrow told her nothing. She moved away from the wall and walked to the chair Lucius had moved to the front of the sofa. Her hands relaxed momentarily as she stroked the leather, only to curl again until her nails ripped the soft covering. LaCroix watched as the muscles in her back knotted so tightly that even the loose fitting shirt couldn't hide the tension. Her voice when it started again took on the sing-song quality of someone telling a fairy tale. He was pretty sure this one didn't have a "happily ever after" ending. "Divia returned each evening about two hours after sunset, sliding her arm between the slats and offering me a few seconds of her blood. She gave me only enough to keep me alive - no more. I wasn't strong enough to try to escape. I couldn't even think clearly enough to *plan* an escape - the constant craving for blood, the physical pain it caused, overwhelmed even the most basic thoughts. I lived from evening to evening, praying that Divia would continue to come. The first time she ordered me to crawl to her I refused. She pulled her arm back and left without saying a word. When she returned two nights later and repeated her command, I gladly complied. "The following evening I felt her hovering outside my cage. I listened for her command, whatever it might be, hoping she wouldn't keep me waiting too long. I heard her arm slide into my...room and looked longingly toward the sound, wondering what I'd be required to do to get my "fix". She thrust a wet towel toward me & said imperiously, 'wipe your face and hands before you touch me. You're filthy...and you stink - but I guess I can't do anything about your lack of interest in hygiene.' She smiled triumphantly, looking much older than her 13 years. "I grabbed the cloth, trembling in anger at the deliberate insult, and began scrubbing at my face and hands. When I finished with them I tried to clean my legs off - not that there were any clean spots left on the towel." Kalmia's attempt to lighten the mood failed to produce even a smile from her listener who was lost in the hypnotic spell of a story almost too horrible to hear. Kalmia's words tore through LaCroix' too fragile composure with talon-sharp precision, anchoring unerasable memories in the deepest part of his soul. The frozen images flashed one after the other faster & faster until he could see them move like one of those stick figures children drew and then riffled through to make them dance. Only this dancer never rested. It continued to cower and crawl and rub its soiled arms. LaCroix turned away from Kalmia, as if not seeing the reality would remove the memory. Kalmia continued talking, unaware of the impact her story was having. "Divia ripped the towel from my hands and left, saying only, 'When you learn to obey my orders you'll be fed.'. This time it was 4 nights before she returned. My existence continued that way for two months, although she never left me alone that long again - I was almost dead when she returned and she had to feed me quite heavily before I recovered. I became accustomed to her "punishments" for my disobedience and learned to accept the scurrying of the rats that shared my accommodations. They never came close enough for me to capture one -." LaCroix spun around at her words. "You'd have sunk to the level of a carouche?" Kalmia's light laughter at the outrage in his voice banished the spell her words had woven, bringing both vampires back to the present. LaCroix was surprised - and concerned - at the sudden change in his former lover. Was she going to plunge into hysteria? He relaxed slightly as her eyes returned to clear gray and she teased him gently, "Lucius, I had no idea what a carouche was or that they even existed. I'd have done anything to end that gnawing hunger. But as it happened the rats wouldn't cooperate so it wasn't an issue. As a matter of fact, I probably had more rat blood in your dumpster this morning than I've had at one time in all the years of my immortal existence." She watched the other vampire carefully to gauge his response. She hoped he would understand that, although the memories she'd been relating were horrible, they'd been part of her life for almost two millennia. If she hadn't learned to coexist with the facts of her "conversion", she would have been unable to exist at all. As a matter of fact, *she* was surprised at the intensity of her memories. She relished the irony that someone who consistently chose to ignore his own emotions could be such a strong a catalyst for hers. Please send all comments, etc. to bevainio@att.net See disclaimers in Part 01 Old Acquaintance (11/11) By: Barbara Vainio ************************* The object of her musings was staring at her, still unable to picture the Mus he remembered jumping into a dumpster and dispatching several rats for dinner. It was even harder to believe now that he'd experienced in part the nightmare Divia had forced her to endure. He walked to where she now leaned against the back of the chair she'd used as an anchor and extended his hand, ensuring she had enough room to refuse the gesture. "Perhaps we should move to the sofa ." He glanced briefly at the shredded upholstery on the chair back and returned his gaze to her face, eyes warm under lifted eyebrows. "And I think this chair has earned a rest as well." He began walking across the room, disappointed that his palm remained empty. He settled on the edge of a cushion and gasped in shock as he watched Kalmia drop to her knees in the corner. He jumped up and crossed the room in one movement, reaching to pull her up. Her laughing eyes met his horrified ones as she turned toward him, holding the Murano goblet gently in her hand. "I was afraid I'd shattered *this* as well. " She ran a finger around the rim of the glass "But I'm glad to see that at least one ancient item avoided damage." LaCroix acknowledged their shared injury with a nod and a brief smile and held out his hand again. "Can you continue without further...damage to yourself? I'd like to know the rest." To give herself time to decide how much more to tell him, Kalmia walked to the desk and stood the goblet next to its mate, lining them up and gently turning them to watch the light play through the glass. Without facing him, she teased, "Most people wait for a wound to begin healing before they start to pick at the scab." "And some injuries are so deep they need to be kept open to prevent infection." It was her turn to acknowledge how profound their shared experience had - always - been by moving to take his still-extended hand and curling her fingers lightly around it as he lead her to the sofa. Once they were seated, Kalmia looked expectantly at LaCroix, pushing her hair behind her ears. She would let him set the direction for the rest of her narrative. He raised an eyebrow at her silence, but then smiled as he realized she was leaving when and how to continue up to him. He asked the most direct question he could think of. "How did you survive Vesuvius?" "Divia had arrived earlier in the evening with news. She was as excited as I'd ever seen her, although she waited until I'd cleaned my hands and face and drunk more of her blood than usual to share her information. 'He's back in Pompeii. He'll be here later tonight.' "I had no need to ask who she meant. I'd had two months to solve the puzzle that the first taste of her blood had offered. Each small sip she'd allowed me contained her love for you...her pain at your neglect...her hatred of everyone she thought prevented you from spending your time with her. I'd been shaken by the depth of her desire for you - her...obsession with having your undivided attention. I also had learned of her change in plans for dealing with me. Rather than actually let you see me, she'd decided to allow you to believe me dead -." LaCroix held her face between both his hands, wanting to be sure she heard and believed what he said. "I *did* look for you...ask about you. Both Flavius and Seline told me you were dead. Seline told me she'd found you in the bath, dead of some unknown sudden cause." He relaxed his hold as he saw her accept the truth of his words and commented, "I suppose one *could* consider our method of 'dining' an unknown sudden cause of death." Kalmia removed both his hands from her face, dropped a gentle kiss on one and smiled crookedly before she continued, "She would then keep me 'alive' so that I would know all of her intimacy with you through the blood she would allow me to drink." She turned her head briefly to the side, but didn't allow her hair to swing across her face. "Talk about having your cake and eating it too." She gathered her thoughts and continued. "The first tremor came several hours later. I had been trying to figure out a way to kill myself - permanently. The only method I'd come up with was to refuse Divia's blood. But even then, with only limited knowledge of what powers we could command, I didn't believe that would work. But I knew I couldn't survive the way Divia had planned. I was beginning to contemplate the meaning of my first encounter with the wooden 'bars' of my prison when they began to shake. First one, then another, and another broke free. My initial reaction was to fly - yes, I'd learned how to do that on a limited basis - to the back of my cell and cower there. I had no idea how to survive outside the small world Divia had created for me. "It soon became obvious that that option was closed to me as the walls and ceilings of the sewer began to crumble. I thought I heard your voice shouting something and I began to crawl over the rubble toward it. When more chunks of the ceiling blocked my way, I was surprised at how easily I could move them. But it was still seemed like hours before I got to the street, totally exhausted with dust and ash added to the layer of muck I'd become accustomed to wearing. And I was starving. I looked around for a food source and realized I was the only creature moving. And then I heard the noise. In the minutes it took me to realize that it was the sound of a heart beating, it became weaker and I had trouble following it. When I finally located the source, I had to dig through a foot of ash to uncover the child who was slowly suffocating. I was suddenly very glad I didn't have to breathe. I brushed as much ash off the boy as I could and he smiled gratefully at me as I grabbed his wrist. He was too weak to scream as I tore open the vein and began to drink. I spilled more blood than I drank, but I still got more than Divia had ever shared. My sense of loss when he died horrified me - I only cared that there was no more blood. My search for more brought me back to Seline's. I frantically started battering at the door to reach the life I could hear behind it. By now I could smell blood as well and it didn't take me long to get inside. The atrium was a shambles. Couches were overturned and tables were broken apart. The pool was filled with debris and all the statuary was smashed." Kalmia paused as LaCroix whispered, "Not all of it" with a self-satisfied smirk on his face. He instantly sobered and reached to stroke the back of one finger up her cheek. "I'm sorry, Mus. I can only imagine the difficulty of learning how we live on your own. Whatever else Divia may have done, she taught me how to survive as a vampire. I've always been thankful for that." He sighed deeply, the pain of Divia's loss still too fresh to ignore. He turned the conversation back to Kalmia - it was easier to deal with her pain than his own. "What happened in Seline's?" The female vampire searched her inquisitor's face trying to determine how much more he could withstand, but he'd put his mask back in place and she could only guess what he was really feeling. She chose to tell him all of it. "The roof hadn't collapsed yet, so there were still quite a few patrons huddled in the rooms - many trapped beneath fallen pedestals or bleeding where they'd been cut by broken marble. I worked my way through several of the rooms, leaving torn wrists - it would be several years before I became comfortable drinking from anywhere else - and dead bodies everywhere." She grabbed Lucius' hand as she urgently explained, "Not out of any sense of revenge, but from the sheer ecstasy of having an unlimited supply of blood. I basically held my own private orgy." She smiled suddenly, mischief lighting her eyes. "Every time I read about new discoveries at Pompeii, I wonder what they'll make of a building full of bodies with their left wrists almost severed. You haven't heard any theories about bizarre Pompeiian cults, have you?" LaCroix hid his answering grin by kissing the hand that gripped his but waited silently for Kalmia to continue, feeling the tension behind her light words. Kalmia tried to stand up, but was stopped by firm pressure on her hand. She tried to pull away, but LaCroix merely tightened his hold. Whatever she had to tell him, he'd hear it while they were face to face. "I'm no longer interested in trying to guess what your posture means, or interpreting your tone. Whatever you have left to tell me, you can surely...trust me enough to remain next to me." The female vampire squeezed her former lover's hand and locked her eyes on his. "Lucius, if you wanted to...physically hurt me, you would have done it that first night in Pompeii. I just can't bear to watch you shut me out again, seeing you erect that facade of disinterest and paste that enigmatic smile on your face. I've learned too much about myself - and you - this evening to accept your phony stoicism anymore." LaCroix closed his eyes as her words struck home. When he opened them again, their clear blue held only acceptance of Kalmia's right to see the truth. She blinked in surprise at his decision and wondered if she would be able to keep her end of the bargain. She began to speak, stopped and started again, wishing she didn't have to look into his eyes. She finally created enough saliva to lubricate her throat. "I knew there wasn't much time before the tremors collapsed the walls, but I didn't want to stop. What if I could never find any more? How could I deny myself the sheer joy of sharing all those emotions, those experiences? I hurried into one more room. There was only one occupant." Kalmia forced herself to take a breath to slow the pace of her words. She stared hard into Lucius' eyes as she slowly confirmed what he had already guessed. "It was Seline. She didn't recognize me. How could she? I was covered in muck and ash and reeked of excrement. My eyes were glowing and my fangs were dripping blood. "I asked 'Who's in charge now, Seline?' and laughed as she backed away from the truth my voice forced her to accept. In an instant, I was behind her, blocking her retreat. I held her immobile, dragged her wrist to my mouth and drank. I tasted her knowledge of what Divia had become, the happiness that Divia's dependence on her had brought - and the final overwhelming anguish that in the end Divia had still chosen you. Kalmia watched as Lucius' eyes clouded, pain moving deep beneath the blue ice. He automatically started to shuffle the emotion out of sight, but a soft touch on his face reminded him of their bargain. He swallowed convulsively and closed his eyes. When he allowed them to open, Kalmia regretted that he had kept his promise. The pain that had been tolerable when he had controlled it now cut her with its sharp edges, glittering hard and bright as blue steel. She reached for him, but let her hand fall short, knowing the gesture would change nothing, heal nothing. It was time to leave. She broke their gaze and walked toward the back door searching for the words that would tell Lucius how precious a gift he had given her. But she could never make him understand the overwhelming mix of joy, anticipation and fear that swirled through her as she contemplated *living* the rest of her eternity. She turned before she opened the door and surprised a small smile warring with the pain still shimmering in his eyes. It was gone before she could return it, leaving his eyes clear. He moved slightly as she searched his face drawing her eyes to the desk and the items placed so precisely on it. Her laugh chimed silver as she realized she *could* tell Lucius everything she was feeling. She flew past the startled vampire, removed the "skean dubh" from its sheath and ran its edge across the tip of her index finger. She lightly traced his mouth, smearing the red droplets thinly on his lips and teasingly asked, "This *is* what you've been working toward for the last several hours, isn't it?" LaCroix closed his eyes at the first taste of Kalmia's blood, reeling from the assault of her emotions. He felt her fear and wanted to dispel it. He knew her joy and wanted to share it. He was puzzled by her gratitude until he also tasted her wish to rush headlong into life. He rolled it all around his tongue and savored it again. He sighed in pleasure as he opened his eyes, reaching to pull her wrist to his mouth. Kalmia laughed and danced away from him, trading the dagger for one of the antique goblets. "If you want more, Lucius, you'll need to travel farther than that for it." She raised the glass in a toast and locked her eyes on his, her voice a rough mix of passion and prayer. "I want to fill this and watch you drain it while we're standing among the Botticellis in the Ufizzi." Kalmia added a final request as she paused at the door. "Perhaps you should bring the mate to this glass." Her eyes swept along his neck as she let her fangs drop. "I'm sure we'll find something to use it for." LaCroix watched her leave without protest, but chose not to conceal his smile as he listened to the notes of her laughter chime on the air. When they faded beyond even his ability to hear, he walked into Janette's apartment to ready himself again to met his guests. He inhaled deeply as the lingering scent of freesia made him pause before removing his jacket and shirt and brushing his fingers lightly across the silk robe folded neatly on the bed. He scrubbed his face and hands until all traces of blood were gone. He returned to the bedroom and, deciding his jacket would pass muster, reached into the closet for the shirt with the red banded collar. A brief burst of annoyance flared as he remembered his last glimpse of its bedraggled condition as Mus left the office and he roughly grabbed the first garment he found and jerked it on, buttoning it rapidly. He slid the dagger pin through the collar with ease having no need of a mirror after centuries of practice. He slipped his jacket back on and smoothed invisible wrinkles, shooting his cuffs to settle his shirt sleeves ore comfortably on his arms. He examined his fingernails in minute detail to be sure there was no blood caught under them and ran a brush through his short hair. At last, finding himself bereft of further distractions, he picked up the goblet and opened one of the dresser drawers. He let his fingers grope blindly until they closed around a small bottle wedged in the farthest corner. He stared at the exquisite crystal, cut in a pattern that hadn't been used in centuries. He held it up to the light watching the amber liquid slowly move inside it as he removed the stopper. He tipped the bottle until two small drops of its contents fell slowly into his bloodwine. He swirled the goblet, although he knew the contents wouldn't really mix, closed his eyes and inhaled the bouquet before taking a large swallow. He held the thick mixture on his tongue, allowing the flavor to explode in his mouth. Ah, yes, he really was partial to the taste of wine and honey. When he'd taken the final sip, he gently placed the goblet on the dresser and steepled his index fingers across his lips as he began to consider his options. His expression morphed from pain to pleasure and back again until, decision made, he nodded once and strode into the Raven, his gaze automatically sweeping around the room, noticing who was there and who was not; who was with whom and who had changed partners - information to be used at some later time when he needed an advantage. <> Please send all comments, etc. to bevainio@att.net