Date:         Thu, 7 Apr 1994 00:28:07 EST
 
 
 
                      Temptation's Dance
 
                       by Teleri Beaty
 
 
 
 
     *How can she know what I am and not hate me?*
     Nick stared at the curly hair pinned in a loose bun at the
nape of her neck, showing pale white skin. Exposing the smooth
column of her neck, arched as she bent over her magazine. He
wanted to run his hands through her hair, smell her skin, kiss
her neck--
     But his kind only Kissed in Death.
     His body ached, and at the familiar feeling, the vampire
felt his mouth flood with saliva, the salty liquid seeping over
his tongue. He swallowed. Four days without blood.... He took a
deep breath and looked again at the woman on the couch. For her
sake, he would go without blood. But for her sake, her *life*, it
would be better if he drank--
     *She doesn't know--she doesn't realize that she should fear
me, that she should leave me before it's too late--for her, for
me--*
     But she did know. Nick still couldn't understand that part
of her, that side of her that knew how fine the line he walked on
was. And yet she still walked by his side, daring the
consequences should he fall . . . and that the fall was ever so
close, ever too tempting.
     He knew that she understood, in some way, his battle--and
what was more, accepted him.
     Nick shook his head, and Nat looked up.
     "Nick?"
     "Nothing." He didn't want to explain himself. He felt
ridiculous, standing on his own staircase while staring raptly at
his . . . friend. He felt as if he'd been caught at something
forbidden.
     "Sure." She accepted his explanation with only a raised
eyebrow.
     "So, it's my night off. And it's your night off. What do you
want to do?" He spoke the words lightly.
     "Whatever." Her reply was muffled behind the pages.
     He walked towards her restlessly. "Interesting magazine,
Nat?"
     "Not really." She frowned, shutting the glossy magazine a
little too quickly.
     He looked over her shoulder. A fashion magazine. "Nat, you?"
He glanced at her. "You read these things?"
     She flushed. "A friend suggested I buy one of them."
     "Whatever for?"
     Nat snapped the magazine open briskly. "None of your
business," she muttered, her nose buried in the pages.
     He plucked the magazine from her hands. "Yeeeees?"
     "If you must know," she glared at him, "they got all sorts
of ideas on what to do with your hair, great clothes--"
     "Why do you need to know all that?"
     She rolled her eyes. "Oh, that I could take that as a
compliment.... Nick, I'm not exactly the most beautiful woman in
the world."
     *Not to yourself, no.* "So?"
     "So...I'm thinking of a change."
     "Nat," he leaned down, "*why?*"
     She crossed her arms and looked up at him stubbornly, her
chin rising slightly. "It'll give me an excuse to go out more
often."
     "With who?"
     She stared him straight in the eye. "With men."
     He kept himself from flinching only by practice of hundreds
of years. "Ah. I see."
     "Yes." She snatched the magazine out of his hands in a
sudden movement. "I think I'd like to get out more often."
     Nick couldn't stop himself. "If you need to be walked, Nat,
just tell me. I can do that for you."
     "Very funny, Nick. Really funny. Just listen to me roar. Ha
ha."
     He spread his arms wide. "Whatever I can do to help, my fair
lady."
     "Not much. Unless you'd like to hit them over the head and
bring them before me."
     *Hit them over the head is right.* "Just point me in the
right direction."
     Nat stood up. "Right out that door."
     He moved back. "You're not serious."
     "Perfectly. Let's go."
     "Nat--" He hadn't fed, he was hungry as it was--
     "Nick."
     He sighed. "Let's go."
 
          *          *          *          *
 
     "Here?"
     "Why not?"
     "Nat--"
     "Nick! Please!"
     He relented. "We're not really dressed for this, you know."
     She shoved into the club. "We're making a fashion statement,
Nick. Starting a new trend. Clothes that are actually
comfortable."
     He looked down at himself dubiously. "I don't think jeans
and shirts quite make it, Nat."
     "You have no imagination."
     He grumbled under his breath. "You have no taste."
     "I heard that!"
     He smiled.
     Inside the club, the smoke wreathed up from the floor to
welcome them, and the music converged instantly on them, shutting
them away from the outside world. Nick stepped forward quickly
and captured Nat's hand. She paused, looked back, but he motioned
her to move on.
     People swirled all around them. Nick could feel them, little
circles of life shining brightly all around him. He squeezed his
eyelids closed and swallowed convulsively. *No.*
     Together they found a table in the back, a small circular
slab of wood that would barely hold four drinks, much less any
sort of food. Nick sat down.
     "Happy?" he yelled over the music.
     "What?" Nat leaned closer to him.
     He was barely three inches from her ear. "Happy?"
     She shook her head. "No. I want to dance."
     "With me?"
     "No! With the table!"
     He nodded to himself and got up. "You're torturing me,
aren't you?"
     "What?"
     "In return for making me mortal, you're making me suffer.
Right?"
     "Whatever, Nick!" She led the way to the dance floor.
     Once there, they moved together, trying to adapt their
bodies to the pounding rythyms of the music. The people around
them flowed like waves with the music. Nick and Nat stumbled
slightly, pressed on all sides by people, and laughed at each
other.
     *Good. She's smiling.* Nick felt an elbow shoved into his
back and moved closer to Nat, who had her eyes closed, beginning
to move to the music. Nick smiled and relaxed, letting his body
go, feeling the rythym of the song. Something inside of him, a
thrumming in his ears, beat faster, and the bass made a pleasant
counterpoint, slower--
     And then the music changed.
     The bass line changed, became rythmic, deep, and the two
melodies clicked. And Nick realized what the rythym in his ears
was.
     It was the beating of a human heart. No--more than one; it
was the life dancing in the club--
     He sucked in a breath dizzily, feeling his body sway with
the beat. To the beat. It overwhelmed him, carried him--
     He opened his eyes.
     Natalie was there. But it was not Natalie. The coroner had
been replaced by a sensual creature who moved dreamily to the
beat, hips and shoulders moving independantly, hands drifting
across her body. The expression on her face-- Nick's body
tightened. She was pure, innocent, and shining with such life--
     He moved towards her, shoved by the inexorable wave. *Why
not? Why fight it? I need it--I need her--*
     She moved into his arms readily enough, floating into his
embrace with a sigh. Her arms circled around him, holding him,
hands spreading across his back. He bent his head and nuzzled her
hair, the beat in his heart pounding louder then that of the
music.
     He could smell her shampoo; the clean scent of her hair, her
skin. He pressed his lips to her head, and she arched her neck
obediently, her eyes still closed. Nick trailed butterfly kisses
down her ear, lightly touching her skin, inhaling her smell--
     To any observer, they were two lovers dancing.
     Nick licked her skin lightly. His fangs slid out and he
swallowed, mouth filled with salty liquid, tongue nearly parched
with the Hunger. He breathed deeply and reared back slightly.
     "Nick--don't."
     With a shock, the vampire looked down--only to see Natalie,
his Natalie, the coroner, looking at him through calm eyes.
     The Hunger hissed, and a wracking shudder passed through his
body as his cells writhed in pain.
     "Nick," she breathed soflty, "don't."
     He realized his fingers were digging into her sides; he held
her against his body with a steel grip. His body screamed at him
to take food, he could do it, no one would notice--
     Her eyes were thoughtful, calm. They didn't accuse.
     The Hunger flooded his body, and he bent over her neck--
     *But this is Nat.*
     He turned his head, met her eyes--and saw sadness. No fear,
only sorrow.
     He ripped himself away, pain tearing at his body. "No!"
     Now she grabbed him, clutched at him with desperate fingers.
"Nick, no! Listen to me! Nick!"
     He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. "Nat--leave me
alone," he rasped. "You don't know--"
     "Yes, I do. Shhh." She dug her fingernails into his arms,
hair falling into her face from the loosening bun. "Nick, I
understand--"
     "How can you?"
     "Nick--" She moved towards him, and though he tensed, she
guided his head to herself and enfolded him in her arms. Held him
like a mother holds a child, close to her breast. "Nick, I'm
sorry."
     He turned his face into her skin and breathed deeply of her.
Smelling her, letting her fill his senses as *Nat*, not as just
another life. *She could never be 'just another life.'* "I'm
sorry too," he whispered.
     Around them, the dancers swirled in the darkness.