Mind Games
by Fran Hutchinson

Maura liked when Nick came to the bar early.  He usually picked her
up just at closing, but some nights when things had gone well, or
occasionally when they hadn't, he came in time to lose himself in the
music and fog.

On good nights he'd hang out and "mortal-watch" with Janette until
closing.  Maura had no clue what they found to talk about, but it
came from centuries of a connection she could barely imagine.  He'd
wait for a lull in Maura's late-night activities and always found the
perfect moment to appear behind her, hands creeping around her waist,
to hug her back against him always with the same greeting, "What's
shakin', Sweet?"  If there was time he'd mention in short form, to be
detailed later, whatever it was that had him in a high mood, and
after she gave up a kiss or two - he wouldn't leave her to her work
until she did - he'd return to Janette's side.  Sometimes she
wondered why she didn't wonder more about his smoothness in moving
from one of them to the other, physically affectionate and easily
intimate.  Smiles, laughter, if she didn't have business to attend to
she could watch him for hours as he became as she saw him: open, as
at peace with himself as he ever got except when they were quietly
alone at home.

On the nights he came early, the good ones, Nick possessed a playful
demeanor, at ease and able to forget the double edge of his life.
And, Maura had to admit, on those nights in particular he was
impossibly attractive, sexy in a way that he couldn't possibly be on
the "outside" because here much of his usual caution could be left
behind.  In the company of his kind he was himself, entirely, and the
difference showed.  When he was in a very good mood, Nick would pull
Maura from whatever she was doing when a particular song sparked his
interest.  Often they were the dark and edgy ones, and he'd hold her
so close she had to move with him as if she were his conjoined twin. 
The golden pulse would flicker in his eyes then, and he'd brush his
face against her cheek and neck as if teasing her with promises he
couldn't keep in public.   He'd laugh in her ear as if their life
together were a secret kept only to themselves, with everyone left to
wonder.  Nobody did, actually.  The depth of their connection was
palpable at times like that, as Nick's with Janette when Maura saw
them together.

There were the occasions, any at all were too frequent for Maura,
when Nick came in after a particularly wretched day or case or an
interview with the family member of a victim.  When a case was going
nowhere it ate at him, giving him another reason to curse himself for
a failure.  Those nights he'd find Maura first, with the shadow in
his eyes that tore at her whenever she saw it because she knew she'd
never convince him he couldn't control the tragedy of others.  At
times like that his weariness was as evident as his belief that he
only needed to see her to feel some comfort.  He'd step close to her
without saying a word, she'd put down what she was doing and touch
him with both hands so he could feel her understanding before she
even knew what had happened.  She understood his rage for control,
his need to make everything all right, and had long since stopped
trying to talk him out of it.  "I'm not simple minded," he'd told her
once, "I've had 800 years to recognize my limits.  We just don't
coexist happily."  So without saying much besides "Hey," she'd pull
his face to hers and kiss his cheek as she whispered, "It's okay now,
you're among friends," then after he managed a smile that was more
trust than confidence he'd go to Janette to be soothed by their
ageless companionship.  At times
like that it was all that helped, really, because no logic could
touch him then.  A secure place to rest and recover was what he
needed most when the heart he didn't believe he had was near
breaking.  

On very bad nights after Maura had kissed and welcomed him she'd
finish her work and find him sitting with Janette, staring into the
candle flame or the reflection of light in Janette's glass.  He'd
look up at her and rise without a word, touching Janette's hand
before they left, sometimes draping an arm around Maura's shoulders
as if he needed support to make it to the car.  They'd ride home in
silence and often as not Maura would reach out and take Nick's right
hand from the wheel and pull it to her lap where she could cradle it
in both of hers.  When her work went bad it could be annoying or
dangerous, but when Nick's went bad it was the stuff of nightmares.

"This isn't the best line of work for someone who is always reaching
for the weight of the world," she'd told him one night as he lay on
the sofa, head in her lap, as she tried to soothe his latest self-
inflicted emotional beating.  He'd been taken in by a suspect, had
worked overtime to find her alibi witnesses, only to find they were
her next targets.  Three more dead, including the suspect, and Nick
was punishing himself for having trusted, rather than questioned,
because questions were the logical middle ground between blind trust
and cold cynicism.  It could have happened to anyone really, but of
course it had happened to him.  His eyes were closed as she gently
stroked his forehead and ran light fingers through his hair.  

"You're gonna screw up sometimes, no matter what you do.  In your
job, the stakes are so high that screwing up is always gonna be ugly.
You can't change that unless some day you wake up perfect."  He was
holding her other hand in both of his and gave it a squeeze as she
finished her thought.  "I'm sorry, Bats, I don't have any magic
answers.  I just babble until I hit some combo of words that might
make it hurt less.  I'm not much of a shrink, I guess."  He smiled
reassuringly, opened his eyes to look up into hers.  His always
seemed bluer when he was sad.  "Don't change a thing, Sweet.  When my
head's too full what I need most is your lap to lay it in."

Tonight was kind of break-even.  Nick and Schanke had been working
the case of a teenager killed by a gang member.  Not much cooperation
on any side, and things were going slowly.  Maura was standing at a
dark side table away from the frenzy, going over the following week's
schedule, when she felt Nick behind her.  This time it was a warm
squeeze and kiss on the side of the head.  "Mmm, sweet," he told her,
the adjective rather than the nickname.  She leaned back into him.
"Not bad yourself.  Any progress?"

He was swaying her back and forth with him.  "Yeah, Schanke actually
managed to sweet-talk one of the neighborhood little-old-ladies into
telling us what she saw that night.  Got some good descriptions,
could be solid leads."  Maura rotated in Nick's grasp, facing him
with an incredulous "Schanke, sweet-talked?  First time for
everything."

"You know it."  He cocked his head as he leaned down a little. 
"How's the tourists tonight?"  It was Wednesday, newcomer's Night,
when cover was free to first-timers.  Those repeaters who tried to
weasel in were always stunned at the staff's powers of recollection. 
If they only knew.

"See for yourself," she nodded toward the dance floor, teeming with
virgin dungeon bunnies.  "Not bad for mid-week.  Janette doesn't
waste time on bad ideas, does she?"

When she turned back Nick was staring intently at her. 

"What?"

He replied with a kiss.  "Nice to see you." 

"Oh, that."

He laughed and gave her a shake.  "Do your thing, I'll go bother
Janette."

Now Maura laughed.  "Yeah go ruin her night, goofball."

When Maura had scheduled and counted up and closed out for the night
she went in search of Nick and Janette, finding them in a back
banquette.  They were seated predictably close together, Janette
leaning on Nick's shoulder, his other hand toying with hers.  If she
felt any jealousy at all it was more a form of impatience, that she
couldn't experience with Nick the kind of link so obvious between
himself and Janette.  Foolish, of course, as foolish as traditional
jealousy.  But she didn't have 800 years, or even 80 to be patient. 
She was joined to Nick deeper and more quickly than she ever would
have imagined possible with anyone, but seeing him with Janette gave
her what he called that twinge of "wanna" she got when something was
beyond her reach.  At times like this she felt very in sync with
Natalie, but without the unrequited longing.

"Ah, cherie, all tied up neatly as usual?" Janette inquired with a
smile.  They really had developed quite an affection for one another.

"Bien sūr.  Tout sont finis."  The sometimes communicated entirely
in French for amusement.  It could be handy when discussing
troublesome customers.  She sat down rather more suddenly than she'd
intended.

"Whoa, burnout alert," Nick announced as he turned to her,
disengaging from Janette as casually as he might change his jacket.
With a gentle smile, he brushed some hair back from Maura's face.  "I
think it's quitting time."

She nodded.  It hadn't been a particularly exhausting night, but it
was just before the new moon and for some reason that time in
particular seemed to find her easily tired, and often emotionally
unbalanced, as if her body were fully engaged in working itself into
a dangerous state.   "Everything's counted and locked up tight,
Janette.  See you Friday."  She was taking the next night off for no
particular reason.

"A bientōt, cherie," Janette kissed Maura's cheek as she saw her and
Nick to the door.  As always, Nick got a more robust goodnight.

"Y'know sometimes I wonder about us," Maura mused as she belted into
the Caddy.  "Jules and Jim in reverse.  I mean you turn from one of
us to the other without batting an eye.  In some polite circles you'd
be known as a cad."

"Don't think I haven't."

Maura fell sound asleep on the drive home.  She woke up as Nick was
laying her down on the sofa.

"Yikes!" she squeaked and bolted upright, almost whacking Nick on
the chin with her head, then asked suspiciously, "Did we fly here?"

"No we didn't," he assured her, knowing how much she wanted him to
take her flying.  "We did it the old fashioned way, don't you
remember?"

"Oh.  Okay, then." Nick headed to the kitchen for a bottle.  "Pick a
flick," he suggested.  Maura went to peruse the collection, but when
Nick  returned he found her standing motionless in front of the
shelves, looking disconcerted and a little confused.

"Uh-oh," he observed, standing next to her, "a little PFMS, huh?" 

She'd come up with the witticism, a take-off on PMS that meant "Pre
Full Moon Syndrome", to characterize her mood swings in the runup to
the moon change.  Since she'd never had PMS, in fact she'd never had
a period, it was what passed for her "time of the month".  She was
convinced he was more supportive than any mortal guy would be if she
had the real thing.

"I guess," she shrugged.  "You know how I get.  I feel all bummed
and messy tonight, no idea why."  She'd been getting that way for
some time, but had managed to keep it to herself.

"You're just tired.  C'mon, we'll put on some music instead."  He
loaded some Debussy, soothing, and led her back to the sofa. 
"C'mere, stretch out and unwind."  She complied with a yawn and
smiled as he spread the afghan over her and gave her a kiss before
going to refill his glass.

"You spoil me rotten." She hastened to add, "Not that there's
anything wrong with that."

He tipped her a wink and laid a finger alongside his nose like a
seasoned con artist.  "Don't tell anyone, I have a dark reputation to
uphold."

"At Raven maybe, but what about work?"

"Oh them, you can tell them anything you want.  But mix it up.  Keep
`em confused."

She shut her eyes as he lowered the lights and returned to the
kitchen, then went to his computer.  Why did she feel so empty, so
sad?  She felt cold inside, desolate, and couldn't begin to imagine
why.  Fucked up hormones, Nick was right.  A bigass case of PFMS.

When Nick came to join her some time later he heard a not-quite
sound from beneath the afghan where Maura lay buried in the pillow. 
Sleep noises, he figured, and sat in the leather armchair nearby.  He
heard it again.  Like a whimper, struggling to be silent.  Puzzled,
he focused.  There it was again, clear now, wet and sorrowful.  He
knelt on the floor near her head.

"Hey," he whispered, "what's this?"  He pulled at the afghan but she
clung tighter.

"I dunno," came the miserable reply.  "Really, I dunno."  The last
word was painful in its confusion.

"C'mere," he coaxed, getting her to relinquish her grip as he sat on
the edge of the sofa and helped sit her up against the cushions.  He
peered into her face as if for hidden clues.  "What's up?"  He cupped
a hand to her cheek and she leaned into it.  She shook her head, no
answers apparent.

"PFMS?" she asked uncertainly, and gave a shuddery sigh.  "I have no
fucking idea, I just feel so lousy inside."  Her eyes were wide and
locked on Nick's as if he could help find an answer. 

"C'mere," he repeated and took her into his arms.  She rested on his
shoulder, eyes closed, trying to stop the hitching in her gut, but
she couldn't.  No hysterical crying jag, just irregular gulps of
breath that made her feel like some stupid child.  He stroked her
hair, kissed her cheek, rocked her a little.

"Y'know," he mused as if to thin air, "remember how you used to have
those terrible dreams the night before new?  Maybe the dreams went
away but left something else.  Maybe this is something inside wishing
it wouldn't happen."  She sighed again.

"I guess.  Maybe."  Another sigh.  Nick's embrace tightened.  She
liked how he felt, warm because he'd just fed.  She really wanted to
know what was causing this mood, a despair that had crept up on her
gradually over recent weeks and just got worse and worse.

"Are you having dreams?" he asked.

"Not that I remember."  Well, not exactly.  "There are flashes,
like.   Little bits of things but nothing clear to grab onto."

He pushed her back to look at her.  "Flashes?  Of what?"

She shifted uneasily.  "LaCroix.  Not when he attacked me, though.
New stuff.  There's just one thing I keep remembering, the same quick
image over and over."

He waited, then prompted.  "Yeah?" 

After looking everywhere but at Nick she finally faced him. 
"LaCroix and you.  Here.  And me gone.  Don't ask me to describe it,
it doesn't make sense.  But I'm not here, and he is, and you're
happy.  Not just satisfied, but grateful something bad is over, that
you have your right life back.  All in one little flash of image.  I
know it doesn't make sense."

He touched his forehead briefly to Maura's.  "No, it doesn't."  He
meant something entirely different.

A thought occurred to her, and she sat back and wiped her eyes. 
"Look, is it possible, maybe..." she trailed off, trying to pull it
together.  "Okay, we know LaCroix can't control me, or post-suggest
me, none of you can if I don't want you to.  But he's a breed apart,
right, even for you.  What if he can... play me, you know?  Mess with
my head from a million miles away?  To freak me out, to make me
miserable."

"Or to make you doubt things."

"Yeah!  Everybody knows that dreams aren't reflections of reality,"
Nick smiled at this, because "everybody" knew nothing of the sort,
"but they can bring up what's in your mind you're not paying
attention to when you're awake."  Maura hated the word
"subconscious", anything psycho-babbly annoyed her.  "So in
dreamspeak, if I just went along and kept paying attention to these
things, I'd figure I was believing you have doubts about us.  And
because we connect so well, those
doubts must be real.  Or something."  She was losing the thread of
logic, and shook her head in frustration.  She hadn't been sleeping
well.  By now she and Nick were seated side by side.  She'd been
talking to the air, figuring things out, and suddenly turned to face
him.  "Does all this sound stupid?  Am I reading too much into
things?"  She was never quite sure of her mind at "her time of the
month"

Nick shrugged.  "Maybe not.  I've thought it strange that LaCroix
simply disappeared after our confrontation.  That just isn't like
him, to abandon a game so quickly.  Maybe you're right, maybe he's
`playing' you."

Her expression hardened.  "Bastard," she spat, and Nick laughed out
loud. 

"You have a talent for understatement."

"So what, is he trying to get me to leave, or get so messed up I
drive you nuts?"

Nick nudged her sideways.  "You already drive me nuts."  She huffed
impatiently, glaring at him.

"Okay," he told her, wiping off his smile, "it might be a good idea
to find out a little more about these dreams."

"Okay by me."  She thought she knew what he meant.  It had been
quite a while since he'd taken from her, just once since LaCroix's
attack.  Despite her reassurances the rape analogy still disturbed
him.  But Maura knew the quickest way to her mind was through her
blood, and since he wanted to help her figure this out maybe it could
be win/win.  She missed the other-worldly closeness when they came
together "that way" and since they never made love in the
conventional sense it was the only physical connection she had with
him.  Now, she slid closer and moved her hair aside, hoping she
didn't seem like some desperate nymphomaniac.  She realized she'd
taken him wrong when Nick looked at her rather like a schoolteacher
might regard  a seductive student.  He knew too well how she missed
that kind of connection; so did he, and not just for the rush.  He
missed knowing her absolutely and fully, every thought and experience
she'd had since last time.  And equally impossible to deny, he missed
the physical pleasure of touching and tasting and absorbing her
sweetness.  Unfortunately for Maura, it wasn't what he had in mind.

"That would be nice," he admitted, giving her neck a quick kiss,
"but distracting.  How about you just let me help you relax enough to
remember, how's that?"  Of course he could hypnotize her as
completely as any unwilling target he'd ever known, as long as she
willingly submitted.

Maura managed to stifle a frown.  "Okay.  You're a lot less fun
since LaCroix showed up, you know that?"  He ignored the comment as
he slid to the corner of the sofa and indicated she should stretch
out.  She did as he wanted, head settled on the pillow in his lap. 
She looked up at him looking down at her.

"Close your eyes," he prompted patiently.  She did so, and
immediately felt his hand resting on her head, thumb brushing lightly
between her eyes.  "Now relax, Sweet, just like you do before we fall
asleep, but you won't sleep right now.
  Just listen to my voice," as if he had to remind her to, she loved
his voice, "Remember sleeping, remember the flashes, the images.  But
as they come to you, let them come together.  Let them show you
everything, and learn what they want to teach you."  She couldn't
stifle the urge to giggle.

"Jesus Nick what are you, some new age guru?"  She tried to sit up
but with little effort Nick held her down with just that one hand on
her head.  "Ssh."  He rested his other hand on her stomach, and her
breathing immediately evened and slowed.  Shit, she loved when he did
that.  No matter how upset or worn out she was, when he put that hand
on her belly she blissed right out.  One thumb, making a tiny motion
back and forth, like the one on her forehead.  The images started to
come.  First it was the only one she could remember right off, seeing
Nick and LaCroix through the window, sitting and talking, casual,
Nick smiling and at ease.  LaCroix was where she usually sat.  She
knew he was talking about her, saying what a wise thing it was Nick
had come to his senses, and Nick was nodding in agreement.  LaCroix
turned to the window, and saw her standing there, out in the cold
dark.  He laughed.  Nick followed his gaze, and began to laugh as
well.  He said something, something hurtful she knew even though she
couldn't hear it, and still laughing they turned away and went back
to their conversation.  Her face contracted under Nick's hand.

"Tell me."  She tried to shake her head from side to side, her mouth
cinching into a frown, lower lip trembling.  "It's all right, Maura,
you're just remembering a dream.  Tell me," and his gentle coaxing
and his hands on her reassured her.  "Where are you?"

"Outside here, outside the window.  I'm looking in, you and ... him.
He's here."

"LaCroix."

"Yes," her voice was acid, but lapsed into utter sadness.  "You're
laughing at me, both of you.  He saw me and you saw me and you're
laughing.  Then you turn away.  He said something about it being good
that I'm gone, that your life is better now.  And you agree.  Why are
you laughing at me?"  Then her voice became childlike, "It's so cold
out here, why am I so cold?"  Nick resisted the urge to cover her
with the afghan.  Better to keep her in the place she was.

Why was she alone in the dark?  Now she heard LaCroix's voice, from
all around her and nowhere at all, and she knew it was no memory but
coming to her here and now.

"You will destroy him, you know that.  He cannot live in two worlds
forever.  His only life can be the one that was, the one I gave him. 
The one he lived with me.  Your life together is a lie."  Suddenly he
was there in front of her.

"You are the lie," she hissed, whirling to try to face him down. 
"He isn't who he was, he won't be fooled by you again."

Then LaCroix stopped still, his voice cold as winter.  "He doesn't
love you.  He pities you, he cares for you as he would a pet." 
Before she could protest he went on, "And you are," his voice circled
again, closer this time, "a source of unique pleasure.  But Nicholas
has known every pleasure, has tasted every blood, and tired of them
all.  As he will tire of you.  He will cast you out, as have all the
others, and you will never expect it because you think he loves you."

His last words struck deep.  "Liar," she spat but weakly.  "You
can't stand the peace he's coming to because it's beyond you.  It's
without you."

LaCroix laughed, a bitter ringing sound.  "Peace."  More laughter. 
"Peace will bore Nicholas," he snarled at her.  "As you will bore
him.  He has been part of me for eight centuries, I made him." 
Suddenly his voice dropped, quiet and matter-of-fact.    "Do you
really think you know him better?"

"Leave me alone.  You can't harm me, you can only kill me.  And then
you'll never have him."

"Never is a long time.  Sooner or later, Nicholas will return to me.
You are mere detour.  It is his nature, it is his blood.  You think
I've been away for a long time; you do not know what `time' is."  A
long arm reached out, a hand seized her throat.  "But you will.  I
may have all the `time' in the world, but I am out running of
patience.  And Nicholas cannot protect you here."

Nick heard the exchange, sensed it as he touched Maura.  LaCroix
sought every doubt she had and worked to increase them.  And no
matter how strong she was, he was right.  Nick couldn't protect her
from her dreams and the despair they might drive her to.  They may
not be reality, but they were powerful.  Tears were streaming from
her closed eyes.

"Why," she was begging abjectly now, which pleased LaCroix beyond
imagining.  "He's known others, he's lived other lives.  Why?"

"Because, you are not mortal.  You are not the others."  For the
briefest moment she sensed the incredible: fear.  He was afraid of
her.  "And you will never have what you want.  You will always be the
special prey of every one of our kind, you will never have the
`normal' life you crave, and the sanctuary you think you have
achieved will reveal itself as farce when Nicholas returns to his
nature."

"You don't know that."

"But I do. And soon enough, so will you."  He released her. 
"Peace."  He repeated the word with even more disdain.  "I may not
control him, but I can control that.  You will never have peace from
me."  He was gone then, and she was looking in the window again, a
sort of deranged "yet to come" scene before her.  It was worse than
having left.  It was as if she had never been.  She called him a liar
in words and in her head, but everything LaCroix said spoke to the
part of her that
had never really learned to accept that things were different for
her now.  That deepest most experienced part of her, the one she
managed to ignore most of the time, wouldn't relinquish the certainty
that it was all temporary.  Even her best "arrangement" had lasted
only three years or so.  And she'd been with Nick for less than a
year.  Even if he couldn't know what Nick would do, LaCroix certainly
knew what he had done.  He'd had 800 years to observe, and nothing
he'd told her
was much at odds with what Nick had shared with her about his past. 
She knew LaCroix counted on that, but somehow she couldn't fight him.
Not where he had her now, maybe every night without revealing himself
to her as he did now.  Maura had stopped talking; Nick no longer
heard or felt her dreaming or LaCroix's presence.  All that was left
was the quiet sound of her crying.

"Come back, Sweet, it's all right.  Just a dream, just remembering. 
Come back, I'm here, it's all right," but she wouldn't look at him as
she woke, only turned and pressed her face into his stomach, ashamed
for every doubt she'd shared with him just now.  "Don't make me
leave, okay?" she whispered, hating herself for finally saying it,
hating herself even more for whimpering as she just did, like some
weak child, "please."

"Oh, no," Nick pulled her up closer into his arms, tried to make her
look at him but she resisted.  "No, no, never, you know that, LaCroix
will say anything to hurt you, to get to me."  She clung to him with
a desperation he hadn't seen since her first night with him.  "Maura,
please, don't, it's all right, you're safe, I'm here."  He pried her
from his shoulder and kissed the tears on her face.  "I love you,
Sweet, don't cry, not because of him."  She was looking at him as if
she barely knew him.  Why not, LaCroix had made sure to push that
button, and hard.  He kissed her again, her cheek and lips and neck.
Her neck.  She smelled warm and sweet, it was nearly new moon. 
Honeysuckle and amber.  Suddenly it was too clear to him, the only
way he could comfort and reassure her.  Make her believe.

When his lips slipped over her neck Maura felt cheap and
manipulative.  But he was close, and warm, and drove her doubts far
away in spite of herself.  Soft mouth, warm, wet, and his hands
traveled over her, soothing.  "Nick, I," she began, and his "Sssh,
Sweet," against her skin made her shiver.  When he bit her - how
could a bite be so gentle? - she gasped once, and relaxed in his
arms, filled with light and color and the delicious low fire that
she'd nearly forgotten.
Words she felt then, words against her neck, around the blood he
drank, "Love you, I love you," he was moaning into her.  She wound
closer around him in spite of the growing lethargy, whimpering with
pleasure as he caressed her and suckled at the most sensitive part of
her neck, his favorite place, her favorite place to have him. 
LaCroix ceased to exist, Raven, Janette, uncertainty, even desire,
all of it driven away as Maura's senses closed in around herself and
Nick, the only two creatures in the universe.

Nick's eyes were shut tight as if he could store the sparks and
explosions in his head that way.  The simultaneous surge of
excitement and calm Maura's blood always brought him drove the
rocking movement that was equally familiar; he held Maura tight
against him, moving them rhythmically as if mimicking the lovemaking
he knew she longed for.  Her blood told him everything, filled in
every space between the imperfect words and second-hand visions he'd
coaxed from her.  All of
it flowed into him at once and in perfect understanding, and even as
he loved Maura he hated LaCroix beyond anything he could ever have
imagined.  The currency most vampires dealt in was fear; LaCroix
specialized in doubt.  He found it much more powerful.

He pulled away slowly, knowing when enough was enough.  Maura's head
lolled against his shoulder.  In place of the hurt was a dreamy
smile, though traces of tears still stained her face.   He brushed
one of them away with a fingertip.  "Mmm," she murmured.  "LaCroix
sucks."

Nick laughed softly, wrapped in his own fog of pleasure, a buzz he
knew would last for some time even as his mind cleared.  "So do I,"
he whispered confidentially, giving the fading bite marks a light
lick.  "But I love you, so it's okay."  Now he reached down and
covered Maura with the afghan.

"Better?" he asked, pressing the word into a kiss on her forehead.

Maura nodded, unable or unwilling to expend the effort to speak. 
She curled up closer in his arms.  "He can't hurt me, and he won't
kill me," she rambled.  "I wish I knew why he hates me so much.  I
can't be the first you've been with."

"But you are the first mortal I haven't killed, or brought across. 
He sees that one step closer to losing his creation.  He hates you
for what he sees as keeping me where I don't belong; he hates the
idea that I could exist outside the Community, even partly.  At least
the others were vampires, and the mortals he managed to scare away or
kill. Now it's different and he knows it, that if he killed you our
link would be destroyed."

"I've told him that.  He won't listen."

Nick laughed softly.  "The day he listens to a mortal... but he
didn't count on your attitude."

"Jaded," she elaborated, "I'm just through being scared by you lot."

"I'll tell you a secret: that's what worries LaCroix.  That you just
don't seem to care. It's forcing him to be creative, and that's what
worries me.  You're not afraid of him, and that makes him twice as
dangerous."

Maura stretched lazily in his arms, arching against him.  "Well he's
wrong about that.  I care a lot.  Just not about what he wants."

"And it worries him that you love me."  Nick looked deep into her
eyes.  "Because no other mortal has.  There were always the secrets
and lies to be revealed that would drive them away."

"Ha, ha.  Like I care you're sun shy and are allergic to pointy
wooden things.  I so don't care."  She felt him shudder.

"Well that makes one of us.  I suppose we'll just have to pay
attention, and not give LaCroix the opening he wants.  You're brave,
Sweet, but don't be foolish.  We really do have to be careful. 
LaCroix is not to be disregarded."  

"Well I choose to disregard him.  I refuse to pay attention to that
pompous antique."

Nick smiled patiently and kissed Maura's forehead.  "Then I'll be
extra careful, for both of us."

Circumstances would prove those words ironic before the year was out.