For the first time since that momentary locking of gazes through the display case, she lifted her eyes to meet his. Not the brown he remembered, but dark green this time. The contacts couldn't hide the hunger that flared at his question - not the hunger he was referring to, of course, but another sign that she was not so angry as she pretended. "Have you not eaten properly since landing here?" she asked in astonishment, pushing from her lean to stand closer to him.

His eyes met hers, wondering what their true color was, wondering who she really was behind all the cloak and dagger. A spy, a hunter, a witch, an assassin, a thief - nothing seemed too outlandish when he thought about her. He stood his ground when she moved closer, tempted to kiss her again like he had the last time, just before she'd left, a kiss to remember him by and another to rekindle the fire. It felt like he was on fire standing that close to her, either unable or unwilling to touch her in public, afraid of something maybe. "I've eaten. Whether it's been properly depends on your point of view." If she took a closer look at him, she might notice he looked weary, as if he hadn't slept or at the least, hadn't slept well. He'd dismiss it as jet lag, but it was more than that.

Her gaze lowered without conscious thought to rest on his lips as he spoke, her own moving just enough to mirror the rest and curve of his mouth before she snapped herself out of it. She had noticed how tired he looked, though she assumed it was jet lag rather than anything more sinister. Realising she was holding his gaze in silence rather than answering, Natalya swallowed, clearing her throat. "Where we go would depend on how hungry you are," she heard herself say as her gaze returned to his yet again. Her hands had fallen from her pockets, one twitching toward his as though she wanted to twine their fingers together as they had done on the plane. "I think we need to talk."

His own fingers twitched when he practically felt hers near his, but he kept his hand to himself for now. He had a feeling once he touched her, all bets were going to be off, and he wouldn't be able to control the hunger that was raging inside him. It wasn't the kind of hunger that came from lack of food or even lack of sex. It was more like an empty hole in his heart or his soul that yearned for something or someone to fill it. "I'm always hungry," he replied, letting her think what she might of that.

She studied his face for a long moment, the muted intelligence in her own eyes proving that she was coming to a decision. A dangerous decision, at that. "My hotel is only a few minutes away," she offered, feeling her face flush a deeper shade of pink as her mind leapt to possibly the entirely wrong sort of hungry. "The restaurant is particularly good." Would he understand what a risk she was taking with this offer" Her contacts would be gob smacked to learn that she had given away her location to the one person who might possibly be able to guess what she was up to.

"What am I calling you these days?" he asked, as the question was in answer to her proposition. There was no need to accept the offer really, when he'd been the one to propose lunch. So long as they were in public, he wasn't too worried, and if she was trying to kill him, she'd have to try harder than that.

"Nat." It was an immediate answer, without conscious thought. No one but Rhys had ever called her that, and she was rather certain no one ever would. The fact that it coincided with her current alias was simply a bonus. "And you?" she asked, trying to keep herself civil and not too familiar under the curious glances from the guards. She turned toward the wide staircase, hesitating for a moment before giving into the urge. Her fingers slid between his, drawing him with her down the staircase as she bit her lip to hold in an entirely inappropriate moan.

"Rhys, like the candy bar," he replied, tangling his fingers with hers as she drew him to her. Like a moth to the flame, he thought, wondering if he'd get burned. Oh, well, a little singe now and then never hurt anyone. He nodded politely at the nosy guards and fell into step beside her. Her hand felt good in his, too good, almost as if it belonged there. But he'd felt that feeling before, and nothing good had come of it.

They must have made quite the interesting sight for the museum employees as they passed through the main foyer and out onto the square itself. The chic woman and not-so-chic man, both tourists but seemingly from different worlds. And yet the only gossip that could have come from their little meeting was that of an imagined love affair, banned by her family in America. "Candy is certainly a good description of what you are," Natalya murmured as she drew Rhys toward the rank of taxis that waited nearby. "Bad for me in all kinds of ways, but too tempting to stay away from for long."

He chuckled dryly at her remark. "Yeah, I've been known to cause cavities." But then the irony of it set it and he quieted, knowing he really wasn't good for her all around well-being. It should have stayed a one night stand, memories of her burned into his mind for all eternity, or however much longer he stayed alive. And yet, now that she was there, he couldn't help himself. He needed to know if there was something more there than just a few sparks.

She opened the back door of the first taxi they came to, sliding in without letting go of Rhys' hand. He would either have to slide in with her, or be dragged; she wasn't letting him get away so easily this time. "Le Warwick, s"il vous plait," was all she said to the driver, who nodded and pulled away in the busy Paris traffic the moment the door was closed. To Rhys, Natalya murmured in a tone that was all about the heart and not the body, "You certainly cause aches."

He understood enough French to know what she just told the driver, but not enough to speak it or understand it even close to fluently. Latin was another matter, but no one spoke conversational Latin anymore. "I found your card," he told her quietly, letting her know that he knew she had wanted to see him again; otherwise, why would she have given it to him' Now that they were alone, he turned to face her, dragging the back of his hand across her cheek gently, his eyes betraying the mirrored ache of longing he felt within his own heart. "I almost called a few times."

Her eyes almost closed as his hand stroked her cheek, naked longing clear on her face as she, too, shifted just enough to face him. "I wanted you to," she admitted just as softly, her own hand rising to tenderly trace the line of his nose, to brush her fingertips to his lips. "I didn't want to let you go."

Was now the time to tell her or should he just let her keep thinking whatever it was that was blossoming between them would grow" It was killing him to think he might lose her again, but it was probably better that way. Better for her health anyway. It was hard not letting her see that on his face, the familiar longing, the ache of loneliness. "You said it yourself. It's not safe to be with me." And though he said this, he made no attempt to stop her from touching him, or him from touching her. "I'm trouble with a capital T."

"I never listen to my own advice," was her quiet answer, the glimmer of amusement showing itself forth in her tone as well as in the faint smile that touched her lips as she spoke. "I am as much trouble as you, Rhys, whether you believe that or not." She wanted so much to pull the contacts from her eyes, to muss her hair, and be free of the disguise she was wearing for the benefit of everyone but him. He deserved to see her as she was, she was certain of it. "And I am not incapable of looking after myself." Her hand dropped to his chest, resting over the tattoo she knew was there, reminding him with one gesture of her own protection inked into her skin.

The gesture and the thought behind it wasn't lost on him, but if a were panther couldn't protect herself against the things that wanted to see him dead, how was a mere woman supposed to do that' Despite those feelings, his heart skipped a beat when she touched him, and he closed his own hand around hers, a hint of anguish in his green eyes, memories of those who'd said those very words to him before. "I've heard that before."

"Not from me." She hadn't missed the glint of former pain remembered in his eyes, nor the protective way his hand curled about hers. She knew that to a hunter she must seem very small and fragile, something to be guarded and looked after, yet that was very far from the truth itself. But how could she prove that to him' The anguish in his eyes struck deep, urging her to lean close, wanting to wipe that pain away with a kiss ....but in the moment that her breath touched his lips, the car drew to a halt in front of the Warwick Hotel, one of the most luxurious in Paris. Muttering a quiet curse in Russian under her breath, she reluctantly drew away from Rhys to pay the driver.

He wasn't sure what to think about her own declaration of trouble. Adam hadn't been able to find so much as a traffic ticket, and Rhys wasn't even sure if she'd given him her real name. She was a mystery, an enigma. One he wanted to take the time to figure out, but time was the one thing he had very little of. He made no attempt to pull away from her when she leaned into him, expecting, anticipating, even longing for her kiss, to re-ignite the flame inside him that was already smoldering with desire. But he made no move to encourage or discourage her either way, letting her take the lead and decide how far she wanted to go. She could probably feel his heart hammering hard in his chest and then the moment passed, and they had arrived at their destination.

He glanced out the window to look at the hotel, immediately recognizing it as being much classier and more expensive than where he was staying. "Somebody's got money," he muttered, but he already knew that from the way she dressed, the way she carried herself, the seats in first class. In that way, she reminded him of Riley, who he had at first assumed was way out of his league.

Catching the mutter, Natalya frowned a little, glancing away a little too quickly as she opened the door to step out onto the street. It was rare to meet anyone she liked this much, anyone she wanted to know and see more of, and she couldn't help feeling resentful of her own monied status when he made it clear that it was an issue for him. She, of all people, knew that money wasn't everything.

It wasn't so much that it was an issue as it was that he felt she was out of his league, that he wasn't good enough for her. He didn't have a lot of money to impress her with or to spend on fancy things, to wine or dine her with. He only had himself, nothing more. He climbed out of the taxi, pausing to take a look around, wishing not for the first time that he was there for some other reason than business. "Ever been to New York?" he asked, spontaneously again. Well, of course she had. That's where the airplane had taken off from, but that didn't mean she had really visited the city.

The spontaneity of his question caught her by surprise, turning her eyes to his as she smiled up at him. "Twice," she admitted with a faint shrug. "On business the first time. I don't make a habit of passing through often; there is still some ....furor over what happened the first time." Her laugh was genuinely wicked as she offered this cryptic remembrance, twining her fingers through his once again as she led him along the line of carpet toward the foyer.

"The city that never sleeps," he said quietly. It was in many ways much different than this city, but he had a feeling there was a passion to Paris, as well. Every city he'd ever been to had its own heart and soul. One just needed to search a little to find it, the heartbeat of the city. He arched a brow at her cryptic remark, fingers once again tangling with hers, partly watching her as he followed her lead. "What furor?" he inquired, trying not to sound too anxious to know even this small secret.

She giggled softly, stepping close enough that her lips brushed his ear as they walked together. "Next time you look for my background," she suggested, "cross-reference Pimenova with the Cintamani Stone." Unable to resist nibbling his lobe while she was there, she drew back with a sparkling smile for him. "You would not believe me if I told you straight."

He arched a brow at her mention of the object, which he'd heard a little of from all the texts Dylan and David and now Adam had forced him to read. "A wishing stone? That's crap, you know. It's just symbolic for what happens when you reach Nirvana. If it's true, I wish I'd find one 'cause I've got a few things I'd wish for," he remarked, casually.

She snorted with laughter. "Oh, ye of little faith," was her teasing answer. "Do you really think I would waste my time on something that was not real?" Her head tilted in challenge as she eyed him, daring him to consider her that empty-headed. "It does not grant wishes, it grants desires. Which are far more dangerous."

He rubbed his earlobe where she'd taken a nibble, eying her curiously. "Yeah' Did you wish you'd meet a tall, dark, handsome, dangerous stranger on a plane to Paris and..." He broke off, not finishing the rest of that thought. "Aren't they the same thing?"

She shook her head with a smile that was only just touched with sadness, suggesting at a story in her past to inform what she knew now. "A wish can be constructed," she told him quietly. "Thought out and created to provide what you want without tricks or deceptions. Your desires change from moment to moment, and they are not easy to predict nor to curb. You have no control over what you desire."

"And I didn't say it wasn't real. I said it doesn't grant wishes." He was studying her again, never really stopping studying her. It was a continual process of careful observation. He noted a hint of sadness in her smile and couldn't help but ask, even though he still thought the idea was preposterous. "What was it you wished for?"

"Freedom." That was it, a one word answer that rippled with pain as she looked away for a moment, not wanting him to see her own anguish. "I wanted to be free of rules and orders and people telling me what I could and could not do. My desire was to be free of my father." There was another pause as she steeled herself to admit to what was, essentially, a fact of her own making. "And now I am."

This subject was like opening a can of worms - a can that should remain closed, lest something escape that should have remained hidden, and he'd just opened it. Sensing some pain in her, something from her own past, his heart ached with sympathy, and without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close, folding her into him, like an angel wrapping his wings around her in a protective embrace. He didn't say anything, didn't feel there was anything that needed to be said.

She turned easily into his embrace, not arguing with this protective wrap of arms as she hid her face in his shoulder. There were no tears, no display of grief, but he would feel the deep shudder that ran through her as she pushed those painful memories deep beneath the surface once again. She had no idea why she had volunteered so much of herself; no one before had managed to get so much detail from her with a simple question. After a long moment, she let her head tilt back, looking up at him with warm eyes, desperate to move away from that subject. "Are you still hungry?"

He was perfectly happy and patient to hold her there as long as she wanted or needed and for that brief span of time, it seemed as if only the two of them existed in the entire world. He sensed some pain in her, felt the shudder go through her, and wondered just how similar they might really be. She seemed to know far more about him than he did about her, but even with that knowledge, she hadn't yet pushed him away, just the opposite, in fact. He didn't push or force the subject. If she wanted to tell him, she would in her own time. He smiled down at the face that looked up at him. "Oui, mademoiselle..." He managed with a very-American accent to his French. "Um....j'ai faim?"

Her smile returned with his attempt at French. "Oui, vous avez faim," she nodded, impressed with the correct words, if not the pronunciation. Without thinking, she rose onto her toes to press a soft kiss to his lips, stepping away with his hands caught in hers to lead him toward the restaurant. There was a lot to talk about, still, and a lot to understand, but for now, appalling French and his company over lunch would have to do. She would simply have to suppress what other desires were demanding her attention until the most immediate hunger had been sated.

The waiter - who was, of course, listening in discreetly - only just managed to smother a laugh at Rhys' overly-loud comment. Natalya, however, wasn't so polite, only just remembering to cover her mouth as it opened wide under her own laughter. "Foie gras," she corrected him with a giggle. "It's a type of duck pate."

There was that face again. Pate didn't sound too appealing. He sighed and tossed the menu on the table, pouting a little at her laughter, not really sure what the joke was. He really thought they ate grass. "Why don't you just order for me?"

Catching his pout, her smile warmed again to that inviting little tease of lips and eyes. "You should not make that face if you're trying to keep me from holding you hostage in my bed for a few weeks," she warned him, her voice hot for those few moments before she drew herself back under control. With his decided confidence in her ability to order for him, she looked up, the line of her gaze calling the waiter over to her side. She ordered the beef for them both, declining the offer of wine, turning her eyes back to Rhys as the waiter moved away.

He blinked at her warning, which was not much of a warning at all, but sounded more like a promise of something intriguing. The pout turned to a grin as he thought about that while she did the ordering, the worries over what he was going to end up with on his plate, forgotten. "So, is that a promise or a threat?"

The inviting light of her smile didn't change as he engaged with her teasing finally, the angle of her body shifting as though to reinforce that invitation unconsciously. Her hand lowered from beneath her chin, lying flat on the table to let her fingers toy with the very tip of his napkin where it lay beside his plate. Another invitation. "Which would you prefer it to be, Rhys?" she asked softly, letting her gaze linger on his.

His grin softened to a smile, noticing how her fingers seemed to be itching to touch his. He kept them from her purposely, just to tease her a little. "Just so you know, if I disappear for a few weeks, someone will come looking for me that you probably don't want to meet. But I don't mind mixing a little business with pleasure."

The tease worked. Without quite realising it, her fingertips stretched closer to him as she tucked her currently straight dark hair behind her ear. She wanted to ask who this someone was, but had a feeling that might be pushing things a little too far, too soon. "And yet which would I be?" she asked playfully. "The business or the pleasure?"

"Oh, you're definitely pleasure," he smiled, his fingers twitching and inching just a fraction closer to hers, as if by touching her, he might get burned. "The question is, which is the sword?" Yes, he hadn't missed the fact that she seemed interested in it, possibly even more interested in it than she was in him.

"A challenge," she murmured softly, her eyes drawn to the dance of their fingers, so close and yet not touching. Not yet. "I have no business. But if the sword is your business ....you will stand no chance of retrieving it without me."

There was a flicker of surprise in his expression, an arch of a single brow. He was about to ask if he was a challenge, as well, but he bit off his reply when she openly admitted her interest in the blade. His entire demeanor turned from flirtatious to serious, a little defensive even. Who the hell was this woman and what did she really want' "What makes you think I want to do that?"

"Your interest in it," she answered simply, regretting the change in their attitude to one another but knowing this was something he would have to get past. "In the Louvre, you relaxed from your defensiveness when I mentioned the sword as being my object of interest. And yet you bring it up now, in the midst of warmth and teasing about business and pleasure."

"I want to know if you're someone I have to worry about. If you're friend or foe." He had a feeling she could be a valuable ally, but he been fooled before, and he had to be sure. His fingers remained where they were, near but not quite touching hers. Perhaps a sign that he hadn't given up on a possible relationship, only that he needed to know where her loyalties were.

"I'm not your enemy, Rhys." She sighed softly, holding his gaze as she spoke, lining up the clues he should already have put together in mind. "I told you on the plane. I am here for pleasure's sake. I like a challenge. I have taken the time to study an artefact which is mostly forgotten by the people for whom it was created. My name is linked with the Cintamani Stone." Her brows rose, urging him to make the connection so she wouldn't have to say it aloud.

He'd already made the connection, or at least, had suspected it, but she was now confirming his suspicions. There were only a few questions left. "Okay, so, will you help me?"

Again, she held his gaze for a long moment, studying him as acutely as he had studied her before. "If you want me to," she said finally, her voice soft but sincere. "If you are willing to do as I tell you."

He leaned in, lowering his voice. Even though he was speaking in English, he wasn't stupid enough to know there were people here who could overhear, understand, and blow both their covers. "You're not gonna make me wear black spandex and hang from a wire, are you?"

She smirked, deliberately dragging her gaze over him as she enjoyed the mental image of him clad in skin-tight black spandex for a long moment. "Sadly, no," she murmured, her voice just loud enough to reach his ears. "Black is so cliched, and easy to pick out of a shadow. The wire ....well, that may not be an option to avoid for either of us."

Here came the next question and it was a whopper. He leaned close, as a lover might to whisper sweet nothings to his sweetheart, dropping his voice for her ears alone. "How much?" Though she might be doing it for the challenge, he had a feeling there was money involved. Lots of it, considering the uniqueness of the item. As far as he knew, there was only one of them in the entire world.

Her gaze had dropped without thought to his lips as he spoke, heat touching her face as her eyes lifted to his again, warm despite the contacts that clouded them. Unable to resist the temptation - and not wanting to resist, more importantly - she leaned into him, teasing him with a kiss that never touched his lips, ghosted to his mouth on her breath as the tip of her nose circled his. "I told you," she breathed tenderly. "The challenge." The slow grin that crossed her face then was all manner of wickedly impudent, and at the same time firm - she would not accept payment for doing what she had come here to do in the first place.

He smiled as she leaned close, so close as to be almost intoxicating. He breathed in her scent, like her, barely able to resist. He remained inches from her, not moving closer to capture those lips. Not yet. It was almost as if they were two opponents sparring with each other, parrying each attack, until one or the other would at last give in. "Not what I mean. How much are you hoping to get for it?" His breath was close, as close as hers, heated with barely repressed desire.

Caught in this dance now, her gaze continued to flicker from his mouth to his eyes, challenging him to taunt her as she was taunting him. Her tongue swept over her lips to wet them, just happening to barely skim his top lip in the process. "An obscene amount of money," she teased, sardonic and vibrant in her breathed reply. "Or nothing at all." One shoulder rose and fell in a half-hearted shrug. "I haven't decided."

He reacted to that teasingly small taste of her lips with a brief blink as his eyelids fell shut. She was almost like a drug, and he couldn't get enough. He fell silent a moment as he seemed to consider. He needed the sword, but only temporarily. "You can have it when I'm done with it." He knew that be revealing even that much, she might wonder what he needed it for, but the answer seemed perfectly obvious to him. It was a weapon, a holy sword, and it had been created for a purpose.

The tip of her nose circled his once again, her fingers finally claiming his where they lay against the table. "You really do not listen well, do you?" she grinned. His reaction to that barely there taste was like flame to her kindling, urging her to nip at his lower lip this time before drawing back just out of reach. "I only want the challenge ....the sword is yours already."

He had to stifle the shudder and take a slow breath to calm the hammering of his heart when her lips touched his, however briefly. He'd only felt this kind of heat from a woman once before, and that, like most of his relationships, hadn't ended well. He licked his lips as if by doing so he could taste her again, taking a moment to recover his composure, asking the only remaining question that remained, at least for the time being. "And what about me" Am I a challenge?"

The surprise that touched her eyes at this question was palpable. She hadn't realised that he truly didn't know how tempting he was, how much distance he seemed to automatically want to put between them when she gained even a little ground. Did he really not know how intoxicating a challenge that made him' "Of the very best kind," she promised in a husky tone loaded with unvoiced intentions, yet not moving to taste him again herself. Some things had to happen of their own accord, after all.

If she was going to pursue this challenge, she needed to know what she was getting herself into, but this wasn't the time or the place to explain it to her, and he had a feeling she knew a lot more than she seemed to. She had already hinted at having done some digging on him, but he didn't know just how much digging she'd done. "You were right about me, you know. I'm trouble. People I care about..." He broke off a moment, his face once again betraying the feelings he tried so hard to keep hidden, the pain and the grief. "Bad things happen to people who get close to me, Nat."

"No," she shook her head lightly, her palm curling to his jaw as her lips pressed softly to his opposite cheek. "Demons have happened to the people who get close to you. In the past." There had been nothing but the bare bones of Rhys' background on the sheet Vadim had emailed her, but Natalya had lived in the shadow of the occult and magical for too long not to be able to read what wasn't there. "Stop worrying about what might be. Concentrate on what is."

His fingers twitched against hers, finally acknowledging her touch, twining his fingers with hers, eyes closing once again when she kissed his cheek and touched his jaw, longing for something more than this meager existence. Longing for someone to share it with, connect with, even if only for a little while, the lonely ache in his heart almost too much to bear. He lost his voice for a moment. If she was trying to seduce him, she was winning. "What is," he repeated, opening his eyes again and seeing what was right before him, as if for the first time. "You're so beautiful." He said it softly, almost as if he didn't even realize the words had left his mouth.

The first thought that entered his head when she started naming all those pairs of ill-fated lovers was that their stories had ended in tragedy. Romeo and Juliet, Lancelot and Guinevere, Paris and Helen. Rhys and Riley. The wound still bled, but it wasn't so much losing Riley, not anymore. She was happy now, and he was glad of that. No, his pain went deeper than that. "Fate," he said quietly. Just the one word. He'd felt it twice before. Love at first sight. Mutual attraction. Fated lovers. Whatever you wanted to call it, and here it was, happening again. He had two choices - he could either run from it or embrace it. His throat tightened and he had to fight down the flood of emotions that was threatening to drown him, looking away so she wouldn't see him close his eyes as he tried to reclaim his composure. What was it about her that he came so easily undone"

Natalya's brow creased in concern as he looked away from her, misinterpreting the gesture as another of his gentle but firm rejections. Swallowing hard against the tightness in her throat, she drew in a trembling breath, forcing herself to sound unhurt by what she assumed he was thinking. "But we make our own fate," she said quietly, inwardly berating herself for the way her voice shook. "It was just a request, Rhys. If it pains you so much, I ....I will never ask again." Now it was her turn to look away, covering her mouth and nose with the napkin she lifted from her lap, letting her hair fall forward to hide the fact that her own eyes had closed tightly, not wanting him to see how deeply that assumed rejection stung.

"You don't understand, Natalya," he said quietly, using her full name so that she listened and tried to understand. When he turned back to face her, he had not yet recovered his composure, not yet donned the mask he showed the rest of the world, his pain - whatever it was - raw and plain to see. "I don't want to see you get hurt. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if you got hurt." And just to underscore how much he was starting to care for her, he reached for her hand and lifted it to his mouth to press his lips against it. "Please, don't cry," he pleaded softly, his heart aching to take her in his arms and hold her close for as long as fate allowed.

Her eyes filled as she took in the raw, bitter pain that engulfed his expression, unable to help wondering what it was in his past that could have caused so much hurt to linger. The press of his lips to her knuckles seemed to scorch her skin with the force of that need he had to protect. "How can I not cry, when you are in so much pain?" she asked very softly. "I will not promise you that I will never be hurt, but neither can you make such a promise yourself. What I know is that I will not let you go again, even if you disappear and never come back to me." There was a pause as her hand turned in his grasp, curving to the line of his jaw with undeniable warmth. "But the pain would be deeper if you push me away because of what might be. You cannot predict the future, Rhys. Please don't ask me to stop whatever this is between us simply through fear."

He opened his mouth to speak, to interrupt her, to argue with her, to tell her how wrong she was, how he knew how this would turn out because it always turned out the same, but the words died on his lips at her entreaty. Maybe it was her tears, maybe it was the way she looked at him, the way she seemed to see into his very soul, or maybe it was just that she was making sense. Of all the women he'd ever known, only a handful had tried so hard to hang onto what might be. She had seen right through him, to the very core of his heart and soul. She had recognized his fear for what it was, even if she didn't know all of what caused it. How could he say no to someone who hardly knew him and yet, knew him so well" "All right," he said after a moment, fighting against the cold grip of fear that was closing around his heart. "All right, I'll stay. For tonight, at least, and then we'll see in the morning."

Though it was an affirmation of her request, Natalya could see that whatever he chose to do would pain him one way or the other. She didn't press the point any further, simply stroking her thumb across his lips tenderly. "Thank you." It was whispered, a fervent, fierce thanks that might almost be felt more than heard in the quiet of the restaurant, and all that needed to be said. Reluctantly drawing her hand from his cheek, she drew in a slow breath, turning their talk away from the heart and soul to more practical matters. "It will be easier, of course, to prepare if we are in proximity."

Her fingers burned like fire against his cheek, and he sighed softly when she touched his lips, but he wasn't so easily distracted or turned away from a subject, and though they had reached at least a temporary agreement, he was still full of questions he needed answers to and the most pressing one was just blurted out. She'd given him an answer once before, but he wasn't sure he was buying it. "Why are you helping me" It's not just my roguish charm."

She sighed softly, lifting her eyes to meet his once again, the food all but forgotten now. "In truth' Because if we both make the attempt separately, we will undoubtedly trip one another up, and the prize will be doubled in security, if not moved," she told him quite honestly. "I have been planning this for a long time, longer than you might think."

"And I haven't," he admitted, dismally. He was, in fact, hardly prepared at all. Not a thief, but a hunter. Oh, sure, he could pick a lock with the best of them. Breaking and entering, hot wiring a car, safe-cracking, all those things were a piece of cake. They were also small time theft. This was the big leagues, and he knew he was over his head. Adam had promised to hook him up with someone, but so far, he'd given him no name. He glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone was nearby who might be eavesdropping on their conversation, then leaned close, lowering his voice, promising to save the rest of this discussion for private. "I'm not a thief, Nat," he whispered, to her ears alone.

There were no others in the immediate vicinity, though a small group of businessmen had taken a table on the opposite end of the terrace since they had sat down. Nat leaned closer to hear Rhys' soft confession, holding his gaze with calm confidence. "I am," she whispered back, and the way she said it spoke plainly that the big leagues that so concerned him were her playing field. She knew what she was doing, and she wasn't about to let him bungle straight into something that was clearly over his head.

He smiled a little when she confirmed his suspicions. He'd have to call Adam and tell him he had a partner and to stop looking. He couldn't help but feel a little smug at that thought. He knew his friend wouldn't be happy about it, but his mind was already made up. Since she seemed to trust him enough to come clean, he felt it was only fair to return the favor, though he suspected she already knew what he was about to tell her. "I'm a hunter," he whispered back.

Her arm stretched across the table, fingers seeking contact with his once again as she smiled faintly. "Which is why you need the sword," she guessed quietly, nodding in slow acceptance as the pieces fell into place. "And me, if you're going to get it in the first place." One eyelid flickered in a teasing little wink. It could have been astonishing, how easily she slipped from deep emotion to this light sort of humor. But then, it took one to know one - her easy transition took nothing away from what she felt, did not negate anything she had said. It simply made such moments easier to handle, for all involved.

His own emotions were somewhat mercurial, some might even say moody. He'd been accused of being cranky - irascible, Riley would say - but it was easier to push people away than let them get close. There was another side of him, however, a side he rarely let show, a side that he kept hidden and well guarded, or so he thought. He smiled when she winked at him, his own mood lightening almost as if in response to hers, and he reached over to brush an errant tear from her cheek, even as he tangled his fingers with hers as they reached for him. "I need a partner. You fit the bill."

A few hours later...

One thing Rhys had been spot on about was the room service at the hotel Natalya had lured him to. It was a very exclusive hotel, and the staff loved to send their clients away feeling waited on hand and foot. Which was how Nat had ended up on the room phone, still curled up in the centre of the bed they had finally made it to, trying to relay an order for an American hamburger and fries to the confused man at the other end.

"And a beer," he called over, while she was on the phone, poking his head out of the bathroom. They have to know what beer was, right' If they didn't, he was going to be very upset. Once he relayed that request, he popped his head back into the bathroom to go about his business, whatever it was. You would think the man was exhausted, but a little sex had seemed to revive him, and all he could think about now was his stomach.

Giggling softly to herself at this addition, Natalya waited until the poor man at the desk downstairs had repeated the order back to her once again before adding this. "Et une bi're blanc, sil vous plait," she relayed, rolling her eyes as Rhys ducked back into the bathroom. The order made, she set the phone down on the bedside table and rolled onto her side to face the bathroom, wrapped up in the sheets demurely. "He says it will not be more than half an hour."

The toilet was heard to be flushing, followed by the sound of running water in the sink. "Half an hour" Just long enough for a quickie," he teased from the bathroom, glancing at the ceiling. "Hey, Nat....There's a chandelier in here. And a....the hell is this for?" He chuckled. "There's sink in here for midgets."

The chandelier comment alone was enough to send her into more fits of giggles, but the sink for midgets just had to be seen. She scrambled out of the bed, the sheet still tucked modestly around herself, and stepped in through the door with an enquiring look on her face. "A what?" she asked, her tone rich with amusement as she looked over at him.

Not really comfortable about parading around in nothing but his birthday suit, he was wearing his boxers, which were blue and green plaid. "Your bathroom is almost as big as my hotel room," he remarked, leaning over the bidet and turning the water on and off, either amused or amazed - it was hard to tell which.

Natalya grinned, moving to sit on the lowered lid of the toilet as he played with the bidet, one knee crossed delicately over the other. "There are some advantages to having a little money to spend on accommodation," she admitted ruefully, reaching out to stroke her fingertips against his bicep. Even after their somewhat epic session together, she still couldn't quite stop herself from touching him. "Rhys, why are you playing with the bidet?"

He froze in place, like a marble statue, and cut a glance at her. That innocent touch sent a ripple of desire through him, even after he'd been satiated several times over, but his confusion overrode his desire. "The what?"

"Bidet," she smiled, having mercy on his frozen senses for now as her hand retreated from his arm. "It's a sort of sink for washing the intimate parts of your body more easily." Her brown eyes touched his with warm playfulness. "Have you never seen one before?"

His jaw dropped open. Not even Riley had one of those. You could almost see the wheels turning in his head, and then he laughed. "You're sh*tting me, right?" He'd been in some pretty swanky places, but he couldn't recall ever seeing a sink for your privates before. He'd just have to try that out the first chance he got.

Her eyes widened at his surprise, not realising how something usual in her sphere of influence could be so alien to his. "Not at all," she assured him, her smile encouraged by his laugh. "I could demonstrate for you, if you'd like. Later."

His eyes widened, as well, surprised by her offer, his mouth curling into a crooked smile. "Oh, well....If you really want to." Just the thought of that sent another little ripple through him, and he cleared his throat as he straightened. It was hard to hide what he was feeling about her suggestion in those boxers. "It's....um....very purple. Like a king's bathroom." He smirked over at her again. "That would make that..." He nodded to the toilet with a mischievous grin. "The throne." For a man in his early thirties, his sense of humor had not really matured much past a ten-year-old boy.

Her suggestion had, of course, been all about interesting him all over again - not that it was really necessary. The opportunity she had to revel in his slight discomfort, however, was abruptly cut short by his joking reference to where she sat, the humor rewarded with a rich, loud laugh that seemed to bubble up from her chest before exploding from her lips in a glorious exclamation of amusement. "And here I sit, woefully under-dressed for royalty."

"Oh, I don't know." He tilted his head, looking her over, green eyes dancing with amusement. "Those could be your royal robes." He smirked again and affected a bow. "I am at your service, Your Majesty."

She smirked back at him, one hand rising to let a single finger uncurl to beckon him close as she looked him up and down with that unmistakable heat radiating through her gaze. "If I am Your Majesty, does that make you my servant?" she asked sweetly. "If so ....your livery is not hanging straight." And down that hand went, pretending to smooth the one piece of clothing he wore while making the most of the opportunity to grope delicately.

He arched a brow at her, straightening from the bow, and moving closer, closer enough for her to touch him. "My....livery?" He'd never heard it called that before and glanced down at his boxers. At the moment, he didn't think he was hanging at all. The grope, while delicate, was unexpected and elicited a groan as he moved closer.

Grinning, Natalya rose smoothly from her perch atop the 'throne', letting her hand drift to his hip as her nose bumped his. Despite their closeness and her teasing, though, she kept a firm grip on the sheet wrapped around herself, one hand holding it tight to her chest as she nuzzle a playful kiss to his lips. "Then again," she mused innocently, "perhaps I prefer you standing to attention."

He looked down at her, nose to nose with her, lips parting as if he was either expecting or contemplating a kiss. He circled her waist with his arms, his turn to grope, and pulled her up against him to feel for herself whether he was at attention or not. "You're doing to be the death of me, Natalya."

Her lips parted in a wide grin as he drew her close against him, an excited little gasp of breath betraying her own rousing response to his pressing desire. "Not for a long time," she promised fervently, the hand at his hip circling about to flatten against his back, holding him just as close to her. "I'm not finished with you yet."

He frowned a little at her remark, wondering what would happen to him when she was finished with him, when she tired of him, when she finally just couldn't stand to be in the same room with him anymore. Part of him wondered if she was just playing with him, if she just toying with his heart, but unless he was reading her wrong, he didn't get that feeling from her. He smiled, realizing she was teasing him, taking her at her word, his only reply a kiss that was full of promise and longing for affection.

She laughed softly at the question, opening out the folded sheet to show it to him. "I dare you to find a cloak or a dagger in my belongings," she grinned, laying the large sheet out on the bed with them. It proved to be a blueprint map of the security systems of the Louvre itself, together with notes written in a hurried hand along the margins containing access codes and warnings about surveillance dead spots. "I called in a favor a couple of days ago," she explained. "This is my reward for being patient."

He glanced over her shoulder to take a look at the blueprint, a brow arching. "If that's not cloak and dagger, I don't know what is." He leaned back to take another pull off his beer. Draining the bottle, he set it aside and jammed a few fries into his mouth. "Ask you something?" he asked, his mouth with a mouthful of fries.

"Of course," she agreed generously. It was a risky agreement; he might not like the answer he was looking for. But then, she didn't actually seem to be able to lie to Rhys, which would have been unsettling if she'd allowed herself to think about it. She glanced at him encouragingly before her eyes returned to the blueprint, scanning it thoughtfully a while longer.

"You said you wanted to steal the sword for the challenge. What were you planning on doing with it after you stole it?" He was studying her again, like one might a rival, judging on instinct alone whether or not she was being truthful.

Lifting her eyes from the paper, she met his gaze head on, one brow slightly risen as she considered what to tell him. "I don't suppose you have ever heard of the Institute of Avalon, have you?" she asked quietly.

He plucked up the burger now, settling himself back against the pillows, while he enjoyed it and her, listening while she shared whatever it was she was willing enough to share. "Nope."

Natalya's eyes rolled ever so slightly, her expression wryly resigned to this explanation as she leaned onto her hand, slightly mirroring his more comfortable lean. "The Institute of Avalon was set up in the early 1930's," she began, "founded by a coalition of academics and scholars who specialised in the mythological, occult, spiritual, and magical. Because of certain advantages that come with studying such areas as divination, as well as the use of artefacts known to assist with predicting the future, they could see what damage could be done if certain political leaders of the time got their hands on certain powerful objects."

"During the 1930's, a series of thefts and inexplicable disappearances were very carefully hushed up," she went on, feeling her way through the story as briefly as she could. "Such as Excalibur, for example, or the Holy Grail. The Institute gathered these objects together and hid them somewhere impenetrable, to keep them out of the wrong hands. It is their raison d'etre, you might say." She shrugged lightly, hoping he was following this.

"You mean Hitler," he interjected, following her explanation so far. Hey, he wasn't a complete moron and he'd seen all the Indiana Jones movies multiple times. "Wait....Excalibur?" he echoed, incredulously. "The Excalibur?"

"Yes, I mean Hitler," she nodded quietly. "Or more pertinently, Churchill and his allies. Given the power of Excalibur, for example, they could have levelled Europe in the name of righteousness and destroyed it in the same motion. That power cannot be allowed to fall into any hands but those it is fated for." Her lips quirked in a faint smile. "Yes. The Excalibur."

He lowered the burger, which had a few bites out of it, and furrowed his brows, looking puzzled. "Okay, but....if they....whoever they are....already have Excalibur, why are you going after Joyeuse?" And surprisingly, he pronounced it perfectly.

She smiled gently. "They do not use what they have in safe keeping," she told him softly. "And while Excalibur is powerful, Joyeuse contains something far more powerful yet. The Lance of Longinus rests in the hilt ....the Spear of Destiny. A direct link to the divine being worshipped by Christians the world over. It is a holy weapon, and it should not be in the Louvre. They have no hope of protecting it should any demon decide it has its uses in hell."

"So they say," he said quietly, suddenly losing his appetite. He returned the half-eaten hamburger to the plate with a sigh. He already knew all this, and while impressed and even relieved that she shared the same knowledge, talking about it made it all too real again and he felt the weight of the world on his shoulders. "So, you were going to take it to this Institute of Avalon to be deep-sixed so that no one could ever use it for the wrong reasons." It was a good plan, in theory, but could they keep it safe against the likes of someone like The Destroyer"

"Yes." She nodded calmly, pleased to see that he had taken in everything she had said without a hint of derision or laughter. Evidently he knew as much, if not more, about the sword of Charlemagne as she did. "Or rather, I will take it to the corresponding place here on Earth, and one of the scholars will open a portal to receive the sword deep into Avalon itself."

A brow ticked upwards again. "A portal" This....Institute isn't on Earth?" Others might scoff at such an idea, but he knew from experience that other worlds, other dimensions, other planes of existence were, in fact, real. He had been to Rhydin, after all.

"No, I don't think it is," Natalya agreed thoughtfully, folding the blueprints between them away before lying back against the pillows beside him. "I have never been there myself, nor would I ever want to go there, but it is either a different world, or perhaps the same world but out of reach." She shrugged, looking up at him. "I don't know."

He could feel heat radiating off her, as she settled herself beside him, but he pushed that thought aside for now. There would be plenty of time for that later. He looked pointedly at her, catching her gaze and holding it, his expression dead serious. "What would you say if I told you I've been to another world?"

To be fair, she did take her time answering that one. Her eyes held his for a long moment before she even began to think about her response, studying him for any sign that he might be toying with her. Satisfied there was no deception in the solemnity of his gaze, her expression turned distantly thoughtful as she considered her response. "I would say ....How" And why did you come back?"

"It's a long story." As one might expect. A lot longer than her explanation of Avalon. A story that would more than likely eventually unfold, but he wasn't sure he wanted to tell her about it now. "I need that sword, Natalya. You can do whatever you want with it when I'm done with it, but trust me when I say this world's future depends on it."

Her expression barely changed, yet somehow she took on a weight of serious contemplation now as she rose onto her elbows, no trace of amusement or distraction in her intelligent eyes. "What do you need it for?" she asked Rhys quietly, and even in that quiet query, the weight of honesty lingered. If he lied to her now, it could do irreparable damage to something not quite yet born between them.

He had no intentions of lying to her. She had been honest with him and he would return that honesty fivefold, but it was a long story that was painful in the telling. Still, her question was forthright and deserved a direct and honest answer, whether she believed him or not. "I need it to kill a demon named Abaddon." Who wasn't really a demon at all, but a fallen angel. An angel hunting an angel. He wondered what she'd think of that.

Fear flashed in her eyes on hearing that, fear that could only have come from an encounter with demons in her past. No one could look that frightened and not know what they were afraid of. "Does it have to be you?" she heard herself ask as she sat bolt upright, her hands moving to cradle his face. She couldn't have told him why she had to touch him in that moment, just that the fright he had given her was too deep not to be certain that he was definitely there with her.

He winced a little when he recognized the fear in her eyes, knowing that fear was either caused by the unknown or, what might be worse, the too well known. Her question pierced his heart like a dagger, and he wanted to turn away so she couldn't see his face, but she suddenly was cradling his face in her hands and he couldn't turn away. There was a hint of fear mirrored in his own eyes. He'd be a fool not to be afraid, but there was something else there, too - grim determination, perhaps. That of a man who had no choice, and he decided to give her as much truth as he could. "It's what I was born to do."

She searched his eyes, seeing that hint of fear, seeking anything that might possibly be used to convince him against going after a demon of his own accord. But there really was nothing she could say, and a sudden strengthening of her jaw betrayed a decision of her own that was going to cut him deeply. "Then I'll help you," was all she said, firm and decided in a manner that suggested she would not be swayed from this choice. Before any more words could be spoken, her lips crushed to his, needing to taste his breath once again, to remind him that here was something worth fighting to keep. Because Natalya knew enough of Rhys now to know that if he had a choice between life and death, he would choose death rather than put anyone in danger.

Her kiss caught him by surprise. He'd been ready to tell her no, to insist this was his fight and his alone, that he didn't want anyone else to get hurt. Not again, never again. He didn't think he could bear that pain and grief and guilt again. He didn't want anyone else to suffer or die because of him. The toll of lives was already too high. Tears stung at the back of his eyes again at the very possibility of something happening to her. His life was already forfeit, but hers was not. Despite all this, he let her kiss him, welcomed her kiss, returned her kiss full-fold because if nothing else, she was something to fight for, something to live for. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him, letting her know with only that kiss that he was falling hopelessly in love with her.