"The chicken's very good." Bastien watched with amusement as Kate C. Leever scraped up a forkful of the Poulet au Citron she'd ordered and held it to his brother Lucern's lips. He was even more amused when his brother opened his mouth to accept the bite of food, murmured in appreciation, then chewed and swallowed. He hadn't seen Lucern do more than pretend to eat in his whole life. By the time Bastien was born, his brother--already two hundred plus years old--had tired of even gourmet fare. The taste of food began to pall after a hundred or so years of feasting on what¬ever you wanted. Now, having passed his four hun¬dredth birthday, Bastien himself found eating to be nothing more than a nuisance, something he forced himself to do occasionally at board meetings or din¬ner parties to prevent discovery of his true nature. "It really is good," Lucern announced. "Everything's a little new and different nowadays." "No," Bastien disagreed. "It probably tastes much the same as it always did. It's love that's reawakened your taste buds and rejuvenated your desire for food." Lucern shrugged. He seemed not at all upset by the teasing emphasis Bastien put on the word, and he had no trouble admitting his deep and abiding feelings for the woman seated beside him. "Perhaps. Everything does seem more vibrant and interesting now. I find myself seeing things anew, seeing them as Kate