Permission granted to archive at Mel's fanfic site, Cousin
Mary's Tracy pages.  All others please ask.  This story is a
"missing scene" from Sons of Belial, but it also blends in
as a "prequel" to my Dance series.

Many thanks to my beta-readers!  Laurie of the Isles helped
with grammar check, and inspired me for the song Nick plays
at the end.  I'd also like to thank Kylie and Alexa, who
also read the story and offered comments.  Thanks much!


Sons of Darkness, Child of Light
by Lorelei Sieja


"This never happened!"  LaCroix glared at the priest,
resisting the desire to drain him only because Nicholas was
still there.  Vanderwahl's pulse sounded loud and tempting
in his ears.  He must leave at once!  He glanced at his son,
reassuring himself that Nicholas was safe once more.

Nick felt Nat's arms around him, but instead of being
comforted, he felt like he was drowning.  Fear still
overwhelmed him.  He didn't understand what had happened to
him; he didn't understand any of it.  Nothing made sense.

He had witnessed an exorcism and something evil had filled
him... a cold, dark presence so insidious that at first he
had not even been aware of its menacing power.  It had been
this evil in him that had prompted a man to commit suicide
and the captain to fall ill, a repairman to be electrocuted
and Nick to nearly decapitate an infant vampire in lust and
rage.  Was it truly over now?  Or did it lurk for him, ready
to reclaim his conflicted, tormented soul?  Nat might be
willing to stay with him, but she would be powerless against
the evil force, as she did not even believe in its
existence.  He turned to his master, his savior... his
friend.  He was desperate for something, and yet, he knew
not what.

LaCroix nodded once.  He removed all trace of the strong
emotions from his face.  He was not angry with Nicholas.  He
would not cause him to worry any more about it.  Then, in a
flurry of air, he left the cursed residence, the abode for
both good and evil, for the security of his nightclub.

Nick staggered, weak from the ordeal.  Nat uttered a cry of
alarm.  "Come, Nick.  Let me take you home."

Vanderwahl touched Nick lightly on the shoulder, a knowing
smile on his lips.  "Go in peace, child."

Natalie scowled at him.  It was bad enough that Nick
believed in all this hocus-pocus, it probably came with the
territory, but a man of God should not be taking advantage
of anyone like that.

The exorcist opened the door for them.  He watched as the
woman helped the vampire into her car and wondered.  This
was one story he could not record in his next letter to the
bishops as he strove to appeal their decision.
Excommunicated or not, he would continue in his work for he
was needed in the world, but he still hoped one day that the
strength of the church would support him.

Nat helped Nick into the passenger-side seat, then reached
around him to buckle the seat belt.  She caressed his face
once, planting a motherly kiss on his forehead before
closing the door.  Getting in behind the wheel, she started
the engine.

"Mind telling me what this was all about?" she asked.  She
hadn't meant for her voice to sound so harsh.  She grew
tired of Nick chasing after fairy dust and rainbows.  No
mystical magic was going to return him to mortality.  She
would; or a scientist after her... if vampires existed, then
there must be a scientific explanation for them!

Nick did not respond.  He stared blankly ahead, although his
hands trembled where they rested on his thighs.  She reached
over to grasp one hand and squeeze reassuringly.

"I talked to Tracy.  She thinks you went home with the same
flu that's running through the precinct.  Is that the story
you're going to stick with?"

"I can hardly tell her the truth," Nick murmured.

"And what is the truth, Nick.  Hm?  That someone, LaCroix
maybe, is yanking your chains?"

Nick stiffened.  He owed LaCroix everything tonight!  He
didn't care to listen to her criticize the one who had saved
him.

"Come on, Nick!  Demon possession?  I just cannot buy that.
Who tore up your apartment? Broke all the strings on your
piano?  Were you in a really bad mood?  Did you and LaCroix
have another fight?"

He closed his eyes.  Nat just didn't understand anymore.
She hadn't understood a lot of things...  like the curse of
the Black Buddha, or the haunting of Kessel House when he'd
seen Alyssa's ghost.  He had never even told her about
visiting with Erica's ghost four years ago.  Sometimes, he
wondered why Nat with her science-only mindset could believe
in vampires.

She drove on in silence.  She'd seen Nick in a lot of
strange moods and this was just one more to add to the
pile.  He did look tired.  She'd take him back to the loft,
then return to work.  Tracy would be worried.  Nat would
have to reassure her that Nick was going to be fine and she
was not to bring over any chicken soup.

At the warehouse Nat had to unbuckle his seat belt and tug
him from the car.  He stood weakly and tapped the numbered
access on the door lock.  He resisted her offer to help
him.  Nat shook her head.  She had left work early because
she was worried about him; she had rescued him from whatever
mind games LaCroix was playing on him, and he acted angry
with her?  Sometimes, a relationship with a vampire just
wasn't worth the effort.  She decided not to see him up.

"Good night, Nick," she snapped.

He made no response, not even a head nod.  She got back in
the car and slammed the door, squealing her new tires a
little as she pulled away.


***

Natalie sighed as she waited at a red light.  Should she go
back and console him?  He'd seemed so needy... but this
whole evening had annoyed her.  She didn't want to give in
to his superstitions.

Accepting the existence of vampires had been difficult.
Even after seeing him sit up on her table when moments
before his lifeless form had been only a shattered shell of
a man... after watching him heal miraculously and drink
packets of blood, she still had not believed him.  She had
touched his cold face, stubbled and still gritty with dirt
from the explosion, and still she had not believed.  She
heard him speak, his voice mesmerizing and oh so very
lonely.  "I am dead," he had said.  "No, not dead," she
stupidly replied, always denying what she did not believe.
Even after he had left, there had been a lingering,
undefinable scent, one she now recognized as uniquely Nick -
a mix of wild honey and sandalwood and wine- a powerful
scent so fresh and different from the smell of formaldehyde
and death that generally permeated the lab.  She had
observed him with her senses and still she doubted herself
later that night when she returned to her sunny orange
apartment.  It had all been a hallucination, a strange dream
created from a fractured memory of some old horror movie and
her own longings for a little romance and excitement in her
life.

Two days had passed, and Natalie finally believed herself
that the whole experience had never happened, when she saw
him again!  He was different from the wounded, battered body
she had first envisioned.  His chin was still darkly
stubbled, his unruly hair, while cleaned free of blood and
dirt, was still a tangled mass of dark golden waves.  He
seemed menacing somehow in the long black duster, the collar
pulled up around his neck, as though warning all to stay
away even while the turbulent blue eyes cried out in their
loneliness and despair.

"You want to hurt me," she had said, trying to sound brave
while her voice trembled ever so slightly.

"No.  But I might anyway," came the strange response.

Her heart ached to comfort him then!  She hadn't embraced
him, sensing that the contact would drive him away, so she
had tried to wrap him in the warmth of her words.  Promises
to help, words uttered in desperation only to keep the
handsome creature near her.

Yes, vampires were real.  If Nick had not been enough proof,
then LaCroix, Vachon, Urs, Janette, and all the rest she had
met in the past six years were abundant testimony.  There
had to be a scientific explanation for them, too.  She
hadn't found one yet, but that didn't mean it wasn't there.
She might have more success if she could get a team of
specialists to work with her, but that would be forbidden.

Still, Nick believed in so many things that were not
scientific.  He was afraid of religious objects; probably
his guilt creating very real symptoms to an imagined cause.
Nick believed in ghosts, had even talked to them on more
than a few occasions.  He believed in curses, in magic, and
in the afterlife.

These things were not real.  Their existence could not be
proven.  They were excuses created by those who could not
accept cold reality.  Nick was a vampire.  Natalie was a
mortal.  Was he inherently evil while she was all good?  Not
hardly.  There was good in Nick.  LaCroix had been right
about that.  Nick could be giving and selfless, just as he
could be obstinate and obtuse.  Of course, Nick would never
believe so.

She glanced back in her rearview mirror, almost ready to go
to him.  But no, she just couldn't.  He was a big boy.  He
could deal with it.  She pressed on the accelerator and
pushed the speed limits the rest of the way home.

*****


Nick leaned against the door, hesitant to go up.  He didn't
want to be alone.  Evil had been there.  He was afraid to
face it.  What if it came back?  He stepped inside the
garage, leaning against the door as he closed it behind him
and slid to the floor.

Where was everyone?  In 800 years, he had to have made at
least a few friends.  What was the use of a long life if he
was always alone?  The words of the priestess Gwynyth so
long ago came back to haunt him.  "You will live a very long
life and in all that time never know happiness."

Tears spilled over, trailing down his face unchecked.  She
had been right.  Beginning with her death, the only one he
had been blamed for that he was not actually guilty of, had
begun a nightmare that had lasted for centuries.  There was
always pain and death, suffering and longing, and always the
aching misery of loneliness.

Memories resurfaced, thoughts of the ones he had dared to
call his friends.  Where was Schanke now?  Did he finally
have the right answer to the question for which he had
pressed Nick?  "Is there anything after death?"  Nick had
lied to him.  Schank should know that now.  As he would know
all the other lies Nick had been forced to tell to protect
him.  But, would Schank know the reason for the lies?  Or
would he just hate him?

Erica had believed that one day Nick would join her, that he
would come to find life a burden.  They had been lovers for
a short time, performing on stage by night and sharing wild,
passionate abandon by day.  She had been odd from the very
start, melancholic as though she almost lived the characters
she portrayed on stage.  When they had done Romeo and
Juliet, she had kissed him passionately while talking of
suicide.  Her portrayal of Camille had been so tragically
perfect, that not one patron ever left the audience
dry-eyed, and yet, although death and disease could not
touch her, she seemed to thrill in it's possibility with
morbid fascination.

Would he join her now?  And if so, would they be united on
the other side?  Where?  Was she in hell?  She had come to
him after death, urged him to walk into the sun... would she
have been so cruel to do so, if she were suffering the
eternal flame?  Yet, weren't all those who sinned, and
suicide was a mortal sin, condemned to eternal damnation?

He knew Hell was real.  He had seen it.  Tonight, it had
opened up before him, sucked at his heels even as LaCroix
and Vanderwahl struggled to pull him free of the demon's
grasp.  He had seen it before on his second visit to the
sands between this life and the next.  The gate to the next
was barred while Hell beckoned to him, claiming it already
possessed his soul and only waited now for his body.
Natalie had saved him then.  She hadn't really believed when
he told her about the sands, although she hadn't lectured
him about it.  Perhaps she had sensed how intensely personal
the experience had been for him.

And what of Nat's brother, Richard?  There was another lost
soul in Hell who would hate him.  Richard should have been
assured of a seat in Heaven for his good works, but Nick had
damned him when he brought him across.  Natalie didn't
believe in Hell, but then she didn't believe in Heaven
either.  She believed Richard was dead, simply a more
permanent sleep, and at peace.  She just didn't know.

Where was Janette?  LaCroix?  Nick was alone, friendless,
frightened, and so terribly, terribly sad.  He buried his
face in his arms and wept.


end, part one.

Sons of Darkness, Child of Light pt. 2
by Lorelei Sieja


LaCroix leaned casually against the bar as he stared at
tonight's patrons.  No one would know to look at him that he
was nearly crippled by the turbulent emotions swirling
through his cold heart tonight.  He had almost lost his most
precious possession, the child he had never really fully
possessed!  This time it was not by some corporeal enemy.
There was no one he could pursue to exact retribution, to
tear limb from limb in a pitiful attempt to assuage the pure
fury that filled him.  Not even Nicholas...

This time, his son was innocent.  Nicholas had not
purposefully put himself in danger and he had come straight
to LaCroix for help.  It had taken a while before the
ancient had realized that Nicholas was even in danger.  This
"possession", he sighed for lack of a better name for it,
had been insidious from the start.  LaCroix shuddered at the
recent memory.

"Can I get you something, boss?" Patrick asked, doing his
best to cover his concern.

LaCroix glared at him, fangs barely concealed.  Patrick
jumped, looking nervously for customers at the far end of
the bar.  LaCroix shut his eyes as he struggled to contain
his ire.  He was not angry with Patrick, but the urge to
hurt someone hadn't been this strong in years.

Natalie had appeared at Vanderwahl's at the most inopportune
moment.  The demon within Nicholas had nearly killed her.
LaCroix shuddered.  He cared not for what happened to the
coroner, he reminded himself again, only how it would affect
his child.  Nicholas would not blame her death on the demon
but on himself.  LaCroix was worried for him.  He feared
that it would not take much to push his temperamental
progeny to walk into the sun.

Then suddenly it was over.  Natalie had her arms around
Nicholas, offering him a ride home, and LaCroix forced
Vanderwahl to forget the entire episode.  Perhaps he should
also wipe it from his son's memory?  It would not be the
first time...  But then there was the matter of the coroner.

Nicholas had glanced at him before he could leave.  A look,
no more.  A pained, confused look of such longing... what
did it mean?  LaCroix fumed, realizing that if the coroner
had not shown up, Nicholas would be with him right now!  He
didn't want his protégé to be left alone, not after such a
frightening ordeal.

It had been frightening, he realized with no small surprise,
for him as well as for Nicholas.  It was more than the fear
of the holy crosses, which was no more than a minor
irritation to the ancient.  LaCroix could not remember the
last time he had ever been truly afraid... unless perhaps it
had been his last mortal night as he had recognized that all
his money, wealth and power could not save him from the
destructive force of nature.  He had been invincible in
battle, and yet he cowered before the molten rock.  Then
Divia, the child he could never claim, had saved him.  All
that he once knew no longer existed.  The powerful general
became afraid of mere sunlight and slave to the bastard
child.

Tonight Nicholas reminded him again that nothing was truly
permanent.  Although he was immortal, his existence was not
unchanging and it was the prospect of change that was
unsettling.  He knew he would not want to continue to exist
if Nicholas ever truly left him.

Tentatively, he reached out to touch the bond he shared with
Nicholas.  Gently at first, as he did not want to intrude on
his son's privacy while he was with Natalie.  The first
impressions floating back through the link were puzzling.
LaCroix pushed a little more firmly.  Then he gasped, nearly
losing his balance as the power of his son's grief
overwhelmed him.

LaCroix had to get to him immediately!  He lunged for the
back door and leaped into the night sky without bothering to
concern himself about who might be watching.  The distance
between was as nothing; in moments LaCroix was at the loft.

Nicholas was not upstairs.  LaCroix followed the pain-filled
bond to where his son sat slumped against the door with his
face buried in his arms.  LaCroix hesitated.  Would his son
even wish to see him now?  "Nicholas?"

His son made no movement, but the reply through the link was
staggering.  

LaCroix swooped his son into his arms and held him close.
Nicholas was limp, neither resisting nor embracing.  He no
longer wept, although traces of tears still stained his face
and the sleeves of his shirt.  LaCroix cradled his head with
one strong hand and pressed it close to his breast.  "I am
here, mon fils," he whispered.

Nick could not speak.  He felt a great lethargy as if a
thousand pounds crushed upon his chest and simply breathing
was too difficult.  The demon had driven him with rage but
when it left, it had taken something of himself with it...
his strength.  He was terrified, as he had never been before
in his entire existence, both mortal and after.

He could not lift his arms, nor move his lips, but the bond
with his master was strong. 

LaCroix startled at the rarely used term of endearment.  He
held him and swayed gently, attempting to soothe the
troubled younger vampire.  "I will stay, Nicholas, for as
long as you need me."

For what felt like hours he remained, holding his son in his
arms.  He sensed the passage of night, as the sky grew
darker just before dawn.  He heard the timer close the steel
shutters upstairs, the answering machine handle several
telephone calls.  Still Nicholas trembled in his arms and he
was no closer to learning what exactly had him so upset.
The demon was gone.  Nicholas was free.  Was this not the
end of story?

LaCroix stiffened as a yawn escaped.  He blinked, fighting
against the instincts urging him to sleep.  He didn't know
how much longer he could succeed.  The garage was not
sufficiently protected from the light.  It was time to
move.  "Nicholas?" he asked softly.  "Are you ready to talk
to me now?"

Almost imperceptibly the golden head shook in denial.  That
at least, he thought dryly, was some improvement.  "Would
you like something to drink?"  He loosened his hold.

Suddenly Nicholas's arms encircled him, almost crushing
him.  "Don't go," he whispered.

"I won't, Nicholas," LaCroix said, feeling the slight tug of
a smile.  He wished he could record this for future
reference.  Nicholas had a way of forgetting just how much
he truly loved him. "Come with me, mon fils.  I am thirsty."

Nicholas did not move or release him, so LaCroix flew them
to the lift, engaging it to bring them up.  He reached the
refrigerator with his son firmly attached.  He worked one
hand free from the powerful hold to pull out a bottle.
Then, grabbing a second, he flew Nicholas into the bedroom
and set the bottles on the end table.

"Come, Nicholas.  It is time to sleep."

"I can't," he answered.

"Never the less, you are going to try."  LaCroix forced
Nicholas to release him.  The younger vampire gave him a
wounded look.  It was desperate and imploring, almost a twin
to the look he had given earlier when he had uttered those
wretched words, the plea for help.

LaCroix pulled the silver pin from his collar and undid the
buttons of his shirt.  Perhaps getting undressed and in bed
would reassure his son that he was not going to leave him
alone as the full morning sun had not yet been able to do?
He kicked off his shoes and removed his trousers.  Nicholas
did not move at all.

The elder vampire then undressed his anxious son as well.
He felt a stirring in his loins and clamped down on it.
Nicholas needed comfort right now; LaCroix did not want to
frighten him away.  Nicholas did not resist him, but neither
did he make any effort to help.  He was passive and beaten,
like one surrendered to his fate.  LaCroix hated to see him
like this.

Angrily, LaCroix threw down the covers and tossed Nicholas
onto the bed.  When he climbed in beside him, he was again
wrapped in a tight embrace.  With no small effort, he pulled
the coverlet back over them.  He reached for the first
bottle and pulled out the cork, drinking it straight, like
some boorish plebian.

"Nicholas.  Tell me at once what this is about."

"I am evil," he whispered, still clinging to him.

LaCroix sighed hugely.  "The evil was driven out, my child.
And you were not responsible for your actions while it
dwelled in you.  You are not evil."

"All the time it was me, not you," he said, as though
LaCroix had not even spoken.

LaCroix drank again, tempted to drink from Nicholas to
uncover his peculiar mood.

"I blamed you.  For centuries.  I thought it was your fault;
that I was not really evil, and if I could only shed myself
of this dark gift, I could be good again.  But the demon
possessed me, not you.  It drove me.  It recognized me.  I
am evil and you saved me."

The hands clenched him tighter.  LaCroix winced as bruises
formed over his muscled ribs.  "Nicholas.  I do not wish to
speak of this possession again.  It happened and it is
over."

"No, master!"  The denial was forceful, worthy of
retribution.  LaCroix forced his anger to recede along with
his lust.  There was a time for all things.

"No, it is not over," Nicholas continued.  "It was real.  It
was frightening.  And I am so confused.  I saw hell open up
beneath me!  It sucked at me, huge chains anchoring me in
its vile grip, dragging me down!  Only your voice was
there.  What was it you said?  'There is God in you'?  Did
you really mean that?"

LaCroix grimaced, unwilling to respond.

"Answer me!"

Nicholas moved so suddenly, that he had LaCroix pinned to
the mattress, his hands around the ancient's throat.
"Answer me!" he screamed again.

LaCroix's fangs erupted and he growled at his child
fiercely.  He struck a forceful blow, freeing himself, then
took the younger vampire's fists and held them above his
head.  "I do not respond well to threats, my son," he said
coldly.

"I am sorry, master," he pleaded, blood tears filling eyes
of mutable blue.  "Forgive me, LaCroix!  For everything."

"Always, my son," he said more gently.  "Always."  Slowly,
he released the hands.  Nicholas reached up tentatively,
touching his smooth jaw.

"I have been such a child," Nicholas whispered.  "And you
are my dearest friend."

LaCroix blinked in stupefaction, not believing his ears.

Nicholas smiled shyly.  "Yes, Lucien.  My dearest friend."

LaCroix knew the moment would not last.  Tomorrow his son
would return to the precinct, to his work among mortals and
his search for a cure with the coroner.  Nicholas might
regret this moment, or even chose to forget it altogether.
All that did not matter.  LaCroix would treasure this moment
always.

"As you are mine," he whispered, before claiming what was
truly his.

There was an incredible passion in Nicholas that LaCroix
could not remember having experienced anything quite like it
before.  It was desperate, filled with longing.  His kiss
left bruises, his teeth drew blood, his nails clawed at
LaCroix's back. And then his fangs sank into LaCroix's
throat, sucking from him fiercely, regardless of LaCroix's
wants or desires.

The ancient vampire returned the blood kiss.  He savored the
cold, sweet blood of his favorite as it spurted into his
mouth.  He gulped him greedily, knowing that it could be
years, decades, before Nicholas would permit the intimacy
again.  He drank more perhaps than he should.  His son
withdrew his fangs, yet clung to him desperately.  LaCroix
closed the twin wounds.  He pulled back, hesitant to gaze at
his golden one, the younger brother, at once both the
eternal friend and enemy.  Would he see hatred there now?
Revulsion?  How far would Nicholas withdraw this time?
Would he run away again?  LaCroix felt anger fill him.

Nick closed his eyes.  He was so tired.  The evening had
exhausted him.  He was too tired to think anymore.  He felt
safe in this familiar, ancient embrace.  If only LaCroix
would stay, Nick was certain the demons would not return.

LaCroix tried to push away from him, not wanting to see the
hurt.  Instead, Nicholas's arms tightened again and panic
shot through their bond.

"Don't go! Please!" Nick whispered.

"I must," LaCroix said, although he wanted to stay.

Nick clung to him, the trembling returned and blood sweat
broke out on his brow.  "Please, master.  Don't leave me."

"You know this is not what you want, Nicholas.  Tomorrow you
will regret this."

Nick's fangs erupted once more; his eyes glowed crimson in
his fear.  "Damn you!  I'm asking, no, I'm begging you to
stay!"

"What of your mortal friends, Nicholas.  How will you
explain this if Natalie calls this afternoon?"

"I don't care," Nick growled.  "For once, don't argue.
Don't think, don't threaten.  Just do as I ask!"

LaCroix chuckled.  It was amusing to see Nicholas like
this.  "Very well, mon fils.  I shall stay."  He tried to
move to the side, but Nicholas held him firmly on top of
him.

"I mean it, LaCroix.  Stay right HERE."

The chuckling deepened.  He shifted his weight, delighting
in the thought of using his child for a bed.  "Sleep,
Nicholas," he soothed.

Slowly, the desperate embrace loosened.  Nicholas seemed
comforted, cocooned as he was beneath him.  Sleep came to
the younger vampire first.  LaCroix gazed down at him,
lightly brushing at the dark golden hair.  How he loved
him!  He loved to protect him and to fight with him.  He
loved the rare moments of pleasure they gave each other.  He
could never tell him just how much he meant, yet Nicholas
would be able see it in the blood if only he would look.
Then he relaxed, protecting Nicholas with his body as he
slept.

 *****

end, part two.

Sons of Darkness, Child of Light pt 3.
by Lorelei Sieja



Natalie punched in Nick's number code and let herself into
the loft.  The sun was still up, but not for long.  She
suspected he would still be asleep. She had wanted to do
something for him though, to let him know she was worried
about him, and cleaning the mess he'd made in the loft
seemed a good step.  She could not talk to him about the
possession; every time she thought about it she was
convinced that Nick needed psychiatric help.  Where did one
take a depressed vampire?

The sink was black and smelled of sewer gases.  She
sprinkled cleanser in it, then went to the windows.  She
partially opened the shutters and the glass to let in the
fresh breeze.  A faint light played on the floor, but Nick
should be able to avoid stepping in it.  There was blood
smeared on the lift door, broken glass everywhere, and of
course, the piano was ruined.  Perhaps new strings would be
sufficient, but restringing a piano had to be expensive.
She cringed at the waste.  Sure, Nick could afford it, but
that shouldn't give him the right to have such expensive
tantrums.  She sighed, as she located the broom and dustpan
to clean up the glass.

LaCroix hissed, sensing the mortal presence in his sleep.
He awoke with a start.  Momentarily disoriented, he gazed
lovingly at the child beneath him.  "Nicholas," he
whispered.

The younger vampire pretended not to hear.  He turned,
burying his face in LaCroix's shoulder, flaunting his smooth
white neck seductively.  Fangs erupted.  LaCroix bent to
stroke the vein with his tongue.  He chuckled softly as the
motion stirred desire in the younger one's heart.

Nicholas squirmed, craning the neck further still in open
invitation.

"Nick?" a woman's voice called.  "Nick?  Are you still
asleep?"

Nick stiffened.

"Yes, Nicholas," LaCroix whispered, his teeth grazing one
earlobe sensually.  "We are not alone."

"Send her away," Nick said.

LaCroix rolled over, bringing Nicholas with him.  "That, my
child, is an impossibility.  The harder I would try to send
her anywhere, the more firmly she will dig in her heels to
remain.  If you want her gone, you must do it yourself."

Nick nodded sheepishly.  "You're right," he said.

"At last, an ounce of intelligence!  How I have waited to
hear you say that."  LaCroix couldn't resist the jibe.

"Don't go anywhere," Nick threatened, his voice menacing yet
his eyes held the promise of seduction.

"I chose to rest a while longer," LaCroix said, giving in
without actually appearing to.

Nick rose gracefully from the bed.  He pulled on a pair of
trousers over bare skin and grabbed his robe on the way
out.  Belting it loosely, he flew to landing.  He glowered
at Nat.

"I see you didn't get enough beauty sleep," Nat teased
lightly.  "I just came over to tidy up a bit."

Nick did not answer.  He went instead to the refrigerator
and poured himself a large glass while he felt her accusing
eyes on him.  He needed it.  She smelled tantalizingly
delicious this morning, and it had nothing to do with love.
He wanted her.  He wanted to drain her life away, to assert
his power over her.  He wanted to kill again.  Bringing the
glass to his lips, he tossed back the contents in one long
swallow.

"I heard you booked off work for tonight," she said.  "It's
probably for the best."

"I don't know, Nat.  I think this last experience set me
back, set us back.  A lot."  Nick stared into his glass of
cow, his stomach tangled in knots.  "I haven't had such a
powerful need for human blood in a long time."

Nat shrugged indifferently.  "We'll beat this, Nick.  Hey,
you beat the devil.  Not bad for a night's work."  She
laughed lighting, hoping he didn't hear the disbelief in her
tone.

He turned away from her, wishing she would just go.

"Well, you get some rest," she said.  She patted his
shoulder affectionately, then let herself out.


Nick fumed.  She didn't get it.  After all these years, she
still didn't get it.  He was not her white knight with a
slightly tarnished halo.  He never had been, even as a
mortal.  He had not been blameless even in the north country
when he had fallen in love with Gwynyth.  He had been sent
there as God's emissary, to assist the Lord de La Barre to
bring truth to the pagans, and yet he had fallen in love
with their priestess, had bedded her no less.  His sins had
destroyed whatever chance there had been for a peaceful
outcome.

Now, that way was lost to him forever.  The demon had shown
him that.  He was evil.  He had committed great crimes and
even if he returned to mortality tonight, he would still
have the stain of sin on his soul.  The chains of his
damnation were thick, forged for centuries.  Perhaps he
would need the eternity vampirism promised to make
atonement?  Sin recognized itself.  It was because of his
sins that the demon had been able to claim him.  His sins.
Not the sins of his father.

That was what shook him.  That he'd had to recognize his own
faults.  He could not blame this on LaCroix.

He had always thought of LaCroix as evil.  LaCroix tempted
him, seduced him, dragged him into the endless pit of evil
that now consumed him.  It was LaCroix's fault.  It had been
comforting to believe that in a way.  Although he knew he
had accepted LaCroix's dark gift and therefore he was not
blameless, he had always felt justified that the greater sin
had been LaCroix's.  He had been young, confused, lost,
vulnerable.

But the demon had not possessed LaCroix.  In fact, it had
been driven out by LaCroix.  The priest had said the
powerful words to stir up the demon, but LaCroix had freed
him.  LaCroix had argued with it, denied its claim on Nick.
LaCroix was his salvation.  Nick tossed the bottle of cow
against the wall.  The glass shattered with a satisfactory
sound and cow blood dripped to puddle on the floor.   He was
consumed with hunger.

 purred a familiar voice.

Nick glanced upstairs.  LaCroix had not spoken aloud.  The
words were soft and tentative over the bond they shared.  It
wasn't exactly a command, but more of an invitation.


He wanted this.  He needed it.  Now, awake and refreshed
from sleep, the demons of the previous night were not as
terrifying and yet, Nick did not want to be alone.  In the
past, he had believed that by returning to LaCroix, he would
be damned.  Yet, he knew LaCroix could not have driven out
the demon that possessed him if he was of the devil himself.
Even the Good Shepherd had said as much when the Pharisees
claimed his power was not of God.

LaCroix did not believe in God, did not believe he was a
creature of God.  But not believing it did not necessarily
make it untrue.  Could he be?  Could Nick be?  Was he still
one of God's creatures and not the spawn of the devil?  His
mind hurt with thinking.  His stomach hurt with needing.

 the gentle command beckoned.  Nick hurried to
obey.



Much later, after they had showered and dressed, LaCroix
embraced Nick in a farewell.  "I must return to the Raven,
mon fils," he said.

Nick nodded shyly.  He didn't want the elder to go, but he
was ashamed and embarrassed at how much he needed him.  He
wasn't sure about letting him back into his life.  So much
was changing.  It unnerved him.

"You are welcome to join me," LaCroix offered hesitantly.
"I am not going to argue with you about your diet tonight,
but perhaps you would consider something more satisfying
until you feel your strength has returned?"

Nick grinned.  Such a round about way of offering him a
drink!  "I'd like that," he said.

LaCroix smiled.  He gave the apartment a casual glance,
pleased that much of the damage had been removed.  Perhaps,
when his son returned later, there would be little to remind
him of the terror he had experienced before.  LaCroix
decided then to have the piano replaced while his son was
out.  "Shall we go?"

Nick grasped his hand before flying into the night.  It was
such a small gesture and yet it spoke volumes that his son
was still fearful of the demon.  LaCroix held his hand
firmly, setting a comfortable pace for flying in tandem.

At the Raven, LaCroix gestured to Patrick.  "The special
reserve," he said. Patrick nodded and reached for the key to
unlock the vintage stock.  He brought the bottle and two
glasses to the secluded booth and left, sensing their desire
for privacy.

LaCroix poured, then raised his glass.  Nicholas took the
other glass and stared at the dark liquid.  As the rare
scent rose to fill his nostrils, his eyes glowed and fangs
erupted.  Then he lifted his glass as well.  "To us," he
whispered.

LaCroix raised an eyebrow at the odd salute.  "So, my son.
What do you wish to do tonight?"  He meant it to be polite
conversation.  He didn't really want to get into another
emotional, philosophical discussion.

"What was her name?"  Nick stared at the liquid again,
swirling it around in the glass.

The elder reached through the bond for clarification.
Nicholas was open to him tonight, unguarded and trusting.
He was thinking about the vampire he had nearly strangled in
the back room last night.  She was young, another orphan
that depended on the Raven for everything.  LaCroix grew
tired of the strays and yet he found he could do nothing
about them without alienating both Janette and Nicholas.

"Currently, she goes by "Robin".  I am not sure of her
origins.  She lost everyone she knew to the fever."

Nicholas winced.  He drained the glass and held it out for
LaCroix to refill.  The elder scoffed at the reversal, as
his child should be waiting on him.  Still, he silently
filled the glass and delighted to watch his child consume
it.

"I must go to her," Nick said.

"I am quite sure that you are not top on her list of welcome
visitors, my son."

Nick nodded.  "I know.  Still, where can I find her?"

LaCroix gave him the address.  "Do be careful, Nicholas."

Nick finished his beverage.  He looked at the other
cautiously.  What was happening between them?  Was LaCroix
being sincere or merely manipulative?  "LaCroix, I," he
began.

LaCroix silenced him with a gesture.  "Please, Nicholas.
I've heard it all before."

At his son's curious look, he finished the thought.  "You
are afraid to let me back into your heart or your life, you
don't know what you want or where you wish to go, and you do
not want me to interfere or offer advice.  Fine.  Have it
your way.  When or if you figure it out, you know where to
find me."

Nick winced at the sharp tones, and yet, he knew his master
was justified somewhat.  Nick had used him last night.  He
had been so frightened.  Lonely and needy and without a
thought to how it would affect the other, he had begged for
his attentions.  Nick was wrong now to back away and yet he
knew he must.  Perhaps, a true lasting peace could be forged
out of this, but it must be because he wanted it and not
merely because he owed the other something.

"Thank you, LaCroix," he whispered.


Robin was home in her basement apartment.  He could hear
her.  She was angry and sobbing, and throwing something
around.  He felt a wave of guilt wash over him; he was the
cause of her suffering.  He knocked.

"Go away!" she shouted through the door.

So, the fledgling had sensed him, he thought dryly.  She was
not entirely untrained. But then, he had not been trying to
shield his presence either.  "Robin," he said.  "Please let
me in."

"No!  Go away!  Don't worry, I will not smear your name
among our kind. Just let me finish packing and I will
leave!"

Nick continued to knock.  Some of the neighbors were peeking
around the edges of chained doors secured to the doorframe.
Nick tried again. "I will not touch you, Robin.  I swear.
Please let me in."

To his surprise, she flung the door wide.  She barely
resembled the hot, attractive vampire he'd seduced and
nearly destroyed last night. Gone was the sophistication and
black leather.  Today her eyes looked swollen from crying
and her hair was tied back in a tacky braid.  She wore blue
jeans and a man's cotton shirt and bare feet.  Nick saw
several suitcases open on the bed, items haphazardly thrown
inside.

Nick stepped in and closed the door behind him.  Robin swung
a hand, slapping his cheek hard.  Nick blinked, feeling her
strength behind the blow, yet he did nothing to stop the
second slap.  Robin's hands clenched into fists, which she
pummeled into his stomach, she kicked him, threw him across
the room, and straddled him as she continued to rain blows
on his face and chest.  Nick clenched his eyes to subdue the
vampire.  Still she vented her fear and rage.

"I hate you," she sobbed.

"I know," Nick admitted.  He tasted his own blood.  "I don't
know what to say, except that I am very sorry."

She bared her fangs and struck, biting his throat savagely.
Nick turned his face, giving her easier access.  He coughed
once, nearly choking on his blood.  His stomach hurt.  He
lifted his arms tentatively, patting her back as she
assaulted him.  Through his blood, he let her see the demon
that had driven him and the guilt and sorrow he suffered
now.

Robin collapsed on top of him, still crying, but no longer
angry.  Nick continued to pat her back, doing nothing else.
His fangs itched, his stomach rebelled.  Hunger was warring
within, but he could control it.

"I have to leave," she spat between sobs.  "Your master's
orders.  I don't know where to go!"

"Please let me help you," Nick offered.

"I still hate you."  Her words were less forceful now.

Nick chuckled, in spite of the pain he felt.  "What about
Montreal?"

Robin shrugged.  She clung to him for a moment, drawing some
small measure of comfort from this vampire.  He was not the
cause of all her pain, only the last straw in a string of
bad luck.  She had lost her master, her siblings, her lover,
and her friends in the fever.  The Raven had been her
surrogate family, and now the owner forced her to move on.
"What's in Montreal?" she whispered.

"A new start," Nick said.  "I have an apartment there you
may use.  It isn't much, but one day I hope I can make it up
to you."

"That doesn't change a thing," she sniffed, rising.

Nick grimaced.  She might be a fledgling, but she was no
infant.  He swallowed blood and struggled to his feet.  "Let
me introduce you to Aristotle.  He can help you get settled
and I will pay for your move.  It is the least I can do."

Robin touched the bleeding wounds in his throat.  Standing
on her toes, she stepped closer and licked at them until
they closed.  Nick shut his eyes, aroused by the simple
gesture.  "All right," she agreed.  "And one day, you may
come and visit me, to give me the chance to forgive you."

He nodded.  He hurt like hell, but he also felt very, very
good.  He offered her his hand and escorted her to
Aristotle.

Later, he returned to the loft alone.  He touched the
scorched marks on the lift door, a constant reminder of his
volatile temper.  He had often considered having the door
refinished, but it was a part of him.  He had thought he had
killed his master then.  For over a year he had lived as one
lost.  So much like Robin.  She was old enough to live on
her own, and yet the vampire within craved companionship.
She would grieve for her lost master until another came to
take his place.  He and LaCroix had fought viciously when
the ancient returned.  Behind the fight, however, had been
surprising joy.  He was not alone any more.

Wandering away from the lift, Nick viewed his home, the
"temple of doom" as Schanke had teasingly called it.  The
room was cool and smelled fresh.  He closed the window as
dawn would be soon approaching, and turned the shutters to
close out all light.  The loft looked clean, no sign of the
demon possession remained.  He turned then to face the
piano.

It sat there, shiny and new, beckoning to him.  Slowly he
approached.  It was black, the same make as the one before,
and yet Nick knew that this was not his instrument.  He sat
on the bench and poised his fingers over the keys.  This was
beyond Nat's budget.  She would not have been this
thoughtful, and even if she had, she did not have the power
to ensure such swift action.  This was a gift from LaCroix.

LaCroix was not here now.  Nick opened himself to the
other.  He could sense him, clear and strong, as the other
prepared for sleep, across town in his apartment above the
Raven.  For a moment, Nick considered going to him, but it
was too soon.  Instead, he would play for him.  He would
thank LaCroix through song.  And although the melody haunted
him, the words made him weep, Nick knew exactly what he
would play.

"For you," he said, ensuring that LaCroix would listen.

His fingers hovered above the keys, his eyes closed.  He
drifted back through time, to the mid-eighteenth century, to
the home of young Wolfgang Mozart.  Nick had met the child
prodigy and they had become good friends, as they felt an
affinity for one another.  Mozart's father had been a hard,
driving man, but he adored his children, instructing them
himself.  While LaCroix and Leopold visited in the library
over their children and the affairs of the world, he and
Wolfgang had composed a suite dedicated to their fathers.
They had committed the music to memory, and never performed
it in public.  It was a private gift.

He had not played the piece in over a century.  Momentarily,
he wondered if he would even be able to play it correctly,
but as the music swelled to fill his soul, he knew every
note, played every phrase, as he had in that long ago
conservatory, with the child Mozart beside him.  Words were
failing him.  He could not speak to his master tonight.  His
thoughts were in a swirl, his desires unknown, but he
allowed a sense of harmony to flood the bond they shared.
Together, they had fought the demon.  Together, they could
face anything.

The end.

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