10...Tango Del Amor:  #10 in a series.  The earlier stories
may be found at Mel's fanfic archive, Cousin Mary's Tracy
Pages, and my website: www.angelfire.com/wi/CourageKnight.
My website has the unedited version.

Many thanks to my readers who responded with such
enthusiasm, especially Lelia and Jeannie.  Also, thanks and
congratulations to my daughter Tammy, who helped to create
and write this dance, in spite of the many challenges she
faced this year.  And of course, to my beta-reader, Laurie
of the Isles.  You've been a wonderful help.  Thanks to
Kylie and Stephane, too, who offered suggestions.  I hope
you all enjoy this next dance.

Permission granted to archive at Mel's fanfic site and
Cousin Mary's Tracy pages.  All others please inquire.


10...Tango Del Amor
By Tammy and Lorelei Sieja

Chapter one:

Nick sloshed the red liquid around in his glass.  The scent
hovered about him, but did little to stir his appetite.  He
closed his sightless eyes and drew in a deep breath.  The
Raven was filled with bodies both warm and cold tonight, as
vampires and mortals celebrated the end of the school year.
He heard Roger's raucous laugh and Tracy's infectious
giggle, Natalie's soft voice and LaCroix's droll response.
Urs was sweetly conversing with Esteban's wife and cooing
over their little baby and over it all blared CDs of the
current hits with the bass notes pulsing just a little
faster than mortal heartbeats.  It all combined to make him
feel just a little anxious.  Nick sighed, wondering how much
longer until he could make a polite exit.

"Woof," Perry snapped softly, nudging Nick's hand with his
muzzle.

"Hey there, boy.  You'll spill something if you aren't
careful," Nick said.

Perry nudged his hand more gently this time and sent the
command again, concentrating on the faint bond that had
developed between them.

Nick responded to the silent suggestion, bringing the glass
to his lips and forcing himself to take a sip.  His stomach
rebelled.  Nick quickly put it down.  "Damn," he cursed
under his breath.  Four months now and it was still a
struggle to keep anything down.

Perry laid his head on Nick's thigh and gave a soft,
empathetic whine.  He wagged his tail tentatively.  Nick
patted his head.  Perry stood on his hind legs, putting his
front paws on Nick's lap and licked at the familiar face.
It always made Nick laugh; Perry was not disappointed.  He
heard Nick's undead heart take a beat and felt the amusement
over their bond.

"Okay, boy, okay, that's enough," Nick said, chuckling even
as he tried to pull away from the wet doggy-kisses.

Perry grew more playful.  He grabbed Nick's hand and tugged,
pulling the young vampire onto the floor.  Nick wrapped his
arms around the carouche and rolled, emitting a boisterous
growl.  They knocked over a chair and almost tripped several
people.

"Hey, Nick.  You should take him outside to play," Urs
chided gently.

"My thoughts exactly," Nick said, still laughing boyishly.
"Come, Perry!  Let's go."

Nick got to his feet and reached for Perry's harness, but
before he could take more than a few steps several students
pressed close.

"So are you going to teach again in the fall?"

"Thanks for taking over for Mrs. Kelischek.  I really
enjoyed your class!"

"What are you going to do this summer?"

Nick smiled.  These girls had idolized him most of the
semester.  He couldn't quite picture them, but if his senses
were to be trusted, then two of them were very short, barely
making the minimum requirements to be police officers.  They
smelled young and fresh, and one had a slight accent to her
speech that placed her from around Montreal.

"I think Mrs. Kelischek will be returning in the fall," Nick
said.  "And I'm going to take a few classes myself this
summer."

"Oh really?  That is so cool, that you keep still learning
even though you're old.  I mean, older.  I mean - "

"Oh shut-up, Darcie.  He isn't old yet.  But hey,
Detective.  I'm not a student any more, so if you get a
night off, you give me a call, you hear?"

Urs rescued him.  Nick smiled broadly as he felt her draw
near and he reached out to put a possessive arm around her.
"I believe you've met Urs?"

He caught the scent of their embarrassment and knew they
were blushing.  He grinned.  "Thanks, Urs," he whispered
quietly.

The girls gave a few more polite comments before making a
hasty exit.  Urs wrapped both arms around Nick and hugged
him.  She pressed her hips close to his.  "Do you want to
dance?"

"I want to go," he admitted.

"Can't go yet.  Natalie worked hard to throw this party for
you.  Don't be so antisocial."

Perry yawned widely and shuddered.  He had tried.  He knew
Nick couldn't wait to leave, but as was so typical, no one
would let the vampire do what he wanted.  Perry only
directed Nick's actions when it was in his best interest,
like encouraging him to drink when he knew the vampire was
hungry, or going to bed when he knew it was late.  That was
the key to being a good master, Perry believed.  Not forcing
one's will on another, but training the other to behave in a
mature manner.  Well, even LaCroix could use a few lessons
in maturity.  Perry trotted under a table and flopped down.
He'd catch a short nap as long as Nick was safe in Urs's
arms.

Nick let Urs lead him out onto the dance floor.  He pulled
her in close.  She was soft and sweet; her body melted into
his.  He spread his fingers along her back and hip, every
curve of her a memory.  For the rest of the dance he forgot
he was blind and weak. There was only him, his lover and the
dance.  Her delicate arms wrapped around his neck, keeping
him close.  One hand tangled in his hair and tugged on it
gently, the other hand slipped beneath the waistband of his
jeans to find contact with bare skin.  For a moment, Nick's
eyes blazed golden with his desire.

LaCroix suddenly embraced them in a firm, possessive hold.
"My children," he said.  Then dropping his voice for their
ears only, he continued.  "Perhaps, my dear Urs, you will
take him someplace more private.  There are too many mortals
present to continue this here."  He took them to a back room
and opened the door, all but shoving them inside.  "Do hurry
back, Nicholas, before your guests miss you."

Nick ignored his master.  He bared his fangs and growled
low, drawing Urs in close again.  Her cool fingers slipped
the buttons free on his shirt and she tugged it loose.  Then
she licked at the bared skin, nipping gently.  Nick's beast
broke free.  With a roar, he claimed his prey.  She gave to
him willingly.  Their passion crested, exploded, and crested
again, while Nick drank deeply from her.  Only when she felt
weak and faintly dizzy did Urs return the bite.  Nick's
sweet essence flowed in her, that potent flavor of honey and
wine that his master found so addictive.  Urs took only a
little, then licked the tiny wounds to speed their healing.
Nick's sucking lessened as he became drowsy and sated.  They
dropped to their knees, then stretched out on the carpet.
Nick laid his head on her breast, one arm around her middle
possessively and one leg hooked over hers, pinning her.
Then Nicholas Knight, 800-year-old crusader, fell asleep.



Tracy yanked on Vachon's arm.  "You are so out of it!" she
snapped.  "Are you taking "Nick-lessons"?  What century are
you in!"

Vachon looked at her blankly.  "Did you say something,
Baby?"

"Well, so nice of you to drop by," she said sarcastically.
"Good night!"  With that, she flounced away.  Even LaCroix
could be more fun.

Only, the master was whispering in Natalie's ear and the
coroner was actually blushing.  Tracy didn't feel like
interrupting.  Instead she took a stool at the bar.

"So, Patrick.  How's Alma?"

The bartender poured her a glass of the straight stuff and
passed it to her without quite meeting her eyes.  Tracy
watched intently, noticing the slight signals of vampire
embarrassment.  She grinned at him wickedly.  "That good,
huh?"

"Shut-up and drink," Patrick said, his voice low and
teasing.

Two of Nick's students sat beside her.  Patrick reached
under the counter and passed them some dice.  Then he set up
shot glasses in front of them.  Tracy watched as they each
shook the dice and spilled them on the counter.  Then the
"loser" downed his shot and let loose a belch.  Patrick
refilled the glass and they started another round.  Only,
after they each had rolled, one passed the dice to Tracy.

"Your turn," he challenged.

Tracy shrugged.  She still wasn't sure what constituted a
good roll, but it wasn't like chugging shots of her "wine"
would affect her.  It was more interesting than either
Vachon or Patrick right now.  She shook and rolled, laughing
as the other belched after his shot of whiskey.  The next
roll Tracy lost.

"Go on.  Drink!" the boys urged her.

Tracy chugged the remainder of her glass and then opened her
mouth, but no noise issued forth.  She gave an exaggerated
sigh.

"Your glass wasn't full enough," one boy said.

"You should try whiskey," said the other.

She laughed.  "I can't drink that stuff.  It wouldn't stay
down and that is not a pretty sight."

Patrick refilled her glass and poured one for himself.  "You
just have to gulp a little air with it," he taught her.
Then he demonstrated and let loose a winning belch.  The
boys laughed raucously and passed him the dice.  Patrick
stole a glance towards his boss before shaking and dumping
the dice on the counter.  Proudly, he passed them on.

Tracy lost again, three times in a row.  They were getting
an audience, as more of the students crowded around and
cheered.  Finally, Tracy felt the air inside bubble and
roil, threatening awesomely.  She sat up straight and
dropped her jaw, pleased with the reverberation she
emitted.

The students clapped her shoulders and laughed.

"That is so disgusting," Natalie rebuked her.

"Yeah, mom.  I know."  Tracy gave her a wide smile and
shrugged.

Natalie glared at LaCroix's youngest.  They had never really
argued.  Natalie had thought that they had a tentative
friendship developing, but the "mom" insult hurt.  "Oh, grow
up," she muttered under her breath.

They locked eyes for a tense moment.  Natalie was the first
to look away.  Tracy would never grow older.   Only Natalie
would continue to age, outgrowing Tracy and Nick until she
was more like their surrogate parent than a friend.
Suddenly she felt old.  She blinked back tears and fled the
crowded noisy bar.

Tracy watched Nat leave, feeling a twinge of guilt.  So she
was restless and feeling ignored, she'd had no call to take
it out on the coroner.  Then, as the dice came her way, she
ignored the guilt and played on.


All too soon Patrick put an end to the game.  He called a
cab for the students who discovered that simply standing was
a challenge.  Tracy waved at them as they left.  The crowd
had thinned and changed to mostly vampires.  She watched
them through sleepy eyes, although she was not yet ready to
go to bed.  She realized with a start that she knew all of
them by name.

"You seem pensive tonight," Nick said softly, startling her
from her reveries.

She smiled at him.  He looked refreshed and rested.  Tracy
saw the small scabs at his neck and a similar look of
contentment on Urs as well.  She forced back a twinge of
jealousy that she hadn't been included.  Well, there was
still time.  "Hi, Nick.  Haven't seen you lately.  Ducking
out on your own party?"

He just smiled.

"So, when do you go away to school?" she asked.

Nick pulled a crinkled letter from his back pocket and
passed it to her.  "In three weeks.  Can you tell me the
address?  I think I'll drop by one day this week and explore
the grounds."

Tracy pulled the letter from the envelope and smoothed it
out.  She saw the CNIB- Canadian National Institutes for the
Blind - logo at the top, but she couldn't read anything
else.  "Sorry, Nick.  It's all in French.  Wait a minute -
the address is someplace in Montreal."

Nick's jaw dropped and Tracy was overwhelmed with his sudden
fear.  "No!  I was supposed to go to the Toronto site.
There must be some mistake."

Patrick took the letter and read it quickly.  "Sorry, Nick.
They've accepted you at the Montreal location.  They've
enrolled you in Braille, computer training, vocational
rehabilitation, and orienteering."

Perry trotted to his charge quickly, as Nick's fear had
jolted him awake.  Looking around, he didn't see any
threat.  He nudged Nick's hand with his muzzle.  Absently,
Nick stroked the soft fur between his ears.  Perry focused
on the young vampire, finding the bond they shared.  Nick
seemed afraid of this school, yet Perry knew he had been
looking forward to it for some time now.  Perry sent him
reassurance through their link, reminding him that he would
not go alone.

"I won't go," Nick stated.  "I'll wait until the Toronto
site has room."

"Nick, don't be ridiculous," Tracy said.  "It's not like the
French will give you problems.  You need to do this.  I want
my partner back."

"But, I can't go, Tracy."

"There must be vampires in Montreal.  Maybe there's someone
there you know?  And it isn't that far.  I'll come visit on
my days off."

Nick forced a careless shrug, but Tracy still sensed his
unease.  "Look, bro.  No one says you have to go.  This was
something that I thought you wanted.  But you have three
weeks to think about it.  Just, don't make any hasty
decisions.  Okay?"

He smiled then.  "Right.  Hey, Baby.  I thought I was
supposed to be the one giving advice?"

"We'll take turns.  And I do want to talk to you about
Vachon sometime.  But maybe later.  Right now, I want a
dance."

Tracy pulled her reluctant brother out on to the dance
floor.  He was a fantastic dancer.  She remembered the first
night she'd seen the real Nick, when he and Urs had danced
the entire night away, when Tracy had learned that Nick was
a vampire... He had danced with such grace and passion
then.  Tonight, he danced the same.  Gone was the
awkwardness he'd developed after going blind.  He seemed
confident and graceful again.  Tracy wondered at the
change.  Part of his new confidence was his guide dog, but
Nick didn't dance with the dog.

One dance lead to another and then another.  Then at dawn,
the Raven empty but for them, they snuggled close for a slow
number.  Their eyes blazing golden, they sank their fangs
and feasted.

"I love you, brother," Tracy whispered into his ear.

"Thanks, Baby.  I've grown kind of fond of you myself."
Nick grinned, his fangs full, and shuddered behind a yawn.

Perry interrupted.  It was time to chase them all to bed.


end, part 1.

Tango Del Amor
by Tammy and Lorelei Sieja




Chapter two:

Nick flopped on the couch and propped his feet up on the
coffee table.  His first night off since graduation and he
was already bored.  He'd showered with Urs, fed well, and
played with Perry.  He didn't want to waste time in the
Raven.  He didn't even feel like returning to the loft for a
while.  Nick didn't know what he wanted, but it sure as hell
wasn't sitting around the loft for hours on end waiting for
paint to dry.  He'd snapped at Urs several times already.
That had twisted his stomach into knots.  She was a sweet
kid and didn't deserve to be treated like that.

"Want to play some cards?" Tracy asked, as she took his
special deck from the box and started to shuffle.

"No.  I don't want to play cards.  And I don't want to be
entertained, or babysat, or read to."

Tracy snorted.  "You sound just like this five-year-old boy
Scott I used to baby-sit.  Especially on rainy days.  He was
always such a handful, but when he couldn't get outside, he
was incorrigible."

"Go pick on someone else, Tracy," Nick said petulantly.

"Sure thing.  You're a crab, Vachon's a space cadet, and
Nat's mad at me.  Urs, you want to take in a movie or
something?"

"No, thanks," Urs answered.

Tracy planted her fists on her hips and glared at Urs.  "Why
don't you just say you'll think about it?  I mean, we could
at least pretend that we had a life besides Nick and look at
what's showing."

"Tracy, I said 'no'!"

Tracy jumped.  Urs never yelled.  She blinked back sudden
tears.  It seemed everyone was mad at her.  She went into
her room and slammed the door.

Nick folded his arms across his chest, his expression grew
dark.  "You should have gone with her."

Urs adjusted the magazines on the coffee table and picked up
Nick's sweatshirt he had tossed on the chair.  "I don't feel
like watching a movie with Tracy," she said, struggling to
regain a measure of tranquillity.  Nick looked like a
thundercloud and she wasn't sure she could stay out in the
weather much longer.  "I want to be with you."

"Urs!  What are you doing?  Are you cleaning again?  Would
you quit that!  You are not a house servant.  And maybe,
just once in awhile I would really like to be left alone!"

"Nick, don't do this," she whispered.

"Do what?  I'm not doing anything.  I'm just sitting here,
feeling guilty, because no one has a life now because of
me."

"No, you're pushing.  You are pushing everyone away from
you."

Nick jumped to his feet.  He barked his shin against the
coffee table and swore before heading into his room and
slamming his door just as his sister had done moments
before.  Urs blinked and wiped the red tears away.  Inhaling
deeply, she marched to his room and peeked inside.  "I love
you, Jerk," she said, then slammed the door again.  Maybe
she would take in a movie after all.  Alone.


Tracy lay on her bed thinking.  What was happening?  She'd
clung to her new family, because she wanted one so badly.
Her mortal mother had been a drunk, and her father a
controlling, absentee parent whose career had meant more to
him than his only child.  LaCroix had made her feel
treasured and protected, Nick treated her like she had
always imagined a brother should, and Vachon had been loving
and passionate.  So why was she all alone now?  She buried
her head in her pillow, struggling to keep back the tears
that demanded release.

Everything was all about Nick these days.  They worked their
schedules around him, so he would not be alone.  They
rotated playing with him, because vampire blood was the only
food he could keep down.  They generally controlled their
tempers around him, so they wouldn't upset him unnecessarily
and prolong his illness.  Even the group therapy sessions
with Father Rochefort were really for Nick's benefit.  Tracy
suspected that even Nat had postponed her conversion to
immortality because of Nick.

Tracy didn't begrudge her brother.  She truly loved him and
he was so needy.  Yet, she couldn't help the ugly green
monster of jealousy that was eating away at her.  Life right
now was so boring.  It was an endless cycle of work -
without Nick of course - and sleep.  No more play.

She heard her door open, but Tracy kept her head under the
pillow.  She didn't want to talk to anyone.

"Tracy," Nick said softly.  "Please, may I come in?"

She sniffed.  He was asking?  Such simple gestures of
etiquette were generally too modern for the crusader to
understand.  "I'm not much company," she said, hoping her
voice didn't sound like she'd been crying.

"I know.  I'm sorry, Tracy."

He came in and made his way to her bed, sitting on the
edge.  He reached out with one hand and found her back,
patting it softly in small, circular motions.  "It must be
pretty awful for you right now.  I had no right to snap at
you.  I'm sorry."

Tracy sat bolt upright and stared at him.  "Nick? Ohmygod!
I didn't mean for you to know any of that.  I wasn't
intentionally broadcasting my feelings."

He shrugged.  "I know.  Maybe it's being blind.  I seem to
feel the bond much clearer."

He looked so young, Tracy thought absently.  His blue eyes
were open and guileless, his expression one of sincere
sympathy.  She felt guilty again.  She'd been feeling
jealous of him, and now he must know that.  Of course, she
wouldn't want to be blind.  She wouldn't wish that on
anyone.

He reached out for her face with tentative motions and wiped
at her tears.  Then he brought his hand to his lips and
tasted her sorrow.  Tracy felt warm as she watched his fangs
descend, aroused by even such a small blood offering.

"So, last night you said you wanted to talk to me.
Something about Vachon?"

Tracy nodded, forgetting the gesture would be lost on him.
"He's been so weird lately.  Like, not listening to me - the
way you would sometimes get on the job, when you were stuck
between centuries or something?  The twilight zone of
flashbacks?  Only, Vachon's there most of the time.  He's
never really been big on conversation, but now,  I don't
know if he remembers how to speak English.  And he doesn't
look well."

"Vampires don't get sick, Baby," Nick comforted her.

"Except for the fever," Tracy muttered.  "I know he's not
sick.  But scared, maybe.  He's got dark circles under his
eyes."

"Can't you find out the problem through his blood?"

Tracy shook her head again.  "Nope.  I don't think he knows
what the problem is.  He won't talk about it.  And he hasn't
wanted to cuddle in over a week."

A wide grin split Nick's face and his fangs glinted in the
soft lamp light.  He'd just discovered the root of Tracy's
irritability.  Vampires were by nature passionate beings,
and Tracy had taken to her new existence with gusto.  To go
a whole week without intimacy would make even their ancient
master testy.

"Come on, Tracy," he said, pulling her to her feet.  "I know
just what we both need."

"What?" she asked, hesitantly.

"Out of here.  Are you ready to learn how to drive my
motorcycle?"

She let out a whoop.  "You bet!"

Perry did not like being left behind.  He stopped them at
the skylight before they could escape and as much as told
them so.  Nick knelt down and spoke to him, both verbally
and through their bond.

"Don't worry, boy.  I'm not going far.  I'll just teach her
how to drive and I'll be back well before dawn, I promise."

Perry still didn't like it, but he sensed it was important
to Nick.  He licked Nick's face and gave his consent.  Then
he followed them through the skylight.  He would wait and
watch from the rooftop until Nick returned.

Tracy flew Nick to his loft where he stored the bike.  Then
she climbed on, feeling excitement course through her.  Nick
got on behind, putting his arms around her and taking hold
of the handlebars.  He gave her instructions, and shortly,
they were off.  He spoke softly, encouraging her.  Tracy
marveled, but it almost seemed that Nick was driving the
bike, even though she sat in front.  Just how much could he
sense of the world around him, she wondered?

As they left the city and its crowded streets and traffic
and noise, Nick revved the bike, increasing their speed.

"Nick!  This is too fast," Tracy complained.

"I can't hear you," Nick teased.  "The wind is too loud.
You'll have to tell it to me when we stop!"

"Nick, you're speeding!  We're going to get a ticket!"

"Can't hear you," he repeated, laughing in her ear.

Tracy loved the sound of his laugh.  The speedometer
registered 165 kph and rising.  If she were mortal, she
would have been terrified, but knowing that an accident
would only be painful until LaCroix's blood healed them, she
wasn't as concerned as she should have been.  She continued
to warn him more because it made him laugh than anything
else.

"Nick!  You should at least let me steer.  I'm speeding on a
motorcycle with a blind driver, and you just think this is a
joke!  Nick!  Where are we going?  You are going to get us
both lost!  Nick!"

Nick let off on the gas and the bike slowed down as he
sensed the squad car approach.  He relinquished control.
Now able to hear the sirens, Tracy growled at him.  She
pulled over onto the shoulder and waited for the officer to
approach.  "You are going to pay for this, Knight," she
warned.

"Oh, no!" she whispered.  "It's Bill Durham, from the 27th!"

Nick laughed again.  He didn't know Durham well, who had
only just started at the 27th when Nick had transferred out,
but Durham seemed pretty basic, even likeable, maybe.

This Durham though made it clear that he detested
motorcycles in general, motorcyclists who didn't wear
helmets specifically, and unsafe motorcyclists were the very
scum of the earth.  He railed in to Tracy, and told Nick he
should never let her drive again.  Tracy tried to explain
that Nick couldn't very well drive since he was blind, but
Durham wasn't giving her a chance.  Nick didn't like the way
the officer was spoiling their night out.  He focused on
him, hearing the mortal's pulse sound loudly in his ears.
Durham's pulse slowed slightly, rhythmically and Nick felt
his stare.

"We're just having fun," Nick said.

"Fun..." Durham said flatly.

"And we were never in any danger.  Just give us a verbal
warning and you can go on your way."

"On my way," Durham said.

He felt his fangs tingle.  Durham smelled wonderfully human,
but Nick knew it was Tracy that he wanted.  Durham needed to
go.

Tracy stared, wondering what Nick was trying to do.  He had
such a silver tongue; he could really influence people when
he bothered to try.  Then Durham seemed to shake himself.
He spoke gruffly, but he was no longer antagonistic.  "Keep
to the speed limit, Detective Vetter.  I'll let you go with
just a warning this time.  But you watch it.  You speed
again, and I'll see that you lose your license."

"Yes, Officer.  I'll be careful," she said, struggling to
keep a straight face.  What license?  She didn't even have a
learner's permit for a motorcycle.  She watched Durham back
away and get in to his squad car then drive off.

"Did you just hypnotize him?" she asked incredulously.

"Of course not.  I can't do that anymore," Nick said.  He
licked at her earlobe, sucking on it and nicking it with his
fangs.

Tracy squealed.  "Well, you had me fooled.  I thought I was
in deep trouble."

"You are...  with me.  I'm hungry, Baby.  Take me somewhere
private, now."

Tracy felt a delicious shiver run up her spine.  She looked
around.  The grass wasn't very tall yet this spring, but if
they got far enough off the road they should not be visible
to any passing drivers.  She started the bike again and
pulled onto the meadow.  Nick continued to nibble at her
ear, now stroking the side of her face with one cool hand.

"If you don't hold on, you could fall," she warned.

Nick complied, reaching around in front and grasping on to
her.

Tracy killed the engine.  "All right.  Far enough."

She jumped off the bike and took a step back.  Nick casually
swung his leg over and tapped the kickstand down with one
foot.  "Come here, baby," he commanded, his voice low and
husky.

Tracy giggled, clamping a hand over her mouth, but it was
enough to alert him to her position.  Nick flew at her,
tackling her to the ground.  She grunted as his weight
crushed her, but desire flamed hot in her veins.

Nick pinned her wrists above her head with one hand.  She
shrieked and struggled beneath him, rubbing against his
arousal even as she fought to escape.  His free hand slipped
the buttons loose on her blouse, slowly baring her for his
touch.

"Nick, release me," she ordered, still struggling, but her
own needs were quickly escalating.

"No."  He grinned at her, then returned to a slow, sensual
study of her.

"Nick!"

"I loved you the first time I ever saw you," he whispered
huskily.

"Really?  I thought you were pretty peeved at the
babysitting detail."

His tongue now explored the underside of each arm, nipping
playfully, tasting her.  "Captain Reese had just told me you
had a "good head on your shoulders", and there you were,
asleep in  my chair.  You were so young and sweet, I had to
protect you.  Not because you were the commissioner's
daughter, Tracy, but because I wanted you."

"You could have fooled me," she snorted.  Even pretending to
be annoyed with him was becoming impossible.  A molten need
spread through her that only Nick could fill.  She was too
warm.  If only he'd hurry up and remove the rest of her
clothes.

"What do you mean?"  He took each finger into his mouth and
sucked, nipping at the soft skin of her wrist, but still he
did not possess her.

"You were such a tease!  You picked on me about everything,
from my dog Sparky to the color of my car."

Nick chuckled.  She felt his chest shake with laughter.

"It was the only way I could think to protect you.  You
thought of me as some older cop, a teasing big brother, and
you were not attracted to me."

"Nick?"

"Hmm?"

"Shut up and kiss me!"

*****

Tracy reveled in the afterglow of their passion, as she felt
Nick's weight on top of her.  Although the wind blew briskly
and the ground was damp, she felt warm all over.  "Thanks,
bro," she whispered.

Nick nuzzled her neck again, his fangs still scraping
against the tender flesh.  "Oh, it was my pleasure, Baby."

"Nick?  Can we go back now?  I don't want you falling asleep
on me; I can't carry you by myself."

Nick got up, sighing with reluctance.  "I'm not sleepy,
Tracy.  But it's okay.  We'll go."
"And I drive!  At my own speed!"

Nick shuddered as a wide yawn escaped.  "Sure thing."

Perry was pacing the rooftop when they returned.  He herded
them both inside, then swamped them with his concerns.  They
were so irresponsible at times!  He informed Tracy that her
reckless driving might not have placed her in danger, but
any accident should be considered life threatening for
Nick.  He warned Nick about this irresponsible streak and
how it was most unbecoming.  He saw their sheepish looks and
knew he'd been successful.

"I'm sorry, Nick," Tracy began, unsure of where her sudden
feelings of guilt had come from.

"I'm sorry, too, Tracy," Nick replied, his conscience
bothering him.  He hadn't heard it so clearly in centuries
and it surprised him.  Maybe the priest's counseling was
helping after all?

They maintained their sheepish looks for all of three
seconds.  Then Tracy gasped, "Not!"  And they rolled on the
floor, finishing the blood exchange they had begun outside.
Perry rolled his eyes.  Children!  He wasn't really cut out
for this.  He left them alone and went to take a nap in
LaCroix's old bedroom.

Nick sensed Perry's exhaustion as though it were his own.
Within moments he joined the carouche in sleep.  Tracy was
unable to wake him to get him to move to the couch or a
bed.  Although she had incredible strength even as an infant
vampire, Nick was bigger than her, awkward to carry and like
so much dead weight.  In the end she brought a blanket and
pillow and let him nap in the middle of the floor.  "Boys!"
she muttered.

She was watching something mindless on television later when
Natalie came home.  The coroner had been pulling a lot of
extra shifts lately, because one of the other coroners was
out on maternity leave.  Tracy wondered if that was part of
Nat's bad humor, or if the doctor didn't like spring, or if
she was losing interest in LaCroix, but Natalie Lambert had
been a crabby pain in the neck for the last three weeks
straight, and so she was not surprised when Nat scolded her
for wearing Nick out.

"Don't get your undies in a bunch," the vampire muttered too
softly for mortal ears.

"He's only got three weeks until he goes away.  He doesn't
have the time right now to risk getting sick or injured,"
Nat continued.

Tracy shrugged indifferently.  "He changed his mind.  He
doesn't want to go to the school now."

"What!  Of course he does," Nat insisted.

"Nope.  I heard him a couple nights ago.  He realized that
he was being sent to some small school outside of Montreal,
and he didn't want to be that far from home.  He wants to
wait until he can get into the Toronto division."

"That's nonsense," Nat said.  "He speaks French, so that
shouldn't stop him.  And if the Toronto division had any
openings, they would have sent him there.  He can't afford
to wait."

Tracy flipped off the TV.  It was no longer even mildly
interesting.  "Nat.  It is his choice.  If he doesn't want
to go, then there isn't much you can do to change that."

"Well, I can try!"

"I suppose you can.  But you shouldn't.  Nick's a big boy
and he can make this decision for himself."

"All I want is what's best for Nick!"

"Me too," Tracy insisted.  "But maybe Nick can decide what's
best for Nick."

"Nick doesn't know what he wants," Natalie retorted.  Then
her mouth dropped as she realized that she'd just repeated
one of LaCroix's famous statements.  She tossed her purse
and coat onto a chair.  "I'm going to take a bath," she said
under her breath.

Tracy watched her leave feeling a second twinge of sadness.
She liked Natalie, and with any effort at all they could be
friends.  But she was feeling very protective where Nick was
concerned.  And face it, it was Natalie's protein shakes
that were largely responsible for his weakness now.  She
felt lonely again.  Vachon was gone, Urs was gone, Nick was
sleeping and Nat was bathing.  Tracy blinked.  Maybe soon
she could just go to bed and hope that tomorrow would be a
better day.

The air seemed to part then as her ancient master suddenly
appeared before her.  "Tracy, my dear.  I believe it is time
to resume your training."

Her heart skipped a beat and a grin split her face.  She
threw her arms around her stuffy old master.  "That's great,
Dad!"

Tango Del Amor
03/16

Chapter three:

Janette shot awake, gasping for breath.  She squeezed her
eyes shut tightly, raising a hand to her head.  Her fingers
touched the light film of blood sweat.  She glanced down at
the sheets tangled around her legs and her eyes swept the
darkened room, searching for the hidden assailant. She
slipped silently from the bed.

The sleeping figure in the bed stirred slightly, an arm
reaching through the darkness for her.  The hand rested on
the empty pillow.  Sleepily, her Indian lover leaned up on
elbow.

"Pájaro?*"

Janette turned towards him and smiled.  "Right here," she
said.  She hurried back to his bed and sat next to him.

"What is wrong?" he asked, rubbing a hand over his face.

Janette frowned, then crawled into his embrace.  "I'm not
sure," she said.  "I had a strange dream."

"Tell me about it."  Amaru leaned back against his pillow,
motioning that she slip under the blankets again.

Janette brushed a hand through his soft black hair.  "It's
strange," she said slowly, slipping her feet under the
blanket.  "It's something, but nothing.  It's darkness,
overwhelming darkness, and I am afraid of it." She leaned
against her hand as she spoke.

Amaru closed his eyes.  "What do you mean?"

Janette sat up again, crossing her legs.  She pulled a
pillow on her lap and looked down into the face of her
lover.  "I'm not sure what it is," she insisted, completely
awake.  "It's a part of me, but at the same time it's not."

"You are not making sense."  He opened his eyes and smiled
at the bewitching woman before him.

Janette pursed her lips at him.  "You're just not
listening," she said, hands on her hips.  "It's almost like
part of... my family," she said slowly, thoughts returning
to the dream.

"What do you mean?"

Janette sighed and smacked the pillow with one hand.  "I
don't know." She sighed.  She grinned impishly at him and
whacked him with the pillow.  Amaru squawked and fought off
the attack, diving for Janette's most vulnerable spots,
tickling her sides.

Janette squealed and squirmed in a useless attempt to
escape, but Amaru easily had her pinned in only a matter of
seconds.  She hissed at him, her eyes golden orbs.

"Once I was stronger than you!" she cried, pouting at him.

Amaru nipped at her neck lightly.  "I know," he said
absently, his thoughts centered on more important matters.

Janette gave a vicious wiggle then submitted to his superior
strength.  "You know, when my brother first brought me back
across, I could have killed him."  Her voice held a note of
seriousness that made Amaru hesitate in his actions.  "I
wanted to kill him," she whispered.

Amaru's golden eyes started to fade and he released his grip
on Janette's wrists.  "Why?"

Janette shrugged.  "Because he was a hypocrite."  She
laughed at Amaru's startled look.

All the lights of amber in his liquid coal eyes vanished.
"Few would dare to speak about their masters with such
disrespect," he said softly.

Janette pouted slightly.  "If LaCroix were my master I would
be dead by now.  But Nichola, no, he could not even let me
go once! Why would he jeopardize that again?"

Amaru nodded silently.  His eyes grew distant and Janette
watched her lover phase into another reality.  She rested on
her elbows and nibbled on Amaru's ear.  "Where are you,
lover?" she whispered in her aristocratic voice.  She nipped
at his neck, enjoying her brief moment of power.

When Amaru returned to the present, his fangs glistened in
the moonlight.  "Long ago," he answered.  Janette smiled at
him, her own fangs dropping.

The rest of the day was spent in each other's arms.



"I shall be back!" Janette called, fluttering out of the
apartment.

Amaru frowned as his lover left.  Something didn't feel
right about this night... no, not the night, but something.
Amaru rested a hand on his chin and opened the link between
him and his young lover.

She seemed happy and safe for the moment, but there was
something wrong, Amaru was certain.  A moment later he was
lifting into the unseasonably warm, moist night air of early
June.  He honed in on Janette and followed her.

Though technically Janette was almost a thousand mortal
years old, she had become human at the death of her mortal
lover almost two years ago.  She had lived as a mortal for a
time, mothering the mortal's son and plotting revenge on his
murderers.  However, when she'd found them, she had been
fatally shot and had been brought back across by her then
brother, now master, Nicholas de Brabant.  When she had
returned to the darkness, Janette was once again as weak and
helpless as a newborn vampire.

Amaru shook his head and focused on following her.  He knew
Janette didn't like to discuss her re-conversion, and yet,
she tended to forget that she was not strong enough to be
allowed to wander the night alone and unprotected.

Amaru frowned when he watched Janette enter a shop.  A tall
man with blond hair watched her enter, then seated himself
on a bench a few buildings away.  Amaru landed on a rooftop
and watched from his shadowed vantage point.  When the
raven-haired beauty left the building, the blond man stood
and followed her.

Amaru's eyes changed to a feral red, casting crimson shadows
on everything he saw.  He followed his lover at a distance
far enough that the ancient infant would not sense him, but
still close enough that he could see her and her unknown
pursuer.

He followed Janette all over the city for hours.  Janette
visited dozens of Buffalo's shops, and no matter where she
went the man was not far behind.  Silently, Amaru dropped
from the sky.

"Pájaro," he called softly, commanding Janette's attention.
She whirled around a hand over her undead heart.

"Amaru, you startled me."  Her eyes were dark as she gazed
at him accusingly.  "What are you doing here?"

Amaru slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her
close.  "You are being followed, my love."

Janette's first impulse was to look around.

"Don't look," Amaru scolded.  "Just return home."

Janette pursed her lips and put her hands on her hips.  "I
don't need you to protect me, Amaru!"

Amaru smiled at her and placed a finger over her full lips.
"You will go," he said firmly.

Janette stiffened, ready to fight, but then with a sigh of
resignation, she relaxed.  "Do you know who this is?"

Amaru shook his head.  He kissed her forehead gently.  "Now,
go back and wait for me."

Janette remained only long enough to flash amber eyes at him
and whisper, "Hurry home!"

Amaru laughed and swatted playfully at her behind.  He
waited until he was positive that she was safely out of
harm's way before approaching her stalker.

The green eyes and blond hair were familiar, but it was a
mortal's heart that beat in front of him.  Amaru searched
his near perfect memory trying to put a name to this face.

The mortal ignored him and tried to walk around him.  Amaru
stepped in front to block him again.  "Why are you following
that woman?" he demanded.

The mortal made no sign that he had even heard Amaru, much
less register surprise or fear. Amaru recognized him then as
some minor acquaintance of Janette's, a neighboring tenant
in the same apartment complex.  Amaru grabbed his arm and
shoved him against the cement wall of a vacant building.
With his other hand he cupped the mortal's chin and glared
at him.  "Tell me, what are you doing here," he demanded.

The mortal returned his stare with a vacant, unblinking
look.  There was no change in his heart rate.  He was
neither afraid nor concerned; his pulse continued to throb
with slow, even beats.  Amaru felt a cold dread slide over
him.

He shoved the man's head to the side to examine his throat.
Twin scabs marked him.  He was no longer entirely mortal,
yet not a vampire.  A revenant, a soul-less creature, bound
to serve the vampire that created him, he was dangerous and
yet not even responsible for his actions.  But why send him
after Janette?  Amaru knew then.  He had been a decoy, meant
to distract him, leaving Janette vulnerable!

For one chilling moment, Amaru was divided.  Stay and
destroy this dangerous victim, perhaps uncover his master,
or flee from this site to rescue Janette, all too aware that
it might be too late already!  With a feral growl, Amaru
tore into the revenant's throat and drained him.
Antiquity.  Curiosity.  Vampire justice and revenge.
Blood.  The images were unclear.  Amaru sensed the master
vampire was an ancient, but he didn't recognize anything in
the blood, except that the vampire was an enforcer, the most
feared of their kind.

Leaping into the air with the shell of the man, Amaru flew
out over the lake.  He tore the man's head from his
shoulders with his hands, the only way to ensure that the
revenant did not return from death to serve his master
again.  Then he dropped the body and head some distance
apart in the murky waters of Lake Erie.  He circled back to
the home he shared with Janette, unsure of what he would
find.

The apartment looked quiet.  He reached out with his senses
and did not feel the presence of others.  Of course, the
enforcers were expert at shielding their presence when it
suited them.  He moved silently to the window to peer
inside.  It was pure torture not to rush to his beloved, but
if there were others within, he would need a plan.

Janette was inside, walking to the refrigerator.  She
withdrew a green bottle and a wine glass.  Although she
moved regally, with her characteristic aristocratic disdain,
there was a slight tremble in her hands revealing her
emotions.

So, no enforcers were here yet.  Already the faint images in
the man's blood were fading; only the sense of danger
remained.  He must get Janette somewhere safe and seek help
from those older than himself, or he could lose her!

Amaru knew how she felt about her master and grand sire,
perhaps better than she knew herself, yet he was convinced
that until this matter was resolved, she would be safer with
them.  But how could he convince her of that?  She would
fight him every step of the way.  He could physically force
her to obey, but then as soon as he went to search for her
stalkers, she would most likely run away.  She was a most
headstrong, independent, foolish little infant!

She was unnerved by the stalker, though.  He could build on
her fear.  Somehow, he had to  make her want to go visit her
family.  Only if it was her idea, would he be sure of her
compliance....

Janette loved Nicholas de Brabant.  Amaru knew that and was
neither envious nor alarmed.  She had a bond with the
crusader that went beyond understanding.  She had been
sister, mother, lover, now child to Nicholas.  Although she
lived away from him for now, Amaru knew that it was only a
matter of time before she returned to him.

Amaru knew though, that she also loved him.  He was not tied
to her.  He had no ulterior motives, no legal ties to her.
He was only her lover, a stronger vampire, but perhaps not
really older.  Although she was weak as an infant vampire,
she retained all of her knowledge from a thousand years.  In
all those years, she had belonged to one master or another.
Her mortal father, then her mortal husband, then the pimp
her husband had sold her to.  When LaCroix saved her from
rape, he had robbed her of her soul and her desperate need
to be free.  She then belonged to LaCroix.

Janette had adapted, finding the limits of her freedom and
pushing them.  She had thought to irritate her master by
making him jealous.  She hunted for the perfect mortal, a
young Crusader, a disheartened knight.  He had been ripe for
her seduction.  Poor Nicholas, Amaru thought.  He had never
had a chance!

Only, Janette's plan had backfired.  Intending only to use
the Crusader, she had fallen in love with him.  And so had
LaCroix.

Amaru knew that she craved her independence, and yet,
desired their love.  It was a difficult, untenable
situation.  He wasn't sure if he could help her or not.  He
only knew that he loved her.

He searched for a piece of paper then, and worked on wording
a note of warning.  It had to frighten her to go home, but
he did not want it to terrify her.  Then he knew.  She had
to think that someone she loved was in danger.  He wrote the
note and rubber-banded it to a baseball-sized rock.  Flying
into the alley, he found a likely candidate and compelled
the boy to count to fifty, then hurl the rock through the
window.  He planted the suggestion then that the boy would
simply go home and remember nothing.  Satisfied, Amaru
returned to the apartment he shared with Janette.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his chin on
her shoulder.  "Hungry again, Mosquito?" he teased.

Janette shook her head, raven tresses slapping his face.  He
had the oddest terms of endearments!  "Little bloodsucker"
indeed!  "What did you learn?" she asked, feigning
indifference.

Amaru stood against the counter, folding his arms across his
chest.  "Well, he was merely a mortal, enamoured of your
beauty, and too timid to ask you to dinner."

"And for this you had to kill him?" she asked.

Amaru started, only then noticing the man's blood staining
his shirt and hands.  He tried to think quickly, but a
suitable lie didn't come to mind.  He shrugged.

A window shattered in the living room.

Janette shrieked with surprise.  Together they ran into the
other room.  The rock sat on the carpeted floor, surrounded
by broken glass.
Motioning that Janette remain back, Amaru approached the
rock and picked it out of the shards.  He carefully removed
the paper.

"It's written in Spanish," he said, glancing over it.  That
had been foolish, he thought to himself.  He should have
written it in English, or German, or anything except
Spanish!  He stood next to Janette showing it to her.

"Your Master is in danger! The Mouse." Janette said softly.
"What does that mean?"

Amaru shook his head.  He carefully steered Janette away
from the first rays of sunshine that poured through the
broken window.  "Stay back, Pájaro.  The sun can kill you
now."

Janette went absently where Amaru directed her.  "Do you
think that something might be wrong in Toronto?" she asked
when Amaru seated her in a chair.

Amaru fetched her goblet and refilled it.  Tucking a stray
strand of black hair behind her ear, he passed the glass to
her in exchange for the note.

"Perhaps you should return to your family and find out."

Janette shook her head.  "I don't want to talk to Nichola,
or LaCroix," she said sourly.  "But I know who I can
contact!"

Amaru listened as she placed a phone call.  He heard the
gravelly voice of an old man on the other end.  Janette's
expression lost the edge of concern as the old man assured
her that he had heard nothing unusual regarding her family.
The Inca silently cursed the old man.  Now he would have to
find some other way to convince his obstinate lover.


end, part 3.
*pajaro-- little bird

Tango Del Amor 04/16
by Lorelei and Tammy Sieja


Chapter four:

LaCroix brought Tracy to the rooftop of a large medical
research facility.  She was curious as to what they would do
there, but had learned that LaCroix would never play twenty
questions.  She struggled to keep her enthusiasm in check
and silently followed him.

He led her inside, easily hypnotizing the night watchman and
putting him to sleep.  Then he flipped on some of the
overhead lights in a lab.  There were dozens of cages, each
containing a large white rat.  Tracy shuddered.  It brought
back sad memories of the fever and Screed's demise.  She'd
almost lost Vachon back then, too.  Natalie had saved him.
Natalie had saved Nick, too.  Tracy was sorry then that
she'd been so unkind to her lately.  She'd have to make it
up somehow.

LaCroix shuddered with distaste before reaching into one of
the cages.  He lifted the rat and stared at it's beady red
eyes, while he spoke his instructions to Tracy with that
smooth-as-satin voice that made her spine tingle and her
blood throb.  The rat continually tried to crawl out of his
grasp.  LaCroix let it crawl from his left hand into his
right and then into his left again, as though the rat was on
an eternal treadmill, uselessly going nowhere.

"What you call "the whammy" and Doctor Lambert refers to as
"hypnotic suggestion" has no name in our culture.  It is not
at all like mortal hypnosis.  Mortals must willingly submit
to a mortal hypnotist, and cannot be forced to doing
something against their will.  In our clutches, they are
powerless.  We can make the mortal do anything, even to stop
breathing permanently if we so desire.  There is a great
deal of power with this skill, and the potential for misuse
and danger.  It is seldom taught to infants."

Tracy felt the internal excitement build to a tight bubble.
She couldn't believe it!  Whammy lessons!  She'd been
waiting for this expectantly ever since she'd first envied
Vachon's whammy skills!  Outwardly, she controlled herself,
not giving in to jumping, dancing or other displays of
enthusiasm.  "Yes, sir," she said, to show she was
listening.

LaCroix brought the rat closer to his face.  He let his eyes
change to golden with flecks of red, the eyes of a
predator.  The rat stopped its constant movement and stared
at him.

"Rats do not understand spoken words, and so the command one
gives them must be done pictorially.  I will compel this one
to remove the nozzle on the water bottle and stand in the
flow of water.  Observe."

He placed the rat back in its glass cage.  The rat seemed
disoriented for a moment, as it bumped against the glass
walls a few times.  Then it went straight to the water
bottle.  Taking the black screw band in its front paws, it
pulled and pulled, twisting off the lid.  The water then
bubbled out all over the floor of the cage, with the rat
standing beneath it, looking like all he needed was a tiny
bar of soap for his shower.  Tracy couldn't contain her
laughter.

LaCroix rolled his eyes impatiently.  He had expected she
would respond that way.  Perhaps she was not yet ready for
the responsibility of this gift?  The next step would tell
him.  Unfortunately, it would probably make her cry.

He told her then to chose a rat and how to gain control over
it, listening to it's tiny heart beating, staring into it's
eyes, compelling it to submit to her.  Tracy seemed
squeamish at first.  "Do I have to touch it?"

"No," he answered.  "But it would be best at first.  While
it remains in its cage, protected by the glass walls, it has
a greater chance to simply ignore you."

Tracy tried first without touching it.  She quickly grew
impatient though.  Chewing on her lower lip, she summoned
her courage and went for it.  She held it firmly, bringing
it near her face, then concentrated.  LaCroix watched,
observing her imitating him.  Her eyes were redder than his
had been, her passion stronger than this simple task
required.  He heard her lock on to the rat's pulse, but then
as she stared at it, concentrating so hard to give it a
command, she did not hear its heartbeat slowing.  The rat
died.

"Ohmygosh!" Tracy screamed, dropping the dead rat on the
floor.  Then as the tears streamed down her face, she knelt
and picked it back up.  "What did I do wrong?  Oh, how
awful!  I'm sorry!  I failed!"

LaCroix took the rodent and placed it back in its cage.  He
lifted her chin, compelling her to look at him.

"You did nothing wrong, my child.  This skill is dangerous.
By letting your first attempt end in death, I ensure that
you will never forget the lesson.  I had suspected that a
rat's death would be sufficient for you."

Tracy had a sudden image of Nick's first attempt, as he felt
her same horror and confusion, only he had dropped a man's
body to the ground.  "You made me kill it?" she asked
hesitantly.

"No.  I merely permitted it.  You were trying too hard.  You
must judge the strength with which you compel your will
against the mind of the creature you would control.
Sometimes this is obvious, as in the small size of a rat
compared to the brain of a more developed creature like a
horse.  But among mortals, it is less obvious.  The minds of
men are not naturally stronger than of women or children,
and some minds do not survive the experience.  It is best to
begin with the slightest possible contact, adding to it only
until the victim relinquishes his will."

Tracy wiped away her tears and nodded, bracing her
shoulders.  "Okay, Dad.  I understand.  Will you show me
again?"

LaCroix smiled proudly.  He had been right about her.  "Yes,
my child."

*****

"But Nick! It might work! And it would be for your own
good!" Nat cried angrily.  She paced furiously in front of
the blind man, arguing her case.

"Nat, I don't want to be mortal for even a minute! I'm sick
enough as it is, I don't need to be any worse." Nick
swallowed hard against the foul taste in his mouth.  His
sightless eyes followed Nat as she continually moved; her
elevated pulse pounded in Nick's ears appetizingly.

Nat growled impatiently.  "But it could make you well!"

Nick sighed.  "Nat! I. Don't. Want. To," he said firmly.

Nat stopped pacing.  She stared at him, her eyes going
unfocused.  "Don't..."

"Hi guys! I'm home!" Tracy called, slamming the door behind
her.  The tension in the room was immediately evident, as
Nick was glaring with red-gold eyes, his fangs half down.
Nat was still, her expression blank.  A silence surrounded
them, broken only by the slow beating of Natalie's heart.

"Nick?"

Nick jumped.  He turned towards her in confusion.

Nat shook her head, pressing a hand to her forehead.  Had
Nick been trying to hypnotize her? But that was impossible!
She pushed the thought from her head.

"What's going on?" Tracy asked slowly.

"Tracy, see if you can talk some sense into your partner,"
Nat snapped.  She huffed out of the room to search for some
aspirin.

"Some sense? Why?" Tracy asked, turning to Nick.  "What's
she talking about?"

Nick sighed.  "She wants me to have this surgery.  Turn me
into a mortal for a day so they can perform this ulcer
surgery on me then let me heal."

Tracy nodded.  "Sounds good, what's the problem?"

Frustration built in Nick.  "The problem is the drug to make
me mortal is dangerous.  It is addictive, and it makes me
crave more of it, makes me hurt all over, and I'd do
anything to get it... or consider walking into the sun to
end the pain."  Red tears pooled in his clear blue eyes.

Tracy grimaced.  "And she's been ragging on you about this
for how long?"

Nick shrugged.  "I don't know,"

"Tell him that it's for his own good!" Nat said, returning
to the living room.

"Nat, if Nick doesn't want to do the surgery, then he
shouldn't have to.  I think he's old enough to make his own
decisions," Tracy said calmly.

Nat let out a strangled growl of frustration.  "The point
is, Tracy, the surgery will make him better."

"You can't really know that for sure.  And how will the drug
make Nick feel in the interim?" Tracy demanded.  "You're a
doctor, isn't your whole job to make patients feel better?"

"I'm a Coroner, Tracy, my patients are mostly dead.  Or in
some cases, undead," Nat said sarcastically.  "The effects
of the drug are only temporary, Nick! Think about it! You
wouldn't be blind any more.  You could get back to your
life!"

"Nat, he already said that he didn't want to do this!"

Nat glowered at Tracy.  "I don't remember asking you," she
snapped.

"You wouldn't, mother," Tracy replied acerbically.

Tracy caught Natalie's wrist mid flight and squeezed
tightly.  "Nick said he didn't want to do the surgery; so
leave him alone!" she said around her fangs.  Her vision
shone with crimson tones as her fingers clenched Nat's arm.

"Tracy," Nat gasped, flinching.

The next thing Tracy knew she was flying through the air,
smashing into the wall.

"Go to your room!" LaCroix hissed.  His eyes glowed
dangerously red as he held his youngest child pinned by the
neck for an endless moment.

Tracy trembled, unsure how this night had turned so wrong.
She dropped to the floor when LaCroix released her.  She
glared up at him before she stormed into her room, slamming
the door with all her might.

The hinges made a pathetic groan and the plaster cracked.
LaCroix stared after his insolent child.  Then the all too
familiar sounds of Nick retching his last meal all over the
carpet filled the room.

end part 4.

Tango Del Amor
by Tammy and Lorelei Sieja

Chapter Five:


LaCroix closed his eyes.  His once private, quiet home was
rife with conflict.  At times he no longer felt like a
master as much as a ringmaster, striving to get his monkeys
to keep all their plates in the air.  Well, damn it!  If he
was ringmaster, he deserved a bigger whip!

"This is MY home!" he roared.  Natalie flinched, rubbing her
wrist.  Nicholas had dropped to all fours, but now he lay on
his side, his knees pulled almost to his chest as he doubled
up in pain.  "I am master here!" LaCroix shouted again.  "I
decide what will be done, and what will not!  There is NO
point in arguing over the matter! Is that clear?"

LaCroix stared at them, his mortal lover and his precious
son, and felt the anger wash away.  He had always been a man
of action.  It was time to handle first things first, and
decide what to do about the source of the conflict later.

He went to Nicholas. A fine sheen dotted his brow and his
coloring had turned quite gray.  "Come, Nicholas," LaCroix
commanded softly.  He pulled his son into his arms.

Nick clung to him.  He didn't say anything, but turned his
face into his master's shoulder as though to hide from
unseen monsters.  LaCroix carried him into his room and lay
him on the bed.

"I'm sorry, LaCroix," Nick whispered.

"Sh-sh.  We will talk later.  You just rest now."

"Please, LaCroix?  Father, please don't make me do it!"

LaCroix felt his son's pain as his stomach rebelled against
acids it was no longer capable of handling.  Conflict seemed
to irritate his stomach into producing more of the acids,
which were eating away at his stomach lining.  More often
than not, the blood he vomited was his own.  As his vampiric
nature continually struggled to heal itself, it increased
his need to feed, which further irritated his stomach and
also left him tired.  It was a vicious cycle.  At the
beginning there had been some improvement from week to week,
but not so any more.  Nick was now exactly as he had been
eight weeks ago.  LaCroix kept that knowledge from
everyone.  Only Natalie knew the truth.  She knew through
her x-rays and lab tests.  LaCroix knew through Nick's
blood.

"Sh, Nicholas.  Right now all I will make you do is rest.
Will you do so willingly, or must I assist you?"

"I don't want to do it," Nick whispered, grasping on to his
master's shirt.  LaCroix knew he was not referring to sleep,
but to whatever fears tormented him.

LaCroix covered Nick's hand with his own.  He patted the
back of it affectionately for a few moments.  He saw the
strain on Nick's handsome features; felt his pain and fear.

"Move over, Nicholas," he said.

Nick slid over.  LaCroix stretched out beside him and pulled
him in to his strong embrace.  He needed to calm his child
before he fed him, or his ancient blood would be wasted.  He
didn't know what had upset his child this time, but he would
promise Nicholas almost anything to get him to rest.

He tugged Nicholas's shirt free from his pants only to slip
his cool fingers inside.  Softly, tenderly, his hand trailed
over the smooth abdomen. His stubborn child curled up
against him, burrowing in to his protective hold.  Nicholas
was so much more affectionate these days. LaCroix loved
these tender moments.  Although he wanted his son's health
and stature to return, he would miss the closeness they now
shared.  He was certain that when Nicholas no longer needed
him, he would not remain so loving.

Nicholas's eyes drifted closed and his fangs descended.  He
nuzzled against LaCroix chest, the scent of blood stirring a
deeper hunger.  LaCroix brought his wrist to his child's
mouth.  "Drink, Nicholas," he urged.

Twin punctures stabbed his wrist as his son willingly
obeyed.  He kissed the top of Nicholas's head.  The younger
vampire hadn't taken more than a few sips when the sucking
ceased.  He was asleep.

LaCroix brought his wrist to his lips and licked at the
wounds to stop the flow of blood.  Then he eased himself off
the bed, being careful not to awaken Nicholas.  He paused at
the door and smiled.  Nicholas lay in the middle of the
large bed, his knees slightly bent.  The stubble of new
beard shaded his chin, while his face relaxed in sleep was
innocent.  The black shirt, now untucked and half
unbuttoned, seemed out of place against the pale, youthful
face.  Nicholas was such a contradiction.

Now it was time to find the source of the turmoil.  He was
much too angry to speak with Tracy, but Natalie might have
cooled down enough to speak coherently.  LaCroix felt his
own stomach threaten to heave as he passed Perry cleaning up
Nick's vomit.  "Leave it, carouche," he commanded.  "Go to
my son and stay with him."

The golden retriever wagged his tail and stared at him with
golden eyes, before disappearing into Nick's room.

"So, Natalie," he said then.  "What was this all about?  Or
do I not want to know?"

"I'm sure Tracy didn't mean to hurt me," Natalie said
quickly, defending LaCroix's youngest.  Although she was
still angry with Tracy for the hurtful remarks, she didn't
want to see her punished.  LaCroix could be rather abusive,
and even though she knew Tracy would heal before sunrise, it
still seemed to wrong to hit a woman.

"Of course she didn't.  She would not still exist if I
thought otherwise.  But she did hurt you.  She must learn to
control her temper and her strength, my dear."

Natalie nodded.  A dark bruise had formed on her wrist.
Tracy could have broken it.  A short temper and incredible
strength were a lethal combination.  Natalie realized that
having a vampire's strength increase with age, and hopefully
wisdom, was undoubtedly a very good idea.

"So," LaCroix said, waiting expectantly.

At once she became nervous.  Somehow, talking to Nick about
her plans had seemed the right thing to do, but she was
almost certain that LaCroix would disagree.  She dreaded the
inevitable confrontation.

"You know as well as I that Nick is not getting any better,"
Natalie began.

LaCroix turned away from her.  He filled himself a large
glassful, bringing both the glass and bottle to the table,
as he figured he would need the calming benefits.  "Neither
is he getting any worse."

"I've been working on a way to speed the process, but when I
mentioned it to Nick, he flatly refused to listen."

A smile lifted his lips as LaCroix sensed her irritation.
Nicholas had developed the skill of being irritating to
perfection.  "I see," he said slowly.  Actually, he didn't
see at all.  Surely his son wanted to be well again?  But
was this the thing that had Nicholas so frightened, that he
begged LaCroix not to force upon him?  "What would this
entail?"

"If he were mortal for even a few hours, we could perform
surgery on his stomach and repair the ulcer.  Then, as the
effects of the lidovuterine wore off, and the vampire
reasserted itself, his stomach as well as his eyes should
heal rather quickly," she said.

LaCroix struggled against his rage.  Was she still working
on that stupid "cure"?  Didn't she see that this treatment
to make him mortal was a death sentence?  And what if it
didn't wear off?  What if he remained mortal?  And blind?

"You will not speak of this again," LaCroix said firmly.

"Lucien!  Yes, I will!  We are supposed to talk about our
disagreements, not ignore them!  Haven't you learned a
thing?"

"Enough!  Nicholas practically cried himself to sleep,
begging me not to force his compliance!  He does not want
this.  I do not want this.  You will stick to treating the
dead, where you can do no harm!"

Tears came at once, spilling down her cheeks at his angry
rebuff.  She wanted to argue with him, but the fact was she
had done Nick a great deal of harm.  By trying to help him
to achieve mortality, she had succeeded in making him a very
weak, very sick vampire.  That was why she had wanted so
much to find a way to help him, to right the wrongs she had
unwittingly committed.

Tracy was mad at her, and Nick, and now LaCroix.  Natalie
had to concede that maybe this wasn't one of her brighter
ideas.  She buried her head in her arms and wept.

LaCroix stood then.  He returned the bloodwine to the
refrigerator.  He wasn't really hungry and its sweetness was
not sitting well.  He considered leaving her here in her
misery, but then neither of them would sleep very well.  And
if she continued to weep, it was bound to adversely affect
Nicholas, who would sense it even in his sleep.

That infernal priest had told them at their counseling
session last week not to let the sun set on their anger.
Then he had paraphrased it for the vampire family by saying,
"Which, in your case, would mean, let not the sun rise on
your anger.  Couples should always resolve their conflicts
and forgive one another before they retire.  That is the
secret to a long and happy relationship."

LaCroix did not want to sleep alone.  He had fed Nicholas
several times, and comforted him, but now he wanted a little
comforting for himself.  He was invincible.  He knew he
would fare better than Natalie, that he could survive fine
without her, but still... why should he have to, when a few
well-selected words would return her to his arms and his
bed?

He went to her and fingered her hair tenderly.  It was
coarse and thick, often a tangled mass of waves and curls,
and yet it always smelled delicious.  She smelled
delicious.  Nicholas had told him once that she smelled like
apple pie, a favorite of his when he'd been a boy.  LaCroix
had never tasted apple pie himself, but its memory still
brought a sense of wonder and delight to his son, even after
eight centuries.

His hands moved lower, caressing her shoulders.  "Come, my
dear Natalie.  Come here."  The commands were whispered,
spoken to imply forgiveness rather than to assert his
dominance.

She responded well.  She flung herself into his arms,
holding him tightly while her tears soaked through his
shirt.  "I'm - I'm - so - sor - sor - y!  I - only wanted -
to help!"

"Sh-sh," LaCroix soothed.  This was something new.  It was
rather amusing, at times, although he could do without the
mortal tears.  He could probably count on one hand the times
he had ever soothed away tears in the past few centuries.
His way had always been more harsh and demanding, in the
manner which he'd been brought up.  But he was learning that
this gentler approach was more successful at least where his
son was concerned, and probably his lover and daughter as
well.  At one time he had felt that to show even a small act
of kindness would make him appear weak.  But Nicholas was
responding by becoming more and more dependent on him, as
though he desperately needed something only LaCroix could
provide.

He patted her back, and continued to make soft words of
comfort, even as he thought about the paradox at hand.  What
was it that Nicholas needed from him?  It wasn't just his
blood.  Nicholas was regularly feeding from Tracy, Urs, and
even Vachon.  The Raven was full of vampires and Nicholas
was becoming very popular.

It wasn't just his strength and protection.  The carouche,
although young, was fiercely loyal to Nicholas.  LaCroix
never doubted that Perry would die to save his son.

It wasn't his wealth, or his standing in the vampire
community...

Could it be that Nicholas needed the love of a father?


Natalie pulled free from his arms then and wiped at her
face.  "I must look a fright," she whispered
self-consciously.

"On the contrary, my dear.  You look perfect.  Come.  Let us
off to sleep."

Natalie accepted his offered hand.  Even as late as it was,
they observed their nightly ritual: a soak in the Jacuzzi, a
nightcap of bloodwine or wine, and some intimate cuddling to
music before actually going to bed.

As LaCroix felt the sun's ascent, felt the lethargy that
stole over him as a result, he relaxed his mind and reached
out to all that were under his care.  Natalie was already
asleep.  Her thoughts were not open to him yet, but he
sensed she was at peace.  Tracy was no longer alone.
Nicholas had awakened at some point and now shared her bed.
Both his children were in the deep sleep of the undead
without a thought or care.  Urs and Vachon were together,
possibly at the abandoned church where Vachon had made a
home of sorts.  There was one more, a faint brush of the
familiar.  His one-time daughter Janette was thinking of
him!  The thread of connection was very thin and stretched
almost to breaking, but somehow he sensed that she was
worried for him and Nicholas. All is well, my child, he
thought, as sleep claimed him.


end part 5.

Tango Del Amor
by Tammy and Lorelei Sieja


Chapter six:

Nicholas awoke on the wrong side of bed.

Natalie escaped to her morgue and Tracy to the precinct.
Urs was off somewhere on the third day of her sulk and
Vachon had not yet shown his face.  LaCroix growled with
frustration.

Nicholas twiddled around at the piano, creating an
unconscionable noise.  How a young man with such talent
could produce that racket was unthinkable, unless he was
doing it deliberately.  LaCroix commanded him to stop.

Then Nicholas roughhoused with Perry around on the floor.
He had pulled a dirty sock out from under the couch cushions
- he must have put it there himself - and rolled it into a
ball.  Then he tossed it and called, "Go fetch!"  The
carouche leaped over LaCroix's chair while he sat in it, and
shook the floor as he hastened to do Nick's bidding.
Carrying the dirty sock in his mouth, he dropped it back in
Nick's lap, then licked his face with that same mouth.
LaCroix ignored them for as long as he could, which was only
a few minutes, before he demanded they end that game as
well.

Nicholas shuffled his deck and dealt out a game of crazy
eights, explaining the rules to Perry.  LaCroix rolled his
eyes.  His son must be really bored to resort to such
juvenile behavior.  Still, it was amusing, as Nicholas
actually seemed to be communicating with the carouche
somehow.  It even looked like Perry might win.  LaCroix
turned his back.  He just could not watch his beautiful,
intelligent child lose to a carouche.

"I wouldn't need to go to this school this summer if you
would just speak to Captain Reese for me," Nick announced,
as he dealt out another hand.

LaCroix nodded absently.  They had had this conversation
before.  Nicholas was just complaining.

"Why should I learn Braille?  I can get a voice-activated
computer, and most of the leading magazines and newspapers
have audio downloads."

"As I recall," LaCroix said, getting to his feet.  "This
whole arrangement of going to school was your idea.  Now, I
have a show to air.  If you feel so much like complaining,
you can be the "Nightcrawler" tonight."

He took his son's arm, compelling him to obey.  Nicholas
surprised him with his willing response.

"Really?  You want me to flay those poor bastards for you?"

LaCroix brought child and carouche into his small
soundbooth.  He helped Nicholas into his chair and placed
the microphone in his hands.  "When you are ready to play a
CD, flip this switch.  I will load the CD changer for you."

Nick nodded.  He'd never understood why others loved this
show, yet LaCroix's ratings were very high.  He'd been
listening to the Nightcrawler ramble for most of his life.
Sometimes, the diatribe was barbed, the words meant to hurt
him, but often, it was just LaCroix's advice to a child that
seldom listened when they were face to face.

"Good evening, my friends, my playmates, and welcome to
another night in this my eternal dark.  Join with me and
together we shall play," Nick whispered over the microphone
as he would a lover.  "Put away your homework, get out of
your beds.  Let us compare stories tonight, stories of our
parents.  Speak to me... for I am the Son of the
Nightcrawler."


*****

Urs smiled when she heard his voice.  She'd missed hearing
him these past few days.  Already she felt too warm and he
wasn't even speaking to her!  He sounded like he was in a
strange mood, though.  Playful, and brutal.  Not her usual
lover.  Nicholas Knight was more prone to mourning and
misery.  Perhaps this was a good sign?  Maybe if he let
loose once in a while, he wouldn't get so worked up over
things?

Vachon staggered from the shower without so much as a
towel.  He followed the trail of discarded clothing on the
floor, nudging them with a toe.  Lifting one black shirt, he
sniffed it, then tossed it back to the floor with a grunt.
He selected another and pulled it on, then continued to hunt
for a pair of pants.

"You know if you would hang them up when you take them off,
they wouldn't be so wrinkled," Urs chided him.

Vachon gave her his disarming smile.  "Then what would you
do all night?"

"I'm not cleaning up after you anymore, Javier.  You're
older than I am, and stronger, and you are not incapable."

He stared at her.  She held a cleaning rag in one hand, and
several of his shirts in another.  "You're not?"

Urs noticed the clothes in her arms and shrugged.  "I mean
it.  If you want me to clean for you, then you can pay me.
How much is my time worth to you?"

"Pay you?  Urs," Vachon complained.

She hadn't really thought about charging him, those words
had just spilled out on their own!  Now, she wanted to bring
them back.  She wanted to tell him it was okay, and she
would do whatever he commanded.  He was her master, after
all.  But Vachon had never been the responsible leader
type.

She hesitated, then quoted a price.

Vachon doubled it.  "That's the going rate, I think.  And
sure, I'll hire you.  But is this for good now, or only
until you move back in with Nick?"  He poured himself the
first of many glasses for the day.  He extended the bottle
towards his fledgling.  She nodded and he filled a glass for
her as well.  Then he slouched down into the easy chair.

"I think it's for good.  Maybe I'll go into business?  Just
for the nightshift, that is.  I think that will keep me busy
enough."

Vachon swallowed, savoring the flavor as it slipped past his
teeth and tongue to soothe his inner beast.  Damn, but he
missed Tracy.  Maybe he'd have to do something really nice
to make up.  He wasn't even sure what he'd done wrong to
make her angry, not since that thing with the burned out pot
farm two months ago, anyway.  And Vachon hadn't actually
done that.  He'd mentioned it to Don Constantine, knowing
the crime lord could have it done right... no clues, no
loose ends.

"I like you, Urs," Vachon said then.  "I like this new
change.  You seem happier, more confident."

She blushed under the rare praise.

"How much longer until you and Nick make up?"

Urs stood to finish her task.  "I'm not going back, Vachon.
Not until Nick first acknowledges that he hurt my feelings,
and then apologizes.  I've been very patient and loving and
supportive, and I just need to feel like he's putting
something into our relationship, too."

Vachon nodded sagely.  "You could be right, Urs.  But you
might be lonely for a long time.  Would you rather be right
and lonely, or wrong and cozy?"

Urs gathered the laundry off the floor... it would make at
least three loads, maybe four.  She hadn't known Vachon
owned that many things!  And he didn't have a washer/dryer
here.  She missed LaCroix's apartment, and even Nick's
gloomy loft.  Still, Laundromats weren't too bad, once in a
while.  Someone nearly always started up a conversation.

"I have to be right and lonely, Javier.  I am not still
angry with him.  I know he's under a lot of pressure, and I
don't ever want to add to that.  But, I can't be his
doormat."

Vachon came and put his arms around her.  He nibbled at her
ear, letting his breath trail along her sensitive throat.
"Fine with me, Urs.  I'll be here for you.  Okay?"

She laughed lightly.  "Thanks, Vachon.  I think I knew that
anyway, but it's sweet of you to say so."

*****


LaCroix shook his head as he observed the impish smirk on
his child's face.  He didn't really care what Nicholas said
to his listeners; his program was never about ratings in the
first place.  He sorted through the mess on his desktop,
filing CDs in their cases and tossing the omnipresent fan
mail in Urs's box.

Nicholas continued his program of parent bashing.  The
lights began flashing then, as the callers were fairly
bursting with their own sad tales.  Nick was
uncharacteristically rude, though.  LaCroix wondered if he
was intentionally trying to imitate the Nightcrawler?

One girl, who only identified herself as Susan, trembled
over the phone, very near to tears.  "My dad just doesn't
understand me," she blurted.  "He's grounded me just because
I'm flunking English.  I mean, it isn't like it's really
important.  I know how to run the spell-checker.  I could
make it through college okay.  And Shakespeare is so DEAD!"

Nick laughed.  "Your dad grounded you, huh?  Susan, have you
read anything by Jack Prelutsky?  Here's one of his poems
you might like.
                "Homework, Oh, homework!
                I hate you!  You stink!
                I wish I could wash you
                Away in the sink,
                If only a bomb
                Would explode you to bits.
                Homework!  Oh, homework!
                You're giving me fits..."*

"That's pretty funny," the caller sniveled.

"I thought so.  Did you know that it is a dactyl couplet, as
opposed to the iambic pentameter of Shakespeare's blank
verse?"

"Huh?"

"Can you even spell 'iambic pentameter'? You know, you're
right.  You're dad is so mean to wish that you would get an
education, when it is obviously more than your poor brain
can handle..."

There was a click as the poor girl hung up.

*****

Vachon entered LaCroix's apartment through the skylight.  It
was something, really, how much Tracy had changed so many
others.  Vachon never would have taken such liberties with
the General even a few months ago.  Now, LaCroix's place was
more like home than any other he had in the past five
centuries.  Not that he really trusted the General...
Vachon had a healthy respect for him, and enough fear to
stay away when trouble was brewing.  Sometimes, Vachon
thought he was the only one to still fear LaCroix.  Even Urs
had shown more bravado than was healthy when she'd
short-sheeted his bed.

Tracy was still at work, Nick must be downstairs.  The
apartment was quiet.  Vachon twiddled on the piano for a bit
and flipped through the pages of a boring magazine.  He was
still so tired.

That was unusual really, for this time of year.  Vampires
were tired more in the winter, when the days were so short.
Now, with the lengthening days keeping them locked inside
their shelter's protective darkness, getting enough sleep
was not a problem.

Vachon stretched out on the couch and flicked something on
the TV, more for the noise than the company. His eyes
drifted closed.  The saccharine sounds of some old Romantic
movie played on.

There was fear.  The nightmare returned, ever more frightful
and unclear.  Some one was in danger.  A young one?  Behind
her false bravado he felt her tremble.  He could not see her
face.  Whoever it was, in his dream at least, Vachon knew
her.   Someone else was following her...

Vachon awoke with a start, covered in bloody sweat.  He
couldn't remember a thing about the dream, only the fear.
So deep in thought was he that he didn't hear or feel
Tracy's approach.

"Hi, Vachon!"

He jumped, glaring at her fully fanged and defensive.

"Hey, lighten up," Tracy said, tossing her coat and purse in
a chair.  "It's just me.  Were you expecting some one else?"

Vachon shrugged.  "No."

Tracy narrowed her eyes.  He'd been staying at the church
for days, and now one word grunts were the best he could do
at communicating?  She tried to shake off her irritation and
give him another chance.  He was here; he obviously wanted
to make up.

"What have you been doing?" she asked, plopping down on the
couch beside him.

Vachon slid over to give her room, pulling away from her
physically as well as emotionally.  "Urs is going in to
business.  I think."

"Really?"  Tracy smiled brightly.  "I'm glad for her.  But I
asked how you were doing."

He glanced away.  Maybe he shouldn't have come.  He sensed
danger, but he couldn't tell for whom.  Was he the one?  Was
Tracy going to be in danger because he was here?

Tracy moved closer to him and tried to cuddle.  Vachon
flinched as if she'd burned him.  Something snapped then.
Tracy jumped to her feet, her infant fangs descended, sharp
and deadly.

"That's it, Vachon!  You don't want to talk, you don't want
to cuddle, then maybe you should just leave!"

He looked at her with wounded eyes.  "Tracy, it's not what
you think."

"I don't think anything!  You haven't given me a clue what
this is all about, so just go!"

She grabbed him by the shirt and hauled him to his feet.
Angrily, she shoved him in the general direction of the
front door, but she had greatly underestimated her own
strength.  Vachon crashed through the door, landing on
splintered wood, plaster and debris at the top of the
landing.  Tracy stared in horror at the mess, and worried
that she might have injured him.

Vachon staggered to his feet, warding her off.  "I'm going,"
he said, gasping.  "Just stay away."

"Vachon, I-" she started to say, but Vachon was no longer
there.

end part 6.

*from "The New Kid on the Block" by Prelutsky

Tango Del Amor
by Tammy and Lorelei Sieja


Chapter Seven:



Nicholas awoke with a jerk.  LaCroix smiled at him.  There
was always a moment of disorientation, as though Nicholas
still expected to wake up and see.  Then a look of
resignation swept over him and he was again himself.

"What is it, my son?"

"Tracy's back," Nick said, yawning.

LaCroix lifted an eyebrow curiously.  He had not sensed her
approach, and the bond between master and child was
intimate.  Just as he was about to question his son, he too
felt her effervescence bubble over the link.  How had Nick
known first?  The ancient master concealed his surprise, but
he would have to consider this later.

"Yes, she is, Nicholas."

"I guess I fell asleep," Nick said sheepishly.  "Did you
finish your show?"

"Hm-mm.  We are finished here.  Would you like to go
upstairs?"

Nick shook his head.  "No, not yet.  Vachon's there with her
and I think maybe they need a little privacy.  Do you mind
if we hang out in the club for a bit?"

LaCroix was calm when he answered his son.  He held the door
for vampire and carouche, joining them at the bar, but his
thoughts were elsewhere.  He had not sensed Vachon, either.
Was there something wrong with him?  He would not touch the
bloodwine tonight.  Perhaps he needed to find better fare?
Something fresh?  But not yet, while his son was with him.
Nicholas was still governed by mortal ethics and frowned on
his more violent nature.

Alma swiveled her hips by LaCroix, nearly licking her fangs
as she eyed him.  She was young although not particularly
fresh.  He had taken her before.  It was only sex, nothing
more, but it was no less amusing for it.  He gave her an
encouraging smile.  She led him onto the dance floor then,
and melded her hips against him.

"Go for it, Father."

His son's thoughts rang clearly over their bond, colored
with amusement.

"Join me, my son," LaCroix answered him silently.

Nicholas left the security of the bar, left his guide dog
behind, and walked across the dance floor as he followed
their bond to LaCroix.  For a moment LaCroix wondered if his
sight was returning, but then Nick reached for Alma,
brushing his hand up her arm until he found her face.  Using
a gentle touch, the blind vampire brought her neck closer to
kiss her throat.  LaCroix realized then that he was not
weak.  Nicholas was simply becoming stronger.

Alma grabbed LaCroix's hand and pulled him close.  He shook
off his dark thoughts and gave in to the seduction of the
moment.  There were still mortals present; he would have to
keep an eye on Nicholas that he didn't go too far, as he
nearly had last week with Urs.

Nick told the band to play something Latin.  LaCroix
smiled.  This was something they used to dance with
Janette.  Some of the musicians put down their electric
instruments for folk guitars.  The keyboard substituted for
a concertina.  Nick stood tall and proud, like a
bullfighter, as he gave Alma's thin arm a tug.  She twirled
into his arms, then out again in the exaggerated rhythm of a
tango.  Slow, slow, quick-quick, slow... seductive and
addictive, the dance floor cleared as the vampire and mortal
clientele anticipated the performance.

LaCroix took Alma, dipping her back over his arm until she
nearly touched the floor.  He nibbled at her wrist, exciting
her to the limit of her control, then let her dance back
into Nicholas's waiting arms.

Janette had loved to tango.  The older form of the dance was
a stylized fight between two men over the affection of a
woman.  If LaCroix were to name a dance that epitomized his
mercurial child, it would have to be the Tango.  Passionate,
volatile, enticing, erotic... Nicholas was all of that.

Nick was totally absorbed in the dance, graceful as ever,
and the crowd of sighted mortals and vampires moved out of
his way to watch and admire him.  LaCroix admired him as
well, even as he kept his part in the dance.  The fire was
back.  His son's passion, his zest for life had returned!
LaCroix wanted to shout his exultation.

The dance ended and not a moment too soon.  LaCroix saw the
shape of fangs through Nicholas's tightly closed lips.  He
wrapped them in his strong arms and brought them into the
back room, where they were able to give in to their nature
and thrill in the exchange of the blood that now burned with
desire.

Nicholas claimed her throat, unthinking or uncaring, taking
the portion that LaCroix normally took for himself.  The
master only smiled.  A year ago he had doubted he would ever
see his son like this again.  He bit in to Alma's wrist and
offered her his own.  Shortly, when she had fed his hunger,
he allowed himself to taste his son.    Thick, hot, sweet,
potent... perhaps his strange illness still kept him in the
dark, but Nicholas had never tasted better.

Alma smirked at them.  "Thanks, boys," she said, her voice
low and sultry.

LaCroix's eyebrow raised at her.  Boys?  She was barely more
than an infant!  Her tongue appeared to lick the last trace
of their blood from her lips.  Then, perhaps sensing
LaCroix's mild annoyance with her lack of respect, she
quickly took his hand and planted a kiss on his ring.  It
was the traditional gesture.  He nodded to her and she
smiled.  Then, turning to Nicholas, she gave him a parting
kiss full on the mouth before leaving.

Nicholas turned towards his master and smiled, suddenly
shy.  LaCroix often marveled at how quickly his moods
changed.  "Thanks for the dance," he said softly.

LaCroix was about to respond when Nick's face went black.  A
look of pain contorted his features and his legs buckled.
LaCroix caught him before he could hit the floor.
"Nicholas!  What is it," he demanded.

"Not me..." he gasped, then he recovered his strength.  He
stood, although LaCroix still kept his arms around him.  "It
isn't me, LaCroix," he repeated.  His voice sounded deeper,
surer.  LaCroix could see that he was indeed fine.

"It's Vachon.  I guess the making-up didn't go too well.  I
think Tracy threw him pretty hard.  I sensed his pain, but
he's well enough to fly away."

LaCroix clasped his son's shoulders.  "Are you certain you
are fine?"

Nick nodded.

"Then let us go check on your sister."


Perry was waiting impatiently for them in the hall.  LaCroix
relinquished his protective hold on Nicholas then and
hurried upstairs to check on his youngest.

Tracy was standing where once his door had been.  The door
lay on the floor, it's hinges torn off and a section of wall
had collapsed with it.  LaCroix lunged for her, holding her
throat with one hand as he drew back his other to strike
her.  She clenched her eyes shut, anticipating the blow.  At
the last moment though, LaCroix held back.

Nicholas had felt Vachon's pain and they weren't even
related.  How much would he suffer if LaCroix gave Tracy
what she had coming?  He did not wish to find out.

She opened her eyes hesitantly, glancing up at him through
long bangs.  She knew he was furious.  What was he waiting
for?

"You, my dear, are grounded," LaCroix hissed.  "Other than
your work, you will go nowhere.  You will not leave this
apartment.  You may not go downstairs, or to the church, or
the loft, or the movies, or even to the bathroom! Do you
understand?"

She nodded meekly.

"And furthermore, you will fix the door.  Tomorrow, if not
sooner!"  Then he released her and fled into the sanctuary
of his private suite.

Nick was just coming up the stairs.  "Tracy?" he asked.
"Are you all right?"

She reached for him and buried her face in his shoulder.
"Oh, Nick!  It was just awful!"

He patted her back and let her cry.

"I didn't mean to hurt him, honestly!  I - I don't know what
happened.  I gave him a shove and he went right through the
door!  Oh Nick, there are bloodstains on the floor.  I
really hurt him."

Nick brushed her hair back from her face and kissed her
forehead.  "Vachon will be all right, baby," he said.  "You
just caught him by surprise."

"I should go talk to him and apologize," she sniffed.  "But
LaCroix grounded me.  I expected worse, actually."

'I did too,' Nick thought.  He suspected LaCroix hadn't hit
her because of him, but didn't want to tell that to Tracy.
He lifted his head and reached out with his senses.  The
night was late, but the sun had not yet risen. He would have
time to make it to the church and back, if he left right
away.

"I'll go talk to Vachon.  Maybe I can find out what's been
bugging him.  Okay?"

"Oh, would you, Nick?  That would mean so much!"  Tracy
stood on her toes to kiss his cheek.

"Will you call me a cab?  I'll wait downstairs."

Nick took Perry's harness.  The carouche did his best to
lead him through the debris field, forcing Nick to move more
slowly.  Even so, Nick stumbled once, but regained his
balance.  Tracy hurried to the phone to call the cab, then
she brought a broom and began to clean up the landing.

Nick paid the cab driver and left a healthy tip.  With
Perry's help he found the entrance and even the stairs
leading to the apartment.  Nick swallowed back his unease at
coming here.  He could remember what the apartment had
looked like before... clutter on the floor, cast-off
furniture haphazardly set around the room, plenty of dangers
for a blind man.  Coming here was the right thing to do, but
it didn't make him feel any better.

He knocked on the door, then let himself in.

"Go away, Nick," Vachon grumbled from across the room.

Nick continued forward, reaching out with his senses.  The
couch used to be on the left, but Nick didn't think it was
still there.  Not knowing where else to go, he went directly
towards the sound of Vachon's voice.

"Tracy doesn't know her own strength," Nick began.  "She
never intended to throw you that hard."

Vachon grunted.  "The baby didn't hurt me.  Just caught me
by surprise."

Nick knew better.  Some wood splinters were still in
Vachon's back, long needles of pain stabbing him.  Nick
caught a faint whiff of Vachon's blood.  He drew nearer to
the voice, but it was low, coming up from the floor.  Nick's
feet bumped into the soft edge of a mattress.  He hunched
down and felt it.  The sheets smelled clean and were soft to
touch.  The mattress jiggled.  When had Vachon replaced his
smelly cast-off innerspring with the waterbed?  It was just
filled and set on the floor, though, without a frame or
headboard.  That was so like Vachon.  He released his hold
on Perry and sat down on the mattress.

The water swelled out around him, rocking Vachon.  The
Spaniard groaned in pain, revealing his lie for what it
was.

"Just go away," Vachon hissed.

"I will.  But first I will ease your pain.  I can remove the
splinters."

"Yeah, right.  How?"

"Trust me," Nick said.  He didn't know how.  But he knew he
could do it, just like he'd known Vachon was hurt.  Vachon
pulled a tweezers out from his pants pocket and handed it to
Nick.

"I already pulled out the few I could reach," Vachon said.
Then he lay back his stomach, unable to muffle the cry of
pain.  Nick felt for him.  Wood splinters made painful
wounds, causing almost an allergic reaction.  The wound
would remain open and bleeding until all the wood was
removed.

Nick held his hand above the smooth naked back.  He saw it
in his mind, saw the splinters and felt the pain.  Gently he
touched one, hesitating at Vachon's cry of pain. Then
expertly he drew it out with the tweezers.

The wound pulsed fresh blood.  "Perry," Nick called,
reaching out for him.  The carouche came and dropped a towel
in his lap.  "Thanks, boy," he said.  He took the bottle
Vachon was drinking and poured some into the wound, patting
it with the towel.  The blood ceased; the wound closed.
Then he moved on to the next.

Nick was grateful he had fed well tonight, for Vachon's
blood smelled of wood.  He pulled six more splinters from
the back, then tugged at the waistband of his jeans.  "Come
on, let me get the last one," Nick said.

Vachon propped up on one elbow and stared at him.  "Who says
there's any more?"

"You don't need to be defensive.  It isn't like I'll see
anything," Nick said, grinning at him.

Vachon popped the snap and tugged his jeans down to his
knees.  Then he lay down again.

The last splinter was the smallest.  It was also the hardest
to pull.  The end broke off and there was nothing to get a
hold of.  Vachon clenched his teeth, trying to remain still,
yet he flinched every time Nick touched him.

"Forget it, Knight. You helped a lot, but just leave it," he
said.

"It will only get worse, you know that," Nick said.  He let
his fangs descend then and slowly he lowered himself.
Vachon craned his neck to watch, wide eyed, as Nick licked
at the small open wound.  Then he put his mouth over it and
sucked.

Vachon groaned, but it wasn't all in pain.  The fangs
pressed against his flesh without biting.  It was a risky
thing Nick did for him.  If he should swallow a piece of
wood, it could make him ill.  Then Nick placed the tweezers
over the last splinter and pulled it free.  He lapped again
at the blood that oozed from the wound until it closed,
leaving only smooth, cold flesh behind.

Vachon grabbed for his half-empty bottle and drained it,
although it was blood of another kind he desired.

Nick kicked off his shoes.  He had never liked to spend time
in Vachon's church before, because it had been only slightly
cleaner than Screed's sewer.  But tonight something was
different.  It smelled like springtime and soap and he was
so very tired.

No, Nick realized.  He was not tired.  Vachon was tired.
That made sense.  The Spaniard had been injured, and as his
healthy vampiric nature healed his wounds, it left him
hungry and exhausted.  Nick was only sensing Vachon.  It was
exhilarating!

Nick stretched out beside the younger vampire.  He thought
back on all the times LaCroix had healed him over the
centuries.  Usually, his master would gloat over his
weakened state, and often inflict whatever punishment he
felt Nick had earned, before offering him his healing
blood.  Nick was willing to skip straight to the fun part.
He unbuttoned his shirt collar to bare his throat.

"Nick, it's getting late.  Shouldn't you be going home?"
Vachon asked, for once trying to be the responsible one.

He yawned and shrugged.  "There's time."

But there wasn't.

Later, Nick was sound asleep, dead to the world.  Vachon was
fighting his own natural lethargy as the rising sun drove
them all to bed.  He was thoroughly healed, not even a trace
of stiffness from his earlier battle with a door. For a
moment he considered Nick's master.  Should he maybe give
him a call?  Vachon had never had to tell anyone of his
whereabouts.  Neither his mortal mother nor his vampire
mother, nor did he demand such foolishness from his
fledglings.  If Nick didn't feel it was important, then
Vachon wouldn't lose any sleep over it either.  With a last
sigh, he succumbed to his nature as sleep claimed him.


end part 7.

Tango Del Amor
by Tammy and Lorelei Sieja


Chapter eight:

The nightmare returned... and with it, panic.  Javier
thrashed around in the bed, struggling with unknown
phantoms.  The dream changed then.  He felt a weight on top
of him, his wrists were pinned, and he screamed as the
attacker bit into his throat.  He struggled uselessly and
screamed again.

His attacker turned and bared his own throat.  Vachon struck
swiftly.  Thick sweet blood spurted into his mouth.  His
fears faded as reassurance passed through the blood kiss.
Awareness came to him; Nick released his wrists and held
him.

Vachon withdrew from Nick's throat.  He licked his fangs and
shrugged off his embarrassment.  "Um, Nick.  Mind telling me
what you're doing?"

Nick chuckled.  "Sure.  You slugged me.  Sorry, but I tend
to bite first and ask questions later."

Vachon didn't respond.  Already the images of his nightmare
were fading.  Even the fear was dissipating after the sweet
flood of Nick's offering.

"Vachon, how long have you been having these dreams?" Nick
asked.

"It's no big deal," Vachon insisted.

"You can't bluff a blind man," Nick said.  "I saw your dream
in your blood.  You were terrified.  Only, not for
yourself.  For whom?"

Vachon got up.  He staggered to the refrigerator and brought
a bottle back to the bed.  Pulling out the cork, he drank
deeply before passing it to Nick.  "I don't know," Vachon
began.  "I don't even know if this dream means anything.  I
mean, most dreams are just stuff.  But, I sense I'm being
followed, only it isn't me.  And I'm comforting the one
being followed, only it isn't me.  I feel like I'm really
losing it, Knight."

"The one in danger, you think it might be Tracy?"

He shrugged again.  "No.  I feel like it is an infant, only,
it's an infant I know.  Intimately.  But, Tracy's the only
infant I know.  So, maybe it's all just stuff."

Nick brought Vachon's wrist to his lips and licked at the
vein.  "I didn't see your dream clearly.  Maybe I need
another taste?"

Vachon pulled free.  "You think this is funny?"

Nick yawned then.  His fangs were full.  "No.  It's not.
But I get a little punchy when I'm tired.  You should share
blood with LaCroix soon.  Maybe he can figure out what the
dream means."

"Yeah, right.  Go to sleep, Knight."


*****

Nick slept through most of the day.  Vachon had risen,
showered, and fed before passing the time with his guitar,
yet Nick slept through it all.  Finally, Vachon saw life
return to the golden knight.

First his chest rose with a deep breath.  He yawned and
stretched, his movements erotic and sensual although he
seemed completely clueless to the effect he had on others.

Perry rumbled deep in his chest, nipping at Vachon's hand.

"Ow, cut that out, carouche!"

Nick laughed.  "Sorry, Javier.  He gets rather protective.
Sometimes I think LaCroix had a hand in his training."

"But I'm not doing anything to you," Vachon complained as
the carouche nipped him again.

"Javier, I'm hungry.  I'd get up and help myself, but I
don't know where anything is."

Vachon felt stupid.  "Oh, sorry, Nick.  Of course.  I
suppose the carouche is hungry too."

He scrounged through the cupboards looking for a suitable
dog dish.  At the back of the fridge was a container of
whipped topping from Tracy's mortal days.  He peeled back
the lid.  The stuff had smelled bad when it was white, but
now as green stuff spidered over the top and up the sides,
he wondered how anyone could eat it.  He shook the contents
into the trash then rinsed the container with water.

"Here, boy," he said, setting it on the floor.  "You'll have
to suffer with human this morning.  I don't keep cow
around."

Perry lapped at the meal hungrily, then he sat back to watch
the vampires.  Nick was playful today, teasing the younger
one and wrestling with him.  They seemed evenly matched,
although Perry sensed that Nick was much stronger than he
let on.  This was interesting.  Nick had been weak for so
long; was he beginning to heal?  Perry needed his blood to
maintain the link with him, yet he did not take it from Nick
directly.  Eventually, his vampire charge would spill his
essence on the floor.  Perry could wait.  The taste of Nick
would tell him much about his current state of health.

After the boys had showered and dressed, Perry brought his
harness to Nick.

"Okay, boy," Nick agreed, patting him warmly.  "We'll go
shortly.  Just let me make a few calls, then how about we
walk to the park first?"

Perry barked and wagged his tail.  Chasing a dumb stick
seemed to please Nick.  It was a mindless game, but on such
a warm, pleasant spring evening, it would be a crime to
spend it all inside.  He listened impatiently while Nick
called a building supply and ordered materials to be
delivered to the Raven.  Then together they left Vachon's
church.

It was a short walk to the park, which wasn't exactly on the
way home. Nick set a brisk pace, another sign of his
increasing confidence and returning vitality. Perry smiled.

As they drew near the park, though, an unpleasant odor
assailed them.  "Ew, skunk," Nick said.  "Somebody must have
hit one."

So much for an evening of chase, Perry sighed.  Already the
foul scent was affecting his charge.  He sensed the nausea
return.  Suddenly, the ground became uneven and mucky, all
torn up, like some one had driven roughly over soft soil
after a rain.  Perry slowed, but not soon enough to prevent
the vampire from stumbling.

Nick caught himself, touching only one hand to the ground.
"What is this, Perry?" he asked, feeling the tire tracks.
"Cars aren't allowed over here.  We're nowhere near the
parking lot.  Was someone hot-dogging?  Could be they paid
the price when they hit the skunk."  Nick chuckled softly.
It wasn't very funny for the skunk, but the thought of some
young hotshot coming out here to show off now smelling worse
than a dump was rather amusing.

"Let's check this out, Perry.  See how much mess the driver
made."

Further examination showed that it was a motorcycle and not
a car.  There was only one set of tracks.  Then, Nick found
the motorcycle.

It was lying on its side, the smell of gas almost as
powerful as the skunk.  Nick released his hold on Perry and
felt the bike with both hands.  The engine was cold, but
there were sharp edges.  The rearview mirror was gone, one
side was smashed.  Nick felt a cold fear.

"Hello?" he called.  "Driver?  Anyone?  Are you hurt?"

Silence answered him.  He felt around the bike, and
discovered deeper tracks in the mud, a parallel set.  This
biker had been hit by a car. Was the driver alive?  Had he
walked away to get help?

Nick extended his vampiric hearing.  "Perry, what do you
see?" he asked.

Perry whined.  He sniffed the bike and trotted around the
area.  About fifty feet away he found a body.  It was cold
and lifeless.  Nick hunched down on his heels and felt for a
pulse, then he pulled out his cellphone.

"Nick?" Tracy answered.  "Where are you?  I thought you'd be
home last night yet.  I was getting worried."

"Tracy, you need to come here.  I'm at the Fourth Street
Park, with a smashed motorcycle and a body.  Seems like a
hit and run."

"Ohmygosh," Tracy breathed.  "I'll be right there."

Then Nick called the police.


Before he could hear the sirens, before the flash of rescue
vehicles, Tracy was there.  She dropped down from the night
sky, breathless and concerned.

"Take it easy, Tracy.  He's the stiff, not me."  Nick was
somewhat amused at their role reversal.

Tracy touched the body to reconfirm the lack of a pulse.

"Describe him to me," Nick asked.

"He looks to be about your age, bro," she lightly.  At
Nick's frustrated grunt, she turned more professional.
"Thirty-six or seven maybe.  Medium height, blonde hair,
tanned, unshaven-"

"Thanks for the police report, Tracy," Nick interrupted.  "I
could wait and get that much from anyone.  Now look closer.
Tell me what I would have seen."

She squirmed uncomfortably.  Just that quickly Nick had
slipped back into his role as homicide detective and she
felt the need to prove herself again.  "His blue jeans are
old and faded, riding low over his hips.  A white tee shirt
doesn't quite cover a beer belly; and his denim jacket is
torn.  Not like from this accident, but like he'd dragged it
behind his bike for a week.  His face is pleasant looking, a
little scruffy but harmless.  He almost looks like he could
get up and walk."

Nick memorized her description, trying to form an image of
the victim.  He could remember thousands of faces in great
detail from before his blindness, but the people he'd met
since were still vague, formless voids.  They were only a
collection of scents and impressions.  Oh, he was able to
impress people when he could identify them even before they
spoke, but it was just a bag of tricks and he was no
magician.  The real truth was that he was terrified.

"Thanks, Tracy," he said as the first vehicles pulled up.

The scene was quickly surrounded.  Yellow tape cordoned off
a large area of the park, portable lights illumined the
scene and uniformed officers protected the boundaries from
passersby.  Dozens of conversations sprang up all around
him.  Nick felt dizzy.  Grasping Perry's harness he drifted
away. The still air did nothing to alleviate the heavy skunk
smell.

He heard Nat's voice join the throng.  She seemed irritated
about something.  Nick couldn't quite make out her words
among the noise, but he recognized the clipped tones.  Then
he heard Tracy on the defensive.  He suspected he was the
subject of their dispute and debated stepping in to help,
but his stomach prohibited him.  It chose that moment to
rebel.  Maybe it was the excitement of discovering a body,
or being back in the thick of an investigation, or the foul
smells, or perhaps a combination of them.  Resentment warred
with resignation as he doubled over and heaved.

Perry took a defensive stance, daring any mortal to approach
his charge.  His nostrils quivered as the scent of Nick's
blood overpowered him.

Captain Reese eyed the dog, the way its ears lay back, the
raised hackles and tail riding low between its hind legs.
Keeping his arms at his side in a non-threatening posture,
he called to his detective.  "Nick?"

Damn, Nick thought, cursing under his breath.  He hoped it
was dark enough that the blood would not draw attention.
Taking a dark handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped at his
mouth and forehead as he forced his legs to support him.
Then he tried to turn the interest away from himself.  "What
do you make of it?  Looks like a hit and run to me.  You'll
give this one to Tracy, won't you?"

Reese braved the dog and stepped closer.  "Nick, if you're
sick, you shouldn't be out here."

"I'm fine," Nick lied.  He called to Perry and reached for
the harness, but after two steps he faltered.  Captain Reese
grabbed him before he fell.  He held him firmly, glancing
around.  There were no park benches or tables nearby.
Instead, he brought him to a squad car and helped him to sit
inside.  "You have only two choices, Nick.  I can send you
home or to a doctor."

Nick leaned back against the seat and kept his eyes closed.
He was so hungry, but his sore stomach was not interested in
Captain Crčme Pie tonight.  "I'll go home," he sighed.

Reese gave the officer the address of the loft, then watched
as the car pulled away.  He missed Nick Knight.  He even
missed the headaches the detective gave him.  Work just
wasn't the same any more.  Then he went to look for Tracy
Vetter to give her a big piece of his mind.

Perry climbed up on the seat and licked at Nick's face
consolingly.  He sensed the pain and anguish Nick suffered
now, but it wasn't all bad news.  The taste of the blood had
changed.  There were fewer acids in it.  Perry had tasted
mostly Nick's blood with a trace of Vachon's.  Nick was
getting better.  He tried to comfort the vampire now, but
Nick seemed closed in on himself.

The squad car stopped and the officer got out, hesitantly
offering Nick assistance.  He didn't know the man well, but
he'd heard plenty of rumors.  Detective Knight was feared
and respected, but right now he didn't seem so dangerous.
The detective leaned on his arm, almost too weak to walk.

Nick stood outside his warehouse disoriented.  Why was he
here?  He felt the numbered keypad and punched in the
correct sequence to open the door.

"You gonna be all right?" the officer asked.

"Fine.  Thanks," Nick said firmly.  He stepped inside and
let the door close behind him.  Leaning against it, he slid
to the floor.  Perry tugged on his sleeve, but the vampire
didn't rise.  Nick leaned his head down on his arms and went
to sleep.

Perry blinked.  He didn't like this one bit.  Nick was not
protected here, sitting against the door of the garage.  He
should have at least made it as far as the lift, but no
amount of tugging or complaining was going to wake the
vampire now.  Perry shook himself all over, then settled
down to keep watch over him.



end part 8.

Tango Del Amor
by Tammy and Lorelei Sieja


Tango 09

Chapter nine:


Tracy looked around nervously.  She couldn't sense Nick
anywhere nearby.  Where could he have gone?  Captain Reese
approached with a very determined manner, but she had no
time for him now.  "Have you seen Nick?" she asked.

Reese squared his shoulders and eyed her sternly.  "I sent
him home.  Where he belongs.  You should not have brought
him here."

"I didn't," she insisted.  "Captain, Nick discovered the
body!  He's the one who called it in."

Reese nodded slowly.  "I see," he said, although he really
didn't.  What were they doing here?  Did Tracy spend all her
nights off with him?  Didn't they have a life apart from
each other?  Something was very strange.  "Well, Vetter,
since you're here, I guess I can go.  I was going to assign
this case to you and Ledford anyway."

Tracy nodded. Since they'd just solved three cases, they had
more time to devote to a new investigation.  But tonight was
her night off, and she reminded Reese of that.

"Too bad," Reese said unsympathetically.  "You should have
thought of that before you showed up at a crime scene."

Tracy sighed tiredly.  Why was everyone crabby these days?
She was certain that it wasn't just her.  Nat was mad at
her, and Reese, and LaCroix, and Vachon... who else could
she manage to tick off before bedtime?

There was no identification on the body.  There was very
little to be learned from the crime scene at all.
'Motorcyclist tears up park, car hits motorcycle, car
leaves, end of story'.  The driver was guilty of vehicular
homicide and leaving a crime scene, but it might not be
premeditated murder.  The stench of skunk made her nearly
faint and growing fear made her irritable.  LaCroix had
grounded her and he knew it was her night off.  She had to
get home before him and explain before he came after her
with a vengeance.  Finally, Nat straightened and gestured
for the body to be taken away.  She shot Tracy a glare
before leaving.

Tracy moved away from the lights and sirens, slipping in to
the shadows.  Then she lifted easily into the sky.  She
opened her bond to her master tentatively.  Sensing nothing,
she flew swiftly home.  She had yet to learn that when he
closed the link between them it was a very dangerous sign.

LaCroix was on the roof waiting for her.  She started to
speak, stuttering in her fear, but the master never gave her
a chance.  He yanked her around, immobilizing her with a
grip of iron and bit her neck viciously.

Tracy gasped, unable to stop the cry of pain.  This was not
a blood kiss, it was assault.  Tears filled her eyes.  She
would not have denied him if he had asked, or even demanded,
but this taking by force frightened her.

LaCroix continued to drink from her, although his grip
loosened.  Then he pulled away, but did not close her
wounds.  He turned her around, his hands bruising her
shoulders.  "Where is Nicholas!" he growled.

"I- I don't know for sure.  I think he's at the loft."

"I will not be disobeyed!"

She knew there was nothing she could say to him.  He had to
have seen the reasons for her actions in the blood.  The
eyes of her master were red orbs of fury, but the small
indentation in his cheek twitched with the strain as he
brought himself under control.  Tracy struggled to still her
trembling.

"You will not leave here again!"  LaCroix hissed in her ear,
then with a flurry of wind he was gone.

Tracy slipped in through the skylight, giving in to her
tears.  Nick had called her for help!  If she hadn't have
gone, she would have been in even bigger trouble!  What the
hell was she supposed to do?  Why was everyone angry?  She
flung herself across her bed and buried her tears into her
pillow.  If unlife was going to be like this, she didn't
want it.  Tears soaked her pillow.  Tracy swiped them away
angrily, but still more came to take their place.  Unlife
was a bitch.

*****

LaCroix flew directly to the loft, but as he entered through
the skylight he was struck by the silence and emptiness of
it.  Nicholas was not here.  He opened the bond between them
and reached out.

Nicholas was sleeping nearby.  He followed the bond to the
lift, down to the garage below.  There his son slept
slouched against the door where a ray of morning light could
find him if he remained too long.  The carouche awoke
instantly, placing himself between Nicholas and the possible
threat.  Then, realizing it was LaCroix, Perry backed down
but kept his watchful vigil.

"Good carouche," LaCroix uttered.  "We must move him to
safety."

Perry woofed once and gave a tentative wag of his tail.

LaCroix hunched down in front of his golden child.  He
stroked the stubbled cheek, fingered his hair, and traced
lovingly the graceful hand.  Nicholas stirred in his sleep,
aroused by the thoughts LaCroix sent through their bond.
Suddenly, the younger vampire attacked, throwing LaCroix to
the ground and piercing his throat.

The ancient chuckled, pleased with his son.  He wrapped his
arms around Nicholas and held him close.  Nicholas's attack
altered, as he became aware.  When he would have pulled
back, LaCroix urged him to stay.  Nick drank more deeply
then for he was ravenous.

"Good evening, LaCroix," Nick said, when he had closed the
wounds.

"You're sleeping arrangements are less than satisfactory, my
son," LaCroix chided gently.

Nick shrugged.  "Any port in a storm.  Take me home?"

LaCroix helped his son to his feet, silently shocked that
Nick no longer considered his loft as home.  Thoughtful, he
accompanied him to the Raven.  "I shall be with you later,
Nicholas, unless you wish to join me on the air tonight?"

"No, thanks.  I promised Tracy I'd help her."

LaCroix watched him, feeling strangely nostalgic.  His radio
musings tonight would run more poetic than usual.





*****

Tracy rose from her bed and wandered in to the living room,
seeking solace in some reruns.

"Hi, Baby," Nick called from the doorway.  "Glad you cleaned
up a bit."

"Go suck a nail," she muttered.

Nick knelt down and unbuckled Perry's harness.  He rubbed
the carouche affectionately.  Perry licked his chin before
going to fetch his dish from under the table.  Nick had
mastered the apartment now and walked about freely without
his help, as long as no one moved the furniture around.  He
filled the dog dish with cow blood and set it on the floor.
Then he turned to Tracy.

"Feeling sorry for yourself?  That isn't like you."

"How's Vachon?"

Nick grinned broadly and licked at his extended teeth.
"Down a few quarts, I'd say," he said.

Tracy blinked, speechless.  The image of her dark Spaniard
with the golden knight overpowered her.  A mortal moment of
jealousy was quickly replaced with the vampire's desire to
have been a part of it.  Vachon and Nick were just so
different... then the ageless adage that opposites attract
made her grin.

"I meant, how is he doing, after I threw him through the
door?"

"I know," Nick said.  "I brought you something.  It's in the
hall.  Why don't you bring it in, and we'll get started."

Tracy grunted.  Getting information from a man was always
such a chore.  If Nick didn't tell her soon, would she be
able to read it in his blood?  She stepped into the hallway
and saw a new front door still wrapped in protective plastic
with Styrofoam padding the corners.  It was much prettier
than the serviceable wooden one she'd destroyed.  This one
was steel, a light mauve color with forest green trim, and a
smoked glass window. "Jeez, Nick.  This is gorgeous," she
said.

He shrugged boyishly.  "You'll learn that when you fix
something for LaCroix, you're better off going the second
mile."

Tracy wasn't certain she understood him.  What would LaCroix
do if she had just replaced the wooden door with another
exactly like it?  She fingered the smooth steel, peeling
away the plastic cover.  This door wouldn't splinter,
although the glass could break.  Then, glass cuts didn't
hurt vampires.  Tracy felt sick to her stomach.

"Tell me about Vachon," she demanded.

Nick took a hammer she hadn't noticed before and began to
pry loose a splintered two-by-four.  His fingers found the
best purchase to place the clawed hammer.  Tracy just
watched, not knowing a thing about home repairs.

"He had a lot of splinters," Nick admitted.

Tracy winced.

"I got them all out.  He healed and slept well."

"You know I didn't mean to hurt him," Tracy insisted.

The board pulled free with a shower of sheet rock dust.
Nick lifted a new board from the hallway.  He gave Tracy
directions where to find a saw, then he cut the board to the
same length as the old one before hammering it in place.  He
worked efficiently, seeming unhindered by his blindness, as
he repaired the doorjamb and hung the new door.  While he
worked, he talked with her.

"You are much stronger now, Tracy," Nick began.  "You became
stronger the first night LaCroix brought you across and you
will continue to gain strength the longer you live.  Strong
emotions boost your ability, much like an adrenaline surge
to a mortal.  You must learn to control this.  If Vachon had
been a mortal, you could have killed him."

Tracy blinked back tears, wondering why she felt so
emotional lately.  Could vampire women still get PMS?

"Vachon's not the sort to hold a grudge, Baby."  Nick
brushed her tears with a tender touch.  Then he described to
Tracy how to place the faceplate for the lock on the new
doorframe.  He guided her hands as she chiseled out the wood
and screwed in the faceplate.  Finally, the front door
closed and held.  She stepped back and admired their work.

The door was beautiful, but the wall was still cracked sheet
rock and ugly.  "How do we finish this?" she asked
tentatively.

"I hired someone.  He should be here shortly.  I hate
plastering and painting."  Nick's nose crinkled in distaste
when he spoke, which made Tracy smile.

"Thanks, bro," she said, kissing him on the cheek.

Nick settled on the couch and shuffled his deck of cards.
He dealt out a hand of Gin, preparing to lose.  That always
cheered up Janette in the past; he hoped it would do the
same for Tracy.

Three hands later, she still seemed distracted.  "So, baby.
Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

Nick nodded.

"Oh, Nick, why is everyone being so crabby ugly!"  She burst
into tears again.

Nick reached for her, following the scent of her tears.  He
pulled her in close and patted her back.  "We meet with
Father Rochefort tomorrow night.  Maybe we should ask them
then?"

Tracy sniffed, chuckling despite her tears.  "LaCroix really
hates those sessions."

"I know."  Nick chuckled as well.  He'd give anything to see
the look on LaCroix's face whenever the priest chided him.
The ancient, powerful Roman General incapacitated by the
shy, humble parish priest!  "I'm really surprised he
continues to go."

"Don't you know why!"  Tracy blurted.  "Natalie demands it.
She thinks that it will help you get well again."

Nick shrugged, but her comment hit him hard.

"Nick?"

"Maybe I should go to that school?"

Tracy waited quietly.  His brow was puckered, and his eyes
looked unfocused.

"Maybe I need to get away for a while, so they can have a
life.  I'm tired of being the center of all they think and
do."

Tracy kissed him.  "Come on, bro.  Don't sink into
depression tonight.  It's my turn.  And you still smell like
skunk.  How about a shower?"

Nick forced a smile.  "Best offer I've had all night."



Dawn drew near.  Vachon still had not come, LaCroix was
gone, Nat went straight to bed ignoring her, and Nick was
sound asleep.  Tracy knew she had to talk to somebody.  She
wouldn't last until Father Rochefort's tomorrow night.

Why hadn't LaCroix beaten her earlier?  She knew it was his
intention, yet something had stayed his hand.  The assault,
while humbling, had not really been painful.  Perhaps,
because of Nick?  While she was irritated that everything
revolved around him, she was also relieved that he had
inadvertently been able to save her.  The knowledge made her
bold.

With whom could she talk? It had to be a vampire.  And
someone not linked closely to Nick.  And maybe someone
young, who knew what she was going through.  And someone not
terrified of LaCroix... that was the problem.  There was
only one name she could think of.  Springing from the
skylight before reason made her change her mind, she flew
towards Cousin Tommy's.

Don Thomas Constantine, the aged crime lord, greeted her
warmly.  "Tracy!  What a delightful surprise!  To what do I
owe the pleasure?"

Tracy moved into his embrace, letting him comfort her as
though he were a kindly grandfather.  He was, in fact, a
brother only a little more than a year older than she was.
The tears came to her again, flowing freely, but the wealthy
vampire was headless of the stains.  He cradled her,
whispering soothing syllables until her sobs slowed.  He had
parented four sons, and several grandsons, and one
great-grandson, but he had never had a daughter.  He smiled
wondrously at the softness she brought to his undead heart.
Perhaps his next progeny would have to be a girl?

He guided her towards a velvet sofa, then offered her a
crystal goblet of his finest.  He sat beside her and gave
her a comforting smile.  "Now, little cousin, what seems to
be the trouble?"

"I wish I knew," she said, her swollen eyes already healing
to their lustrous perfection as the last tears were
reabsorbed.  "Suddenly, I'm so much stronger, and I keep
hurting the people I love.  And they are all so wrapped up
in Nick's problems, that they don't have any time for me.
Not that I'm angry with Nick, mind you.  He's the sweetest,
nicest guy anyone could ask for, when he's not lost in
space, and I'm just so sorry for him.  But, I can't seem to
stop crying all the time.  Does that sound dumb?"

Constantine brushed at the stray wisps of blonde hair, his
thumb caressing her face tenderly.  The gesture was more
paternal than sensual, although she saw a faint golden trace
in his gray eyes.  "You are still adjusting to your new
life, little one.  Didn't LaCroix prepare you for this?"

Tracy looked at him blankly.

Constantine sighed.  "Neither did he warn me.  He brought me
across, but then he abandoned me.  I almost died a dozen
times while I struggled to learn the boundaries of my new
existence.  But, while I am an infant vampire, I am a very
old, old man.  I have a mortal lifetime of experiences and
wisdom to aid me, which you are unable to draw upon.

"Are you saying that I have to suffer and grow up?"

"No."  Constantine shifted.  He rose with surprising grace
for his arthritic-looking joints and refilled their
glasses.  Then he flipped a switch to ignite the gas fire
beneath the ornate hearth.  "Vampires are very passionate
beings," he began.

Tracy knew that.

"Also, you experience everything more intimately.  Your
feelings are greatly exaggerated, but you are also reacting
to the emotions of all those around you."

Constantine paused, drawing a deep breath.  "It was easier
for me.  I lived a sheltered life in this mansion.  I
controlled everyone.  Those whose emotions were just too
irritating, I fired and replaced with calmer, more mature
servants.  Most vampire masters take their infants away to a
secluded home.  Ask Nick about his infancy sometime.  He
spent close to two centuries with LaCroix, never out of his
sight, never alone among mortals or other vampires.  Even
still, I imagine that he recalls the volatile emotions of
those early years."

"So, what can I do?"

"Tell LaCroix about this.  Although, why he hasn't read it
in your blood, I don't know."

"He's been rather distracted lately.  All everyone ever
thinks about is Nick."

Constantine's brow puckered.  He liked the young vampire.
He had admired Nick's pluck when first they'd met.  Nick had
been trying to run away from his abusive master.  Later,
Constantine had chosen to tell LaCroix of Nick's
whereabouts, as at the time it had seemed the best way to
survive, but also, he identified with the vampire master's
desire to protect his family.  "So, what is wrong with Nick
these days?"

Tracy sniffed.  "He's been really sick.  Can't seem to keep
anything down.  He spent a day in the sun, somehow it didn't
kill him, but it left him blind and weak.  LaCroix doesn't
know how to heal him this time."

Worry and concern shaded the elder's face.  "Poor Nichola.
Is he becoming a mortal then?"

"No.  And I don't think he wants to any more, either.
That's the really strange thing.  I think he's finally
accepting his vampire nature."

Silence hovered around them for a time.  Constantine
considered all she had told him, and wondered how he could
help.  "So, LaCroix is worried about his precious son and he
is ignoring you."

Tracy lowered her eyes.  He had hit the problem squarely,
but she was embarrassed to hear it stated aloud.

"You have a right to your feelings, Tracy.  And now you have
a right to decide how to act upon them.  What are your
choices?"

"Ignore them and grow up," she muttered.

"That is one option, but not the best.  Feelings don't go
away just because we want them to."

"Well, I don't want to tell Nick.  It's not his fault, and
he has so much guilt anyway."

"Tell your master," Constantine said.

"He'll be furious.  I'm already in it deep just for coming
here.  He grounded me yesterday."  Tracy shifted
uncomfortably.  "Of course, if I tell him how I feel, and he
ignores me, then I'm no worse off than I was to start with."

"That's a girl," Constantine said, encouraging her.  "I'll
speak to him, if you wish."

"No.  Thanks.  I know that you have a tenuous relationship
with him, and I don't want to get you in trouble.  But, I
really appreciate you being here for me.  Do you mind if I
come again?"

Constantine smiled.  "Anytime, my dear."

"Oh.  And one more thing.  I know I have a sister, Janette.
Do you know how to get in touch with her?"

"Why do you ask," Constantine asked softly, evading her.

Tracy smiled.  She was cop enough to hear the unspoken
answer to her question.  "Tell her that I need to meet her?
Tell her I really need a woman to talk to.  If she lived all
those centuries with Nick and LaCroix, surely she knows what
I'm going through."

Constantine kissed her forehead.  "We will see.  Now, unless
you want to risk spending the day here, you had best hurry
home."

Tracy hugged him tightly.  "Thanks, cousin!"  Then she flew
through the fading night towards home, such as it was.


end part 9.

Tango Del Amor
by Lorelei and Tammy Sieja


Chapter Ten:


Amaru sat on the couch, pretending to read his book.  He
watched as Janette restlessly wandered through their home.
She fingered picture frames, touched the spines of their
book collection, and ran her fingertips along the hearth,
picking things up then putting them back down.

She wandered aimlessly for over an hour.  Then she came to
sit beside him and picked up the throw pillow.  She teased
the tassel, but said nothing.

Finally he sighed and set his book down.  "What is on your
mind, Párajo?"

Janette still didn't speak right away.  "Nothing," she
sighed.

Amaru didn't let her fool him.  "The truth, Janette."

"The nightmares still frighten me.  I don't understand
them.  I would think that it was perhaps coming from
Nicholas, but Constantine said he is fine."

Amaru picked up the phone to dial her master when it rang in
his fingers.

Janette jumped and watched with wide eyes as Amaru answered
it.  He was silent for a few minutes, listening to the
caller.  Then he handed it to her.

"It's for you, Pájaro," he said calmly, although she would
have heard the speaker herself.  Amaru rose and slipped into
another room to grant her a measure of privacy.

"Hello?" she said nervously.

The gravelly voice belonging to Don Constantine answered
her.  "Janette, my dear sister."

"Constantine," she sighed with a smile.  "How are you? How
is the family?"

Constantine chuckled.  "It really depends on whom you ask.
Do you know you have a new younger sister?"

"I do? Who? Did Nichola bring someone across for himself?"
Janette bubbled, feeling some excitement.

"Not exactly.  More like, I suppose you have a new baby
aunt.  LaCroix brought across Nick's young partner, Tracy
Vetter.  In fact, she asked me to contact you.  She would
like to talk with you."

A new nervousness gripped Janette.  "You didn't tell her
where I am, did you? Nichola won't find out? Or LaCroix?"

"Relax, my dear.  I have told no one about your safe haven.
I told young Tracy that I would contact you and the rest
would be your game.  I think she's been feeling quite
neglected lately, what with Nick's illness."

"Nicky's sick?" Janette cried.  "But that is impossible!
Vampires cannot get sick.  Except for the Fever," she
babbled on.  "Is he all right?"

Constantine sighed with resignation.  "I just found out
about it myself.  Several months ago, he was trapped in the
sunlight for an entire day.  He didn't die, but it left him
severely injured and he's blind."

Janette gasped.  "Blind?" she whispered.  Suddenly, the
nightmares of darkness and fear made sense.  It was her
master she was sensing.

"Don Constantine, how is LaCroix?"

Constantine took a deep breath.  "He's juggling between
caring for Nick, training Tracy in a large metropolitan
area, dealing with his new girlfriend and running the club
and his radio show.  He's working constantly and running
himself ragged.  Honestly, I could say he needs a break."

Janette bit her lip.  "He hasn't tried to find me, has he?"
she whispered.

Constantine was silent for a while.  His conscience warred
with itself.  Should he tell her the truth that LaCroix had
not been asking about her? Or should he lie to her and tell
her that LaCroix has asked into her whereabouts.  Deep
within, Constantine knew that the ancient still worried
about his one-time daughter.  He knew that LaCroix still
thought of himself as her master.  Now, with his inner flock
close at hand, he could guess that the Ancient would want to
know about his granddaughter.

Finally he answered.  "He hasn't tried to find you.  But he
wants to hear from you, Janette.  He still thinks of you as
his own."  Constantine did not miss the quiet sigh of what
sounded like relief coming from Janette.

"What's on your mind, my dear?" he asked softly.

Janette tossed the pillow to the floor and rose, going
quickly to her Indian lover.  She hugged him tightly,
wanting something, but she didn't know what.  "I have been
having strange dreams.  I never thought they were coming
from Nichola..." her voice trailed off.

"Young Tracy is feeling neglected in all the fuss over
Nicholas.  She could really use a sister.  Perhaps it is
time reconcile your differences between your masters?"
Constantine suggested.

Janette remained silent.

"It's just a thought," Constantine said, sensing the woman's
hesitation.  "I may be almost as young as you, but in my
many years I have learned that family is everything. Without
your family, you are nothing."  He paused, the pain in his
voice emphasizing his personal agony.  Then he sighed.
"Anyway, I've done my part.  If you need anything, anything
at all, please call."

Janette smiled nervously.  "Of course.  Thank you,
Constantine," she said.  She turned off the telephone,
tossing it onto the bed.

Amaru waited for her to tell him the news.

"Nichola was in an accident of some kind.  Constantine did
not elaborate.  He's blind and sick, which explains my
nightmares.  Nichola was always a little unnerved by the
dark."

Amaru burst out laughing.

Janette glared at him.  "I do not see anything funny in
this!"

"You don't?  A vampire, a creature of the night, is afraid
of the dark?"

"You know as well as I that with our enhanced vision, it is
never dark!  Can you even remember what it was like as a
mortal?  When the night held mystery, fear, danger?"

Amaru restrained himself for her benefit.  Still, it would
be very interesting to share blood with Nicholas de
Brabant... very interesting indeed!


"LaCroix brought across his young partner, Tracy Vetter, and
she is needing a friend."

Amaru nodded.  He'd met Tracy once, almost two years ago.

"Don Constantine suggested that I pay a visit."  She waited
before posing her question.  "What do you think?"

Amaru stroked his well-trimmed goatee.  Finally, she was
considering going to her master where he felt she
belonged... but if he pushed too hard, she might still dig
in her heels and resist.  "My brother is still in Toronto,"
he said hesitantly.  "I do not think he knows that I am
alive."

Janette knew about the Voodoo Bomber and how Amaru had saved
all of Toronto from the crazed killer.  He had flown a
trigger mechanism straight into the sky, and Vachon had
remained on the ground with Tracy and watched the bomb
explode.

Amaru had crashed earthward, severely burned, but his twin
had not come to his aid.  He clawed the earth to bury
himself underground and suffered for days.  When he finally
resurfaced, he found Vachon playing in a nightclub as though
he hadn't a care in the world.  Amaru left that night
without a second thought.  He had wasted enough of his
unlife on that irresponsible, self-centered prodigal twin.

"Perhaps we should both go and resolve our differences?"
Janette suggested quietly.

Amaru nodded.  "I would not let you go alone, Pájaro," he
said.  "You are far to young and vulnerable."

Janette rolled her eyes.  "I have taken care of myself since
before you were even born!  That has not changed," she
snapped.

Amaru's eyes flashed.  "Did you know you were being followed
last night? Could you have protected yourself? What if that
young man had intended serious harm to you? A wooden stake
can kill you, Janette! Sunlight will not just burn you, it
will incinerate.  You seem to forget that you are merely an
infant now."

Janette brushed his concerns away.  She perched on the edge
of the bed and watched as Amaru paced.  He absently stroked
his chin, finally nodding in agreement.

"Perhaps visiting Toronto would not be a bad idea," he
mused, hoping she would not see through his act.  "I have
sensed that Vachon is not well.  I know not what is wrong,
but I think I must end this stalemate between us.  He is an
irresponsible, irrational, reckless scoundrel, but he is all
the family I have left."

Janette nodded.  She smiled as Amaru's eyes turned their
pale golden hue with his intensity.

"Then it is decided.  We leave tomorrow?"

Amaru swept her into his embrace, his fangs grazing against
her throat.  They would have left for Toronto tomorrow with
or without her consent, but he continued the charade.  "Let
us sleep on it."

*****

LaCroix waited in the apartment, his arms folded across his
chest.  Tracy dropped through the skylight.  She looked
exhausted; her hair mussed from flight and her clothes bore
the unmistakable scent of her own tears.  He was furious
with her, but his earlier assault had not intimidated her
into obedience.  Short of breaking a few bones, which
Nicholas was sure to feel through their close bond, LaCroix
was unsure how to discipline her.

"I'm sorry, master," she whispered.

LaCroix didn't move.  He remained the pillar of fury, but he
was faintly curious about her actions.  He could smell her
fear.  Nicholas was usually arrogant and boastful whenever
he'd disobeyed, almost begging for a fight, but Tracy was
shaking in her shoes.

"Speak up!"

Tracy shuddered, gulping a deep breath of air.  "I need you,
Father.  I know you're concerned about Nick, we all are.
But I need you, too!  Can't you sense it in my blood, or are
you blinded by your love for Nick?"

He swung his hand at her face sharply.  She gasped at the
stinging blow, but she held her ground.  "Go ahead.  Hit me
again.  But don't ignore me!"

LaCroix glared at her.  What was she talking about!  He'd
been here, providing for her needs, teaching her... what
more did she want?  Still, if he didn't figure this out
tonight, then that damnable priest would undoubtedly
beleaguer it tomorrow.  "What, do tell, do you need!"

She flinched at his harsh words, tears flowing again down
her pale cheeks.  "I don't know!  Constantine said I'm
overwhelmed by the emotions of others, but I can't help it.
I cry easily, and I never meant to hurt Vachon, or Nat!  I
don't know what's wrong!"  She sobbed, unable to continue.

LaCroix drew in a breath and sighed.  Perhaps he had been
remiss in her training.  He had to remind himself she was
still an infant, for she had mastered so many lessons so
quickly.  Hesitantly, he drew her into his arms.  She melted
against his rock hardness with her soft acceptance.  He did
detest such displays of emotionalism, and yet her tears were
fragrant and tempting.

"It is your mortal life that complicates things," LaCroix
soothed, deftly removing the blame from himself.  "But I
assume you are not ready to move on?"

She sniffed, tightening her hold around him.  "What about
Nick?  He doesn't want to move yet, does he?"

LaCroix chuckled.  "As you said, my dear, it always comes
back to him, does it not?"

Tracy chuckled nervously, not sure yet if she was out of
danger from his retribution.  "But I love him, LaCroix.  I
hate to see him struggle so."

"I know.  Come now.  Let me put you to bed and tomorrow you
shall call in sick from work."

"But I'm not sick," she blurted.

His grip around her tightened just enough to intimidate
her.  "I seem to recall grounding you, which you have
ignored.  You need to be away from your mortal playmates.
This is both your punishment and your cure."

"Yes, dad," she whispered.  She wrapped her arms around his
neck and let him carry her.  He was never as tender as
Vachon, or as passionate as Nick, but he was thorough,
powerful, and perfect in all he did.  She didn't know when
he left her room, for she was dreaming pleasantly.



Natalie awoke when LaCroix joined her.  She caressed his
neck, but found no wounds to betray his whereabouts.
However, he healed so fast, she wasn't surprised.  And which
vampire was it now?  Her mortal upbringing struggled to
accept his very different culture and she felt a pang of
jealousy.  "Which one this time?" she asked, hoping she
didn't sound as petulant as she felt.

LaCroix nuzzled her earlobe, trailing small, erotic nips
along the pulsing vein in her throat.  "Does it matter?" he
asked.

It shouldn't, she thought.  Whether he was with Tracy or
Nick, it was her bed he came to now... only it did matter.
She was in love, but at the moment, she didn't like herself
very much.  Lucien may care for her.  He may even fancy
himself in love with her, but he didn't need her.  Not the
way she needed someone to need her.  She blinked back tears,
refusing to shed them in his presence.

But what could she do?  Leaving him had hurt Nick.  Staying
was hurting herself.  And where would she go?  She knew from
Nick's stories that one did not leave LaCroix.  He would
always find her.  Death was the only escape and it was not
an option either. Tomorrow they would meet again with Father
Rochefort, but was this something she could verbalize?
Probably not.

Then Lucien did things to her to drive away all conscious
thought.

end part 10.

Tango Del Amor
by Tammy and Lorelei Sieja


Chapter Eleven:

Tracy called in sick, per LaCroix's commands.  She felt
awkward about it, since there was a new case to deal with
and her temporary partner Billy Bob was rather inept, but at
the time she didn't know what else to do.  Nick coaxed her
into the hot tub with him, and later they practiced together
on the piano and recorder.  Still, after some cards and the
blood kiss she claimed as her reward for winning, she found
boredom very close at hand.


Not long after, Tracy received a call on her cellphone.  It
was Natalie.  Her voice was clipped and professional.  She
was still upset with Tracy and she obviously didn't know
LaCroix had grounded her, or she would not have called.

"Can you drop by?" she asked.  "Last night's victim has a
tattoo I think you should see," Nat said.

Tracy hesitated.  She shouldn't go... all her intelligence
told her to be forthright and explain that to Natalie.  But
curiosity, pride and her desire told her to go.  Still, she
stammered a few moments.

Nick stretched out on the couch and put his feet up on one
arm.  "Go ahead, baby.  You don't have to baby-sit," he
grumbled good-naturedly.

Tracy thought only a moment longer.  "I'll be there soon,"
she said, then turned off the phone.  She'd forgotten she
had left it on.  Then she glanced at her brother.  LaCroix
would be so pissed if she defied him again, but it would be
even worse to leave Nick alone.  "You're coming with me,"
she decided.

Nick grinned with excitement, then he shrugged.  "You can
leave me alone.  I'm not an invalid."

"I never said you were.  But, I could use your experience on
this case," she lied.  "Billy Bob is more than a few French
fries short of a Happy Meal.  Now get your lazy butt off
that couch.  I don't want to keep the corpse waiting."

Nick rolled off the couch in an easy movement and got to his
feet.  He didn't believe her excuse for a moment, but the
thought of going to work again, of being included, no matter
how small a part of the investigation, was intoxicating.  He
whistled to Perry and buckled his harness, then followed
Tracy to her new black sports car.

Nick drummed his fingers restlessly on his knees while Tracy
drove through town.  He heard the sounds of life all around
him.  He needed to be a part of that again!  When she turned
off the engine in front of the coroner's office, Nick
hesitated.  Inside held so many memories, both good and
bad.  First meeting Natalie, six years ago when the vampire
reemerged from the pipe bomb injuries, then when LaCroix had
fed him - saved him - from the fever last year.  Then all
the x-rays Nat took of his stomach, until LaCroix put an end
to it.  Nick wasn't getting better and he knew it.  Was he
ready for this?

Tracy called to him.  "Come on, bro.  I don't have all
night."

Nick got out, taking a firm hold on Perry's harness, then he
joined Tracy as they went inside.

Grace smiled at them.  "Good to see you again, Nick," she
called.

He waved and gave her a polite smile.  "Good to see you
too," he said, smiling at the expression of speech.  If only
he could.

Nat beckoned to Tracy when she stepped inside, but then she
scowled at Nick.  "What's he doing here," she whispered
crossly.

"I came to see you," Nick said, "for old time's sake.  Now,
what's this about a tattoo?"

Nat stepped to the slab and pulled down the sheet covering
John Doe number six hundred and something.  "I didn't see it
until I cut away his shirt.  But look at this, it seems like
some kind of a gang?  Maybe it can help ID him?"

Tracy looked at the strange figure on his shoulder.  It was
a fat pig on a motorcycle.  The pig was wearing tight,
tattered denims and a sleeveless leather jacket, swirling a
lasso over his large porcine ears.  "Weird," Tracy muttered.

Nick grunted with frustration.  "Describe it," he demanded.

Tracy complied, giving him a detailed impression.  Nick
nodded.  "I've seen it before.  They call themselves "The
Rode Hawgs".  They are a harmless gang.  Some of them are
nine-to-five white collar workers who only play at being
tough gang members on weekends and holidays."

"Really weird," Tracy sumized.  "He looks more like a gang
member than a lawyer."

Nat laughed.  "Sometimes it's hard to tell these days."

"What was the cause of death, anyway?" Nick asked.

"Broke his neck when he hit ground.  I'd say death was
instantaneous."

"Have you told Billy Bob about the tattoo yet?"

"You mean your partner, Ledford?"  Natalie shook her head.
"No.  I couldn't reach him.  He was out and his phone was
off.  He must be taking Nick lessons."

Nick pulled Nat into his arms and pinned her, rubbing the
shadow of whiskers against her smooth cheek.  "I could make
a fortune," he said, "teaching gauche young men to be as
debonair and genteel as I am!"

Nat squealed as she tried to squirm free.  The phone rang
and he released her reluctantly.  "Saved by the bell," she
quipped.  "Hello?"

It was Ledford.  The connection wasn't clear and the street
noises told her he was probably on his cellphone.  "I've got
a distraught girlfriend here, thinks she can ID the body,"
he said.

Tracy took the phone from Nat.  "Hey, Ledford.  There's a
tattoo on this stiff.  The Rode Hawgs.  Ask her about it."

The plaintive wail that followed was audible to all in the
morgue.  Tracy nearly dropped the phone as she clapped a
hand over her sensitive ear.

"We'll be right there," Ledford said.  "But I thought you
were sick tonight?  Must be one of those ten minute flues,
the kind that last until you're done calling in sick?"

"Stuff it," Tracy said, before hanging up.

Nat raised her eyebrows at LaCroix's youngest.  "You called
in sick?"

Tracy shrugged.  "LaCroix's orders."

"You should have said something," Nat snapped.  "I would
have understood."

Nick clenched his teeth, angry at his traitorous stomach.
He was angrier when the two women saw his discomfort and
started to smother him.  "Knock it off," he grumbled.

There was a knock at the door, then Ledford pushed it open.
Nat stepped away from the roles of crabby stepmother and
overprotective parent into the one of professional.  Ledford
supported a young woman by the arm.  Her long, dark hair had
dyed red streaks in it, although the length of the dark
roots showed that it had been at least a year since she'd
dyed last.  Her denim jacket, like the deceased's, was torn
and ragged.  Her face was a palette of runny makeup.

"Oh no!  Duc, no!  Oh, I just knew something bad had
happened to you!"  She threw herself across the corpse and
sobbed hysterically.

Nick approached the distraught woman.  He laid a gentle hand
on her back.  "Miss, come with me, please."  He took her
shoulders and meeting no resistance, put an arm around her
to turn her away from the deceased.  "Tell me your name," he
said.

"Shanesia."

Tracy heard the silver sound of his voice and the flat,
empty response from the woman.  He was hypnotizing her - she
just knew it!  The woman's tears had ended and she was like
putty in Nick's hands.

"Shanesia.  What was Duc's full name?"

"Darrol Danielson."

"Tell us what you know about Duc, everything he had been
doing for the past two days."

The woman stammered, hiccuping.  "We're camped out by the
lake.  Been there about two weeks.  We weren't hurting
anyone.  Duc wasn't like that.  We had an argument and he
left.  He was pretty steamed.  It was about nothing.  He
wanted to go up north and I reminded him that he promised to
take me to Chicago.  He left.  He was riding kind of fast,
but Duccie was practically born on a bike.  He knew how to
ride!  I don't understand how he could have...  could
have...!"  She broke down and sobbed again.

Nick pulled her into his shoulder and patted the back of her
slightly greasy hair comfortingly.  "Ledford, see that she
gets back safely."

"Sorry, Nick," Ledford said.  "But I need to bring her in
for questioning."

Tracy yanked on Ledford's arm and drew him away from
Shanesia.  "You just heard her story.  At least check it out
before you assume her guilt."

"Tracy, she admitted to fighting with him.  Most of the
time, these crimes are crimes of passion.  And the paint's
scraped off her car, and there's dents in the fender."

Shanesia pulled out of Nick's arms and glared at Ledford.
"I loved him!  We've lived together for six years!  My car's
old and full of dents!"

Nick pulled her back in his arms and patted her shoulder.
"Sh-sh... Don't mind him.  Ledford's just ignorant and
tactless.  I know you didn't do it."

Ledford snorted rudely.  "Okay, blind man.  Tell me your
great wisdom.  How do you know?"

Nick inhaled and flashed a brassy grin.  "She doesn't smell
like skunk."

A silence fell around the morgue, soon to be broken by
Tracy's giggling.  "Good job, Nick.  That skunk smell kind
of hangs around for days.  Can't just wash it away."

Ledford growled.  "Fine.  I'll take her home.  But you-" he
turned to Tracy.  "Next time you call in sick, I don't want
to see you.  Got that?"

"Then close your eyes," Tracy whispered low enough that only
Nick could hear.

Nick touched Shanesia's face, stroking her cheek.  "You will
go back and rest.  And if you need someone to talk to, you
will call Father Rochefort at Saint James."

Shanesia murmured her assent, once again sounding flat and
lifeless.  As the door closed behind her and Ledford, Tracy
patted Nick's shoulder.  "That was nice, what you did for
her."

Nick shrugged.  "Just doing my job."  He clenched his teeth
to conceal a yawn.

"Yeah, well, wish I was up to practicing on humans, but the
rats LaCroix gave me aren't fairing so well."  Tracy
grinned, laughing at the startled gasp from Natalie.  "So,
it must be time to go see the good Father.  Are you ready?"

"No," Nick said honestly.

"I'll be there shortly," Nat said.

Nick took Perry's harness and let the dog help him back to
the car.  He liked Father Rochefort, but these family
therapy sessions were awkward.  Tracy hadn't driven two
miles before she had to stop and let him puke up his nerves
all over the curb.  By the time they reached the rectory,
Nick was covered in sweat and trembling.

Tracy reached for his hand and clasped it affectionately.
The bucket seats and standard transmission kept her from
snuggling closer.  "Nick?  It's going to be okay.  We'll get
through this."

"I'm not ever going to get better," he whispered.

"Yes, you will.  Nat's too stubborn to give up, and
LaCroix's more tenacious than she is!  And I won't leave
you, either."

"I'm so tired.  I just want to sleep."

Tracy hopped out of the car and went around to his door.
"Come on.  No more self-pity.  You're tired because you
whammied that woman, and you know that takes energy."

"I did not," Nick began.

"Yes, you did.  Now suck me and we'll go inside."

Nick chuckled.  "You, little sis, are so crude."

She pulled him close, craning her neck for him.  When he
didn't respond, she bit his neck sharply.  Nick's fangs
descended.  He growled sensuously deep in his throat before
striking.  Tracy pulled her teeth away and offered up her
blood.  She felt warm and alive and needed and loved.  Just
as weakness threatened to take her, Nick withdrew.  He was
greatly improved, his eyes glistening with impish pleasure.

"Okay, baby.  Let's go face the firing squad."

end, part 11a.

Tango Del Amor
by Lorelei and Tammy Sieja

(continued)



Natalie lifted the phone and dialed LaCroix's apartment.
She was a little surprised when he answered, as he should
have been on his way to the rectory.

"Yes?" he said smoothly.

"Lucien," she began.  She wasn't sure what to say next.  'Hi
honey, I'm jealous of your children?'  That was sure to make
points.

"I was just leaving," LaCroix said irritably.

"I was wondering, Lucien, could you perhaps... pick me up?
I'd really like to see you before we face the priest."

LaCroix chuckled.  "If you hate these little encounters as
much as I do, then why make us go?"

"I'll try anything if it might help Nick," she whispered.

LaCroix heard something in her voice, a melancholy strain
perhaps.  "I'll be right there," he said.

And so he was.  Natalie had hardly more than hung up the
phone before his dark figure flew inside with a woosh of
warm spring air.  She felt nervous and tearful as she
wrapped her arms around his waist.   "Oh, Lucien.  How are
we doing?"

His eyebrows drew together as he tried to puzzle out her
meaning.  "We?  At the moment, WE are confused."  His tone
was more ascerbic than he'd intended.

She sniffed and broke away from him.  Turning her back, she
tried to be more clear.  "We, as a couple, Lucien.  You and
I.  I love you, but frankly, I am jealous of every vampire
in Toronto.  I need you, but I feel unimportant, like you
don't need me.  And I didn't want to air this all in front
of Rochefort tonight.  He's a nice kid, but I just don't
feel like a confirmed bachelor can relate to an aging,
emotional, jealous female!"

LaCroix felt anger warring within.  "Damn it, Natalie," he
shouted.  "Everyone needs me right now!  Nicholas, Tracy,
the community, everyone depends on me!  And frankly,
sometimes I feel like abandoning them all!  Can't you just
be satisfied with that for now!"

Natalie blinked, stunned by his outburst.  LaCroix was
always so controlled!  She had hoped for tenderness, but as
she stared at the volatile beast pacing through her morgue,
she saw what he had not intended; she understood what he had
not voiced.

LaCroix did need her!

Each morning when he left Nick or Tracy, it was she he came
to.  She could comfort him, after he had comforted all
others.  He was not the pillar of strength everyone took him
for, he had needs, too.  She knew him well enough that he
would never admit to it.  He would probably slay her in a
fit of rage for merely suggesting such an absurdity, and
yet, it gave her a sense of power.  The two
thousand-year-old vampire needed one small, insignificant
coroner.

"I'm sorry, Lucien," she whispered.

LaCroix stared at her, shocked that whatever storm was
brewing had ended so abruptly.  He felt a little lost at
sea.

"Natalie?"

She stepped closer and embraced him.  "I love you, Lucien."

He placed a kiss on the top of her head and chuckled.  "You
could end that part about "aging" tonight, my dear."

"Do you think I'm getting old?"  There was a note of panic
in her voice.

"No."  His answer was swift and final.

She squeezed him.  "I guess we had better be going.  We're
late as it is."

LaCroix lifted her then and flew swiftly to the rectory.  He
spotted Tracy's car along the way.  He would be able to get
there ahead of them, which pleased him.  He could stare at
the priest and intimidate him while they waited for
Nicholas.



Tracy knocked on the door to the rectory before letting
herself inside. Gathered in the living room were LaCroix,
Natalie and the priest.  Rochefort stood politely to welcome
them.  LaCroix glared.

Nick didn't need eyes to sense his master's anger.  He
fought to keep Tracy's sweet blood down.  "Good evening,
Father," he said to LaCroix. "I'm sorry I didn't know you
had grounded Tracy and I made her take me out for some fresh
air."

LaCroix continued to glare.  In these counseling sessions he
had found that silence was the better side of wisdom.  He
would deal with Tracy later.

Nick sat on a couch and pulled Tracy down beside him.  Perry
plopped down at his feet with a sigh.  Nick would need all
the support he could get.

Rochefort cleared his throat awkwardly.  He didn't need any
supernatural gifts to sense the tension in the room.  He
said a silent prayer before he began.  "So, Tracy.  You were
grounded?  Care to tell us about it?"

"Do I have to?" she whined mockingly, making her voice sound
nasal and childish.  Nick chuckled, but no one else shared
the humor.

Tracy sighed.  "All right.  Nick.  It's not your fault.
Don't get all angsty on me.  But I feel ignored.  Everyone's
worried about you all the time, except Vachon, who's worried
about who-knows-what, and this sounds really selfish and
snotty, but I'm tired of it."

Father Rochefort nodded approvingly.  "Nick?  Care to
respond?"

Nick shrugged.  "I knew how you felt.  I'm not upset.  I'm
just sorry that I don't know how to fix it."

Natalie glanced at her hands.  Her wrist was still sore,
although the bruise was fading.  She knew Tracy hadn't meant
to hurt her, but she had.  And more than just physically, so
when the priest prompted her, she verbalized it.  "I've been
worrying over Nick for six years, Tracy.  I've only known
you for one.  I had hoped that we could be friends, but some
of your comments have been hurtful.  I am sorry if it seems
like I ignore you, but you aren't sick like Nick is."

All eyes turned to LaCroix.  He knew the drill, but
continued to balk at the enforced "chat" session.  Everyone
had a turn, and they had to say something.  No one could
interrupt.  No comments were to be judged right or wrong.
Everyone had a right to his or her feelings.  It was only
their actions that they had to learn to control.

"Tracy is suffering from over-stimulation.  It is a problem
among infant vampires.  I have been remiss in not
recognizing it sooner.  I grounded her, to keep some of the
stimuli at bay.  I am sorry, my child."

Rochefort smiled encouragingly.  This wasn't going so badly
tonight.  LaCroix was still seated and nothing had yet been
broken.  He had actually considered changing the locations
of these weekly sessions to a padded room devoid of all
furnishings.  "Tracy, you feel ignored.  LaCroix has
grounded you to protect you. How does this make you feel?"

Perry yawned widely.  Vampires and humans were so mixed up.
Dogs had a better way, although LaCroix was close.  Perry
considered himself the alpha male in his pack, and LaCroix
was alpha of his own. These pups should just learn their
place and live with it.

And so the session continued for over an hour.  LaCroix
remained uncooperative, but before the night was over,
Natalie and Tracy clung to each other, crying and
apologizing, and doing a female bonding thing.  Nick rolled
his eyes, cocking an impish smile at the priest.  "See what
you started?  Now they'll really gang up on me."

Father Rochefort smiled.  "I think we've made some progress,
Nick.  How much longer until you depart for Montreal?"

"Two weeks," he answered flatly.

"Good.  I'll see you next week then."

LaCroix was gone before the priest finished speaking, the
curtains fluttering in the breeze he'd made.




LaCroix didn't speak to Tracy when she returned to their
apartment.  She crawled in Nick's bed, seeking comfort
before the storm.  The following evening LaCroix called for
Diggin to come in.  Tracy swallowed a dry lump in her
throat.  Was LaCroix going to punish her bodyguard because
she'd failed to obey him?  But then he withdrew a pair of
handcuffs from his pocket and locked her to Diggin.

"She is a headstrong, willful, troublesome child.  Do not
take your eyes off her for a minute," LaCroix commanded.

Tracy groaned.

LaCroix glared at her.  "You have proved yourself
untrustworthy.  You will remain away from your mortal
playmates until further notice!"

She blinked back tears, knowing they would only further
annoy him.  "I'll stay home," she promised.

"I know you will.  Because Diggin will not fail."  Then the
vampire master left abruptly.

Tracy tilted her head to glare at her bodyguard.  Diggin was
as tall as LaCroix and broader by half.  She couldn't tell
what color his eyes were, as they were deeply set beneath a
strong forehead and dark, bushy eyebrows.  It was hard to
place his mortal ethnic background now, with the pale
complexion of the undead, and his speech - or lack thereof -
gave no clues.

"Nick doesn't need to know," she snapped, yanking on her
handcuff.

Diggin said nothing.

Tracy slumped into the couch and flipped the remote.  Not
bothering to ask his preference, she found a talk show to
distract her.

Eventually Nick emerged.  He looked almost normal, dressed
in snug blue jeans and a soft silk shirt.  He smiled
casually.  "Hi, baby.  What's up?"

"Nothing much," she said, trying to sound more bored than
angry.

"Company?"  Nick cocked his head at the sense of a strange
presence.

"Just Diggin.  My bodyguard.  LaCroix asked him to keep me
company tonight."

Nick shrugged, accepting the lie distractedly.  He helped
himself to a bottle of blood and offered some to Tracy and
Diggin.  The stranger declined, but Tracy took hers.
"Thanks," she said sullenly.

"I've been thinking about that tattoo.  It means something.
I know it does.  I just can't seem to remember."

Tracy was about to remind Nick that he wasn't on the case,
but something about him made her change her mind.  He was
almost normal again, focused, intense, not thinking about
his stomach or his handicap.  What would it hurt to let him
do a little digging?  "So, what do you want to do?"

Nick took another swallow, then held the bottle at an angle
for Perry.  The carouche lapped at it, drinking awkwardly
from the narrow bottle neck.  Tracy shuddered.  She'd have
to remember not to share a bottle with Nick again.  She
wouldn't want to feed on dog drool.

"I think I'll call Urs," Nick said.  "I'd ask you, but I
don't want to get you in any deeper."

Nick lifted the phone and called Vachon's church.  Tracy
waited expectantly, wishing to hear just the sound of his
voice, but it was Urs's sweet contralto that answered.

"Urs, it's Nick.  Can you come get me?  I need a lift."

Urs stammered.  "Uh, sure Nick.  I'll be there in a minute."

Tracy shook her head.  Nick was so clueless.  He hadn't
talked to his lover in over a week, and now he just calls
her up like nothing was wrong?  Well, Urs would set him
straight.

end, part 11.

Tango Del Amor
by Tammy and Lorelei Sieja

Tango 12

Chapter Twelve:

Nick buckled Perry's harness.  He raked his fingers through
his unruly hair and paced restlessly.  Perry sat erect
following his charge with watchful eyes.  Tracy grew
impatient, until finally Urs's knock rescued them.  "Good
night, Nick," she said.

Nick smiled. "Thanks for coming, Urs.  I need to see
Merlin.  Do you know the way?"

"Uh-huh," Urs agreed flatly.  Nick seemed oblivious to her
lack of enthusiasm.  Now was probably not a good time to
have a discussion.  Eventually her thickskulled knight would
figure it out.  It didn't matter much that her undead heart
was pulsing wildly just at his nearness, or that he looked
especially handsome tonight.  She couldn't just go back to
him, not now.

Nick was talking animatedly about something.  She smiled,
happy just to hear his voice.  Unfortunately, she pulled up
outside of Merlin's too soon.  "Good night, Nick," she said.

"Do you want to come inside?" he asked.

"No.  Good night."

Nick stared blankly at her.  "Are you okay?"

"Good night," she repeated, then drove away.

Nick patted Perry's head.  "Women.  Go figure?"

The carouche yipped in agreement.  Together they approached
Merlin's.

The vampire computer whiz opened the door for them.  He
smiled with crooked teeth.  "Ah, Nick.  To what do I owe the
pleasure?"

Nick followed him inside.  They exchanged small talk
briefly, as Larry peppered him with questions.  How was Urs,
how was Tracy, and what did he hear of Janette...  Nick
answered patiently, although his mind was on the case.
Finally, Larry got up, signifying an end.

"You called Urs to bring you here... what's wrong with
getting here on your own steam?"

Nick shrugged.  "I could have called a cab.  But LaCroix's
been worse lately."

"Only because every time he lets you out of his sight, you
get yourself in trouble.  But you should be ashamed,
depending on younger vampires for anything.  Why haven't you
learned Braille yet?"

Nick squirmed.  There weren't many vampires that could speak
to him like that, but Larry was one of them.  He was near
the same age, and not related; their friendship, while never
close, spanned centuries.  "I kept hoping it wouldn't be
necessary," Nick confessed lamely.

"We learn new things so easily, Nick.  That's no excuse.
You should be as independent as possible and if your
eyesight returns tomorrow, you are not really out anything."

Nick nodded.  "I know.  You're right.  I'm signed up to
attend school this summer."

"Well, why didn't you say so?  Now, why are you here?"

And that was that.  Nick told him about the familiar
tattoo.  Larry hacked into the precinct mainframe to access
the current file on Darrol "Duc" Danielson's murder.  Then
they scanned the archives for any other reference to the
Rode Hawgs.  Nick hovered over Larry's shoulder, suggesting
new searches, absorbed in the task and oblivious to the
passing time.

*****

When the phone rang, Tracy glared at the oaf chained to her
wrist.  "Mind if I answer it?"

He said nothing, but passed the phone to her.

"Hello?" she spoke.

"Cousin Tommy," Constantine said lightly.  "I have some one
here who wants very much to meet you.  Can you come over?"

Tracy felt excitement course through her.  Could it be the
sister she'd heard so much about?  "But, can she come here?"

"She is not ready yet to do so," Constantine said.

Tracy pushed the mute button on the phone.  "Well?  Can you
take me over there?"  She didn't need to elaborate, since
his fine hearing would have heard the conversation.

"LaCroix said to keep you away from mortals," Diggin said
tersely.

"So we can go.  Tommy," she said again in to the receiver,
"I'll be right there, but keep your mortal servants away.
Don't ask now, I'll explain later."

She smiled brightly as she passed the phone back to her
jailer.  "Let's go!"

Diggin grasped her wrist, reinforcing the titanium cuffs
with vampire strength.  "We go together," he said.

"Yeah yeah.  I hear you."


Janette fussed with her hair, although nothing was out of
place.  Amaru smiled at her feminine routines, a sign of her
nervousness.

"Perhaps I should wear the blue gown?"

Amaru chuckled.  "Ten minutes ago you said the blue was too
formal."  He watched as she pulled out the hairpins and
began to brush again the long, smooth tresses.  He reached
for the brush from her and took the simple task upon
himself.  He loved the feel of silk between his fingers.  "I
met Tracy once," he said.

"I avoided meeting her," Janette replied.  "When I was here
last, I was wanted for murder and she was a zealous new
detective."

"Tracy is young, enthusiastic, energetic, and exactly what
she appears to be," Amaru explained.  "She would never have
a hidden agenda."

Janette grabbed the brush from him and tossed it onto the
dresser.  "I am not nervous!"

She piled her hair again and jabbed it with pins.  "I would
prefer to meet her alone.  Do you mind?"

Amaru gallantly kissed the back of her hand.  "As you wish,
mosquito.  I will return before dawn."  With a whisper of
air, he was gone.

Janette held the doorknob and sighed, then boldly ventured
forth.

She went to the balcony overlooking the formal hall where
she could see the visitor still waited with her boorish
companion.  She tingled with a sense of family, but it was
not close.  It further reminded her that she was no longer
LaCroix's.  She shook off the regret and stared at the young
vampire haughtily.  Tracy had replaced her in the family.

Tracy felt a vampire's approach and glanced up.  Her hopes
rose and fell in an instant.  The solace she was seeking
would not come from this disdainful aristocrat.  In person
Janette was far more beautiful than that police sketch on
her wanted poster.  Raven hair piled elegantly like a crown,
a crimson velvet evening gown with gold trim and long, black
gloves on seemingly boneless arms.

"Uh, hiya, sis," Tracy said nervously.

Janette floated down the stairs regally.  She raised an
eyebrow at her.  "Technically, I am not your sister.  I am
your niece."

Tracy giggled.  "I love vampire relationships.  And Cousin
Tommy is Nick's little brother."

Janette felt a grin threaten to break free.  "Cousin
Tommy"?  That was cute.  Then she swept Tracy's arm into
hers and gestured towards the library.  "Now, we must have
ourselves a little 'girl talk'."  She was about to dismiss
Tracy's companion when she saw the glint of metal between
them.  She arched her brow at Tracy, glancing at the
handcuff.  "Let me guess, LaCroix's idea of 'fun'?"

"Dad's method of trying to keep me out of trouble," Tracy
explained.

"Perhaps he will not comprehend what he hears, then."

Diggin grunted pulling the key from his jeans pocket,
dangling it between the women.  "I was a pickpocket in my
mortal life," he explained.  "But if you leave without me, I
will personally dissect you... then turn your body parts
over to LaCroix."

Tracy bounced excitedly, throwing her arms around his neck
to kiss his cheek.  "Oh, thank you!"

Diggin turned around to hide his amber eyes.

Janette ignored him, pulling Tracy into the library, closing
the doors tightly behind them.  "Now, tell me about
yourself!"


******

Tango Del Amor
by Tammy and Lorelei Sieja

Tango 13a


Chapter thirteen:

"Here's something," Merlin said, rubbing his neck and
yawning.  "Michael Lang, a member of the Rode Hawgs, was
found dead at 3 am last Saturday morning - this is dated
last summer, June 3rd.  It was ruled an accident."

Nick nodded.  "I remember that.  He was a nice looking kid,
hadn't been with the gang for long.  They think he lost
control of the bike.  Who were the survivors?"

Merlin scanned the police report, but no names were listed.
He exited, and checked in to the newspaper's archives to
find the obituary.  "Michael Lang is survived by his
grandmother, Arla Remmington."

Nick shrugged.  "It feels like a dead end."

"Yes, and if you don't get out of here, I'll be stuck with
you all day."

Nick laughed.  Dawn felt a few hours away yet, but it was
Merlin's tactful way of telling him that he was expecting
company.  "Okay.  I'm going."

He pulled out his cellphone and dialed the church.  He was
surprised when Vachon answered, but the Spaniard was willing
to come get him.

Vachon came on the bike.  He shrugged awkwardly.  "I forgot
about your dog, Nick.  I'm sorry."

"It's all right.  Perry - go to LaCroix.  I'll be there
shortly."

Perry growled low in his chest.  Nick patted his head
affectionately.  "It's okay boy.  Trust me."

Perry barked once.  Then he trotted off without a backward
glance.

Nick climbed on behind Vachon, remembering their last ride
together.  He smiled wistfully, holding on to Vachon's waist
while the bike rumbled beneath them.

"Where to, Nick?" Vachon asked.

Nick thought about it.  He had expected to return to the
Raven, but maybe Vachon's church would do just as well.
Then, he had another idea.  "Let's go to the campground out
by the lake.  Join the Rode Hawgs for the day?"

Vachon laughed.  "Are you serious?  Why, Nick?"

"Because one of their gang is in the morgue.  I want to talk
with them."

Vachon shrugged.  "It's your neck," he muttered.

He drove out of the city then.  There was a small village of
tents pitched, a loose fence made of motorcycles encircling
them, the smells of and wood smoke and fish cooking.  Vachon
slowed, approaching the gang cautiously.

All eyes turned on him.  They stood, menacing and numerous.
Vachon held his breath.  He wasn't afraid of a handful of
mortals, but now with Nick to protect he felt the best thing
to do would be to leave, quickly.  Then someone shouted.
"Hey, Knight!  How ya been!"

"You could have told me you knew them," Vachon snorted.

Nick laughed.  "It's been a few years.  Come on, Javier."

The bikers were solemn, mostly, although some were drunk.
The general mood was one of grief.  They had lost a friend
and comrade.  Nick hadn't thought that it was an internal
problem, but it was good to be sure.  He visited with them,
shaking hands, and walked all through the camp.  There was
no smell of skunk, either.  He asked for a beer, which he
didn't drink.  He just waved the can around, sloshing some
of the contents on the ground and imitated them in the
relaxed manner of the inebriated.  Vachon suspected that
Nick was intentionally encouraging them to consume more.  As
an hour passed, they grew in volume and were answering any
question openly.  Vachon grinned.  Nick was many things, but
he really was a different sort of cop.

"We had no quarrel among us," one man with an eagle tattooed
on his beer belly explained.  "But Mickey Lang's death hit
hard.  His uncle kept coming around, stirring up trouble.
Said we killed him and he was going to prove it."

"I read the police report," Nick replied.  "It was ruled
accidental."

"Yeah, well, his uncle said it was our fault, like we dared
him to drive recklessly or something."


Nick yawned again.  Vachon grew uneasy.  The vampire
instinct to seek shelter would not be ignored.  He nudged
Nick nervously.  "Knight, you're slipping," he warned,
catching a glimpse of fangs.  "There isn't time now to get
back to the Raven before dawn.  Where are we going to
sleep?"

"We have an extra tent," one of the bikers volunteered.
"It's Shanesia's.  The police rummaged through it already
and they took Duc's tent and things.  She left to go stay at
her sister's."

"That'd be fine," Nick said.

Vachon glanced up... then froze.  His twin's ghost stared at
him from beyond the shadows.  Vachon swallowed, breaking out
in a sweat.  Nick reached for him, nudging him.  When he
looked back into the shadows, the figure was no longer
there.  He shook himself.  Maybe he was more tired than he
realized.


The biker pointed the tent out to Vachon.  They had partied
all night, and now were ready to sleep.  It was part of the
reason Nick had enjoyed hanging out with them that one
summer; their lifestyle was rather vampire-friendly.

Vachon eyed the flimsy canvas tent.  There were a few weak
spots where sunlight filtered through.  He rummaged through
the tent and pulled out a tarp, some trash sacks and duct
tape, and a blanket, reinforcing the tent to make it safe.
He might survive the day with only a singeing, but he
wouldn't put Nick at that risk.

Nick crawled inside.  It smelled musty and woodsy and
faintly perfumed.  He felt the pillows and sleeping bags,
which had been zippered together.  It was curious.  If
Shanesia and Duc each had their own tents, then with whom
was she sleeping?  He unzipped the bags part way and tossed
back the upper one to snuggle down.  When Vachon joined him,
Nick struggled to focus although his tongue felt leaden.

"Tell me what you see inside?" he asked.

Vachon lay beside him, pulling the top bag up and doing up
the zipper.  "Sleep, Nick.  Play cop tomorrow."

"But who was here with Shanesia?"  Nick blinked, rubbing at
a sleepy eye.

Vachon growled.  If Nick kept that up much longer, Vachon
would never be able to sleep.  He looked around quickly.  "I
see girl stuff.  Make up, shirts, sweaters, four pair of
shoes."

"Hm," Nick murmured.  "So she shared with a girl, a sister
perhaps.  Good night."

"Night," Vachon grumbled.  Next time, LaCroix could pick up
his own son.

All around he heard the sounds of the bikers retiring.  Some
were too drunk to copulate any more.  Some were actively
involved with their partners.  Vachon grew more frustrated.
He clapped his hands over his ears, but it was hard to sleep
like that.

Nick was exquisite in sleep.  His face, older that Vachon's,
was relaxed and eternally youthful.  The soft stubble of
beard gave him almost an adolescent quality.  He reached out
towards Nick, but held back.  He was being selfish.  Nick
was asleep and needed his rest.

"Shit," Vachon said.  They had no supplies here.  Now, if
Nick got hungry during the day, Vachon would have to provide
for him, but he didn't dare take in return.  "LaCroix, you
owe me," he grumbled.  It seemed like hours before he
finally drifted to sleep.

******

Amaru flew aimlessly above the city.  Observing it from the
air made it look like any nameless city.  On his last visit,
he'd known Toronto from the underside while searching for
Voodoo's bombs in the sewers.  He'd never really seen much
of the topside.

He landed on the soft bank of Lake Ontario.  For several
minutes he watched the reflections of Father Moon dancing on
the playful waves lapping at the bay.

Something about this place felt familiar.  Amaru knew that
he'd never been there, but perhaps his brother had.  He
leaned against the solid trunk of an old tree.  He could
sense the presence of a carouche buried here and for some
inexplicable reason, this bothered his twin.

Amaru touched the dirt at the base of the tree briefly
before walking briskly away.  He would never understand
Vachon.

Knowing that Vachon's church was near, Amaru headed in the
opposite direction.  He went several feet before the call of
the lake over powered him.  He removed his shoes and
continued his trek with the waves teasing his feet with its
chilly waters.

Dying campfires and muted conversations caught his
attention.  A crowd of mortals grieving over the death of a
friend was drowning their sorrows in beer.

One particularly inebriated man suddenly broke the somber
mood.  "Such a senseless waste.  Duc shouldn't'a died!"

Amaru recalled the aquipas from his Mother.  She had charged
him to stop senseless killing.  He would learn more about
this.

He moved with the silence of the Inca, the strength of a
warrior and the speed of a vampire.  From the shadows of
night he looked for the speaker.

His eyes fell on the sleepy forms of two vampires appearing
to drink with the mortals.  Nicholas had changed since their
last meeting.  He was thinner, paler maybe, and more
relaxed.  Nick yawned widely; his fangs visible even from
this distance.

Nick's vampire companion nudged his shoulder.  Nick quickly
raised a hand to his mouth, covering his fangs.

Amaru felt a respect for the great task of caring for and
protecting a blind vampire.  It had to be a constant
responsibility.

Nick's companion glanced over the dying embers of the
campfire, looking directly at him.

Soft brown eyes and shaggy black hair, the scruffy,
eternally youthful face stared at him without recognition.

Amaru was shocked.  He took to the air without thinking.  He
never thought seeing his twin would distress him this much!
Vachon- who wouldn't lift a finger to help anyone but
himself- was now caring for Nicholas? It was a strange turn
of events and it confused him.

Dawn would soon approach.  Amaru flew back to Don
Constantine's home.



Constantine knocked on the solid doors of his library.
"Cousin?  I have a late night snack for you."

Tracy threw open the door.  "We're going to have a party!
And you're invited!"

Constantine nearly spilled the tray as she hugged him
enthusiastically.  He chuckled and set it down on an end
table.  "Now, what's this about a party?"

Janette took his other arm and led him to the sofa.  "Dear
Uncle, we thought we would throw Nicky a going away party.
A small, private affair, with only a few hundred guests.  I
imagine a Latin theme - Nichola loves to tango.  Can you
suggest a suitable location?"

"I own a lovely little club just out of town.  Las Palomas.
It has an adjoining inn so the guests need not hurry home."

Tracy squealed.  "Perfect!  I can't wait!"  She served the
snack in silver-edged crystal goblets with no more class
than if she'd been serving cokes to children.  "Will you
teach me the tango? I've always wanted to learn.  I can
disco some, and LaCroix taught me to waltz, but he's so
stodgy sometimes.  I don't think he even knows how, anyway.
Do you think he will come?  Oh, Janette!  I'm so glad you're
here!"

Janette and Constantine exchanged knowing looks.  Then
Diggin entered and the mood changed.

"Either we go now, or you call your master," he stated.

"He is going to shit bricks," she muttered under her
breath.

Janette smothered a giggle behind an elegant hand.

Constantine lifted the phone and dialed.  He cleared his
throat and seemed to sit up straighter.  "Good evening,
master," he said.  "I have thoroughly enjoyed this time with
your youngest and her associate.  Might I persuade you to
permit them to stay the day?"

There was a long silence on the other end of the line that
was heard by all the vampires present.  Diggin took the
phone then.  "LaCroix.  I have kept her away from all
mortals.  Having spent the past eleven hours with her, I am
convinced that you would benefit from this respite."

LaCroix chuckled.  "Very well, Diggin.  Have her back here
tomorrow night promptly at ten.  Good day."

When the line was disconnected, Tracy shrieked.  "Yes!
Yes-yes-yes!  Oh, thanks, Diggin!  Thanks, Cousin!"

Even when her jailer chained her to him again, her
enthusiasm was not dampened.  She hugged her newfound
relative, and Cousin Tommy, and even Diggin.  "Good day,
everyone!"

*****

Tango Del Amor
by Tammy and Lorelei Sieja








"We should call this the "mad house"," Janette sputtered
indignantly, as she snuggled in beside her lover.

Amaru kissed her forehead.  "Why is that, mosquito?"

"Someone named Urs is mad at Nichola, Tracy is mad at
Vachon, you are mad at Vachon, Natalie is mad at Tracy, and
LaCroix is mad at everyone!"  She laughed softly.  "At least
no one is mad at me."

"Yet."

Janette whacked him playfully.  "You are as bad as they
are."  She sat up then and faced him, her face more youthful
and excited than he had seen in many months.  "And so Tracy
and I are planning a party!  It will be a surprise for
Nicola, and no one may leave until all these petty little
problems are solved.  Do you agree?"

"I would not have, had you asked me earlier," Amaru answered
truthfully.

She looked at him questioningly.

"I saw him tonight," Amaru said.  "He seemed different.  Not
quite the bastard I remembered."

"Did you speak to him?"

He shook his head.  Artfully changing the subject, he
admonished her on the dangers of the city.  "You will keep
me informed on all your plans."

"Yes, my love," she whispered.

*****

Tracy was the first to awaken.  Her fangs had erupted as her
stomach growled, demanding to be fed, but she was still
prisoner to the slumbering giant beside her.  The only way
to silence her hunger would be to wake him.  First, she
tried stroking his jaw.  "Diggin?  Come on, Diggin.  I'm
hungry."

He did not move, but continued in the deep sleep of the
undead.

Next, she shook him, and tried nibbling his throat.  That
always worked with Nick.  Still, Diggin did not stir, did
not even breathe.

Then, impishly, she reached for the pocket he had drawn the
key from the night before.

Instantly, Diggin's hand shot out, painfully clamping around
her slim wrist.  "Going somewhere?"

"Yeah.  Crazy.  Come on, Diggin.  I'm hungry and I need a
shower."

Diggin glared at her, unmoving.

"Like, the sun is still up.  Where the hell do you think I'm
going to go?"

"You may shower.  I will bring you back something."  He
unlocked her then.

*****

Mid-day was a repeat of the last time Nick had spent the day
with him.  Vachon's nightmare returned and he attacked
Nick.  The older vampire, refreshed from sleep, was stronger
and bit him back.  When Nick became aware of Vachon, he did
not immediately withdraw.  Vachon's flavor, spicy and
exotic, filled him.  When he released him, Nick held him
still with one hand.  "Now.  Tell me this nightmare."

Vachon complied.  "I'm walking down a crowded street. And
some one is watching me.  An enforcer, I think.  I start to
run.  Then I am not the one being chased, but rather it is
someone I love.  I try to protect her.  I can't see who is
after her.  She is weak, an infant, and she cries for help.
And I wake up."

Nick scowled thoughtfully.  It was not the sort of dream
that vampires had.  He seldom really dreamed.  Sometimes he
had nightmares, but they were usually vivid memories of past
experiences.  Dreams, as such, were usually the more
pleasant memories of a recent victim.  "This city, do you
recognize it?"

"No.  I see it clearly, but it is someplace I haven't been."

That was even stranger.  "With whom are you bonded, that
could be sending you their thoughts?"

"No one.  Urs and I have never been close, not like you and
LaCroix.  I used to think Piojo** could read me like that,
but he's been dead two years."

"Piojo?"  Nick laughed at the derogatory name.

Vachon grunted.  "My nickname for him.  Amaru.  My twin."

Nick nodded.  "Then it must be Amaru's dream."

"Nick, I told you.  He's dead."

Nick lay back down, feeling drowsy again.  "Dead isn't
always dead.  Divia was dead.  So was Francesca.  He is the
only one bonded with you, these are not your memories,
therefore he must be undead again.  G'night."

Vachon lay awake.  Amaru, alive?  Could it be possible?  And
why did that excite him?  He hated his twin.  They had
fought for five centuries!  They had nothing in common.
But, maybe... Vachon forced the thoughts away.  Nick had to
be wrong.  If Amaru had somehow survived the explosion, he
would have come after him long before now.  Still, if the
dreams were Piojo's, then who was in danger?


*****

Tracy emerged from her shower wearing only a towel.  She
flopped in a chair, tucking her feet up on the cushion.
Diggin looked away, feeling his undead heart pick up a beat
at her blatant immodesty and youthful innocence.  He was
supposed to be protecting her!  But who would protect her
from him?  Other than LaCroix, he reminded himself.  He knew
with a certainty that the ancient would destroy him if
anything happened to Tracy, whether or not it was his fault.

Tracy said something.  Looking back quickly to see if she
expected an answer, Diggin caught a flash of dimples and
impish delight.  The vixen knew precisely what she was doing
to him!  Maybe what Diggin needed most was someone to
protect him from her?

"Here.  Feed.  Then go back to bed," Diggin growled.

Tracy accepted the glass, pouting momentarily.  "Fat lot of
fun you are.  What good is immortality, if you're as dull as
the dead?"

Diggin drank deeply, straight from the bottle.  "If I listen
to you a moment longer, I'll be dead when LaCroix finds
out.  Now be a nice little vampire and leave me alone."

Tracy dropped the towel and put her nightshirt back on.
"Oh, all right," she agreed crossly.  "I'll be good.  We'll
just talk, then.  Okay?"

Diggin drained the bottle.  Maybe he should have brought a
few more?  He didn't dare move for a while, until the
obvious effect she was having on him had a chance to settle
down.  "Talk?"

She giggled.  "Yes, you know, move your teeth and tongue
until intelligible conversation spews out?  You can talk.
I've even heard you be sarcastic before.  So, what do you do
when you aren't babysitting?"

"Have more fun," Diggin said tersely.

Tracy laughed again.  It sounded different this time,
though.  She seemed amused and not condescending.  Diggin
was surprised at how much that meant to him.  He found
himself trying to think of what to say next to make her
laugh again.

"Where are you from?  How old are you?  Are you older than
Nick?"

"Baby, I was babysitting for Nick long before your
great-grandparents were in diapers," Diggin said.

Her eyes grew round and her mouth made an "O", but no sound
came out.

"Nick most likely doesn't even know.  Whenever LaCroix
needed to get away from him, he hired me to stand guard."

"So he must really trust you. I mean, to leave Nick in your
care.  I mean, I know he likes me and all, but I know where
I stand in this family... which is just a step above the
carouche."

"You're wrong, Tracy," Diggin whispered.  He fought against
the urge to go to her.  He fiddled with the empty bottle,
still holding it in front of his hard evidence.

"Nope.  I'm never wrong.  I may not always be right, but I'm
never wrong... guess you've heard that one before.  Anyway.
What did you do to earn the old geezer's respect?"

"Tsk-tsk... such disrespect."

Tracy waited expectantly.  She hadn't really thought to
involve Diggin in a conversation.  She didn't really resent
him, just what he represented- that LaCroix didn't trust
her.  It wasn't really Diggin's fault.  "You said you were a
pickpocket?  Where?  And how did you meet LaCroix?"

Diggin looked at the floor awkwardly. He hadn't shared this
story with anyone in so many centuries, yet he felt like
telling this infant everything.  She took so much for
granted.  LaCroix welcomed her openly, while Diggin had had
to earn everything.  "In Rome," he began.

Tracy listened, suddenly grasping a sense of Diggin's age.
It was as if a wall had suddenly crumpled, and now she felt
the tingle of the familiar, almost as strongly as she felt
from LaCroix!  Diggin was family?  Why didn't anyone else
seem to know?

"One afternoon I was caught picking the wrong pocket.  I was
still a boy, trained to steal by the man who fed me.  The
usual punishment for stealing was to cut off the hand, but
the Roman soldier never drew his sword.  Instead, he took a
whip to me, flayed me within an inch of my miserable life,
and demanded to know where I lived.  Then, he cut off the
hand of the master thief."

"You met LaCroix way back then?  When you were both still
mortal?"  She gasped, awestruck.

Diggin nodded.  "He didn't leave me there, though.  He
commanded that I come with him.  He brought me to a brothel,
where I served his mistress, Selene."

Tracy had tried before to imagine LaCroix as a mortal,
without much success.  Now, as Diggin described ancient Rome
to her, it all seemed to come to life.  LaCroix had very
likely saved Diggin's mortal life.  But, was he her
brother?  He seemed different, somehow... it wasn't the same
tingle she got when she was around Nick or Tommy.

"You knew about Divia?" he asked softly.

Tracy nodded.

"Well, she had always desired her father's affection, but
not like a daughter should.  There was something twisted
inside her all along.  Maybe it was growing up in a brothel,
I don't know.  She used to delight in getting others in to
trouble and being there to watch their punishment, as though
she drew strength from their suffering.  She was a real
charmer.  Anyway, when she became immortal, right away she
planned to bind LaCroix to her as her child.  She started
practicing, bringing people across, burying her mistakes.  I
was her first successful victim.  Then, she brought him
over.  I traveled with them, and although the "older"
brother, I was the bastard child and eternal servant.
Later, when LaCroix killed her, the first time that is, then
we parted."

"So are you stronger than he is then?"

Diggin shook his head.  "No, Tracy.  We are so close in age,
that our ability should be about equal, but LaCroix is
different.  I think he studied more, practiced more, and
mastered our abilities in ways that most never even
imagine.  He could best me in a fight a thousand years ago,
and he has continued to grow stronger."

"Why "Diggin"?  That isn't your real name, is it?"  She
covered a yawn, trying to conceal fangs.  It was still
daylight, and now that her stomach had been fed, her body
demanded sleep.

"Don't remember my real name, if I ever had one.  As a boy,
I was always hungry.  Whenever food came my way, I would
"Dig In."  The name just stuck."

Tracy struggled out of her chair.  She stood before him,
extending her wrist.  "Thanks. Guess that makes you my
uncle.  It's not so bad to have an uncle watching over me,
it's better than a body guard."

Diggin hesitated to put the cuff back on her, but Tracy
grabbed it and clamped it on herself.  "I'm in enough shit
as it is.  I don't need you mucking through it, too.  Good
night."

Then, awkwardly, they crawled into the bed.  Tracy curled up
at his side, rolling herself up in his arm, their cuffed
hands close to her breast.  In moments she was asleep.
Diggin felt her bottom nestle against him and wondered if he
would ever sleep again.

"Diggin?" she whispered drowsily.  "I didn't think those
togas had pockets?"

"Go to sleep, Tracy."



end, part 13.

Tango Del Amor
by Lorelei and Tammy Sieja


Chapter Fourteen:

Sleep did not return to Nick.  He was tired, the sun was
still out, and yet, something was nagging at the back of his
consciousness.  He rubbed absently at his stomach.  That
wasn't it.  He didn't feel ill.  He was a little hungry, but
that would have to wait.  Even if he felt like luring one of
the bikers in to satisfy his needs, they were all drunk.
Their blood would not sit well with him now.

He rolled to his side and reached out for Vachon.  The
younger vampire startled at the contact.  "You can't sleep,
either?" Nick asked.

Vachon grunted.  "What's it really like, to have a family?"

"Complicated," Nick said.  Then he fell silent and
thoughtful.  The bond he felt with LaCroix was stronger now
than it had been in centuries.  Maybe, than it had ever
been?  Although he had clung to his master as an infant, the
relationship then had been built more on fear and respect
than affection.  He knew he loved LaCroix, as a father, as a
master, as a friend.  And Tracy was easy to love.  So was
Urs, although he didn't have a clue why she was behaving so
strangely these days.  His thoughts drifted back to the one
still absent.  He had loved her more than all the rest.  He
adored her, fairly worshipped her, and she had broken his
heart.

Nick wiped away a stray tear, unwilling to dwell on that
just now, and yet she returned to his thoughts unbidden.
Nick had been sensing her very strongly.  She must have
returned to Toronto.  That she hadn't come to see him was
proof enough that she hadn't yet forgiven him.  Perhaps they
would never see each other again?  Another tear fell.

Vachon reached out tentatively and lifted the tear.  He
tasted it, savoring the intensity of the passions contained
in the one small drop of blood.  "Your master was right to
keep you protected.  I would kill to possess you."

Nick squirmed under the unwarranted adoration.  "Knock it
off, Vachon."

The Spaniard grinned.  With a quick, unexpected maneuver, he
rolled over, pinning Nick's arms to either side.  Nick
bucked beneath him, struggling to toss him off.  Vachon
laughed, as they rolled into the tent wall.  One stake
pulled free and the side of the tent fluttered loosely,
shrinking the space in their shelter.  The canvas touched
Nick's arm, scorching him.

Nick cried out, flinching away.  Vachon pulled the sleeping
bag back up over them, still laughing.

"Nick, you're dangerous.  Remind me not to stay the day with
you again!"

Nick laughed too, rubbing his injured arm.  Vachon took it
in his hands and licked at the damaged flesh. "Shall I kiss
it and make it feel better?"

Then a solid weight landed on top of the playful vampires.
"What the?" they gasped in tandem.

Perry growled menacingly.  Vachon shrank back, but Nick
reached out towards the carouche.

Perry took Nick's hand in his mouth and bit down, still
growling.

"Hey, boy," Nick yelped.  "What's up?  I'm glad you came,
though."  Nick reached out to the angry carouche with the
other hand and patted him affectionately.  Perry continued
to growl, still holding Nick's hand in his teeth.  Small
drops of blood oozed forth.

Vachon gasped, as he tried to pull further from the carouche
and bumped into the tent wall again.  "That beast is
dangerous," he grumbled.

Nick laughed, roughing the dog's fur playfully.  "Naw, not
to me.  He's just happy to see me, aren't you, boy?"

Perry gave up.  His charge had lied to him last night when
he'd said that he would be right home.  Nicholas had been
reckless and irresponsible.  This canvas structure was
inadequate for any vampire, let alone one as susceptible to
injury as he was.  Perry was very put out with him, and yet,
Nicholas greeted him with open arms and a friendly smile.
Perry discovered his anger was fading in the warmth of the
young vampire's loving welcome.  He released the hand and
licked at the wounds.

Nick continued to laugh, stroking Perry behind the ears the
way he liked.  Perry put a foot down firmly on his chest to
hold him still while he looked him over.  Twin wounds in the
neck - he glared at Vachon - and scorched skin on his
forearm.  And Nick's stomach rumbled on empty.  Children!
Perry bounded outside.  He found the loose tent stake and
replaced it, then went to find food.  His fur protected him
somewhat from the late afternoon sun.  He could tolerate
more than even the ancient vampire; such was the benefit of
the carouche.  In ancient times, he'd learned, vampires
often kept a carouche or two, just for that reason.  It was
a survival skill the vampires had either forgotten, or
decided they no longer needed.  Well, Nicholas needed him.
Nicholas was proof enough!

Perry first found a few squirrels to fill himself.  Then he
found a couple of mortal women, their blood unpolluted by
drugs or alcohol, and convinced them to follow him.  He led
them back to the tent.

"Oh, what a sweet dog," one girl exclaimed.

The other, eyeing Vachon suggestively, licked her lower
lip.  "Did you train him to find chicks for you?"

Vachon glanced from the mortal visitors to Nick to the
carouche.  Maybe Perry wasn't so bad, after all?  It seemed
strange to share the mortals with Nick, who had always been
so straight, but the girls were more than willing company.
He fed from one, Nick from the other, and they left the
girls just a little sleepy.  Then, curling up against a warm
mortal breast, Vachon was able to find sleep for the
remainder of the day.

Perry paced in a small circle. With the women, there was no
room to spare in the small canvas shelter.  He plopped down
on Nick's feet and slept fitfully.


Night finally came.  Perry stretched, waking the mortals and
vampires as he stepped on them.  Vachon suggested that the
girls return to sleep, using his power to enforce the
command.  Nick stretched his arms and ran his fingers
through his hair.  The dark stubble of beard had returned,
and his eyes were clear and spirited.  Perry licked at his
youthful face.

"Yes, hello to you, too, boy," Nick said.  "I need to find
that biker we talked with last night...um, Duc's friend?  He
said something that I didn't catch right away.  Remember, he
said something about Mickey's uncle?  But when I read Mickey
Lang's obituary, they didn't mention any relatives other
than a grandmother.  Could be nothing, but I'd like to
know."

Vachon shrugged.  "Sure thing.  Let's go."

Nick reached instinctively for his guide dog, but Perry
wasn't wearing the harness.  Someone must have taken it off
Perry last night and when he had come looking for Nick, he
hadn't brought it.  Nick felt a moment of panic, like being
caught in public without anything on.  Vachon simply took
his hand and placed it around his elbow.

"Ready, Nick?"

Nick forced a careless shrug.  Perry sensed his discomfort.
He trotted close to Nick's shin, comforting him with his
presence.  They found the biker they sought quickly.

"Yeah, this guy said he was Mickey's uncle," the biker
explained.  "We didn't actually check birth records.  I
don't even remember his name.  But he was a cop."

"A cop!" Nick exclaimed.

The biker shrugged indifferently.  "Well, he had a badge.
Guess that could have been costume jewelry, too.  He was an
angry sonofabitch, and I didn't look too carefully."

"Can you describe him?"

The biker grumbled, rubbing a leather-gloved hand over his
beard.  "No.  He was a guy.  Look, I haven't seen him since
last year.  There wasn't anything about him that stands out
in my memory.  'Cept that he blamed Duc for the kid's
death."

"Thanks," Nick said sincerely.  "And thanks for the stay.
There's a couple of girls in there now, mind if they hang
out for a while?"

The biker grinned.  "Hey, you do all right for a cop.  See
ya 'round."

Vachon led Nick towards his bike.  Perry barked at them.  If
they thought they could run off and leave him again, they'd
have a surprise or two.

"I think your dog's mad about something," Vachon stated.

Nick hunched down on his heels and wrapped his arms around
Perry.  "What's wrong, boy?"

A growl rumbled deeply in his chest.  He concentrated on
their bond, trying to tell Nick the answer.

"Are you mad because I didn't come home last night?  Geesh,
you're getting as mean as LaCroix."

Perry barked.  Young upstart!  He would not be so insulted.

"Okay, mean isn't the right word.  Overbearing?  I'm sorry,
I did tell you I'd be home last night.  Things changed.  And
now, I need a ride from Vachon.  You didn't bring your
harness, how else am I to travel?"

Nick had a point, Perry conceded.

"Now I want to go to the precinct.  You can meet me there,
and then we'll call a cab and go home together, okay?"

Perry licked Nick's chin tentatively.  That would be
acceptable.  He glared at the Spanish child meaningfully,
then with a glance in either direction, Perry lifted into
the night sky.

Nick wrapped his arms around Vachon, smiling brightly as the
bike came to life.  "Do you want to go to the cabin this
weekend?" he asked.

"Maybe," Vachon hedged.  Although the wind sucked his words,
he knew Nick could hear him.  "Don't know if Tracy wants me
along."

"Yeah, well.  I have a feeling we need to bring the girls.
They both have a bee in their bonnets about something."

Vachon laughed.  "Got that right.  So how do we fix it?"

"Admit to being wrong, apologize, bring them flowers and
make nice."

"But what did I do wrong?"

"Haven't a clue.  That doesn't matter, anyway.  It'll be
something else the next time.  Just apologize."

Vachon sighed.  "Guess you're right.  Thanks, Knight."




end, part 14 a.

Tango Del Amor
by Lorelei and Tammy Sieja

*****


Tracy dressed comfortably in faded blue jeans and a
short-sleeved white sweatshirt.  The evenings were still
cool this spring, although she had felt the day's humidity
press around her while she slept.  Then she and Diggin
joined Cousin Tommy for a light meal before facing the
inevitable.

"My home is your home, dear cousin," Constantine remarked,
as he hugged her affectionately.

"Thanks," she said.  "For everything.  Janette's great,
really.  A little different... a lot different, actually.
I've never known anyone quite like her.  But, she's nice."

Constantine chuckled.  Tracy had a gift for speech that none
of his male heirs had ever displayed.  "Do come again," he
said.

Tracy's mouth dropped open and she nearly spilled her meal.
Diggin and Constantine followed her gaze.  Descending the
stairs with her usual queenly grace was a decidedly
different looking Janette.  She too was dressed in blue
jeans and a sweatshirt, her hair pulled simply into a
ponytail.  She eyed them coolly from the middle of the
stairs before joining them at the bottom.

"Janette, you look great, I mean, not that you don't always,
although I don't know how you always look, I mean, not that
your old. Ahhhg!  Let me start over," Tracy babbled,
giggling awkwardly.  "Good evening!  Are you ready to come
home with me?"

"Not quite," Janette responded.  She accepted a glass from
her host before settling onto a chair.  She tucked her feet
up under her comfortably.

Tracy yanked her bodyguard over to a couch and gave him a
shove, then sat on his lap.  When Diggin opened his mouth to
say something, Tracy kissed it.  "Shut up, Diggin," she
said.  "I'm busy."

Janette hid a smile behind a hand.  She wondered how LaCroix
was faring, raising such a headstrong, irreverent daughter.
He must find the young infant amusing, or he would never put
up with her.  "We talked a lot about you and me last night,"
Janette said.  "It was wonderful to get to know you, but
before I face them again, I need to know more about what's
been going on."

Tracy shrugged.  It had been so nice to have a whole evening
when Nick was not a part of the conversation, but she'd
known it wouldn't last.  "Constantine told you Nick is
blind?"

Janette fidgeted with her glass, running a forefinger along
the edge and making it hum softly.  "Yes.  But how can this
be?  Why does he not heal?"

Tracy explained everything then to the best of her ability,
how it started with him vomiting whenever he felt strong
emotions.

"That often?" Janette interrupted.

They shared a knowing smile.  "Afraid so," Tracy said.
"Then, when he was thrown into the lake, and the sun blinded
him, he never healed.  Nat thinks that when the ulcer in his
stomach heals and he can feed and keep it down, then his
eyes will heal, but I think Nick fears this is permanent."

"And how is LaCroix?"

"Part of him is really happy right now.  Not that Nick's
sick, I'm sure, but that Nick is close to him."

"He what!"  Janette stared at her, disbelieving her ears.

"They've been really close lately.  I mean, I don't know
what they were like for the last couple hundred years, but
I've heard that they didn't always get along."

Janette nodded, laughing at the understatement.  "Nichola
tried to kill him on more than one occasion and he was
always running away from him."

"Well, Nick's been living with LaCroix since before he lost
his eyesight.  And he feeds from LaCroix almost daily,
certainly more than anyone else.  Part of that is the
priest's influence, because he won't let LaCroix bully him
any more."

"The priest!"  Janette wondered if this young one was just
stringing her along now with such wild tales.  She
interrogated Tracy further, until she knew all about the
family counseling sessions.  "I simply must attend one of
those before I return to Buffalo," she said.

"Yeah, well, they're not that much fun, really."

Janette stood then.  "I think I'm ready now.  Let us
depart."


"Finally," Diggin muttered.  He wanted a raise.  If LaCroix
balked, he could just find a new bodyguard.


Shortly the three vampires flew through the skylight,
bursting in to LaCroix's living room with laughter.

"Hi, dad!"  Tracy called.

LaCroix whipped around angrily, determined to discipline
this willful child at once.  Then, seeing Janette, he
froze.  He couldn't even speak.  She had been gone for so
long; she had been dead to him when she'd been a mortal, and
now... now she was back!  A thousand years he had known this
one!

Janette smiled, a pretty pout on her lips.  "Hello,
Grandpapa."

He growled.  "I am no one's grandfather, and don't you ever
forget that!"

Janette put her arms around his neck and traced a finger
over his earlobe.  "You most certainly are the father of my
father.  What else does that make you?  And don't get all
huffy with me.  I know you're glad to see me."

Tracy stared, astonished, as she saw a dimple flash briefly
in her master's chiseled façade of stone.  He continued to
grumble, but she sensed it wasn't sincere.  "So, have you
seen Nicholas yet?"

Janette shook her head.  "I am not yet ready."

LaCroix said not a word, but his displeasure was evident.

"I will, LaCroix.  Soon.  But not tonight."

LaCroix turned on Diggin next, looking for a vent for his
frustration.  "This, running all over Toronto, is your idea
of protecting my daughter?"

He shrugged indifferently.  "If you leave me with this one
again, I'll need more money.  She's incorrigible."

"I know," LaCroix agreed, unlocking the handcuffs.  He
settled into his favorite chair and took up a book.  Tonight
was going to be a long one, and it had just begun.  Tracy
had defied him repeatedly.  She deserved to be punished, and
yet, with his long lost daughter returned, for Janette would
always be as a daughter to him, he felt only like
celebrating.  Curious, indeed.

The door to his suite opened and Natalie stepped out ready
for work.  "Did I hear -" she stopped short when her gaze
fell on the slim gorgeous figure clad in blue jeans.
"Janette."

"Oui.  Good to see you again, Natalie."

Natalie doubted that.  The last time she had seen Janette,
she was mortal, wounded, and wanted for murder.  Natalie had
treated her injuries.  The following evening, Janette was
gone, Nick was grieving, and the two men who'd assaulted
Janette were dead from a vampire's bite.  Natalie had
quickly disguised the telltale wounds, slashing them through
with a knife and destroying evidence.  Part of her wished
she'd measured the distance between the wounds first.  Part
of her was afraid of her reaction if the information
implicated Nick.

"Why are you back?" she asked tersely.

Janette lifted her chin, looking down her nose at the
coroner before shrugging indifferently.  "I see you've moved
up to bigger game, Natalie.  Did you tire of waiting for
Nicholas to bring you across?"

Natalie clamped her mouth.  This vampire had consistently
undermined her work with Nicholas, setting him back, giving
him doubts, feeding his lust for vampire sex and blood...
there was nothing she really wanted to say to her.

"Let me see now," Janette said sweetly.  Natalie sensed
danger.  She looked around for LaCroix, but he was talking
to Diggin and Tracy.

"If I am now Nick's child, and Nick is LaCroix's, and you
are LaCroix's... ah, plaything, then, that must make you my
almost step-grandmama?"

Child?  Nick's child!  He had brought her back across!
Natalie felt a slow burn.  How could he do such a thing,
when Janette had achieved what he had sought so
desperately?  Grandmama!

Janette reached out quickly and pulled a single hair from
Natalie's head.  She hadn't expected it and shrank back with
a tiny gasp.

"Look!  A gray hair," Janette explained.

LaCroix looked up.  "Enough, Janette.  Behave yourself."

She shrugged and turned away, effectively dismissing her.
Natalie turned sharply to conceal her tears.  "I have work.
Good night," she said, and left abruptly.

Janette settled on the couch and told LaCroix about the
party they planned before she departed as well.  Then Tracy
came to him and knelt at his feet.

"Master?" she whispered.  "I'm sorry I've been so emotional
lately.  And I'm very sorry for defying you.  But, I really
should go in to work tonight.  If I finish a few cases, I
could take a sabbatical, an unpaid vacation?  Maybe, while
Nick's away at his school, you and I could spend some time
together and work this out?"

LaCroix did not respond immediately, but he remained more
relaxed than she could ever remember.  Was it just Janette's
return?  Nick apparently hadn't even come home last night -
he could be in big trouble, but LaCroix did not seem
worried.  She wondered if she would ever understand him.

"Yes, while Nicholas is away, it would be an opportune time
to extend your training.  We will go alone.  Just the two of
us."

Tracy nodded meekly.  She loved LaCroix and wanted his
undivided attention, but this vacation was beginning to
sound just a little dull.  She clamped her thoughts, hoping
she'd stopped them before LaCroix caught their gist.

"You may go tonight," LaCroix said magnanimously.  "But
Diggin will keep an eye on your moods and interfere should
you put yourself in danger.  And you will take this
sabbatical.  Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

end, part 14.

(Part 15 is rated adult.  If you are not interested in
violence and slash, you may skip the chapter entirely and
read on with chapter 16.  The missing chapter will be posted
under the Adult: header, and is posted on my website,
www.angelfire.com/wi/CourageKnight.)

Tango Del Amor
by Tammy and Lorelei Sieja

(Continued...)

The Roman's hand clamped around her throat then, not
bruising, but firm and intimidating.  "And I will tolerate
no further misbehavior, regardless of how it affects
Nicholas."

Tracy nodded, unable to speak.

He loosed his fingers then and placed a paternal kiss upon
her head.  "Good night, my daughter."

Tracy hurried from his suite.  She drained an entire bottle
in the kitchen, still feeling a little shaky from the
meeting.  Then she saw Diggin slouched in the easy chair.
Grinning evilly, she went over and plopped a flirtatious
kiss against his face.  "Come on, Fido.  I'm going to work
and the boss wants you to keep watch.  Ready?"

Diggin sputtered indignantly.  If she hadn't known better,
she would have mistaken that for a blush.  Diggin didn't
even like her; she'd have to be crazy to think he had a
crush on her.  She glanced back at him surreptitiously.  His
unrelenting mask was back in place.  She must have been
mistaken.

The little black Jag purred contentedly as she drove in to
work.  Strange how that had all worked out.  Tammisue was a
rookie cop now; her brother's illicit activities had ceased,
and Tracy was the owner of a wonderful little piece of
machinery!  She parked it at the precinct, caressing it
proudly, before tapping the remote to lock the doors.

Inside, she felt the vampire presence immediately.  She
glanced at her desk, then smiled at Nick and Vachon.  She
hurried over to them.  "Hi, guys!"

Vachon's heart skipped at her open smile.  He'd missed her!
Nick waved in her direction.

"Hi, baby.  I found something about case."

Tracy slipped into her chair, with Vachon perched on her
desk on one side and Nick on the other. This is the way work
should be, she thought with amusement.  "Uh, what case,
Nick?  Did you come back to work?"

Nick ignored the jibe.  "There might be a connection.
Michael Lang was a rookie Rode Hawg, who died just over a
year ago.  Police reports list it as accidental, and the
obits said his only surviving relative was a grandmother,
yet the Rode Hawgs said a man claiming to be his uncle came
by and stirred up trouble, blaming them for the boy's
death."

"Sounds like motive to me," Tracy agreed.  "Don't suppose
they gave you a name?  A description?"

Nick shook his head at both questions.

"So that still leaves us without a lead, then," she sighed.

"They thought the uncle was a cop," Nick mentioned.

Tracy shrugged.  "So?  We still can't investigate every
officer in the city without more than that."

Vachon got to his feet.  "I need to be going.  It's nice
seeing you again, Tracy.  Wanna go to the cabin this
weekend?"

Tracy shook her head.  "This weekend's out."  At Vachon's
wounded look, she quickly continued.  "But maybe next
weekend?  I'd like that."

The dark Spaniard clapped Nick on the shoulder then
departed, his rolling gate just a little more animated.  It
was a good night so far.

Tracy returned to the files on her desk.  She wondered where
Ledford was, but didn't bother to ask.  Any moment spent
away from him was a moment to treasure.  "So, what are you
waiting for?" she asked her brother.

Nick shrugged.  He got off her desk and felt his way around
the edge towards his.  "Just waiting for Perry.  Then I'll
call a cab."

She forgot about him then, as she started filling in the
reports on the Lister case.  She didn't notice when Nick got
up and started to meander through the bullpen.

Schultz jumped up from her post and came to Nick's side.
"Nice to see you back, Detective.  Place just hasn't been
the same without you."

Nick accepted the arm she offered.  He should know his way
around here with his eyes closed, but there were always
chairs pushed away from desks, trashcans that got bumped,
papers or coats in the way.  He smelled something though,
and wanted to find it.  He gestured in the direction and let
Schultz assist him.  He chatted with her about small talk,
as he drew nearer the faint odor.

Schultz had broken off her engagement, her brother's oldest
just graduated from high school, and her sister's baby had
started to walk.  Nick nodded at the mundane mortal
milestones.  Once he had yearned to be a part of them.  Now,
he only yearned to see again.

The stench grew stronger.  Nick made a face, feeling his
stomach lurch at the noxious odor.  "Who's desk is this?" he
asked.

"No one's, Nick.  It used to be Mac's before he retired, but
now it's just empty.  Why?"

Nick released her arm and felt the desk.  It was clear of
paper and desk supplies, but a lightweight jacket was tossed
over it.  Nick snatched the jacket.  "Who's!" he demanded,
keeping his voice low.

Schultz startled at the tone in his voice.  "Detective?  I -
I think it's Detective Durham's.  He was here earlier; he
must have left it.  Why?"

Tracy had heard the undercurrent in Nick's voice.  She came
over, trying not to arouse any more suspicion than Nick
already had.  "What's up?" she asked.

Nick shook the jacket in her direction.  "What do you
smell?"

Tracy stepped back, crinkling her nose.  "Skunk."

The smell was faint, almost disguised by eucalyptus oil and
fabric softener.  Schultz took the jacket and sniffed.
"You're right!"

"Tracy, find him.  Check out his car and his alibi.  I'll
bet the ranch he doesn't have one."

Then the doors to the bullpen burst open and Perry came
bounding in, followed by a couple of uniformed officers
intent on capturing him.  Perry came straight for Nick, then
turned and bared his teeth at the mortals.

"Detective Knight?  He's your dog?  Sorry, but he didn't
have a collar or leash or rabies tags."

Nick gave them an embarrassed smile.  "You got me.  Sorry,
but it's at home.  Will you call me a cab?"

The officers nodded.  "Sure thing, Detective."

Reese came out of his office then.  "Nick!  Good to see
you!  But, why are you here?"

"Hi, Captain.  I just came to see if they got that water
cooler fixed.  Didn't think you could keep the place running
without me, but I guess I was wrong."

Tracy slipped back to her desk to dig into Durham's
background, and Schultz returned to work.  Reese walked Nick
out to the curb where he waited with him.  Nick almost
sighed when he heard the cab approach.  He missed his old
life.


End, part 14!

Tango Del Amor
by Lorelei Sieja



Chapter fifteen-adult:
Violence and slash.


Vachon mounted his bike and revved the engine.  He loved the
feel of it rumbling and vibrating between his legs, a symbol
of power and freedom.  He was tired and a little grubby
feeling; maybe he'd swing by the church and clean up a bit.
And maybe later he and Tracy could make up.  It was lonely
without her, although Nick had more than met his needs
today.  Vachon felt warm again just thinking about him.

This new Nick was really something.  He was glad that their
paths had crossed.  It wasn't just Nick's sweet flavor, or
the intensity he brought to everything he did.  It wasn't
his boyish good looks or the complexity of his emotions.
Vachon couldn't quite put his finger on it, but Nick Knight
was wonderfully unique.

He pulled the bike right inside the dilapidated foyer of the
abandoned church and killed the engine.  Walking stiffly, he
climbed the stairs to his apartment.  He wasn't used to
sleeping on the ground and camping out anymore.  As a young
conquistador, he'd slept on the hard packed earth as a
matter of habit, but being a vampire had made him
sensitive.  Strong as he was, his skin demanded only soft
fabrics of natural fibers, and he treasured his new waterbed
mattress.

Vachon stripped off his clothes on the way to the shower,
leaving a trail through his apartment.  He quirked a grin,
thinking how Urs would clean up for him.  She would cluck at
him, and admonish him for his slovenliness, but secretly, he
suspected she enjoyed the added work.  He stood beneath the
pelting water, washing away layers of grime and arched his
back letting the water massage his sore muscles.  It was
almost sensual.  If only he'd had some one to share the
shower with.  He turned off the water and grabbed a towel,
slinging it low around his hips.  His stomach nudged him.
It was time to feed.  With eyes half closed, he staggered
towards the refrigerator.

A cold wind blew in, fluttering whatever papers and clutter
still ornamented his place.  The hair at the back of his
neck tingled a clear warning.  Vachon took a step back.
LaCroix loomed before him and the ancient was not happy.

"Uh, hello, LaCroix," Vachon began, wondering if there could
be a peaceful resolution.  "Nick isn't here.  He's at the
precinct."

"I am not looking for Nicholas now," the ancient said, his
voice deceptively calm.

Vachon swallowed.  His undead heart beat twice in quick
succession.  His instincts told him he was in real danger
and they had never lied before.  He glanced past the ancient
towards his bedroom.  Maybe LaCroix would at least let him
dress before killing him?

"If you'll excuse me," Vachon began, taking a hesitant step
forward.

"No."  LaCroix's command chilled him.

Vachon dared a glance at the ancient's face.  LaCroix's jaw
was firm, his mouth a grim line, but the most frightening
feature were the red eyes of a fully enraged beast.  Vachon
retreated until he was against the refrigerator.  Whom could
he call for help?  No vampire in his right mind would join
him against the ancient, except possibly Nick.  And Vachon
didn't want Nick's help tonight.  Not when Nick was still so
weak.  He just couldn't do that to him.  Vachon closed his
mind, shutting himself off from all others.  If he died
tonight, would any of them even know what happened?  Would
he?

"What's wrong?" he stuttered.  "Why are you here?"

"You went to pick up Nicholas last night."

"Yes..."

"And you did not bring him home."

"Ah, right.  We went for a ride."

"You and he slept in a tent today."

Vachon nodded fearfully.

"My son, who is weak and dependent, slept under the flimsy
protection of a canvas tent, and I had no idea where he
was.  You didn't even take his dog with you.  That, my
child, is unforgivably irresponsible."

"But he's fine," Vachon defended weakly.  "He had a great
time.  He didn't even puke at all.  Not once.  And he'll be
home shortly."

LaCroix drew nearer, somehow surrounding Vachon with his
presence.  His fangs were fully exposed.  Vachon felt a
warmth even as fear threatened to make him sick, just at the
sight of him.  LaCroix's strength and power were only
slightly more arousing than his handsome features.  But
LaCroix did not take his blood.  Instead the ancient
unbuckled his belt.  Vachon felt his groin tighten, unsure
of the ancient's intentions.

"You have chosen to join my family, at least for a time.
And so you shall be treated as such.   I am master.  You are
nothing.  You will not think, act, or feed without my
knowledge.  Is that understood?"

Vachon nodded vigorously.  Anything to save his skin.  He
could always run later.  He was good at running.  He'd had
centuries of practice.

LaCroix pulled his belt from the loops and folded it in
half, caressing the nickel-plated designs on the leather.
Then he grabbed Vachon's towel and yanked it clear.
Vachon's hands instinctively went to cover his arousal.
LaCroix smiled at it sardonically.

"For me?" he inquired.

Vachon didn't dare to answer.

LaCroix grabbed his arm and shoved him.  Vachon tripped over
a chair, falling to the floor.  LaCroix brought the belt
down on him, striking his hip and thigh.  Vachon yelped,
struggling to get away, but the ancient was too quick.  As
if he could read Vachon's mind, the ancient knew his actions
before he moved and countered them.  Vachon rolled to his
stomach and covered his head with his arms.  There was no
escape.  At least he'd protect what he could.

The belt struck him viciously, again and again, bruising and
blistering tender flesh.  Tears flowed freely from the young
Spaniard, but he clenched his teeth, unwilling to cry for
help.  No one must come to his aid.  Urs and Tracy would
only end up getting hurt themselves.  Maybe he would die
tonight. At least that would end the pain.

The tears wouldn't come any more.  He was too weak to cry.
He felt unconsciousness dance just out of reach.  It
couldn't be long now.  He felt a cold stickiness run down
his back and knew that the belt drew blood.  He still wasn't
even sure what had been his crime.  Was LaCroix so
possessive of Nick, that he begrudged the blood he and Nick
had shared?  What had been so wrong about sleeping in a
tent?  The Rode Hawgs were a harmless gang, as well.  Nick
had never been in any real danger.

The belt struck several more harsh blows.  Vachon screamed.
It escaped him.  He hadn't meant to, but he could no longer
stop himself.  He screamed again.

Then the beating stopped.  He didn't move, as he still
sensed the ancient above him.  Vachon doubted he even had
the strength to move.  Someone would have to feed him or he
would just stay here for an eternity.

Something touched him.  Vachon flinched, but LaCroix struck
him hard.  Vachon stopped, submissive to the ancient's whim.

He felt the touch of a tongue.  LaCroix lapped at the blood
he'd spilled.  Vachon bit through his lip to stifle a cry.
He remained submissive, wondering at the ancient's next
move.  The tongue of a vampire had a healing quality;
although LaCroix's lapping was more sensual than medicinal,
Vachon felt the blood cease to flow.

Then LaCroix was on top of him.  His arms were on either
side, and his lips whispered in Vachon's ears.  He screamed
again as LaCroix rammed inside of him.  "I have absolute
power," the master declared.  "I own you.  I decide if you
live or die.  I decide what you'll do and with whom.  Submit
to me!"

Vachon could have laughed if he wasn't so miserable.  At the
moment, he was being pretty submissive.  LaCroix had beat
the crap out of him.  Even with blood, he didn't think he'd
sit down for weeks.

LaCroix continued to take him.  He was brutal, and yet, it
was also erotic.  Vachon felt his own arousal return.  He
yearned to move to a more comfortable position, but he
didn't dare.  Then the ancient tore into his throat and
sucked his blood from him just as he spilled his seed into
him.  LaCroix withdrew from his neck and lay over him,
nearly crushing him with his weight.

"Call me "master"," the ancient demanded.

"Yes, master," Vachon whispered at once.

"Swear you will obey me in all things!"

"I swear!"

"Swear you will protect my children's lives with your own,
if need be!"

"I swear," Vachon gasped.

"Then, young Spaniard," LaCroix said, rising off of him.  "I
will accept you into the family and extend my protection
around you."

Vachon still did not move.  He hurt too much.  He felt like
he'd just endured some barbaric rite of initiation, though,
and his pride hurt more than any thing else.  If LaCroix had
wanted his blood, he could have had it at any time.  If he
had wanted intimacy, he could have had that, too.  Vachon
pushed up with his arms, half expecting to be struck down
again.  When LaCroix did nothing, Vachon got to his knees.

He turned and stared at the ancient, his dark eyes filled
with emotion.  LaCroix was still mostly dressed, only his
flagging arousal lay exposed against the open fly.  Vachon's
arousal was still evident.  He would submit to the ancient,
as it was the only way to save his skin, but he would submit
in his own way.  Tentatively, he approached the master.  He
stroked the hard chest through the black silk shirt,
brushing the nipples.  His cool, slender fingers slipped
between the buttons and freed them, all the while staring at
the ancient's face.

LaCroix's expression was hard and controlled, yet Vachon
sensed the ancient was mildly amused.

"May I, Master?" he asked, speaking around his own sharp
fangs.

LaCroix's nod was almost imperceptible but it was all the
encouragement Vachon needed.  The silk shirt was removed,
and Vachon pressed his lips against the smooth, hairless
chest, nipping softly.  LaCroix leaned back on his elbows
and watched the Spaniard seduce him.

Vachon removed his pants and shoes as well, then kissed
every inch of him.  Although LaCroix had thoroughly enjoyed
his earlier coupling as he dominated this errant youngster,
he was quickly becoming painfully hard again.  When at last
he roared with impatience, the Spaniard took the submissive
position, offering willingly what LaCroix had taken by force
before.  This time, he took Vachon's arousal in his firm
grip, and gave the Spaniard release as well.  When they
exchanged the blood kiss, they both exploded in spasms of
pleasure.

LaCroix tasted the Spaniard and all that he was... he tasted
the earth in him, and the woods and all of nature.  It was a
different taste than the Old World vampires that he knew so
well, but it was not unpleasant.  He tasted Vachon's pain
and humiliation, and that the Spaniard's submission was
honest, not merely a lie told in the interest of
self-preservation.  But there was a small, dark corner of
the Spaniard that was concealed.  LaCroix bit harder,
sucking more from the young vampire than was safe or
necessary.

The dark corner was that part of him that belonged to his
twin.  He was not purposefully withholding himself.  LaCroix
suspected Vachon wasn't even aware of it.  LaCroix pulled
his fangs from him and licked at the wounds until they
closed.  Then he bared his throat, offering his ancient and
healing blood to him.

Vachon's bite was as sensual as everything else about him.
LaCroix hadn't realized just how passionate he was.  He
almost rivaled his son.  They did have much in common, he
acknowledged, even as Vachon suckled at his throat.  Both
were soldiers from medieval Europe, brought up in the
culture of the Catholic Church, but Vachon's life had been
very different from Nicholas's.  LaCroix had caught only
glimpses through the blood kiss.  If they repeated the kiss
often, he would eventually come to know the Spaniard almost
as well as he knew himself.  Vachon's father had been a
wealthy nobleman, but he had never claimed him.  Vachon was
a bastard.

LaCroix pulled away from him then.  Vachon hesitantly
returned to his throat, only to lap at the small wounds, the
polite gesture that in effect thanked the vampire for the
intimacy shared.  He wondered at this one, to be so open and
sharing after the vicious beating.  He had just learned
through the blood that Vachon had seldom been treated so
harshly, and not since he'd been a mortal child.

"Would you care to join me in a shower?" Vachon asked,
looking at him sleepily, his long, luscious lashes half
concealing the dark, fathomless eyes.

LaCroix considered it only briefly before agreeing.  They
lathered up each other and exchanged blood once more, before
LaCroix was satisfied that his purpose had been achieved.
Vachon's bruises were mostly healed, although he would
suffer soreness for a few days.  Now, whenever Vachon saw
him, he would remember the pain of the beating with a
vampire's perfect recall.  He would also remember the
passion they had shared.  It was a lethal combination
LaCroix had discovered over the years that had worked on
everyone with the possible exception of Nicholas.  Before,
Vachon had feared him for his power.  Now, Vachon understood
the depth and cruelty of that power.

LaCroix dressed then and prepared to leave.  He looked up, a
little surprised, when Vachon stood before him, still
completely naked.  The Spaniard had become immortal a good
ten years younger than his son.  His hips and chest were
narrower with the build of a boy, although the dark chest
hair narrowed to a thin line down his abdomen that spread
out over his groin, which was wonderfully that of a man.  He
was sensual, exquisite, even beautiful.  LaCroix felt a
tightness again, although he was well sated.  He eyed the
Spaniard curiously.

"Master," Vachon began.

He was pleased that this one had learned so quickly.

"I do understand English very well, and Spanish of course.
Even a little Latin.  A simple "don't do that ever again"
would have been sufficient, without nearly killing me."

LaCroix resisted the urge to laugh.  "But, my child.  This
was so much more... satisfying.  Good night."

Then he flew away, before the young seducer could manipulate
him into another affaire d'amour.

Vachon stared at the spot LaCroix had just vacated as he
rubbed at his still sore muscles and newly healed flesh.  He
had greater sympathy for Nick, now.  He'd survived 800 years
with such a master.  Vachon was glad he was an orphan.


end, part 15.

Tango Del Amor
by Tammy and Lorelei Sieja


(Part 15 is rated adult.  If you are not interested in
violence and slash, you may skip the chapter entirely and
read on with chapter 16.  The missing chapter will be posted
under the Adult: header, and is posted on my website,
www.angelfire.com/wi/CourageKnight.)


Chapter sixteen:

Tracy looked into Durham's background.  She discovered that
Elisa Lang, Mickey's mother, was his step-sister.  No
mention of the boy's father was made.  Perhaps Bill Durham
had been a father figure to the boy?

When Ledford returned, she convinced him to help her follow
the lead. Durham still worked at the 24th, but he had parked
a newer model truck in the lot.  Then she drove out towards
his home.  There, parked in the garage, was a smashed up
Chevrolet Celebrity.  The color matched the paint scrapes on
the motorcyle.  Finally, she took a photograph of Durham out
to the Rode Hawgs for an ID.  Several were able to recognize
him as the cop who had harassed them.  It was enough to get
a warrant.

Bill Durham had come unglued when she'd confronted him.  He
broke down and wept, confessing that Mickey was actually his
son.  His step-sister had kept that secret with him all
these years.  Mickey hadn't even known.  He said that when
his son had died, he went a little crazy, harassing all
motorcyclists as though they had a hand in Mickey's death.

"Nice work, Tracy," Captain Reese said at the end of her
shift.

"Thanks, Captain," she said, grinning.  "But it was really
Nick's work.  He solved it."  She couldn't wait to tell Nick
all about it.

But first she had to find Vachon.  He'd looked so hurt... so
he'd been a jerk space cadet lately.  She'd hurt him, and
she needed to explain.  Besides, she needed his help.
Someone needed to keep Nick busy and out of the way until
all was ready for their party, and Vachon was the likeliest
candidate.

Vachon was at his church, which surprised her.  She'd
expected to find him at the Raven with his band.  He
answered the door, but he seemed distant, unlike the eager
puppy she'd met at in the bullpen earlier.  "Hi, Javier?"

He stepped back from the door and let her enter.  He had
none of his usual grace; his motions seemed stiff.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah.  How are you," he said.  Tracy knew a stall when she
heard one; she'd done it enough herself.

Briefly, she told him about the party for Nick.  Vachon
objected at first.  "Nick doesn't like parties, especially
when he's the guest of honor.  That "end of the school year"
party you and Nat threw for him a few weeks ago was enough,
don't you think?"

Tracy nodded.  "Probably.  But this is different.  This is
vampires only, except for Nat, and we have a special guest.
Someone he will really want to meet.  It's a going away
party, to cheer him up before he leaves for Montreal."

Vachon shrugged.  He would miss Nick.  Maybe, he'd travel to
Montreal then, too?  Anywhere besides Toronto would be
nice.  "Do you think the General will really let Nick go?"

"Yes, I do.  He's promised to take me somewhere alone then.
Guess he feels he's not been diligent in my training."

That was a relief.  Vachon forced a smile.  "So, what can I
do for you?"

"You need to keep Nick busy tomorrow night until midnight.
And, he needs to come dressed up nice.  We've rented a
private club, "Las Palomas" out on the freeway.  Lots of
Latin music and dancing.  You'll be there, won't you?"

Vachon gazed at the blue-eyed bombshell and was powerless to
deny her.  "I'll come," he said.  Even LaCroix was not
enough of a threat to keep him away from her.

Tracy pecked his cheek and flew from the church to return
home.

*****

Nick slouched in the back of the limo.  No one would share
blood with him.  It had begun as a lousy night, and hadn't
improved from there.  He'd showered, shaved, and then the
women contrived to get him out of their way.  He insisted
that they could leave him home alone, but LaCroix had
overridden his wishes.

"You will stay with Vachon," the ancient had said firmly.
Before Nick could object too strenuously, LaCroix had added
a disclaimer to clench Nick's compliance.  "I believe the
young Spaniard had something about which he wished to speak
with you, something about a bug problem?"

Nick had smiled, recalling Vachon's nickname for his twin.
Still, he had felt abandoned.  He'd sensed Tracy's
excitement and even Nat seemed keyed up about something, but
he had not been invited.  There was a presence in the
apartment, a faint scent of perfume so familiar that Nick
would have known it anywhere.  She had been here.  His one
true love, his heart and soul, and she had obviously not
wanted to see him.  Nick blinked quickly, clenching his
teeth and allowing anger to replace the agony.  Anger was
easier to deal with.

Now he turned away from LaCroix, facing the darkened window
although the sites of the city were still forbidden to him.
Perry laid his head on Nick's knee, his tail thumping the
floor of the limo softly.  Nick touched the soft fur behind
the ears.  This whole thing would be unbearable without the
carouche, he realized forlornly.

"Is something the matter, Nicholas?"  LaCroix sensed his
son's turbulent emotions.  That in itself was not unusual,
but since his illness it was no longer wise to ignore.
LaCroix had discovered the paradox in himself, that although
he had little patience for his son's mercurial moods, that
was precisely what he cherished most about him.

Nick shrugged.  "Nothing."

LaCroix smiled softly.  Nicholas had always been a very bad
liar.  "Are you upset with Vachon about something?"

"No."

"Fine.  I shall be occupied until midnight.  Vachon will
bring you back then."

The limo stopped.  Nick threw open the door, grabbing for
Perry's harness.  He stomped off toward the church without
comment.  LaCroix watched him until he was safely inside.
Part of him was tempted to tell Nicholas all, rather than
see him suffer so, but Janette would be angry.  And she
might still change her mind.  No, better to allow him to
sulk a few hours than to raise false hopes.  He gave the
driver his destination and turned his thoughts elsewhere.

Vachon met him just inside the church.  The Spaniard seemed
keyed up about something.  "I thought we'd go for a ride,"
he said breathlessly.

Perry growled softly.

"In my van," Vachon added quickly.

Nick shrugged.  "Whatever."

Vachon didn't make small talk as they drove.  Something was
definitely bugging Nick tonight.  He wanted to talk to him,
but not in this mood.

He stopped at the marina.  Nick and Perry got out and
followed him, not even asking what they were doing here.  At
the pier, Vachon took Nick's arm.  "Fly with me," he said.

They flew out over the harbor, landing on a swaying deck.
Nick guessed they were on a boat, although it didn't seem
like the same one they had been on before.  This felt
bigger.  The swaying wasn't as pronounced, as though the
boat itself was much heavier.  The odor of gas was still too
faint for a motorboat.

Vachon seemed to have found his tongue, finally, for he was
jabbering on about the boat.  Nick was only half listening.
He heard "twenty-six foot sloop, bigger than a catamaran,
solid oak something, multi-hulled, double sails, jib boom,"
and an assortment of other meaningless words.

Finally, the Spaniard seemed to stop for air.  "So?  What do
you think?"

Nick gripped the harness more firmly as the lake swelled and
rocked him off balance.  He sighed. "Can we sit down
somewhere?"

"Oh, yeah, sure!  This boat has several chaise lounges on
the upper deck, but those are more for the ladies.  I like
to sit at the tiller myself.  That's where I'd sit when
we're out, anyway.  You could learn to handle the jib sail
for now. That's done more by feel than sight.  But, let's go
below.  I want to show you the cabin."

Nick let Vachon guide him down the narrow stairs.  They
walked through a kitchen-dining area, with Vachon giving him
a thorough guided tour before stepping into a bedroom.
Vachon led him to the master bed.  Nick stretched out,
folding his arms behind his head, but Vachon perched on the
edge of the mattress, almost rivaling Tracy for his level of
excitement.

"So, what do you think?" Vachon asked again.

Nick's forehead puckered.  About what?   He tried to recall
what Vachon had been saying, but as he hadn't been paying
attention, his near perfect memory failed him.  He recalled
that bit about being blind wouldn't stop him from trimming
the jib.  "About the boat?  You want me to go sailing with
you?"

"No, Nick," Vachon said.  His voice sounded tight.   "I want
you to buy it with me."

Nick was silent.  He was sure he had missed something
important.

"Nick, I have enough money for half the down payment, and I
can just afford my half of the monthly installments.  I
thought about asking Tracy to buy it with me, but, well, I'd
rather sail with you."

"Go on," Nick said, when Vachon stopped.

"It will sleep eight, but really only four will sleep
comfortably.  Once in a while, I thought we'd bring the
girls out here for a weekend or something.  But, most of the
time, I just imagine you and me and the sea.  You could use
a little get-away, don't you think?  And, I want to see you,
but, I'd rather not deal with LaCroix any more than
necessary."

Nick considered it seriously for the first time.  He'd been
sailing before, but not since the Mayflower.  That had been
cramped, smelly, and damp, a pure torture, surrounded by
religious zealots on one side, and devil-may-care
adventurers on the other, with the harsh life of the sea in
a seventeenth century vessel.  This boat was so different.

"Vachon, show me the boat again, please?" he whispered.

Vachon grinned.  "Sure thing!"  He led Nick all over then,
letting him stop and touch everything from the varnished
cherry cabinets to the teak trim and fiberglass keel.  He
showed him the tiny refrigerator and the crystal glasses
secured with padding and elastic straps to protect them on
rougher waters.  Nick kept imagining himself and Vachon and
Lake Ontario.  Who knows?  If they worked well enough as a
team, they might even venture out onto the ocean some day.

"Can we take her out now?" Nick asked eagerly.  "For a trial
spin?"

Vachon groaned softly. "I wish.  We might tomorrow, if you
still want to go then."

"Why?  What's wrong with tonight?"

Vachon was tempted to spoil Tracy's surprise.  "I have to
meet Tracy at midnight.  You know things have been tense
between us for a few weeks.  And LaCroix wants you then."

Nick snorted.  He didn't give a damn about LaCroix's wants
right now, but he wouldn't stand between Vachon and Tracy.
"It's no big deal," he lied, shrugging his shoulders.

"We need a name for her," Vachon said, changing the subject.

For the next hour they brainstormed, tossing out both the
silly and the serious.  Vachon poured them a toast, and the
evening turned playful.  Then Nick discovered in Vachon's
blood his recent encounter with LaCroix.   Anger swelled,
coloring his own blood offering.

"Nick, it's okay," Vachon soothed.

"No, it's not!  He has no right to treat you like that!  He
wouldn't have, either, except that I dare to call you
'friend'!  That bastard!"

Vachon clamped a hand over Nick's mouth.  His eyes grew wide
and a sensuous smile graced his lips.  "You call me
'friend'?"

"Javier, this is serious."

"I know."  He draped an arm over Nick's shoulder.  "I would
have called us more than friends."

Nick sighed.  Vachon just didn't understand.

"Nick," Vachon said.  "I can fight my own battles.  And this
is one neither of us can win.  In a way, it was nice."

"Being beaten to a pulp?"

"No."  Vachon tightened his arm around Nick's neck in a
gesture of camaraderie.  "It was nice in that he included me
in his family.  I've never had one.  Face it, if it weren't
for my relationship with you and Tracy, he would have just
killed me years ago."

Nick was only partly appeased.  Then Vachon started
buzzing.  His wristwatch, a beeper, and a cellphone, all
three went off in syncopated alarms.  He rolled his eyes and
sighed heavily.  "Urs didn't want me to forget my "date"
with Tracy tonight.  She doesn't trust my memory."

Nick laughed.  "Women."

(To be continued...)

Tango Del Amor
by Tammy and Lorelei Sieja



Vachon flew him back to dry land, then drove out on the
freeway.  Nick slumped down on the seat.  The van was rough;
the fumes of gas and carbon dioxide made him faintly ill.
Perry crawled up half in his lap to nudge the button that
opened the window.   "Thanks," Nick muttered, breathing a
little easier.

"Sorry, Knight," Vachon said.  "It was either the boat or a
new car."

"Vachon, I said you could use my Caddy."

The Spaniard didn't respond.  The van slowed, pulling up
alongside the front door of the nightclub, Las Palomas. The
band was audible through the closed doors, the deep bass
pulsing rhythmically.

Nick almost smiled.  The band was unfamiliar, but the music
was some of his favorites.  Passionate, raw, erotic... but
it reminded him of her.  The smile faded before it fully
bloomed.

Vachon opened his door.  Nick and Perry followed him
inside.  Tracy threw herself at Vachon.  "You came!  I'm so
glad you made it!"  Her arms wrapped around his neck and he
was forced to take several back steps to regain his
balance.  Vachon chuckled, whispering loving endearments in
her ear.

Nick left them, following a scent to find the bar.  The
bartender poured a beverage and passed it to him.  "Good
ev'nin', Nick."

"Patrick?  What are you doing here?"  Nick grew uneasy.
Patrick worked at the Raven.  He reached out with his extra
senses and discovered that the lounge was filled only with
vampires.  He heard Alma and Urs, Beverly, Matt, Logan,
Diggin, and many more.  Then there was LaCroix.  Nick
frowned.

"Private party," Patrick explained.  "I volunteered to
work.  It seemed easier than asking Alma and being bummed if
she turned me down."

The vampiress in question slunk up to the bar with a half
smile.  "Good evening, Patrick," she purred.

"If you'll excuse me," Nick muttered.  He wasn't in the mood
to eavesdrop on anyone's love life.   He squared his
shoulders and braved the crowds, making appropriate small
talk.  Whatever this impromptu party's purpose, he had no
intention of staying.  LaCroix would take him home or he
would walk all the way.

"Good evening, my son," LaCroix said smoothly.

"It's been better," Nick grunted.  "I want to go home."

"That would be most impolite.  Here, I have a gift for you."

Nick felt a bottle placed in his hands.  He could not read
the label to see what his master had given him, so he
brought it closer to his nose and inhaled.  A familiar scent
tingled, bringing out his fangs.  He sniffed again.
Surprise registered on his face.  "Yours?"

"An entire case, Nicholas.  For you to take to Montreal."

Nick was speechless.  It was his father's blessing.  "Thank
you, Lucien," he whispered.

Natalie came up and gave Nick a quick hug.  "I wish you
well, Nick," she said.

"Thanks, Nat."

"And, I'm sorry."

Nick's eyes widened.  "About what?"

"I'm sorry I tried to push you into having surgery.  That I
didn't give you credit to make your own decisions."

Nick kissed her lightly on the forehead.  "It's okay, Nat.
I know you care."

"Now," LaCroix interrupted.  "I believe young Urs wishes to
speak with you.  In an hour, if you still wish to go, I will
take you."

Nick passed the bottle back to LaCroix for safekeeping.
Then he stepped closer and gave him a quick, impulsive
embrace.  "See you in an hour."

He felt Urs's eyes on him.  Maybe it was time to take his
own advice?  He would apologize and maybe she would come
back.  He turned towards where he could sense her, walking a
straight line as the crowds parted for him.

"Hello, Nick," Urs said softly.

"Urs, I... I'm sorry I've hurt you," Nick began.  Speaking
slowly, he was able to sense the play of moods in her, the
awkwardness at first, then the anger which she tried to
conceal, and longing.  He knew then that she had been hurt
about something.  He knew he'd been short-tempered with her
on many occasions, but just at the moment he couldn't think
of what exactly he'd said that had caused her to leave.

"You have only been gentle and loving, and I've been too
wrapped up in myself to notice you.  Please forgive me?"

"I already have, Nick," she said.

He was puzzled.  Surely, she had been nursing hurt feelings
and was just waiting for an apology?  Now what?

"Nick, I love you, and I want to come back.  But, on my
terms."

This was never good.  Nick swallowed nervously.  "And they
are?"

"I am not going to sit around idly, while you go out to
work.  I've opened a house-cleaning business.  I have five
customers now, and I might take on one more."

"You clean houses!"  Nick felt his anger surfacing.  She was
not a maid!  She could be a queen, why was she doing this to
him?  Did she enjoy embarrassing him?

"Yes, Nick.  I clean for vampires.  And don't get all
sanctimonious on me.  No job is demeaning if done well.  I
enjoy it, I am good at it, and you treat me and my ability
to clean the same way that LaCroix treats you about your
playing detective."

"I do not!"

"Yes, you do and don't raise your voice to me."

"Urs, you don't have to clean.  We can hire servants for
that."

"And you don't have to work, either.  You could live quite
comfortably on the millions you've stashed away, or even on
LaCroix's money."

"That's not the same."

"It is precisely the same.  You're a snob."

Nick shut his mouth.  She just didn't understand.

Urs touched his jaw, stroking the throbbing vein with a
thumb.  "And besides working, I don't like it when you yell
at me although you are really angry at someone or something
else.  I'll listen to you, and support you, but I won't be
your doormat."

Nick was humbled.  He knew exactly what she was referring
to.  He had been a beast towards her.  Tears threatened to
spill and he blinked rapidly.  "You deserve better, Urs."

"I don't want anyone else, Nick.  I want you."

"But-"

"No buts.  Take me as I am.  We'll work the rest out
together."  She didn't wait for a response then, but kissed
him hard.  Nick embraced her, clutching her to him, as he
felt his fangs descend.  "Oh, Urs!"

She bit him then, initiating the blood kiss.  She focused on
her feelings for this stormy knight, allowing her love to
pour into him through the exchange.  From him she felt his
love and guilt.  "No more guilt," she whispered.  "Just love
me, Nick."

Nick drank deeply.  He forgot he was in a crowded nightclub
surrounded by vampires.  There was just he and Urs and the
kiss of vampire sex.  His passion crested, leaving him
trembling in her arms.  Urs licked at his tears.  "Just love
me, Nick," she repeated huskily.

"I do."

"But I am not the only one," she said.

"What do you mean?"

Urs smiled.  "You love another more than me."

Nick tried to deny it, but she placed a finger over his
lips.  "I would not believe you.  I see her in your blood.
I just want to say that I am not jealous.  I know what she
is to you, and I will not come between you.  I will be here,
whenever you need me.  Whenever you want me."

He forced a smile.  "If you know so much, then you know she
does not want to see me," he said, trying for a lightness he
could not feel.

Urs smiled.  "Hmm.  Come now, Nicky.  This is a party.  Let
us celebrate."


(continued...)

Tango Del Amor
by Tammy and Lorelei Sieja

Tango 16c

Janette stood at the balcony rail and watched unobserved.
Nichola looked good.  He seemed confident, angry,
purposeful... much as she had always remembered him.  The
subdued lighting cast an unearthly glow, creating a halo
effect around his dark golden hair.  He looked thinner.  His
black trousers fit snugly, but the shirt billowed, loose at
his throat with full sleeves.  Her breath caught.  She had
almost forgotten how much he could stir her passion with no
more than a glance.

She watched him bite the young blonde, feeling her own
desires burn as she watched them mate.  She licked her
fangs, wishing it were she in his arms.  She would be, soon,
if all went well.

The blonde took his arm then, including a few nearby
vampires in conversation.  Nick looked uncomfortable.  Since
when did he resent such social gatherings?  He had always
enjoyed them in past centuries.  They had attended many
balls together.  Perhaps, he disliked them now as they
reminded him of her?  Janette could only hope...

Then he froze.

She saw the stiffness in his motions, saw the glare on his
handsome features.  He called to someone named "Perry".
Then she saw him grope blindly, taking the guide dog's
harness with a firm grasp.  She had been told he was blind,
but it hadn't seemed real until now.  He turned around
abruptly and strode towards the door.  He couldn't leave
already!  She had to stop him!

She opened herself to him, sensing him more clearly than any
being in the room.  He had been her lover; for centuries he
had been the child she would never have, her brother and
confidant.  Now he was her master.  His thoughts were open
to her.  The anger was a front.  He was hurting and she was
the cause.  She flew from the balcony.  "Nichola."

Nick kept his back to her, but his chin lifted slightly.

"Nichola.  Mon Cher, my lord."

"I was just leaving, Janette.  You can get back to your
party."

"Nichola," she said softly.  She moved closer, wanting to
put her arms around him but suddenly afraid of him.  "It is
not my party.  It is yours."

"I'm not in a party mood.  Good night."

Janette moved quickly in front of him, blocking his path.
"Nichola, don't be so rude."

"Perry, home," Nick commanded.

The guide dog tried to lead him around this female obstacle,
but she intervened again.  "I am sorry you are so angry with
me.  I had hoped we could make amends.  Is it not possible?"

The twitch in his jaw told her of his tenuous control.
"What do you want from me, Janette.  I have said I was sorry
before.  Why do you torture me?"

Janette reached up to touch the rough jaw lovingly.  "I am
sorry, Nichola.  Truly sorry.  I was confused.  I was
hurting.  My first true mortal love had died.  I reacted
badly.  Then I stayed away, but it was not because I was
angry with you, truly."

"What then!"  He regretted the sharp tone of his voice.

Janette pouted.  There was no easy way to say it.  "I hated
being an infant again.  I was so weak.  And I was jealous
that you were now stronger than I was."

Nick's sightless eyes widened, unbelieving.  "Jealous?"

"Hmm."  She shrugged carelessly.  "Now, my love.  I am
back.  Can we, perhaps, kiss and make up?"

Nick's fangs fell, full and glinting in the dim light.
Still, his expression was cautious.  She wondered what had
happened to the gullible youth she had known for so many
years.  Janette put her arms around his neck then, pressing
her hips into his arousal.  "Did you miss me, even a
little?"

His eyes were red coals of desire.  He pulled her close,
crushing her in his embrace.  She gasped, shocked at his
power over her, then snuggling in for the moment.  He
nuzzled her neck, trailing his fangs along the sensitive
flesh.  His breath in her ear incited the flames of
passion.  "Oh, Nicky!"

Then they could not be denied.  Nick plunged into her
throat, tearing the tender skin in his haste.  Janette
returned the bite, uniting them as master and child,
immortal lovers, eternal family in the bond that would not
be refused.  Nick clung to her, bruising her
unintentionally.  The truth of her simple explanation was
manifest in her blood.  She did not hate him!  He felt the
vampires around them, aroused at his passionate display, but
it did not matter.  He felt his master's mild amusement.
Even that could not mar the beauty of this moment.

Vachon stared at Nick and the beautiful vampire Janette.  He
had first fallen for the raven-haired seductress some four
hundred years ago, but his had been an unrequited love.  To
her, he was nothing more than an amusement.  He licked his
fangs, suddenly aware he was drooling.

"You keep your fangs off my lover," a deep voice threatened.

Vachon looked up and stared into the stony expression of his
vampire twin.  "Piojo?"

"I do have a name," Amaru sighed.

Vachon didn't answer; he just stared at the other.  "I don't
understand," he began.  "I watched you die with the bomb."

Amaru nodded.  "I did not die... completely," he said,
stating the obvious.  "Why did you not come to my aid?"  He
tried to conceal the resentment, the animosity he felt
towards Vachon.

Vachon felt his brother's emotions as if they were his own.
His blood boiled with anger, yet he knew that it didn't
belong to him.  "I thought you were dead.  There was no need
to look..."

Amaru felt shock radiating from his brother.  But more than
the surprise, he felt tentative euphoria budding in Javier.
It surprised him.  "You are happy to see me?" he asked,
voicing his own surprise.

Javier shrugged, bringing up a façade of nonchalance.
"About as much as always," he said, jamming his hands into
his pockets.

Amaru arched his brow at his brother, folding his arms
across his chest.

For a long moment, the twins stared at each other without a
word.  Then Amaru launched himself at Vachon, tackling him
to the floor.  Vachon rolled, trying to escape Amaru's
attack.  They tumbled into several vampires, knocking their
feet out from beneath them.

LaCroix heard the sudden ruckus and glanced around.  He saw
the young Spaniard rolling across the floor with another
young vampire.  He watched in mild amusement as they tumbled
towards the dance floor, knocking into several others,
leaving a havoc of fallen vampires.  He did not move until
he saw how perilously close they were to his son and his
granddaughter.

LaCroix was instantly at their sides, grabbing both by the
scruff of their necks.  He hissed at them dangerously, his
eyes glowing feral red.

"If you are going to fight," he growled at the startled
twins, "take it out side!"  He carried them to the door,
holding them both in the air.

Diggin followed close behind his younger brother and opened
the door for LaCroix.

LaCroix nodded at the other vampire, then smiled evilly at
the twins, throwing them both out the door.

Vachon and Amaru flew threw the air, laughing and screaming
until they landed on the ground.  It was only a moment
before the two resumed their tumbling fight.

Diggin smiled at LaCroix.  "You handled that well," he
said.

LaCroix permitted the barest of a smile towards Diggin.
"Come then," he said, his voice like silk.  "Let us rejoin
our family and friends."  He rested his hand on Diggin's
shoulder, walking in with him.

Diggin smiled.  This was probably about as close as LaCroix
would ever come to admitting that they were family.  He
realized that he wouldn't have it any other way, either.




A shout went up through the nightclub as the band began the
next number.  Nick reluctantly withdrew from Janette's
neck.  He gave her a smile, not relinquishing his firm
hold.  His hips moved with the rhythm of the popular, if
somewhat foolish song, and he sang along.

Aye-oh, aye-oh, aye-oh, aye-oh, ah!
When I dance they call me 'Macarena'
And the boys they think it's very plain-ah,
They all want me, they can't have me
So they all come to dance beside me...

The dance floor vibrated as the vampires young and old
joined in the dance.  Nick didn't know this one and he was
not ready to release Janette.

She twined her fingers into his hair.  "Oh, Nichola.  I'm
sorry I stayed away so long," she said sincerely.

He shrugged.  "I've survived."

"No. You've done more than survive.  You've won.  You are
stronger now than I've ever seen you.  You seem confident,
proud-  I sense a great power within you."

"Only because I'm your master now."

"No, Nichola.  It is more than that.  I do not know how to
explain it.  Are you happy?"

Nick was about to give a flippant response, but then he
stopped and reconsidered.  Was he?  He was still blind.
But, he was going away in three days to the small school
outside Montreal. He would conquer this disability.  It
wasn't the same as seeing, but it was living.  He had
reconciled with Urs, found a new friend in Vachon.  He had a
little sister, and rediscovered a relationship with
LaCroix.  Things were even working out with Natalie.  And
now, he had Janette back.

He knew of her lover, Amaru.  That much was evident in her
blood.  He did not begrudge her the affair.  He finally
understood what she had been trying to tell him when she
wanted out of their marriage of 97 years.  She would always
love him.

She might never commit to him again.  She would always be a
part of his life, but she couldn't be his life.  He had to
find happiness within himself.

The Macarena ended.  The younger ones congregated around the
bar and the dance floor cleared.  Nick and Janette alone
remained in the center of the dance floor.  The band's lead
singer announced the next number.  "This is dedicated to our
guest of honor tonight, Nicholas de Brabant.  The Tango del
Amor."

An expectant hush fell on the crowd.  Nick pulled Janette
into position and when the music began, he swept her across
the dance floor with strong, sure steps.  He had recently
danced the tango with Alma, but this was better.  Janette
knew exactly what was next.  She had danced with him for
centuries and she was bonded with him.

LaCroix waited for the first part of the dance, allowing
them to tango alone.  Then as Janette twirled away from
Nick, LaCroix took her hand.  The mock fight began.  Two
men, one woman, and a love that transcended all.  The drums
kept the dance moving with a quick rhythm, the traditional
Latino instruments blending in with modern electric keyboard
and bass guitars.

As the passionate tango continued, the desire in the room
exploded like kerosene on a forest fire.  The last beat of
the song echoed; Nick plunged into Janette's neck again.  At
that moment every vampire in the room reached for the
closest neck.  Nick smiled, feeling the contentment echo
through the nightclub.  Was he happy?  He could not remember
ever feeling better than at this moment now.

"Janette," he whispered in her ear.  "Janette?  I grant you
your freedom, to see whom you wish, go where you wish, but
please, don't ever leave me again..."

"Never, Sir Nicky," she promised.


The End.


Tammy and I brainstormed together when we developed the
story.  I can't tell you now who thought up what... It was
definitely a team effort.

However, Tammy wrote all of the Amaru/Janette scenes, and I
wrote the rest.  If you would like to write to Tammy, to
give positive feedback on her first story ever posted
anywhere to the internet, you may send her mail to
micky_mouse_5@hotmail.com.

Thanks!

Translations:

Parajo:  Little bird

Piojo: A bug- a louse

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