Goodnight, Sweetheart

by L'Phantom

He watched her with wild eyes. She was a young coed just getting out of her night classes. His hands shook as he waited in the bushes, his mind envisioning the pleasure of squeezing the life from her. He watched as she parted from her classmates, watched as she walked for her car, and watched as she passed the bushes that were his camouflage. He pounced.

The attack was swift and practiced; the fishing line was around her throat before she even noticed the rustle of the leaves. She struggled, of course, grasping and clawing, but her motion only accelerated her death. Her lifeless body fell to the ground in less than two minutes, and her killer was gone long before anyone ever knew he was there.

*********

"81 Kilo, 81 Kilo," the dispatcher's voice crackled over the radio.

Detective Tracy Vetter picked up the handset. "81 Kilo, go ahead."

"81 Kilo, respond to homicide at the University of Toronto."

"81 Kilo responding." Tracy looked to her partner in the driver's seat who merely nodded before turning the Cadillac toward University Drive.

Captain Reese was already on scene by the time Nick pulled the Caddy into the parking area adjacent to the Social Sciences Building.

"Hell of a thing, Knight," he began as Nick and Tracy approached. "One hell of a thing. This is the third one in as many weeks. Same thing every time: young female coed, strangled, no witnesses, no leads whatsoever."

"Who called it in?" Tracy asked.

Reese motioned to the left. "Security guard making the rounds."

"Can you talk to him, Trace? I'll go get the report from the ME."

Tracy heard the unspoken assertions in Nick's voice and knew that it would be best to humor him. "Sure thing, Nick."

Nick met Natalie halfway between where he was and the body. "Whaddya got, Nat?"

"The deceased is Charlotte Brinker. Age 19. Cause of death: strangulation. Judging by the pattern on the throat, I'd say fishing line."

"How long?"

"Between 2 and 3 hours. I'll know better once I get her back to the morgue." Natalie turned and started to walk back toward the body, but she stopped when she realized that Nick hadn't moved. She turned back. "Was there something else, Detective?"

"How about a movie after our shift? The girl at the rental store pointed me to this movie that she said had something for everyone."

"What's it called?"

"The Princess Bride, I think."

Nat was stunned. "You mean you haven't seen that movie before?!"

"No... have you?"

"I've seen it more times than I can count, Nick! It is the greatest movie!"

Nick shrugged playfully. "So does that mean you don't mind seeing it again?"

"I'll bring the popcorn," she said with a grin.

Nick smiled and winked, then turned and walked to Tracy and the security guard.

Tracy had already asked the guard most of the routine questions by the time Nick got to her; the answers to which she relayed to him when he walked up.

"The guard's name is Joseph Mills. Says he didn't know the victim personally, but had seen her around the campus. He found the body right where we did, out in the middle of the sidewalk."

"Deliberate staging or poor planning?" Nick wondered aloud.

Tracy continued, apparently oblivious to what Nick had said. "He also says he didn't see anyone around, although the bushes by the body had been... how did you put it?"

"Splunged. You know, messed up," Mills replied.

"So, do we think the killer hid in the bushes before or ran through them after?" Nick asked. His tone of voice seemed to imply that he already knew the answer.

"Why run through the bushes when you can go any of three other directions much easier?"

"Right. Which means..."

"The killer was watching her?" Tracy lifted the tone of the last part of her sentence in case her intuitive leap was faulty.

"Exactly." Nick's eye seemed to twinkle with pride at his partner's growing prowess at deduction.

"So we look for stalking charges brought up by the victim?"

Nick smiled. "You get better at this every time," he chuckled.

Tracy socked him lightly on the shoulder. "I learned from a pro."

*********

He pulled his journal from under the mattress and a pen from inside the pillowcase. Opening the diary to the appropriate page, he began to write in a very graceful hand the events of his evening. How he had seen her walking to her class. How he wanted her; needed her. And how he knew then that she would be the next. He wrote of the moment when he took her. He wrote of the smell of her, the feel of her. And he wrote of how, when he had taken what he came for, he had left her there for the finding.

He enjoyed this cat and mouse game with the police. Of course, he saw himself as the cat toying with his prey, daring them to find him but never giving them the chance. He stuffed his journal and pen into a knapsack and left the abandoned apartment the same way he'd entered it yesterday, by the fire escape.

*********

"So what did you mean when you said 'deliberate staging or poor planning' when I said that we found the body on the sidewalk?" Back in the Caddy, Tracy recalled Nick's earlier statement.

"Sometimes," Nick began, "killers will deliberately leave the bodies where they know people will see. They think they are too clever to be caught and they want to world to see their handiwork. Some even pose the body, for maximum shock value or to disgrace the victim." Tracy wrinkled her nose and suppressed a shudder.

Tracy's discomfort was not lost on Nick, who continued, "Or the killer may have seen or heard something that made him run off. Or he might not have been planning to kill her. If the assault was sexually motivated -- and we'll know when Nat finishes the prelim -- the death may have been accidental and the killer didn't know what to do with the body, panicked, and just dropped it and ran."

"So how do we know if the killer is deranged or just in a hurry?"

"Hopefully, we'll ask him when we find him," Nick said, half-jesting, just as he pulled the car into the police station parking lot.

Tracy giggled softly as she got out of the car and walked into the precinct.

*********

He walked the streets with one thought on his mind: finding a place to stay. It was beginning to get difficult to find a new place to sleep every night. Especially with the police out and about looking for him. He finally saw what looked to be an abandoned church. It was too tempting to pass up.

As he got closer, he could see that the windows had all been boarded up, and fairly recently. Still, one good kick got him inside. He looked around and noticed an old tapestry hanging on one wall. He saw the ascension of Christ into heaven, and he crossed himself with a sadistic sneer.

His voice echoed in the empty church. "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned."

*********

By the time she left three hours later, Tracy's dim mood had returned. With reinforcements. She had checked back as far as the records went and found no mention of any stalking charges filed by Charlotte Brinker or either of the other two victims. Either they didn't know they were being stalked, or they knew their killer. Or, and Tracy wanted to believe this was not an option, the killer randomly picked them out to be killed.

'Murders have motives. Every first year cadet knows that,' she thought to herself as she walked to her car, fumbling for her keys. As usual, they had migrated to the very bottom of her purse. She finally grabbed hold of the keychain and pulled her keys from their hiding place.

All at once, she was encircled by a very familiar and very welcome pair of arms. She spun around and wrapped her arms around the leather-clad form. "Vachon, you know you're not supposed to visit me here. But," she hastened to add before he could blink, shrug, and fly away, "I'm really glad to see you."

"Somehow, I thought you would be," Vachon chuckled, then abruptly sobered. "Trace, can I spend the day at your place?"

Tracy looked first worried, then scared, and finally decided to be confused. "I guess so. Why?"

"I'll explain when we get there."

*********

"Since the invention of the kiss, there have been five that have been rated the most passionate, the most pure. This one left them all behind. The end."

Natalie sighed deeply and wiped her eyes for the umpteenth time. Nick even found himself rubbing at a streak of red down his own cheek. After a bit of mental struggling, he turned to Nat questioningly.

"I don't understand."

"What don't you understand?"

"If Westley loved Buttercup so much, why was he so mean to her?"

Nat sighed again. "Because, Nick, he had to make sure she still loved him. She was engaged to Humperdink, despite Westley's assurance that he would always come for her. Westley needed to know that she still wanted him."

"Then why didn't he just tell her the truth from the start?"

"Pride. He was already hurt because she didn't have enough faith in him to wait for him. He didn't want to be hurt again if it turned out she didn't love him. By playing the Dread Pirate Roberts for her, he had a way out. If it became clear she didn't love Westley, he would simply not reveal himself to her."

"He didn't have much faith either, then, did he?"

"Would you?"

Nick shrugged. "I guess not."

Natalie checked her watch. "Well, I need to go get some sleep. I'm starting the autopsy on Charlotte Brinker first thing tonight."

"I'll walk you out," Nick replied as he stood.

They said nothing on the elevator ride down, but when they approached Nat's car, she said, "Oh, Nick. My car has been making a funny noise lately. I'm going to put it in the shop today. Can you give me a ride to work tonight?"

Nick grinned, kissed her on the cheek, and simply said, "As you wish," before turning and walking back inside.

*********

"What do you mean 'there's something in the church'?" Tracy asked incredulously.

"I mean that there is something else living in my church."

"Vachon, I think you're a little old to be afraid of rats. Especially hanging out with Screed."

"I'm not talking about rats, Trace. I mean that there is something decidedly evil living in my home. I felt the evil from across the street. I didn't know what to do; it paralyzed me. So I went to the station to find you."

Tracy had to admit that she was flattered that Vachon would come to her instead of Urs, even though she didn't say anything to that effect aloud. What she did say was, "Do you think the other something is another," she dropped her voice to a whisper as she always did when saying this word, "vampire?"

Vachon shook his head. "No. And that's what scared me. That a mortal could hold such evil that I could sense it from so far away."

Picking up her gun, Tracy said, "Maybe whatever-it-is is still there." She began to walk toward the door.

With a distinct 'whoosh,' Vachon was standing in front of the door, blocking her exit. "Tracy, no. He'd kill you without even hesitating. And with the sun up, I can't go with you."

"Tonight, then," she decided firmly. "We'll go together."

Vachon knew it was useless to try to change her mind, so he just shrugged and returned to the couch, settling in for an uneasy day's sleep.

*********

Once Tracy was sure that Vachon was sound asleep, she decided, as only Tracy Vetter could, that the best course of action would be to go anyway.

Tracy entered the church cautiously, leading with her gun exactly as she had been taught. Unfortunately, it worked in her disadvantage this time.

*********

Door opening. Sound of footsteps. Smell of adrenaline and fear. These realities broke through the distorted haze of his thoughts. Someone was invading his hideaway. He crept behind the open doorway leading to the main sanctuary. More footsteps, louder, closer. Erratic breathing. Heart beating wildly. A hint of a black something peeked in the door. A gun. And a most delightful feminine hand holding it.

Timing it just right, he lashed out, kicking the door into his uninvited guest. The gun clattered across the room. He rounded the corner, prepared to strike, but found only the unconscious body of his would-be attacker.

*********

Vachon rushed about the apartment, consumed with equal amounts of anger and worry. The absence of Tracy's heartbeat had startled him awake. Her gun, he noted, was not where it was supposed to be. At that moment, he realized that she had gone alone.

He flew to the church, faster than he had ever flown, fast enough that his shirt had been torn to ribbons by the time he landed. He burst through the doors and was literally knocked back by the stench of death within.

The sight he beheld turned his complexion three shades paler than was healthy, even for a vampire. He screamed a bestial scream and collapsed to his knees.

Tracy, his beloved Tracy. Her lifeless body hung upside-down from the tapestry on the far wall. Her feet were bound to the fabric, as were her outstretched arms, in an upside-down cross. And the unkindest cut of all, Vachon decided, she had been stripped naked.

As the flood of crimson tears began to pour from his eyes, Vachon unsteadily made his way to a telephone, where he called the only person he could think of that could help.

"Yeah, Knight."

"Knight? It's Vachon. I'm at the church. Tracy's dead."

The next thing Vachon heard was the sound of Nick touching down outside the church. Nick rushed in, eyes gleaming red, intent on tearing Vachon in half. Then, he saw Tracy's body and froze in mid-pounce.

It was... beyond grotesque. It was absolutely the most hideous thing he had seen in his long existence. His eyes were drawn to something, the significance of which, Vachon had not understood: a single red line across Tracy's neck. It was a mark he had seen before. On Charlotte Brinker. Tracy had been strangled with fishing line.

*********

Nick did not remember phoning for backup, but he must have, since they were here. Natalie had come straight to him and held him silently. Losing Schanke had almost destroyed him. Losing another partner so soon would probably finish the job. 'Well,' Natalie decided, 'not if I have anything to do with it.'

Natalie dreaded having to do the autopsy on Tracy, but she knew it had to be done, and she wanted it done right. But not tonight, though. She left the rest of the forensics team to finish up on-scene, and led Nick outside.

"Let me drive you home," she said.

"You don't have a car," he reminded her.

"I drove Grace's car here from the coroner's office. Come on."

He didn't say a word during the drive. What was there to say? The bond of trust forged between partners was something that defied explanation. It had taken time with Schank; it had taken time with Trace; and now all of that was gone. Again.

"Nick," Natalie began, "I just want to say that I'm sorry. If you need me..."

"I know, Nat. Thanks. Would you... would you stay with me today?"

Natalie was touched. She hadn't seriously expected Nick to take her up on her offer of support; usually, he pretended he didn't need any. "Of course, Nick. I'll have Grace drop me by after work."

Nick fished in his pocket and produced a set of keys. Handing them to her, he said, "Here. Have her drop you by the precinct and you can drive the Caddy."

At this point, Natalie was beginning to suspect that seeing Tracy had seriously frazzled the man's brain. "You are letting me drive 'the Almighty Caddy'?"

"Well... yeah." Nick, as oblivious as ever, totally missed the sarcasm.

Thankfully, Natalie pulled up to the loft before Nick could press the matter further.

"Would you ask Cap if..."

Natalie cut him off. "He said to take as much time as you need."

Nick kissed her on the cheek and said, "See you after shift," before getting out of the car. Natalie waved and drove away.

*********

"And now, dear children, let us sit upon the ground and tell sad stories of the death of kings: how some have been deposed, some slain in war, some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed; some poisoned by their wives, some sleeping killed; all murdered: for within the hollow crown that rounds the mortal temples of a king keeps Death his court, and there the antic sits, scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp; allowing him a breath, a little scene, to monarchize, be feared, and kill with looks, infusing him with self and vain conceit as if this flesh which walls about our life were brass impregnable; and humored thus comes at the last, and with a little pin bores through his castle-wall... and farewell... king."

LaCroix switched off the microphone with a sarcastic sneer. So Nicholas had lost another partner. LaCroix was thoroughly disgusted by her naivete, her single-mindedness... and yet, looking out through the glass of the recording booth and seeing Vachon finish off his third bottle of special blend tonight and start on his fourth, he could not help but feel a small twinge of remorse at her passing. What was it that the young Spaniard saw in her? 'I must remember to ask him,' LaCroix thought to himself.

"Does she love me? Love me not? Or does it really matter? What hellish alchemy if it does..." LaCroix's own words came back to him in that moment. Fleur's memory still haunted him no matter how far away he ran. And running was what it was; sure, he called it "moving on," but wasn't that just a way of justifying his erratic movements to the General within him who didn't believe in retreat? 'Perhaps,' thought LaCroix, 'I know Vachon better than I had believed.'

Vachon looked up and, in his drunken stupor, thought he saw LaCroix standing over him. A second look, and the gaze from those ice blue eyes sobered him enough to realize the elder vampire was really there.

"My condolences on your loss, Vachon."

Vachon mumbled something that sounded like, "And what would you know about loss?" into his bottle.

LaCroix snatched the already-half-drained bottle and set it aside. "Come with me," Vachon stood and stumbled along behind LaCroix. He led the younger vampire to a room he had never allowed another to enter.

Vachon's eyes grew wide as he beheld the contents of the room. Sketches and paintings covered the walls, done in charcoal, pencil, oils, acrylics, and media that Vachon couldn't even identify. And all of them were of the same beautiful young woman.

"Her name was Fleur," LaCroix began without introduction. "She was a mortal, and I had fallen deeply in love with her."

"What happened to her?"

"I would have brought her across, but I was persuaded that bringing her across would destroy her... purity." He said the word as if it were a curse. "I couldn't bear the thought of her hating me for eternity. So I left her. I watched Fleur grow, live, wither, and die. I came to her once more as she lay dying. I offered her immortality, but she turned me down. She had lived long enough, she said. I respected that choice."

Vachon began to understand why LaCroix was always so cynical, so bitter. 'After you get through the centuries of hurt and regret,' he thought, 'the General's not such a bad guy after all.'

"So you see, Javier," LaCroix continued, with a little of the cynicism back in his voice, "I may understand loss better than you might think." Fleur's death had nearly killed him. 'To say nothing of my precious Divia, the daughter I destroyed without a second thought.'

"I'm sorry, LaCroix. I just... miss her so much that--"

LaCroix cut him off. "I understand, Vachon."

"Thank you." Vachon turned and started to walk out of the room.

"Will you be leaving Toronto soon?" LaCroix called after him.

Vachon did not turn, but spoke over his shoulder, "Not quite yet. There's... something I need to take care of first."

*********

"No. Absolutely not."

"Why not? Look, Knight, this is something I have to do." Vachon had flown to Nick's loft straight from the Raven. Knight was the one always hounding him about taking responsibility; well, he was taking it now. "I need your help to find this guy," he continued.

"But to what end, Vachon? You don't want justice, you want revenge."

"What's the difference as long as he pays? Damn it, Knight, she was your partner, but I loved her."

"You're letting emotions cloud your judgement."

"And would you be any different if it were Natalie?!" Nick was silent. 'Ah-ha. Gotcha,' Vachon said to himself.

"I am a police detective. I cannot allow my personal feelings to influence my judgement in the handling of a case."

"Don't spout police manuals to me! You are a vampire, for Crissake, act like one!"

'Like I don't get enough of this from LaCroix... at least he's more eloquent about it,' Nick thought. "I don't want to be a vampire, Vachon. Think about it."

"I'm going to find him whether you help me or not." Vachon was gone before Nick could stop him.

"Great. That's all I need. A psychotic killer and a rogue vampire. Fabulous." Nick did not need Vachon mucking about in his case. It was hard enough knowing Tracy was gone without having Vachon around as a constant reminder.

Another flood of grief assaulted Nick before he could steel himself against it. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists, digging his nails into his palms until they bled. He would not cry. He wouldn't let himself mourn her. Not until it was all over.

The moment passed, and the wounds in his hands healed even as he looked at them. 'You are a vampire. Act like one,' came Vachon's words back at him again. Perhaps he should. It would serve the bastard right for killing Tracy. Gold began to shine in his eyes. Whoever this guy was, he had just made two vampires very angry. And he would know the consequences of that mistake en force.

*********

Unfortunately, Nat chose that moment to appear. Nick, still fully vamped, turned at the sound of his elevator door opening.

"Nick?! My God, what's wrong?"

Almost instantly, Nick's eyes had become blue again. "It's nothing, Nat," he lied. "I'm fine," he lied again.

"Oh," Nat replied, which was NatSpeak for "I know you're lying, but I'm not going to press the issue because I love you too much, you big idiot."

"What's in the bag?" Nick asked, effectively dropping the subject.

"Oh, just some stuff I picked up from my apartment. Change of clothes, an old romance novel, you know... just some stuff."

"Ah." Nick yawned as he closed the blinds against the rising sun. "Nat, I am exhausted. I think I'm going to go on to bed. You may want to do the same," he said, stifling another yawn before he turned and began to ascend the stairs to his bedroom.

'That's odd,' Natalie thought. 'Usually, he sleeps on the couch and leaves the bed for me.' She shrugged, chalked it up to the stress of Tracy's death, and stretched out on the couch.

Nick called to her from the top of the stairs. "You coming, or what?"

Natalie nearly fell off the couch. "Excuse me?" she spluttered.

"I said, are you coming, or what?" Nick descended the steps and walked to her. He took Natalie's hands in his own and continued, "I'd like for you to lay with me today... if you'd like. I just want... I just need to know you're close by."

A smile worked its way across Natalie's face, and Nick found it was contagious. Hand in hand, they walked to Nick's bedroom.

*********

Vachon lay sleepless on the couch in Urs' apartment. He had tried to go back to the church, but as soon as he walked in, he saw Tracy's body just as clearly as if it were still hanging there. So he left, flew away mindlessly until, by some subconscious prodding, he found himself at Urs' doorstep.

Urs had taken him in without a word; the news about Tracy had traveled fast. And it was here that he was now. He had not so much as spoken a word from the time he left Nick's loft, nor had he the desire to do so. All he really wanted was a release. He began to understand the pain and longing for death that Urs felt every night of her immortal existence. For now, he felt that same pain and that same longing.

*********

He sat at a table, cutting out paper dolls with no head. He spread the chain of headless girls out across the table with a sadistic gleam in his eye. He thought briefly what a real headless body would look like and considered finding out, but, no: he was a serial killer now... all the papers said so. It just wouldn't do to change his modus operandi now, not when he had his public so hooked on his every move. No, best to stick to the fishing line for now, at least until the publicity died down.

He really hoped that there would be no worry of copycatters. They would only mess things up, drawing focus away from him and his work. Well, it was a bridge he would have to cross when it arose.

It was really a bad move to stage the last one so deliberately. The public would be expecting more of the same now, and it was so tiring. He smiled, as he did then, at the delicious irony of his statement. Simply leaving her body in the church was too easy, but the inverted cross -- now that was a stroke of good thinking.

Oh, well, if that's what the public wanted, then that's what he would give them. He supposed now he'd actually have to start planning his killings, too, wouldn't he? The media could be so demanding. Couldn't a guy have a hobby without these newsmongers forcing it to become a job?

Who was he to argue, though? He yawned and settled back into his chair. Maybe a couple of hours sleep would help.

*********

As it turned out, it had been remarkably easy to lay next to her without the vampire tempting him. Once the sun was up, Nick found he was too tired to do anything but sleep, which he did almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, and Nick slept, rather literally, the sleep of the dead. The vampire within him never had a chance.

Now that he was well rested, though, it was a different story. As Nick lay on his bed, watching Natalie beside him, her arm draped across his chest, it was all he could do to block out the sound of her heartbeat, the smell of her blood.

'Too close!' he screamed at himself, and in a mortal heartbeat, he was across the room. 'Damn.'

Natalie stirred at the abrupt disturbance, and her hand searched the bed for Nick, seeking his presence. Not finding it, she sat up, her eyes darting about the room. She finally saw him leaning against the closet door, watching her.

"Come to bed," she said sleepily, patting the bed beside her.

"Nat... I can't. I just can't."

"Don't give me that 'beast within' crap," Natalie snapped, "because I don't buy it. You slept the entire day next to me and look..." she bared her neck to him, "no bites! Now come to bed."

Now it was Nick's turn to lose his temper. "What do you want from me?! A miracle? All I needed was to sleep next to you and I'm cured? Well, it's a fantasy, Nat! It always has been, and always will be!" The end of his diatribe was nothing more than a strangled growl as he looked directly at Nat with gold-tinged eyes, expecting to see fear looking back.

He did not. The eyes that met his were filled with a quickly fading anger and a fierce determination. And one other thing, an emotion he hadn't seen since his beloved Alyssa. Was it... love?

In that moment, he understood. Understood that she accepted him for who he was. All of who he was. Whatever happened, he knew she was willing to accept the consequences. So, with no more words between them, he fell into bed beside her and held her like he'd never allowed himself to before.

*********

"Javier, you have to drink something. You can't just waste away like this. At least, not on my couch."

Vachon looked up at Urs and at the wineglass she held out to him. He swatted it away like an annoying insect, and the glass shattered against the wall, the mess resembling some modern expressionist painting.

Urs' expression changed to one of determined resolve. "I'd say 'I told you so,' but it wouldn't do any good. You knew the risks of caring for a mortal. But," and her voice softened here, "you can't let it destroy you... you just can't. And I can't sit here and watch you throw it all away."

Vachon stood slowly and eased into his leather jacket. In an emotionless tone, he replied, "Then I'm sorry to have been such a bother." Then he started toward the door.

"Javier, wait. Damn you, listen to me!"

The Spaniard paused with surprise at her tone. It was very unlike Urs to be angry... to be passionate about anything anymore. He turned around slowly, but said nothing.

"I know how you feel. I know that's what everyone says, but it's true. I know the pain and the loneliness you're going through. I know how it feels to have lost the one person in this world you care most about. Because ever since she showed up, I've felt that way about you. My mind was filling up with such envy for that woman. No... not envy. Hatred. She took you away from me, and I hated her for that." Urs added, carefully, "I'm sorry she's gone, Javier, but to tell you the truth, it's only because of what her death is doing to you. I love you, and I can't stand to see you in pain."

It was the first time, Vachon decided, that Urs had reached out to him since the night he brought her across. Oh, she had shared her bed with him, shared her blood with him, but this was the first time she'd ever shared her heart with him. "I think... I think I'll have that drink now." He began to walk toward the bottle.

Urs touched his arm as he passed. "No, not there. Here." She guided his hand to her throat.

Vachon caressed her neck with his hand as he moved in behind her. "No one will take me from you again," he said simply. Then, he was lost in the scent of her blood, and he sank his fangs into the delicate carotid and drank in her love for him like ambrosia.

*********

He put the finishing touches on his latest work before standing back to admire the beauty of it all. In his hand was that morning's newspaper. The headline had read "SATANIC KILLER STALKS CITY." He decided that wouldn't be such a bad idea, actually.

And so he found her: a fine, upstanding Catholic girl. She was just leaving evening Mass and turned away from the rest of those departing to walk home. He had stood in an alley, breathing in the putrid scents of garbage and decay. She walked past without a glance, sure that her God would never let harm befall her. More fool, her, he thought in the moment before he struck.

He had dragged her body into this place, the basement of an old apartment building, and it was here that he had given the public what they wanted. Her body lay stripped naked and drained of blood in the middle of the room. On the floor under her was a large pentagram painted in her blood. He had spread her arms and driven nails through her hands. And finally, he had left her Bible open next to her, turned to a page in Exodus. Underlined in blood was the verse "Thou shalt not kill."

Now, he thought, an anonymous tip to the police and his night's work would be complete.

*********

Natalie awoke to the sound of a phone ringing. Nick was still fast asleep, so she reached across him and picked up the bedside phone. "Hello?"

"Dr. Lambert?" It was Captain Reese.

"Yes?" Natalie could feel her cheeks begin to flush a bit at being caught at Nick's house.

"Is Detective Knight there? There's been another one."

Natalie nudged Nick awake and handed him the phone. "Yeah, Knight."

"Knight, there's been another murder. I know I said you could take all the time you needed, but right now, I've got all the blues working at a hostage situation downtown, a seven car pileup on the bridge, and a gala dinner that the mayor is hosting. And then this call comes in and says there's another body."

Nick yawned and replied, "OK, Cap... where?"

Reese gave him the address, thanked him, and hung up.

By the time Nick hung up, Natalie was already dressed and finishing her makeup. "I'm coming with you," she stated matter-of-factly.

Nick opened his mouth to object, but the set of her jaw told him that Nat wasn't going to take no for an answer. "Let's go, then."

*********

The smell of fresh blood knocked Nick back a step, which, unfortunately, was exactly where Nat was. The two of them stumbled a bit, but managed to keep from falling.

"Sorry," he said, with a goofy grin on his face.

Nat held up her hand in a gesture that meant, "It's OK," before sweeping past him to examine the body. Nick had already called for forensics to join them, and started to cordon off the area with the roll of police line in his trunk.

"He's getting creative," Natalie said sarcastically when Nick joined her by the body.

Nick noticed the Bible with the underlined verse. "He's taunting us, Nat. He doesn't think he can get caught."

"Well, that's where he's wrong." Nat replied, pointing across the room at something on the floor.

"Is that what I think it is?"

Nat nodded. "Footprint." And, sure enough, it was. One bloody footprint, not entire, but complete enough to get something to go on.

When the forensics team arrived, Nick made sure the photographer got several shots of the footprint, as well as the pentagram and the underlined portion of the Bible in addition to those of the body and other surroundings.

*********

"I want this son-of-a-bitch off my streets, Knight." Reese was in his office pouring over the growing file of photographs connected to this particular killer.

"What about the call? Anything distinctive about the voice?"

Reese shook his head. "Not that we could pick up. And he wasn't on nearly long enough for a trace."

Nick stood slowly. "I want to listen to the tape, Cap. Maybe a fresh pair of ears will help." 'Not to mention vampiric hearing,' he silently added.

"Okay. I want this wrapped up. What have forensics come up with on that footprint?"

"The report isn't back yet. In my opinion, though, I think the killer left it deliberately to throw us off the track."

"I suppose it's possible. Or he could have just gotten careless. Anything from Dr. Lambert?"

"Not yet. She's starting the... autopsy on Tracy's body tonight," Nick replied with more than a little difficulty.

The captain noticed Nick's discomfort and decided not to push it any further. "Well, you tell Sanderson you need the tape and he'll let you hear it.

"Sure thing."

*********

When Urs awoke that evening, she saw Vachon standing at the window, velvet drapes pulled back, with a newspaper on the side table at his fingertips. "STALKER TAKES FIFTH," the headline read. Urs wrapped her arms around his chest and laid her head on his back. A part of Vachon secretly wished it were Tracy behind him. The human part. He pulled away.

"Urs, I'm sorry. I can't right now. Not until this is over."

"Killing him won't bring her back, Javier."

"It'll make me feel better, though."

"Will it?" Her voice was filled with compassion, not reproof. "What is one more to one like us, who has killed more than we can count? It won't make it better, Javier. Let the mortals take care of their own. It's not your problem."

"But keeping Tracy alive was," he said over his shoulder as he walked out the door.

*********

"The subject's name is Tracy Vetter. Female. Age 24. Height 1 meter 80. Weight 66 kilograms." Natalie switched off the tape and muttered, "I'd kill to weigh that little." Into the tape, she continued, "Cause of death is strangulation. The bruising pattern around the neck suggests fishing line. Marks on arms and legs show subject was tied up after death. One finger on left hand broken. Multiple bruises on both hands..."

She trailed off and clicked the tape to 'pause' after a moment. It was becoming hard to detach herself personally and operate as a professional. She wanted to find the person who did that and kill him slowly and painfully. She shook her head. No, she had to remain professional. Until the case was closed. Then she could grieve.

"Small laceration on forehead," she picked up in an emotionless voice. Something prompted her to open the cut a little wider and check for anything unusual therein. She was rewarded for her efforts by finding small splinters of wood. 'Interesting,' she thought to herself. A small cut across a knuckle revealed similar splinters. "Cuts contain wood fragments. Possibly subject was hit by a wooden object prior to death. Bruising pattern on head suggests something large. Also suggests subject was knocked unconscious as a result. Unknown whether subject regained consciousness before death." She made a mental note to ask Nick to go over the church again and look for the wooden something-or-other.

*********

"There's a dead body in the old abandoned warehouse on 49th."

Nick had listened to the tape at least a dozen times, and still hadn't figured anything out. Something was softly rustling very close to the receiver; probably the killer had put some fabric over the mouthpiece to disguise his voice. The problem was, to Nick's superior hearing, the rustling was so loud that it drowned out almost all the background noise. The only other thing Nick could notice about the conversation was some music playing softly in the background: "--hate to leave you but I really must say goodnight, sweet--"

Nick was frustrated and more than a little angry by this time, so it was only natural that when his cell phone rang, he answered with more of a growl than a greeting.

"Nick?"

"Sorry, Nat. I've been pouring over this case. Guess I'm a little on edge."

"Well, I found something that might help. You want to drop by and pick up this report?"

"Sure thing. I'll be right over."

*********

Nick switched the radio on just before pulling out of the precinct's parking lot and heading for the Coroner's Building. As usual, LaCroix seemed to be speaking right to him.

"Is your heart heavy tonight, dear listener? Are you plagued by thoughts of those dead and gone? Do you mourn for them? Or are your thoughts more attuned to the one who has taken them from you? Do you thirst for revenge? Can you see yourself tearing into the object of your vengeance, in the hope that somewhere inside them is the soul of the one taken from your life? Ah, yes, devoted friend, the Nightcrawler knows this desire. He has come to expect it. He welcomes it. He embraces it. Perhaps you should do the same."

*********

LaCroix finished his nightly meditation and punched 'play' on the CD player. He looked up and saw Vachon standing at the door of the booth and motioned him inside.

"And what can I do for you, young Javier? Is the bar out of your preferred vintage again? Or is it something more... personal this time?"

"LaCroix, I need your help. Being Knight's master, you know his mind better than anyone else does. Well, I need to know what he knows about this killer. I have to find him before Knight does."

"You have piqued my interest. Please, have a seat and explain further."

Vachon did as he was requested. "When Tracy first found out about me, I was prepared to drain her when I found out she was a resistor. Something in me stopped me from doing that. Of course, when Knight found out about it, he gave me the duty of keeping her alive and out of harm's way... which, I take it, meant out of vampire's way. Something about 'moral obligations.'"

"That definitely sounds like Nicholas."

"Well, somewhere along the way, I got... involved with her. I guess, like you were with Fleur, I was attracted to her purity. Her innocence. And now, I can't let her go until I find the person who killed her and tear him into small pieces and leave him for the birds."

"I can see you are quite... fanatical... about this. However, I do not simply help people for my health. I must ask you now, what is in this for me?"

"For one thing, it would really infuriate Knight. And for another, if I can convince him to help me do it, it would bring you one step closer to getting him back to the vampire he's repressing." LaCroix still didn't look convinced. "And I'd owe you," Vachon added.

The elder vampire nodded slowly. "Fair enough. And rest assured, Vachon, I will collect."

*********

"So, what have you got?" Nick asked as he silently swept into Natalie's office, causing her to jump, as usual.

"Do you have to do that?"

"No, but it's fun," he grinned. He received a good-natured slap across the arm for his troubles.

Natalie picked up a folder and handed it to him. "Here's the file on Tracy."

"Anything that can help us?"

"I did find some fragments of wood in the cut across her forehead and in a cut on her knuckle. Maybe there's still a clean print on whatever he hit her with. Has Vachon been back to the church?"

Nick shook his head, "I don't think so, but I'll take a look around the church and see what I can come up with."

"Thanks."

"Oh, and the footprint was a dead end. Not whole enough to get anything but maybe an estimate on height and weight... The killer is probably between 5 foot 10 and 6 foot 1; weighing between 175 and 215, I'd say."

"Anything else?"

"Not much, I'm afraid. Has an ID come back on number five?"

"As a matter of fact," Nick began as he fished in his coat pocket for his notepad, "one has. Her name is Amelia McLaren. Age 22. She's been student teaching at St. Mary's for the past three months."

"Well, I suppose I can't put off her autopsy anymore. The captain has been breathing down my neck looking for answers."

"You're not alone. Believe me." Nick slid his arms around her waist, gave her a quick hug, and kissed her on the forehead. "I better get going."

Natalie nodded, but held on a moment longer before removing her arms from around his neck, allowing him to leave.

*********

When Nick got back to his car, he found Vachon waiting for him. "Is this a social call, Vachon, or did you want something?"

"I know you just got the file on Tracy. I want to know what was in it."

"I've already told you, Vachon, I'm not going to be a part of your quest for revenge."

"Damn you, Knight, you gave me the responsibility of looking after her. You can't deny me this. You just can't!" The younger vampire sounded almost like he was begging. It was too much for Nick.

"Get in. If you want to help, though, you're going to follow my rules, do you understand?"

"Completely," Vachon agreed. As he slid into the passenger seat, however, he nodded conspiratorially to a patch of shadow across the street.

As the Caddy drove off, LaCroix emerged from the shadows, a hint of a smile crossing his lips. "No doubt before this is finished, Nicholas, your rules will have changed."

*********

"Rule Number One: When we take this guy, we take him alive."

"To face mortal justice?"

"Exactly."

"What a joke," Vachon replied with a snort.

"All right, so it's not the best system in the world, but it works more often than not. He'll get what he deserves."

"Yeah, right. They'll lock him up in a little rubber room in a clean white straitjacket, keep him fed and healthy for a couple of years, then announce that he's cured and put him back on the streets. Is that what he deserves? Or is it to die for what he's done?"

"That's up to the jury, not us."

The younger vampire shrugged and turned back to the window. 'Minus one for the home team,' was all he could think.

*********

Neither of them especially wanted to walk into the church, remembering the scene that greeted them the last time. Nick made the first move, though, and Vachon gritted his teeth and followed him in.

It was the church just as Vachon remembered it, but it wasn't home anymore... it just didn't feel right. And that made it somehow alien to the Spaniard. He walked around the church as if he were a stranger there, not the resident. But something caught his eye. Something that he knew was wrong.

"Hey, Knight. Over here. Somebody's ripped into this door."

Nick walked over and, yes, there was a chunk removed from the corner of one of the doors. "Are you sure that was intentionally removed? The boys who did the once-over figured it just rotted off."

"Trust me. This door was whole a week ago."

"Well, then, someone has removed something we wanted to see." Nick carefully broke off a small splinter or two and placed them in an evidence bag to give to Natalie. "She can check these against the ones she pulled from Trace," he explained.

"There's something in here. Looks like an envelope." Vachon walked into the side room and grabbed the manila envelope off the table. Across the front was written, "Detective Nicholas B. Knight."

"That wasn't here before," Nick said as Vachon handed it to him. Inside was a note and a wood chip with blood on it, the missing chip from the door. Nick placed that in the evidence bag with the other pieces and then read the note.

"Detective," the note read, "Congratulations on getting this far. I wasn't sure if you had it in you. Wonderful. You are a worthy adversary. We will talk again soon." Instead of a signature, the note was signed with a single bloody thumbprint.

"Gotcha," Nick said aloud to no one in particular.

*********

"I'm taking you off the case, Knight. This guy knows who you are." Reese was really beginning to hate the way this case was shaping up. As if it weren't bad enough that there was another sicko out there killing women, he'd also killed one of his detectives and sent a "penpal" letter to another.

"Cap, you can't!"

"Look, Nick, I don't like it any better than you do. You're one of the best detectives I've got out there, and if anyone can catch this guy, it's you. But IA's breathing down my neck about leaving you on the case after your partner got killed, and when they hear about this note, they're going to go through the roof!"

The captain's heartbeat pounded in Nick's vampiric ears. Catching Reese's gaze with his own, he said slowly, "Internal Affairs is not going to hear about the note. You will forget about the note entirely. We never had this conversation."

Reese mumbled agreement with Nick's "suggestions," then blinked a few times and looked at Nick, seeing him for the first time. "Did you want something, Detective?"

"Uh... no, sir," Nick replied as he stood. "I was just leaving."

*********

LaCroix smiled as he felt his wayward son using his powers. Nicholas used them so rarely that it was always easy to tell. He offered up a toast with the glass in his hand. "To you, Nicholas, and to your return."

*********

Nick's cell phone buzzed inside his coat pocket. Flipping it open, he answered with his standard, "Yeah, Knight."

"Knight? It's Cooper, forensics. About that evidence bag you left with us..."

"Yeah?"

"The blood on that piece of wood is most likely Detective Vetter's. All the typing factors match exactly, and the wood grain matches that found in the wound."

"Okay. Anything else?"

"Actually, yes. We got a line on that note you left us."

"Yeah, go ahead."

"Good news is we know whose print it is. Bad news is, it's Tracy Vetter's."

"He used Tracy's thumbprint?"

"Yeah, probably to make us waste our time tracing it. Sorry we couldn't be more help."

"Actually, you have been." Nick hung up before Cooper could ask him what he meant by that.

'So,' Nick thought to himself, 'the killer wrote the note just after he killed Tracy, but didn't put it in the church until after the next victim.' He ran back the actual words of the note in his head. There was no reference to him by name in the body of the note, just on the envelope. So the killer either hadn't seen him or didn't know his name until later. That meant... "He was at the last crime scene," Nick finished out loud.

Nick stood up from his desk and turned to leave, walking right into Natalie Lambert.

"Whoa, Nick! Who was at the last crime scene?"

"The killer. He must have seen me there."

"That means --"

"He could have left something behind to help us identify him," Nick finished. "I was just on my way there now."

"Then I'll come with you."

Nick opened his mouth to protest, but closed it again and nodded. "All right."

*********

He crouched in his hiding place, a smug look on his face. It was so fun to make the police jump through his little hoops. He'd read the stories in the paper about the incredible prowess of this detective who called himself Knight. He wondered how long it would take him to find the note he'd left and trace it back to the warehouse, thinking that he must have been there to see Knight. He wasn't, of course, but he was now -- waiting for the good detective to make an entrance. And an exit. A final one.

A sound startled him from his internal monologue. A door opening. He was here. At last! He peered down from his perch and caught a glimpse of the sandy-haired detective nosing around under him. But, wait! He wasn't alone. 'Who was this pretty young thing following our friend Knight,' he wondered. And then, Knight's voice. He called a name, and she looked up. Nat? Natalie, perhaps? She didn't look like a Natasha. Must be Natalie. She'd make a lovely addition to his collection. But Natalie who? 'Last name, Knight. Give me the last name,' he silently commanded.

*********

"Anything, Nick?" Natalie had been all over her side of the warehouse and had found nothing that would help.

"Not a thing, Nat," Nick replied, a little disgusted.

Natalie sighed, "Maybe he wasn't here after all. You do have quite a reputation around here. And you've been in the papers how many times?"

"You may be right. This might have been just another one of his games. So," he continued, walking over to her, "what do you say I buy you some dinner, Dr. Lambert?"

A small crash sounded above them on the catwalks. "What was that?" Nat said, a little louder than she'd meant, but Nick hadn't heard her anyway. He was casting his heightened senses about, looking for the source of the noise. He heard Natalie's heartbeat thrumming in his ears and he listened beyond. Under that, more heartbeats, small, weak, fast. "Rats," Nick concluded. "Just rats. You were saying?"

The coroner relaxed some. There were perks to working with a vampire. "I was about to say 'yes' as long as you promise to eat something, too."

Nick grimaced, but agreed, and the two headed back to the Caddy unobserved.

*********

Nick walked Natalie to the door of her apartment later that night, neither expecting to find what they found. Taped to Natalie's door was a manila envelope with "Nicholas B. Knight" written across the front. Natalie's hand tightened its grip on his as the detective opened the envelope.

"Detective," the note read, "You have a lovely new partner. Lovelier than your last one. You should be happy that I made it possible for you to work with her. I know I am. It's almost a pity that you won't be together much longer." Instead of a fingerprint, this time the note was signed with a symbol -- a man with the head of a dog.

"Annubis, the Egyptian God of the Underworld," explained Nick. "Natalie, I'm going to have you put in protective custody. This bastard knows where you live."

"But how, Nick? And why would he think I was your partner?"

Nick thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers. "The warehouse! He must have been waiting for us... for me there. And when we came in together..."

"He must have assumed I had been assigned to be your partner," Nat finished.

"Pack a bag, Natalie. We're leaving right now."

Natalie was still so dumbfounded that she didn't bother to protest.

*********

He paced silently in the small confines of the room he'd rented for the night. Two notes, and nothing had shown up in the papers about it. Knight was purposely withholding the information from the press. Had to be. Was he that good? Had the good detective figured out his motives already?

Furious, he threw a lamp across the room. The shattering sound comforted him ever so slightly and allowed him to think clearly. Not even the great Nick Knight was that good. There had to be another reason, and the best way to find out that reason was to put the story in the paper himself.

Walking out into the hall, he put a quarter into the pay phone and dialed the newspaper offices posing as a member of the police department. He told the eager reporter everything about the notes, explaining that the police department was using it as a ruse to draw the killer out. After the reporter promised to keep silent about any ulterior motives the police might have, he repeated back the details to make sure he had them right and assured the 'officer' that the story would be run in the morning edition.

Now all he had to do was sit back and watch the fireworks.

*********

"Knight! In my office now!" Captain Joe Reese was not having a good week, and, looking again at the two men sitting in front of him, he could tell it was about to get worse.

Nick walked into the captain's office and flashed a confused look in the direction of the two identically suited men. The taller of the two men stood and turned. "Detective Knight? Donald Anderson, Internal Affairs."

Nick's countenance faltered slightly. "What can I do for you?"

This time, the other man spoke, turning around in his chair. "You can explain to us, Detective, the meaning of this." He produced a newspaper as he spoke, opened to an article about how one of Toronto's finest was being stalked by a serial killer.

The detective's calm demeanor evaporated in that moment, to be replaced by a dumbfounded confusion. His mouth opened and closed, no words seeming to be the right ones.

Reese was the next one to speak. "Why, Nick? Why didn't you bring it to me when this guy first started in on you? You're endangering yourself by letting this go unsaid!"

Anderson cut in quickly, "I'm afraid it's worse than that, Detective. You have been withholding evidence pertinent to an ongoing investigation. Please leave your badge and firearm with the desk sergeant. You are officially suspended pending an investigation."

Nick stood in silence, pondering his options. Even if he could hypnotize all three of them, the paperwork would still have been processed, and too many others would know about it. Considering the circumstances, a resigned acceptance was his only choice. He nodded silently and slumped from the office, leaving his identification and gun with Sergeant Black before heading back to the loft.

*********

Meanwhile, Vachon had been doing legwork of his own. He'd been hanging around the university campus for the past two nights, talking to anyone who might have known one of the first three victims, trying to find a link. Someone they had been seen with? Anyone who might have been in the area of all three? Sadly, nothing had come of it. He sat in his booth at the Raven, a bottle of blood-soaked wine sat untouched on the table as he pondered the next move.

"Wanna dance?" The lilted soprano jarred him from his internal reveries. She was a petite redhead, with just a hint of an Irish accent.

"Not much for dancing," he offered, trying to let her down easy.

"C'mon," she pleaded, "just one?"

Vachon sighed. This was getting tiring. "I am not in the mood to dance," he retorted in his best 'leave-me-alone' voice.

The girl shrugged and slid into the booth across from him. "Well, me either to tell the truth, but my friends dared me to come ask you. Will you please at least chat with me a bit? Just to piss them off?"

The vampire could feel her foot sliding up and down his calf, see the heat of her desire rising, hear her heart racing, and smell the blood in her veins. She was making this too easy. 'Or too hard,' he thought, 'depending on your point of view.' He couldn't stand it anymore. "Want to really make them mad? Come with me." He stood and offered her his hand.

*********

"Suspension?" The captain was incredulous. "Don't you think that's a bit harsh? Nick Knight happens to be one of, if not the, best detectives I have in this precinct. If anyone can get to the bottom of this case, that person is Knight."

"We all know how good Detective Knight is." Anderson spat the adjective as if it were a curse. "He's been decorated numerous times and is a valuable addition to this department. But," he paused for emphasis, "that does not excuse his actions. He lost his partner, which naturally upset him, and he feels somehow responsible. So, he keeps from you anything that might have him removed from the case."

"Then put him behind a desk. Take him off the case. Don't just suspend him!"

"We're sorry, Captain Reese, but the regulations are quite clear. Detective Knight will be suspended until an investigation can be made into his motives for withholding evidence." Anderson's partner -- Reese couldn't remember his name ('Had he ever given it?' Reese wondered) -- stood and left with no further words.

Reese stood behind his desk until the two men had left. Then, he cursed. Loudly. "Goddammit!" He clenched and unclenched his fists. He wanted to... he wanted to... 'well, smashing that damned water cooler would be a helluva good start,' he decided.

*********

He sat on the corner of the bed in one of the back rooms, cradling the still form in his lap. He hadn't meant to do it. He just wanted a taste, just enough to clear his mind and get him thinking straight again. But she had provoked him, aroused him, teased him, until his control snapped and he just couldn't stop.

Guilt had never been a problem for Javier Vachon. After fighting for so long, he had killed and seen killing enough times that he never regretted the swift painless embrace that allowed him to live at the expense of another. But, there was something in her blood that was more important than the life-giving elixir itself.

She had known Charlotte, the third victim. As he drank in her essence, just at the point of no return, he'd read that in her blood. Charlotte had called her the day before her death; said she thought someone was following her. But before Vachon could read anymore, the girl in his arms had breathed her last and the memories were stopped at their source.

Vachon had pulled away in horror. She could have helped him. Would have helped him, had he only thought to ask. He stroked the auburn hair and whispered, "Forgive me, Tracy. I failed again."

*********

Nick sat alone in the loft, the only light coming from the fireplace. For some reason as yet unknown, the killer was taunting him. There was no doubt in Nick's mind that it was he who had arranged for the story to be put in the paper; he who had set the wheels in motion for his suspension.

He went to the refrigerator, reached past the protein shakes, past the garlic pills, and pulled an unmarked green bottle from within. He was backsliding again, he knew that all too well. Natalie would be furious when she found out, but the pounding in his head and the aching at his fangs made it impossible to care right now. He pulled out the cork with his teeth and downed a large gulp from the bottle. It was cow, and he hated it, and it did nothing to soothe the ache.

"Damn him," Nick said aloud. There had been too many loose ends in his police record, too many unanswered questions. Now, this sadistic bastard had provided the catalyst for a thorough investigation to find those answers. Nick had no choices left, no other paths to take. He picked up the phone and called three people. The first was Natalie's beeper, not wanting to call the safehouse he had arranged for her. The second was Vachon, telling him to wait for him at the Raven; he would be there soon. And, finally, the call he dreaded having to make, but knew he must.

"Hello, Aristotle?"

*********

Portable phones were a wonder, he thought. Most people who used them never realized how easy it was for someone with the right equipment and the right motive to simply eavesdrop on whatever conversation they wanted. And, well, he just happened to have both.

The first number was a digital pager. Damn, not much he could do about that. The second call was more helpful. But who was Vachon and where was the Raven? Well, he figured he could look it up in the phone book. Then Knight dialed another number.

"Hello, Aristotle?" Knight asked.

"Who?" A strange male voice, suspicious.

"Tell him that I still remember the Battle of Hastings."

"Nicholas! How are you, old friend?"

A chuckle. "You never did realize that Hastings was 200 years too early, did you?"

"Well, it's a good passcode, at least. Hold on, let me turn this on."

He heard three beeps, and then a high whining static. He flinched and dropped the earpiece in his lap. A jamming signal? What the hell was he talking about that was that important?

*********

Natalie didn't even bother to wait for Nick to buzz her up. She tapped out the alarm code and was in the elevator before Nick even realized she'd pulled up. She pulled the door open and rushed in, medical bag in tow.

"Nat? You should have just called... someone could have followed you here!"

Nat was oblivious, talking over Nick's words as if he hadn't spoken at all. "Nick, what's wrong? Are you hurt? Why aren't you at work?" She was already pulling a stethoscope from her bag when Nick touched her arm.

"Nat, I'm fine. I've been suspended pending investigation."

Natalie was dumbfounded. Nick went on to explain in brief the events of the evening leading up to his call.

"What are you going to do, Nick?" she asked finally.

"The only thing I can, Nat. I'm sorry, but I have to leave. There are too many questions that I just can't answer. I have no choice."

"So that's it, then. You're just going walk out on me ... on our work." Natalie's earlier complacency was quickly being replaced with a rising anger. "And what about me, Nick? What happens to me when you go? I know too much about you, about all of you. What, do the Enforcers come behind you and clear up the loose ends? Or are you going to do it yourself? Do you even have it in you? Six years, Nick, six years. Oh, I know it's nothing to you, but we mortals get old. We only have so much time before we die, and I've lost six years of that! But, that's all right, because Nick here has to leave. He can't take the heat of a few hard questions. Well, if all you care about is protecting yourself, that's fine by me!"

"Nat...."

"No, Nick. Not this time. You know something? I don't give a damn anymore. I've worked too long and too hard to let you ruin my life this way. Damn you, Nick. Damn you to hell!" And then she was gone.

The slam of the elevator door echoed in Nick's mind over and over, never seeming to fade. "Come with me," he whispered through the tears.

*********

Well, well, he thought as he saw Natalie Lambert driving up to the loft. He ducked under the window of his car when she looked around curiously. That must have been Lambert's pager, he decided. He had been wondering what had happened to her. She'd never gone back to her apartment. The good detective must have set up a safehouse for her. Well, it won't be safe much longer, he mused.

*********

Natalie fought back tears as she drove back to the designated safehouse. She tried to tell herself that she always knew this day would come. Nick was a vampire, and vampires had to move on before the mortals around them became suspicious; before they could learn the truth about the immortal killers that masqueraded as one of them.

Had she lied to herself when she believed she could cure him? Had she lied when she believed he could love her the way she loved him? A flood of new tears tugged at the corners of her eyes. She fought back with bitterness and cynicism. Nick was using her, she decided. He let her believe he cared so that she would help him. 'Didn't he know that I would have done it anyway?'

She pulled into the driveway and turned off the car. Her head rested against the steering wheel as she thought about the deep blue pools of his eyes and gave into the tears.

A swift blow on the back of her neck, and the world went black.

*********

Javier Vachon was drunk. Very drunk. Roaring drunk. He had returned from the back rooms and immediately begun to drink. He had finished off close to four bottles before the waiter took it upon himself to stop him.

"I think you've had enough for tonight."

"I'll drink as much as I damn well please," came the slurred reply.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave." The waiter placed a hand on Vachon's shoulder, ready to escort him out. The Spaniard covered the waiter's hand with his own and began to squeeze until both of them heard the audible cracking of bone. Vachon shoved the man backwards into the throng of dancers, and shortly thereafter began the brawl.

In the darkness of the club and the heat of the moment, no one made notice of the four golden-eyed men who pushed their way through the club heading for Vachon.

Vachon, for his part, was beating up anything that moved in his direction, so when the vampiric bouncers came at him, he attacked them as well. However, his drunken stupor and relative youth prevented him from stopping the four of them from restraining him. The apparent leader of the group, a disconcerting looking man who was pierced more times than Vachon could comfortably count, brandished a large wooden stake in a way that the younger vampire didn't like at all. He raised the stake above his head and was poised to strike when a large blur hit him from one side, knocking him over.

Nick stood quickly, grabbed the pierced vampire by the back of the head, and threw him into the nearest of his companions. The two staggered back, giving Vachon the impetus to spin out of the restraining hold the other two still had on him. Nick and Vachon stood side by side as their four adversaries began to advance on them again.

"ENOUGH!!!" All movement in the Raven stopped instantly, and every eye turned to see Lucien LaCroix standing at the door of his booth. To say that LaCroix was angry would be like calling the Nile "a babbling brook." The crowd parted for him as he walked purposefully to the back where six vampires stood, uncertain of what was about to come.

LaCroix walked first to the pierced one, still clutching the stake in his hands. One look from the master vampire and he placed it in LaCroix's waiting grasp. LaCroix placed his hands on the other's shoulders and locked eyes with him. Without breaking that eye contact, he slid one hand gracefully down the vampire's chest, thumb and forefinger grasping a nipple ring. A look of fear crossed the youngster's face in the instant before LaCroix jerked his hand back, ripping the ring from the skin. Through the pain, a voice hissed in his ear, "Never come back here. Ever."

The four immediately began to slink out the door, the pierced one whimpering like a child. LaCroix watched them until the door closed behind them, then turned to face Vachon and Nick. He held his arm out, pointing toward the radio booth. The other two took the unspoken hint and began to walk that way. LaCroix followed, struggling to keep his wrath in check. No one in the club, mortal or vampire, took a breath until the door closed behind the trio.

*********

He watched the whole scene play out with wide eyes. From the shadows of the Raven, he had just witnessed Detective Knight moving faster than any human possibly could, sporting glowing yellow eyes and fang teeth. Could it be possible? Nick Knight was a vampire? He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly going dry. What was he going to do now? Then, just as suddenly, his eyes lit up as if by fire. 'Of course. It's all so simple.' He giggled to himself and left the club to make preparations.

*********

"Would you mind very much explaining to me why my club is now a warzone, young Javier?"

Vachon, struck sober by the whole incident, bowed his head a little in deference to the elder vampire. "I was drunk, and when the waiter tried to take the bottle from me, I pushed him back into some other people, and then everyone started fighting."

LaCroix nodded, his face betraying nothing. "And you, Nicholas. What is your involvement in this fiasco?"

"I walked in. Someone was holding a stake over Vachon. I stopped him," Nick answered tersely.

"Of course," LaCroix retorted, drawing out the last sound into a hiss. "Well, then I trust it won't happen again?" At the nods of the other two, he continued, "Good. You may go."

Vachon turned on his heel, motioning for Nick to follow. "I'll be there in a moment," Nick said. "I have to talk to LaCroix." Vachon nodded and made his way back to the table.

As LaCroix heard the door close behind him, he asked without turning, "Was there something else, Nicholas?"

The offhandedness drove Nick over the edge. He crossed the room in the blink of an eye, driving LaCroix into the nearest wall. "If I find out you're behind this, LaCroix, I will finish what Divia started!" he hissed in his master's ear.

LaCroix, for his part, was so taken aback by the assault that he was thoroughly pinned against the wall by his childe. A warm wetness at his lip told him his nose had been broken by the impact and had begun to bleed before his accelerated healing had knitted it back together. "Really, Nicholas," he strained to get out. "I do admire your forthrightness, but there is a time and place for everything. I can assure you I have no part in whatever it is you are talking about. Please, let us sit down, and you can tell me what it is that has you flustered so."

'Damn him,' Nick thought. It was just like LaCroix to be there in his hour of need... to kick him while he was down. But not this time.

LaCroix felt the pressure on his back ease, and he spun around, ready to "discipline" his son. But Nicholas was already gone. As he wiped the trickle of blood from his lip, LaCroix allowed a smile to cross his face. This couldn't have worked better if he actually had planned it.

*********

Vachon was beginning to think that the General had torn Nick to pieces when a file folder was dropped on the table in front of him. He looked up and saw Nick taking the chair opposite him.

"What's this?" Vachon asked, indicating the folder.

"All the information the police has on this killer: autopsy reports of the victims, witness statements, crime scene photos, the works."

"Why give this to me?"

"Because I may be forced to leave soon. And if I do, you'll have to finish this."

The dark-haired vampire leaned forward. "You're just going to leave?!"

"It's not my choice, Vachon! I've been suspended pending investigation, an investigation that is going to turn up some pretty nasty things that will have to be explained." Nick sighed, defeated. "Maybe LaCroix was right. Maybe it is impossible to live in both worlds."

"Hold the phone, Knight. Did I just hear the words 'LaCroix' and 'right' come out of your mouth in the same breath?" It was a mocking tone, but a gentle one. Nick even smiled a little at the irony.

"Who would have guessed?" he joked, flagging down a waitress. "A bottle of the Special Reserve. Something French from about 1795," he ordered when she walked up.

"You having a relapse of the Fever or something? First you agree with LaCroix and now you're ordering human blood? What the hell happened to you, Knight?"

"Way too much, my friend. Way too much."

*********

Neither of them attended Tracy's wake; at least, not publicly. Privately, however, the two stole into the funeral home after all the guests had left and paid their respects to a friend and partner.

'In 400 years, I've buried a lot of mortal friends.' Vachon's words came back to him in that moment. 'When does it get easier?' she'd asked him. He sighed. 'I think it just got a lot harder,' he silently replied.

The smell of death assaulted them as they stood over her lifeless form, both crying silently, red tracks staining their cheeks. Neither could say what they both were feeling, as if somehow words would cheapen the whole thing. They stood for close to an hour without a word passing between them. Then, they left, leaving only a bouquet of yellow roses and callalillies as evidence of their visit.

*********

Nick met Aristotle in that now-notorious basement, but was not met by the barrage of questions and destinations that usually assaulted him. Of course, considering the reasons for his last two visits to the computer-hacker and identity-faker, he wasn't surprised.

"Ah, Nicholas. Come to ask me to bend the rules again?"

"Actually, I need your rather unique talents again."

"And you seemed so content in Toronto... but time catches us all, does it not? When are you planning to leave?"

"I hope I don't have to. Circumstances may force me to, however, and I want to have something set up in case I have to leave in a hurry."

"Irregular, but doable." Aristotle turned to his computer screen. "So, where were you thinking?"

Two hours later, Nick and Aristotle had worked up a new identity for him should he need it. All that was necessary was for him to call and deliver a 12-digit code to activate the modem transfers.

And so Nick came home. The message light on his machine was blinking madly. He pushed the play button and waited while the tape rewound. It quickly became apparent that his calls had used up almost the entire message tape.

Most of them were calls from fellow detectives. Nick swore the entire homicide department must have called in regarding his suspension. They all promised that they'd back him up at the hearing. Hopefully, Nick thought, they won't forget that.

Somewhere in the mass of messages was buried, "Knight? Vachon. Listen, these files read like bureaucratic doublespeak. Ring me back and help me decipher it." Nick quirked a smile, if only at hearing the word "bureaucratic" come from Vachon's lips.

That smile froze when the last message began to play. "Hello, Detective. You don't know me, but I know you. I have something you want very much."

"NICK!!!" Natalie's frightened scream burst from the speaker.

"If you want her alive, I might be willing to trade her for you -- if you can find me, that is. Let's set a time limit of... oh, I don't know... sunrise. I'm sure you'll know right when that is. Your kind just seem to know that, don't you? And detective, do hurry. She is so beautiful. I don't know how long I can keep from killing her." Soft, mocking laughter played until the receiver was hung up.

*********

Nicholas Knight was frozen in space, in time. All he could do was stare at the answering machine as if he had somehow never seen it before. His mind screamed at his body to move, to do something! Time was running out and he was just standing there.

Finally, the phone rang and spurred him into action. He picked up the phone and barked a hello.

"Knight?" It was Vachon. "Listen, I--"

"He's got Nat, Vachon! How soon can you be here?"

"Holy shit. I'm on my way!"

Four agonizing minutes later, Vachon dropped in through the skylight. "Do you know where? Is she still alive? How did he find her, I thought you said you put her in a safehouse?"

"He must have followed her back from the loft. I think she's still alive, he's given me till sunrise to find them. But I don't know where to look. My mind is a blank! Damn it!" he roared as he literally tore the door off his refrigerator. He snatched at a bottle, shattering the neck in his haste, burying shards of glass in his hand. Cursing in French, he grabbed another, less fiercely this time, fumbled with the cork and finally broke the neck off that one too and tilted it to his lips. The cow blood splashed over his face as he drank.

But it didn't help. He threw the bottle across the room, shattering it on the elevator door. He grabbed three more unmarked bottles and tossed them over his shoulder before he came to one with a label. He put the cork between his teeth and pulled, biting the top half of the cork completely off. He spat it out and bit again, biting through the neck of the bottle, sending more glass shards into him, this time his lips and gums. He gulped the rich human blood like ambrosia, draining the entire thing in less time than it took to pick it up.

Vachon barely had time to blink before Nick was halfway through another. The Spanish vampire was speechless. It was probably a good thing, he decided. Had he spoken, Knight would most likely have attacked him. So he stood stock still and watched Knight finish off the second bottle as well.

Nick looked at Vachon finally, his eyes a deep red. His fangs bared, longer and more menacing than they'd ever been in 800 years, he roared again, a feral growl like a lion or a wolf. The blood covered his face; cow, human, and vampire. 'He looks like the Devil himself,' Vachon realized with an explosion of fear.

"The safehouse," the elder vampire managed to say before lifting off. Vachon stood dumbfounded as Nick Knight -- no, this was Nicholas de Brabant now -- misjudged his ascent and broke through the closed side of the skylight, raining more glass down into the room. Vachon took flight and followed, trying his damnedest to keep up.

*********

LaCroix doubled over from the psychic assault he felt through his link with Nicholas. His fledgling -- his son -- had snapped. As soon as he regained some measure of composure, LaCroix took to the air, following the bond to his Nicholas.

Janette collapsed and clutched her head against the screaming pain sent through her link to Nicholas. This was not the vampire she loved, this was a monster. Despite the betrayal she'd felt he'd committed toward her, she knew she had to be there for him. She tore through the sky in search of her Nicholas.

Alyce Hunter, Don Constantine, and the rest of the house of LaCroix sensed the familial bond pulsing with a danger and a fear that surpassed words.

A tremble shuddered through the collective link all vampires instinctively shared as a message was broadcast.

The message was, I am Nicholas. Son of Lucius, son of Divia, daughter of Qa'Ra, son of Lilith. Fear me, for I am Death Incarnate.

*********

Natalie watched the graying of the pre-dawn sky and knew with certainty that she was about to die. Nick wasn't coming. He'd moved on. Abandoned her to her fate. She wondered how long it would take for her to be found. She wondered what atrocities her body would suffer. She wondered if anyone would weep for her, now that the only person who meant anything to her was gone.

He was in the next room. She'd gotten only the merest glance at his face, and seen insanity in his eyes. That had been enough to warrant her silence. He was waiting for Nick. She'd seen the crosses and the stakes, smelled the garlic. He was hunting the vampire. Natalie at least drew some satisfaction to know that Nick was safe from this madman, even if she wasn't. She knew that even if she died tonight, she and Nick would be together again. He was too good a person not to meet her on the other side, just like he'd wanted.

The sun peeked over the horizon, and Natalie knew that it was over.

*********

Vachon grit his teeth against the searing pain as long as he could, but in the end, when he felt his flesh begin to burn, smelled the charring of his skin, his instinct had driven him from the sky. He touched down in a park and dug himself down, furiously, blindly, until he felt no more threat from the sun.

And he thought about Nick Knight. He was still up there, still trying to get to her. He would destroy himself to save her. Vachon cast his thoughts back, wondering if he had ever felt that way about another person, and decided he hadn't. Not even Tracy Vetter.

Oh, he loved her, sure. He never denied that. But he loved life, too. He had loved before, would live to love again. Another hundred years, and he probably wouldn't even remember her name. 'Yeah, right, Javier,' he thought as the sleep claimed him.

*********

Nicholas de Brabant flew through the dawn. He roared defiance at the sun, ignoring the wounds it was causing him. He'd shut his eyes when he felt his eyeballs begin to sear in their sockets, and concentrated on Natalie's heartbeat. It had been hard at first to drown out a city full of heartbeats, but experience had helped him through again. Now hers was the only sound he heard.

The smoke billowed all around him as his body burned in the light. His hands had caught fire already, and he was sure he'd lost several fingers, reduced to ash and scattered to the wind. The flesh on his face would be charred black by the time he got there, his body a conflagration, like some demonic messenger. But love sustained him. Allowed him to go on. 'Natalie!' his mind screamed to hers.

*********

'Some vampire,' he thought reservedly. He'd expected so much more from this Nick Knight. He'd kept the Lambert woman at the safehouse, knowing that it should have been the first place the detective would look. So either he wasn't as good as he was supposed to be, or he didn't care enough for this woman to want to save her. Either way, Knight's loss was his gain.

He pulled a length of the fishing line and held it taut between his hands. His hands shook at the thought of draining her life slowly, and then cutting her body into pieces strewn across the so-called "safehouse." He could barely contain his excitement as he walked into the room where he'd been keeping her. She looked tired, resigned to her fate. Good. That would make this easier. He walked up to her and stroked her cheek. She didn't bother pulling away, he noted with a grin. She was ready to die and he wasn't about to disappoint her. He strode around behind the chair he'd tied her to and prepared to stretch the line across her throat.

A crash sounded in the next room, a door being burst through. A second later, the explosive charge he'd set detonated as well. He sighed in satisfaction and went back to his work.

In that moment, Natalie screamed.

*********

Nicholas was in a bad way. The flesh of his face had boiled away, revealing his skull in several spots. His right eye was all but gone, melted in its socket. The explosion had completely torn off his left arm, and shrapnel from the fragmentation was embedded in his body at various angles. His clothes were beginning to catch fire, blistering his skin even more than the sun had already.

Natalie couldn't stop screaming. What was this thing that looked like Nick? Could he really have endured all of that for her? In a moment of rational thought, she was very glad that this room had no windows large enough to allow the sun to touch him more. She opened her mouth to call to him, but felt the fishing line pull tight before the sound could come out.

"Too bad, detective. She dies anyway." He yanked the cord against her throat, cutting into both her neck and his fingers. He would be damned if he would let this abomination win. He was going to finish this first.

The vampire smelled blood. Blood would help him heal. Nicholas lurched forward on burning legs. His feet began to crumble to ash even as he stepped. Still he advanced, the Beast fighting to live at any cost. Armed with nothing more than his will to survive, he summoned the last of his preternatural speed and appeared behind his intended prey.

He blinked as he watched Nick Knight seem to vanish. Vaporized by the sun no doubt. He smiled and went back to his work. The Lambert woman was almost gone, as he could feel the last of her life draining away. His mind was filled with the thought of the pleasure of destroying the body once it was over.

It was a pleasure he would have to forego, however, as Nicholas the vampire wrapped his remaining arm around the man's throat and turned his head to the side to expose his neck. The back of his mind screamed that something was wrong, that what he was about to do was wrong, but then the Beast struck and all thoughts were lost in the red haze of the blood.

The blood coursed through him, invading every cell of his body and coaxing them back to life. The seconds ticked by as he drank and felt his body healing ever so slowly. He was dimly aware of a voice but ignored it and concentrated on the sensations of the blood. The vampire saw them all, all the victims, felt the pleasure at their deaths, knew the satisfaction of the one who had killed them. He felt the need for recognition, the desire to have his work seen and noticed and appreciated. And then the vampire's prey gurgled and spasmed in his hold and fell silent and limp.

And still Nicholas drank, through the death throes, tasting the fear of his death and the stinging of the heartblood as he suckled that away, too. There wasn't even a drop of vitae in the man's body when it hit the ground.

But he needed more. The blood had helped him heal, but he was a long way from well. The bloodscent was still in the air, cinnamon and apples this time, and he looked down to see a woman in a chair gasping for breath. He could see a trickle of blood from her throat that spurred the Beast on. He slid a finger across the wound and brought the bloodied finger to his mouth.

Natalie called his name, pleading. She tried to call him back from the edge, but she felt his finger on her throat and knew that Nick Knight was nowhere near, and was afraid he would never be again. She struggled in the chair, working against the bonds that held her. The chair tipped over under the force and she hit the ground hard, feeling her wrist break as she landed on it.

Nicholas walked around in front of her and kneeled. The sway of the Beast held fast, but his body was healing to the point that he was no longer blinded by the need, just the lust. Already his eye had grown back, as had his feet and the fingers on his right hand. His face was still a ghastly mask of death, but even that was knitting back together as the blood worked its magic. A day of rest, and this woman's blood in his veins, and he would be almost complete again.

He brushed the hair away from Natalie's neck tenderly, exposing the carotid artery, pulsing with her accelerated heartbeat. She said his name again, softly, followed by the words, "Please, don't." Deep within him, Nick Knight fought for control, only to be pushed back by the vampire once again. And so he could only watch helplessly as the Beast sank his fangs into Natalie Lambert's neck.

For nearly seven years, Nicholas had wondered at the taste of this woman's blood. His morality had fought desperately against the desire to know her that intimately. Every second he had been near her, the Beast had screamed and clawed from within. And now he had her flowing into him, and it was more than he'd ever thought it could be.

It was the sweetest blood he had tasted in 800 years: full of youth and energy, yet tempered by enough experience to be wise; strong-willed and determined, yet a submissive lover; in every way the perfect prey that a vampire could hope for. And Nicholas reveled in the fact that she was his. He drank and drank, drawing the most exquisite power from her blood. It warmed him, calmed him, healed him. It was everything -- the vampire's world existed only insofar as the taste of her was on his tongue, the feel of her at his lips.

His concentration was so focused that when the first stake hit him through the shoulder, it took his body several moments to realize what had happened. The rest of his meal could wait, the Beast decided, as Nicholas stood and turned to face this new distraction. He saw LaCroix standing in the doorway, still smoldering from his trip through the day.

*********

"Nicholas, as delighted as I am to find you here like this, I do believe the phrase 'too much of a good thing' is forced to apply here." LaCroix was not nearly as wounded as his son, due mainly to his relative age. There was certainly an advantage to being over 1900 years old. He'd arrived a moment ago to find his wayward childe draining the mortal he purportedly loved. Normally, LaCroix thought, this would be a wonderful turn of events. However, his link told him that Nicholas' demeanor was such that he would most likely not stop with just these two. And that could pose a danger to the Community. The Code must be upheld above all else.

The elder was determined to stop Nicholas' frenzied behavior by whatever means necessary. He'd found several stakes lying about as he entered and grabbed a few to use if needed. When Nicholas had refused to acknowledge his presence, and seemed maniacally focused on his feeding, LaCroix had thrown the first stake, deliberately aiming for his shoulder, to get his attention. Apparently, it had worked.

Nicholas reached behind him and grasped the end of the wooden protrusion and pulled it from his back. He looked to LaCroix with thinly veiled hostility. "What's the matter, LaCroix?" he said in that deep, throaty voice that the elder had always found, well, frankly, deeply arousing. "Are you not proud of me, Master?"

"That is, unfortunately, not the issue. The issue is your state of mind. Do you know the entire vampire Community is deeply concerned by your sudden change? Were you aware that you awakened even the most ancients among us with your cry of rebirth? There is deep unrest and a tenuous struggle for control caused by your... passionate attitude towards your nature. Some of the younger ones were so susceptible to those feelings that they have already begun to hunt with the zeal of one who knows the thrill of the kill. And all because of you and your loss here today. Oh, Nicholas... always such an extremist."

He would have continued no doubt, had a large wooden object not stuck him in the side. The stake he had used on Nicholas had been used against him. "You are boring me, Master. I have more important things to attend to." Nicholas turned his back on LaCroix and prepared to finish off the last of Natalie's warm blood.

LaCroix was angry now. "Nicholas, I am warning you!" That was as far as he got before he was shoved against the wall, feeling the stake being pushed deeper into him. Nicholas held him fast, driving the stake into LaCroix while his still-reforming left arm pressed across his throat. LaCroix struggled, of course, counting on 19 centuries worth of strength to overpower this relative fledgling. But even all that he could muster was ineffective against this new threat. Nicholas had lost all vestiges of control, and his power was magnified tremendously as a result. He was, as Freud might have said, a creature of pure id. 'Then again,' LaCroix reasoned, 'if Freud were here to say that, he would be very dead by now.'

"I will have blood, LaCroix. Hers or yours, I don't care," Nicholas was hissing in his ear. Suddenly, his voice changed to one of a more lustful sort. "Or perhaps both. Yes, I think both." LaCroix felt his head being turned to the side, and the searing pleasure of his Nicholas' fangs being driven into his neck.

Both were lost in the sensations. It had been so very long since any blood had passed between them... so very long since anything but contempt passed between them. They both reeled from the images passing through their mental link. Nicholas was taking him, LaCroix realized, and it felt brutal; it felt vicious; it felt.... It felt wonderful.

Nicholas drew from the fount of LaCroix's age, drinking in the power and strength of nearly 2 millennia. His body reacted to the elder's blood as human blood never could have made him. His wounds healed even as he drank. The power surged through him and heightened his powers beyond his imagination. He felt LaCroix's limits, found his weaknesses, and learned ways to use them against him. And then he felt his Master's pleasure at the situation, and Nicholas was determined to make him regret that.

LaCroix felt the fangs twist in his neck and he recoiled in pain. At some point, he felt several vertebrae in his back snap, heard his neck break. Nicholas was going to drain him dry, absorb all his power, and leave him for the day. At that thought, LaCroix did something he'd never done in over 1900 years of life. He prayed.

*********

What happened next was almost enough to convince LaCroix there was a god after all. Nicholas' fangs were torn from his neck as his son's body spasmed. The younger vampire released his chokehold on the elder to flail at something behind him before crumpling helplessly to the floor, a stake piercing his heart.

Without Nicholas holding him up, LaCroix dropped limply to the ground as well while his body struggled to heal itself with what little vitae it had left.

"Sacre merde!" Janette cursed as she viewed the scene around her: one man dead, Natalie not far behind, and LaCroix and Nicholas in heaps, writhing in pain. Realizing it was up to her to save them all, Janette looked around once more and chose her course of action.

She scooped Natalie up in her arms and pierced her neck, draining the last of her blood -- the vampire would need the strength. She then proceeded to open her wrist and feed Natalie from it, just a little, just enough to ensure she'd be brought across. 'Nicholas would never forgive me if I allowed her to die,' she reasoned to herself.

LaCroix was the next priority, so Janette walked to where he was laying and held her still-bleeding wrist up to his mouth. Her sire drank as much as he dared, counting more on his age to save him. 'Pigheaded as always,' was her comment on that.

Finally, with all that taken care of, she turned her attentions to her beloved Nicholas -- or, at least, to the thing that he had become. He was the Beast given shape and form, with nothing remotely human about him anymore. Janette shook her head. No, that couldn't be true. Somewhere inside, there had to be a remnant of the Crusader -- something mortal inside him fighting to be free again. She only hoped that she had gotten to him in time.

*********

Nicholas de Brabant roared in fury. The sound echoed in the nothingness around him. The vampire scrambled for coherency. Where was he? What had happened to him, to his prey, to everything? But, wait... he could hear a heartbeat. A mortal heartbeat somewhere close by. Looking around, Nicholas found the source of the alluring sound and made his way to it.

There was a man huddled on the ground, clutching his knees to his chest, rocking slowly back and forth, his head bowed. Nicholas noticed that the man was about his height and build and dressed similarly. In fact, the only difference he really noticed was that this man was mortal and weak and pathetic. And Nicholas de Brabant was none of those things. He snarled and prepared to end the mortal's miserable life. But the man looked up then -- looked straight into his eyes.

*********

Nick Knight saw the haunted eyes that so mirrored his own. He stared into his own face and saw all the anger and fury and pain that he had so struggled against all these years. It was the face he saw every time he looked in the mirror, every time he peered into his soul. He stood slowly, watching the vampire's expression twist into confusion again.

Nick had known this confrontation would come eventually. He didn't know how he knew, or what the outcome would be, but he had known. And that, he hoped, would give him an advantage. And when you're a mortal standing toe to toe with an 800-year-old killing machine, you need every advantage you can get.

*********

Who was this mortal who had his face? The eyes were blue, not gold, and the lines in the other's face were more deeply drawn, but this was still his face! And when the man spoke, it was his voice!

"I've been expecting you," he said simply.

"What is this place?!" the vampire demanded.

The mortal shrugged. "Nowhere."

"Then tell me who you are!"

"I'm you." Another shrug. "Or, at least, the human part."

"I'm not human!"

"You're not mortal, no. But the fact that I am still here proves that there is something human left."

Nicholas de Brabant narrowed his eyes to slits. "Then I suppose I have to rid myself of you, too." And then he lunged for the mortal.

*********

Nick had been expecting that, too. What the vampire had not realized was that because they were the same person, any thoughts of the one were the thoughts of the other as well. The forewarning allowed even a mortal to sidestep a vampire's attack.

Confused, de Brabant paused a moment to collect himself before launching himself at his chosen prey again. And again Nick was able to sidestep the attack.

"You're weak, vampire. Without me, you're nothing but desire and anger, with no reason or rational thought." Nick pivoted out of the way of another lunge, slamming his palm up into the base of the vampire's jaw. The blow sent Nicholas' jaw into his fangs, and his mouth filled with blood.

Nicholas spat the blood onto the ground and looked up from his prone position on the ground. "And without me, you're dead," he chided as he kicked out with both feet, shattering both of Knight's kneecaps.

"Never underestimate your opponent," he continued as he stood. Another kick, and Nick felt his ribcage all but collapse. Nick cried out in pain just before a third swift strike broke his nose and cheekbones.

Nicholas bent and held Nick up by the shoulders. "When will you learn that you cannot destroy me? You have fought against me for more years than you should have been allowed and I am still here! I will be here forever! But, my human friend, you, I fear, shall not."

And in the moment before Nick felt the fangs drive into his throat, his eyes lit, and all at once he understood what must be done. And the terrible sacrifice he had to make to save them all.

*********

Night had fallen again. Three sets of vampiric eyes watched the comatose fourth for any signs of recovery. Janette had removed the stake after she made sure Nicholas had been secured. The restraints had been soaked with a vial of holy water that LaCroix, rather morbidly, carried with him.

"It reminds me of the fragility of this life," he had tersely replied at Natalie's questioning look. She decided not to push the matter further.

Janette looked back to the newest member of their family. Natalie had been understandably confused when she awoke, hungering for blood. LaCroix and Janette had taken turns feeding her until the worst of the Hunger passed. But she would need human blood soon or she would starve to death. She was already shaking and shivering with the force of her Hunger, but she refused to leave Nicholas' side.

Natalie prayed that he wasn't dead. He was so mad when he arrived... not an angry mad, either, but a crazy mad. Something in him had snapped and she wasn't sure it could ever be repaired. He just lay there still as death. Both Janette and LaCroix assured her that they could still feel their connections to Nicholas, so she continued to hope that he would recover.

*********

Nicholas de Brabant drank from the mortal who called himself Knight, drinking in the flood of memories from this incarnation of his existence. It was a very different experience for the vampire, feeling the wash of his own memories and feelings through the blood link. And then a voice poured through the link, overshadowing the memories. His own voice.

'You're right, de Brabant. I can't destroy you. But that doesn't mean I can't defeat you. Or at least control you.'

Nicholas watched in horror as the mortal reached out with more strength than he should have had and took his hand and actually reached through it. He could feel Knight melting into him, merging with him! The vampire roared and howled as his every nerve burned like fire, but he found he could not move. He was forced to endure the searing pain as Nick Knight, human, mortal, very peacefully became him. The last thing Nicholas de Brabant saw was the back of Knight's head pushing into his own...

...And he was Nick Knight, vampire. Somewhere between a killer and a savior. Somewhere between heaven and hell. Somewhere... but at peace.

*********

His eyes fluttered and he awoke to three very familiar faces, all looking down at him with love -- his master, his daughter, and his...

"Natalie?" He'd killed her, hadn't he? He paused; he couldn't hear her heart beating, and the smell of her blood was somehow different. She was a vampire! Questions assaulted his mind, but in his still weakened state, all he could manage to say was, "Who?"

"Janette brought me across, Nick. Don't be angry with her, please... it was like you said. I had to choose to come back, and I chose to stay here with you." It was the most she'd said since she'd been brought across; her burning Hunger forgotten for the moment.

Nick's protest died on his lips as he saw the love shining in her gold-tinged eyes. They could be together now. Together forever and at peace.

Janette spoke next. "Nicholas --"

"I think I would like it if you would call me 'Nick'. Nicholas de Brabant is gone."

Janette, more than a little confused, continued, "Nick, she needs human blood. LaCroix and I have managed to keep her alive for now, but she is starving."

Nick nodded, his strength returning. Janette released the bonds, wincing as the holy water burned her a little. He stood and turned to LaCroix.

"LaCroix, I..."

The elder cut him off. "Apology accepted, Nicho-- Nick. I trust that you were simply... not yourself, and that you are much improved."

Nick wrapped his arm around Natalie's waist. "Much improved, Father."

"And I have to admit," LaCroix continued, "the experience was quite... intriguing." He flew through the door before anyone could ask him what he meant.

Janette turned to go as well, but Nick held out a hand. "Janette. About Nat... thank you."

"Au revoir, mi amour," was all she replied as she left.

He watched her flight a moment and then turned his eyes to Natalie. "Now, let's get you taken care of," he said with a smile.

"With pleasure," she almost growled as she captured him in a hungry kiss and felt him respond eagerly.

He broke the kiss abruptly, though. "Blood first. We have all of eternity for the rest, my love."

*********

"Are you sure about this?"

"Burn it. Burn it all."

Natalie smiled grimly as she tossed the notebooks into the fire. They watched as her notes were consumed by the flame.

"So, no more 'quest for mortality,' huh? Now, what will occupy your time?" she asked coyly.

Nick walked behind her and kissed her neck, dragging his tongue lightly across her pale flesh. "Oh, I'm sure you can come up with something," he teased.

And in another brief moment, she did.