"Hellraiser" idea copyright Clive Barker.
Inspired by a little-known 1998 b&w film, "Pi", by "What's Your Pleasure, Sir?" by Mord and by "The Pheonix" by Nancy Warlocke

Set in season three after "Fever", but assuming the plane crash never happened (so that I can keep Cohen and Schanke). A mix of characters but you know them all....

**flashback 1228**

In the blackened grate the fire burned brightly, casting shadows the length of the dimly lit room. On the high, solid oak bed, across white silk sheets, the pale form of a young blond lay quite still. On the edge of the bed, sitting quietly, the ancient took a knife and sliced open his palm. Without a sound, he used the same blade to open the other's hand, and pressed the two wounds together, entwining their fingers.

After a short time, the ancient leaned forward and kissed the forehead of the other. Drawing back, he whispered, "Mon petit, this is the last night that my protection will fail to cover you. I am sorry. I will seek revenge for your suffering."

** present day **

Nat smiled back at Nick as he and Schanke stepped into the crime scene. "Bad one," she murmured to them as they peered into the bedroom. A woman, in her late twenties Nick guessed, had been murdered; stabbed multiple times. "...with a thick, blunt instrument." Nat shuddered. "Whoever did this had a lot of rage inside them."

Nick stepped closer, glancing at the body before turning away to steady himself. Nat's private look at him asked what he was already wondering. But with no evidence, neither physical nor sensory, he shook his head. Not wanting the resulting conversation he nudged Schanke. His partner came alive with the information he wanted to hear. "Maggie Lance, aged 28, single. A barmaid at Senator's."

"Have we got a 'next of'?"

"A brother, Karl Lance." Schanke smiled proudly. "We have an address."

"You're wonderful."

"I know."

~

Vachon sat at the bar, arms crossed on the mahogany, chin rested on the back of his hands. He gazed into the ruby liquid in the glass before him, hoping against hope that some answer would be forthcoming to his silent question. LaCroix took the seat beside the Spaniard, tilting his head to look at him thoughtfully.

"Maybe the Nightcrawler can help?" he asked almost playfully. Vachon glared across at LaCroix for a moment before returning his gaze to his drink. "My, something is truly eating at you."

Vachon sighed theatrically. "Go away."

"You know, Javier, I do get the distinct impression that you dislike me somewhat."

Realizing that he was not going to get rid of the ancient's attentions easily, he decided to push. "How did you feel when you realized Nick was going to die of that fever?" Mentally he added, 'living on the edge tonight, Javi.'

If LaCroix was surprised by the question, he did not show it. "Angry. As I felt angry about the fate of the whole community."

Vachon was shaking his head before LaCroix finished. "No." He picked up his drink, imagining he could feel the ancient's hardening gaze. Yet tonight his self-defence thought processes were simply not functioning. "You would have killed every mortal to revenge just his life."

LaCroix snorted. "You're on very dangerous ground, Vachon. I suggest you finish your drink and leave, take some time to calm yourself."

Vachon was shaking his head again. "Why do you treat him the way you do when you love him so much?"

Beside him, LaCroix stood, holding himself in check. He leaned into the younger vampire's hair, his lips an inch from Vachon's ear. "Don't step into places where you're not welcome."

Vachon watched the ancient disappear into the back of the club. He frowned, more angry with himself than he had been before winding LaCroix up; a dangerous past-time at best. His mind strayed to thoughts of the ancient's son. Maybe talking directly to Nick was the easiest and safest option.

~

Schanke threw his jacket over the back of his chair and headed straight for the coffee machine. "Man, oh man, that was unreal." He turned slightly with the jug, offering his partner a mug and once more being thanked, but no thanks. "How you exist without caffeine is beyond me, Partner." Nick merely smiled, sitting down and steepling his fingers as he watched Schanke finally take the seat across from him.

"Do I take it that I'm not the only one who didn't believe a word he told us?"

Schanke shook his head, actually agreeing. "Nothing the guy said made sense, Nick!"

The door to the captain's office opened and Cohen found two pairs of beautiful eyes tracking her across the squad room. She almost blushed. One was a picture of innocence, the other a prime example of carefully buried longings. As yet, she had not worked out which was which. Leaning almost conspiratorially on the back-to-back desks she looked from one detective to the other.

"Any luck with Mr Lance?"

Schanke leaned back. "The guy's a nutball, Captain. I mean, we tell him his sister's been brutally murdered and he comes up with this fairytale about demons."

"Demons?"

Nick slipped into the conversation, attempting to put some substance to his partner's glossy picture. "He reckons his sister brought her death upon herself because she had been conversing with demons."

Cohen's expression was just as Nick would have predicted. "Could there be any truth to his story? Maybe... drug abuse?"

Nick shook his head. "We'll have to wait for the autopsy to be sure, but... I don't think so. He seemed so sure, as if no one could make up a story like that so we would have to believe him."

Cohen thought about that for a moment. "Have you any more leads to go on?"

"Nope."

"Head down to the lab, see what Natalie has for us."

The two detectives rose in unison and grabbed their coats. 'Like obedient pedigrees,' she thought absently before returning to her desk.

~

"...there are stories, gentle listeners, of demons and ghouls, of goblins and of the devil himself. Most are nonsense, imagined beings conjured up by humans because without these tales of terror and horror their little lives are meaningless. Some... only a few... are real."

Schanke frowned at the radio as if that would silence the lunatic of the Toronto airwaves. "Is it just me or does he always seem to be on the right topic for us?"

Nick smiled gently, feeling, for some strange reason, quite well-disposed toward his master this night. Their feuding seemed to have eased somewhat since the epidemic of the fever that had killed so many of their kind, and could so easily have wiped out the entire Toronto vampire community, had it not been for LaCroix's luck in attacking an HIV sufferer. He knew Nat had been angry and upset at the loss of her friend, and he had sympathized. But deep down he had been relieved that LaCroix had found the cure, albeit accidentally. The night after the inoculations at the Raven, LaCroix had dropped in on Nick to ask if he was feeling better. No malice, no ulterior motive that Nick could find. He had simply asked, listened, and left.

"Nick?" Schanke was nudging him. "Nick, you still there, Partner?"

"Sure." Nick turned and smiled what he hoped was a smile that told of one who had been listening.

"Well, you just drove right past the lab."

~

"I found no traces of addictive substances, poison, anything that should not have been there." Nat looked up at the two partners - Nick leaning against her desk, Schanke standing with his back to the wall - both as far from the dissected body as they could get without it being obvious.

"What was she stabbed with?" Nick's soft, low voice had the same effect on her that it always did. She let the feelings warm her. He could say anything, absolutely anything, and still sound sexy.

"I don't know. I would have said a solid pipe, maybe a heavy truncheon; something heavy, with a rounded end."

Schanke frowned. "You would have said?"

"Yeah."

Nick gestured with his hand his slight impatience - or was it amusement? "So now you think...?"

"I don't know what I think. Some of the internal organs show evidence of being almost shredded. As if whatever she was stabbed with pulled some of her insides out when it was removed." Schanke paled, but as she watched Nick she saw a familiar flash crease his features. "I may have more for you tomorrow." Schanke nodded and waved at them - a gesture that told them he would just be outside. Once gone, Nat's full attention was turned on Nick. "You know something?"

But Nick shook his head. "No. Nothing. It's not important."

"Nick! This is a brutal murder. If you know anything...?"

He turned on her, his manner almost hostile. "I don't, Nat. I haven't got all the answers, even with my past."

She watched him leave the lab, confused and slightly annoyed by his outburst. Love him she might, but sometimes he could be as much of an arrogant bastard as anyone she had ever known.

~

Nick took the stool at the bar next to Vachon, nodding at Miklos when he caught the barman's eye. "Is he around?"

Vachon glanced at Nick, almost smiling. "He was earlier. I scared him off."

Nick took a sip of the drink Miklos had given him. He smiled and thanked the barman before taking in Vachon's answer. "You scared him off? How?"

"You do not want to know."

"No, you certainly don't." Nick watched Vachon almost deflate as LaCroix's smooth tones rolled over them. Nick's master leaned on the bar next to his son, gauging both vampires' moods. "Are you all right, Nicholas?"

Nick heard the genuine tone and turned to face LaCroix with only inquiry in his expression. "What makes you ask?"

LaCroix stepped back. "Am I not permitted to inquire as to the well-being of my son?" Close to his shoulder, Nick felt Vachon physically wince at the term of possession. He wondered what was going on, and what had passed between these two earlier.

"Of course. You just usually don't."

The ancient gave a bare shrug. "I felt something... disturbing in our link earlier this evening."

Although he could have pushed the subject of the bond that connected them, he did not. "I'm fine," Nick told him gently. "But thank you."

LaCroix paused, and Nick felt a subtle touch to his mind. Before he could protest, the ancient nodded and left the other two vampires alone. Nick turned to Vachon, tapping his thumb on the bar. The Spaniard met his questing gaze with slight embarrassment. "Want to tell me what's going on here?"

Vachon felt he could drown in those cornflower-blue eyes. How was it that he could face down LaCroix with all the courage in the world yet he could not talk to his friend. "I just said some things about you and him."

Nick's eyebrows jumped. And then he smiled, almost laughed. "I have to know what you said."

Vachon shook his head, but when he looked up and met his friend's smiling eyes he couldn't refuse. It was worth it to actually hear Nick laugh. "All right. I asked him why he treated you so badly when he loved you so much."

Nick practically spat his drink out. "Why?"

Vachon shrugged. "I wanted him to leave me alone."

The large brown eyes that watched Nick over the rim of a blood-filled glass were speaking volumes. Taking a deep swallow of the cow in his own glass, Nick started to formulate some sort of answer to Vachon's unasked question. As he opened his mouth to speak, he felt something. One glance at the Spaniard told him that he hadn't been mistaken.

Vachon scanned the room with his senses at about the same time as every vampire in the place did the same. All eyes fixed on a new addition to the crowd. A tall, dark stranger, with short, cropped bleached hair that looked to Nick like a fuller version of LaCroix's. The hair had changed, but Nick still recognized the enforcer. "Edwarldo." The word was a breath yet the vampire standing on platform next to the doors turned slightly at the sound of his name. Nick sat up, bringing his body closer and in line with Vachon's, disappearing from the ancient's view. The dancers continued to move to the music, but the tension in the club had gone up a notch and remained there until LaCroix appeared seemingly from nowhere and greeted the stranger. They exchanged a few friendly words and disappeared together into the back rooms of the club.

"It has been a long time, Edwarldo. What brings you to Toronto?" LaCroix's outward expression of familiarity out in the club had subtly been overlaid with an icy air of distrust.

"I like Canada, Lucien. I like to travel. I heard you were here so I thought I would pay an old friend a short visit."

LaCroix shook his head. "And I ask myself why I don't believe you."

Edwarldo smiled. He rubbed his palms together and as if from nowhere produced a small golden cube - a puzzle. LaCroix stared at it. "What are you doing with that?" He asked the question in the manner of a bored parent although he suspected it was a pretence Edwarldo could see straight through.

"I picked it up a short while ago." There was no threat in the tone, and LaCroix showed no obvious signs of anything but interest and some recognition. Yet both vampires could feel the undertones vibrating through their scant conversation.

LaCroix stepped forward and touched his fingertips to the cold metal of the puzzle. He lingered there. "I have not seen this in a long time."

"You threw it away, Lucien."

LaCroix withdrew his fingers quickly. "Yes. I... I could not keep it."

Edwarldo closed his hands over the solid object and it vanished. "I admit to... playing, once in a while. As you know, only our kind can play with it and survive."

LaCroix stepped away from the other vampire, sitting back against the desk. "What do you want, Edwarldo?"

"You already know, Lucien."

~

Nick dropped into the battered sofa and accepted the glass from Vachon. "No bovine blood, I'm afraid."

"This is fine, thanks."

Vachon made himself comfortable on the other side of the couch. "Are you going to tell me about Mr Enforcer or do I have to beat it out of you?"

Nick chuckled. "As... interesting as that would be to witness," he mirrored Vachon's smile. "Edwarldo is an old... acquaintance of the family."

"The family? LaCroix, presumably?"

"No. De Brabant, actually. I don't know how long he was around. He was a friend of my father's long before I was born. Knowing what I know now, he was probably a friend of my Grandfather's and his Grandfather's."

"Strange family you come from."

Nick nodded. "I believe he was waiting for me to come back from the crusades before taking me."

"He was going to bring you across?" Nick nodded and a light came on in Vachon's eyes. "But by the time you did come back from the crusades..."

"LaCroix had already done it. I returned as a member of his family. I really wasn't aware of what was happening. Edwarldo came to see me and of course he knew immediately. He and LaCroix met and argued."

"Possessive from the start, ay?"

Nick frowned at Vachon. "Is there something going on I should know about? I know LaCroix isn't Mr Popular but you seem to have a real problem with him. What's he done?"

Vachon stood, pacing his way to the wall and leaning back on it. Clicking his heel against the brick he stared at Nick. "He shouldn't treat you the way he does."

Nick smiled softly at the Spaniard's obvious tone. "He has always been the same, Javier. I disappoint him."

"That's what pisses me off." Nick's eyes widened. "He should be proud of you."

Nick rubbed his eyes. "After 800 years I'm too used to it to let it bother me too much anymore."

"But it does upset you!" Vachon snapped shut on the rest of his speech. Nick was watching him curiously... or knowingly perhaps.

"This isn't about LaCroix, is it? Tracy said you'd been distracted recently." Nick put down his glass and stood, crossing to where Vachon stood, back to the wall. "Is desire enough?"

Vachon needed no other guidance. Gently he moved his hand to the side of Nick's throat, his eyes glowing amber. "LaCroix will kill me."

Nick smiled, the first drop of his fangs obvious over his bottom lip. "He won't." Pressing his neck into Vachon's hand, he caught the Spaniard's other and brought it to his collar. Vachon's fingers worked at the buttons, revealing smooth, pale skin he bent to kiss. He tongued a path across Nick's collar bone into the hollow at the base of his neck. He nipped the skin up the side of Nick's throat, reaching a small vein into which he slipped his fangs.

Nick convulsed against Vachon. It had been so very long since he had been penetrated. He felt Vachon's arms surround him, clasping him to the strong body he stood against. He could feel himself being sipped, tasted as intimately as the vampire would allow. Nick combed his fingers into the black hair that fell like a curtain around his neck and shoulders. With his other hand he brushed the thick strands from Vachon's neck and settled his lips against the rich flesh, kissing, nipping and finally biting. Vachon shuddered as Nick slipped into him.

Riding the first deep waves of pleasure, Nick heard a whisper in his mind, his own name in deep tones of an ancient dead dialect. He smiled to himself, sliding his fangs deeper into Vachon's neck.

Vague images and memories passed between them; experiences shared without a word being spoken. Vachon tasted the honeyed nectar that ran through Nick's veins, carrying the immortal life Vachon at least treasured. Into his own blood the Spaniard flooded his feelings, his longings. He needed Nick to see what he had been trying to hide by first turning to Nick, then away from him.

Nick read, and closing his lips over the wound in which his fangs were buried he sucked gently, teasingly. Vachon shuddered as the invasion of his body became suddenly more intense. His orgasm hit hard, violently coursing through his body in his blood. Nick drank the elixir that the other's pleasure was pushing into the circle of blood. The touch of Vachon's hand at his groin was just a vague sensation as Nick's own orgasm pulsed through him, long and hard, a release of months of tension.

Nick grasped at the Spaniard as he fell forward slightly, teeth still deep in the vampire's throat. He could feel the hardness of Vachon's fangs where they were buried within him. Vachon must have read something in the blood passed back to him, for his grip on Nick's neck became gentle suddenly, and his touch became a soothing stroke. Nick relaxed into the haven offered by the other vampire. The point of contact in his throat was becoming sensitized, every tiny movement of Vachon's fangs played across his nerves.

Slowly, Nick pulled back, kissing and licking at the wound he had caused, feeling Vachon doing the same. A few moments later they were holding one another, lips pressed into the hallows of necks. Nick took a step away, loosening his hold on Vachon and turning in a fluid motion. Vachon was somehow ready for his friend's reaction, sliding his up to wrap his long fingers around Nick's arm. "Don't say you have to go, because you don't. Not yet. Stay the day, Nick. Talk to me."

For a moment he hesitated, then Nick looked up to meet Vachon's questioning eyes. He nodded. "I started this, I know."

But Vachon was shaking his head. "It doesn't matter who started it. I don't want you to finish it quite yet."

~

Captain Cohen glanced at the photos over Schanke's shoulder. It was very rare that she saw this rather squeamish detective staring intently at evidence shots of a murder scene. And this latest one was quite gruesome.

"You should be home, Schanke."

He looked up suddenly, as if he had not been aware of her presence. "I know, I'm going. It's just something about this is so... familiar. I've seen this before but I can't seem to figure out where. I think Nick has too."

Cohen frowned. "What makes you say that?"

"Just something about how he was at the crime scene, and with the brother. He doesn't think I notice but I do. He's different somehow, even more reserved than usual when he recognizes something." Schanke rubbed his eyes and threw the photos face-down onto his desk. "You know, sometimes it's as if he knows so much more than he should, as if he's been around so much longer than he has."

"Get some sleep, Schanke, you're sounding tired."

~

Nick and Vachon lay in an unruly yet surprisingly comfortable mess on the sofa. Cradled loosely in the crook of the Spaniard's arm, Nick lay with his back to Vachon's side, his head dropped back against the broad shoulder. "There's something I didn't say, about Edwarldo."

Vachon dug his chin gently into Nick's hair. "Say it now."

"After we left Brabant, we went to Paris. We stayed in a castle belonging to a friend of LaCroix's. One night when Janette and LaCroix were together, I woke to find Edwarldo standing over me. Before I could scream, before I could move he'd bitten me and was draining me. I remember struggling, I remember the rage and fear. After that I only remember waking to find myself joined to LaCroix by a...", he drew his index finger across his lower arm, "...a cut in our wrists."

"Kinky." But Vachon's arm had moved around Nick's waist in a slightly possessive gesture. Nick felt it and smiling to himself he turned his head to meet the large brown eyes. Vachon read the expression. "Sorry."

"You're jealous of LaCroix, aren't you?"

Vachon glanced away for a moment, ignoring the question to ask one of his own. "Are you worried about Edwarldo's motives for being in town?"

"A little. He and LaCroix have become... civil, over the centuries. What's done is done and the night Warldo drained me I think he just got carried away. It could just be business. They're both ancients with respect for one another and for the community. Starting a war at this late stage would do more harm than good and he is an Enforcer. He's had many chances to exact some kind of revenge and hasn't taken any of them."

Vachon dropped his head back against the sofa. "Has immortality ever not been complicated for you?"

Nick grinned and shook his head. "Maybe that's why I've become a cop, I like the peace and quiet."

~

Schanke spotted Nick as he walked into the precinct the following evening. There was something ever-so-slightly different about his partner, and he spent a short time - the time it took Nick to reach their desks - trying to figure out what it was. "You're looking rosy this evening," he finally concluded.

Nick simply smiled at him. "Thank you." His eyes settled on the blonde woman crouched down with her arms folded on the opposite edge of Schanke's desk. She had a look of excited pride on her young face, her green eyes sparkled with the glee of success.

Schanke indicated her with a flourish of his hand, as if she had been badgering him for long enough and now it was Nick's turn. "Nick, meet Detective Tracy..."

"...Vetter, I know." Nick smiled at the woman. "Our newest addition. Welcome to homicide." She smiled back. Nick knew Tracy because Vachon knew Tracy. Things could have gotten more complicated but they hadn't, and all she knew was that her strange friend Javier Vachon was a vampire. She believed Nick knew him through her when in fact Nick knew him because of her. Complex, but somehow it just seemed to work. Schanke, however, was unaware that vampires even existed and his attention was split between getting Tracy Vetter off his case, and finding out what had happened to his partner in the last twelve hours.

Tracy handed Nick a cassette, grinning. Schanke sighed. "Tracy believes she's found out something about our demon murder." Nick took the tape. "You'll like it too."

Nick raised his eyebrows first at Schanke, and then when an explanation was obviously not going to be forthcoming, at Tracy. She needed no more encouragement. "I have... a friend. He sometimes records that Nightcrawler show, you know? The strange guy on CERK...?"

Schanke waved his hand in a vague indication that she should skip this part. "He knows," he glanced up at Nick accusingly. "He forces me to listen every night."

Tracy's eyes widened. "You listen? Well you might have heard this."

With the utmost patience of one who is starting to lose his place in the exchange of words around him, Nick asked simply, "What is it?"

"The Nightcrawler show, from the night Maggie Lance was murdered. She was one of his callers."

"...and who do we have here?"

"Maggie... my name's Maggie. I... I'm not sure if you'll believe my story..."

LaCroix's persuasive tones could be so useful in other fields, Nick decided. "Try me."

"I... I think I've just... been bitten by... by a vampire."

Nick believed he could hear his father's surprise in the momentary pause. And then so smoothly. "And what makes you think that, my dear?" Only a slight hint of mockery was audible in his question, yet it was the perfect amount.

"I don't know how he got in here. He... he kissed me and then... then he bit me." Her voice wavered into repulsion. "He drank my blood. I have the marks.... I need your help. Will I turn into ... into a vampire?"

LaCroix's faint chuckle and then his denial. "My dear, I believe you just to be a touch on the hysterical side. Vampires, surely, are the stuff of legends, of fantasies." The phrase touched something inside of Nick; myths, no, fiction, no, legends and fantasies....

**flashback 1228**

LaCroix gazed down at the lucious body lying his full length, the pale skin amber in the candlelight, the fine covering of faint blond hair so masculine, so sensual and yet a danger lingered in their joining such to excite the ancient beyond anything he remembered.

"Nichola, mon fantasie...."

** present day **

"...but I have the marks, Nightcrawler. I know what he did to me."

LaCroix paused and then asked. "Tell me what you experienced when this... vampire... bit you."

There was a moment's silence before she hesitantly began. "It felt... erotic. Sexual. Like... like an orgasm only so much... better."

"Did you feel him wanting you? Every drop of blood he took from you, did you feel as if he was possessing you? Knowing you so intimately, so deeply that he touched your soul. That you touched his." Nick closed his eyes as a jolt of desire burned down his spine, pulsing in his neck and groin. He shifted slightly where he sat perched on the edge of the table.

"I... I don't know if he... if he was just... feeding off me."

"Did he come for you while he drank? Did just the taste of you push him to orgasm?"

Nick turned his head, trying to think about baseball, or the evening news. Anything to stop the effect that LaCroix's words were having on his reawakened senses.

On the tape, the woman was almost in tears now. "I... Nightcrawler, what should I do?"

Nick imagined his master trying to deal with a situation which he knew well would have to be dealt with once again by others of their kind. "You should get some sleep, my Dear. The night plays with our imaginations, creates monsters when no monsters exist."

"But I thought... you have to believe me."

"Do you believe in vampires, Maggie?"

"No... but..."

"Do you believe in men, men who take women out for the night, buy them drinks, make them feel like they are the only woman in the world, drive them home and enjoy them. And then leave." There was silence. "Men are monsters, my Dear, not vampires." The line went dead.

Tracy stopped the tape, looking from Schanke sitting with his feet on the desk, his expression the same as it was every time he heard the Nightcrawler's show. To Nick who was standing against the wall facing the door and not showing any interest in the tape at all. Or at least, pretending not to. She frowned. "Come on, guys. This has to give a few leads! Her date took advantage of her, left, heard her on the radio, got mad and went back to kill her."

Schanke shook his head. "How do you know this is Maggie Lance?"

"I checked her phone records." Nick was silently impressed.

Schanke sighed. "She was a lunatic. She claimed this guy bit her and drank her blood!"

"I think there could be something to this."

Schanke looked up, wide-eyed, at his partner. "And she wasn't the only loony in town."

Reassured that his body was not about to betray him, Nick pushed away from the wall to lean on one of the chairs near the table. He seemingly fixed Tracy and Schanke with the same intense gaze at the same time. It reminded Tracy of Vachon. "I know it sounds... a little odd. But it fits with the demon story, doesn't it? If we find the boyfriend, the guy she was with that night, we might find out what actually did happen between them." Tracy grinned at Schanke triumphantly as he pushed back his chair to stand. She turned her smile on Nick, but he was already shaking his head. "Sorry, Tracy, Schank and I work alone."

It was Schanke's turn to glow.

~

The crime scene at Maggie Lance's apartment was exactly as forensics had left it; it wreaked of blood. Schanke tried to look around without looking at the bed. Nick took the bedroom, searching for anything that would tell him categorically that it wasn't a vampire Maggie was with the night she was killed. To his mind it certainly wasn't a vampire that killed her. Too cause that much damage....

**flashback - Paris, 1896**

Nick flung open the door to LaCroix's lounge screaming for his master. The sight that met his eyes sent him reeling back. Pierced by the chains that held him, LaCroix knelt before the horror from which his torture emanated. Nick saw the angry look his master cast toward him, watched it melt to despair. "LaCroix...?"

** present day **

Nick fell back, colliding with the bedside cabinet, reaching out to steady himself. His hand contacted with the blood sprayed across the bedclothes and the wall. In the lounge, Schanke turned. "Nick?" He started into the bedroom. "Nick, you okay?" His partner was slowly backing away from the bed. Schanke reached out to touch his shoulder and Nick jumped as if struck by electricity. "Hey, Nick, it's okay, Partner." Schanke's concerned rose a notch when he saw the gentle haze in Nick's eyes.

"Schanke..." he sounded out of breath, and Schanke decided that was enough. He took Nick by the shoulders and turned him, pushing him out of the room and directing him toward the front door of the apartment.

They made it out to the car before Nick retched into the gutter. There was nothing in his stomach to throw up, but that did not stop it from making several attempts. Schanke stayed by his side. His partner had scared him not too many weeks ago by coming down with some fever or other that no one had heard of. He wondered if this could be a part of that same illness. "Nick? You okay, Partner?"

Nick nodded hesitantly. "I'm okay...." He retched once more and shakily stood.

"Come on, I'll drive you home."

The city passed them by in a blur of light. "Sorry, Schanke." Nick drew in some air.

"Don't worry about it. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah. I'm not sure what happened in there."

"Hey, the place is like an abattoir, the stink probably just got to you."

Nick shook his head and closed his eyes. His memory of a dark night in 1896 had been more of a blur than a clear flashback and he could not remember more than that. He thought vaguely about going to see LaCroix, and then he considered spending the remainder of the night and the day with Vachon. He glanced at Schanke and decided on simply going home.

~

Nick opened his eyes and gazed into the shuttered darkness of the loft. Someone was calling his name. He sighed, turning over on the couch to gaze tiredly at the door. "Nat."

She closed the elevator door behind her. "I know I could have rung, but you have been a little... edgy over this case. I wanted to make sure that you were all right."

Nick nodded, watching her as she came to sit in the armchair closest to his head. He crossed his arms on the edge of the leather couch, smiling at her. "Sorry. There are elements of this case which are starting to feel familiar." He held up a defensive hand. "Nothing that could lead to the killer, before you start yelling at me."

Nat shifted back into the chair. "I wasn't going to yell at you."

They looked at each other for a while. There was something lacking in the way he was watching her, she thought, his eyes lacked the hunger she often saw there when he looked at her. The fact it was gone sent a slight shiver down her spine. "So... did you wake me for a reason?"

Nat bristled. "I found something on Maggie Lance."

Nick waited, and then asked, "what?"

"Fang marks." That got his full attention. "Not on the neck."

"Then where?"

"Inside the bottom lip."

Nick pushed himself into a sitting position, curling one leg under him, pulling the other knee up under his chin. "She was kissed by a vampire."

Nat sat up too. "Kissed? You mean... with tongues?"

Nick chuckled. "Probably.... You sink your fangs into the bottom lip and... sip. It used to be considered a way of marking a victim before the kill. Other vampires can sense the bite and stay away."

"Well, I would say that Maggie was marked."

Nick seemed to think for a while. When he looked back at her, there was a definite 'business' look about him. She couldn't remember the last time they had spoken about anything that wasn't business. Still, it was she that had come to him about this. Had she really expected him to put what she had to say aside and... watch videos?

"Were there any signs that her killer was a vampire?"

"Nope."

"Then she was marked by a vampire and killed by... who? And why? She goes out on a date with a guy - a vampire - and he marks her but doesn't kill her. He leaves. And then she phones the Nightcrawler and tells him she's been bitten by a vampire and has the marks to prove it."

Nat's eyes had widened. "She phoned the Nightcrawler show?"

Nick nodded. "Tracy Vetter had the tape."

"Tracy records the show? This is getting..."

But Nick was shaking his head. "No, Vachon I think. Although I have no idea why." He dropped his head back against the couch.

"Maybe someone heard the show and murdered her because...."

"Because she was giving away the existence of vampires."

"LaCroix?"

Nick frowned. "Why do you always think he's the villain?"

"Because you always told me that he was." She sighed. "If not LaCroix, who?"

He sat forward. "An enforcer."

~

Edwarldo sat in the luxury of his rented apartment in uptown Toronto. He played the gold plated puzzle through his fingers, dropping it into his palms. Carefully he pushed three triangular pieces - intricately carved - in separate directions, up into the cube. He placed it on the glass table before him and sat back. A subtle clicking of the puzzle accompanied several moves of adjoining pieces. In the next second the puzzle was solved, and the smallest possibility of a bell could be heard. Before his eyes, the walls of the room started to shift, clearing a doorway yet remaining, subtly changing as they stayed the same. When his blurred vision cleared, a vision of horror stood before him.

Bare feet stood in the lush carpet. A skin-tight suit of blue shimmering material covered the slim form from ankles to neck. Like a patchwork quilt, the materiel was sewn in a large grid into the skin below, From the chin up and around - his whole head - was a diamond grid made up of cuts into his flesh. At each intersection, small jewels were all that could be seen of the long pins that ran into the brain. A circlet of these expensively jewelled pins ran around the neck; a fallen halo that now stuck precariously out from around the throat.

The head of the figure bowed as the high choker of pins would allow, one hand rose flat to the chest while the other unfurled in the vampire's direction. The voice, when it spoke, was soft, male once but now indifferent to its sex. "Edwarldo. You are becoming... a familiar face." Blue eyes rose to stare at the enforcer. "Too much of a good thing can harm even you."

Edwarldo smiled and stood, stepping out around the table to stand beside the other, facing in the opposite direction. "Linque, Did you enjoy yourself with my mortal gift?"

Linque's head turned to glance across at the undead creature standing next to it. "I remind you, I am not yours to command. I could kill you, immortal or not."

Edwarldo smiled. "But you won't. We have too much fun together."

The mask of horror titled slightly to regard the vampire closely. "Although I do enjoy playing with those of your kind, now and again, my true interest is with mortals. They have souls which I can capture. Your kind do not surrender as... deliciously as mortals do. Vampires tend to know the deep pleasures of the blood and they can taste those pleasures without risk. They do not need me to give them what they can so easily find among themselves. I... appreciate receiving but I would not wish to make a career out of it."

"I have one more request." The strange figure tensed in growing anger. "After this I give you my word that I will dispose of the puzzle where ever you want." A tilt of the vile head gave consent. "He is one of us. I just want you to have some fun."

"Why?"

"I would like you to give him - to show him - what he would never allow me to show him."

"I could kill him."

"No." Edwarldo almost laughed. "Don't do that. If you kill him, I would most definitely have my own immortality cut short. I'll deliver the puzzle to him. He will solve it."

A hesitation. "This is the end of our strange friendship. I will not see you again for a very long time. If I do, I will kill you for my own pleasure."

Edwarldo simply smiled, and nodded.

~

As he had so often done in the past, LaCroix paused in his monologue when he felt his son enter the club.

Vachon started when Nick's fingers brushed through his hair. "Hey." Nick's eyes flashed gently as Vachon smiled up at him.

"Shouldn't you be at work, brave one?" There was no mocking in his tone, just a warmth that Nick suddenly realized had been there for a long time.

"Yep." He glanced over to the back of the club.

"You're looking for LaCroix."

Nick noted the hint of disapproval in his voice. "Don't start with me." He tried to keep his tone light. "It's business." Nick stepped around the Spaniard and saw LaCroix watching him from over the broadcast console. He lowered his mouth to Vachon's ear. "I'll see you later."

Vachon nodded, and watched the other vampire stride around the bar and close the door behind him when he entered the booth. He beckoned to Miklos. "Another. More wine than blood this time."

Nick perched on the edge of the console, smiling down at LaCroix's expectant gaze. "You know what this is about."

"I have... an idea."

"I want to know what Edwarldo is doing in town."

LaCroix nodded and glanced down at the buttons before him. "Why?"

"Two nights ago a woman called your show claiming she had been bitten by a vampire."

The ancient smiled, showing gleaming white teeth. "Yes, I remember her. Interesting woman. I was planning on following that up personally, but Edwarldo's arrival rather scuppered my plans."

"She was telling the truth." LaCroix raised his eyebrows. "Not long after calling you she was brutally murdered. Natalie found fang marks inside her bottom lip."

Nick watched his father's head slowly turn, his ice-blue eyes meeting his own gaze. "I suppose you have a theory?"

"I just want to talk to Edwarldo."

"I don't think that would be such a wise idea."

Nick huffed, pushed himself off the metal and started to pace the small, soundproofed room. "I can look after myself, you know."

"Nicholas, accusing an enforcer of the pointless murder of a mortal is not usually synonymous with a long life expectancy, even for us. And Edwarldo... is dangerous to you." He watched his son watch him, sighing in defeat as Nick's stubborn attitude won through. "What makes you think Edwarldo had anything to do with this?"

"I...." Nick stopped moving and leaned back against the far wall between the racks of compact discs. "I don't know. The body... the mutilation... I've seen it before I just can't remember where."

LaCroix's blinked once. "Describe it to me."

"Like... like something had been thrust in to her again and again, and removed, pulling lumps of flesh with it." The ancient stood, and Nick could tell by the change in his manner that he knew something. He leaned forward. "Tell me. Tell me what you know about this."

LaCroix stopped a few inches from his son, yet he kept his stance unthreatening. "No. And I don't want you involved in this."

"Why?" Nick's tone was becoming insistent.

LaCroix cursed himself for being so obvious in his concern. "Please, Nicholas. I understand your mortal act requires you to show some interest in solving this case but you won't." He reached out to touch his son's face, and as he did so, he watched Nick's eyes cloud over.

**flashback - Paris, 1896**

"No!"

The thick metal chains that pierced LaCroix's body retracted suddenly, seemingly into the terrible blue-clothed form that stood before him. LaCroix collapsed, into the waiting arms of his son who pulled the shirtless, bloodied body of his master to one side, away from the horror that stood over them. "LaCroix?"

"Nichola... c'est bien." LaCroix sat himself up, grasping Nick's arms and calming him as the healing process quickly began in his ravaged body. He pulled his distraught son's against him, holding him in a strong grip. After a short time he looked up at the still form standing a little way from them, watching them with a touching sadness in his bright eyes.

It spoke with that same gentle sadness. "I am sorry. I did not mean to upset your little one."

LaCroix shook his head. "It is I who should be sorry. I know that I will be, but I cannot continue now that he is here."

"I understand. If I could ask you to dispose of the puzzle...?"

"I will ensure you travel as I promised you would."

"Thank you." The smooth voice lowered. "I will ... miss you, Lucien. I hope our paths will cross once more in the years to come."

LaCroix nodded, smiling. "I know they will."

"Goodbye, Lucien."

Nick looked up as a cloud of blue light filled the room, and from somewhere in the distance a bell's chime reached his ears. And then nothing. Just a small gold box where the mutilated form of what must once have been a man had stood. He had heard his master's regretful tone yet he could feel fear emanating in waves from the ancient who held him. Fear. And a soul-deep orgasm.

"Nicholas?" LaCroix caught his son in his arms as Nick fell forward, gasping in terror. "Mon fils, what is wrong?" He could sense the fear suddenly coming from his child, but not the reason or the source of it. LaCroix followed Nick as his knees gave way and he sank to the floor. "Nicholas?"

Nick lifted his head, his mind clearing. "I'm... I'm all right."

"I would not consider this to be normal."

"It's nothing." Nick looked up into his father's concerned gaze and smiled weakly. It had been a very long time since he had been this close to LaCroix, and he found some comfort in the loose embrace, not that he was about to admit that. "I'm fine, honestly. I've... I've been feeding less than I should is all."

LaCroix regarded him suspiciously, but released him and folded his legs under him, kneeling up. "Will you let this case go, for me?"

"You know I can't, LaCroix. Lives are in danger."

The ancient thought about that. "What if I promised you that no more lives would be threatened by this?"

Nick shook his head once. "Why won't you tell me?"

"It is not necessary that you know. Trust me, Nicholas. You will not see a murder like this one again, you have my word."

Nick wanted to argue, to make his master tell him that which he was so evidently holding back. But he knew it would be a waste of time, and so he nodded. "All right. This time."

"Thank you." LaCroix looked at Nick's hand, rested against the floor, and covered it with his own. He did not say a word, but he did not have to. After a second's hesitation, Nick turned his hand under his father's and entwined their fingers. They sat together as time passed, something they had not done for a very long time.

Later on, after the club closed for the day, LaCroix sat down at his desk in the office and opened the bottom draw. He took out a battered catalogue and read the cover title 'festive d'antique du Paris, 1896'. Leafing through the booklet, he stopped at a centre page showing a coloured sketch of a delicately engraved, golden cube. He stared at it for some time. "Whatever game is it that you are playing, Warldo, it will stop. Right now."

~

The small puzzle shone against the black of the table top. Nick noticed it for the first time late the following evening, as he padded down stairs for breakfast. With an open bottle clasped in one hand, he picked up the golden cube and stared at it, wondering where it had come from. His first guess was that LaCroix had left it here for some reason; LaCroix being the only one capable of getting in and out of the loft without his knowing.  Sometimes that fact riled him, this evening he simply accepted it.

He picked up the cube and slumped down into the leather couch, taking a long drink of the blood from the bottle and turning his new acquisition over in his hand. There was something very familiar about the colour of it, and the intricate symbols that marked it, but he could not remember where, or even if, he had seen it before. He liked puzzles though. When the Rubiks cube had come out in the eighties he had been fascinated with it. LaCroix had bought him one for no particular reason and he had solved it in an hour. His fascination with it had stemmed from watching those around him agonize over it for days and even weeks. He guessed that this puzzle had been bought by his father for the same non-specific reasons.

Using his thumb, he pushed one of the triangular-cut sections up into the cube. Suddenly, to his surprise, all the sections slid out of the puzzle, causing him to drop it as the sharp points jabbed into his hand. He closed his eyes as his vision filled with a bright blue light and his mind chimed with the sound of bells.

The bottle smashed as his fingers crushed the glass, and a moment later, he screamed.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter Two

LaCroix flew up the back stairs, from the club to the private apartments beyond. He stepped into the narrow hall, greeting with impatient concern the young female vampire who met him.. "Doctor Reed, thank you for coming."

"Ellast, please." She smiled as she crossed her arms over her ample chest and lead him into the lounge. Ellast had been brought across by a friend over four hundred years ago. She had spent her immorality studying the art of medicine for the rare occasions on which their kind needed medical attention. On those occasions, the situation was usually desperate and often brutal. Her fees were modest for the service she provided.

LaCroix joined his hands before him, watching as Ellast watched him. "How is Nicholas?"

"He is severely injured."

"I want to see him."

The doctor nodded. "Before you do, you should know that the only being that could cause this much harm to another vampire is an Enforcer."

LaCroix fixed her with stare that would have frozen most young vampires. "I know who did this, doctor. And I know why." Ellast's eyebrows drifted upwards from over her big brown eyes set deep beneath long brown hair taken up into a messy bob at the back of her head. She was a practical looking woman, one who always had and always would put all those around her at ease, whatever the situation. Her set expression questioned LaCroix silently, yet she knew an answer would not be forthcoming. "I would like to see my son."

Ellast nodded and lead the way down the hall to the bathroom. Stepping back, she indicated the door and watched LaCroix carefully when he pushed it open. Giving the ancient a moment to take in what he saw, she proceeded to explain her methods. "Feeding is not enough now. His body - his whole system - needs to absorb more blood than you could ever get into him before he bled out." Swallowing unexpected tears, LaCroix took a hesitant step into the harshly lit room. Ellast moved into the doorway, her gaze falling on her patient. "It doesn't look pleasant, I know. But he is not, and will not, be aware of anything for some time."

LaCroix nodded, crouching gracefully beside the bath. Nicholas was lying stretched out in the tub. His blond head lolled back against the cold, red-stained edge. The bath was full to the brim with pure human blood taken from donors and supplies only Ellast knew about. "If he woke...."

"He won't. You asked for my help, Lucien. You must trust me. His body has been torn to shreds. However... repulsive this looks to you, what is immersed is a lot, lot worse."

With infinite tenderness LaCroix touched his fingertips to his child's battered face. His left eye was bloated, pushing the eyelid out, exposing some of the white under the fallen lashes. A deep gash on his forehead exposed a long crack in his skull.

"I know you're trying to sense him," Ellast murmured. "But if you could leave him, just until he's regained consciousness?"

Reluctantly, the ancient nodded. "How long....?"

"I don't know. Hours, days; it depends on him. He's lucky to be alive, Lucien." Ellast dropped a hand to the elder vampire's shoulder. "Try not to worry."

Ellast watched LaCroix carefully. She had known him all her long life. Her own master, a vampire younger than the ancient and exponentially more easy going, had however been a familiar acquaintance with LaCroix and saw a great deal of him whenever he was in Europe. Ellast had become close to LaCroix during her stays in America, a place her father never ventured. She had watched while Nicholas pushed him ever further away. Yet in all that time she had never known LaCroix's love for his son to falter.

~

Vachon picked up his glass and slid off the stool. According to Urs there had been a lot of activity earlier on, but since he had arrived at the club everything seemed to have settled down and no one would say what, if anything, had occurred.

LaCroix stepped up behind him, and immediately Vachon felt the ancient's presence. Without turning, his stance stiffened. "I need to speak to you, Javier."

Vachon's eyes dropped to the floor. "What is it, LaCroix?"

"It is about Nicholas."

As usual, LaCroix's almost commanding tone irked him. "You can't control his life forever. You have to let him live how he wants to live." He did not see the flash of confusion that changed LaCroix's set expression for an instant. "Nick has to find his own way and if I'm part of that, so be it."

LaCroix knew what had happened between Vachon and Nicholas; he knew his son had felt his gentle caress of their bond. Anything that brought his Nicholas back to the fold was fine with him. He would have liked to have a short word with Vachon about the correct treatment of his son, but now was not the time. "Earlier this evening Nicholas was attacked." LaCroix took some small satisfaction from Vachon's expression when he turned. "He was torn to shreds."

Vachon swayed slightly, putting a foot back to steady himself. Surprised by the vampire's reaction, LaCroix reached out to steady him. Tears were welling up in the deep brown eyes. Seeing them, LaCroix felt his own resolve starting to crumble. He placed a guiding hand on Vachon's shoulder. "Come, let us go somewhere a little less public."

The Spaniard allowed himself to be lead. A million thoughts were driving through his mind. "Is he... tell me he's all right."

LaCroix hushed him until they were away from spying eyes, through the beaded curtain and the wooden door that hide the wine stocks from the view of the club's patrons. He released the young vampire and stood before him, hands clasped together, gold-specked eyes searing into Vachon's soul. "Nicholas will survive this, and I will ensure that the mental trauma he has suffered does not drive him from us."

Vachon knew what that meant. "What happened?"

"I cannot say. All you need to tell me is whether he has spoken to you since leaving the club last night."

Anger flared in the Spaniard. "You think I had something to do with this?"

LaCroix's tone was measured. "No. But anything you know...."

Vachon flung the glass he still held at the stone wall beside them, flaming red eyes glaring at the ancient with an open fury. "If I had known anything do you think I would have been relaxing in there?" His tone was one he had never imagined he would use with the ancient. "Have you any idea how I feel about Nick?"

Closing his eyes, the LaCroix reigned in his own anger lest he should tear the Spaniard's head from his shoulders. "He is my son, Javier. I felt ever tear of his flesh, every crack of his bones, every drop of blood he lost to the monster that tore him apart."

Vachon heard the words, a father's description of what had happened to his son. A father who had been on the receiving end of the pain Nick had felt. "I'm sorry, LaCroix."

Despite the apology, LaCroix still felt the burning rage within him. "We're lucky not to be burying him, Javier."

After a long time, Vachon said quietly. "I'd like to see him."

~

Kneeling on the bathroom floor, Ellast dipped her arm into the blood bath and pressed her hand gently against Nicholas' stomach, cautiously feeling the state of his ravaged body. The wounds were still deep and open, but her expert touch told her that his internal organs were healed.

She towelled off her arm and walked to the doorway of the lounge. A dark stranger - a friend of Nick's she surmised - was perched nervously on the arm of the leather couch. "Lucien, I need your assistance." LaCroix stood, watched by Vachon's expectant eyes. "I need a thick, dark duvet and towels." LaCroix simply nodded and followed her out into the hall.

"I need you to lift him out and sit with him so that I can wash off the excess blood. If you want to change into something...." But the ancient shook his head, and rolled up the sleeves of his black silk shirt. He reached into the bath and slipped his arms carefully under his son; one under his knees, the other under his armpits. Slowly, he stood, letting much of the blood slide from the helpless body before turning and lowering himself to the floor. Ellast had spread some towels on the cold tiles, and LaCroix let Nick's legs settle on those while he held his unconscious child against him.

With a damn sponge, Ellast started to wipe the excess blood from the inert form. LaCroix watched as a deep gash was revealed running down for two inches beside Nick's spinal cord. Gently he reached down, running his finger tips into the wound, touching the deep white of the exposed bone. Ellast glanced from father to son, pausing in her ministrations. "Lucien...?"

LaCroix's gaze locked into the injury in his son's back. His own pale finger looked alive against the dead bone of Nicholas' spine. He was acutely aware of touching a part of his son that no other had ever touched. Closing his eyes for a moment, he snapped out of his revere.

Ellast continued to sponge down Nick's body. Settling Nick back against his chest, LaCroix reached up to run his hands under the hot water tap above the sink. Running his wet fingers through Nicholas' blood-stained hair, he started to wash the red from the blond mane. Ellast remained silent, finishing washing the blood before starting to inspect each injury.

Something thick and heavy had been wrapped around Nick's neck from behind and pulled tight. It had torn into his jugular and then across his throat, tearing his wind pipe, oesophagus and vocal chords. Huge gaping wounds in his torso revealed bone and organ. LaCroix could make out his heart beating so very slowly in the bloody cavern between his ribs. His stomach and intestines had been filled with blood and now his body started to drain itself of the fluid it could not absorb fast enough. From a collection of medical equipment and dressings behind her, Ellast took an absorbent towel, bundled it up and placed it between Nick's legs, wrapping it up and around.

With LaCroix still holding Nicholas, Ellast starting to dress each wound, covering his body with large patches of sterile gauze. Instead of fixing them in place, she wrapped him section by section in absorbent towelling, and finally wrapped the duvet LaCroix had found around the young vampire. Only the fingers of one hand and his head remained visible, lying lifelessly against LaCroix's shoulder.

Ellast stood, wading all the soiled towels up in a heap. "You can settle him in bed. Carefully. Just a sheet over him." LaCroix nodded, and lifted Nick into his arms, carrying him through to the master bedroom. There, he placed his son in the centre of the king-size, four-poster bed, and placed a black silk sheet over him. Nick's head fell sickeningly to the bed, and LaCroix felt compelled to place a soft pillow beneath his hair. At least that way he looked as if he was still with them. The ancient felt a tear welling in his eye, and he wiped it away quickly.

Ellast sat on the other side of the bed and lifted the hair at the back of Nick's neck to run her thumb over the top of his spine. "You were at Pompeii, weren't you? Brought across as Visuvius erupted."

LaCroix found himself curious despite his immediate anger. "How do you know that?"

"I like to know where vampires come from. I believe that their mortal backgrounds remain with them through their immortal life, no matter how old they become. You were a Roman general and always will be. Nicholas here was a disillusioned crusader. Still he remains disillusioned by everything around him."

LaCroix watched her as she carefully examined his son's neck. "Is everything all right?"

"I'm not sure. I would like to x-ray this. I'm a little worried that he has suffered some bone damage here. Whatever was used to do this...."

"A chain."

Ellast's head snapped around sharply. "How do you know?"

"I told you, I know who did this. A heavy chain will have used to inflict all of his injuries."

Ellast frowned, shaking her head. "That's impossible. Something was driven through him many times."

"Chains were used, some flexible, some stiff. With a great deal more weight behind them than Nicholas could have hoped to fight."

There was a noise in the doorway, and Ellast looked up as Vachon stepped into the room. The doctor took in the young stranger and came to a quick conclusion - scruffy yet kind. She wondered briefly at the nature of his relationship with Nick. He came closer, his large eyes locked onto her patient's face.

"Tell me." The quiet murmur touched the doctor, and she rose, crossing to Vachon and putting her hand on his shoulder to lead him around to a chair near the bed. She glanced at LaCroix for permission, and he simply nodded his consent.

"His body has been so badly damaged that before it can absorb blood to heal, it bleeds out. The blood bath meant he was immersed and his body could take what it wanted when it wanted." From her medical bag on the dresser, she took a narrow piece of tubing. "Lucien, could you fetch me a blood bag from the fridge?" To Vachon's surprise, the ancient nodded, and rose. Ellast continued to explain as she fixed a small hook to the on of the bed posts. "Under the covers, Nicholas is wrapped in sterile dressings and absorbent towels. These will hold a certain amount of the blood that he bleeds out and will allow his body to reclaim what it can. We'll change the dressings each day until he's healed sufficiently."

Re-entering the room silently, LaCroix handed her the blood and sat back down on the bed. The cold fingers of Nick's right hand poked out of the top of the duvet, next to his mouth. LaCroix wrapped them carefully in his own, holding gently. Ellast hung the bag of blood from the hook she had set into the bedpost, and pushed the end of the tubing on to the narrow passage at the base of the bag. The blood started to flow down. Carefully, she tilted Nick's head until his neck was straight and fed the tube expertly between his lips and down his throat. She fastened it into the corner of his mouth with a small piece of tape and stepped back, taping the tube to start the flow again.

"There." Ellast stroked her hand gently over Nick's head. Catching Vachon's teary expression she tried to reassure him. "He isn't aware of anything at the moment. He isn't feeling any pain."

Vachon nodded, trying to make himself believe that. "You know who attacked him, don't you?" he asked LaCroix. "How can you let that bastard remain free?"

LaCroix's expression did not change, his eyes did not leave his son's face, yet Vachon could feel the anger emanating from him. "He will not be free for long."

Ellast turned and said measuredly, "I don't think it's something we're supposed to ask about."

~

After the twenty-seventh ring of Vachon's phone, Tracy almost threw the receiver back in its cradle, folding her arms across Nick's desk and sinking down onto them. "Where the hell is he?" she muttered almost to herself.

Opposite her, Schanke did the same, only he picked his phone straight back up again, and dialled another number. "Nat, Schanke, have you seen....? Not you either. Okay.... Yes I will check his place, and yes I will call you if I find him. Don't worry, Nat.... Okay." He hung up and grabbed his car keys. Standing up he glanced down at the despondent detective . "You want to come along?" Tracy nodded, gratefully. "Maybe if we find my partner we'll find your friend."

"I somehow doubt that." But she stood anyway.

They were talking as Schanke opened the elevator door and stepped out into the loft. Tracy barely managed to bite back her scream as Schanke swallowed the bile that rose instantly in his throat. The place resembled an abattoir. Schanke looked around him, from the blood soaked rug before the fireplace, to the terrible, splattered decoration of the walls. His eyes followed the trails of blood that run down the edges of the wooden boards to collect at the corners. Beside him, Tracy wrinkled her face and a moment later rushed to the kitchen sink to thrown up her dinner.

Slowly, as if forcing himself into action, Schanke reached into his pocket and took out his cellular phone. Tapping in the precinct number correctly on the second attempt, he asked for his captain. Tracy listened to him quickly describe the horror scene before them. She used her hands to cup some water from the cold tap and wash her face, leaving the water running until the sink was clear. Then she stood, looking down at the work surfaces, at the hob, at the table, at anything but the rest of the room.

A few minutes later Schanke had carefully searched the whole loft. The lounge was evidently where the horror had occurred. The rest of the place was clean, and there was no sign of Nick's body. The realization that it was a dead body he was searching for had hit Schanke hard. If it was Nick's blood, there was no chance that the guy had survived.

Cohen lead the backup unit that stepped out of the elevator and stopped in their tracks. Schanke approached his captain slowly as she gave quiet orders to her men. He did not really know what to say. His hesitation gave Cohen the moment she needed to compose herself. Her gaze fell on Tracy Vetter who was, for some inexplicable reason, peering into the fridge. "No body?" Schanke shook his head. "Are we talking a murder enquiry?"

However gently she said it, it was sharp blade in Schanke's heart. "I can't see how we wouldn't be."

"Actually, Captain, I'm not so sure." Tracy closed the fridge door. Many hopeful yet sceptical eyes looked in her direction.

"What's on your mind, Detective?"

He's a vampire! And none of you have noticed. "Why would someone cause this much mess and then move the body? It doesn't make sense. And we have no proof that this is Nick's blood." Even if it is, he's a vampire. This alone probably wouldn't kill him.

All heads turned as the elevator ascended once again, and the door slid aside. Schanke did not move quite fast enough to prevent Nat from seeing the horror that faced her and the forensics officers as they stepped into the loft. Tears had sprung to Nat's eyes before she could stop them. Her mouth worked, but nothing came out. "Natalie...." Schanke took her gently by the shoulders and turned her to him, away from the main part of the loft. The forensics guys padded carefully into the mayhem.

"I'm okay, Schank." She wiped her eyes as Tracy approached them.

"Nat, I really don't think that this is what it looks like." Schanke threw her a look, a mixture of anger and hope. "I know what you're thinking, but try to trust me."

The young detective expected many objections, but Nat simply nodded and Tracy wondered if she knew what Nick was. "I'll try to establish if this is Nick's blood."

Schanke shook his head as Tracy accosted him. "If he's still alive... where the hell is he?"

Tracy thought about that. "I think you might have been right about finding my friend, and finding Nick."

~

LaCroix resembled a sculpture, sitting on the edge of the bed keeping vigil over his beloved son. His arm was stretched out at an uncomfortable angle, his fingers wrapped gently around his child's cold hand. He had been sitting there for hours, simply watching. His tenderness with Nicholas amazed Ellast. She had seen LaCroix in action and although they had been friends for a long time she knew him as a hard and demanding master, a devoted father who required no less from his children than what he gave to them. His history with Nick was long and brutal, volatile and passionate. Yet here he stayed, holding his son's hand as if Nicholas were newly born to him.

Ellast swapped the empty blood bag for a full one, quietly changing them over. The swelling in Nick's eye had gone down and that pleased her. She crouched down next to the bed. "The one who did this, is he still out there?"

LaCroix answered her without taking his eyes from Nick. "The one who did this is not the one to blame."

"Lucien, some monster tore your son apart."

LaCroix did look at her then. "But the monster only does as he is commanded."

When it became obvious that the matter was not for further discussion, Ellast stood. "You should sleep. You won't be any good to him exhausted."

"I want to be here if he wakes."

The doctor knew that no good would come from arguing. "All right. But try to make yourself comfortable. You may have a long wait."

~

Miklos was just closing the main doors when Schanke and Tracy arrived. He knew what was going on, and he knew that it had only been a matter of time before someone came looking for Nick Knight. He showed them in and locked the doors behind them.

Vachon stood in the centre of the empty dance floor. As he locked his eyes with Tracy's gaze, he took a long gulp from the bottle in his hand. Schanke followed her down the steps. The club was even eerier when it was empty. The disco lights had been switched off, and the main bar and dance floor were bathed in the amber glow of low-wattage house lamps. As they approached Vachon, he said simply, "You're looking for Nick."

Schanke side-stepped Tracy and in two strides had Vachon up against the bar, shirt front balled in his big fist. Taken by surprise, the Spaniard had to fight his instincts to attack the mortal. "Careful, Detective," Tracy warned quietly.

But Schanke shook his head. "You know where he is," he told Vachon. "I want to know. If you've hurt him, I swear...."

"Hey, hang on." The young vampire reached back to put his hands flat on the bar behind him. "I haven't hurt Nick, he's a friend."

Schanke let up slightly. "Where is he?"

"He's... he going to be all right."

"Where. Is. He?"

Tracy stepped hesitantly towards them. She had always believed Detective Schanke was the quiet type; easy going. His concern for Nick was touching, but if he was not careful it could get him killed. Ranks were closing.

Yet Vachon stayed pliant. "Who are you?"

Schanke took a step back, releasing his hold. "Detective Schanke, Nick's partner."

Vachon's eyes widened slightly. So this was the mortal who shared most of Nick's waking hours. "I assure you, Detective, he will recover."

"I want to see him."

"I'm afraid that's not possible. Yet."

Schanke looked up as the wooden door behind the bar opened and LaCroix stepped down into the light. Schanke recognized him immediately and stood back from Vachon, approaching LaCroix. The ancient watched the detective for a moment, realizing with a little surprise that this mortal seemed to hold more respect for him than his own son usually did. He smiled slightly and approached the bar, indicating that Schanke should take a stool as he did. Behind them, Vachon lead Tracy into a back room.

"We've met before," Schanke offered in nervous introduction. "You're Nick's uncle, right?"

LaCroix joined his hands on the bar, gazing into the rows of bottles before them. "Actually, Detective, I am Nicholas' father."

A warmth overcame Schanke at the thought that Nick did have family, close family, that loved him. But a memory assaulted him. "But you said... he was adopted."

"Yes, that's correct. All right... Foster father, if you prefer. As I told you, I am the only father Nick has."

"He is... okay, isn't he?"

LaCroix found himself touched by his son's partner's concern. "You care for him."

"Yes." Schanke swept his hand across the bar in front of him. "He's a strange guy you know," he glanced at the pale form beside him, "no offence." LaCroix waved the comment away. "But he's the best partner I could have. He's saved my butt more times than I can count. I trust him with my life. And the scene over at his loft tonight...."

"It wasn't pleasant, I know."

Schanke frowned. "You saw it?"

"I fetched him from there after the attack."

"Then he is here?"

"Yes. I have a doctor here looking after him."

Schanke did not know whether to be relieved or afraid. "I know you ... want to look after him, but shouldn't he be in a hospital?"

LaCroix thought about his next move carefully. Schanke was a resistor of sorts, although the ancient had no doubt that he could work around that. If he didn't explain the situation to the detective, the club would be crawling with police within the day. At least this way, he could undo everything later if he needed to, before Schanke left. "My... relationship with Nicholas wasn't the only thing I lied to you about that night, Detective. You came to ask me if Nick was ... a vampire."

Schanke smiled, embarrassed. "Ridiculous, I know."

"Not as ridiculous as I led you to imagine." LaCroix let his words sink in, watching the mortal features carefully for any sign of fear.

"Are you saying... Nick *is* a ..."

"Vampire. Yes. I will leave it up to him to give you the details, when he can. For now, you must take my word and understand that had Nicholas been mortal, he would have died in the attack."

As shocking as the revelation was, Schanke had been through the whole thought process before. Being told now that he had actually drawn the right conclusions that day somehow seemed to make it okay. He smiled. "I was right."

"Yes."

Schanke gazed down at the bar. "He... can't be killed. He can't be hurt." He sounded a in awe.

"He can be hurt. Not permanently, not under normal conditions, but he... he is very seriously injured this time." Schanke had already worked out that if Nick was a vampire, so was the man sitting beside him.

"I would very much like to see him, if I could."

LaCroix shook his head. "Detective, he could wake at any time."

"Then I could be there...."

"Try to understand. When Nicholas wakes, he will not flutter his eyelids and smile weakly. He will be a starving, frightened vampire set to kill the first source of blood he can sink his teeth into. If he attacks and bites into your neck, he'll kill you." Fear clouded the Detective's eyes for a moment, until he told himself that it was only Nick, his partner. And someone had hurt Nick badly. LaCroix seemed to read his thoughts. "The one who did this, he's one of us. We will deal with it."

Schanke shook his head, but how could he argue? "What do I tell the Captain?"

~

Vachon stood by Tracy's side as she peered into the room. Nick Knight lay motionless in the centre of the bed, being attended to by a female Vachon had already told Tracy was the doctor.

Finding out that Nick was a vampire had been a surprise, but being told that LaCroix - the pale owner of the Raven - had been the one to bring him across nearly 800 years ago had shocked her. She had assumed that men brought women across and women brought men across.

Silently, Vachon indicated that she could go in. He was not sure what LaCroix's reaction would be to this, but he doubted the ancient was going to kill him, there had been enough violence for one night. Tracy gazed down at Nick, regarding him as she might an injured child. Her only other experience of vampires were Vachon - the scruffy, bearded Spaniard with big dark eyes and something within him that she could sense - and his friend Screed who had been killed by a vampire fever weeks ago.

Nick was different. He looked like an innocent. She hadn't thought about it consciously, but a blond vampire didn't strike her as being right somehow. And in the times she had been in his company, she had not felt anything remotely 'evil' or nasty about his character. So was she imagining it in Vachon?

Tracy shifted her gaze to the vampire she knew well. He had not taken his eyes from Nick, and she could see an emotion in his eyes that she had not seen before. Her whole view of these people was shifting. "Did you know him before you came here?" she murmured.

Vachon shook his head. "I met him when he came to bully me into looking out for you." Tracy smiled. "He's run for longer than I have, trying to escape LaCroix. He doesn't allow people to get close easily, but it's so worth the effort. He's so passionate about everything."

The softness of the Spaniard's tone told more than his words. Tracy could hear in his voice the depth of his emotion for the other man. She realized then that questioning Vachon's relationship with Nick would be stepping into some very dangerous territory.

Vachon heard it first. A low moan between agony and desperation. Ellast took two steps away from the bed and turned, yelling LaCroix's name even as she pinned her eyes on Vachon. "Get her out of here." Too late. Vachon's stare locked with that of the human form on the bed and he knew Nick did not recognize either of them. Reaching back he grabbed Tracy's arm and tried to push her through the doorway behind them. Even as he did, Nick sat up. His eyes were flaming orbs, his mouth open in a wild, dangerous grin.

"Tracy, go!" His words were met with Nick's first attempt to launch himself at the mortal meal that stood waiting for him. But the wraps and dressings that covered him delayed his progress, needing to be torn from his body in anger as he wailed an feral cry of frustration and pain.

A moment later, he tried again. The fierce movement meant that the feeding tube whipped harshly up through his throat and out, splashing blood over his face before falling to the bed. Unheeding of the sudden burning in his neck, Nick managed to sit up, the bloodied dressings dropping to form a small gory heap on the carpet. Tracy's gasp of pity and horror at the ravaged state of her colleague's body was covered firstly by Vachon's own cry of anguish and Nick's scream.

A second later Vachon raised his arms to catch Nick before he got to Tracy, determined that his friend would feed from him if need be. The next moment, when Nick's fangs should have been sinking deep into Vachon's throat, he realized that they weren't. In a blur, LaCroix had flown before Vachon and snagged the enraged vampire around the waist, crashing them both into the far wall as Nick pierced his father's neck. But the initial bite was far from a feeding wound, and LaCroix angled his throat for his son's second penetration.

LaCroix glared at Vachon through golden eyes. "Get her out of here, and fetch a good supply of pure blood."

Vachon nodded once, and pulled Tracy out of the door with him. She went without a struggle, shocked by what she'd witnessed.

Ellast pulled a dark silk sheet from the bed and draped it carefully around Nick's shoulders. LaCroix pulled some of the material between them, enfolding his son in the covering as he did in his embrace. Nicholas drank deeply, and LaCroix began to feel the effects of being drained. His tight control on his own beast was beginning to slip as it felt itself under threat.

Roughly, the ancient curled his fingers into Nicholas' blond mane and pulled him back, dislodging his fangs. Nick growled in anguish and struggled, pulling against his father, ignoring the painful grip at his head. Vachon returned with a armful of bottles and dropped them to the bed. He uncorked one and handed it to LaCroix as the ancient held off Nick's attack. LaCroix downed the bottle in three long gulps and handed the empty back. He sank down to the soft rug beneath them, manoeuvring Nicholas with some difficulty. As soon as he released his grip on his son's hair those insistent fangs sank back into his already healed throat to draw more blood.

They stood apart; Nat by her seat at her desk, Schanke in the doorway, hanging onto the frame either side of him, and Tracy leaning with her bottom against the edge of one of the gurneys. In the three days since they had found the horror scene in Nick's loft, only Tracy had seen Nick and that had been under extreme circumstances. She had spoken to Vachon several times and he had told her that Nicholas was recovering quickly, and was fully conscious, talking to them, feeding normally and healing as well as could be expected. Schanke had dropped into the Raven on each of the two nights since and LaCroix had reassured him patiently that his partner was going to be all right. It would just take a little time.

Only Nat had had no contact, directly or indirectly, with Nick. She did not want to talk to LaCroix, and on the one occasion she had gone into the Raven, he had not been available. Access to Nick was limited, it seemed, to the three vampires looking after him; LaCroix, Vachon and some doctor that LaCroix had called in. Nat had lost sleep and weight with the worry and concern she was feeling, convinced that LaCroix would do something terrible to Nick and she would be helpless to stop him. Schanke's assurances that LaCroix seemed only to want to help his son did not lessen her concerns, indeed his constant referral to Nick as LaCroix's son was beginning to grate on her nerves.

And so they stood, as they had stood at least twice a day for three days, and looked at one another as Tracy and Schanke reported what they had last heard. Despite her anger at he situation, Nat could not shake the memory of Nick's loft from her mind. Each of their imaginations had come up with a scenario determining how that quantity of blood got around the walls and across the floor. It was the one thing about which they had not discussed their theories.

~

LaCroix looked up from his book and smiled as his son padded into the lounge. Bare-footed, Nick wore one of LaCroix's older robes - a soft thick blue material - which wrapped securely around him and tied with a narrow sash. It was far too big, and covered him from shoulders to ankles. Not his usual style, but it had provided some comfort from the unaccustomed pain of his wounds. He was healing quickly now, assisted by the substantial quantities of LaCroix's blood; his father had been feeding him personally for three nights and three days.

LaCroix put down his book and stood, taking Nick's hands in his own. "How are you feeling?"

Nick gazed down at his father's fingers. "I'm all right." For a moment Nick was silent. LaCroix was becoming used to these periods of quiet, he did not want to push Nicholas into talking, but he wasn't leaving the club until he had talked. The ancient had expected that to be a matter of fierce debate, but Nick had not expressed any desire to leave. He had sat quietly reading or watching television when he wasn't sleeping or feeding.

"I do know, Nicholas," LaCroix murmured quietly. "I know what you were put through. You know I do, don't you?"

Nick did not answer. "I... I need to know." He looked up finally, fresh pain in his eyes. "Did you send it to me?" LaCroix's expression crumpled. And still watching him, Nick nodded. "That's all I needed."

"Do you believe I hate you?"

"No. But... I remembered where I had seen the ... box before."

LaCroix hesitated, and then squeezed Nick's hands in his own. "Come and sit down, mon fils." He dropped one hand and lead his son to the sofa, sitting sideways on a cushion Nick sat opposite him, his fingers still held in his father's hand. "You remember what you saw in Paris?"

Nick nodded. "I..." He glanced up at LaCroix, before dropping his gaze back to his hand, wiggling his fingers as if to ensure they were still there. "I remember seeing you... and a... a monster with jewels in its head and long pins sticking out from its neck. I remember you were... impaled on chains which seemed to come from it, and returned into it when you saw me." He looked up at LaCroix now through eyes that shone with unshed tears. "You were in pain yet you were allowing it to hurt you."

LaCroix rose his free hand to Nick's hunched shoulder, rubbing his upper arm gently. "Is that what happened to you?"

For a long time, Nick stayed silent, lost in his own thoughts. And then he shook his head. "No. I didn't want it. I didn't allow it. And it went beyond pain."

With only a moment's hesitation, LaCroix started to explain all he could. "The puzzle is called Lermarchand's box, the solution is known as Lermarchand's Configuration. It's a doorway to another... dimension, if you will. I found it at an antique auction in Paris in 1896, but I had heard many things about it for centuries. Those who inhabit this alternate dimension are known as the cenobites. The one who attacked you is known as Linque. He deals with our kind, the others - the other cenobites - don't bother with us. We cannot be possessed by them as mortals can be." He stopped as the expression on Nick's face became one of disgust. The questions were either too many or too painful to be voiced, but LaCroix tried his best to glean what he could of his son's confusion from their bond, and to set it at ease. "Only mortals and vampires who choose to find the solution can open the box. Those who have no interest in what it offers either never find it, or never have the patience of solve it."

"I solved it in a moment."

"Ah, we have some kind of ... ability. We can solve it very easily with the minimum of effort and concentration." He paused, wanting to give Nick every chance of speaking, but the other kept quiet, watching LaCroix and waiting for him to continue. "They are known collectively as The Order of the Gash. Mortals tend to believe the story that they can give more pleasure and sensuality than can ever be found in this plane. That's not quite the truth. The pleasure they give is their own pleasure, and it is as far from sensuality as I know."

"Why did you...?"

LaCroix smiled gently. "When I first solved the puzzle, and Linque arrived, we actually sat down and talked." Nick's eyes widened. "It's not something that any of the cenobites are known to do. But when he asked me what I wanted from him, and I answered that I didn't know...."

**flashback - Paris, 1896**

LaCroix sat into the corner of the sofa, his hand flat on the seat cushion between he and his guest, who sat awkwardly in the opposite corner. Now and again, as they talked, small chains with sharp hooks on the ends would snake out seemingly from Linque's gruesome skin, and caress LaCroix's hand and wrist. They would draw the tiniest amount of blood and instantly retreat, as if scared of retaliation.

The small actions were arousing LaCroix intensely. He felt that he was being stroked, that these small gestures were ones of offered sexuality, of testing the ground. He wanted more, very much more from this being who could tear him apart from the inside out. And yet they sat and they talked. Intimacy and pain would come later.

** present day **

"He offered to make me one of them, to have the immortality he had. Yet even as he made the offer, I sensed he knew I would not take it, and he had never forced the issue."

"You speak of him," Nick whispered, "as a... lover."

"No, not a lover. There's no real label for Linque. To mortals, to others of our kind, the cenobites bring only pain." Nick nodded, and immediately LaCroix regretted saying it. "He attacked you because he was instructed to do so. He would not have done otherwise."

Nick looked away. "Who?"

"Edwarldo."

His body had been savaged, torn apart by thick chains and tiny hooks that had burrowed into his flesh. He could remember screaming as the first chain had buried itself in his shoulder, smashing through his shoulder bone. The monster, the horror that had been before him had thrust more chains into him and simply listened to his screams before snaking a thick, metallic tasting chain into his screaming mouth and down his throat, choking him and silencing him. All this he remembered. But who he was, what he wanted out of life, what he did, who he loved and who he hated, all this had gone and he was left; just an empty shell.

"Edwarldo." He repeated the name to himself. "Why?"

"I don't know. But I will find him."

"Where's the box?"

"I assume that Edwarldo has it. It wasn't at your loft when we found you."

Nick quickly drew the same conclusion that LaCroix had. "He left me there."

Dark anger crept into LaCroix's voice. "He will pay for his actions."

Nick nodded and stood, gathering his robe around him. "Good." The single word, so determined, coming from his son's lips, sent shivers down the ancient's spine. LaCroix watched Nick as he stopped close to the door. Without turning he said, "I know you suppressed my memories of the night I found you and ... Linque."

"Nicholas, you were having terrible nightmares...."

"LaCroix, had I recognized the box do you think I would have attempted to solve it?" He did not give his father chance to answer him.

~

Minutes before sundown, Edwarldo was ready to leave Toronto. His cases packed, he was simply waiting. Sitting on the couch in his lounge, he sensed the other vampire only a second before LaCroix dropped into his field of view. A surge of panic almost overwhelmed him. LaCroix would kill him, there was no doubt about that. He had planned to be out of the city before now, knowing LaCroix would take care of his son rather than follow Edwarldo to his destination. In some future time they would meet again, they would put this incident down to competition and history.

LaCroix gazed at him for a moment, and at the gold box sitting on the low coffee table between them. "You weren't taking it with you?"

Edwarldo started to slowly rise to his feet, but LaCroix's quickly raised hand stopped him and he sat back uncomfortably. "I... I was going to drop it into an antique shop on Queen's."

LaCroix nodded slowly and picked up the deadly puzzle. "Let me explain to you how precious Nicholas is to me. You are an Enforcer, an ancient older than the one who made me. When I kill you, I will have to explain to the others why I did it. And they will see that I had just cause. I have killed mortals and vampires for so much less than what you have done. Those who have hurt Nicholas through the ages in any way have paid for doing so. I was, in a sense, in that loft with him when Linque tore into him. I felt it all. I have watched my child - my son - fight to recover from wounds that might have killed him. I watch him now, a shadow of what he is, so close to insanity I know that there is only one way back. But the worst part, the one thing that has ended your immortality, is that you recovered this," he held up the puzzle, "and left Nicholas to bleed to death on the floor." LaCroix parted his lips, allowing the change to sweep over him easily. "I would leave you to Linque but he may recruit you and I never want to see you again."

"LaCroix..."

"Don't. Is there anything you can say that would change what you did to my son?" Edwarldo simply stared at him. "Of course not." LaCroix struck the Enforcer with his whole body, tipping the sofa back. Edwarldo tried to fly out of the way but the other vampire only followed him, the fingers of one hand gripping his shoulder so tightly the tips were biting into the pale, cold flesh. They hit the back wall of the room together, and in a blur LaCroix had his other hand wrapped around the back of the other's neck. Edwarldo closed his eyes, screaming as sharp fangs sunk into his neck. He fought then, as hard as he could against the immovable form that LaCroix had become. Edwarldo was slowly being drained, feeling himself getting light-headed, feeling his own change further and further from his grasp.

"Please...." LaCroix pulled out at the low moan. He dropped Edwarldo to the floor and looked around the room, his eyes hitting on the coffee table. In a second the table was minus one leg, the glass top shattered over the floor, and LaCroix the thick end of the wooden table leg placed over Edwarldo's slowly beating heart.

"No one hurts any member of my house without retribution. No one hurts my son without paying with their lives." He thrust the stake into Edwarldo's heart. The vampire screamed and shook, but LaCroix held him firmly until his movements ceased and he was still.

LaCroix stood and turned, knowing they were standing behind him. He looked at the two Enforcers in their strangely coloured shirts and their dark pressed suits. He suddenly remembered Nicholas the night after the Enforcers had killed the war photographer. They had stayed together after that, for a short while. As they had sat together in Nicholas' tent, the young one had shakily asked the names of the two, and when LaCroix couldn't answer, Nick had said that they looked like a 'George' and a 'Tim'. LaCroix faced them now with that thought in his mind. 'George' looked at him for a long time. Long enough.

"You know I had reason." LaCroix stood his ground.

"We know. We are not here for you. We are here for him."

LaCroix nodded. "I will take the puzzle." There was no argument, and the Enforcers seemed to lose interest in LaCroix altogether. The ancient waited no longer and taking the puzzle he left the apartment.

'George' and 'Tim' watched him go with the barest of interest. They stood, waiting. They waited hours. Eventually, Edwarldo opened his eyes and yanked the stake from his chest with a shout of pain and anger. 'Tim' smiled down at him, and 'George' even offered him a hand up to his feet.

~

Drawn to the room by Nick's gentle moans, Vachon stepped through the door in time to see Nick wake himself with a single, heart stopping scream. He was sweating, the blood dripping from his brow and sticking on his body. Tears were streaming down his cheeks as he looked desperately at Vachon. The Spaniard sat on the bed, grabbing a spare blanket that Ellast had left on the end of the bed and wrapping it around Nick's shoulders. Nick tried to shake it off. "I'm hot."

Vachon nodded, but held the blanket in place. "I know, but you'll cool quickly."

For a time they just sat, Nick trying to pull himself out of the painful haze left by the dream, Vachon wishing that there was something he could do for his friend. He took Nick's hand. "I'll stay with you, it's all right."

"Have we... have Schanke or Nat been to see me?"

Vachon nodded. "Schanke and Tracy were here the night after the attack. Tracy saw you, Schanke just talked to LaCroix. I believe LaCroix's been speaking to Schanke each night since."

Nick's eyes widened and he almost smiled. "There's a turn up."

Vachon nodded, "They seem to get on. Schanke shows him some respect, almost like he's afraid of your Dad. I think LaCroix likes that."

"He would."

Nick shifted in the bed, his pyjamas sticking to him. "I need a shower." He pulled back gently from Vachon, and swung his legs over the bed.

"Anything I can do?"

Nick shook his head, and then changed his mind. "Find me some clean jamies?"

Vachon actually laughed. "Jamies?"

Nick gave him an expression of stern 'no mocking' instruction, and left for the bathroom, calling behind him, "Bring them in to me."

The Spaniard stared after him for a moment, and rose.

Nick stood in the shower, the luke-warm water coursing gently over his skin. The wounds he had been left with were still obvious on his body, no longer open gashes, now large red marks. They would heal, Ellast had assured him, it would just take time. He looked like a patchwork quilt. He was starting to remember, slowly, some of his old feelings and opinions, although he was no longer sure that he wanted to re-adopt them. He just wanted to recover, to sleep without nightmares, to return to his loft without the mere thought making him want to scream, to maybe even return to work.

Vachon pushed the door open and stepped inside. "Only me, Nick."

Nick peeped around the shower curtain and saw the white pyjamas in Vachon's hand. "Thanks." He turned off the shower and pulled the curtain open. Vachon could not help but gaze at him as he grabbed the towel from the heater and started to rub himself down, mindful of his still-sore injuries. He could feel Vachon's scrutiny and simply smiled up at him once or twice.

Once he had pulled on the large night clothes, he lead the way out into the lounge, curling up into the corner of the sofa. Vachon watched him, waiting until he looked comfortable before handing him a blanket. "I'm not senile yet, Javier."

"I don't do the nurse thing too often, so behave yourself. Okay?" Nick nodded, honoured. "Hungry?"

Nick thought about that. "A little."

"I'll fix you something."

Vachon came back some minutes later, and handed Nick a large mug of blood, microwaved to body temperature. Nick thanked him and took a sip. Human blood. The taste and heat of it struck him hard. It had been to long since he had kept up a stable diet of human blood. A part of him that longed for it was becoming difficult to ignore.

The Spaniard took the armchair and sat back, feeling Nick's eyes on him. "What happened between us," Nick started quietly, "what did it mean to you?"

Vachon just gazed at the blond. "It meant... whatever you want it to mean. It can have been a one-off, just a bit of fun, or it can have been more."

"What was it to you?"

Vachon sighed. "Nick, what are you trying to do here?"

"I'm trying to gain some perspective on me and my life. You know, yesterday I accused LaCroix of instigating the attack on me." Vachon almost choked on his drink. "Thinking about that, the only reason I did it was because I see him as the villain all the time. But he saved my life, he's taken care of me through this, he's talking to Schanke, making sure my friends don't worry. I think I want him back in my life. I want to know where you fit."

The Spaniard hesitated, and then leaned forward. "Me, Nick? I'm just a guy who's in love with you."

The care in the cornflower-blue eyes struck Vachon sharply. "Please, Nick. Don't go changing whatever your opinion was of me, okay? I'm a vampire like you, I tend to have these infatuations. I care for you deeply, and I wouldn't mind more liaisons between us when you're better and your life returns to normal."

"Javier...." Moved by his friend's demeanour, Vachon put down his drink and stood, crouching down by Nick. Nick waited for the Spaniard to make another move, and when he didn't, Nick reached out and wrapped his arms around Vachon's neck, bringing him close. Vachon put his own arms around Nick's body, careful and gentle, and held him. Vachon turned his face in and kissed Nick's neck, running one hand over the soft blond hair, the other down his silk-clothed back.

"I'm here for you, Nick," Vachon told him when they parted. "Whatever you need, I'm here."

"Thank you. At the moment, I think I just needed to know."

~

LaCroix stepped into his lounge, gazing at Nicholas who lay stretched out on the sofa, sleeping soundly. Vachon was sitting in the armchair opposite, watching their ward. LaCroix left the room momentarily to put the puzzle in his own room, out of sight, and returned to the lounge. Vachon had already stood, ready to leave. "He had nightmares."

"I know." LaCroix continued to gaze at his child. "He hasn't slept well since the attack."

"Isn't there anything you can do?"

"Of course. I'm just not sure which path is best for him." He glanced at Vachon. "I will decide and take action this day."

The ancient's words struck a note in Vachon's chest and he hesitated. "You won't... hurt him."

LaCroix frowned. "What exactly do you think I am, Vachon? Do you really believe that I would chose to continue the ludicrous battle Nicholas and I engage in when he is so weak he can barely walk? So scared he cannot sleep?"

Vachon pursed his lips. "No. I'm sorry. Sometimes it's difficult to gauge you two, that's all."

LaCroix's eyes drifted back to the beautiful vampire restlessly sleeping on the couch. "There's nothing to gauge. We do love and respect one another. But we both do so enjoy our little games...."

Vachon waited a beat, and then nodded to himself and left the room. He wanted to make it back to the church before dawn.

LaCroix briefly toyed with the idea of moving Nicholas back to bed, but decided against it. He could sleep as well, perhaps better out here. Ensuring the club and apartment were secure for the day, LaCroix lit a few highly-placed candles and turned out the lights, taking the armchair Vachon had vacated. Nicholas shifted onto his back from his side, muttering in his sleep but not waking.

The ancient picked up a pad lying on the small table next to the wall. He read the words he had written there before this nightmare had begun, his voice a quiet murmur, testing the way the words sounded.

"I hear you. Each and every time you reach out to me, when you're scared or hurt, happy or upset. No one knows you quite like I do, no one has seen you at your extremes. Your voice, when you bless me with words, caresses me. Your eyes, when you bestow your grace upon me, enfold me in their peace. I've seen you smile to yourself at a private joke only I understand. When you smile like that, I know your thoughts are somewhere only I've been. I've noticed how your hair shines in the lights of the club...." LaCroix looked up and saw Nick watching him, tears streaming down his cheeks. The elder dropped the pad to the floor and was by his son in a moment. "Mon fils...." Nick's eyes met his father's. "Did I wake you?"

"No.... The dreams again."

LaCroix nodded. "Sit up." Nick did as he was told, too tired to fight, and LaCroix slipped into the corner of the sofa. Nick sat up, satisfied just to lean against LaCroix's strong frame. "Are you hungry?"

Nick nodded slightly. LaCroix smiled and slit his wrist slightly, holding his arm across his son's chest. Nick glanced up before wrapping his fingers around his father's arm and bringing it gently to his mouth. As Nick drank, LaCroix slipped his other arm around the broad shoulders in a gesture of comfort. Nick seemed to melt into the offered embrace, his fangs dipping almost reverently into the arm before him.

LaCroix lay his cheek against the blond hair. For the last few days he had been feeding Nicholas this way. The younger vampire was drinking pure human blood anyway, and LaCroix never force-fed him, but the son seemed to draw strength from the father's blood. "I could make you forget," LaCroix murmured, his eyes closed. "I could repress your memories. You wouldn't even dream."

Nick drank for a little longer before pulling out. He shook his head. "Not again. I never want to forget." He sat up again, LaCroix's arm falling behind his back.

"There is another way." The ancient spoke hesitantly, meeting his child's hopeful glance. "As I told you, Linque would not have attacked you had he known who you were." Nick held LaCroix's eyes, trying to find the answer in the icy depths. "If you faced him, you could banish your nightmares. You would know that he wasn't coming back for you."

Fear had clouded Nick's eyes, yet his expression was one of near determination. "You have the puzzle?" LaCroix nodded. "...here?"

"Yes. I took it from Edwarldo's apartment."

Nick shifted on the sofa, straightening out his pyjamas. "He would hurt me. Last time... I didn't have a chance to speak...."

LaCroix turned slightly in his seat, finding his son's hands and taking them into his own. "I won't allow him to touch you."

But Nick was shaking his head. "He has too much reach. You couldn't stop him...."

LaCroix squeezed Nicholas' hands, stopping the hysteria before it got a hold. "I would be the one to solve the puzzle, I would be the one to summon him and the first one he sees. As I told you, Linque and I have a history. He wouldn't hurt me. He won't hurt you. I won't let him."

Nick was still unsure. He could feel every wound that had been inflicted upon him. His dreams recreated that evening. His mind replayed each moment whenever he closed his eyes. The world had fallen away from beneath him, the security he had always taken for granted in his immortality had been torn away and he was left flailing. He had felt himself drowning in the darkness before LaCroix had taken his hand and given him freely the support he had needed. "He won't... hurt you, will he?"

LaCroix smiled gently, shaking his head. "No."

Nick pulled at his sleeve. "And you ... promise he won't touch me?"

"I promise."

Nick nodded. "I want to change first." He rose, and LaCroix followed him up. He brushed his fingers against Nick's cheek.

"If I could go back and change what happened I would. If I could have stopped you from being hurt I would have done everything in my power to do so. I will not allow anyone or anything else to hurt you now. I give you my word and I never break a promise."

Nicholas reached up and took his father's hand from his face, holding it lightly. He nodded slowly. "I know. I trust you with my life, LaCroix. I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't."

"Your life is my life, Nicholas. If only you could understand that."

When Nick returned to the room, some minutes later, he wore a dark suit with a blood-red shirt. He looked in control. LaCroix felt a sudden stab of pride at his son's courage. The puzzle was on the desk, waiting for the simple movements that would set the configuration and free its prisoners. Nick stood slightly back from his father. "Are you ready?"

LaCroix took up the cube and clicked three pieces of the puzzle into the correct positions.

Linque stood before them, looking between one and the other. "Lucien, what a wonderful surprise. I had not expected to see you again so soon." LaCroix bowed his head slightly. He watched the crystal eyes fix on Nicholas for a moment.

"Linque, I believe you have met my son, Nicholas."

The grotesque face fell. "Oh, Lucien.... I owe you a deep apology. I did not realise who he was...." His head bowed, waiting for LaCroix's response. Nick stepped forward, staying unconsciously close to LaCroix but determined not to stay in his father's shadow.

"Why did you attack me?"

Linque looked up. "You were a ... favour. I attacked you because Edwarldo asked me to. I did not know who you were. I would never knowingly have attacked the son of Lucien LaCroix. I ask for your forgiveness."

Nick took another step forward. This being had almost killed him. Yet he knew his nightmares would fade now. "I don't know if I can forgive. And I still don't understand why."

"All I can give is my word that none of us will touch you again. And I can give you our protection." Linque reached up and slipped his finger nails under the jewelled cap of one of the pins encased in his head. He pulled at it, the metal making a squelching sound as it was taken from his flesh. Drawing it between his lips, Linque cleaned it, and handed it to Nick. "Please, take this. It will be recognized by our kind, and by those who know of us. You will not be touched." Nick took the pin.

"Thank you."

Linque turned to LaCroix. "Again I offer my deepest apologies, and my sincere gladness at seeing your child recovered." LaCroix nodded his acceptance. "If I could ask you to... dispose of the cube in the usual way?"

"I will, Linque, you have my word."

"Then I bid the both of you goodbye."

Silence flooded the room. LaCroix took the puzzle to his office, locking it away until the evening came and he could dispose of it. When he stepped back into the lounge, Nick was smiling at him, eyes furrowed. "Did I do okay?"

"You were very brave, little one."

Nick rolled the long jewelled pin between his thumb and finger. LaCroix gently took it from him and fastened it into his jacket, below the lapels. Nick looked up at his father. "Would you... come back to the loft with me? I'm not sure I can face it alone."

"If I may suggest you wait until I've organized a clean up party, mon fils?"

Nick nodded. "You don't mind?"

"Of course not."

LaCroix watched Nick drop down onto the couch. "You must be exhausted, Nicholas. Why don't you go and get some sleep? Javier is in the spare room if you need some company."

Nick smiled gratefully. "Thanks, Lucien. But tonight, if you don't mind...." Unable to voice his need for his father, he reached out for his cool hand. "I just need to feel safe."

LaCroix was touched. "I've always been here for you. Whatever you've thought of me."

"I know."

They settled into LaCroix's bed together. Nick had changed back into the white silk pyjamas that Vachon had found for him, his body was still too sore for direct contact. LaCroix held him gently in his arms, enjoying the simple feeling of his son in his arms, trusting him enough to sleep there. He knew the future still held so many uncertainties for them, and Nicholas and Vachon had their own relationship to sort out. But his beloved son had returned to the fold. At last. He hoped the cost hadn't been too high.