I got a lot of wonderful comments about my last story "Next
Valentines" so decided to throw this one out there too. Teach you all
for giving me compliments! <g> It is not a Valentine story, but
written near the same time, it took me awhile to get the guts to post
them. This comes from the sneaky little idea crawling through my mind
one night that asked the question...Just how would Tracy act if she
met Lacroix and was in a –really- bad mood?

So here goes another attempt at fan-fic writing, my second. This story
also has my favourite 2000-year-old vampire in it, and I repeat my
mantra...If I can’t have him, someone should! It’d be such a waste
otherwise! This one might be considered (Adult), in that there is some
sex, but not -too- graphic, probably PG-13? ...Delete it if that
bothers you. Tell me what you think...email me at anteros@juno.com
enjoy!

As always, I don’t own FK, they belong to some big wig Canadians; I
don’t even get visitation rights on Lacroix! <frown> -Sigh-, anyway if
I introduce any new characters their mine, so is the story, but if you
want to archive it go ahead, just keep my name on it and tell me so I
can go admire it. <g> This has an "Ashes to Ashes" spoiler on it.

Tracy Meets Lacroix

By: Mary Jenkins (12-97)

Part:1/5

It was cold and miserable, ‘perfect whether for a funeral,’ Tracy
thought. She pulled up near where Screed was buried and got out of the
car, popping the trunk as she exited. In the trunk was Vachon, the man
she had loved, and the vampire she’d killed.

Tracy steeled herself against the cold Toronto wind, pulling up her
collar before getting her shovel out of her trunk. The shovel lay
there, near the front of the cramped trunk space, Vachon’s body was
also there, wrapped in a sheet from her bed, it was covered with a
faded design of yellow buttercups and pink butterflies, it made the
whole scene somehow even more gruesome. His head rested on her duffel
bag, the one she’d packed soon after she’d learned about the existence
of vampires, it was filled with crosses, holy water, stakes and
anything else she could think of to help protect her from them. In the
end, it’d been Vachon’s stake she’d used, she remembered with a snort.


The whole affair had taken on an almost work-like feel. She’d cried at
first, but then a sort of numb, cynical detachment had come over her,
she could feel the homicide detective in her reacting to the
situation. Mostly what she –did- feel was not sadness, but a sort of
low burning anger in the back of her mind. It wasn’t fair! He was
supposed to be immortal, live forever! She was not supposed to have to
bury him in the middle of the night, out in the middle of nowhere,
alone!

Lacroix watched Tracy Vetter begin to dig the young Spaniard’s grave.
She certainly was a strong-willed young woman. ‘A homicide detective,’
he thought with a smirk, the same mortal rank as his son, Nicholas.
Lacroix was a 2000-year-old vampire and the idea of Women’s lib still
amused him. The good doctor, Nicholas’s Natalie was easier to
take...he’d run across women healers and midwives many times in his
travels...but a young girl like Det. Vetter? No, she had the place of
a warrior, images of Amazons flashed through his mind. It’d been the
fantasy of most Roman youths to meet up with one of these famed female
warriors, his included. Roman men wanted subservient wives, but the
idea of an Amazon always held a secret appeal. He chuckled at himself
for having such foolish musings.

He stood at the top of a small up rising, watching the girl work. He
could hear her mumbling under her breath, but couldn’t make out the
words. ‘Probably comments on her unsavoury chore,’ he thought. He knew
what she was feeling; he’d just last night dealt with the remains of
his mortal daughter, and vampire master. He turned his mind away from
those unpleasant thoughts and again regarded the girl below him. She
didn’t know he was there. Nicholas has asked him to erase the death of
the Spaniard from her mind; she was a resister, so it would be
difficult, but not impossible for him. Nicholas had also requested
that she retain the knowledge of vampires, he’d doubted the wisdom of
this, but had agreed anyway. Why Nicholas thought the girl would be
better off thinking Vachon had left her, rather than died, he didn’t
know.

He knew she didn’t realise that his son was a vampire, he’s always
found Nicholas’s logic in that amusing. The girl knew of vampires, she
was of no threat to their community, yet in keeping his nature a
secret he put his young partner in danger, though he claimed it was
for –her- protection. Lacroix thought of all the times his son had
probably thrown himself into the line of fire, knowing full well that
mere mortals with their guns could not harm him, and his young partner
following him right in, to protect –his- back! ‘Ridiculous!’ he
thought. Nicholas had no doubt not considered it in that light.

Tracy paused in her task, going to her car and drinking from the
bottle of Diet Coke™ that she’d left in the front seat last Thursday,
it was flat and warm, but, "grave digging is thirsty work," she
mumbled wryly. She was amazed by her cynical detachment, "maybe I’m in
shock," she uttered, hoping it was true, hoping it wasn’t because
Vachon hadn’t really met that much to her. She turned to look at her
work, the hole was not neat, not really even grave shaped, ‘more of an
oval,’ she thought. But over all, it was going well; ‘at least the
ground wasn’t frozen.’ She had no one to help her in her task; she had
no one to talk with, to share her grief. None of the mortals she knew,
knew about vampires, and of the vampires... Well, she’d met a few
through Vachon, but no one she was particularly friendly with. Even
Urs, the one vampire she might consider talking to was dead, attacked
in the same way Vachon had been, only she hadn’t lingered as he had.
Liam, another vampire had told her of Urs’ death shortly after she’d
killed Vachon. He’d also told her the one responsible for attacking
them both was now dead too. He’d come to deal with the body for her
he’d said; he’d seemed rather sympathetic, but still very distant. She
didn’t know him well and didn’t really want his pity. She wanted to
take care of Vachon’s body, she’d told the other vampire. Liam had
known that his friend had cared for this mortal woman, so with a
formal bow, he’d left him to her. 

"Maybe I should have let Liam take you," she told Vachon’s still
remains. As soon as she said it, she knew she didn’t mean it. Liam
probably would have just left him in an abandoned spot for the sun to
deal with; the Irish vampire hadn’t struck her as the overly
sentimental type. ‘Vachon deserved better,’ Tracy thought, he deserved
to be buried next to his friend.

(Tell me what you think, anteros@juno.com)

See the beginning of part one for disclaimers. 

((If I can’t have him, someone should!!))<g>

Mrs. Lucien Lacroix, Mary Lacroix, Mrs. Lacroix, Mary Jenkins-Lacroix

((Don’t tell me you haven’t done that too!))<g>

Tracy Meets Lacroix

By: Mary Jenkins

Part: 2/5

Tracy returned to her work. ‘Three more feet at least,’ she thought.
As she dug she thought about her relationship with Vachon. They’d
never been together, as man and woman, though she’d wanted to. He’d
said he’d kill her if they tried, he wouldn’t be able to control
himself, and he’d bite and kill her. He’d never offered to bring her
across; they’d never even talked about it. She’d always wondered why
that was. ‘Maybe he didn’t care enough to consider an eternity with
me,’ she thought, and not for the first time. ‘Boy, I –am- getting
cynical,’ she thought, ‘he did care about me,’ she knew that. Maybe he
thought she would refuse if he offered, maybe she would have, maybe
not...anyway there was no point worrying about it any longer, it was a
moot point now. Vachon was dead. "And I have to deal with it," she
angrily muttered as she viscously stabbed the ground with her shovel,
taking her anger out on the cold, damp earth. 

Blisters were beginning to form on her hands; she welcomed the pain.
Tracy was usually a pretty easygoing person, and she tried to be
cheerful and polite at all times. She knew some of her co-workers
thought she was a bit of a ditz, a true airhead blonde, but it wasn’t
true. She had received nearly straight A’s all through school, a
delight to all her professors. She’s had her pick of any field, the
pre-med. and pre-law department heads had both tried to get her into
their fields. But she had felt the call of the police force; it was
where she belonged. And though her father was probably responsible for
her rapid advancement in the department, she definitely would have
gotten there herself, it was just a matter of time. Her IQ was very
high, and her police work was very thorough and getting better all the
time with experience. If she’d been anyone other than the
commissioner’s daughter, she would’ve gained the respect of everyone
in the precinct. But as it was, most of the other officers thought
she’d gained her position through her father alone and that she had no
right to her badge. And the others, including the captain and her
partner, treated her like a little girl, to be protected and coddled,
even though she -was- a homicide detective! 

Even Vachon had treated her that way. From the moment she met him,
he’d tried to protect her. And in the case of other vampires, she’d
admit she needed it. But from mortals? No, she was a police detective,
fully trained in self-defence and arrest procedure, but he’d still
tried to be her valiant protector. Tracy remembered the time he’d
hypnotised her date, sending him driving off with no idea where he was
going, interfering with her case in a way that was really inexcusable.
Though she admitted she had used him for information from time to
time, it had only been on cases involving vampires. And it’s not like
she hadn’t returned the favour ten-fold; using her position as
homicide detective to cover-up countless vampire related deaths, ‘to
protect their -precious -community.’ As these thoughts raced through
Tracy’s head she got angrier and angrier, stabbing at the ground with
all of her pent-up frustration, about her job, her father, Vachon and
all the rest.

Lacroix could feel her anger wash over him from where he stood. She
really was a remarkable woman. Most would be sobbing at the loss of
their love, not out in the middle of the unforgiving night, digging
his grave. He decided to wait for her to finish her task. He waited as
she deepened the grave. The wind was right so he could smell her, her
perfume, her sweat from her strenuous task, and her blood. He realised
with a start, that the odour of blood was too strong to be coming
through her skin, even with his heightened senses the smell should not
be –that- strong. ‘Her hand are bleeding,’ he thought. Then he
watched, as her blood dripped down the shovel’s handle, mixing with
her dripping sweat. He watched her wipe them with annoyance down her
pants legs after the shovel began to slip from her grasp, then
continue her work. "Remarkable," he muttered.

Tracy finished the grave. She was a mess; she’d begun crying during
the last foot. She was even sure where the tears had come from, she’d
thought she had used all her tears up last night. She’d let them fall,
streaming down her cheeks silently, not even bothering to wipe them
away. She stopped crying then, surveying the grave; it was ugly,
untidy and misshapen. "Sorry Javier, it’s the best I can do," she
whispered, regret and anguish telling in her voice. The wind was
catching her words now, Lacroix heard her. 

Tracy went to the back of her car and dragged Vachon’s body out. His
corpse landed on the ground with a thud. She dragged the sheet wrapped
body to the edge of the pit she’d dug. Lacroix watched in amazement as
instead of just rolling him in she climbed into the hole herself, and
gently pulled him in with her. He realised then she was laying him out
inside his grave. From where he was he couldn’t hear the exact
contents of the whispered words of love she said to the man. But her
pain and grief did reach him, stirring up his own grief over the death
of his daughter. He empathised with this young girl. Her grief came up
to him and somehow mingled with his, he closed his eyes and allowed
their shared sorrow to wash through him. At that moment he was closer
to that young girl than to anyone he’d known in a very long time, and
she didn’t even know he was there.

Tracy emerged from the grave, covered in dirt, and clutching Vachon’s
leather jacket, ‘apparently she’d decided to keep it,’ Lacroix mused.
He didn’t blame her, he knew she’d taken it to remember him by, not
for any more contemptible reason. He knew the Spaniard would have
wanted her to have it. 

Tracy wasn’t sure why at the last minute she’d decided to take the
jacket. But at the last minute she knew she –needed- his jacket. She
remembered all the times Vachon had made her wear the thing as they
walked around the city, ‘just because she looked cold.’ She remembered
how when she’d go to see him at his church he’d take it off and drape
it over her shoulders. It smelled of him, his cologne, the one she’d
given him last year for Christmas, and of his shampoo, and just him.
She slipped it on, even though she was filthy, so was it, it’d just
nearly been buried. ‘Both of us have to be cleaned before resurfacing
in polite society,’ Tracy thought wryly. She then began pushing the
dirt into the grave, careful not to look into the grave again. She
didn’t want to see Vachon actually being covered with the ground for
some reason. She used her hands to push the soil into the grave. Her
whole body got into the act. She was on her hands and knees, pushing
the soil over him. It was going much faster than the digging, but if
anything, she was actually getting dirtier from this. She’d begun
crying again, and the dirt was digging itself into the wounds in her
hands...she didn’t care.

(Tell me what you think, anteros@juno.com)

See part one for disclaimers.<g>

((If I can’t have him someone should!!))

Don’t send me notes telling me the jacket would smell like a
corpse...it doesn’t okay?

Tracy Meets Lacroix

By: Mary Jenkins

Part: 3/5

Lacroix watched in fascination, her every movement a testament to her
feelings. ‘This was more than just the loss of a loved one,’ he
realised, this was about more than just her feelings for the man just
buried. This moment was going to change her forever, he knew. He’d
felt dozens of emotions flow through this girl, he’d felt her
strength, nearly tasted her transformation in the air. Lacroix had
been around long enough to see people go through life-altering
experiences, and he knew that was what he was seeing now. ‘People
don’t change,’ he’d said it more than once, and this wasn’t a change,
at least not in her basic nature. It was growth, a metamorphosis in
her. She’d emerge from this changed, the person she’d always been
meant to be. "Rather like my first real kill," he said under his
breath, thinking back fondly to his early days as a Roman foot
soldier, and how at age 14 he’d disembowelled that Gaul solider twice
his size. 

Tracy was pushing the last of the dirt onto the grave. First
flattening the grave with her open palms, then hitting it with her
fists, pounding out every last bit of her anger and frustration.
Finally she leaned over and whispered something Lacroix could not hear
to the bit of earth that rested six feet above Vachon’s head. Then she
leaned closer and gently kissed his grave. Rising from her knees,
Tracy brushed away some of the dirt and grim she was covered with, she
gave up. She gathered up the shovel and empty Coke™ bottle, throwing
both into her trunk. She gave the grave one last glance, it –looked-
like a grave, she hoped no one dug it up to investigate. But then, ‘no
one ever reported Screed’s grave,’ she thought, thinking it was –way-
too easy to make a body disappear. She shrugged, ‘if it is found I’ll
probably get the case,’ she thought with a rueful smirk.

She checked around once more to make sure she wasn’t forgetting
anything, and got into her car. Allowing her car to warm up a bit, she
allowed some of the tension to seep out of her. She was beyond tired,
physically exhausted and emotionally drained. She felt empty. After a
few minutes she drove home. 

Lacroix snapped out of his thoughts. He hadn’t meant to let her leave.
"Damn," he said, ‘well, I’ll just have to follow her home,’ he thought
with a smirk, for some reason that pleased him. He leapt into the air,
following her.

Tracy was on automatic pilot at this point; her car somehow arrived at
her apartment building. She pulled into her slot, and cringed at the
idea of the doorman seeing her like this. ‘A blood covered, grave
digger, the building association will probably ask me to move,’ she
thought. She was in luck, he wasn’t at his desk, she quickly made her
way to the stairs, she rarely took the elevator, and besides she was
less likely to meet any neighbours on the badly lighted stairwell at
this time of night. "What time is it anyway," she whispered to no one
in particular. She looked down, she was wearing a watch but it was
caked with mud, made from the dirt from Vachon’s grave and her blood
and sweat. Even if it hadn’t been completely filthy, she realised with
a start, the face was so scratched it would never be readable again. 

Finally she reached her floor, and quickly jogged to her apartment,
hopping that nosy Mrs. McCormick wasn’t peaking through her door to
see what state she arrived in. Mrs. McCormick for some reason always
thought Tracy spent her time in various depraved pursuits. The elderly
widow didn’t understand that Tracy worked nights, thinking instead
that she spent her nights engaged in nefarious activities. Tracy had
never really bothered to correct her, never telling her she was
actually a cop. It had always amused her that someone thought about
her in such a light. But tonight she really wasn’t in the mood, and
Mrs. McCormick didn’t have to see her arrive home in this state. She
was wearing her oldest and tightest pair of jeans, the ones she’d had
since high school, the ones she hadn’t cared if they were ruined while
digging. Her tight brown sweater was covered with a grimy leather
jacket, which was nearly as filthy as the rest of her. Looking down at
herself she took in the bloodstains, and the fact that she was covered
in dirt. She didn’t even want to think about how she probably smelled.
Her boots were caked with mud...she’d left a trail of footprints she
realised with a sigh. As she opened her door, she left a dirty smudge
on the front of her door. 

(Tell me what you think, anteros@juno.com)

See part one for disclaimers.<g>

((If I can’t have him...oh, you know by now))

Tracy Meets Lacroix

By: Mary Jenkins

Part: 4/5

Lacroix waited outside Tracy’s building until he saw her light go on.
Flying up to her apartment he was delighted to find a balcony, he
hated crawling through windows, so undignified. He watched as she
closed and locked her door, ‘can’t have her making a run for it,’ he
thought with a chuckle. 

Tracy went into her dark apartment and flipped on the lights. Silence
greeted her, "hi honey, I’m home," she mumbled humourlessly. She
headed towards her small kitchen table, intent on taking off her muddy
boots before she wrecked her carpets. She sat down and struggle to get
them off, mud had caked over the laces, "damn," she said, ripping them
off painfully, making her feet contort rather than mess with them any
more...she wasn’t in the mood.

Lacroix chose that moment to enter. Tracy felt the cold blast of air
from the balcony door, and she knew she had a vampire visitor, Vachon
had always entered that way too. Tracy looked straight at Lacroix as
he walked in, despite the fact that she shouldn’t have been able to
see the door from where she sat. This momentarily unnerved him. 

"What do you want?" Tracy demanded in a weary voice, she didn’t really
know the man before her, she did know *who* he was however. Lucien
Lacroix: the oldest and most powerful vampire in Toronto, owner of the
Raven and voice of the Nightcrawler. Vachon had told her to stay away
from this ancient vampire after she’d informed her boyfriend that she
knew that the tall pale man was one of his kind. Though she knew she
should be frightened or at least surprised to see him standing in her
kitchen, she wasn’t. She just couldn’t seem to summon up anymore
emotions...no matter what kind.

Lacroix paused, whatever he’d been planning to say deserting him.
‘What –do- I want?’ he asked himself. He had been planning to erase
her memories as Nicholas had asked, but...how could he erase a
milestone?...a turning point? He stared at the girl in front of him.
She seemed to take his silence in stride. 

Ignoring him, Tracy stood, and shrugged out of Vachon’s jacket. She
slowly moved into the living room, walking straight past the vampire. 

Lacroix was bemused by her behaviour, in what ever way he’d expected
her to react to him...this wasn’t it! 

"Have you decided to tell me why you’re here?" Tracy asked in a
slightly amused voice. 

Instead of answering her, he instead asked, "You know who I am? You
know what- I am?" He knew she knew who he was, he’d had to go to the
police station after Diva’s little ‘present’ had been found in the
Raven’s refrigerator. The young detective should have known he owned
the club, and probably that he did the nightly radio show Nightwatch.
But, she shouldn’t know he was a vampire. ‘The Spaniard must have told
her,’ he thought, ‘but no, he wouldn’t have, he hadn’t had the
courage, after all he’d never told her about her partner.’ ‘She must
have figured it out on her own,’ he realised with a bizarre surge of
pride. He knew she didn’t suspect Nicholas...she was just too close to
see the obvious. ‘But then again, after tonight she just might figure
it out,’ he thought to himself. As he considered the ramifications, he
realised that it might be better if she -did- forget, but not just
about the Spaniard’s death, but about all vampires.

"Of course," Tracy sounded weary. She stood by her small couch looking
around; assorted clutter was spread around her apartment. Tastefully
decorated, but messy...she hadn’t exactly felt like cleaning in the
past week. "Why are you here?" she asked, moving ever so slightly to
the scarred oak end table and the box sitting on top of it. 

"I can’t let you continue on with knowledge of my kind," Lacroix told
her, sounding nearly as weary as Tracy had. 

"I’m a resister, you can’t make me forget...I don’t want to forget."
Tracy told him. 

"I have my ways," Lacroix told her, approaching the girl he so
admired.

‘He’s going to kill me,’ she thought, but instead of panicking she
reached into the box on her left and pulled out a cross. She wasn’t
stupid; she had a near identical collection in her apartment as she
did in her car’s trunk. 

The ancient vampire hadn’t expected that, he cringed away from the
cross, it took him a moment for this knew development to register. He
turned back, ready to swipe the cross from the woman’s hand. Only to
be doused with holy water! Tracy held the now empty flask and watched
the vampire writhe against the wall behind him. He moaned, trying not
to cry-out and alert the neighbours. The little chit was attacking
him! 

"Get out now!" Tracy yelled down at him. ‘He really looks
pathetic...but he wanted to kill me, he deserved it,’ Tracy thought
grimly. She reached back into the box; she had more tricks up her
sleeve.

"Dammit!" he moaned, he threw of his wool overcoat, it was soaked with
the water. 

"I’m not going to hurt you Tracy!" he mumbled through clenched teeth
as he waited for most of the water to drip off.

"Yeah right, you want to be friends, right?" she asked sarcastically,
rather upset he’d called her by her first name. She pulled back her
arm, ready to throw another, even worse brew on her attacker.

Lacroix didn’t wait for her to finish; using vampiric speed he ran
behind her, knocking the flask from her hands. Garlic fumes assaulted
his senses. He looked down at the flask, spilling forth onto the beige
carpet was a viscous concoction of garlic and oil...something that
would have clung to his skin much worse than water. "Vicious little
thing aren’t you?" he muttered in her ear.

Tracy made a move to elbow him in the stomach as he stood behind her.
He grabbed her, avoiding her every attack. Every time he thought he
had a hold of her, she’d slip out of his grasp and try to punch, kick
or otherwise injure him. ‘The little beast,’ he thought. It wasn’t
that she was strong, compared to him she was nothing, but she was
cunning, slipping loose and avoiding his grasp. Since he wasn’t
planning to hurt her, just restrain her, he was having a hard time of
it. He had to control the vampire within him, he didn’t want it to
respond to her attacks and kill her, but at the same time, he didn’t
want to be battered by this young girl either. He wasn’t used to
fighting with mortals, and he wasn’t used to not being able to use his
full strength.

She considered yelling for help, and hoping the neighbours would call
the police, but dismissed that thought almost as quickly, the people
on her right were on vacation, the place on her left was vacant, and
well, Mrs. McCormick was practically deaf. And even if things weren’t
the way they were, the police would probably be too late to help, and
any neighbour coming to help would most likely be killed for his
trouble. 

Tracy was a fully trained police officer, but she had also had classes
above and beyond that. She’d enrolled in a few Judo and Aikido classes
in college, and most recently she’d taken a kick boxing class, it was
much more fun than regular aerobics. Now she used all of her acquired
skills and instincts to try to beat this bastard in her apartment! 

She turned around to face him, slightly crouched in a fighting pose.
‘That jerk is actually enjoying this!’ she thought, taking in the
slight smirk on his pale face. Going as if to punch his face, he
reacted to grab her arm, over extending himself. ‘Bad move buddy,’ she
thought, dropping into a full crouch, she extended one leg and spun on
her other, knocking him to the ground. If he’d been human, he’d be
unconscious; his head hit the ground so hard. As it was he was only
dazed. She didn’t miss a beat; she rose to her knees and lunged for
his throat with the heel of her hand. Lacroix’s eyes widen; he again
used his vampiric speed to grab both of Tracy’s hands, using her
momentum to flip her over his chest. He then rolled over, trapping her
beneath his body, her legs pinned beneath one of his, holding each of
her hands in one of his own. 

"Dammit! Enough!" Yelled Lacroix. In other circumstances he might have
enjoyed this little tumble, but he was barely in control now. He was
actually shaking!

(Tell me what you think, anteros@juno.com)

See part one for disclaimers. <g>

((If I can’t have him....))

**Warning the next part has adult content, don’t read it if you’re
under 18**

It’s not too graphic, and the actual event is over in a single
sentence so don’t worry that this’ll turn into anything to lascivious
<g>

Tracy Meets Lacroix

By: Mary Jenkins

Part: 5/5

Tracy tried to wiggle out from under him; she failed. There was no
escape; he had her. "Fine, kill me, just make it quick," she said
without emotion, turning her head to expose her neck to him. 

Lacroix nearly took her up on it. He had to fight to restrain himself.
They were both breathing hard; he could hear her heart pounding after
their exertion. He was so excited it was nearly impossible to stop
himself from biting her. He took a deep breath, and turned her head to
look at him. "Like I said, I’m not here to hurt you Tracy," he told
her.

"Could’ve fooled me," she mumbled sarcastically, ‘I must have a death
wish,’ she thought, ‘taunting a vampire.’ Again he’d called her by her
first name, his accent doing strange things to her stomach. "Are you
going to let me up then?" she asked him, smirking at him. She could
feel his erection against her leg. ‘He really is gorgeous,’ she
thought, instantly feeling guilty, Vachon barely in his grave and...
‘Well, damn, what does it matter anymore?’ Who knew if Vachon had
really loved her, who knew if she’d really loved him? Maybe she’d just
been fascinated by the fact he was a vampire, she thought about all of
the things about him that had bugged her. How he’d never actually go
out of his way to –do- anything, his relationship with Urs, and she
knew he kept a lot from her. Would she have gone out with him if he’d
been human?...She didn’t know. She had cared about him...but love?
‘Now is not the time or place to worry about it,’ she told herself.
All thoughts of Vachon left her as she looked back at the man over
her.

Lacroix stared down at her. She wanted him! He could feel it; he could
smell it in her blood. Without thinking he leaned down and kissed her
gently. Tracy wasn’t in for ‘gentle’ tonight; she’d gone through way
too much emotional turmoil. She kissed him back, hard and
aggressively. Forcing her tongue into his mouth. He moved slightly
back, she followed him keeping their mouths in contact. He moved back
onto his knees, she rose to hers and pressed herself against him. Her
arms wrapped around him, and she ground her hips into his. All of her
frustration of the last year came out in her movements. He groaned.
She ripped his shirt off, pulling away just long enough to pull her
sweater over her head. Her hands rubbed his chest, and went to undo
his pants. 

It had been a long time since Lacroix had been with a mortal. He
revelled in the warmth of her, the smell of her blood. She was rough;
her desperate hands moved over his body cruelly, it was nearly
painful. They took each other violently, and in the end he buried his
fangs deep in her throat.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>.

‘He didn’t kill me,’ Tracy realised with a start, she’d awoken just a
moment earlier in Lacroix’s arms. They were on her bed now. She
reached up and felt the bite marks, feeling the raised, bruised flesh
with her fingertips. Her fingers moved from there, forward and up, to
the base of her jaw. She felt the steady beat of her pulse and gasped.
She was shocked; the last thing she remembered was him biting her at
her moment of climax. She should be dead, ‘apparently he knew what he
was doing,’ she thought. Wondering for a moment if Vachon could’ve
been with her without killing her too. 

She looked down at the man sleeping beside her. Naked under her lacy
white comforter, he seemed even more male. It’d been a long time since
she’d had a man in her bed, she thought. ‘Almost three years,’ she
cringed, ‘and now I’m waking up next to a 2000-year-old stranger.
‘Wouldn’t Daddy be proud,’ she nearly laughed out loud at that
thought, she didn’t care what he thought anymore. That didn’t mean she
was exactly proud of herself. She carefully undraped his arms from her
body and rolled out of bed. She really needed a shower.

Lacroix awoke with a start. ‘Where is she,’ he thought desperately. He
relaxed when he realised she was in the shower. Whether he’d been
afraid she might have left crying or gone off to get a stake he wasn’t
sure, but all in all he was glad she was just in the shower. What the
hell was he going to do? ‘I could still erase her memory,’ he rejected
that notion as soon as it entered his mind; rather disgusted that he’d
thought it at all. No, whatever he did, he wouldn’t be erasing any bit
of her. She was his now, all of her, and every memory she had was part
of her. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen. How Tracy was going
to act when she came out of that bathroom. The one thing he did know
was, ’Nicholas will not be happy,’ he began to laugh at that
ridiculous thought. He had much more weighty issues to deal with the
Nicholas’s reaction; the most prominent of which was still in the
shower.

End? 

So?....... I really wasn’t sure how this would end when I started
it...Tracy really rocked here didn’t she? Tell me what you
thought...email me at anteros@juno.com

If I get a favourable response maybe I’ll write a sequel and talk
about how Nick reacts.