Dance of the Undead, or Knight of the Dance





 
Dance of the Undead
By Lorelei Sieja
 
  Last night had been perfect. Tracy rubbed a tear from her face, still startled 
  by its red tinge, still surprised at the hunger the sight of her own blood 
  stirred in her, although it was only one of many tears she had shed today. She 
  stared at the heavy, black curtains of LaCroix's guestroom, overcome with 
  strong, conflicting emotions. "Damn you, LaCroix," she whispered. Pulling a 
  pillow over her head, she tried again to sleep.
  Last night he had taken her to Azure's. The restaurant was definitely one of 
  the fanciest she had ever been inside. LaCroix had reserved a private dining 
  room set apart from the main flow of mortal traffic. She had dined well on the 
  many courses of excellent French cuisine, only slightly deflated that they 
  didn't serve pizza. 
  Later, the ancient vampire had taken her dancing. He was easily the best dance 
  partner she had ever had. Waltzes, two-steps, ballroom dancing, he could do it 
  all, although he refused to show her that he could disco. Tracy thought back 
  to her partner, Nick, and how she had watched with fascination as he danced an 
  entire night and half a day away. LaCroix was undoubtedly the better dancer, 
  although Nick possessed a certain passion that was missing in LaCroix. The 
  elder's moves were perfect, precise, cold.
  Then LaCroix had brought her to his apartment, to his guestroom, and there 
  he'd brought her across. Although the entire evening leading up to that point 
  had been perfect, the actual event happened and was over with so fast that she 
  hadn't yet had time to adjust to it. And then LaCroix had simply left. She'd 
  fallen asleep, and she slept alone.
  There were strange images inside her, thoughts and feelings, memories that 
  were not her own. The impressions were faint, hardly detectable, but they were 
  there. They were LaCroix's. She knew now of his extreme, possessive love for 
  his son, Nick. And Tracy wept again.
  The door to her room opened. LaCroix entered and stood at the edge of her bed. 
  He looked magnificent, she thought, although she quickly tried to stuff that 
  feeling away, as she stared at him coldly. He wore a crimson smoking jacket 
  and black trousers; very proper and elegant, yet oddly amusing with his bare 
  feet and slightly sleep-tousled hair. He had recently aroused from bed and was 
  not yet fully awake.
  LaCroix held the bottle out to her. "I sensed you were awake," he said. "I 
  expect you are hungry?" 
  Her new fangs descended again. They felt too large and clumsy. She snatched 
  the bottle from him and drained it, adding the now empty container to a 
  growing collection of them on the floor. LaCroix blurred as her new vision 
  changed. He was no longer pale alabaster, but cool blue and shadows of black. 
  Still, she craved him and it made her angry.
  "Rest now," LaCroix commanded quietly.
  "Yeah, sure, boss," she snapped. 
  In an instant he held her throat in one hand, pressing just a bit too firmly 
  for comfort, but not bruising her. She lowered her eyes, striving to control 
  the rage that burned within.
  "You are young," LaCroix said coldly. "I will excuse your foolishness this 
  once. Do not let it happen again." And then he was gone. 
  She heard the soft click as her door closed behind him. She could hear him 
  move down the hallway, and she could even hear the soft whisper of satin 
  sheets as he returned to bed. Suddenly, she was overwhelmed with sounds. The 
  faint hum of electricity coursing through clocks and appliances, the wind at 
  her window, street noises, conversations, too many sounds so far away and yet 
  so clear... Vachon had never told her it would be like this! She felt 
betrayed.

   
  Urs shivered in her sleep. She wasn't cold, but something was touching her. 
  Something cool ran lightly down the length of her arm and came to rest on her 
  smooth, flat stomach. Not sensing danger in Nick's well-fortified loft, she 
  returned to deeper slumber and tried to ignore the sensual contact. 
  Cool fingers slowly moved up her abdomen to stroke her lightly. "Nicky!" she 
  exclaimed, no longer able to sleep. "It is the middle of the day!"
  "I can't sleep," Nick whispered huskily.
  "You might have better success if I move to the couch," she suggested.
  "Don't want to sleep now...."
  He nuzzled her neck, rubbing the stubble of new beard against her sensitive 
  skin. Urs turned in his arms to face him. "What am I going to do with you," 
  she said, feigning an irritation she didn't feel.
  "Do you want a list?"
  Urs didn't need a list. Although she'd only been his lover for a few weeks, 
  already she knew all the right places. She knew what excited him and what 
  drove him crazy with need. She found nothing more irresistible than a man who 
  was in love with her. 
  And Nick was a man. Complex, sometimes he was a dangerous man, fueled with 
  rage and the power to do great harm. Sometimes he was lost and alone, like a 
  stray kitten in need of a kind word and a bit of food for his tortured spirit. 
  Sometimes he was playful, sometimes wretched. Yet always he treated her like a 
  lady. Urs loved him for it.
  Later, their passion spent again, she lay curled up against him, her head on 
  his chest. One arm held her close. She closed her eyes, reliving the moments 
  just passed. Nick still seemed wide-awake. She had not helped him to relax. 
  Was she no longer pleasing him? 
  The blood kiss they shared held their fears and concerns. Timidly, she 
  searched through the fading images. Nick's arm tightened around her and he 
  placed a kiss on her forehead. 
  "I love you, Urs. Don't ever doubt it."
  She blinked back a sudden tear. Of course, her own fears would have passed to 
  him through their kiss. "Then what has you so troubled tonight, Nick?"
  "It's Tracy," he sighed. 
  Urs nodded. She knew Nick had continued to hope that his young mortal partner 
  would walk away from the dark gift his master offered her. He had not tried to 
  interfere, though. Urs had been afraid that he would. Urs didn't know what to 
  say to comfort him. Tracy had to make her own decisions.
  "Perhaps she chose the light," Urs whispered.
  Nick shook his head. "No. I have sensed LaCroix's satisfaction. He was 
  successful. Like always."
  "Will you be close like that to Tracy, too?" Urs really wondered about the 
  link that ran between LaCroix and his children. She had never developed that 
  skill with Vachon. She didn't know any other vampires that did, at least, not 
  to the same level as they. She was slightly envious, longing for a close 
  relationship with somebody. Anybody.
  "No," Nick answered her, interrupting her random thoughts. "Not for awhile, 
  anyway. I will have to share blood with her. That is the first step to bring 
  us closer. But a link such as I have with LaCroix only comes with time, and I 
  don't think all vampires can achieve it even then."
  A small part of her crushed and broke. She had no link with Vachon now, after 
  a hundred years. That must mean she was incapable of even this small tie of 
  affection. 
  "This link is more of a curse than a blessing," Nick said. 
  "How so?"
  "Imagine you are eight years old. Your father is bigger, stronger, and furious 
  with you. You can't hide, you can't escape, and you can't even lie to save 
  yourself."
  Urs shuddered, knowing something of Nick's past through the weeks they'd been 
  sharing each other. "But there are times it comes in handy, does it not? 
  LaCroix was able to find you and rescue you from Flavius because of this 
link."
  Nick shrugged indifferently. "I would have got away eventually."
  Urs wisely kept quiet. Nick would have died, if not for LaCroix. But she knew 
  he needed to believe the lie himself. "LaCroix loves you," she whispered. "No 
  matter what else goes between you two, I envy you for that."
  "Will you move in here," Nick asked suddenly, leaning up on his side, 
  intensely studying her face.
  "Nick, I've been living with you for nearly a month now," she exclaimed.
  "No. I mean, here, in my loft. Will you bring your things over and move in 
  with me?"
  "Why?"
  "Because I love you, Urs. Because I don't want to live alone anymore. Because 
  my loft isn't a home without you, it is a dungeon."
  "And?"
  Nick grew silent, pensive. Urs wondered what thoughts flew behind the stormy 
  gaze. She yearned to touch him, to comfort away the crease on his brow and the 
  loneliness in his soul, but she remained unmoving, waiting for his response.
  "I want you to feel at home here," Nick replied. "I want you to change it- 
  move the furniture around, or throw it out and buy new, or put some of your 
  things around, so that we can stop being two lonely vampires and start 
  becoming one great couple."
  "What of your mortal friends," Urs asked softly.
  "I've always kept my personal life separate from work," Nick began. Urs was 
  deflated. She felt he was still shutting a part of him off, keeping it 
  separate from her, not allowing them to become too close. 
  "But, I think, if you don't mind," Nick started. Urs tried to pull herself out 
  of her thoughts and concentrate on what he was trying so hard not to say. "I 
  mean, I won't make you or anything, but I'd really like it if you-"
  "If I what, Nick?" Urs shoved him hard, pinning him to the mattress. She 
  hissed at him, baring her fangs and lightly scraping them along his sensitive 
  neck. If he didn't tell her soon, she could just read it in his blood.
  "Well," he gasped, his undead heart picking up a beat at her seduction. "I'd 
  like the guys at work to meet you."
  "Really?" Her eyes returned to blue with her surprise. "Why?"
  Nick looked away from her, squirming boyishly as she still held him trapped. 
  If he could have blushed, she was sure he'd be six shades of red by now. She 
  enjoyed his discomfort for another moment, then she drove her teeth into his 
  neck and drank from him. 
  Cool, sweet blood spurted into her. Nicholas, her knight, her lover, her 
  protector... All at once, he was the father she needed, the lover she desired, 
  the son she could never have. He loved her and he wanted everyone to know it. 
  And it would quell a rumor circulating at the precinct that Nick didn't like 
  women. Urs allowed her joy to swell, spilling over into the blood she offered 
  Nick, as he returned the vampire kiss. 
  "I could come to the precinct at the end of your shift?"
  "That'd be perfect," Nick yawned. 
  His needs met, his desires fulfilled, Nick Knight returned to the deathlike 
  slumber of the undead. Urs smiled to herself. Men. 

   
  She read the newspaper caption again. "Car Chase ends, suspect arrested." It 
  was so brief, so nondescript, as it sat mutely beneath the gripping photo. He 
  was in it. Nicholas Knight, the star detective of the 96th precinct, was 
  hanging on to the door of the speeding car as it careened down the dark alley. 
  He could have been killed! And he would never know how she felt about him! 
  That suspect had carelessly placed her chosen one in danger. He would regret 
  that soon. Very soon. She clipped the newspaper photo from the paper and added 
  it to her collection. A small shrine of clippings and snap shots of the young 
  detective were fastened to the wall at the foot of her bed, where he was the 
  first and last thing she saw each day. He was smiling in some shots, but most 
  pictures caught a look of barely contained fury. He was so reckless. The 
  criminals he chased were scum, killing without conscience. Didn't the 
  detective know he should be more careful? Probably not. It would be her task 
  to protect him. And she couldn't let him know she was doing it. She would 
  protect his ego as well as his life. She placed a tender kiss on his likeness 
  and blew out the candles. It was time to take care of Roy Bennett.
  ***
  Urs straightened Nick's collar and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "I'll stop 
  by around five, if that's okay," she offered. 
  Nick pulled her in close for a hug, his fangs erupted suddenly and his golden 
  eyes danced with mischief. "I could just call in sick," he suggested.
  "No, you can't. Tracy's calling in sick today. You'd better cover for her." 
  Nick shrugged. "You can't blame me for trying." 
  She kissed him again, then pushed him through the elevator. "Good night," she 
  said. The look he gave her as the door slowly closed made her smile. He could 
  be so innocent looking one moment, and full of the devil the next. It wasn't 
  hard to see why his master was so possessive of him. 
  She smiled sadly as thoughts of LaCroix came to mind. At one time she would 
  have sought his affection over someone like Nick. She'd always seemed to wind 
  up trying to please one loveless man after another... until that night 
  Jacqueline had made her understand that she was still searching for her 
  father, a worthless man who had been dead for more than a hundred years. Now, 
  she was beginning to know herself, and perhaps, to even like herself. That a 
  man as kind and caring as Nick could find her worthy was the most incredible 
  gift anyone could have ever given her. 
  Still, through the intimacy of the blood, she was getting to understand Nick 
  and LaCroix better, perhaps even better than they knew themselves. LaCroix was 
  not a man incapable of love, but rather, incapable of expressing it. He did 
  love Nick, too much, perhaps. Of that she was certain. But Nick didn't feel 
  loved. And that was the crime. It forced them both to drift through the 
  centuries, lonely, hurt, hurting one another, a true hell, if ever there was 
  one. 
  She would go to the Raven to feed. She was perfectly willing to move in with 
  Nick, but she would not eat here unless he put in more appetizing fare. Then, 
  she hoped LaCroix would let her visit Nick's new little sister.
    

   
  It was still early and the Raven was mostly empty. LaCroix leaned against the 
  bar, glancing out over his establishment with a pensive expression. Urs 
  wondered what dark thoughts kept him so far removed. Had something dreadful 
  happened to Tracy? A moment of panic shook her. Nick would be devastated! But, 
  no... LaCroix was an ancient, surely he would not fail in any task he set out 
  to complete. Clasping her hands together to still the trembling, she 
  approached the silent proprietor. 
  "LaCroix?" she asked softly. She waited, silent for many minutes. It was so 
  much like when her father had still lived with her... he'd been an abusive 
  drunk, and she never knew when she had to talk to him if he would respond with 
  slurred words or vicious attacks. 
  LaCroix had a notorious temper, but he wasn't a drunk and she'd never known 
  him to be vicious. He was overly physical towards his own fledglings, but he 
  had never struck her. He had intimidated Vachon a few times... she smiled at 
  the memories. There were a few times she'd felt like throttling her immature 
  master, too.
  LaCroix finally turned his attention to her. His expression was carefully 
  neutral, signifying to her the great strain he was under. "Yes," he said, 
  giving her permission to continue.
  "I would like to visit Tracy, briefly, if you don't mind, sir," she said. 
  For a moment gold filled his eyes, and the lips thinned into a firm line. Then 
  he glanced away, forcing the careless look again. "I do not mind," he 
  answered. "However, the churlish Miss Vetter may very well mind!"
  So all was not well at the home, she acknowledged. Just as in mortal families, 
  the "birth" and addition of a new member to the family often caused growing 
  pains and a period of adjustment for everyone. LaCroix must have known that, 
  but perhaps over the centuries he had merely forgotten. 
  LaCroix pushed away from the bar and lead the way to his apartment. Urs knew 
  the way. She wondered about the formality, until she saw him pull out a key. 
  She swallowed back a surprised remark, as she realized that he was locking 
  Tracy inside!
  LaCroix pushed Urs to the side before opening the door. He stepped back as 
  well and waited only seconds before a pair of shoes, a dictionary, and lamp 
  came sailing through the opening. His hand shot out to catch the lamp seconds 
  before it hit the floor. "Tracy, you have a visitor," he said coolly.
  "Who the hell is it! I don't want to see anybody! Least of all you!" 
  The sounds were half shouted, half sobbed. Urs stepped into the doorway 
  bravely. "Hello, Tracy," she said. "It's me, Urs."
  Tracy had only met her twice, and didn't know her well, only that she was 
  Nick's girlfriend. Still, the distraught infant vampire flung herself at Urs, 
  huge blood tears staining her face as she sobbed.
  LaCroix ignored the vile display as best he could. "Call downstairs, Ursula, 
  when you are ready to leave," he said evenly, then bolted the door.
  Urs held Tracy, awkwardly comforting her. This was a new role for her. She'd 
  always been the one needing comfort. Tracy was close to her in age, before 
  she'd stopped the aging process, and yet there was such innocence about Tracy. 
  She had likely lead a very protected life.
  "There, there," she murmured. "Do you want to talk to me about it?"
  "Yes! No! I don't know," Tracy sobbed. "It's all so strange! I didn't know it 
  would be like this! I'm scared!"
  Urs pulled her closer and slowly walked into the kitchen. She helped Tracy to 
  sit in one of the chairs. Then going to the refrigerator, she pulled out one 
  of the front bottles and filled two coffee cups. She warmed the blood in the 
  microwave, then sat at the table with Tracy. 
  The infant drank hers immediately, her eyes changing to feral red. Some of the 
  beverage dripped on her chin, as she still seemed uncomfortable around her new 
  fangs. Urs simply passed her a napkin and got up to refill Tracy's mug. 
  "It's better warm," Tracy whispered, hiccuping softly.
  "Yes. I think so. But it spoils faster, so we only heat it a mugful at a 
time."
  The second mug Tracy held in her trembling hands, staring at the thick, red 
  meal silently. Urs waited. Patience was a gift, and she'd been given extra 
  large servings. She took the moment to observe Nick's young partner. 
  Tracy looked exhausted. That was not unusual. Although only adults were 
  brought across, they were as infants. Newborn vampires required much sleep, 
  frequent feedings, constant surveillance, and diligent parenting, in order to 
  survive. Many infants did not make it. But LaCroix was nothing if not 
  diligent. He could be overly assiduous. 
  "I thought it would be special," Tracy began, whispering her confession as 
  though afraid the walls would record her every word. "I thought I would be 
  special."
  Urs hurt for her. She knew well the need to belong, to be important to 
  someone. But Tracy had never seemed the type before. Tracy had always seemed 
  so confident, so full of life and sure of herself. What had LaCroix done to 
  her? Urs laid a hand on Tracy's hand and patted her consolingly. "You are 
  special, Tracy," she said. LaCroix would not have taken her, otherwise. 
  Two more tears slipped down her face. "He took me to dinner, and we went 
  dancing, and then he did THIS to me, and then he just left. Like I wasn't 
  important anymore. I had thought it would be beautiful, and I would be a part 
  of something, but I feel so alone."
  "It is a bit like the "first time", isn't it," Urs admitted. "Don't you 
  remember what that was like?"
  "First time?" Tracy looked clueless.
  Urs stared at her big blue eyes, glistening still with clear red tears, and 
  felt a small knot of disbelief. "You haven't done it before? Ever? With a 
man?"
  Tracy laughed at herself and shrugged her shoulders, trying to hide her 
  embarrassment. "Who would do it with the commissioner's daughter? That'd be 
  career suicide."
  "Did you tell LaCroix before hand?"
  "No."
  "You poor kid." Urs put her arms around Tracy and held her. 
  "And I'm still a virgin. LaCroix didn't do anything. He just bit me and put me 
  to sleep."
  Now it was all starting to make sense. Urs couldn't believe Tracy had managed 
  for her twenty-something years to keep what she had lost while still a child 
  so very many years ago. And here Tracy was feeling miserable because she 
  couldn't lose it. It was almost ironic. And yet, Tracy was old enough to know 
  desire and burn with need. It was a need that demanded to be filled. And she 
  had expected LaCroix to fill it. 
  "Tracy," she said. "The physical part of mortal sex is not as important to a 
  vampire. We experience everything in the blood kiss. Still, usually, a master 
  will seduce the mortal, giving them both the physical intimacy and the blood 
  climax. I don't know why LaCriox chose differently. Maybe he thought you would 
  rather share your intimacies with Vachon."
  "But, I feel so awkward. So ugly. I feel like crying, and I don't know why, 
  and I'm so tired. And LaCroix is so damn bossy!" Tracy's voice rose then, a 
  little anger bleeding through her misery. 
  Urs laughed lightly. "Yes, he is a bossy master. But everything he says is for 
  a reason."
  "Like locking me up, like some prisoner!"
  "Yes, even that. It is for your safety."
  Tracy glared at her with disbelief. "My safety. From what?"
  "From yourself, likely. The world is a dangerous place for a new vampire. 
  Although you are an adult in the mortal world, you will be an infant vampire 
  for nearly a decade. Then, you may be a fledgling for over a century. Vachon 
  is 500, and Nick is closer to 800, and both are still considered young in the 
  community."
  "That's archaic."
  "That's right," Urs agreed. She refilled Tracy's mug once again. She saw Tracy 
  struggling to hold back from yawning, and knew their conversation could not go 
  on much longer. 
  "So why doesn't he just tell me what to do and not to do, and let me go?"
  "Because that would be like telling an infant not to play in the streets, and 
  then setting him down in the middle of the freeway and walking away. He will 
  spend hours, weeks, months, training you. You will never be very far from his 
  watchful eye. There is so much to learn. How long it takes will depend on how 
  hard you try- how closely you pay attention."
  Tracy ran a hand through her short blonde hair, pulling it out of her face. 
  The tears had stopped, and the reddened, swollen eyes had healed to their 
  formerly perfect shape and color. "What was it like for you?" she asked.
  Urs glanced away uncomfortably, but she was through hiding. Hiding made one 
  lonely. In this life she was going to try open honesty, like her knight, and 
  see what developed. "I was miserable," she admitted. "I cried for weeks."
  "Really? I can't imagine Vachon being a tough master."
  "Oh, he wasn't. He was really sweet. But ignorant. I had wanted to die-- I had 
  begged him to kill me-- and he made me immortal. I felt betrayed. I followed 
  him everywhere for several decades, and I think he regretted bringing me 
  across. He wasn't used to having anyone depend on him. He generally turned his 
  fledglings loose on an unsuspecting world, and felt a pang of remorse when 
  they failed to adjust."
  "Yeah, I guess even for vampires, it's hard to be a good parent if you didn't 
  have an example to follow."
  "Tracy dear, you need to sleep. A new vampire spends much of the day and night 
  sleeping, and this is normal. But, if it is all right with you, may I come 
  again tomorrow?"
  Tracy stood up and hugged Urs again. "I'd like that," she said.
  Urs waited as Tracy returned to her bedroom and closed the door. She waited a 
  few moments longer, then her vampiric hearing told her when Tracy lay down, 
  and when her breathing slowed even more. Then, she looked around the 
  apartment. 
  The place was a mess. It looked like Tracy had had a full-blown temper tantrum 
  that lasted for hours. Sighing, yet grateful to have found something she could 
  do to be useful, Urs began to pick up the rooms. 

   
   
  Nick was whistling as he sauntered into the precinct. Life was good again. 
  LaCroix seemed a little mellower. And now with Tracy to take care of, perhaps 
  he would have less time to pick on him. Nat had smiled at him when he'd swung 
  by the lab. She seemed like herself again, like maybe they could go on being 
  friends. Nat's hair had been fixed nice, she'd even put on a bit of make-up-- 
  not that her patients ever complained of her looks, but Nick felt that it was 
  a sign that she was feeling good about things again. 
  And then there was Urs. Why it had taken over a hundred years for their paths 
  to cross, he would never know. But then, a hundred years ago, perhaps he would 
  not have wanted to meet her. Then he'd been trying so hard to reject his 
  vampiric nature. Now, although he still yearned for a cure, he wasn't going to 
  put the rest of his life on hold. He would walk a fine line, the life of a 
  vampire, yet not break the laws of the mortal life he hoped one day to 
  repossess. That meant not killing. But in every other way he was still a 
  vampire. And now with Urs, he was a happy one at that.
  "Good evening, Nick," Schultz called. "Your partner called in sick tonight and 
  Reese wants to see you."
  Nick smiled at the young officer and waved. It came as no surprise to him. He 
  and LaCroix had talked about how to handle the time off that Tracy would need. 
  She didn't really have any more vacation time accrued. So, she would take a 
  few sick days, then Nick would use a little hypnotism to convince people that 
  she really was with him, even as he rode his shift alone. Hopefully, by the 
  end of next week, Tracy would be able to work at least a partial shift and she 
  could breeze in and out of the office between naps. 
  Reese motioned for Nick to take a seat. He looked tired. Nick concentrated on 
  his captain's heart rate for a moment and caught the slightly erratic rhythm 
  with concern. Reese cleared his throat and coughed. "Nick... Bennett's 
  arraignment is tomorrow morning at ten. I don't feel I should stick this with 
  your partner, seeing how she's sick tonight, and since you were the arresting 
  officer... so I thought I'd let you know so you can figure out how you're 
  going to get there."
  Nick groaned. He'd managed to make court room appearances before, but it was 
  always such a hassle. It usually meant a ride in the trunk, going in through 
  the underground parking lot, and having all the curtains in the courtroom 
  drawn. And still, he'd wrestle with hunger and the instinctual need to sleep. 
  Maybe he should have just killed Bennett when he'd had the chance and save the 
  crown the expense. He knew Bennett was guilty. 
  Reese coughed again. His eyes watered, and then he started sneezing. 
  "Captain?" Nick asked, concern shading his voice. "You should be in bed."
  "You sound like my wife," Reese grumbled half-heartedly. 
  "Denise is a smart lady," Nick reminded him. He considered sending Reese home 
  with a hypnotic suggestion... if the captain got any worse, he would do it. 
  "Otherwise, you can work at your desk tonight. I don't want you out on the 
  street alone."
  "But Captain," Nick complained.
  "No buts. I know Stonetree let you work alone, but it is strictly against 
  police procedures for a reason. It isn't safe. You work with a partner, or 
  you're out of my precinct."
  Illness was making Reese irritable, Nick thought. He should have hypnotized 
  him. "Sure, Captain. Whatever." He returned to his desk, letting the door slam 
  behind him. 
  More paperwork. Nick tried to be a good sport, but after a few hours he was 
  desperate for a break. He'd already been to the lab. Maybe he'd run by the 
  Raven and see how Tracy was doing. He grabbed his coat and left.
  LaCroix looked around his home with surprise. Everything was back as it should 
  be. The overturned furniture had been righted; the various shoes and other 
  items the infant had thrown at him in her fury had been put away and all 
  remnants of shattered glass swept up. Urs was sitting quietly on the couch. 
  He stepped into the room and joined her. He had a new admiration for Vachon's 
  fledgling. She had calmed both Nicholas and Tracy... she was a jewel beyond 
  compare. 
  "You will have to share your secret with me, my dear."
  Urs smiled shyly. "I think, sir, that she would feel better if you'd invite 
  Vachon to visit her tonight," she said.
  His eyes hardened at her presumption. Yet, she was a timid creature. She would 
  not have dared to speak to him on the care of his fledgling unless she felt it 
  was of grave importance. He did not pretend to understand the minds of 
  women... that Tracy should be a tempestuous shoe-thrower like his other 
  daughter was surely the curse of some ancient Roman god reeking revenge on him 
  still for his arrogance. 
  "If you think so," he answered with carefully controlled tones, "then I shall 
  ask him."
  She smiled again, rising gracefully, and left.
  LaCroix placed a phone call down to the bar. He did not want to make this 
  request in person and perhaps be asked for more information than he was ready 
  to divulge. The phone call always allowed him the opportunity to hang up. 
  Vachon sounded very surprised, even a little giddy. "She is asleep now," 
  LaCroix said. "Perhaps if you came by in half an hour."
  Whatever it was that had the young detective so upset, he wasn't sure he'd 
  ever learn. Her blood had been fresh and sweet, yet not addictive like 
  Nicholas's. Her emotions last night had been overwhelming. She'd been excited 
  and frightened, both of which were understandable, but the rage had not been 
  there. He was just beginning to regret the decision to take on another 
  responsibility. Nicholas was more than enough for any parent to handle. 
  Then he felt his son approaching. He was at once both pleased and annoyed. 
  Pleased that Nicholas couldn't seem to go more than half a day without him, 
  and annoyed that no doubt Miss Vetter's stormy crossing into her new life 
  would become yet one more bone of contention between them. His son was nothing 
  if not predictable.
  Nicholas didn't even bother to knock. He just entered, as though LaCroix's 
  home was his by right. LaCroix felt a rush of pride. His son was walking much 
  taller these days. His shoulders were square, his back straight. It was the 
  confident stride that he had possessed while yet a young knight. He was also 
  more casually dressed with a cobalt blue sweater beneath the sport coat. It 
  was a color that went well with his golden hair, and yet not one he wore 
  often. 
  He held a bouquet of yellow daisies in one hand and a concerned expression on 
  his handsome face. "Is she awake?" he asked.
  LaCroix shook his head, doubly grateful for Urs's housekeeping abilities. 
  Hopefully, Tracy had not broken every vase he owned. 
  Nicholas went to the tidy kitchen area and opened cupboards at random. He 
  scowled, but said nothing. Eventually, he pulled out one of the crystal wine 
  goblets and plopped the flowers in it with some water. LaCroix forced himself 
  not to complain. 
  "How is she?"
  "Resting," LaCroix answered noncommittally.
  "And?"
  He heaved a sigh. If only Nicholas could just learn to talk without 
  interrogating. Perhaps it was time to change his line of work. "And she is 
  resting," he repeated forcefully. 
  "May I go see her?"
  "Absolutely not."
  Nicholas looked hurt; whether it was the words or the tone of voice, he didn't 
  know, but he did not want his sensitive son anywhere near that turbulent 
  creation until she'd had a chance to calm herself by several knots. The 
  relationship between master and child was absolute. LaCroix was well within 
  his rights. Nicholas knew that, too.
  "I will tell her that you stopped by," LaCroix offered, softening his voice.
  Nicholas considered the offer only a moment, then he smiled. "Thanks. I guess 
  I'd better get back, then."
  "You are always welcome here, my son."
  Then Vachon chose the most inopportune moment to knock loudly on the door. 
  Nick opened it, being closer, and stared at the Spaniard. "Tracy isn't up to 
  visitors," Nick snapped at him.
  "But, LaCroix invited me!"
  Nicholas whirled on his master. "He can see her, and I can't? Why!"
  The moment had been ruined. LaCroix wasn't certain whom he should vent his 
  frustration on, or what to do to salvage what was left of the evening. He 
  pulled Vachon inside and slammed the door. Then he faced his angry son with 
  cool contempt. 
  "I'm going to see her," Nicholas said defiantly, and took a step in that 
  direction. 
  LaCroix clamped an iron hand on his arm and held him. "No. You will not."
  Vachon stared at father and son nervously. A fight was brewing and he did not 
  want to be in the middle of it. "Perhaps I should come by later," he offered 
  diplomatically.
  "No. Go to her at once and leave this one to me," LaCroix commanded. Vachon 
  scooted into her room and closed the door faster than most vampires could 
  move. 
  "Unhand me," Nicholas demanded.
  "You will not speak so disrespectfully," LaCroix warned him. Gold flecked his 
  eyes. His grasp on his child tightened. The skin beneath was already bruising, 
  yet Nicholas made no outward sign of his discomfort. 
  "Why not! You're obviously hiding something, or you wouldn't deny me. What is 
  it, LaCroix! What have you done to her!"
  His hand shot out quickly, striking the insolent child full in the face. 
  Nicholas flew backwards into the table, tipping it over and breaking the 
  crystal goblet. Daisies and water scattered across the floor. Why were his 
  children always so untidy? He needed a maid. Or a bigger whip. 
  Nicholas picked himself up, wincing only slightly. Brazenly, he took several 
  steps towards Tracy's room. LaCroix flew at him, taking him by the throat and 
  throwing him up against the refrigerator. The tinkle of breaking glass within 
  only fueled his already potent fury. He struck his son several blows, while 
  Nicholas struggled uselessly in his grasp. His fangs erupted. He roared at 
  Nicholas, yet held himself back. He did not want to take this fight that far, 
  not now that his son was beginning to share his blood openly. Taking blood in 
  a rage was assault of the most intimate kind among vampires. Nicholas would 
  not forgive him for many, many years.
  "Get out," he roared. "Out now! And if you wish to visit again, you will ask 
  permission before you cross my threshold!" Then he threw Nicholas into the 
  door with enough force to splinter the wood around the lock. 
  Nicholas clenched his teeth, refusing to cry out his pain in front of his 
  master, although LaCroix was aware of it through their link. He had torn 
  muscles and bruised a few bones, but he would heal. "Yes, Master," he said, 
  the sarcasm thick enough to choke. In a final act of defiance, he left, but 
  not through the ruined door. He flew straight out the living room window, 
  shattering the glass at his impact. 
  LaCroix slumped onto the couch. "I should never have had children," he said to 
  himself. Then he picked up the telephone and called Urs. "If you wouldn't 
  mind, my dear, I am in need of a housekeeper again."

   
  Nick flew over Toronto for twenty minutes while his injuries healed and his 
  temper cooled. LaCroix could always push him too hard. No matter how much 
  control he developed, no matter how happy or contented he felt, LaCroix could 
  always drive him to a mindless rage and in less than a few minutes. He felt 
  angrier now, but only at himself. He should not have gone over there. And he 
  felt a twinge of jealousy. Tracy had somehow replaced him in his father's 
  house. She was in the guestroom with Vachon. LaCroix was now protecting her, 
  training her, and driving Nick away to do it. He stormed in to the police 
  precinct, slamming doors as he went.
  "Nick, where the hell have you been! Get in here now!" Reese bellowed. 
  Nick shut his eyes as the golden flecks threatened to reappear. Then with his 
  fists clenched tightly enough that his nails drew blood, he pushed into the 
  captain's office. He slumped into a chair and turned deaf ears to the 
  captain's tirade. It was nothing compared to the wrath of his father. He 
  fought back the sudden urge to weep by concentrating only on his anger. 
  "I told you to stay at your desk. I thought I made myself perfectly clear," 
  Reese was yelling.
  Nick nodded, not even feigning interest.
  "Mind telling me where you were?" The question was still shouted. It was more 
  a demand than a request.
  "I went to see Tracy," Nick growled. 
  Reese slumped into his chair behind the desk then. He sneezed several times 
  and wiped moisture from his eyes. "Thank God."
  That was odd. Nick wasn't too angry to sense trouble. 
  "So she can give you an alibi, then?"
  Nick sprang to his feet. "What the hell for! Are you accusing me of something, 
  Captain? 'Cause if you are, I'd damn well like to hear the charge!"
  "Bennett's dead."
  Silence reigned in the small office for long moments. The closed door and 
  walls gave only the image of privacy, since the raised voices were plainly 
  audible to everyone in the bullpen. 
  "So?" Nick demanded again.
  "So it's a good thing Tracy can cover for you, Nick. Tell me now, when did you 
  get to her place, and how long were you there?"
  "I didn't kill Bennett. Why would I want to kill him? We had him behind bars."
  "Bennett was afraid of you, Nick. He told that to every cop in the precinct, 
  and more importantly, to his lawyer. And you were missing for an hour. You 
  have obviously been in a fight. Nick, I think you may need to call a lawyer."
  Reese's voice had become very soft. That was more intimidating than the 
  shouting. Nick looked at himself, as though noticing for the first time his 
  own disheveled appearance. Blood spattered on his sweater from the blows to 
  his face, which had already healed. He should have worn black today! Black 
  better concealed these little indiscretions. His coat sleeves were torn in 
  places, probably from his defiant, if foolhardy, exit. 
  "I'll ask you again, Nick. When were you with Tracy?"
  Nick sank back into the chair. He held his head in his hands. Tracy couldn't 
  vouch for him- she'd been sleeping. Vachon could only cover about three 
  minutes- not enough to create his alibi. Only LaCroix could clear him. And the 
  master was furious with him now. How could Nick even ask him? "Tracy was 
  sleeping when I got there. I put some flowers on the table and left."
  He dug into his pockets and pulled out a receipt from the florists for the 
  bouquet. 
  "Damn it, Nick," Reese said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Why can't you 
  and Tracy learn to just follow orders?"
  Nick was taken into the holding room and interrogated for three solid hours. 
  Two detectives from the day shift that he had never liked were called in to 
  handle the case. Johnson and Bunati were thick as thieves and about as 
  honorable. They'd been friends since their academy days, a few million donuts 
  ago. And they had no love for Nick, whom many considered the precinct's star 
  detective, but whom they knew to be an arrogant, ignorant, sonofabi*ch, and 
  now was their chance to prove it to the world. 
  Nick was getting hungry. The beating had taken a lot out of him, and then his 
  twenty-minute flight over Toronto hadn't helped. Combined with stress, it was 
  a constant struggle just to keep his fangs concealed. 
  "You're hiding something, Knight!" Bunati shouted.
  Nick snickered. If only they knew.
  Johnson shoved him roughly. "Think this is funny? Think this is a g*ddam joke? 
  How's thirty years to life sound to you, you bastard!"
  "I did not kill Roy Bennett," Nick said again. Talking to these two was 
  useless, but at least the machine was recording his words. "I arrested him. He 
  confessed. He was going to jail. What could I possibly hope to gain by killing 
  him?" Besides, his blood would be spoiled. The blood of pedophiles always left 
  a bad aftertaste. Nick laid his head down on his arms. It must be nearly dawn. 
  He was so tired. 
  Johnson shook him. "It's not time to sleep yet, Knight. We haven't even begun 
  here yet."
  "We are finished here," Knight said calmly. "If you're going to charge me, 
  then do so. I won't speak to you again without a lawyer present. If you 
  haven't enough evidence to hold me, then I'm going home. Sun's coming up."
  Bunati's cell phone rang. He answered it, an evil grin spreading on his fleshy 
  face. Then he hung up. "So you were at the florists tonight?"
  Nick nodded. He'd already told that to the captain.
  "Knight, you're under arrest for the murder of Roy Bennett." He turned to his 
  partner as his grin broadened. "That was the medical technician at the 
  coroner's office. There were flowers with the deceased."
  Nick stumbled along through the corridors, too tired to care anymore. He'd 
  been down here not that long ago, when was it? Last year? It wasn't so bad. 
  Maybe Natalie would bring him something to eat. Schenke had come to visit him. 
  He missed him.
  The doors rattled and clanked shut. Nick rolled onto the narrow cot and went 
  to sleep.
   
  Urs came to the precinct just before dawn, like she'd promised, but Nick was 
  no where. She asked around the bullpen, but the officers there seemed terribly 
  upset. Something was happening. She could sense it. Their mortal hearts were 
  beating much too fast. 
  One officer stepped forward then and extended his hand. "Hello, miss," he 
  said. "You must be looking for Detective Knight. I saw a picture of you last 
  week. You're even more beautiful in person."
  Urs ignored the empty compliment. "Do you know where he is? Please tell me. He 
  was expecting me this morning."
  He gestured to a private room and offered her a chair. This could not be good, 
  she worried. Not good at all. The officer was breaking into a sweat. 
  "Knight's been arrested," he said softly. 
  "For what?"
  "For the murder of Roy Bennett. He was found beaten to death in his cell 
  tonight."
  Urs waved her hands helplessly. "Nick wouldn't have killed him. Surely you 
  know that."
  The officer shrugged. "I don't really know him, Miss. Nick cannot give us an 
  alibi for his whereabouts at the time of the murder. And he returned to work 
  looking like he'd been through hell- blood on his clothes and his jacket torn. 
  I have to tell you, it doesn't look good for him at all."
  Urs stood then and paced in the tiny room. Nick was at work, except when he 
  went to visit Tracy. That was his alibi. Why didn't he tell them that? "May I 
  please see him?"
  The officer nodded. He led her down the cement stairs to a dark, lower level. 
  There was a dampness to the air there, from the stone, but it went beyond 
  physical discomfort. There was a sadness, and a sense of despair. Urs cringed 
  inwardly at the thought of her gallant lover spending even an hour in such a 
  dreary place. 
  She saw him lying on the narrow cot, his back turned to her, and sensed he 
  slept from hunger and exhaustion. There was a narrow window at the top of his 
  cell. It was secured with bars, but no curtain. A small rectangle of light 
  from the street lamp beyond shone on a patch of the floor. That light would 
  soon be sunlight and her Nick would be in danger. She pointed at the window.
  "This cell is unacceptable," she told him. "That he is very allergic to 
  sunlight is part of his public record. You must move him at once, or have that 
  window blacked out completely."
  The officer stammered. "Of course, Miss. I'll see to it."
  She locked the officer into a hypnotic trance then and requested he let her in 
  to see Nick. Then she told him to sit down on the floor and take a nap. It 
  would give her a little privacy at least, while she decided what she should do 
  next.
  She sat down next to Nick on the narrow cot and caressed him. He didn't stir. 
  She reached to brush a lock of his hair back from his face and gasped at the 
  pale, tired expression. He must feed, or the day would be pure torture for 
  him. She bit her wrist and held it near his mouth.
  She stared intently, waiting for a sign of life from him. The small wound had 
  nearly healed over before his fangs descended and he awoke with a roar. She 
  clamped a hand over his mouth to quiet him. 
  "Urs! What are you doing here," he asked, confused. He couldn't remember 
  falling asleep and he wasn't entirely sure where he was. Then, slowly, the 
  previous night returned to haunt him. It was all his fault again. His anger 
  with LaCroix had backfired and now he was in jail for a murder he didn't 
  commit, and only LaCroix could clear him. But his master had a new fledgling 
  now. And he was undoubtedly very angry with Nick. How could he even ask him?
  Urs offered her arm to him again. Nick didn't hesitate, but gently bit into 
  the soft, tender flesh and drank a brief meal from her. Then he pulled her 
  into his arms and crushed her to him. "Oh, my Urs. What are we going to do 
  now?"
  "You must call him," Urs said gently.
  Nick shook his head; the anguish in his expression was tearing at her. "No. He 
  won't come. And if I name him as my alibi, and he refuses, then my credibility 
  will be shot."
  "He loves you, Nick. You know that!"
  "He threw me out of his house, Urs. He as much as told me not to come back."
  She pulled him to her, as she lay down beside him. She held him now, not as 
  lover, but mother. Ironic, she realized, as he was by far the elder vampire, 
  but there was something so helpless about him at times. "What was the argument 
  about this time?"
  Nick sighed. His eyelids were heavy. She felt so wonderful... if she stayed 
  much longer, he'd be sound asleep. "Tracy," he whispered. "I was angry that he 
  wouldn't let me see her, although he invited Vachon in."
  Urs laughed. "Nick, Nick. What am I going to do with you?"
  "Hmmm," he mumbled. "I can think of a few things."
  "Tracy was miserable today. I think LaCroix was afraid to let you see her, 
  afraid you would blame him about something."
  "But," Nick started to interrupt. 
  Urs placed a slender finger on his lips. "Sh, love. Imagine yourself a year 
  ago. What if Natalie had decided to become a vampire and LaCroix was her 
  master. Now, as an infant vampire, she's too young to be excited by a large 
  number of visitors. So, LaCriox has to choose. Does he let Janette, Natalie's 
  new sister, spend some quality time with her? Or you, her brother, her lover, 
  and best friend?"
  Nick grunted. "Tracy really cares for Vachon, doesn't she?"
  "Uh-huh," Urs agreed.
  "I was such an ass," Nick said. Urs agreed again. 
  "But it changes nothing. I told them I went to see Tracy. No one knows Tracy's 
  staying at the Raven. They all assume I was at her apartment, which isn't 
  anywhere near there. LaCroix can hardly tell them I was at his house, unless 
  he reveals our relationship. And LaCroix doesn't care about mortals. He even 
  tried to frame me last year for a different murder, thinking it would force me 
  to move on."
  "Nick, you have to at least talk to him."
  "No," Nick said firmly. "And promise me you won't go to him, either."
  Urs didn't want to, but Nick insisted. Then she watched as he fell back to 
  sleep. She went after a roll of duct tape herself and covered the window, then 
  roused the helpful young officer from his sleep. She had promised Nick she 
  would not go to LaCroix. So, she would have to find a phone quickly and call 
  him.
   ***
  Reese laid his head down on his desk. He hurt all over. His sinuses were 
  throbbing, his chest ached from coughing, and his head felt like 
  over-stretched rubber bands, but it was all nothing compared to the pain and 
  responsibility he suffered for Nick's sake. Tracy had tried to warn him that 
  she felt Nick was at the end of his rope. She'd suspected he was a problem 
  waiting to happen. A week off must not have been enough. Perhaps he should 
  have required a psych evaluation of him, after the way he'd bungled that 
  Bennett arrest. And now it was all too late. And somehow, Reese felt 
  responsible. The sun was rising. It was past time to go home. Denise was 
  waiting for him, as were his two little girls. Life would go on for him. But 
  for Nick Knight, he would be an old, old man before he saw freedom again.
  "Captain," Officer Schultz called. 
  "Here," he answered, speaking to the faceless voice in the box and wondering 
  briefly what Schultz actually looked like.
  "There's a man here to see you. He insists that it is urgent."
  "About what? Who?" Reese didn't give a damn about urgent anymore. 
  Then his door slammed open, banging into the wall behind it and swinging half 
  shut again. A tall, dark figure filled the doorway. He was oddly familiar. 
  Reese searched his memory, slightly rumpled by fever, and found a name. Lucien 
  LaCroix, nightclub owner and one-time suspect in a murder investigation. He 
  had been cleared of wrong doing, although Reese strongly suspected he was 
  still guilty of something. Reese had very good instincts about people, and 
  this man was trouble.
  "What the hell!" he demanded.
  "You are holding my son behind bars," LaCroix accused. His voice was deep, 
  powerful. It sent chills up Reese's spine. Which of the many miscreants 
  downstairs hailed from this man's genes? He didn't remember seeing any 
  LaCroixs on the arrest reports. Reese rubbed at his headache and gestured 
  towards a chair. "If you'll sit down, then, Mr. LaCroix, perhaps we can sort 
  this out."
  "Just what is it that you think Nicholas has done now," he insisted.
  Nicholas? Reese must be sicker than he thought. Nothing was making any sense. 
  Nick LaCroix. No, he was certain that they had no such criminal.
  LaCroix was suddenly looming over him. There were odd yellow flecks in his 
  frosty blue eyes, and his manner was that of a cornered beast. Reese had never 
  sensed such danger from another man in his entire life. Still he tried to calm 
  the flutter in his stomach. He stood up slowly, trying to match the enraged 
  father with whatever courage he could muster. He stared into the gold-blue 
  eyes and spoke with quiet control. 
  "You will sit down and we will discuss this calmly, or you will leave. The 
  choice is yours."
  LaCroix felt a moment of pleasant surprise at Nick's mortal captain. The man 
  was brave, not easily intimidated. He was in control of himself and that made 
  him a good leader, worthy of the respect Nick gave him. LaCroix nodded almost 
  imperceptibly and took the chair indicated. 
  "Tell me your son's name again," Reese asked, pulling out a pencil to take 
  notes.
  "Nicholas Knight," LaCroix replied. He enjoyed the look of shock as it spread 
  across Reese's face.
  Reese dropped his pencil. At first he wanted to deny what this ominous man 
  claimed, and yet, somehow he sensed the truth of it. Although there was little 
  resemblance other than the pale complexion and blue eyes, there was a 
  similarity that ran far deeper. Nick also possessed that quiet, ominous 
  nature. He intimidated others easily- at least half the force was afraid of 
  him. But why hadn't Nick said something when LaCroix was a murder suspect? And 
  Nick had been assigned to that case! That would never have been allowed if the 
  family connection had been known....
  "Nick listed his father as deceased on his employment record," Reese began, 
  the many ramifications of LaCroix's simple statement just beginning to surface 
  in his mind.
  "And so he is correct. His biological father passed away a very long time ago. 
  I have been his parent and guardian ever since." LaCroix was beginning to 
  enjoy himself. Making up stories and partial truths as they went along was 
  rather amusing. No wonder Nick liked playing cop so much.
  "Nick never said anything," Reese muttered.
  "I am sure you've noticed that he can be rather headstrong. He always was a 
  most difficult child."
  Reese grinned at that. If this powerful, intimidating man felt Nick was a 
  handful, no wonder Reese was living on aspirins and blood pressure medication 
  these days! Then Reese told LaCroix briefly why Nick had been arrested, 
  without giving away any details of the murder itself.
  LaCroix nodded slightly as he listened. "I know my son would not kill this 
  person. I don't know where he was all night, but I can verify his location 
  between midnight and 1 am."
  Reese swallowed. That was the time in question. He thought back, reviewing 
  what he'd told LaCroix, but he was certain that he hadn't said something he 
  shouldn't. "How's that?" Reese asked noncommittally.
  "He was with me. He came to visit a sick friend, but she was sleeping. He 
  brought her a bouquet." LaCroix took a limp daisy from his pocket and laid it 
  on the desk. 
  "Nick came back looking like he'd been in a fight," Reese continued. "There 
  was even blood on his clothing." The sweater was now evidence, as they waited 
  for the lab to have the blood cross-matched with that of the deceased.
  "Yes, I know," LaCroix said calmly. "He got disrespectful and I was forced to 
  put him in his place."
  Reese nearly choked. "What kind of father are you," he gasped.
  " "Spare the rod and spoil the child" is a rather famous quotation from a 
  well-known book, I believe," LaCroix said coolly. 
  Reese just shook his head. "So when, exactly, was Nick allegedly at your 
  house? And can anyone else, not related to him, verify that?"
  "I told you that already, Captain Reese. Perhaps you had better right it down 
  this time. He was at my apartment from midnight until 1am. I live above my 
  nightclub. There was a bar full of customers to verify when he came and at 
  least three who noticed when he left."
  Reese sighed with relief. Nick was innocent after all. Bennett had been found 
  dead at 1 am. He'd been beaten to death right in his cell. The guard on duty 
  had been knocked unconscious and could remember nothing. Nick had been 
  captured on videotape leaving the precinct at 11:48 PM. His bouquet receipt 
  had been stamped at 11:54. It would have been difficult to get to the Raven by 
  midnight, but not impossible. 
  "Why didn't Nick tell us he was with you himself?" Reese wondered aloud. "It 
  could have saved him the day in jail."
  LaCroix offered a slight shrug. "I shall ask him later and tell you if you 
  like."
  "Oh, I'll let him out now," Reese said. "I can have the paperwork put through 
  immediately.
  LaCroix stopped him with a gesture. "No rush, Captain. The sun is up now and 
  he surely is sleeping. Let him stay here for the day. But I wish to see him 
  tonight before he returns to duty."
  Reese nodded. "Yes, Mr. LaCroix. I'll tell him. And thank you for coming in."
  "Nick, it's time to wake up," Natalie called gently. The doors had been 
  unlocked since dawn, but the vampire had slept soundly all day. She moved to 
  the narrow cot and touched him. 
  He looked so small lying there. Like some lost stray. The borrowed prison 
  shirt was two sizes too large. She set his own blue sweater on the foot of the 
  bed. The bloodstains had proven to be his own blood and not that of the 
  victim. She'd washed the rest of the blood away then and dried it with a hair 
  dryer, so he could wear it home.
  She pulled a packet of plasma from her coat pocket and held it under the 
  vampire's nose.
  Nick awoke with a jerk, fully fanged and slightly panicked. Nat patted his 
  cheek consolingly. "It's just me, Nick. Here, drink this. You look like hell."
  Nick took the packet and pierced through the plastic with his fangs, draining 
  the contents in moments. Another packet followed and then he blinked at her 
  sleepily. 
  "Nat, I've been arrested again," he confessed.
  "And you've been cleared again, Nick. You should have told me six years ago 
  how exciting life with vampires would be."
  He leaned against the cement block wall and stared at her, slowly becoming 
  more alert. "I what? Who?"
  "LaCroix came in and had a little chat with Reese. He signed your release, but 
  because of your sun allergy, they just let you sleep here."
  Nick nodded, not quite comprehending. Urs must have broken her promise. Nick 
  felt betrayed, even though he was pleased that LaCroix had come to his 
  defense. Perhaps, the ancient wasn't really replacing him?
  "Nick? LaCroix wants to see you and Reese is sending you home. Tracy's still 
  out sick. Do you want a ride? Are you awake yet?"
  Nick simply nodded not sure which question he was answering. Home for a bath 
  would be great. A shower wasn't going to cut it tonight. He ached in places 
  that shouldn't hurt. Natalie pulled him to his feet. She undid the buttons on 
  the prison shirt and pulled his own sweater on over the smooth, firm chest. 
  Nick didn't resist her help. She hadn't realized that he woke so slowly, still 
  half dead to the world. That would be something interesting to add to her 
  notes, she thought. Taking his arm, she guided him through the door. 
  They walked up the stairs and were greeted by nearly everyone. Some of them 
  waved, others cheered. Nick merely nodded in their direction, like some crown 
  prince, still barely aware of himself at all. Nat concealed a smile. Once 
  outside, Nat offered again to drive him somewhere. Nick declined. With a 
  friendly peck to her cheek, he lifted into the air. Well, at least he wasn't 
  behind the wheel, she thought to herself.
  Nick entered through the skylight. His room was empty and very tidy. He 
  wondered briefly what day it was... he didn't think it was the day his 
  housekeeper was supposed to work.... Opening his senses, he could not detect 
  Urs. A moment of panic filled him. Had she left him? "Urs!" he called out, 
  even knowing she wasn't there. 
  A framed 8 x 10 photo of them dancing at the Raven stood on his dresser. He 
  hadn't seen it before. He lifted the picture and smiled. That night had been 
  something special. Nick had felt special. Surrounded by people who cared about 
  him, his master had made him feel honored and cherished. And then there was 
  Urs. 
  Her smile was infectious. It turned up not just the corners of her lips, but 
  it danced in her eyes as well. This picture was untouched, as the eyes of both 
  dancers were flecked with golden lights of desire. He should be furious with 
  Tracy for taking the picture without his knowledge, but he was very glad to 
  have it.
  Setting it back on the dresser, he went to his closet for a change of clothes. 
  Inside, some of his things had been pushed aside and women's clothes took up 
  the space. Not many. A few blouses, a couple of dresses, a few pairs of shoes 
  on the floor. He smiled. If Janette had been moving in, he would have required 
  the services of a master carpenter for many months to produce the storage 
  space necessary to keep her happy, and here Urs was very cautiously slipping 
  her things in trying not to disrupt his life too much. 
  The water splashed a soothing song as it slowly filled the oversized tub. He 
  lit several candles, which he kept in there just for such occasions. The 
  scents of melted perfumed wax combined with the soft, flickering lights did 
  much to calm him. Shedding the clothes he'd slept in, Nick slipped into the 
  hot water and closed his eyes.
  What did it all mean, he wondered vaguely, allowing his thoughts to drift. He 
  tried to imagine LaCroix arriving at the precinct at the hour of dawn to come 
  to his defense. What had LaCroix told them? Had any part of it been truth? And 
  why hadn't he then come to the jail to tell Nick? Was he still angry? 
  It didn't really matter one way or the other. Nick had been wrong. He would 
  have to go make his apology. Over the years that had become easier, since he'd 
  had so much practice at it. That LaCroix was partly responsible, he had no 
  doubt. LaCroix could have handled last night so differently. He could have 
  explained his actions to Nick, instead of just dictating decrees and demanding 
  absolute obedience. Nick's mouth tugged in a self-deprecating grin. No, 
  LaCroix couldn't have behaved otherwise. One didn't teach an old vampire new 
  tricks.
  And what about Roy Bennett? Who else had a motive? His victims had been 
  children and both were dead. The parents were still grieving, still in a state 
  of shock. The attacker had to have been very tall and strong, judging by the 
  coroner's report. There was very little evidence other than the flower. 
  Bennett had been beaten to death, then his hands laid across his chest and a 
  single rose placed in them. There were no fingerprints anywhere and no weapon. 
  The killer had used his hands. 
  That didn't matter, either. The case had been given to some one else. Nick was 
  not to go near the investigation. 
   
  He heard the lift door open and close and felt a faint presence. It was Urs. A 
  moment of betrayal pierced him, but he pushed it aside. He would wait to hear 
  her explanation. He didn't have to wait long. She knocked softly at the door.
  "Come in," he invited.
  She stepped inside, carrying a bottle and two glasses. Nick recognized the 
  label of one of the Raven's mid-grade stock. "Would you care for some," she 
  asked.
  Nick nodded. The business of procurement was nearly all from willing blood 
  donors these days. The older, more exciting ways of taking blood was getting 
  to be too dangerous. Nick knew that a fairly large percentage of the 
  bloodmobiles were owned and operated by the night shift, so maybe returning to 
  the consumption of his natural diet would not betray his deeper convictions. 
  Urs pulled out the cork and Nick's senses were at once assaulted with the 
  sweet fragrance. He felt his fangs descend and he grinned at her wickedly. 
  "Join me," he urged, his voice deep and husky. 
  She poured two glasses and passed them both to him. Then slowly she removed 
  her clothing. "I thought you might be angry," she admitted.
  Nick glanced away, unsuccessfully trying to hide the truth. "I was a little 
  surprised that you would lie to me."
  "I did not, Nicholas Knight," she said. "You told me not to go to him. So I 
  called."
  Nick laughed. "I'd forgotten what talking to a woman could be like, Urs. Next 
  time I'll make sure to be more clear."
  "There won't be a next time," Urs said, as she stepped into the hot water. 
  "You are going to learn to control your temper, to get along with your family, 
  and to trust me."
  "Yes, ma'am." They didn't waste any more time on idle conversation.
  Nick took extra pains in dressing that night. To confront LaCroix would take 
  just the right blend of pride and humility. He must be strong, powerful and 
  dangerous, true to his vampire heritage, yet, he must bend in respect before 
  the ancient, more powerful master. And even more difficult, his actions must 
  be sincere and not mere social conventions. 
  Urs disagreed with his choices. She removed the tie, pulled off the knit vest, 
  and undid the top three buttons of the royal blue silk shirt. 
  "Urs, I have to go to work later," he reminded her, trying to push her hands 
  aside to re-button the collar.
  "So, put the vest on later. Ties are dreadful, and vests are stuffy-looking. 
  Loosen up. Trust me."
  Nick shrugged. He kissed her lightly on the forehead, then left by the 
  skylight again.
  The Raven was fairly quiet. The night was still young and the mortal customers 
  didn't stop by as much in the middle of the week. Nick nodded at the 
  bartender. Patrick had been one of the eager young hotbloods to join LaCroix 
  last week in Nick's rescue. Although it irritated Nick, as he was certain the 
  rescue had been unnecessary, he was grateful that their timely entrance had 
  saved Tracy and Pierre Rochefort any further suffering. "Is he home?"
  "That he is," Patrick answered. "Can I get you something?"
  "No, thanks." Nick drew in a deep breath and headed towards the upstairs 
  apartment. He stood outside the door for many long moments. No doubt his 
  master had felt his approach, and yet said nothing. Nick raised a fist and 
  knocked.
  "Enter."
  That was it. He had had to get permission to cross the threshold, he realized, 
  as LaCroix's angry words drifted back through his memory. Nick stepped inside. 

  LaCroix sat in his favorite chair, one leg casually crossed over the other, a 
  book on his lap, and a glass beside him on the end table. It was a familiar 
  sight; reminiscent of centuries of evenings he had spent with the ancient. He 
  was struck with melancholy so fast and painful that it brought tears to his 
  eyes. 
  Nick approached his master. "I am sorry, LaCroix," he began. 
  The ancient did nothing, not even deigning to lift his eyes. He continued to 
  stare at the book in his lap. Longing drove Nick now. He felt none of the 
  usual indignation at groveling before his master, he only wanted to be loved 
  and cherished again. "I was out of line. I had no right to interfere with you 
  and Tracy, and I was wrong to defy you. Please forgive me."
  LaCroix set the book aside and eyed his errant son coolly. "Well, Nicholas. 
  Your theatrics have improved over the years. Perhaps you should consider a 
  career on stage."
  Nick winced. LaCroix was still very angry with him. He dropped to his knees 
  then and took LaCroix's hand to lay a kiss upon his ring. "Thank you for 
  coming in to the precinct. Thank you, father." 
  LaCroix laid his other hand on Nick's head. The long fingers brushed through 
  his hair, down the back of his neck, and trailed across his cool shoulders 
  laid bare by the loosened collar. 
  "You owe me a new window," LaCroix said.
  Nick looked up at him hopefully. If that was all the penance LaCroix would 
  require, then he'd gotten off rather lightly. 
  "You will not interfere with my training of Tracy, either."
  Nick nodded. 
  "And you will explain to me why you failed to call me for help last night."
  Nick tried to turn away, but LaCroix caught his face in a gentle yet firm 
  hand. 
  "A simple phone call, and you would have spent the day with Urs, instead of 
  that wretched jail. Why must you always torture yourself?"
  Nick was silent for more moments than LaCroix's patience would tolerate. 
  "Tell me at once," he demanded, his voice becoming hard. "Or I will take it 
  from you."
  "You were angry. I was afraid you wouldn't come."
  "So you didn't even ask. How foolish. Do you honestly think I would be so 
  angry as to leave you to their barbaric justice system?"
  Nick had no answer.
  "How often must I show you that my feelings for you are forever? I could no 
  more disown you, than I could tear off my own hands and feed them to the 
  fire." 
  LaCroix stood then, drawing Nick into his arms. He held him close, wishing 
  that he had the words to express himself, or wishing that Nicholas would see 
  in his blood the depth of his feelings. Yet, even as he comforted one child, 
  he felt the presence of the other, and knew her anger was growing. He glared 
  at her. Tracy tilted her chin up at him, a small act of defiance, and quietly 
  returned to her bedroom. He would have to urge Nicholas to leave shortly, or 
  they would become embroiled in yet another confrontation.
  "Do you have the night off, my son?"
  Nick slowly waded through his confusion to return to the present. "No, 
  LaCroix. I should be going soon."
  "Then, give my regards to your captain. He is rather admirable, for a mortal."
  Nick blinked, surprised, and wondered just what had transpired between his 
  master and his boss. 
  "Go now, Nicholas. But, you are welcome to return."
  Nick clasped his hand firmly, then turned to leave. 
   
   

   
  Tracy paced in her bedroom. LaCroix and Nick. She'd seen them together several 
  times now. They were so close. Despite the fact Nick kept their relationship 
  secret, they were closer than most fathers and sons, and she envied them. She 
  had tasted LaCroix's love for him in his blood. It had been nothing short of 
  fantastic the way LaCroix had come to rescue them from that nutcase, Flavius. 
  But, it was really only to rescue Nick. The fact that Tracy and the priest had 
  also been saved was immaterial. Her own father largely ignored her, and now 
  she was less than second place in her new family. Tracy wept again, the 
  strange blood tears that left her not just tired but also hungry. 
  The one bright spot in this whole misadventure was Vachon. At last they had 
  been able to share their feelings for one another. Vachon was tender where 
  LaCroix was rough. Vachon was sensitive, where LaCroix was self-centered. 
  Vachon was irresponsible, ardent, carefree. Tracy could hardly wait until her 
  servitude to LaCroix was over, and she could move in with her Spanish lover. 
  "It is time," LaCroix said. Tracy opened her door and returned to his living 
  room. He stood very still, a tall, imposing figure of a man, and yet she knew 
  that he was furious with her. She chewed her lower lip nervously. How had Nick 
  managed to live with this guy? She had a new respect for her moody partner. 
  "Sure thing," she said lightly, striving to keep the quiver from her voice. 
  She surveyed the room. Some one had cleaned up and she was damn sure it hadn't 
  been LaCroix. 
  Suddenly LaCroix was standing too close, glaring down at her. She resisted the 
  urge to step back. 
  "You will refrain from throwing or breaking any thing else while you remain in 
  my home," he warned. 
  She nodded agreeably. "Right. I got it."
  His cold hand grabbed her chin and tipped it up to see her eyes. She did not 
  resist. Instead, she forced a bright smile. "I told you, LaCroix. I never make 
  the same mistake twice."
  "That will be refreshing," he said cryptically. And that was the end of it. 
  "Our only predator, man, can be a dangerous enemy. We need our enhanced 
  hearing and vision to protect us, and yet these very skills can be 
  overwhelming. Tonight you will learn how to filter out many of the sounds your 
  new sense of hearing can detect."
  Tracy was instantly alert. This was something useful. For now she could forget 
  that she was angry with him. The deep, sultry tones of his voice were 
  mesmerizing. She discovered she could easily listen to him all night. He was 
  an excellent teacher. 
  Nick hesitated before going in to the precinct. Last night he'd been taken in 
  to custody. No doubt there would be a few dozen inane conversations, all 
  various assortments of "welcome back" and "we never believed you'd done it". 
  If he could avoid it in any way, he would. Raking his fingers through his 
  wind-tousled hair, he braved the masses.
  The bullpen fell silent at his entrance. "Damn," he cursed under his breath. 
  Then they struck all at once. 
  His arms were grabbed and he was half dragged, half carried, to the table at 
  the back, where a huge "welcome back" cake and a punch bowl were waiting. Nick 
  just hated social functions with food. There was no way he was going to be 
  able to escape having to taste that horrible smelling, sugary mass of 
  ingredients- half of which hadn't even existed the last time he'd had any 
  solid food. Then Natalie appeared from the midst. 
  Her smile was a beacon in the fog. She held out a knife for him. "They wanted 
  to do something special for you, Nick," she said aloud. Then whispering so 
  that only a vampire could hear, she added, "so say something appropriately 
  nice and I'll give you a treat!"
  Nick caught the amusement in her face. It warmed him all over. Holding the 
  large knife carelessly and waving it around as he spoke, Nick rambled on. 
  "Thanks, all of you. This is great. Really." He sliced and served and 
  continued to make stupid remarks. Nat remained at his side, pouring the punch. 
  Then she passed him a small paper cup just like everyone else's, but the scent 
  of the red liquid inside almost brought out his fangs. Nat grinned at him. He 
  drained the cup and tossed it away before any coworkers accidentally took a 
  sip from the wrong cup. "Thanks, Nat," he said. "I needed that."
  "Any time," she answered. "But, I'd better get back to work. See you later."
  Before long Captain Reese called for Nick. He went inside the small office 
  with a slight sense of dread. Just what had LaCroix told him? Nick had 
  forgotten to ask his master. He hoped now that he didn't change the story too 
  much, but then, there really was no evidence to connect him to the murder, now 
  that the blood on his sweater had been identified as his own. 
  Reese gestured to the chair and Nick sat. The captain looked even worse 
  tonight than last. His eyes were red and puffy, and he was breathing mostly 
  through his mouth. 
  "Nick, I met your father last night," Reese began. 
  Nick nearly choked. LaCroix had told him that! What else?
  "I think that information of your relationship should have been brought out as 
  soon as he was brought in for questioning regarding that headless corpse two 
  months ago. I'm very surprised, Detective, and more than a little angry that 
  it was not."
  Nick rubbed his forehead. "I'm sorry, Captain. I would not have let my 
  personal feelings get in the way of the investigation. Surely, you know that."
  "Nick, we have rules for a reason. No one should have to investigate his own 
  father, or mother, or wife.... But, that is over now. I just want you to be 
  sure that nothing like this ever happens again. If you can't trust me as your 
  captain, then maybe you need to be on another precinct."
  "Captain, I do trust you. It's not that," Nick stammered.
  Reese stood then. He walked behind Nick and laid a hand on his shoulder. 
  "Good. Because he admitted that he hit you, Nick. You know you don't have to 
  live like that. You can bring charges against him."
  Nick stood up. This had gone on long enough. "Captain, if that's all, I really 
  should get back to work." 
  Reese nodded, still looking overly concerned. "Tracy's still out tonight, and 
  Roberts' partner is out, too. So I'm teaming you with him, just for the 
night."
  Nick glared at him. "Roberts doesn't do homicides, Captain. You can't be 
  serious."
  Reese returned to his desk, the sign of his authority. The patient, concerned 
  older friend was once again his superior. "I can, and I just did. No one works 
  alone. Roberts needs someone with him. You're available. Dismissed."
   
  Matt Roberts was down the hall from Nick. He knew the officer, but not well. 
  Roberts had been with the force for nearly thirty years. He was a good cop, 
  but he hadn't advanced far because he was also a good husband and father. He 
  didn't let the job take up too much of his life. He didn't seem to mind, 
  though. Nick couldn't remember ever seeing the man angry. 
  "Hello, Nick," he said, his lips curving in an easy smile. "I see you've just 
  received your sentence. Sorry about that."
  Nick shrugged. It wasn't Roberts's fault.
  "Well, if you're ready then, I've got to go to the Hampton Middle School, 
  there's been a break in."
  Investigating petty theft and juvenile crimes. Not really something he was 
  interested in. And it wasn't like Roberts was going to be in any danger. Nick 
  grabbed his coat and followed his temporary partner outside. "I drive," he 
  stated firmly.
  "'S fine with me," Roberts answered. 
  The middle school had suffered more than petty theft. Whoever had broken in 
  had vandalized the computer lab. Thousands of dollars worth of equipment 
  destroyed, smashed and then kerosene poured on top. The vandals had lit a 
  match, but it was the work of amateurs. The fires had smoldered, melting 
  plastic and fouling the air, but without spreading or destroying evidence. 
  Still, the computer lab was beyond salvageable. 
  "We're fairly sure it was a couple of kids," one officer informed them. "The 
  unlocked window they must have crawled through is pretty narrow and there are 
  some partial footprints that look to be about a size 8 shoe."
  "What kind of ornery cussedness would do something like this," one of the 
  technicians grumbled as he dusted for fingerprints. 
  Nick had wondered that himself. Who would want to damage a school? Even some 
  of the worst criminals he'd ever dealt with still had a soft spot for 
  children. 
  "It's just kids," Roberts answered, as if it were no more than a harmless 
  prank. 
  "No," Nick said. "This is not the work of some child upset over getting a low 
  grade. This is malicious. This is the work of a kid headed into a life of 
  crime."
  Roberts chuckled softly. "You don't know much about kids, Knight. At this age, 
  any kid is salvageable. All it takes is a caring adult at the right time."
  Nick shrugged, unconvinced. Thirteen-year-olds were being tried as adults now 
  for a variety of crimes. Apparently the legal system didn't feel they were 
  "salvageable."
  Another technician whistled through his teeth. "Well, if you bring in any 
  suspects, we should be able to nail them with this evidence."
  Roberts and Knight joined him as he stared at wet streaks on the wall, forming 
  a small puddle on the carpet. Nick grimaced in disgust. It was urine. DNA 
  tests would be as good as fingerprints. 
  "Well, let's get started then," Roberts said to Nick.
  Started? On what? They had a damaged school, a couple of footprints, and six 
  hundred possible suspects, if the student even went to this school. "Where 
  to?" Nick asked.
  Roberts smiled, looking at his watch. "The janitor was here until 7 PM. The 
  fire department was alerted to the fire by 9:24. The crime happened during 
  that time. So, we question possible suspects, to see who was unaccounted for 
  at that time."
  Nick got behind the wheel of his caddy and heaved a sigh. How many of the six 
  hundred kids would they get to this week? Tracy had better be studying her 
  lessons hard! She was going to owe him for this.
  Roberts gave him an address. Nick followed it to a quiet residential area. The 
  homes were lower income, smaller dwellings, but generally well cared for. It 
  looked like a nice place to live. Nick parked in the driveway and shut off the 
  engine. "So, which suspect is this one?"
  His partner laughed lightly. "Oh this isn't a suspect, Nick. This is my 
  "little brother's" house."
  At Nick's puzzled expression, he explained. "I'm a volunteer in the Big 
  Brother program. I meet with troubled boys and help them sort things out. This 
  is Ramero Sanchez' house, but he goes by "Digger". It's a long story. Anyway, 
  he might give us a few leads."
  Roberts led, Nick followed close behind. A thin, nervous-looking woman 
  answered the door. Her face blanched when she saw them. 
  "Officer Roberts! What's he done now!"
  He smiled and spoke softly. "Nothing, Maria, I'm sure of it. I just want to 
  talk to him, if you don't mind. I know it's kind of late. I could come back 
  tomorrow."
  She opened the door wider and invited them inside. "No, no. Is okay. He's 
  still doing his homework." She went to the stairs and called. Immediately loud 
  steps sounded from the room over their heads, a door slammed, and a boy of 
  twelve came barreling down the stairs. "Yeah mom? Oh, hi, Matt! How goes?"
  Matt shook Digger's hand manfully. "Digger, this is Nick Knight. He's hanging 
  out with me tonight. You were at basketball earlier, weren't you?"
  The boy nodded vigorously. "Right. We're practicing every night now. There's a 
  tournament next month, and we hope to place."
  "You boys are doing great, too. Did everybody show up tonight?"
  Digger became suspicious. "Why, Matt? Something going on?"
  "Could be."
  "I'm no rat, Matt. Go ask some one else."
  Matt put one foot on the bottom stair and leaned against the hand railing 
  casually. "Of course, you're not a rat. I'm not asking you if you know who did 
  it. Just if anyone was missing from practice. I could wait and call the Y 
  tomorrow morning. But my guess is that the kids we're looking for are going to 
  be pretty scared about now. I'd like to find them, before they do anything 
  even more stupid."
  Digger seemed uneasy. He shifted awkwardly on his feet and stuffed his hands 
  in his pockets. "What did they do?"
  "Busted the computer lab at school. Burned it."
  Tears sprang to Digger's eyes instantly, then his face contorted with anger. 
  He started cursing vilely in Spanish. Nick stared, wondering when a kid would 
  have learned such words and from whom. 
  Matt put a comforting hand on Digger's shoulder. "It was a mean thing to do, 
  Digger. I know those computers meant a lot to the school. But it really is 
  important to find the kids who are responsible."
  "Three guys missed practice," Digger said sullenly. "Rock, Pony, and Logan. 
  Jees, Matt. I can't think that any of them would do such a thing!"
  "Maybe they didn't. I'll just visit with them, find out where they were. 
Okay?"
  "I go to the Lab everyday for reading. What am I going to do now, Matt?" The 
  tears now spilled down his face. He swiped at them with a hand, still trying 
  to be more angry than miserable.
  "We'll think of something. Sorry to bring you the bad news."
  Digger nodded, then turned and ran back up the stairs.
  The mother apologized for his rudeness. "He doesn't read well, Detective," she 
  explained to Nick. "He's been failing in school since we moved here, three 
  years ago, until he started working on these computers. Now he understands 
  better what he reads, and he's getting a C! I think, if he works hard, he 
  could do even better. But, without the computer, and with all the cutbacks, 
  and a lack of volunteers, who is going to teach a twelve year old to read?"
  "Perhaps at least some of the computers are salvageable," Nick said. He knew 
  it for a lie, but felt the need to offer this woman some small hope. She 
  shrugged, not believing him for a minute. 
  Back in the caddy, Roberts gave Nick the address for Rock's house. "It's the 
  closest one," he explained. "Rock's been in trouble before, but he's been 
  clean for almost a year now."
  "Why the nick names?" Nick asked. "Are they like junior gang members in 
  training?"
  Roberts laughed. "No. It's just something the boys club has been doing. When a 
  boy who's been in trouble decides to turn his life around, he's encouraged to 
  take a new name. An outward sign of the commitment to change. They pick their 
  own names. Some of the names make sense only to the boys. I don't think Rock's 
  name will surprise you much, when you see him."
  They pulled up in front of a house that was an architectural twin to the one 
  they had just left. Roberts knocked. At once they heard movement inside and a 
  woman's loud voice. 
  "Get your ass back in that chair and don't move! I'll get the damn door!" 
  Roberts grinned at Nick. "She's a tough mother, but she loves that kid."
  The door opened with a jerk and a short, heavy-set woman stood in the way, her 
  hands on her hips and a look of fury on her round face. She looked Native 
  American, Menomonee maybe, Nick thought idly. "What the hell's he accused of 
  this time," she demanded.
  Roberts smiled politely and extended a hand. He waited while she considered 
  accepting it, then he shook her warmly. "He missed basketball practice, ma'am. 
  I just came to see if he's doing all right."
  "I-" Rock started to explain, but his mother cut in again.
  "I said shut up and study!"
  Nick smiled at Rock consolingly. The boy was short for twelve. His feet didn't 
  even touch the floor while he sat at the kitchen table. But he was solidly 
  built, like a rock. He smiled back at Nick and wiggled his fingers in a small 
  gesture of welcome. Then, with a nervous glance at his mother, he buried his 
  face in a Western Civilization textbook.
  "I kept him home," the mother explained. "Lazy bum failed a history test. The 
  teacher's going to give him a chance to take it over tomorrow."
  Roberts nodded then and smiled at her. "That's fine, ma'am. The boys know that 
  school comes before basketball, even if they forget it once in a while. So 
  he's been here all night?"
  She nodded, suspiciously.
  "Thank you, ma'am. Good luck on your test, Rock."
  Dark hair nodded without a face appearing from behind the book. 
  Nick climbed back behind the wheel. Poor Rock, he thought, knowing how tough a 
  demanding parent could be to deal with. But although she was course and loud, 
  she obviously cared a great deal, to insist he learn and behave. 
  "That mother wouldn't lie to cover for him," Roberts said.
  Nick agreed. She didn't seem like the type. That left them with two leads. 
  Pony wasn't at home when they arrived. In fact, no one was home. The house was 
  dark, the door was locked, and Nick could not hear the presence of a mortal 
  heartbeat within. They went on to the last place, Logan Martin. 
  Angry shouts emanated from the Martin house, accompanied with the sounds of a 
  beating and a child's cries. "Where'd you get the damn money! Answer me, you 
  little shit! You steal it? You selling?"
  The boy denied it all, sobbing and begging him to stop. Roberts banged on the 
  door, trying to make himself heard over the noise within. Nick was ready to 
  kick the door in, but Roberts stopped him. 
  "Open the door!" Roberts demanded again.
  The door opened, revealing a young man holding his belt and the tear-stained 
  face of a frightened boy behind him. "What the hell do you want," the man 
  demanded.
  Roberts flashed his badge. "I'm Detective Roberts; this is my partner, Nick 
  Knight. I'd like to ask Logan a few questions."
  "Good luck. The little shit won't answer me. Why the hell do you think he'll 
  listen to you?" The man threw his belt onto the floor and grabbed Logan by his 
  shirt. "You did something, didn't you! Why the f*ck do I put up with you? 
  You're worthless."
  Nick grabbed on to the man's arms with a firm hold. He wasn't old enough to be 
  Logan's dad. Nick wondered what the relationship was. "If you strike him 
  again, I'll bring you in on assault charges."
  "Yeah right. It's my fault if the kid breaks the law- I'm a lousy guardian, 
  but how dare I try to discipline him and learn him right from wrong. You guys 
  are really screwed, you know!"
  Nick released him roughly. Roberts moved into the house and took a seat at the 
  kitchen table. "Come talk to me, Logan."
  The boy was tall and thin, and his arms were covered with welts. He walked 
  stiffly. Nick guessed the beating had been going on for some time before they 
  interrupted it. 
  Nick remained standing in the background. Roberts knew the boy; he could 
  question him first. Nick only half listened. He looked around the house, 
  noting all the signs of neglect. Paint pealed from the walls. The disgusting 
  odors from the kitchen sink could not have been edible foods, but were more 
  like rotting garbage. There were smells of cat urine, mildew, and a faint odor 
  of marijuana and smoke. The clutter everywhere implied that no one ever put 
  anything away. A baseball bat tossed carelessly on the floor caught his 
  attention. Winter was nearly there; baseball season should have been long over 
  with. The bat should have been at the bottom of the pile, not on top. He went 
  to examine it.
  The wood was damaged. Several splinters were missing. In one of the knicks was 
  a small sparkle of glass shard. The boy was still avoiding Roberts' questions, 
  but his heart rate accelerated while Nick approached with the bat in his 
  hands. Nick laid the bat on the table. 
  "Logan. You were using this bat tonight, weren't you?"
  Logan stammered, trying to deny it.
  "If I bring this in, what are the chances that the fingerprints will match 
  those found at the computer lab?"
  "Fingerprints?" Logan asked, his voice cracking.
  Roberts nodded. "Yes, son. We got fingerprints. And a couple of shoe prints. 
  One of them looks like it could match your new tennies."
  Logan started to cry. "Lots of kids wear tennis shoes. That don't mean 
  nothing."
  "Logan. Who was in it with you?" Roberts asked softly. "You and Pony broke in 
  to the school tonight, didn't you?"
  Logan refused to answer. Silent sobs shook him. The young man lunged for him, 
  but Nick stepped in his way. "Just what exactly is your relationship to the 
  boy," he demanded.
  "He ain't no kin of mine," he answered. "He's my girlfriend's snotty little 
  brother. We been taking care of him for two years now, and I'm sick of it! 
  Little shit never does a lick of work around here, he don't mind nobody. Just 
  takes up space."
  "Well, we'll take him off your hands then. And if you ever come near him 
  again, you'll regret it. Got it?"
  The young man paled and stepped back. Then anger contorted his features. 
  "Fine. Take him. Lock him up and throw away the key. Bye, brat."
  Logan continued to cry. "Are you going to lock me up?"
  Roberts shook his head. "I think you're in a lot of trouble, Logan. It would 
  be better if you answered me truthfully. Then I'll do what I can to help you, 
  I promise."
  "Come on," Nick said. "I know a better place to talk." 
  Logan took Roberts' hand and walked with them outside. He didn't grab a coat. 
  Nick wondered if he even had one, which made the new shoes even more 
  suspicious. They were an expensive name brand. He knew the night air was cold, 
  as Roberts' breath made wisps of moisture when he spoke. Nick pulled off his 
  leather jacket and set it around the thin shoulders of the boy. Then he drove 
  them to a fast food place. He had heard the boy's stomach growling all through 
  the initial questioning. Giving him a full stomach and getting him away from 
  the abusive boyfriend might help him to open up. If not, there was always 
  hypnosis.
  But Logan was ready. As he wolfed down the double cheeseburger, large fries, 
  and chocolate shake with huge bites that would have given a grown-up 
  indigestion, he began to tell the officers more than they could have imagined. 

  Logan pulled out a pocketful of change and a sales receipt for his new shoes. 
  Added together, the amount was $100. "It was Mr. McLean's idea," the boy said. 
  "He paid me and Pony a hundred a piece to trash the place. He said the school 
  wouldn't mind, because then the insurance money would buy us new computers, 
  and he said no one would get caught. Our computers were old, and we didn't 
  even have Internet, and we couldn't get money to replace them because the high 
  school gets everything."
  "You want me to believe that the principal is behind this?" Roberts asked 
  incredulously.
  Logan nodded. "Believe what you want, Matt, but it's the truth! Ask Pony! 
  She'll tell you the same."
  "Do you know where we can find her? No one was home when we stopped there 
  earlier."
  Nick swallowed back his surprise to learn that Pony was a girl. 
  "Sure. She must'a gone shopping. She'll be back now."
  They drove back to Pony's house, and sure enough, a few lights were on. A red 
  Radio-flyer wagon was parked by the front door, and a slim young girl with a 
  pony tail stuck through the back of a baseball cap came to get a grocery sack 
  from it. When she saw the strange car park in her driveway, she ran inside and 
  bolted the door.
  Logan jumped out of the car and ran up to knock on the door. "It's me, Pony. 
  Logan! Let me in, we gotta talk!"
  "I got nothin' to say to you. Go away," she shouted.
  Matt knocked on the door again. "Pony. This is Officer Roberts. My partner and 
  I need to speak to you."
  The door parted slightly and she peered at them through the narrow opening. 
  "Prove it."
  Nick pulled out his badge, but Roberts just smiled at her. "Cut the crap, 
  Pony."
  Her thin arm shot through the opening and grabbed Logan by the throat. "I 
  should'a known better than trust you!"
  Nick intercepted her assault. "Open the door, Pony."
  She closed it to undo the door chain, then opened it wider. She picked up the 
  grocery sack from where she'd dropped it and led the way to the kitchen.
  Contrary to Logan's place, this home was spotless. The sparse furnishings were 
  tacky and old, but clean. Two little girls sat at the kitchen table with candy 
  bars melted on their faces and apples in each hand. Pony set the sack on the 
  counter and started to put the contents away, blithely ignoring the two 
  officers and her partner in crime. 
  "Where's you dad, Pony," Matt asked gently.
  "Split. Been gone a month this time. Maybe he fell asleep on the wrong tracks 
  this time, how the hell should I know."
  "And you've been taking care of the kids all by yourself?"
  "I take care of them even when he's home, so what's the big deal?"
  Nick noticed as she opened the cupboards and refrigerator to put away the 
  items in the sack that what she had just purchased was all the food in the 
  house. Nick felt ashamed. He spent so much time solving homicides, tracking 
  down killers, that he'd pretty much ignored a bigger crime, child neglect and 
  abuse. He'd have to call his agent and find out what the Brabant Foundation 
  could do to help.
  "Pony. Tell us where you got the money for these groceries."
  She opened her mouth to sass, but Roberts held up a hand to silence her. "The 
  truth, Pony. I think you know you're in deep trouble."
  "He lied to us."
  "Who?"
  "Mr. McLean," she whispered. 
   

   
  Nick's caddy was crowded, with four kids and two officers. Pony had insisted 
  on giving her little sisters baths and packing them a suitcase before she'd go 
  with them. Nick admired her courage. He could sense her fear, and yet she 
  bravely comforted the little girls, who looked to be about six years old. They 
  drove to the precinct then. Nick called ahead; someone from children's 
  services would be by to pick them up. They had fallen asleep, so Nick carried 
  one twin and Roberts carried the other. Pony and Logan followed closely. 
  It was well after midnight before the children were settled and the papers 
  were filed. When the search warrant finally came through, Nick and Roberts set 
  off again for Mr. McLean's.
  "So what are we looking for," Roberts asked, unsure how they would be able to 
  corroborate the children's story.
  "Evidence," Nick answered lightly.
  McLean didn't answer the door, so Nick kicked it in. The noise brought the 
  principal out of bed, swinging a golf club defensively. "What the hell are you 
  doing in my house!"
  Roberts flashed his badge in one hand and the warrant in the other. 
  McLean swung the club again. Nick's hand lashed out and stopped the club in 
  mid-swing. His golden eyes glared at the principal. "You're already guilty of 
  contributing to the delinquency of minor children, destruction of public 
  property, and misuse of power, and I'm sure we could add a few more charges to 
  the list. Do you really want to add assaulting a police officer to that?"
  "I've done nothing," McLean shouted. "What are those little punks accusing me 
  of this time?"
  Nick would have to calm him down to get him in his hypnotic clutches. It 
  wasn't going to be easy.
  "Which little punks are you referring to," he asked, keeping his voice low. "I 
  think you're forgetting your biggest mistake. I mean, no one would take the 
  words of a couple of delinquent children against a respected man like 
  yourself. But what about the janitor? That window in the computer lab was 
  unlocked. The janitor would have made certain everything was closed up 
  tight... but you went back inside. You opened that window for the kids to gain 
  access. No doubt the fingerprints on this club will be an exact match."
  By the end of his monologue, the principal was captive. He admitted to 
  everything. Roberts cuffed him and brought him out to the caddy. "You've got a 
  silver tongue, Knight. Sure you don't want to transfer to my division 
  permanently?"
  Nick shook his head. "I like homicide. I get less back talk."

   
   
  Tracy was an excellent pupil, LaCroix realized with surprise. She was 
  attentive and eager, almost driven. She didn't ever want to quit, even though 
  she could barely keep her eyes open. Only when he insisted that the lessons 
  were over, did she return to bed. 
  LaCroix followed her into her room. It was necessary in order to assert his 
  dominance over her that they exchange blood frequently in the beginning. The 
  first night she had been so emotional, that he closed himself from her 
  feelings. Now he was curious to see what she would offer him through her 
blood.
  The attentive student was gone and a timid girl stood in her place. Tracy 
  stammered, afraid of him, and unsure what he wanted. "What is it? What have I 
  done now," she asked.
  LaCroix offered her an indulgent smile. "Nothing, my dear. It is simply our 
  way." He loosened the buttons at his collar and waited. 
  She stared at his throat. Her eyes grew large, and if her new pale complexion 
  could have blushed, she would have been crimson. He caught the quickened pulse 
  of her undead heart. He would wait a moment longer, and see if she would defy 
  him. He didn't understand her hesitation. She was obviously attracted to the 
  idea.
  "But, we can't, can we?" she whispered, taking a step backwards. "I mean, what 
  about Vachon? I mean, it isn't right."
  "You are thinking like a mortal, Tracy," LaCroix gently chided her. "This is 
  not only right between master and child, but it is demanded."
  "You mean, you and Nick do this too? Oh my gosh." Her heart beat again. 
  LaCroix was growing impatient. He was certain Urs would never have hesitated 
  such a command from her master... why did he always have such willful 
  children? "Submit at once," he commanded.
  Tracy drew in a breath, taking a step closer, and then another. Her eyes 
  remained fixed on his throat. He caught the scent of her arousal even as her 
  fangs erupted and her eyes became golden. LaCroix opened his arms and let her 
  strike first, letting the anticipation of tasting her build. 
  She plunged her teeth into him awkwardly, without finesse, yet with an 
  enthusiasm that warmed him. He carefully concealed many of the recesses of his 
  memories, not wanting to flood the infant with too much all at once. Instead, 
  he allowed only recent events to pass, rescuing her and Nicholas, the renewed 
  closeness in his little family, his pleasure at her progress. Then, he 
  returned the bite, completing the circle, and drank from her.
  Tracy's blood was sweet and fresh, though now it was cold, when the last time 
  he had tasted her, she had still been warm and human. He found a host of 
  images and sensations: her jealously of Nick, her love for Vachon, the new 
  friendship she was building with Urs, and the need to belong. He realized then 
  how he had blundered on her first night. He cradled her head with one large 
  hand, letting the short, silken strands slip through his fingers. The other 
  hand was placed intimately at the small of her back, holding her close. 
  She responded to the small gestures with abandon. Rising on her toes, she 
  clung to him. One hand slipped beneath his shirt, the other wrapped behind his 
  neck. She suckled harder, demanding, giving, and then exploding as her passion 
  crested. Her body quivered in his embrace. Slowly, she withdrew from his neck, 
  but she did not let go. 
  "It still feels kind of wrong," she whispered. "Incestuous, somehow. I mean, 
  you are like my father, aren't you?"
  LaCroix bit back the angry retort. She'd better not torment him for eight 
  hundred years with her mortal conventions. "Does this feel wrong," he asked 
  instead, holding her closely. 
  She didn't answer at first. He tipped her chin up and was startled to see 
  tears in her eyes, but he didn't sense guilt from her, not the heavy, 
  self-deprecating kind that Nick carried around with him like some self-induced 
  torture. She seemed uncertain, frightened, but not ashamed.
  "This is our way," LaCroix explained. "My blood feeds you, nourishes you, 
  strengthens you, in a way that the blood of mortals cannot. Your blood 
  returned to me marks you as my child, protects you from others of our kind, 
  and binds us together for eternity. That the exchange is also pleasurable can 
  only be advantageous."
  She nodded then. "Thank you."
  LaCroix loosened his hold on her, and placed a chaste kiss on her forehead. 
  "Rest now, my dear. I believe Vachon will be by later."
  She grinned broadly. "Good night, dad!"
  He shook his head as he turned and left. 
   

   
  Urs showed up at the precinct a little before dawn. She'd missed Nick the 
  night before, and hoped that he hadn't changed his mind. She didn't really 
  care if the mortals knew her or not. She only wanted to know that Nick cared 
  about her enough that he would include her in this part of his life. The desk 
  clerk smiled at her and welcomed her by name. 
  "You must be Urs. I've heard so much about you- through the grapevine, of 
  course- Nick never says a word to anyone. Come on in and have some cake! Nick 
  will be back shortly."
  The clerk looped her arm through Urs's and led her through the bullpen to the 
  rear, where a nearly demolished chocolate cake remained. "It was a welcome 
  back cake," the clerk explained. "We're so glad that he was cleared so 
  quickly. It sure didn't look good at first, you know. Now tell me, how did you 
  and Nick meet? How long have you known him?"
  Urs smiled. Which question should she answer first? And if the clerk never 
  shut up, how could she answer any of them? 
  Several other officers then joined her at the cake table. The men introduced 
  themselves. She could have sworn that two of them were flirting with her, and 
  wondered how they dared to cross Nick that way. "I lost a lot of money on 
  you," one older man was saying good-naturedly. "But a prettier bet I've never 
  seen."
  Then she was overwhelmed with relief as she sensed Nick's approach. She just 
  smiled at their nonsense chatter and within moments, Nick was at her side. 
  Nick put his arms around her possessively and gave her a kiss in front of the 
  others. She sensed he was angry about something. For a moment she wondered if 
  she'd been wrong to come, but then she realized that he was angry with the 
  flirters. She responded by putting her arms around him and returning the kiss 
  ardently.
  "I'm glad you came," he whispered softly.
  She smiled at him.
  Nick faced his coworkers then. "I see you've met my Urs," he stated 
  possessively. "Sweetheart, these thugs are the officers dedicated to serve and 
  to protect this community. That's Schultz, Roberts, Markham," and he quickly 
  introduced them. 
  Captain Reese pushed his way through the crowd to welcome Urs as well. Nick's 
  voice grew softer as he introduced his captain. Urs acknowledged that while 
  Nick's coworkers often irritated him, he held the captain in great regard. She 
  gave the mortal a warm smile. 
  "Now you two kids get out of here," Reese said kindly. "I'm sure you can think 
  of better places to be. See you tonight, Nick."
  As Nick left, he could hear some of the whisperings going on behind him. It 
  felt good to give them something worth talking about. They whispered about his 
  gorgeous girlfriend, and wondered how he'd managed to get a girl like that. 
  The women officers laughed knowingly. Urs moved closer to him, embarrassed by 
  the comments they weren't meant to hear. 
  "Where's your coat?" she asked.
  "I loaned it to a kid," he replied. "Come with me! We've got some shopping to 
  do."
  "Shopping? Nick- it's getting late! The sun will be up shortly."
  He grinned. "That's okay. We'll shop from the loft."
  His method of shopping was a totally new experience. While logging on to the 
  Internet, he slowly removed her clothing. As he placed a huge order for 
  computers, software, and furniture to be delivered to the Hampton middle 
  school, Urs repaid him in kind. Then, while he typed the commands to the small 
  laptop instrument of modern technology to complete the transaction, he made 
  love to Urs. The automatic shutters closing against the light of day roused 
  them from their near slumber on the floor of the living room. 
  "Shall we to bed?" he asked, lifting her in his arms.
  "You're a good man, Nicholas Knight," she answered. She laid her head on his 
  shoulder as he flew up the flight of stairs.
  He shrugged off the compliment. "Giving a few computers to a vandalized school 
  doesn't exonerate me of a thing," he said. "Those kids need so much, and I've 
  done nothing for them."
  "We can't do everything, Nick. You are a good cop. Right now, you track down 
  criminals to protect the innocent. That's your task, and you're good at it."
  "But if you could have seen those kids- the kinds of homes they lived in, the 
  heavy responsibilities they shoulder-"
  "My knight. Still out to save the world."
  "You just don't understand," he snapped.
  "Yes I do." Urs kissed him on the lips. "You're kind and caring. And you'll 
  hurt for those kids until you think of a way to help them. That's another 
  thing I love about you."
  "LaCroix would be disgusted if I told him," Nick said softly. 
  "Because he sees an act of kindness as a show of weakness. It takes a big man 
  to know that isn't so. We were all mortal children once, Nick. I think, deep 
  inside, he's proud of you for what you do."
  Nick laughed. "Don't ever let him hear you say that," he said. He kissed her 
  again, before drifting off to sleep. 
   

   
   
  Vachon was only too eager to spend his day with Tracy. Urs was Nick, and 
  Bourbon seldom came around any more. Vachon didn't mind being alone for brief 
  periods, but Tracy was something so new. She was exciting, exhausting, 
  tempting, delicious... he'd never felt that way for a woman before. Not even 
  for Urs.
  He wasn't sure what he felt for Urs. She had been beautiful and lonely, and 
  was victimized by being a woman in a man's world. What he'd given her was the 
  power to create her own destiny. What she'd done with her gift was to drift 
  through the years, still lonely and beautiful, and still acting like a victim. 
  Only now, in the arms of another emotionally unbalanced vampire was she 
  beginning to come to terms with herself. "Ironic" came to mind. 
  Tracy was different. For one thing, she wasn't his fledgling. He wasn't sure 
  if that was a good thing or not. Nick had demanded that Vachon be responsible 
  for her, once she'd discovered the existence of vampires, and so he had spent 
  almost one full year keeping a watchful eye on her, and being terrified that 
  the impetuous mortal would come to harm and Nick would be after him with a 
  vengeance. Tracy had not been an easy mortal to protect. Maybe it was her 
  youth, or the relatively sheltered childhood she'd had, that made her think 
  she was invincible. No doubt she would also be an exhausting fledgling. He 
  grinned as he imagined a weary LaCroix battling Tracy's stubborn-streak night 
  after night.
  That first day he'd spent with her had been as close to heaven as he figured 
  one of his kind could ever get. He'd never had a virgin vampire before. There 
  was a unique innocence in her blood. He wondered if that would remain, now 
  that she'd become immortal. She made him feel honored, that she'd given him 
  such a gift, and he was feeling very territorial of her, something that 
  vampires just did not do. It was becoming too confusing. He'd have to give up 
  thinking about it.

   
   
  An incessant ringing pulled into Nick's dreams, demanding his attention. The 
  vampire within held him captive, refusing to allow him to awake when no 
  immediate danger could be detected. Vaguely, he heard the voice leave a 
  message on his answering machine. He was even aware that the voice was 
  Natalie's. But what she said went unnoticed. 
  "Nick, please stop and see me on your way in to work. We have a problem. Nick? 
  If you're home, you'd better get up now. The sun set an hour ago. Nick!" The 
  machine cut her off. 
  Winter was a mixed blessing for the night shift. The longer nights gave them 
  more freedom, but the shorter days were not quite sufficient to meet their 
  needs. Nick was more prone to oversleep in the winter than any other time of 
  year, since the setting sun was no longer a sign that it was time to wake up. 
  Twice more Nat called, leaving urgent messages. Finally, she came in person. 
  After knocking on the door downstairs, she took her key and let herself up. 
  Hesitantly, she stepped inside. She'd known Nick's new girlfriend would be 
  there. She wasn't sure how she felt about it. She definitely did not want to 
  have to go into his bedroom to wake him.
  This time when she called the vampire awoke. Now a mortal was near and that 
  was a potential threat. Fully fanged and not quite conscious, he flew from the 
  bed. 
  "Nick! It's me, Natalie," she said urgently to the dangerous beast before her. 
  Then, blushing brightly, she turned her back. 
  Urs came down quietly and handed Nick a bathrobe. She cinched the belt, then 
  went to the refrigerator to get their breakfast. Nick shook his head, rubbing 
  sleep from his eyes. 
  "Nat? What is it? What brings you here so early?"
  Nat laughed as she turned around again. "It isn't early, sleeping beauty. 
  You're late for work."
  Nick looked absently at his wrist, but he hadn't put his watch on yet. He 
  glanced at the large wall clock and grinned at her sheepishly. "Sorry, Nat. I 
  don't know what happened."
  "Yes, well... I have a few ideas. Anyway, I wanted to talk with you before you 
  check in."
  Nick accepted the mug Urs had warmed for him. "What is it, Nat?"
  "Mr. McLean's dead."
  Nick nearly choked. He swallowed hard and set the cup down on the table. "But 
  I just arrested him last night."
  "I know. Mr. McLean got a lawyer and made bail, then returned home. He was 
  beaten to death in his home, maybe around two this afternoon. It looks like 
  the perpetrator used his own golf club to do him in. There are no prints on 
  the club except McLean's." 
  "So, why are you telling me this instead of Reese?"
  "You're not going to be on this case. He gave it to Johnson and Bunati."
  Nick wasn't following her. He knew he was a little groggy still, but she 
  obviously was upset about something. "So why does this involve me?"
  "You arrested Bennett right before he was murdered. There does seem to be a 
  connection."
  "I didn't kill him!" Nick was defensive.
  Nat gestured for him to take a seat. She put a cup of water and instant coffee 
  in the mic for herself and joined him. "I know you didn't, Nick. I don't think 
  you're a suspect this time. At least, Reese doesn't suspect you. But I think 
  Johnson and Bunati do. They might try to trail you, or dig into your records."
  "You said McLean was killed around two! You know I couldn't have done it!" 
  Nat patted his hand reassuringly. "I know that, Nick. I didn't mean to upset 
  you. I just thought I'd better warn you about them. And I hear that your 
  records aren't exactly correct, now that LaCroix's identified himself as your 
  father. My guess is that they're going to dig pretty deep."
  Nick nodded, struggling to bring his anger under control. None of it was Nat's 
  fault. She was right to warn him, before he broke Johnson and Bunati's necks. 
  "There isn't anything else to connect these two murders, is there? I mean, 
  besides the fact that I arrested both of them? No flowers with McLean?"
  Nat shook her head. "Nope. Both were beaten to death, but one used a golf 
  club, the other used only his hands. Flowers were with one and not the other. 
  One was out on bail, one was still in holding. Nothing else similar between 
  them."
  Nick drained his mug, then stood up to leave. "Guess I'd better go get 
  dressed. If you'll excuse me."
  Both women smiled at his retreating form complete with bare feet and 
  sleep-tousled hair. 
  "There's something so boyishly endearing about him," Nat murmured.
  "That there is," Urs agreed.
   

   
  A phone call to LaCroix informed Nick that Tracy was not yet ready for even a 
  short appearance at work. Nick felt uneasy and wished that he could at least 
  see Tracy, reassure himself that she was doing okay, or find out if she was 
  happy. He wasn't going to ask, though. LaCroix knew how he felt. 
  "Tell her I said "hello"," Nick asked.
  "You may tell her yourself," LaCroix volunteered magnanimously. "I think that 
  you should stop by after your shift. I would like your opinion on whether she 
  is ready for a public appearance."
  Nick almost choked. LaCroix would ask for his opinion on anything? He would 
  have to record this date and treasure it always! That must also mean that 
  Tracy was doing fantastic, or LaCroix would never had made the offer. Nick 
  grinned. Despite being trailed by a couple of amateur day-shifters, tonight 
  was starting out great. 
  "I think tonight you should bond with her," LaCroix continued. "If you'd like 
  to invite Urs along, you could stay the day. We'll celebrate Tracy's progress 
  together."
  Nick felt strangely embarrassed. He'd suspected LaCroix would want him to bond 
  with Tracy, and yet the pronouncement solidified his fears. Bonding was such 
  an intimate act. Would he want this with his junior partner? A small part of 
  him did. He felt oddly excited and hesitant at the same time. "What does Tracy 
  feel about this?" he hedged.
  "She will have no choice in the matter," LaCroix stated firmly. "Not if she 
  wishes to maintain her mortal life as a police detective."
  The hesitation was quickly overshadowing the excitement. "Maybe it is a little 
  soon, then," Nick said.
  "I will see you here tonight."
  A silence filled the phone line while a storm of emotions washed over Nick. He 
  had defied LaCroix a few days ago and paid the price again. And he had 
  promised not to interfere with LaCroix's training of his new offspring.
  "I'll be there," he whispered before hanging up.
  Urs came up behind him. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed his broad 
  shoulders, her hands holding him close. He didn't have to tell her a thing, 
  since she'd heard both sides of the conversation. For a few supportive moments 
  she said nothing, just reassured him with her presence. 
  "What does this bonding mean," she asked then.
  "It is how LaCroix teaches us to develop the mental link between one another," 
  Nick whispered flatly. "We will act as lovers, sharing blood and baring our 
  inner selves."
  "And when you've bonded with Tracy, then you'll be able to sense her when 
  she's in trouble? Help protect her?"
  "Yeah. Something like that."
  "Then it sounds like a good thing, Nick. I think she would want this, if she 
  were given a choice."
  Nick turned slowly and gathered Urs into his arms. The hugs he gave her were 
  distracted as he remembered his training at LaCroix's hands... sometimes 
  erotic, sometimes brutal. "I have to go," he whispered into her ear.
  LaCroix was restless. Tracy was sleeping again, Nick was at work, and he felt 
  the need for.. . something. Companionship? Just some one with whom to 
  converse. Not an interrogation, and not a discourse on proper vampire 
  etiquette. He searched through his more recent memories, those of the last 
  century or so, and tried unsuccessfully to recall with whom he ever had such a 
  relationship. 
  One face appeared before him- Nicholas's mortal doctor friend. A smile touched 
  his lips. Thanks to Urs, he was no longer concerned about any romance there. 
  One willing vampire in the bedroom was much better, so to speak, than one 
  mortal lady in waiting. Nick hadn't yet forsaken his foolish quest, but at 
  least he was living and feeding like a vampire once more. Still, LaCroix 
  missed his little discussions with coroner. She had a quick mind and droll wit 
  he found singularly refreshing. He almost missed their confrontations. 
  He donned his long cloak and stepped from the Raven for an evening stroll. New 
  parenthood had its drawbacks. He was feeling a little trapped. 
  The moon was bright. It alone could almost lift the gloom that had settled 
  around him. He breathed in deeply, letting it's energy revive and satisfy him. 

  His mindless walk brought him across town until he stood before the coroner's 
  building. Perhaps it was time to pay her a visit. A small argument with her, 
  and then he would be better able to concentrate. LaCroix extended his sense of 
  hearing. When he established that she was inside alone, he made his entrance.
  Natalie looked up from her computer and made a startled gasp. She stood up and 
  took a step back before recovering the spirit that he so admired. "What do you 
  want," she stated.
  LaCroix smiled. Such a simple question, and yet, one without an answer. What 
  did he want? LaCroix could argue that he had no wants. He was ancient and 
  powerful. And yet, here he was, early in the evening, yearning for something 
  he could not yet define. "I merely came to see you, my dear," he said 
smoothly.
  "Yeah right," she muttered. "And I'm the queen of England." 
  LaCroix moved closer, circled behind her and inhaled. Natalie had an unusual 
  scent all her own, beneath the formaldehyde that permeated the morgue. The 
  younger vampires said it was "apple pie." Something like cinnamon and ginger. 
  "You are more lovely than the queen," he replied. 
  Natalie fought against the woman's blush that warmed her. This was LaCroix 
  speaking. He wanted something, and judging from past experiences, it would 
  only hurt Nick somehow. She felt a need to protect him from further pain at 
  this one's hands. 
  "Look, I've got a lot of work to do," she snapped, "so why don't you just 
  state your purpose and move on."
  LaCroix leaned against the desk and folded his arms before him. She was 
  pleasant to look at. Her wild, chestnut hair was any man's desire to touch. 
  Her wide-set eyes were both hopeful and innocent, intelligent yet alluring. 
  She was a woman in every sense of the word. A worthy oponent. 
  "I thought that perhaps it was time to have a chat about you and your 
  relationship with my son."
  "I think I know where you stand on that one, LaCroix."
  "Ah yes, but do we?"
  "You'd be much happier if I never saw him again."
  He smiled indulgently. "Oh no, my dear. That is not it at all. I do not tell 
  him with whom he may chose to spend his time. And I do not even mind the 
  amount of time you waste placating him with his senseless quest."
  "I find that one hard to believe," she said derisively.
  "I only object to doing anything that will harm him. Encouraging him to live 
  on a starvation diet, or testing strange potions and elixirs, the outcome of 
  which cannot be safely predicted. These things are harmful, and any caring 
  parent would object."
  She knew he was referring to the failed cure she had tried almost two years 
  ago. The lidovuterine had made Nick sick, and when criminals shot him, he had 
  nearly bled to death before the vampire reemerged and healed him. 
  "LaCroix, we've been over this before. I don't see the point."
  "I think perhaps you sense a change in your relationship."
  "I've met Urs, if that's what you're getting at."
  LaCroix was silent for a few moments, gathering his thoughts. "It is more than 
  that. Things were changing between you even before Nick became involved with 
  Urs."
  Natalie nodded. He was right, of course, which really made her angry. She 
  hated a man that was always right, even if he wasn't really a man at all. She 
  thought back over the past six years. At first, Nick had been cold and 
  distant, establishing the unspoken ground rules of conduct. He would allow her 
  to search for a cure, but kept himself apart from mortals. She had urged him 
  to get involved in society then, to learn to behave like a mortal, while 
  waiting for the physical cure. They moved to becoming friends, then close 
  friends. For a brief time, they had wished for a romantic relationship, which 
  had almost ruined the friendship they had built. Romance with a vampire was 
  impossible. It hurt them both to pretend otherwise. Lately, she found them 
  moving back towards friendship, but it had altered. She saw him more and more 
  as- immature? She kept wondering how a man could live for 800 years and still 
  be such a child.
  "Perhaps," LaCroix thought aloud, "you have not grown apart as much as you 
  have merely grown."
  Natalie looked at him with surprise.
  "You, my dear, are six years older. You've gained experience and learned by 
  it. You are wiser for your experience, while Nicholas is today exactly as he 
  was six years ago. You are no longer his confidant as much as- an older 
  sister."
  Tears welled up in her eyes. Natalie turned away from him crossing her arms 
  defiantly, and yet, he had voiced what she had only suspected but had not 
  dared put to words. Time was a cruel master, as it was not one she could 
  fight. Even if she joined him in his eternal unlife today, she could not go 
  back to being younger. And she wasn't ready to make such a decision. She liked 
  her life. 
  LaCroix reached out and touched her hair. It was every bit as soft as it 
  looked. His hand moved lower to rest on her shoulder. 
  "Some day, my dear, when you are ready to make the decision, I would ask you 
  to consider joining me."
  Natalie whirled around and glared at him. "Why? So I can play house and be 
  Tracy's big sister? Forget it, LaCroix!"
  He smiled at her. "Oh, dear Natalie. I would never chose you for a child. You 
  are far too independent."
  "Then what the hell are you talking about?"
  He took her hand and brought it to his lips. He kissed it gently. "I would ask 
  you to join me as my mate."
  Natalie was speechless.
  LaCroix smiled broadly. "Good evening, my dear," he said before leaving with a 
  flourish that left her quite unable to breathe. 
   

   
   
  Reese wasn't there. He'd taken a sick day. His replacement was Captain 
  Collins, from days, pulling a double shift. He'd had orders that Nick would 
  ride with Roberts again. Nick didn't even try to argue. One more night with 
  Roberts couldn't be so bad. The aging police officer was always pleasant and 
  Nick admired his calm manner. It was so relaxing compared to the centuries 
  spent in LaCroix's company. And besides, if they had a really, really boring 
  shift, maybe Johnson and Bunati would fall asleep on the trail.
  "Come on, Nick," Roberts called cheerfully. "We've got to get there before 9 
  PM. They strictly enforce a curfew."
  "Where are we going, and why?"
  Roberts waited until they were in the privacy of Nick's car before answering. 
  "Juvie Hall. That's were Logan is. We're going to take him out to get him 
  something to wear at court."
  Nick pulled out of the parking lot and turned in the direction of the juvenile 
  residential facility. "What about foster parents? Can't they find a place for 
  Logan?"
  Roberts shrugged. "Not enough homes. Too many kids. And it's always harder to 
  place the boys."
  The boy was thrilled at seeing Matt and Nick. He hugged them both. Nick 
  noticed he was still wearing the faded blue jeans, T-shirt, new tennis shoes, 
  and Nick's leather jacket that he'd had on the night before. They took him to 
  the mall, where Roberts bought him a few new things, including a dark suit for 
  court. Logan wasn't impressed with the suit. 
  "Trust me," Roberts responded. "When you appear in front of the judge, you 
  want to look clean, smart, and remorseful. Don't act like some brainless twit. 
  Got it?"
  Logan nodded. "How's Pony doing? Do you know?"
  Roberts frowned. "No, not for sure. I know they couldn't place her with the 
  twins. They went to a nice place on the east side, but she's back with the 
  Piersons."
  Nick wasn't following much of their conversation. They seemed to have known 
  each other for some time. Logan eventually filled him in.
  "The Piersons are really popular foster parents. They always have a house 
  full. Pony lived with them before for a few months, until her dad showed up 
  and took her back."
  It was too bad, Nick thought, that siblings couldn't be kept together. 
  "Did you hear about the school?" Logan asked excitedly. "We got all new 
  computers today! Somebody donated a whole new lab! We didn't even have to wait 
  for the insurance money!"
  Roberts looked surprised. Nick tried to. 
  "What do you think 's going to happen to me?"
  "I don't know, son," Roberts replied. "You'll probably get some community 
  service. Maybe that's all. You stay out of trouble here, and work hard on your 
  schoolwork. We got McLean's confession. And I'll be there for you. Okay?"
  "How 'bout you, Nick? Will you come, too?"
  Nick hesitated. Kids cases would be tried in the morning, for sure. "I'll 
  see," he hedged.
  Nick watched the headlights from his rear view mirror. Johnson and Bunati were 
  right there, not doing a great job of remaining inconspicuous. Either they 
  were real idiots, or they took him for one. He pulled up at Juvenile Hall and 
  waited while Roberts walked Logan back inside. Then he got out of the car and 
  sauntered up to the two detectives. 
  "Nice night for a cruise, huh?" he asked, knocking on the window glass. 
  Bunati looked uncomfortable, but Johnson just glared at him.
  "You're a bit off your beat, Knight," he growled.
  Nick shrugged. "I figured I'd give you two the grand tour tonight. Then maybe 
  tomorrow we'll head south. How's that suit you?"
  "Cocky sonofabi*ch," Johnson snapped, jumping out of the car. "Keep it up. 
  It's all just a g*ddamn joke to you, isn't it. But I'm on to you. You're going 
  to mess up, and I'll be there to cheer." He grabbed on to Nick's shirt.
  Nick smiled boyishly, ignoring the unspoken challenge. "I'm counting on it, 
  Johnson. See ya 'round."
  Tracy waited impatiently for LaCroix. He had gone downstairs to set his radio 
  program tapes and speak with the bartender before beginning tonight's lessons. 
  She was beginning to get a little house-crazy. Sure, her new existence 
  promised her forever, but it was beginning to feel like she'd spent an 
  eternity in this gothic prison apartment!
  So far LaCroix had taught her to filter out extraneous sounds and smells, and 
  to control the color of her eyes. He encouraged her to feed constantly, and 
  she was still sleeping more than she was awake. How much more was there to 
  learn, she wondered? Had Nick really spent a century or longer under LaCroix's 
  constant tutelage? She missed her partner. How much longer before he would 
  come see her? Was he disappointed that she had chosen this life?
  Finally, she heard LaCroix return. 
  "When can I go back to work?" she asked.
  LaCroix ignored her request. He took a seat and pulled out a newspaper, 
  flipping it open and casually appearing to read. 
  "LaCroix? When?"
  Still he ignored her. Tracy felt her irritation rise. She'd put her entire 
  life on hold for this man- this creature- and he didn't even have the decency 
  to listen to her? "I have a life, you know!" she snapped. "A life which is 
  waiting for me! I can't just hide here in your little temple of gloom until 
  you feel like sending me away!"
  LaCroix folded the paper and tucked it back under his arm. With barely a 
  glance in her direction, he left, turning the key in the lock to keep her 
  inside. Tracy let loose a scream of irritation. 
  The night was too long to be here all alone! If only Urs would come and visit. 
  Or Vachon. What day was this anyway? She found her watch and checked. It was 
  Monday night. Vachon didn't play at the Raven tonight. He'd have the night 
  off. And she obviously was going to have the night off as well. If only she 
  could go out, maybe they could have a real date together, do something fun, 
  besides just cuddle in bed at sunrise. 
  That was it. She had to get out of here. 
  The lock was solid, even her new vampire strength- which didn't seem as strong 
  as Nick's- could break it. She glared up at the skylight, but she hadn't yet 
  learned to fly. She'd tried on her own a few times. Vachon made it look so 
  easy. But she hadn't yet been successful. She hadn't been the commissioner's 
  daughter for nothing though. She'd had countless opportunities to practice 
  crawling out through windows back in high school. The window in the guestroom 
  where she'd been staying was locked, and it was a steep drop to the pavement 
  below, but the bathroom window overlooked the fire escape. Although it too was 
  locked, it did not prove to be vampire-resistant. Chugging another bottle of 
  her new sustenance, she slipped out the window and set off in the direction of 
  Vachon's church. Hopefully, she would get there before he left for the 
  night....
  Vachon grinned when he opened the door. Tracy stood there looking so lost and 
  scared and dangerous that she'd never looked more desirable. "What's wrong?" 
  he asked, his voice suddenly thick.
  "Nothing," she snapped, pushing past him to come inside. She flopped onto his 
  couch, the antique legs wobbling precariously. "I'm bored. I want to do 
  something. Anything. Let's go somewhere!"
  Vachon let the door close and turned slowly to admire his new lover. Her hair 
  was tousled. Her complexion was a little paler these days, but not noticeably 
  so; Tracy had always been fair. Suddenly his face lit up with mischief. "Let's 
  go flying, Querrida?"
  "Can't. I don't fly yet. LaCroix's taking his damned slow time with these 
  stupid lessons. And tonight he's taking off completely."
  Vachon didn't seem surprised. "There is much to learn," he said calmly. 
  "Flying is not generally one of the first lessons."
  "But you learned it all in one night! You told me. She only spent one night 
  with you and then she went to join her mother sun, or something."
  "That is not really the best way, though, Tracy. She left us, and we were not 
  well prepared. We would never have survived if she'd tried that today. It is 
  much harder for our kind now."
  "I don't want to talk about it. I want to do something!" Tracy jumped to her 
  feet and paced the length of his living room. "I'm going to scream with 
  boredom!"
  Vachon grabbed his leather jacket. "I know just the thing. Trust me."
  Before long, Tracy was strapping on a parachute as they rode a small private 
  plane above the city of Toronto. Vachon's idea of taking a fledgling 
flying....
  "How can you afford this?" Tracy asked, fairly giggling with excitement.
  Vachon just gave her one of his infamous looks, the one that said, "how do you 
  think?"
  "Vachon! That's dishonest," she spurted, as she eyed their pilot, wondering if 
  he was okay to fly while suffering the effects of vampire hypnotism.
  "Oh, and it would be more honest to rob a few of my victims?" he asked 
lightly.
  Vachon double-checked her harness and went over everything again. Then, at the 
  right moment, they leaped from the airplane together.
  Tracy screamed. Wind slapped her hard in the face, making breathing almost 
  impossible, if she'd had to breathe. Her stomach flipped as she plunged 
  earthward, fear burned, even though she knew that she was almost 
  indestructible. 
  Vachon maneuvered nearer. He grabbed her hand and kissed her passionately even 
  as they continued to fall. 
  Tracy's eyes became golden. "Vachon, I love you, you crazy fool," she 
  screamed, trying to be heard over the rush of air.
  Vachon released her and drifted apart. The time came to pull their ripcords. 
  Both parachutes opened to slow their death-defying descent. Then all too soon 
  they were on the ground making love in the dark field. 
  "Let's do it again," Tracy gasped.
  Vachon was suddenly silent. 
  Tracy kissed his neck again, feeling her desire quickly rekindle the flames 
  they had just fed. 
  "Tracy, does LaCroix know you are here with me?" Vachon asked softly, 
  suspicious of what he'd gleaned from her blood. 
  "LaCroix can go to hell," she breathed, licking his ear lightly.
  Vachon sat up abruptly. "You may have a death wish, Tracy, but I'm not willing 
  to join you. We're going home now!" He leaped to his feet, grabbing her wrist 
  and pulling her with him.
  "I am not going back. Let me go!"
  "Tracy. No one defies the General. No one."
  "Coward! You're afraid of him!"
  Vachon started off, nearly dragging her along. Tracy struggled uselessly in 
  his grip. He was much stronger than her, which fueled her anger. She shouted 
  obscenities at him.
  Vachon chuckled. "Querrida, you don't quite have the knack for that yet."
  Tracy stumbled, grasping for a weapon in the dirt. Her hand came up and flung 
  loose pebbles and dirt into Vachon's face. He let go of her and covered his 
  eyes, crying out a painful surprise. Tracy used her police training combined 
  with her new strength to deal two blows to the back of his neck. Vachon 
  crumpled to the ground, still conscious but barely moving. Then she took off 
  running as fast as she could. 
   
   

   
  Nick parked at the precinct and cut the engine. "Matt," he said softly, unsure 
  how to word what he wanted to say. "I know I didn't want to ride with you, and 
  I expect either your partner or mine will decide to show up tomorrow night, 
  but. I just wanted to say. Uhm. It's been- enlightening- to be here." That 
  didn't quite say it either. Roberts was a good man. He made a difference in 
  the lives he touched. 
  Roberts clapped him affectionately on the shoulder. "Thanks, kid," he said. "I 
  like Father Flanagan's motto- that there is no such thing as a bad kid. Just 
  kids who need us. If I can turn even one away from crime, then it's all been 
  worth it."
  "Well, for Pony and Logan, I sure hope you succeed."
  "We will, Knight. You helped them, too. You've given them one more role model. 
  You'll be a "knight" to them now, always."
  Nick shrugged off the compliment and slammed the car door behind him. It was 
  time to return to the mundane task of paperwork. Being a cop would be so much 
  better if he never had another form to complete. Tracy had better hurry back 
  to work. 
  The day-captain was waiting for him, and motioned Nick inside the office 
  quickly. Nick reached out with his extra senses in concern. Was something up? 
  The captain's pulse seemed a little rapid. He was worried about something.
  "A call just came in for you, Nick. A family emergency. Your father requested 
  you go home at once."
  Nick stared at him for a full moment, uncomprehending.
  The captain touched his shoulder awkwardly. They didn't really know each 
  other, but he felt that Reese would have done something similar. "Go on, Nick. 
  Take the rest of the night off. Just let us know if there is something we can 
  do to help."
  LaCroix must have called, Nick realized. What could be the emergency? Tracy? 
  Fear lodged in his throat and the room seemed to spin. He staggered, bracing 
  himself, and shut his eyes tight until he was certain they were blue. 
  "Nick, go home. No use getting all worked up until you know more. Your father 
  wouldn't expand on it. He didn't call for assistance. He just wanted you to be 
  there."
  Nick nodded, unable to trust his voice. Then he ran from the precinct, not 
  even bothering to stop and grab his jacket. Roberts watched him go with a sad 
  look. "Family," he whispered. 
  Nick left the caddy behind and took to the skies as soon as he cleared the 
  building. He reached out to LaCroix with their bond.
  The master was furious! The rage struck Nick squarely, nearly knocking him out 
  of the air. Nick closed the intimate contact and concentrated on getting to 
  the Raven quickly. Rage he could handle. If LaCroix was furious, then it was 
  undoubtedly directed towards Tracy. She was all right.
  He took the skylight entrance, sensing LaCroix was upstairs. The master paced 
  furiously in his living room, his fangs descended and his eyes glowing red 
  embers of fury. He turned his anger loose on his favorite son. "I'll stake her 
  myself!" he roared.
  Nick looked around the living room, puzzled. There was no sign of a fight. The 
  room was tidy, if a bit empty. "Where is she?" he asked, hesitantly.
  "How the hell should I know! She snuck out of the window!"
  Nick laughed, unwisely. 
  LaCroix grabbed him by the collar and pinned him up against the far wall, 
  slamming him into it with force. 
  Nick dropped the smile and went limp in his father's grasp. He knew the anger 
  was not really directed against him and a fight right now would solve nothing. 
  He stared patiently at his master, keeping his eyes calm and blue. It was like 
  a splash of cold water on the ancient. Eventually he released his son and 
  turned his back on him.
  "I thought she was doing so well," Nick said. "We were going to celebrate 
  tonight. Please tell me what happened?"
  LaCroix didn't respond for some time. Nick didn't move from the wall. He'd 
  learned over the centuries how to deal with the ancient one, even if he didn't 
  always apply his knowledge. Tracy was all that mattered now, not his pride, or 
  their centuries old contest of wills. 
  "She shows no respect," LaCroix said thickly. "She is bright, inquisitive, and 
  a quick learner. But she is a manipulative, deceitful brat."
  "She is head strong," Nick consented. "She is not like us, but a woman of this 
  century."
  Nick's words had a calming effect on his master. LaCroix moved stiffly towards 
  the refrigerator and poured them each a tall drink. Handing one to Nick, he 
  sank into the couch. Nick moved then to join him, suspecting that the worst of 
  his father's wrath had subsided.
  "I cannot train a fledgling that refuses to obey," LaCroix said. 
  Nick was beginning to sense what the emergency was. Not so much that Tracy was 
  missing, but that LaCroix didn't really want her back. This could be very 
  dangerous. If anything happened to her, Nick's life in Toronto was over. He 
  would miss her, grieve for her. And it would become the final straw in the 
  burdens of memories that separated him from his master. LaCroix was grieving, 
  almost asking Nick for guidance, without actually voicing the words. The 
  realization almost choked Nick beyond the ability to speak.
  "Children today have not been taught to respect authority or to obey," Nick 
  said, keeping his voice low and soothing. "It isn't just Tracy. She has never 
  had to obey anyone in her life. Not her father, not even Captain Reese."
  "She lead me to believe that her father was-" how to word it? Just like him, 
  she had implied. "Rather dictatorial," LaCroix finished.
  Nick nodded. "But he's all hot air. He tells her what to do, she complains, 
  caves in to him while he's there, and as soon as his back is turned, she does 
  what she damn well pleases. As far as I know, he never actually forced her to 
  obey him. I know she loves him, but I don't think she respects him at all.
  "And when Captain Reese gave her a three-day suspension following a shoot-out, 
  she ignored him and chose to go undercover without following police 
procedure."
  LaCroix eyed him critically. "So you're saying that she is a brat to everyone 
  and I shouldn't feel singled out?"
  This isn't working, Nick thought frantically. "No, that's not it," he said. 
  "But you'll have to change your way of training her. I was brought up to obey 
  my father, the church, the Lord Dellebarre, then my commanding officer. 
  Janette knew to show obedience and respect towards all men in general, 
  regardless of her true feelings for them; even her husband was more a master 
  to her than a lover. But this is something you will have to teach Tracy."
  "Perhaps, I do not know how," LaCroix breathed so softly Nick wasn't certain 
  he'd heard correctly.
  Nick drained his glass. This was the worst battle he'd ever fought with 
  LaCroix and one he couldn't afford to lose. He struggled with his own anger, 
  trying to maintain control. "You're not going to let a perky little blonde 
  twit best you at anything, are you?"
  LaCroix's grip on his glass tightened. The glass shattered, slicing his palm 
  with the small shards. Nick flew to LaCroix then and knelt on the floor before 
  him. He took the hand in his and looked up at LaCroix. 
  "Please, master? Try again? Don't give up on her? I beg you!"
  LaCroix didn't answer.
  Nick gently brushed the glass shards from LaCroix's hand, then licked at the 
  small, bleeding wounds until they healed. LaCroix watched his golden son and 
  felt the ice cold anger melt from his heart. "I will grant your request, 
  Nicholas. She will have another chance."
  "I will look for her," Nick volunteered. "I will bring her home."
  LaCroix nodded vaguely, lost in thoughts. Nick lifted through the skylight and 
  soared out over Toronto.
  Nick couldn't sense Tracy specifically, as they hadn't yet bonded, but he 
  could still sense her as a vampire. He opened himself to that sense, floating 
  low over the buildings, searching for vampires. He felt the odd tingle and 
  concentrated on it harder. It was probably Vachon. The New-World vampire was 
  very hard to sense, and the tingling feeling was different somehow from most 
  vampires. Nick wouldn't have been able to sense him at all, accept that he'd 
  been sharing blood with Vachon's fledgling recently. That connection, of 
  knowing Urs, helped him to identify the Spaniard. 
  Vachon wasn't who he was looking for, but if Vachon was nearby, chances were 
  that Tracy was as well. Nick zeroed in on Vachon and soon landed on a vacant 
  field near the lake. Vachon groaned as he sat up, rubbing his neck.
  "Where's Tracy?" Nick asked urgently.
  "Hell of a greeting there, Nick. Hi to you, too." 
  Nick stared. Vachon's forehead was cut and bleeding. His clothing was in 
  disarray, his hair more wind-blown than normal, and he was definitely in pain. 
  Fear for Tracy welled up again. "What happened?"
  "She didn't tell me, Nick. Honest. I would never have taken her up without 
  LaCroix's consent."
  Tracy had run off, and spent time with Vachon. Now the Spaniard was hurt and 
  fearing LaCroix's retaliation. "What happened to Tracy," he repeated.
  "She went ballistic. When I would have brought her back to the Raven, she 
  attacked me and ran off. Hell of a punch she packs, too."
  Vachon staggered and Nick flew to support him. He stared at the younger 
  vampire intently, warring with his conscience which told him to offer Vachon 
  assistance, and the need to find and rescue Tracy quickly. "Will you be all 
  right?" he inquired.
  Vachon laughed sarcastically, then winced in pain. "Yeah, until LaCroix kills 
  me. Nice knowing you, Nick."
  "You must go to him and tell him everything," Nick said.
  Vachon didn't believe him.
  "He will respect you for showing courage and he'll listen to your story. It is 
  your only hope. If you run, he will hunt you forever. I know this!"
  Vachon stared at him with large, fear-filled eyes. Nick felt almost sorry for 
  him. Nick bared his wrist and held it out to him. "Take my blood. LaCroix will 
  listen to you."
  Vachon sank his teeth into the proffered wrist, gulping the thick, sweet taste 
  of LaCroix's favorite. He pulled back, the pain receding from his neck 
  already, and smiled. Nick's blood in his mouth would cast a presence for a 
  brief time. LaCroix would sense it. It was like bringing Nick's blessing with 
  him. He would have to fly to the Raven immediately, and both knew it. He 
  nodded quickly at Nick then took to the sky.
  Nick searched the field. He found the two discarded parachutes, the signs of 
  their recent tryst, then the site of their struggle. Nick sensed the faint 
  traces of vampire already fading. He saw Tracy's footprints in the dirt and 
  followed them.
  For over an hour Nick pursued her. At times he'd lose track, but then a hunch- 
  a sense of vampire- would lead him back. Tracy was running wildly, without 
  direction. She seemed to be avoiding people, too. Finally, he saw her. She was 
  slumped up against a dumpster, sobbing. Nick ran to her.
  "Tracy! What are you doing here," he demanded, pulling her into his arms to 
  comfort her.
  "What the hell do you care," she shouted, shoving against him.
  "Sh, sh," he soothed. "I'm sure that we can work this out. Sh..."
  "I'm not going back," she sobbed. "You can have him all to yourself. Damned 
  arrogant dictator is so blasted archaic!"
  "Tracy, you must come with me now." Nick tightened his arms around her.
  Tracy screamed. She bit him in the arm, shoving him hard. He fell back against 
  the dumpster. Tracy started hurling things at him, broken glass from the 
  pavement, rocks, anything she could get her hands on. Nick slumped to the 
  ground, shielding himself from her assault. One large rock struck him firmly 
  and blood welled from a cut above his eye. Tracy took off running away from 
  him. Nick staggered to his feet and ran after her. She rounded a corner and 
  ran across the busy street. As Nick stepped into the street to follow her a 
  car barreled into him, throwing him twenty feet in the air before he hit the 
  ground again. Nick groaned, unable to move. 
  The driver slammed on his brakes and rushed from the car. "Oh-my-g*d," he 
  stammered fearfully. "I didn't see you- oh-my-g*d, someone call an ambulance!"
  Nick groaned. He would need to feed soon. Something inside was broken. He 
  could feel it already repairing, feel the instinctual hunger burning behind 
  his eyes. "No ambulance," he ground out between gasps. "I'll be fine, really. 
  Not your fault."
  "You're not safe here in the street! Tell me what to do!" The man was nearly 
  hysterical. Nick caught him in a trance and calmed him. 
  "Drag me off the street. Then you may get in your car and drive away. You will 
  forget that this happened," he said, his eyes burning with hunger.
  The man complied. He pulled Nick's body to the sidewalk, then drove away. Nick 
  looked off across the street. All sign of Tracy was gone. He'd lost her. And 
  now he had to return to LaCroix and admit defeat. Nick scrambled to his feet, 
  then leaned against the wall of the building behind him to catch his breath. 
  He no longer had the strength to fly. He'd have to hail a cab. 
  Vachon was still there when Nick arrived. LaCroix was sitting calmly in his 
  chair, sharing a glass of bloodwine with the young Spaniard companionably. 
  Nick did a double take, wondering if he'd entered the wrong apartment by 
  mistake.
  Vachon looked very uncomfortable, but otherwise he was unmarked. LaCroix eyed 
  Nick speculatively, as he sipped from his crystal goblet. "You look a bit 
  worse for wear," he said smoothly.
  Nick glanced down at his shirt. The fabric was torn and bloodstained. He felt 
  almost dizzy with hunger. "I almost had her," Nick confessed. "But she's 
  really upset about something. She got away. I'm sorry."
  LaCroix merely nodded. "You could use a drink, Nicholas. Then you may return 
  to your loft. I suspect Tracy has enough sense to seek shelter before 
sunrise."
  "You aren't going to abandon her?" Nick blurted fearfully.
  LaCroix held up the book he was reading. Nick read the title and stared back 
  at his master in confusion. LaCroix was reading "The Strong-Willed Child."
  "No, my son. This was your idea. You told me I would have to train her 
  differently, so I am seeking alternatives. Tracy will return on her own, I am 
  certain."
  Nick drained a bottle of LaCroix's finest human vintage, savoring the release 
  from his pain and hunger as much as the thick, heady sensation of the mortal 
  offering which he denied himself so often. 
  "I had a case of that delivered to your place yesterday," LaCroix said, not 
  looking up from his book. "Urs mentioned something about not having anything 
  to eat."
  "Thank you," Nick muttered. He didn't feel like getting into that battle 
  again. Still, he should have thought about Urs himself. She wouldn't want to 
  drink cow, that was certain. Hell, he didn't really want to anymore, either. 
  He glanced again from Vachon to his master and decided to call it an early 
  night. Quiet and thoughtful, he returned to the loft.
   
   
  Tracy ran down another dark alley. There were too many people! They looked so 
  strange, with their flesh pulsating in red hues and their faces obscured in 
  shadow. Her fangs itched. The noises of the city were overwhelming her again. 
  She couldn't concentrate. She couldn't remember how to block them out like 
  LaCroix had taught her.
  LaCroix! She hated him. She hated Nick. They deserved each other! She wanted 
  to go home, to turn back the clocks to before all this happened. If only she 
  could go back to being ignorant about Nick and his family of vampires!
  An arm grabbed her. Tracy tried to fight it, but she was running out of 
  strength. After fighting Vachon and Nick, and fleeing blindly for nearly two 
  hours, she was exceedingly hungry. She knew she mustn't show her fangs, and 
  yet she was having difficulty concealing them. 
  The hands tightened around her neck. Tracy reached for them, clawing at them 
  futilely. She tried to scream, but nothing came out.
  "You hurt Nick," a voice whispered in her ear. "For that, you will die! Just 
  like all the others!"
  Tracy wouldn't die. She knew that. But she was losing consciousness. Her neck 
  was severely bruised. Something was being crushed. Lights pressed against her 
  eyes. She tugged at the massive hands around her neck weakly. Then all was 
  black. The attacker dropped Tracy's limp form to the ground and left.
   

   
   
  LaCroix read the book swiftly. It was only partially helpful, since it was 
  written for the two-parent, religious home with toddler children, but then, 
  Tracy's temper tantrums were remarkably child-like. And he was actually 
  surprised that anyone in this century would condone punishing a disrespectful 
  child. It was certain that Nicholas had never read it. Perhaps he'd send it 
  home with Urs some day. Eventually Vachon stood and asked to leave. LaCroix 
  nodded at him. Although he'd been furious when Vachon had first arrived, he 
  realized that Tracy was in this alone. Vachon had done nothing to encourage 
  her or incite her; in fact, he had been the pawn in her defiant deliberations. 
  He knew Vachon was not generally dependable. It must be Nicholas's influence 
  on him. His son had so many wonderful, admirable qualities. If only he would 
  accept his vampire nature, and learn to control his defiant tendencies!
  LaCroix was almost ready to retire himself when he felt her. Tracy was 
  screaming out for him, begging for help! LaCroix flew through the skylight, 
  heedless of dawn's approach.
  Tracy's sobbing was constant. She was terrified and in great pain. The sky was 
  lightening already. His vampiric sight was useless in the murky glow of 
  predawn. He closed his eyes and followed her through their tenuous link alone. 

  He found her in an alley. She was dirty, shivering, and her neck was severely 
  bruised. She couldn't speak. As he came to her, though, she reached out for 
  him, clutching him to her. Tears stained her frightened face. 
  LaCroix looked angrily in both directions but could not see the attacker. He 
  would have to find the culprit later. He scooped Tracy into his arms and flew 
  swiftly to the Raven. Her thin arms wrapped around his neck firmly, almost in 
  a chokehold, and through the link he sensed a turmoil of emotions from her, 
  but not one of them was the anger she'd shown last night. He was certain he 
  would never understand women.
  Back in the security of his apartment, she still did not release her grip on 
  him. Although he despised these emotional outbursts, he was perplexed at her 
  actions. He carried her in to her room and tried to lay her on the bed. She 
  needed to be fed, but part of her punishment- only a part- would be to deny 
  her his healing blood for a time. She should suffer the consequences of her 
  actions, to a degree. 
  "You came for me," she sobbed, sounding surprised. 
  LaCroix remained impassive. "I always protect my family," he repeated.
  "But I thought it was only Nick you loved. That you didn't feel anything for 
  me! I didn't think you'd come!"
  LaCroix brushed at her tears with a thumb. Judging by the bruises, her neck 
  had been crushed by massive hands. If she'd been mortal, she would have been 
  dead. Even as a vampire infant, she'd come fairly close to dying anyway. He 
  felt a rage building within him, but now was not the time.
  "I see that I will have to add trust to the list of things you must learn, 
  beginning with obedience."
  Tracy clung to his hand, bringing it to her lips and kissed it. "Yes, master," 
  she whispered.
  LaCroix stood abruptly. "You must rest. I will deal with you later." Then he 
  retreated and closed the door behind him.

   
  Urs helped Nick out of his ruined clothing while the tub filled. It was 
  becoming a daily ritual, she thought. Nick did seem to run in to more than his 
  share of trouble. She felt a twinge of empathy for his master. "You look like 
  you were run over by a train," she mused.
  "No, it was just a car," he answered tiredly. He stepped into the hot, bubbly 
  water. Urs stepped in behind him. She took a soft sponge and began to smooth 
  away the dirt and dried blood from his broad back with gentle, sensual 
  motions, trailing soft kisses in the wake. Nick leaned forward, shuddering 
  slightly, to give her better access to the more tender spots. His eyes were 
  heavy. He was weary, yet he knew his thoughts were in turmoil and sleep would 
  be a long time coming. 
  Urs shifted to wrap her legs around him, and guided his head back to rest upon 
  her breast. Careful not to drip soap in his eyes, she soothed the dirt away 
  from his face, massaging the new, smooth skin that covered recent injuries. 
  "What is it, my love?" she whispered in his ear.
  "Tracy." He sighed. Urs waited quietly, continuing the mesmerizing motions 
  that would relax her knight. "He'll hurt her."
  "Of course," she answered. "We only hurt the ones we love."
  "I mean tonight. He'll punish her for running away."
  "You cannot interfere, Nick. You know that. The master has absolute control 
  over the training of his children."
  Nick nodded mutely. He knew that only too well. 
  "But I believe that they will be fine. You'll see."
  "How can they? Tracy's never been treated harshly before."
  Urs kissed his forehead, then returned to the gentle massage. "Tracy needs to 
  feel loved. Her mortal parents never made her mind. She mistook their 
  permissiveness for a lack of concern."
  Nick listened, but he didn't want to believe. "It takes more to be a parent 
  that to beat your kids when they're bad. I met some abused kids yesterday. 
  Poor, miserable kids."
  "There is a difference between discipline and abuse, Nick," Urs chided.
  He was silent, unconvinced.
  "One is done in love."
  Logan's sister's boyfriend hadn't loved him. He'd beaten the boy in anger. 
  Pony's father didn't love her. He hadn't hit her, but he had neglected her. 
  Rock and Digger's moms cared very much, although they were strict, enforcing 
  the set rules. But what about LaCroix? Nick's nearly perfect memory could 
  recall in painful detail the many times his master had hurt him. Sometimes 
  Nick had done nothing to warrant the abuse- merely chased yet another elixir 
  that might heal him from the metaphysical curse that damned him. LaCroix 
  hadn't hit him in love then, but in anger.
  "You're wrong, Nick," Urs whispered, sensing his thoughts. She wondered about 
  that for a moment. Was he purposefully projecting them for her? Was she 
  learning to recognize his many moods? Or had they begun to bond through their 
  frequent blood sharing? She would ponder it later. For now, he needed her. She 
  felt his longing, but wasn't sure whom it was for.
  "LaCroix was harsh and angry, but it was only because he loved you too much. 
  He is terrified of losing you." 
  Nick thought about her words. The warm water had soothed the last of the aches 
  away and her gentle, constant massaging had him almost asleep. He wanted to 
  believe her. Still, thoughts of Tracy enduring the same sort of punishments 
  worried him. If only he could have convinced her to chose another path.
  "LaCroix will want me to bond with her tomorrow," he whispered. It still felt 
  strange. He'd had no restraints before, when he'd bonded with Janette. She was 
  his sister then, but also his lover, his seductress, and the queen of his 
  heart. He'd fallen for her while still a mortal, and it had taken him 
  centuries to learn to let go a little, to realize that vampire relationships 
  were never monogamous. But Tracy had seemed so much like a kid sister. Bonding 
  with her frightened him. How much would it change his "mortal" life here as 
  her partner?
  "And so you will," Urs answered. She stepped from the tub and pulled the plug 
  to drain the water out. Holding out a towel for Nick, she grabbed another for 
  herself. "I think that I will spend tomorrow night with Vachon. You may call 
  me when this bonding is complete. All right, my love?"
  Nick gave her a wet hug. "Anything you say." He carried her to bed then. The 
  time for talk had ended.
  As soon as darkness covered Toronto with it's blanket of protection, LaCroix 
  entered Nick's loft. Nick and Urs sat up abruptly, instantly awake. They 
  turned twin looks of innocence at him. LaCroix almost smiled at them. They 
  made an interesting couple. 
  "Tracy was attacked last night," LaCroix said, the golden flecks in his eyes 
  betraying his deeper emotions. "I was able to rescue her, but the perpetrator 
  still roams. I expect you to find her and kill her."
  Nick blinked. How could LaCroix give him a command that he knew would be 
  disobeyed? "Who?" he asked, stalling while he tried to wake up fully. "Why?"
  LaCroix hauled his naked son from his bed in one fluid movement and glared 
  into his eyes. "Your little mortal killer, Nicholas. She strangled Tracy and 
  left her for dead because she saw her strike you. I cannot hunt her down 
  myself, as I must remain with Tracy. You will do this."
  "I will find her," Nick said slowly.
  "And kill her!"
  Nick swallowed. It was a hell of a way to wake up in the evening. But there 
  was no way to answer that question. If he agreed, LaCroix would suspect he was 
  lying. To answer truthfully would be just as disastrous. He remembered what 
  Urs had tried to tell him last night. She felt that LaCroix truly loved him. 
  Well, now was time to show her how wrong she was. 
  "I will see her brought to mortal justice, master," he said firmly, trying to 
  keep the anger from his voice.
  LaCroix held him longer, glaring at him. Then the ancient released him with an 
  angry hiss. "Your mortal justice system fails more that it succeeds, but we 
  shall see what happens then."
  Nick felt such a wave of relief that he was confused. He wasn't certain if 
  LaCroix was angry with him or not. Tentatively he opened the link between them 
  and reached out to sense LaCroix. What he felt was liquid rage, directed 
  against the faceless enemy that had dared to harm one of LaCroix's own. It was 
  the protective instinct that Nick had felt only too often. He felt strangely 
  warmed by it now. LaCroix was including Tracy under his protection. She was no 
  longer on the endangered species list. 
  LaCroix flew out of the skylight then in a rush of air. Urs jumped from her 
  bed to hug Nick. 
  "You were so brave, my knight. And he did not harm you. He does care!"
  Nick shrugged, unwilling to forgive centuries of painful memories for one 
  morning's reprieve. Then he recalled what LaCroix had said about the killer. 
  He called the assailant "she". A woman had tried to strangle Tracy, after 
  seeing her hit him. Was she also Bennett's killer? And McLean's? Bennett had 
  not actually hurt Nick, although he had threatened him. And McLean had swung a 
  golf club at him. The killer wouldn't know that Nick was never in any real 
  danger, unless the killer also knew he was a vampire. But a woman? It would 
  have to be one really big woman. 
  "I have to get in to work," he said suddenly.
  Urs nodded. She laid out clothes for him while he took a quick shower, and 
  poured him some breakfast. He drained the glass, and gave her a quick hug 
  good-bye. "I'll call you," he promised. She smiled. Only if he remembered, she 
  thought to herself. 
  The precinct was deadly quiet when he returned. Reese was back, but other than 
  that, Nick could not see what was wrong. He scanned the bullpen. Some of the 
  officers had been weeping. Others wore cold, blank stares. Reese came to Nick 
  then and put a hand on his shoulder. 
  "How is everything at home, Nick?" he asked quietly.
  Nick shook his head to clear away the confusion. Last night he had left for a 
  "family emergency", he recalled. He thought fast, trying to find an acceptable 
  explanation. "My sister was missing," he said. "Someone attacked her. She's 
  going to be okay. Her assailant told her that she would die because she had 
  hit me."
  "Johnson is dead," Reese stated.
  "Oh no," Nick breathed. He sank into a chair. "Johnson threatened me 
  yesterday, too."
  "Then you are the unifying link in these murders," Reese said.
  "So now we know how to flush out the killer," Nick stated, getting to his feet 
  again. He started pacing restlessly, a plan formulating in his mind.
  "I don't follow," Reese said. His voice still sounded raw from his cold, but 
  otherwise he looked much improved.
  "We set up a mock fight. Bunati, probably. He's already in danger, if she took 
  out Johnson. Then, we have Bunati tailed until they catch her in the act."
  "She?" Reese asked, not liking Nick's plan at all, but not able to find the 
  flaw. "This murderer is a woman?"
  Nick nodded. "A big woman, I'd say."
  "Not Bunati, though," Reese said. "The guy just lost his partner."
  "And he probably wants to find the creep that did it," Nick retorted. "I 
  would, if I were him. Besides, he's already in danger."
  "Well, I'll ask," Reese responded. He stepped in to his office then.
  Schultz approached Nick hesitantly. He wasn't in the mood for small talk, but 
  he calmed himself as he saw the young officer wipe her eyes and take a breath. 
  "Watch yourself, Nick," she whispered. "Bunati hates you, you know."
  He gave her half a smile. "It won't be a real fight, Schultz. We'll just fake 
  it."
  She shrugged her shoulders and returned to her desk. Reese came out then and 
  talked with Nick some more about their plan. They talked about locations to 
  stage the fight, and where Bunati should go afterwards. The fight needed to be 
  somewhere that the killer would be sure to notice, and yet away from populated 
  areas. Nick suggested then that Bunati return home. Johnson had been killed in 
  his house, and so had McLean. Bennett had been killed in lockup, but then, 
  he'd been denied bail. Tracy had been assaulted in an alley, though. Nick 
  suggested that Bunati take several alleys to get home, and that they not lose 
  his trail for a second. Nick glanced out a window and spotted Bunati's car 
  approaching. It was time to put the plan in motion.
  Nick went to the parking lot just as Bunati got out of his car. They argued 
  loudly. Bunati blamed Nick for his partner's death. Nick hoped Bunati 
  remembered that this was an act, as the porcine officer was almost too 
  believable in his vituperative slurs. They shoved each other, then parted. It 
  was planned that the argument should happen over several locations, to ensure 
  that the killer actually saw them. Nick went to a corner gas station, where 
  Bunati riled him some more. Then Bunati tailed him as he drove to the final 
  spot, an empty lot whose building had been bulldozed and most of the rubble 
  cleared away. They slammed their car doors and neared each other.
  Nick didn't have to pretend to be angry. Bunati and Johnson had been a thorn 
  in his saddle for nearly three years. The only reason that they hadn't come to 
  blows before was the fact that they worked opposite shifts and had very little 
  contact. Nick had stepped on their professional toes a few times too many, 
  solving cases that had been theirs to start with. Nick didn't care about their 
  mortal egos. It was only important to catch the killers and protect the 
  innocent. 
  Bunati was livid with rage. He blamed Nick totally for his partner's death. He 
  swung at Nick, and he didn't pull his punch. Nick doubled over gasping for 
  air. Bunati hadn't hit him with just a fist. He had something on under the 
  glove. Before Nick could react, Bunati struck him again and again. His right 
  hand had a sheath of protective metal - "brass knuckles"- and his gloveless 
  left hand sported a large ring whose sharp setting flayed open Nick's cheek. 
  The officers watching the fight from a secluded distance could not tell if it 
  was real, or if they were just excellent actors. Either way, the well-trained 
  officers would not blow the operation now unless Nick called them for help.
  Nick fought down the vampire. He couldn't strike Bunati in a rage now. He 
  couldn't risk killing the bait. It was the best chance to capture Tracy's 
  assailant and bring her to justice. Still, as Bunati pummeled into him and he 
  gasped for air, Nick struggled to pull his own punches. He concentrated on his 
  anger more than the pain. He could not have LaCroix coming to rescue him and 
  blow the whole set up! Nick hurt all over. His face was bleeding profusely. 
  His ribs were bruised. He tossed Bunati, but the other used his greater bulk 
  to knock Nick to the ground and pin him. The weakened vampire didn't move. It 
  hurt his ego to let this fat, self-important oaf best him in a fight, but as 
  soon as Bunati felt he'd won, then he would leave and they could catch their 
  killer. Nick forced himself not to fight back.
  "I always knew you were a coward," Bunati challenged. "And one of these days I 
  will kill you. Not here. Not with the precinct watching, golden boy. But very 
  soon." He slammed his fist in to Nick's face then. 
  Nick felt his grip slipping from him. "Go to hell, Bunati," he whispered. 
  Anther blow followed, and Nick was rendered unconscious.
  Bunati got up and brushed the dirt from his clothes. He shrugged, then left to 
  follow the route towards his home. Not a bad night of work, he thought wryly. 
  Go in to the precinct, beat up a punk, and return home. And get paid for it. 
  He belched. It had been too much exercise after a heavy meal. Damn Knight. Now 
  he'd have to chomp on a few antacids. 
  Strong hands grasped him from behind and started to choke him. He couldn't 
  even cry out for help. He clawed at the vise-like grip and prayed the 
  undercover cops would arrive in time.
   

   
  "Nick! Nick! Wake up! I've called for an ambulance!"
  Nick struggled. Everything hurt. He tried to open his eyes, but one was quite 
  painfully swollen shut. "No ambulance," he whispered.
  "It's on the way, Nick," the officer reassured him. "You just rest. Damn him! 
  This wasn't supposed to happen!"
  "Call Natalie," Nick urged. She could help him. He didn't want to go to the 
  hospital. It was always too messy, and potentially dangerous. Too many minds 
  to wipe and any one of them could be a resistor. And besides the minds, all 
  their documentation had to be cleaned up as well. 
  "I'm here, Nick," Natalie answered. Several cops moved away to give her room. 
  She knelt in the dirt beside him and cringed at the sight. "You're a mess, 
  Nick. What happened this time?"
  "Bunati laid into him," one of the officers volunteered. "It was supposed to 
  be a set up, to trap the killer. Only, Bunati got carried away with the part."
  "And you didn't fight back," Nat asked, surprised.
  "Couldn't risk killing him," Nick whispered. 
  Nat took some gauze bandaging from her bag and touched it to the lacerated 
  cheek. "Looks like you need a few stitches," she said aloud, for the mortals' 
  benefit. "Just rest. I hear the ambulance now."
  "No ambulance," Nick stated again firmly.
  "Yes, ambulance," she replied, just as firmly. "Nick, you've got to stop using 
  yourself for a punching bag. Maybe LaCroix has the right approach, to let you 
  suffer the consequences of your actions once in a while. Besides, a medical 
  report will be necessary to file charges against Bunati."
  "Not necessary," he whispered. He could take care of Bunati himself. As soon 
  as he cooled down enough that he didn't kill him. 
  The emergency rescue vehicle pulled up then. One reached to take Nick's blood 
  pressure. Nat quickly told him that she had already done so, and gave him some 
  numbers that sounded more believable than the truth would have. They checked 
  the dilation of his eyes, and each limb to see if he had any broken bones. 
  Then they transferred him to the stretcher. Nick complained loudly, insisting 
  that he didn't need to go to the hospital. Natalie overrode him, claiming she 
  was family, and promised to meet him at the hospital. She laughed at the 
  dangerous look Nick gave her.
  In the emergency room, Nat convinced the doctor to tape Nick's cheek instead 
  of stitching it. They x-rayed his chest then, but none of his ribs were 
  broken. He was bruised and cut severely, and one doctor seemed concerned that 
  he might have a concussion. Nat convinced them to let Nick go home and she 
  would make sure that he was not left unattended. Reese appeared at the 
  hospital before Nick could be released.
  "Oh, my g*d, Nick," Reese said without his usual tact.
  Nick winced. He glared at Nat for making him go through this. "What about the 
  killer?" he asked.
  "Oh, we got her right in the act. Lesley Baker, 41 year old female, 6'1", 270 
  pounds. We searched her apartment. Nick, she's been trailing you for some 
  time. She had maybe a hundred photos of you taped up on her walls. Hard to 
  tell, but I'd guess she's been doing this for about four months. We may have 
  two more unsolveds that we can pin on her. I don't know why we didn't find the 
  connection sooner, but although she was taking out people she saw as a threat 
  to you, you work nights and she kills days."
  Nick shuddered. He couldn't stand the thought that these people had died 
  because of him. 
  "A moment more and we'd have lost Bunati," Reese continued. "As it is, I'm 
  sure he'll be well enough to face charges."
  "Captain, no. He was overwrought, because he just lost his partner," Nick 
  hedged. He didn't like Bunati, and could care less what happened to him, but 
  Nick knew he'd never been in any real danger. He just wanted all of this to be 
  over.
  "Doesn't matter," Reese stated. "I'm sure the judge will take his emotional 
  status under consideration, but he does not deserve to carry a badge."
  "Well, I will be all right," Nick stated firmly. He struggled to sit up. His 
  head hurt terribly. He clamped his mouth shut as he forced his fangs to 
  withdraw. 
  "I'm sure you will," Reese admitted. "Regardless, you've got three days leave. 
  Go home and rest."
  Three days! Between his "grandma's" funeral, the week of leave he'd taken 
  after nearly ripping Bennett's heart out in front of witnesses, one night in 
  jail, and the family emergency, he'd spent precious little time actually 
  working in what seemed like months! "This is all your fault," he blamed Nat. 
  She smiled at him innocently. "I think that you and your "sister" can use 
  these three days, Nick. Hopefully, things will get back to normal around here 
  then."
  Nick hadn't thought about that. Tracy had to return to work soon. And he would 
  have to help get her ready to work among mortals. 
  A nurse rolled in a wheelchair and insisted Nick take it. He tried to hurl a 
  few oaths at her, but as he struggled just to stand he was hit with a wave a 
  nausea and he nearly collapsed into the chair. Damn that Natalie! A bottle of 
  blood out in the field would have healed him and made all of this so 
  unnecessary. But then, Bunati would have got off free. And if he had assaulted 
  Nick, perhaps he had hurt others in the past. Nick bit back any further 
  retorts, as he let Natalie help him in to her car. 
  "Thanks, Captain," she called to Reese, before pulling away from the curb.
  Nick closed his eyes, wincing at each bump in the road. Natalie pulled several 
  packets of plasma from her bag and set them in Nick's lap. Nick took one and 
  cast a disparaging glance at her before he bit into it and drank.
  "You really tick me off," Nat said then, exploding at him. 
  "The feeling is mutual," he muttered.
  "Just because you're indestructible is no reason to keep putting yourself in 
  danger! That was the stupidest setup I've ever heard of!"
  "We got a killer off the streets," he reminded her.
  "The end does not justify the means. Nick, grow up! Take care of yourself! If 
  you truly still want to be mortal, then stop taking advantage of being a 
  vampire! Bunati nearly killed you tonight. I will not help you to regain your 
  mortality, unless you can convince me that you would survive the outcome!"
  Nick drank his blood in silence. In a warped, feminine sort of way, she made a 
  little sense. He drank more, feeling the cuts begin to heal and knew the 
  bruises were fading as well. 
  "Natalie," he whispered.
  "What!" She was still angry.
  "I'm sorry."
  She took her eyes off the road and glanced at him. His innocent-looking blue 
  eyes were begging for her forgiveness. She felt so protective of him then. 
  LaCroix's visit came to mind. Nick had somehow replaced her little brother. 
  She smiled wistfully. "You're forgiven, again," she said.
  Natalie parked in front of his loft and turned off the engine. "And I'm sorry 
  I got angry. I just care about you so much, and I get tired of watching you 
  suffer."
  Nick grasped her hand and squeezed it. Then he got out and waved as she drove 
  away.
  His loft was empty. Urs had tidied it before leaving. He guessed she had 
  returned to Vachon's church for now. He had three days leave. That should be 
  more than enough time to bond with Tracy and get her ready to return to work. 
  He showered quickly, drinking some of the special, mortal vintage Urs kept in 
  his refrigerator. Bovine blood just did not sound good after the beating he'd 
  had tonight. He shaved the dark stubble from his jaw, and then dressed 
  carefully. 
  Thoughts of bonding with Janette came to mind. She had come to him his first 
  night as a vampire. He had still lain in bed, in a simple linen tunic. She had 
  been attired in the most exquisite of gowns... but none of that had mattered. 
  She had bewitched him while he was still mortal, and he burned for her.
  It was so different with Tracy. She was not attracted to him. Nick could 
  hypnotize her, to make her more amenable to this ordeal, but he wouldn't do so 
  unless she asked him to. He pulled on a light blue silk shirt and left the top 
  buttons undone. 
  But Tracy was attracted to Vachon, he realized suddenly. Nick chose to wear 
  the snug, black leather trousers that laced up the front, and his black 
  leather jacket that he'd got back from Logan. Still feeling strangely nervous, 
  Nick flew to the Raven. 
  The crowds seemed to part for him as he entered. He heard a few mortals 
  whistle at him. He worked his way towards the stage where Vachon was tuning up 
  getting ready to start another number. 
  Vachon eyed him coolly. "Take good care of her, Knight," he warned.
  "The same to you," he said, thinking of Urs. They gave each other a smile 
  then. Vachon adjusted the shoulder strap and began to play. Nick shrugged. Was 
  he the only one to feel awkward about this whole thing? Perhaps he was 
  spending too much time among mortals. He took the stairs two at a time and 
  hesitated outside the door. Should he knock or just enter? 
  A pleasant thought slipped into his mind while he considered it. "You are 
  always welcome, my son." Nick turned the knob and stepped inside.
  The furniture had been removed or rearranged to open up the floor space. Large 
  throw pillows and soft furs were spread before the fireplace. LaCroix's 
  favorite chair remained, and he sat in it, holding his rebec fondly in his 
  lap. Nick took it all in before turning a questioning look at his master.
  "You still owe Tracy a dance," he replied.
  Nick grinned. That night seemed so long ago, he realized. So much had happened 
  since then. But, most of it had been good. He considered his growing 
  relationship with Urs, and felt suddenly too warm. He and Nat seemed on better 
  ground now than they had ever since Schenke's death. She was still bossy, but 
  in a friendly, sister-ish sort of way. He wasn't sure how to handle Reese's 
  growing knowledge of his complex family situation, but somehow he suspected 
  that it would all work out. The most important thing, he realized with a 
  start, was that he and LaCroix were no longer tearing each other's throats 
  out. He smiled at his master, allowing his sense of peace to filter through 
  the link they shared.
  The ancient allowed a slight smile to lift the corners of his lips as well. 
  Then he positioned the rebec and began to play.
  Nick turned as he heard the door to Tracy's room swing open. 
  Tracy looked so very different from his annoyingly "perky" junior partner. She 
  was pale, but her vampire complexion glowed with a brightness all its own. She 
  wore a rose silk dress that wrapped in front and tied at the waist. It was 
  loose at the neck and exposed plenty of cleavage. Her long, shapely legs were 
  bare of nylons or shoes. She took a step into the room and pirouetted around. 
  Her skirt flared out, baring too much of those long legs, before it settled 
  down smoothly over her hips again. 
  "Do you like it?" she asked, sounding for a minute like his old partner again 
  with the softly spoken, slightly insecure words. 
  Nick took a step closer, feeling a bit insecure himself. "It's lovely," he 
  said, his voice suddenly husky. "It's you."
  She grinned broadly and took large, rhythmic steps until she swirled in front 
  of him. "May I have this dance, monsieur?"
  Nick bowed formally and accepted her small hand, bringing it to his lips for a 
  kiss. "Oui, mademoiselle." 
  She put one hand tentatively on his back, feeling the muscles through the thin 
  fabric as though he'd worn nothing at all. The other hand was held in his and 
  she glanced at him awkwardly.
  Nick hungered at the amber lights in her eyes. Tracy was attracted to him! He 
  was so stunned that he nearly tripped. She giggled nervously, pulling him in 
  closer. 
  He regained his composure by concentrating on the dance. He didn't think about 
  her small hand slipping inside the waistband of his trousers, or the soft 
  fragrance of her hair. She smelled wonderfully of lilies and apricots, just 
  like Vachon had always claimed. Now she carried another scent as well. Nick 
  leaned in closer and inhaled. It was ever so faint... sandalwood? The scent of 
  their master. 
  Tracy leaned her cheek against the bare skin of his chest, as Nick just 
  noticed that somehow she had slipped a few more buttons loose. She inhaled as 
  well and tightened her embrace around him. "Hmm. You smell of honey and wine," 
  she commented.
  LaCroix had always said as much. Nick picked up the pace of the dance, 
  swirling her around and around. He knew his own eyes were golden now, but it 
  did not matter. This was what he had come here to do. LaCroix would demand it 
  of him. Did it matter if he chose to enjoy it? This was not about being 
  unfaithful to Janette, or to Urs, or even to Natalie. This was about being 
  faithful to his own culture. 
  He and Tracy would exchange blood repeatedly in a short period of time, 
  drinking nothing but each other, until he could sense her thoughts and 
  feelings, and she could sense him. It was the dance of the vampire, the Dance 
  of the Undead.
  He brushed a kiss across the top of her fair blonde hair, smooth like silken 
  threads. Tracy tilted her head, her lips parted, her fangs extended. Nick 
  stared at them now. They were new to her, the sign of her new existence. They 
  were so erotic. He felt his blood quicken and his teeth itched. 
  Tracy nipped the smooth planes of his chest lightly. Nick felt a growl escape. 
  He fought to hold back. It seemed important to him that she make the first 
  moves. This must be her decision, not just LaCroix's. His body trembled, 
  demanding completion. He hugged her tightly. 
  Tracy put her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Then she bit into the 
  soft skin over his jugular, piercing the vein and sucking from him firmly. 
  Nick groaned, biting her back and completing the circle. His blood flowed into 
  her; hers flowed back to him. In the passion of the moment, he did not see 
  clearly the images contained in her blood, only her sense of wonder and 
  excitement. Tracy was happy with what she had become. And she felt like part 
  of the family. Her bite on him tightened, almost painfully, creating delicious 
  spasms of pleasure as she sucked. Nick's passion exploded then. He shared her 
  feelings of unity, of pleasure, of family. He hadn't even realized how 
  desperately he needed to feel the family bonds until he experienced them 
  through her. 
  He clung to her still, as his senses returned, and gently licked at the twin 
  wounds in her throat. They danced again and again. The rebec sang on, a 
  bittersweet tune of ages past, of love and tragedy, of hope and denial, while 
  the dancers repeated the blood kiss that bound them together. Slowly, Nick 
  felt Tracy's presence in his mind. She was enjoying him. She was enjoying 
  herself. He also sensed his master's pleasure at watching his beautiful 
  children perform before him. Then he felt that mischievous glint of the old 
  Tracy as they both were struck with a thought. He tried to conceal it from his 
  master while they danced ever closer to the ancient's chair. Then at once they 
  were before him. Tracy took the rebec and gently laid it aside, while Nick 
  took the bow as well. LaCroix glanced at them in surprise. They each took him 
  by a hand and pulled him into their dance. 
  There was no music now, only the song of their spirits. Together, LaCroix's 
  children wrapped him into their dance and shared the blood kiss with him. 
  LaCroix sighed contentedly, before drinking their rich, eternally youthful 
  elixir. He was grateful now that Tracy was family. Life could never be better 
  than this.
  The End.

   
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