Dances with Werewolves, 17th in the Dance series of Original FK fan fiction





 
#17... Dances with Werewolves
By Lorelei Sieja 
 
(Author's note: This story is an xover with Early Edition and The Pretender. It 
should not be necessary to be familiar with those TV shows to enjoy this story, 
but if you would like to know more, or view a picture of these new characters, 
click Gary or Jarod .)  
 
  The couch was grossly uncomfortable. LaCroix had tried for hours to find rest, 
  but as the sun fell ever lower in the western sky, he gave up. Above the Raven 
  in his own cozy apartment was a perfectly wonderful, empty bed with satin 
  sheets and a velvet quilt. If only he had been able to convince Nicholas to 
  come back with him, he would be well rested by now, but no, the stubborn boy 
  had insisted that he was completely capable of taking care of himself. That 
  would have been almost humorous under other circumstances. 
  If he were to be truthful with himself, he hadn't put up much of an argument, 
  either. While Nicholas was always welcome under his roof, that demon child was 
  another matter. In the past year he had had vampires, mortals, carouche and a 
  cat living with him, but he had to draw the line with that one. At least 
  Daniel had been an appealing child, but Cody was simply too small for the 
  eternal gift. He wasn't even house-broken yet! LaCroix could not imagine an 
  eternity with such a child. One day Nicholas himself would stake him. 
  LaCroix straightened with a muffled groan, then went to Nicholas's computer 
  and logged on even before his routine ablutions. It would still be night in 
  Romania, but not for much longer. He had to reach Zuhayr at once. 
  The phone rang several times on the other end. "Where are you," LaCroix 
  muttered angrily, when at last the ringing stopped. 
  "Zuhayr here." 
  "Yes," LaCroix said. "It took you long enough." 
  The ancient vampire gave a long-suffering sigh at the Roman's rudeness. "What 
  do you want, Lucius. I told you we would contact you when we had something." 
  "Jarod. What does he look like? Would you recognize him if you saw him?" 
  Zuhayr's tone changed immediately. "I have pictures," he said. "Have you found 
  him? I'll fax them at once!" 
  "I am sure there must be many mortals by that name," LaCroix said. 
  "True. But this Jarod goes only by that name. His last changes frequently. He 
  is on the lam." 
  The computer beeped as it prepared to send a document to the printer. LaCroix 
  glared at it impatiently. Slowly the tops of two pictures appeared, the 
  background, a patch of dark hair on one and a fireman's hat on the other. 
  Curse words in a dozen languages came to mind, but LaCroix said nothing. 
  At last the page was done. LaCroix snapped it up and stared at the images. 
  Although the uniforms and last names and professions were different, both were 
  clearly the same Jarod Nicholas had met. "That's him!" 
  Zuhayr cheered. "You must convince him to come, Lucius. Of his own choice, 
  it's no good otherwise. He is far too intelligent to risk coercion, and if he 
  decides to slip away, you will never find him again." 
  "I don't see what you expect this one mortal to do," LaCroix huffed. 
  "Lucius!" Zuhayr closed his mouth and forced himself to calm down. Few could 
  get him as riled as the stubborn Roman general and he was not proud of his 
  lack of control at the moment. "Lucius," he said again, more quietly. "We are 
  getting nowhere. I have eight of the finest minds in the world gathered here. 
  Jarod is Nicholas's last hope." 
  LaCroix clenched his fists and fumed at the computer. At least if he were on 
  the telephone, he could throw the equipment at the wall with a satisfying 
  crash, but this new free-long distance communication over the internet didn't 
  even offer him that much. Then, as the immediate rage began to fade, he 
  considered what leverage he might use. "Do you know his weakness?" 
  Zuhayr chuckled. "That's the Lucius we all know and love. Of course I do. 
  Jarod is searching for his past. He wants to know who his parents are, he 
  wants to see them again. He wants a name to call his own. And in the mean 
  time, you could promise him safety while in Romania. The boy's been running 
  for four years now." 
  LaCroix closed the program without so much as a "thank you". As soon as 
  Nicholas was settled, he would speak with Brother Jarod. 
  * * * * * 
  First a deep breath. The lungs filled, lifting the chest cavity as undead 
  tissue cast off the last vestige of deathlike slumber. Cold blood circulated 
  slowly. Dreams faded, nightmares dissolved. For a moment, he scrubbed at his 
  eyes, waiting for his vision to clear, before he remembered that he was blind. 
  Heaving a sigh Nick Knight awoke, resigned to face the new day. 
  "Dad-dy!" Soft, sweet-smelling arms wrapped around his neck in a tight hold as 
  baby lips pressed a kiss to his stubbled cheek. 
  "Cody," Nick stated. This was his son. The memories were slow in returning, 
  but the one named LaCroix seemed confident that they would all return in time. 

  "Uh-oh!" the child blurted. His fear was instant, alarming Nick. 
  "What is it?" he asked, fighting off a wave of dizziness as he sat up in the 
  large bed. 
  Cody stared at his lap, dark red and soaked with blood. He touched it, the 
  thick, red stickiness covering his fingers. "Uh-oh! Owie!" 
  Nick felt the child's hand, bringing it closer to his nostrils. With his sight 
  gone, he had to rely on other senses. The scent of blood was heavy, but it was 
  cold. Cody's blood. His strong hands moved over the child, searching for a 
  wound, even as he reached out through the faint bond he had discovered that he 
  shared with the child. 
  Cody was not in pain. There did not appear to be any wounds at all. Nick felt 
  the soggy diaper and realized at once the source of the blood. A faint smile 
  broke on his face. 
  "You are not hurt, Cody," Nick said reassuringly. "You are just young. You do 
  not have full control over your body as yet. This will pass. As you become 
  more like me, you will not have to wear diapers any more, as this function 
  will become obsolete." 
  "Okay, Daddy?" Cody asked, still a little fearful. 
  "Yes, you are okay," Nick said. He helped the child to take off the stained 
  pajamas and soggy diaper. Then, pulling the naked boy onto his lap, he scraped 
  his whiskers on the exposed belly, grumbling playfully. Cody squealed and 
  struggled in his arms, patting his face with baby hands. 
  Nick's stomach rumbled and his fangs lengthened. The child's blood called to 
  him. Nick nuzzled the small throat and nipped without conscious thought. Cody 
  returned the bite, sucking his blood intensely. 
  The blood warmed him, comforted the dull ache in his gut, satisfied the 
  longing he had not been aware of until it was no longer present. Then Nick 
  felt too warm with growing arousal. Shocked, he pulled away from the child 
  suddenly, tearing his throat from Cody's grasp. 
  "Daddy?" Cody whined, struggling in his arms. 
  The cold, familiar presence drew near and the hair on his neck tingled. Nick 
  stood, turning towards the doorway knowing LaCroix was there. "Good evening," 
  he stammered awkwardly. 
  "I sensed you were awake," LaCroix said stiffly. "Do you require assistance?" 
  "No," he said, suddenly self-conscious. "Yes. Could you show me where the 
  bathroom is? I can't seem to remember." 
  LaCroix blinked, startled at the simple request. His precious son and his 
  eternal suffering... would it never end? "This is your home, Nicholas, your 
  loft apartment. I had thought it would be more familiar to you than mine, 
  where you have also stayed in the past." 
  Nick shrugged indifferently. 
  LaCroix covered the distance between them, reaching out through the bond. 
  Nicholas seemed embarrassed, but he was at a loss to know why. His son's scent 
  assailed his nostrils. He stood behind Nicholas, his hands on his son's 
  shoulders. 
  "It is polite, young Cody, to close the wounds after you feed," he said 
  quietly. LaCroix caught the child's attention before he leaned close to lap at 
  the blood spilling down Nicholas's throat. The eternal taste of honey and wine 
  aroused him like no other. Tenderly, he continued the simple task until the 
  blood slowed and ceased to flow. 
  Nick shifted uncomfortably. First, he'd felt aroused by his own son and now by 
  the stranger he was to call father. He pulled away from the ancient one. "Cody 
  needs a bath," he snapped. 
  LaCroix smiled sadly. His son desired him, yet was refusing him. Some things 
  never changed. "As you wish, Nicholas." 
  * * * * * 
  Urs came in as soon as she heard the bathroom door close. LaCroix stood 
  staring out into the night, a sad stoop to his once proud posture. She laid a 
  hand on his shoulder and smiled. "He will come back." 
  LaCroix inclined his head slightly, the only sign that he had heard her at 
  all. Nicholas had been ill for nearly a year now, and it was getting 
  progressively worse. He could not feed and keep the blood down. Natalie said 
  it was something like an ulcer, but without blood, he would not heal. In an 
  unfortunate accident last winter, he had been blinded. After many months of 
  struggling to overcome the disability, all the fight seemed to leave him. 
  Nicholas had wanted to die. Then recently he suffered another injury to the 
  head, again suffering amnesia. The complaisant golden vampire with the 
  sightless blue eyes bore little resemblance to his once proud, eternally 
  contrary progeny. 
  "Actually, he seems much better than he did only a few weeks ago. Stronger 
  somehow. I know that he is still not well, but he walks without a cane, and 
  the vomiting is much less. Perhaps I notice it more, since I've been away from 
  him," she amended. 
  One arm raised to indicate the bed Nick had shared with Cody that day. Urs 
  went to it, catching the scent of spilled blood and silently began to pull up 
  the sheets. She had flown home the moment she had heard Nick was in danger, 
  but now that the crisis was past, she would be returning to Dallas as soon as 
  possible. She would clean up his apartment one last time before leaving, 
  though. 
  "This isn't Nick's," she blurted suddenly. She would know Nick's scent 
  anywhere. 
  "It is the child's." 
  "Oh," she stammered. "He's a cute little thing, though." 
  "Children are too immature to handle the dark gift. He will not be permitted 
  to exist." 
  "LaCroix! He must!" Urs said urgently. She tossed the laundry down the stairs 
  and flew to him, grabbing him by the shoulders. LaCroix glared at her, his 
  eyes a menacing amber shade. 
  Urs held her ground. Although she was naturally compliant, a truly docile 
  creature, she dared to challenge him. LaCroix could not have been more 
  surprised. 
  "Just recently Nick was giving up!" she cried. "He had no hope. No desire to 
  fight, to keep trying to find a cure to this illness. Now he has the will to 
  live. Cody! Can't you see how important the child is to him?" 
  LaCroix shuddered. That she might be right annoyed him. Somehow the child had 
  become more important to Nicholas than his own vampire family, those who had 
  loved and cared for him for centuries. "It will not be my decision to make," 
  he spat. "You can be assured that the Enforcers will take care of the matter." 

  "LaCroix! How can you say that? Cody is Nicholas's child, now your grandchild! 
  You could protect him." 
  LaCroix pulled her hands from his shoulders and held them firmly. "Even I must 
  obey the rules of our kind. This is not within my power." 
  "Then Nick will chose death," she said flatly. 
  LaCroix winced. 
  Urs sighed as she turned away. The faster she cleaned up, the faster she could 
  leave. She loved Nicholas, but she could not stand by to watch him die. It was 
  time for her to move on. 
  The sound of laughter interrupted LaCroix's dark mood. Happy cries rang out 
  from the bathroom among the sounds of water splashing over the floor. The 
  corners of LaCroix's lips raised ever so slightly; the child did have an 
  infectious laugh. It was oddly deep and husky for such a small one. Then came 
  the rare sound of Nicholas' own pleasant laugh, and LaCroix blinked rapidly 
  before a trace of sudden emotion embarrassed him. 
  The door opened, revealing two wet vampires wrapped in towels. Nicholas cocked 
  his head slightly. LaCroix felt him reach out through their bond as easily and 
  naturally as if it were always his custom. "Father," he said, still smiling. 
  "I'm glad you're still here. I don't remember where my clothes are." 
  "After breakfast I shall give you a thorough tour of your apartment," LaCroix 
  offered, leading Nicholas towards his walk-in closet. 
  "I'll take the little one," Urs offered, reaching out for Cody. "Brother Jarod 
  dropped off a few bags of his things." She averted her eyes when Nick's towel 
  slipped lower on his hips, angry with her desire that had quickly sprung to 
  life. 
  Cody wiggled in her arms, patting her cheek enthusiastically. "Hungry!" 
  "Yes, little man, I expect you are," she said, smiling as she left. 
  LaCroix selected clothing and placed the items in Nicholas's hands. "We have a 
  lot to do today," he said. "I wish to speak to your friend Jarod as soon as 
  possible." 
  Nick dropped his towel and began to dress. LaCroix was momentarily startled 
  for his capricious child was usually far more modest, but then Nicholas was 
  not really himself these days. He watched in silence, struggling to keep his 
  own desires from flooding their link. 
  "Why?" Nick asked. 
  "Zuhayr believes that Jarod can help you." 
  "Help me what?" 
  "Help discover the cure for your illness," LaCroix started to explain. 
  "Am I ill?" 
  "Nicholas!" LaCroix instantly regretted his sharp tone at his son's hurt 
  expression. "Nicholas," he said again, more softly. "I realize that you have 
  many questions. Forgive me, but try remember that I have never had much 
  patience." 
  "You said I had amnesia before," Nick said, his eyebrows puckering. "You 
  helped me then. How?" 
  "Through the blood, my son." He took a brush and pulled it through the tangled 
  golden hair of his favorite child. Nicholas stood still, hanging on his every 
  word. 
  "When we feed, we experience everything through the blood of our victim. Their 
  thoughts and feelings, their memories, even their talents, become ours for a 
  brief time. The last time this happened you spent a weekend with me. I told 
  you stories of our shared past and we drank from each other continually. In 
  this way your memories were quickly restored." 
  "We're supposed to share blood?" he asked, uneasy with the erotic thoughts 
  that came to mind. 
  "Yes, Nicholas," LaCroix sighed, setting the brush down on the dresser and he 
  wondered how much longer they would play 'twenty questions'. 
  "And if I drink your blood, it will give me back my memories?" 
  LaCroix heard the hesitation in his son's voice. What had the boy so 
  distraught this time? "I am afraid that it will not be quite so simple," 
  LaCroix said. "Your illness has affected your ability to feed. I hesitate to 
  complete the blood kiss as you do not heal as you should." 
  "I don't remember being sick," Nick murmured. 
  LaCroix took his arm and guided him toward the stairs. "I will help you, 
  Nicholas, but it will take time." 
  Cody shrieked as they approached, slapping his hands on the kitchen table. 
  Spilled blood dripped over the edge and pooled on the floor beside him, where 
  Urs was quickly trying to wipe it up. 
  Nick smelled the blood. "I'm sorry," he said. "I forgot to mention that Cody 
  has his own cup. It should be in his things." 
  Urs rolled her eyes, but she gave him a forgiving smile. "Now he tells me!" 
  She rummaged through the sacks until she found a bright yellow plastic cup 
  with a white lid, two small holes punched in the raised spout. "Is this it?" 
  "Mine!" Cody declared, slapping the table again. 
  LaCroix winced at the noise. He pulled out a chair for Nicholas, then poured 
  him something to drink. He watched intently as his child sniffed at it, then 
  tasted it without comment. 
  "Urs, may I presume upon you to baby-sit this evening?" LaCroix asked quietly. 

  "For him?" she exploded. 
  Nick held the lidded cup and helped the child to take a drink with the skill 
  of much practice. "Why, LaCroix? Where are we going?" "We need to speak to 
  Jarod," LaCroix repeated himself. "And you must guard your strength. That 
  child is exhausting." 
  "Go bye-bye, Daddy?" Cody asked. 
  Nick tousled his hair. "Just me this time, squirt. I'll take you with me 
  another night." 
  Cody's eyes clouded up and two fat, red tears spilled down his cheeks. "Daddy! 
  Don't go!" 
  Nick pulled him onto his lap and held him close. He felt the child's fear as 
  powerfully as if it were his own. "I'll come back, I promise." 
  Urs lifted the child in her arms and hugged him, her own nurturing instincts 
  overcoming her initial reluctance. "And Nick always keeps his promises," she 
  added. 
  "Pway wiff me?" he asked. 
  Urs smiled. "We'll play a little bit, and I can read to you as well." 
  Cody seemed mollified at the prospect. "Okay. Wuv you, Daddy." 
  Nick rose, ignoring the remainder of his drink and planted a kiss on his 
  child's soft cheek. "I love you, too, Cody. Now you be good for Urs. She's a 
  very special friend of mine and I don't want to hear that you gave her any 
  trouble." 
  Cody nodded solemnly. 
  Nick put an arm around Urs. He leaned closer, inhaling deeply as he reached to 
  find her through the mental bond. She was harder to find than LaCroix or Cody, 
  but a faint trace existed. She seemed irritated and distant. "Have I offended 
  you?" he asked abruptly. 
  Urs shrugged. "Yes, Nick. But you don't remember it any more, obviously." 
  "Please accept my apology any way," Nick said. "I must have been an ass to 
  hurt you." 
  Urs gave him a kiss. "I already have. Now you two go and don't worry about a 
  thing. Do you mind if I take Cody shopping? He could use some toys and a few 
  more clothes." 
  Nick laughed. "Shopping. Isn't that the woman's cure for anything? Sure, love. 
  Take my credit card." 
  Urs pocketed the piece of plastic. "Just for that, it will cost you double," 
  she replied with a teasing note. 
  Nick whistled to Perry. The carouche bounded over with his harness in his 
  mouth. Nick slipped it on and buckled it, patting the dog lovingly. "Okay, 
  LaCroix. All set." 
  * * * * * 
  Jonathan leaned over his wife's neck and nibbled playfully. One hand pressed 
  against her abdomen, hugging her close to his body. "What do you say that we 
  just blow it off and stay home tonight?" he whispered in her ear. 
  "Stop that," Sam said, smiling to soften the words. "I'm almost ready. Why 
  don't you just go sit over there and let me finish?" 
  "I was sitting over there," he said, as he continued exploring her earlobe. 
  "But watching you dress is very distracting. I keep thinking how much fun it 
  will be to take it all off again...." 
  "Jonathan! It would be rude not to show up now. Vira should have dinner just 
  about ready! Here, read the paper or something. We'll go in ten minutes." 
  Sam slapped the newspaper against his chest, pushing him an arm's length away. 
  Jonathan brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them, drawing one into his 
  mouth to suck on it gently. "As you wish." 
  With feral, canine grace, he prowled across the room to recline on the sofa. 
  Sam felt her pulse quicken just watching him. Everything about him was 
  sensual, unfettered, wild... and free. Part of her longed to leave her own 
  kind behind and join him forever. Then she forced her thoughts away. 
  Jonathan flipped the newspaper open to the next page with indifference. The 
  headlines were uninteresting and the mortal news held little importance to 
  him. Unlike vampires, who preferred to live in large cities among their prey, 
  werewolves were more content on wide, country estates. They were reclusive on 
  the whole, although when they did interact with mortals, they generally held 
  positions of power and leadership. 
  He glanced at the pictures since he wasn't in the mood to read. There were 
  images of school children delivering paper poppies to veterans in a nursing 
  home reminding him that Remembrance Day was fast approaching. There were 
  pictures and announcements of the newly engaged and the obituaries. Those were 
  of old men and women, mostly. 
  Jonathan knew it was wrong, but thanks to his grandfather he felt little love 
  or empathy for old people. As far as he was concerned, the only thing the old 
  man ever did for him was die. He winced guiltily at the dark thought and 
  looked around his shoulder, half expecting to be chastised for it. 
  A name caught his eye. Tala... it was an unusual name, an Indian word for 
  "wolf". He had known a woman by that name once, had even considered her as a 
  mate at one time, but nothing had ever come of it. She, like many of his 
  generation, rebelled against their ways, running away to live among mortals, 
  isolated from her own kind. She was young, though... too young to die. The 
  small picture was dark and blurred - it could have been the Tala he knew, but 
  then again, it could have just been coincidence. 
  The obituary was brief. It did not list her age or where she was from or even 
  whom she was survived by. But it did list a last name. Ulric, which was not an 
  uncommon surname among his kind either. He had a good friend, Bertulf Ulrich, 
  that lived around here. Had he married Tala? If so, it was imperative that he 
  find him as quickly as possible! 
  "Sam!" he shouted. 
  "I'm coming," she snapped, "and don't ever use that tone of voice with me!" 
  Jonathan ducked his head sheepishly. Her first husband had been a tyrant... 
  Jonathan didn't want to be anything like him. "Forgive me, Sam," he asked. "I 
  did not mean it to sound that way. But, we must change our plans. I have to 
  find Bertulf right away." He showed her the obituary. "His life might be in 
  danger." 
  Sam nodded as she realized the seriousness of the situation. She didn't know 
  much about his culture, but enough to know that when a werewolf's mate died, 
  he or she was very fragile. Without a life mate, the surviving werewolf lost 
  the will to live, and without the comfort of close friends and loved ones at 
  that time, would often chose to follow in death. 
  "Where do we go first?" she asked. 
  "I don't know. She might not have been werewolf, but I have to check it out." 
  Sam scanned the obituary more thoroughly. "We'll start at the hospital then," 
  she said. She glanced down at her evening gown and with an efficient gesture, 
  clothed herself in a more appropriate outfit. A snap later and Jonathan was 
  out of his suit and tie, wearing casual denims and a sweater. 
  "Thanks," he said, smiling at her. "Shall we go?" 
  She looped her arm in his, and with another effortless twitch, she set them 
  down just outside of Toronto's general hospital. Jonathan held the door for 
  her, with the courteous charm that was as much a part of him as his wolf's 
  nature. 
  The receptionist would not give them any information on Tala Ulrich. When 
  Jonathan tried to convince her that he was Tala's brother, she then said she 
  needed some identification. Sam used her magic to create the needed documents, 
  but then the receptionist sent them to see the business office, which sent 
  them on to billing. Only when Jonathan agreed to be responsible for Tala's 
  medical bills, was anyone willing to talk to him about her case. 
  "We thought she was indigent," the doctor said quietly. "And there was really 
  nothing wrong with her - nothing that could have caused her death. She was 
  severely dehydrated and malnourished, but that could have been treated. She 
  just gave up." 
  "I'm too late," Jonathan murmured, sinking into a chair. He couldn't save 
  Bertulf... for he must have died first. Tala had been left all alone. The 
  young werewolf had paid the ultimate price for her foolishness. In turning 
  away from her own people, she had cut the ties that would have saved her. 
  Suddenly, Jonathan wanted to go home again. 
  Samantha patted his shoulder affectionately. "I'm so sorry, Jonathan," she 
  said. She knew he would grieve, even though he had not really known them. He 
  was tender-hearted and overly sensitive, two qualities she loved most about 
  him. But Jonathan was next in line to rule the pack. Now he felt the added 
  burden of responsibility. 
  "Do you know where she is buried?" Sam asked the doctor. "Or who made the 
  arrangements?" 
  "Yes. Father Rochefort," the doctor said quickly. "He was with her constantly 
  towards the end." 
  Jonathan stood slowly. He would visit the grave and thank the priest. There 
  was nothing more he could do here. Suddenly he felt very old. "Good night, 
  Doctor. And, thank you." 
  * * * * * 
  Jarod raced out of the mission, not knowing where to go. Usually when Miss 
  Parker caught up with him, he was prepared, ready to begin his next pretend, 
  but this time she had found him too soon. She was getting smarter, or else, 
  she was getting to know him too well. That could be dangerous. Jarod feared 
  for his freedom. No one else posed as much a threat to him as she did. She too 
  shared the rare genetic anomaly in her blood, the trait that made her more 
  intelligent than most, that gave her the ability to become someone else. Her 
  latent ability was undeveloped, as she was the daughter of one of the top men 
  in power at the Center, but once she discovered how to use it, she would know 
  where to look for Jarod. He would be unable to hide from her. 
  Someone fired. Jarod felt the sting as it burned past his arm. He clamped his 
  left hand over the wound, but he couldn't stop the cry of pain that also 
  alerted his pursuers of his exact location. He dropped instantly to the ground 
  as several more shots rang out, and rolled across the dirty alley. His arm 
  throbbed, but it wasn't bleeding much. He would have to ignore it for now. 
  He could hear Miss Parker swear at the sweeper for missing and command the 
  rest of her team to get him. Jarod was outnumbered, but he had the advantage. 
  He knew this area. Ducking around the corner, he closed the dumpster lid and 
  leaped on it, grasping for the fire escape above and pulled himself up. He'd 
  worked out this escape route and at least six others while he'd been in 
  Toronto, just for such an occasion. He knew the first apartment was occupied, 
  but the one next to it was temporarily vacant while the owners repainted. He 
  climbed onto the iron railing of the stairs and balanced precariously as he 
  prepared to leap to the neighboring balcony. Only after he jumped did he 
  remember that his arm was hurting. Another few drops of blood oozed from the 
  shallow wound. He heard one of the sweepers curse when it dripped on him. 
  Jarod swung himself up and opened the window. He'd come by last week during 
  the day to make sure that the windows were unlocked. He rushed through the 
  apartment towards the stairs. One sweeper was already coming up the stairs 
  inside the apartment complex. Jarod couldn't afford to take the time now to be 
  afraid. He couldn't chafe at the injustice that these people wanted him either 
  dead or imprisoned, that his childhood had been stolen, his identity erased, 
  his freedoms violated. Instead, his thoughts focused only on the goal. He 
  dropped a few marbles he'd bought for Cody, before he realized that 
  three-year-olds still put things in their mouths. Next he grabbed a fire 
  extinguisher and sprayed the stairs behind him as he continued to run. His 
  pursuers didn't slip on the marbles, but they did hesitate, allowing Jarod to 
  gain distance. Then they slipped on the chemical residue from the fire 
  extinguisher. 
  Once on the roof Jarod wedged a two-by-four through the latch. Miss Parker 
  started banging on it, cursing at him and calling him names, even as she 
  threatened to have certain of the sweepers' body parts cooked and served to 
  her for breakfast. The short pine board wouldn't stop them for long. Jarod 
  knew he would have to jump to the roof of the neighboring building. He'd 
  practiced leaping that distance on the ground and knew just how much speed he 
  would need, and what angle of lift would ensure success. Fear of falling never 
  entered his mind. Jarod had been trained to trust his intellect. It had never 
  failed him before. 
  He paused only to draw in several deep breaths, then he raced for the edge and 
  jumped. For moments he was air-born. The wind brushed past him and Jarod 
  wondered what it would be like to be able to fly. Then the far roof rushed up 
  to meet him. Jarod dropped and rolled, minimizing the impact. 
  The grappling hook and rope were still coiled where he had left them. 
  Expertly, Jarod swung the rope towards the roof across the street. He anchored 
  the rope on this end, then hand over hand, made his way to the next building. 
  Once there, he cut the rope, making it too short for the sweepers to use even 
  if they'd been brave enough, or stupid enough, to try. Jarod took the fire 
  escape again and soon he was on the ground. 
  The hospital was over a mile away, but Jarod didn't dare return to his 
  mission. The small wound on his arm was filthy. He'd have to get it cleaned up 
  or risk infection. Hospitals were crowded places. Even if Miss Parker followed 
  him there, it would be easy enough to lose her. Jarod ran, trying to listen 
  for sounds of the sweepers behind him, trying to stay alert to danger all 
  around. And one part of his mind began to work on the next step. Where could 
  he go from here? 
  He should go to Nick's first and warn him. If Miss Parker were to find a 
  connection between him and Nick, she might try to use that against him 
  somehow. He knew Nick's father could protect him though. The old longings, the 
  desperate yearning for a father of his own, nearly crippled him. Jarod forced 
  the thought away. He had to concentrate! 
  * * * * * 
  Urs slung the vampire infant onto one hip and grabbed her purse. Cody was 
  exhausting! He was a cute kid, but she was ready for bed and the night was not 
  even half over! Nicholas was going to owe her, and so was LaCroix, for a very 
  long time. As the expression went, hell would freeze over before she ever 
  babysat again. 
  Cody bounced in her arms, swinging his feet. "Go bye-bye!" he shrieked. "See 
  Daddy?" 
  "Hold still," she snapped, "or I might drop you!" 
  Cody grabbed her hair with sticky baby fingers. "Oh-oh," he said solemnly. 
  "Wuv you, Urth." 
  She couldn't resist a smile as the baby lisped around the thumb in his mouth. 
  "No screaming in my ear, no wiggling, and no more running off and hiding, do 
  you understand? How can I keep an eye on you and protect you from harm if you 
  play hide-and-seek with me again?" 
  "I be good," he said sadly. 
  Urs laughed. "Okay. Then let's go to the mall. We'll find you some toys and I 
  think you need more clothes, judging by how often you get dirty. How's that 
  sound?" 
  "Bye-bye!" he screamed delightedly. 
  Urs loosened her hold momentarily, letting the child drop a few inches on her 
  hip. He shut up and clung to her tightly. Then she rose through the skylight. 
  A few toys were just what they both needed right now, and she breathed a 
  silent thanksgiving to Lillith that vampires were barren. 
  * * * * * 
  LaCroix was impatient to get to Jarod as quickly as possible, but Nicholas was 
  full of questions. He wanted to know everything. What was his relationship 
  with Urs and Janette, and Tracy, and who was Father Rochefort, and how long 
  had he been a cop, had he been sick, had he been blind? He remembered a big 
  man with black hair and skin and a kind but scary voice, and someone named Don 
  who smelled of garlic and donuts, and who was the old man with gnarled fingers 
  and rheumy eyes? When LaCroix explained that the old man was Thomas 
  Constantine, his little brother, Nicholas wanted to know all about vampire 
  families. The questions were endless, but LaCroix struggled to answer each one 
  patiently. 
  At last they came to the Fourth Street Mission. LaCroix steeled himself before 
  going inside, as the stench of food and sweat was almost intolerable. Nicholas 
  reacted badly. He clenched his stomach and doubled over. LaCroix grasped his 
  shoulders, hurrying him to the curb before he retched. LaCroix closed his 
  eyes, angry that he hadn't waited to come until later after the soup kitchen 
  had closed. 
  Nick leaned into his arms, trembling slightly. "I'm sorry," he stammered. 
  LaCroix held out his wrist. "Drink," he commanded. 
  Nick's fangs erupted, but he hesitated. "I can't." 
  "You can and you do. Often. Now drink." 
  The memory of that morning drinking from his own child, of the feeling of 
  intimacy and yearning, and the shame of desiring that from his son or his 
  father, was too strong. Nick pushed the wrist away. "No!" 
  LaCroix lashed out, acting more on habit or instinct than conscious thought. 
  He struck Nicholas across the face. The younger, weaker vampire stumbled, 
  tripping over the carouche and falling to the ground. LaCroix fumed, angry at 
  himself for the loss of control, angry at Nicholas for forcing him. 
  Nick leaned up on one elbow, wiping at the blood that oozed from his lip and 
  wincing. "Now that I remember," he said sarcastically. 
  LaCroix glared at him. "You stubborn, insolent whelp. You are weak, you need 
  to feed. Why do you refuse?" He reached down to offer Nicholas a hand up, but 
  the younger vampire flinched as he heard the him approach, throwing up his 
  arms as though to ward off another blow. With a growl, LaCroix pushed the arms 
  aside and hauled him to his feet. Then he pulled Nick against him and held his 
  wrist before the younger vampire's lips. 
  "Please, don't," Nick begged, his voice barely a whisper. 
  LaCroix had lost all patience. He tore open his wrist and forced the bleeding 
  wound into Nick's mouth. Moments later he felt his son begin to drink. 
  The blood flowed from him through his child, strengthening their bond. He felt 
  Nicholas's embarrassment and desire, his confusion and his need, but he did 
  not understand. Time was passing and he only wanted to find Jarod before the 
  mortal slipped from his grasp. 
  Nick forced his fangs to recede, then licked the wound to close it. He 
  trembled as the ancient fluid strengthened him, calming his stomach and 
  stirring his desires. Was this what it was like to be vampire? Or was he 
  really sick, a freak, vulgar in his insatiable need? He was ashamed to voice 
  the question, afraid of the answer. Pulling away from his master's hold, he 
  reached for Perry's harness and closed his feelings behind a wall of steel. 
  "Let's go," he said flatly. 
  LaCroix once again opened the door to the mission. "Where would Jarod be?" he 
  asked, scanning the crowds. 
  Nick lifted his chin, drawing in a breath as he tried to sense the room. "By 
  now he should be through serving soup but still cleaning up," he said, "but he 
  is not here." 
  Nick urged Perry to lead him through the dining room, down the hall, to the 
  small rooms in the back where he and Cody had stayed. Jarod's room was empty. 
  The narrow cot was neatly made, but no item remained behind to imply that 
  Jarod would ever return. LaCroix emitted a growl of frustration. 
  Nick heard a sniffling sound and turned to head in that direction. The 
  simple-minded young man, Freddy, sat on the floor at the end of the hallway, 
  wiping his nose on his sleeve. 
  "Nick!" he cried, his trembling voice revealing his fear. "Nick! Brother Jarod 
  is gone!" 
  "Where did he go," Nick asked, trying to calm the frightened boy. 
  "He ran away, away from the bad people," Freddy sobbed. "What am I gonna do?" 
  LaCroix silenced the sniveling mortal with no more than a glance. Easily 
  hypnotizing him, he extracted the details of Jarod's disappearance. Jarod had 
  ducked inside, stripping off his monk's robe and pulling on a black tee shirt 
  and running shoes. He had told Freddy that he would try to return, but if it 
  were impossible, that Freddy would be provided for. Then he had run out the 
  back door. Moments later shots were fired. A pretty woman in a short black 
  leather skirt and dark sunglasses barreled into the mission, demanding to know 
  where Jarod was. The men with her searched the mission thoroughly, and then 
  they all left just as suddenly as they had come. 
  LaCroix ran back outside. Reaching out with his predatory senses, he tried to 
  find any trace of Jarod. Nick caught up with him and latched on to his sleeve. 

  "I'm going with you," he said firmly. 
  "No, Nicholas. This is too dangerous. And time is of the utmost importance!" 
  Nick tightened his hold. "Take me with you! I know which way he went!" Nick 
  started down the ally, pulling LaCroix after him. Then he pointed to a small 
  spot of blood. The scent was fading, and the amount was so slight, LaCroix 
  would have missed it all together. Nick shuddered. "They shot him," he 
  whispered. 
  LaCroix dipped a finger in the blood and brought it to his nostrils. There was 
  almost no scent left. How had his son known it was here? "Are you certain that 
  this is Jarod?" he asked quietly. 
  Nick nodded once. Then he lifted into the night sky, still clutching LaCroix's 
  sleeve. Perry barked and leaped after him. Together the odd threesome flew low 
  over the area, as Nick followed the faint trail. His eyes were glowing, his 
  fangs erupted, yet LaCroix knew that the younger vampire was not hungry. This 
  was the predator. He smiled proudly at the skills his protege displayed, that 
  even blinded and weak, he was a superior hunter. 
  Nick followed the faint blood trail to the hospital. There he landed and 
  nearly collapsed in his sire's arms. "I can't find it now," he uttered in 
  defeat. "There is too much blood here. The trail is lost." 
  LaCroix stared at Nicholas, torn between wanting to protect his child and 
  needing desperately to find the mortal, Jarod. "How long ago do you think he 
  was here?" he insisted. "Could he still be here?" 
  Nick shook his head, a blood tear slipping from his eye. "I don't know... 
  sorry... I've failed again." His eyes closed and he went limp. 
  LaCroix scooped him into his arms, alarmed again at how light Nicholas had 
  become. "We will find him," LaCroix promised. "Come, carouche. Let us return 
  to the loft." 
  Perry barked. He darted towards the hospital and back. Perhaps he could still 
  find the trail? Nick didn't need him just now. He had to try. 
  LaCroix didn't understand what had the carouche worked up, but he simply 
  ignored it. "Do as you will," he snapped. 
  Perry took off, wagging his tail excitedly. The vampires depended too much on 
  the blood scent. He could track someone even if they weren't bleeding. A pity 
  that vampires weren't more intelligent, or they would know that. 
  * * * * * 
  Father Rochefort rubbed his eyes and grabbed a robe. The knocking at his front 
  door was quite insistent. Once again he wondered what a full night's sleep 
  would feel like. If God had meant that his servants should survive on less 
  than six hours of sleep a night, then the least He could do was give them a 
  spiritual amphetamine for the strength to greet each new morning with grace 
  and a smile? He chuckled to himself, as the image of popping such a heavenly 
  pill came to his groggy mind. "Thanks, Lord. I guess it helps in this line of 
  work to have a sense of humor." 
  He opened the door and gazed at the strange couple. For a moment he thought 
  they were friends of Nick's.... He felt something strange from them, but it 
  wasn't as pronounced. From most vampires he felt the tiny hairs on the backs 
  of his hands tingle, a cold dread in his gut and a premonition of danger. Now 
  he wasn't sure what he felt. 
  The young man was well dressed and carried himself with a princely bearing. 
  The woman was older, perhaps old enough to be his mother and yet the priest 
  was fairly certain that she was much more than that. Moments later when he 
  invited them inside, the sparkling diamond and gold wedding band confirmed it. 
  "How may I help you?" he asked as he gestured them into the comfortable, if 
  perhaps a trifle shabby, living room. 
  "I am Jonathan Wiltierna," the young man began. "My sister's name was Tala. We 
  lost touch and I cannot find her. I understand that you buried a young woman 
  by that name. Could you please describe her to me?" 
  Father Pierre nodded compassionately. "I will try. She was young, perhaps 
  twenty-three or four, she never gave us any personal information. She had long 
  braids that came to her hips, her hair was black, and her eyes were so dark 
  that you didn't really see the iris at all. She may have been beautiful at one 
  time. She was emaciated when I met her." 
  Jonathan blinked rapidly. That certainly sounded like her. And the way she 
  died had sounded very familiar. He had seen his own father waste away after 
  his mother's death... Jonathan hadn't understood it then. He'd been angry at 
  his father for abandoning him. But he had seen it often enough to know that 
  the pain of separation was very real. 
  "She hadn't left anything behind, or I would gladly give it to you," the 
  priest was saying. "Only a few dollars, which we spent on her child." 
  "Child?" Jonathan's head snapped up. 
  "Uh, yes," the priest stammered. "Her son, Cody." 
  "Where is he now!" 
  'Oh dear,' the priest worried. He had talked Nick into adopting the little boy 
  and Nick had finally accepted the responsibility. Those two belonged together! 
  The vampire shared a close bond with the little boy; it would crush him to 
  lose him now! And it was somehow all his fault! But he had never imagined that 
  Tala would have a relative. She had been adamant in the hospital that she was 
  all-alone in the world. 
  "A young man in my parish has adopted him," Father Pierre stammered, trying to 
  find a way out of this mess that wasn't an all-out lie. Nick had started the 
  adoption proceedings, but Nick wasn't "young" by any stretch of the 
  imagination. 
  "This must stop at once. I will have her child! It is my right and my 
  responsibility." 
  Father Pierre tried to calm him, but Jonathan was halfway out the door 
  already. 
  "You tell this man to bring my nephew to me within twenty-four hours, or I 
  will contact the police!" 
  * * * * * 
  The loft was empty when LaCroix returned with Nicholas' form cradled in his 
  arms, and it was a disaster. That demon child must have ignored Nicholas' 
  command to behave himself. All of the cushions from the couch and chairs were 
  strewn beneath the kitchen table. A large blanket was spread over the table, 
  hanging down the sides and one end was draped over an overturned chair to 
  create a crawlspace into the makeshift fort. A brown paper grocery sack had 
  been cut open and spread over Nick's coffee table, where it was destroyed by 
  layers of paint in a dreadful combination of colors. The washing machine was 
  spinning on the last cycle, and the sacks of things that Jarod had brought for 
  the child had been spilled out onto the floor. He shook his head, feeling a 
  moment of empathy for young Urs. He wouldn't have thought they'd been gone 
  long enough for an army of children to have created such a mess. 
  He carried Nicholas up to bed and laid him down, quickly examining him. The 
  evening had exhausted the younger vampire. He would need rest and blood. 
  LaCroix slashed his wrist and held the wound to a matching slash he made on 
  his child's forearm. Nicholas never even stirred as his vampiric nature drew 
  in the sustenance it craved. Tenderly, he brushed at the wild blonde hair that 
  spilled down Nicholas's forehead. 
  LaCroix stood abruptly. Withdrawing his cellphone, he dialed Janette. She did 
  not answer immediately, so LaCroix focused on their mental bond and sent her a 
  sharp rebuke. 
  "Yes," she said, when at least she answered the phone. 
  LaCroix let his irritation flood over their bond. She was becoming insolent 
  now that she was separated from him by a generation. "Come here," he 
  commanded. 
  "Oui, Lucien," she said, a little petulantly. 
  Pocketing his phone, he removed Nicholas's shoes and drew the quilt up over 
  him. He would not leave him unattended, but as soon as Janette arrived, he 
  would search for Jarod. It seemed almost a hopeless cause, but LaCroix could 
  not give up now. He would continue to hunt for him until it was too late. And 
  then he did not know what he would do. 
  * * * * * 
  "Come on, Jarod, time to get your feet wet," the officer said, giving him a 
  friendly pat on the shoulder. 
  Jarod forced a smile although the officer's gesture caused his wound to 
  reopen. A small spot of blood stained the dark sleeve of the shirt he'd 
  borrowed, the navy blue uniform of a police officer. It had seemed the right 
  disguise at the time. If his new partner responded to a call, it could take 
  him away from the area and his pursuers swiftly. 
  "It was real fortunate you got here tonight," the officer remarked. "Although 
  I sure wish they would tell me these things. Steve called in sick, and Barb is 
  on personal leave." 
  "Let's go," Jarod said simply, as he climbed in beside his temporary partner. 
  "So what's the call?" The officer shook his head, clucking his tongue in 
  disbelief. "A missing child report. The babysitter took him to the mall and 
  he's gone." 
  Jarod blinked rapidly, nearly overcome with emotion. Ever since his own 
  abduction, so many years ago that he could no longer even remember it, he was 
  overly sensitive where it came to children. They belonged with their parents! 
  In his pretends, he did whatever he could to reunite families. 
  The senior officer kept up a steady stream of chatter. Jarod gazed out the car 
  window as Toronto passed by. It looked a lot like Seattle... or was it 
  Asheville? Too many cities... too many pretends. They were all blending 
  together in his thoughts, and in every memory was Miss Parker. 
  Jarod didn't understand his feelings for her. Sure, she'd given him his first 
  kiss. They'd both been about thirteen at the time. Jarod wasn't sure of his 
  own age. The Center had never celebrated birthdays, and although they kept 
  detailed records on every word he had ever uttered, no one seemed to know what 
  day he was born, or to whom, or even when he'd been abducted. Jarod could get 
  in to any computer database in the Center, but he could not find his own birth 
  certificate. 
  He didn't even know if the picture he carried were really his mom or not. 
  Someone had whispered once that she was, but later recanted and claimed that 
  she had only been his adoptive mother. For one awful month he'd actually 
  thought that Mr. Parker was his father until that blood test had proven false. 

  "You sure are a quiet one," the officer commented. 
  "What? Oh, sorry..." Jarod said, trying to force the melancholy away. A quick 
  look in the rear view mirror assured him that the sweeper's black sedan was 
  not yet pursuing him. He rolled his shoulders and tried to relax. "Long 
  night." 
  "Yeah, I guess. Moving is sure hard on a body. I read once that moving causes 
  as much stress as death and disease... I wouldn't really know. I was born 
  here." 
  The police car pulled in front of the mall's back exit where the management 
  offices were located. Jarod's partner stepped out and waited for him to 
  follow. 
  Inside the lights were too bright. Jarod glanced at his sleeve, hoping the 
  dark wet stain would go unnoticed. A crowd of concerned citizens pressed 
  around a pretty, petite blonde woman, who sounded frantic. Jarod worked his 
  way over to her. With a gentle, compassionate voice, he tried to reassure her. 

  "We'll do everything we can to find him, ma'am." 
  "You don't understand," she blurted. "I have to find him! Tonight! He's the 
  only reason Nick has to live for. And he's just a baby! Who would kidnap a 
  baby!" 
  "Nick?" Jarod asked. 
  "Nicholas Knight," she said. 
  Jarod's partner uttered a sound of surprise. "The Nicholas Knight? Of the 96th 
  precinct? I didn't know he had a kid! Who's the mother?" 
  The babysitter put a dainty hand to her forehead and rubbed. Jarod saw her 
  exhaustion. He put an arm around her and guided her to a chair. She felt cold, 
  like Nick did. And sunrise wasn't too far away. He guessed she was vampire 
  too. "Cody?" Jarod whispered. "Someone took Cody?" 
  Urs nodded weakly. 
  "Do you know if they were... your kind?" 
  She glanced at him swiftly, her brows puckered. "Who are you?" 
  "I'm Jarod." 
  "Oh dear. Nick asked me to baby-sit, because he had to find you." 
  Jarod felt a chill run down his spine. He was not a timid person. In the past 
  four years he had driven racecars and landed jets. He'd climbed mountains and 
  jumped out of airplanes. But every time he had a run-in with the Center his 
  stomach twisted in knots and his heart pounded in his chest. He hated them, 
  that they had such control over him. "Tell me what happened here tonight," he 
  said softly. 
  Urs told him about how annoyed she'd been with the baby. Cody had trashed the 
  apartment, and his favorite game was hide-and-seek. When she first realized he 
  was missing, she thought he'd only been playing with her again, although she 
  had forbidden him to hide from her. She'd searched thoroughly, getting more 
  frantic as each minute passed. When she'd rushed into the parking lot, she'd 
  caught a glimpse of a lady in black leather yanking Cody into a car. Cody'd 
  been crying. Urs tried to catch up to them, but they took off. Then 
  whispering, she added that before she could fly after them, a careless shopper 
  had hit her with his car. 
  "Are you alright?" Jarod asked. 
  Urs nodded. "But I'm sure they don't know how to take care of him! He'll be 
  hungry!" 
  Jarod nodded. "I'll get him back. I promise." 
  He felt a little guilty ditching his partner. That hadn't been in his original 
  plan. Usually when he left a pretend behind, he did it smoothly, with transfer 
  papers or whatever else was required, but there just wasn't time. He knew Miss 
  Parker had taken the child only to use as bait. Jarod knew what he had to do. 
  "They'll take him to the airport," he said. "But we'll have to hurry." 
  "I'll give you a lift," Urs offered. "If you don't object." 
  Jarod returned her shy smile with one of his own. Urs stepped in front of 
  Jarod. If she'd been mortal, she'd be six shades of red by now. What ever had 
  prompted her to fly this man anywhere? She had never done that before for any 
  human. But she knew that Jarod knew about Nick and LaCroix, and had guessed at 
  her nature as well. She knew that for some reason LaCroix wanted Jarod. With 
  that thought firmly in her mind, she found strength. 
  "Put your arms around me then, and hold on tight." She took hold of his 
  tentative grasp and gave his wrists a yank. Jarod's heart rate accelerated and 
  she felt his sudden, uncomfortable arousal. Pretending ignorance was her 
  customary defense. Then she lifted effortlessly into the night. 
  Flying was the one gift that had made her life worth living. Although she had 
  wanted Vachon to give her death instead of eternal life, she was able to 
  forget her feelings of despair and regret whenever she took to flight. Now was 
  no different. The cooling autumn temperatures slapped at her face and hands, 
  her short blonde curls would be windblown and tangled, but none of that 
  mattered. For the time it took to reach the airport, she was as free as wind, 
  as light as feathers and as graceful as a dove. 
  On her back, Jarod's desire was short lived. At first he'd been alarmed at the 
  sudden assent and speed with which they traveled, but now his heart pounded 
  excitedly. His blood called to her, sweet and innocent and so unlike any man 
  she had ever met before. She thought back to his discomfort earlier and 
  wondered if this thirty-something hunk were still a virgin? She shook her 
  head. Life was too weird sometimes. 
  At the airport they landed behind some bushes near the small hangar, which was 
  used by the private sector exclusively. Jarod's eyes were wide with wonder and 
  childish joy. "Thank you! That was - the most wonderful experience I have ever 
  had! I'll treasure it always!" 
  Urs shrugged off the praise as though it were no big deal to her, but secretly 
  she was pleased that he found as much pleasure in flying as she did. 
  Jarod suddenly ducked back into shadows, pulling Urs behind him protectively. 
  She smiled, but resisted the urge to laugh at his expense. She was never in 
  any danger. At least, not from his mortal enemies. 
  The black sedan was coming towards them, but it was still a short way off and 
  driving in a safe, unobtrusive manner. "What are we going to do?" Urs asked. 
  "I have to exchange myself for the child," Jarod sighed. 
  "NO!" Urs blurted. "I mean, you can't! What will they do with you when they 
  get you?" 
  Jarod glanced at his feet. She could smell his fear and sadness, yet his voice 
  betrayed none of his deeper emotions. "Not much. I escaped before, several 
  times. I will do so again." 
  "But Jarod, Nick needs you," she whispered. 
  "Cody needs Nick. I can't let them take him. If they discover in his blood 
  what I did, they will dissect him. They want me alive." 
  "Maybe we could-" 
  "No. Urs, don't reveal yourself at all. If things go wrong, you must get back 
  to Nick and tell him to look for Cody at the Center. In Blue Cove, Delaware." 
  Urs began to tremble. She was not afraid for herself. She had been prepared to 
  die for a century. She was afraid for Nick and for Cody, and oddly enough, for 
  this brave, selfless innocent. She touched the middle of his back and patted 
  him gently. "Be careful." 
  He nodded silently. 
  The car stopped a short distance away, between Jarod and a small aircraft. 
  Four doors opened at once, like some synchronized military invasion. Two 
  sweepers in front, one in back, and Miss Parker all stepped out of the 
  vehicle, with Cody squirming in the arms of the third sweeper. Another car 
  pulled up behind them, with Sydney, Bruts, and two more sweepers. Miss Parker 
  aimed her gun at Cody. 
  "Jarod!" she shouted, flinging a vile curse. "Jarod! I know you're watching! 
  If you don't give yourself up immediately, the brat is dead!" 
  Cody whimpered, struggling against the stranger. "Wanna go!" he cried. 
  Jarod stared, horrified. Not even Miss Parker could be that heartless, could 
  she? He watched, as if in slow motion, she cocked her gun. "Jarod! You don't 
  think I'll do it? Should I shoot off one of his fingers to prove it to you? Or 
  perhaps a thumb? The one he prefers to suck?" 
  "No!" he yelled, lunging out from behind the bushes. He heard a tattoo of 
  clicks as six guns were cocked and aimed at him. 
  "Don't shoot!" Sydney commanded. "The Center wants him alive!" 
  "Let the baby go. My life for his. Put him down," Jarod demanded. 
  Miss Parker chuckled, as though Jarod had said something immensely funny. "I 
  don't think so, Jarod. He may yet prove useful. You've been far to slippery in 
  the past, but with his life in the balance, I'm sure you'll learn to be more 
  cooperative." 
  "I won't come with you," Jarod stated, quickly calculating the distance that 
  separated them and the relative speeds at which any of them could run. He had 
  a fair chance of getting away even now, as long as they didn't actually hit 
  him. "You'll have to kill me. Let him go." 
  Miss Parker grabbed Cody's thumb and twisted it. Cody screamed, kicking the 
  sweeper with a solid shoe. The man hunched over, protecting sore genitals as 
  he swore. Miss Parker rolled her eyes in disgust. "Why does Daddy continue to 
  hire such incompetents," she growled. She yanked Cody from the sweeper and 
  pressed her gun to his temple. "Now, Jarod. I'm out of patience. Get over 
  here, Now!" 
  Jarod blinked back tears of frustration. Slowly, he took a step towards her. 
  He should turn around and run. He had no doubt that they would shoot Cody, but 
  he knew that vampires were not supposed to feel pain - not like mortals did, 
  anyway. He knew there was a chance that they would drop Cody, expecting him to 
  die, and leave him behind. Urs could save him and bring him back to Nick. 
  Jarod knew this, and yet, he just could not bring himself to let them harm 
  that little boy. 
  "Move!" Miss Parker shouted. 
  Like an errant schoolboy about to be disciplined, Jarod walked towards his 
  captors. Five sweepers surrounded him, snapping on handcuffs and forcing him 
  to his knees. Jarod struggled uselessly, angry that he'd been caught, angry 
  that Miss Parker had won. 
  "Please let him go," Jarod begged. "A child belongs with his father!" 
  "Load him in the plane," she commanded, ignoring Jarod. 
  Sydney and Bruts boarded; Miss Parker climbed in behind them. Then the 
  sweepers began to kick Jarod as they cursed at him. He heard Cody crying, and 
  maybe he heard Urs cry too. He hoped not. She had to get back to Nick. Only 
  Nick and his father now could save the baby. Stoically, Jarod suffered the 
  blows in silence until he passed out. 
  * * * * * 
  Urs jumped into the air, letting the wind carry away her tears. Why had they 
  treated him so harshly! She'd heard each kick clearly, and knew the bruises he 
  would suffer. If they valued Jarod so much, why didn't they treat him better? 
  He was kind and just and would work for them willingly, if only he felt it was 
  the right thing to do. But then, since he refused to help them, they must be 
  using him to do evil. Their actions further convinced her that they were evil 
  people. She had to find Nick and LaCroix quickly! 
  Janette greeted her at the loft. Nicholas was sleeping and LaCroix had gone 
  out in search of Jarod. Even Perry seemed to be missing. "Where is LaCroix," 
  Urs asked urgently. 
  Janette gave an indifferent shrug. "Out. He did not file a flight plan before 
  he left." 
  "Please! I must find him immediately! Jarod's been taken prisoner, and they 
  were hitting him! They took Cody, too!" 
  Janette's porcelain mask slipped momentarily at the mention of the child's 
  name. Urs would have thought it amusing under different circumstances. So the 
  ice queen had not been unmoved by the annoying, adorable little boy? "I will 
  summon him," she said. 
  Urs followed, watching Janette intently and more than a little jealous of the 
  skills LaCroix's children possessed. Janette turned a full circle until she 
  found a direction that pleased her. She didn't move, or close her eyes, or say 
  a word and yet Urs felt something as though Janette's very presence seemed to 
  double briefly. Then she turned to Urs and smiled. "He is coming." 
  The two returned inside. Urs helped herself to a beverage, automatically 
  pouring one for Janette and fulfilling the role she saw herself in, that of 
  the lesser being and servant. Janette accepted the glass without a word of 
  thanks. The two sat in silent company until LaCroix flew into the center of 
  the room. 
  "What!" he roared. 
  Janette flinched, but refused to be intimidated. "Urs asked to see you." 
  Urs clasped her hands together to still their trembling. Quickly, she told 
  LaCroix everything - that Jarod and Cody were both on a plane, possibly 
  heading towards Blue Cove. 
  LaCroix sank into the couch and held his head in his hands. "We are too late," 
  he murmured. 
  "But we can go after them," Urs insisted. 
  "We may never find them." 
  "We have to try," she urged. 
  LaCroix tilted his head up to look at her. She was a pretty child, unusual 
  with her darker complexion and pale blonde curls. He had wondered before at 
  what ancestry produced such exotic features. He gave her a paternal smile. 
  "We shall try, Ursula. But not tonight. Nicholas is exhausted. We will need a 
  well-formulated plan, for we will get but one chance at this. Go to him and 
  rest." 
  Urs dipped her head submissively. "Yes, sir." 
  Janette stared at the ancient vampire. Although she knew he could not age, 
  tonight he looked old. His shoulders slumped and his hair looked more gray 
  than blonde. The haughty demeanor was missing and instead she saw a grieving, 
  lonely man. She knelt before him and rested her hands on his thighs. 
  "Perhaps you should take your own advice?" she suggested. Her fingers soothed 
  over his trousers, working their way higher, suggesting more intimate 
  activities. 
  LaCroix placed his hands over hers, gently turning her down. "Thank you, 
  Janette," he said. "Return to Amaru tonight. Ask him and his twin to join us 
  here at dusk, if they will." 
  Janette nodded, unsure of her feelings. LaCroix had never turned her down 
  before. Was he no longer interested? Or was he getting even with her, 
  punishing her for her rudeness and disrespect this past year? But he only 
  looked old and tired. She did not see the angry, vindictive master of her 
  past. Cupping his chin in a dainty hand, she tipped his face up to meet hers 
  and placed a kiss full upon his lips. 
  "Good day, then, Lucien," she whispered huskily. 
  * * * * * 
  LaCroix paced restlessly. Janette was with Amaru and Urs was with Nick. He was 
  alone. He did not mind being alone, for usually he was his own best company, 
  but tonight he felt a yearning that demanded to be satisfied. He wished 
  Natalie were here with him, and then he was angry with himself for wanting her 
  when her work was so important to them both. Perhaps he would go out hunting? 
  But that game paled, a trivial substitute for what he truly desired. He 
  slumped onto the couch again. It would be a long day and no doubt he would 
  find little rest at all. 
  The phone rang. He glared at it and considered simply ignoring it. Although 
  his son usually slept like one dead, LaCroix did not want to risk letting the 
  mortal invention disturb him. He lifted the contrivance to his ear and 
  growled. "What!" 
  "I miss you, too, Lucien," Natalie's voice softly teased him from across the 
  world. 
  LaCroix felt a sudden tightening in his groin, his undead heart pulsed, and 
  the room glowed in amber tones. He was annoyed at his response to the mere 
  sound of her voice, and yet this was exactly what he needed tonight. "Why are 
  you calling here," he snapped, when he really wanted to ask her what she was 
  wearing. 
  "Now don't get huffy with me. I'm lonely and surrounded by beautiful but 
  arrogant men all night long. Why aren't there more women here? What is the 
  ratio of males to females among you? Am I going to be a minority?" 
  "Who is it that you find so comely," he continued, struggling to keep the 
  growl in his voice although the corners of his lips were beginning to curl. 
  "Oh, let's see. There is that doctor from Chicago, Luka Kovach. He's 
  absolutely divine. I bet half the city is missing him now. And the 
  gynecologist Takis, although I can't stand him, actually, but he is quite 
  good-looking. And of course, your old nemesis Zuhayr. He's strikingly 
  handsome, and pleasant, and very romantic. But I wanted you to know that I 
  have stayed away from them, although I realize that is probably a mortal 
  custom and it shouldn't bother you one way or the other. I really miss 
  you...." 
  LaCroix could hear the longing and loneliness clearly, now that her teasing 
  faded. He sighed. It pleased him that she had not had sex with anyone... of 
  course, sex with a vampire was a life-threatening experience for a mortal and 
  she would not be safe with anyone younger than he. That did still leave 
  Zuhayr, though. He felt his eyes change at the mere thought of that insipid 
  self-absorbed boorish vampire touching even a single hair on her head. Vampire 
  matings were never monogamous. He had willing shared Janette and Nicholas with 
  others, and with each other... he did not understand these strong, decidedly 
  mortal, emotions. 
  "A pity that you are so far away tonight," LaCroix said, trying to cover 
  deeper feelings with light-hearted banter. "I would be only to glad to... 
  offer you the comfort that you desire." 
  He heard her soft laughter, her voice sounded husky and sensuous. Two were 
  playing this game. 
  "Lucien, I am wearing the teddy you gave me. The black lace teddy... you know 
  I would never have owned such a thing a year ago. You've certainly left your 
  mark on me." 
  LaCroix chuckled, speaking around full fangs. "In more ways than one, I'm 
  sure. And in more places, as well." 
  Natalie rubbed at her neck, feeling too warm. "How soon until you can mark me 
  again?" 
  "Not soon enough," he said evasively. He was not ready yet to tell her the 
  news of Jarod and Cody. In fact, he couldn't remember what if anything he had 
  told her about Cody at all. Instead they just talked, making love with their 
  words. It was definitely the most erotic phone call he had ever had. 
  "Well, Lucien," she said later. We've accomplished nothing here. I was 
  thinking about flying home this weekend." 
  "No," LaCroix said. "We have a bit of a situation, but as soon as it is 
  resolved, Nicholas and I will join you." 
  "What's wrong?" 
  Even over the phone he could hear the rise in her heart rate. "Nicholas is as 
  well as can be expected," he quickly stated, hoping to put her at ease. 
  "What is it? LaCroix, tell me!" 
  He winced at the use of the surname Nicholas had given him so many years ago 
  as a mortal child of five. Although most called him by that, Natalie only used 
  it when she was sharpening her claws for a fight. "Nicholas's child is 
  missing. Jarod is, as well. He's been kidnapped." 
  Silence floated over the earpiece. His smile deepened as he could almost 
  visualize the emotions playing across her face. First would be surprise and 
  confusion, then skepticism and finally, most likely, disgust. He was not far 
  from wrong. 
  "Child? What child? Not that Serena lady again? The controlling b - ah, - 
  vampire in Montreal?" 
  "No," he said slowly. "I am sure you are aware that he has created children in 
  the past. I cannot name them all at the moment. They don't usually survive 
  their infancy." 
  Natalie cleared her throat impatiently. "LaCroix. I'm not going to like this, 
  am I? You are being purposefully vague, which you only do when you are trying 
  to manipulate me. Spit it out!" 
  He chuckled. It seemed easier than getting angry. Anger over the telephone was 
  incredibly unsatisfactory when there was no one around on whom to take out his 
  aggression. "The child is named 'Cody'. He is a mortal about three years old." 

  "Three years old!" Natalie exploded. "What the hell is going on over there! 
  What ever possessed Nicholas to do such a stupid thing! He told me about 
  Daniel. Three years old! What are you going to do? Kill this one, too?" 
  LaCroix's good humor ended abruptly. "Calm yourself, or I will not answer a 
  single question," he warned. He heard her draw in a deep breath and expel it 
  in a rush. He waited another moment before continuing. "The child was the same 
  one he'd been visiting at that priest's day care. The night Nicholas was 
  abducted, the child had run away and come searching for him. The bullet which 
  passed through Nicholas then struck the child, unbeknownst to anyone. The 
  child nearly bled to death. I am still not sure why he came across instead of 
  simply dying. It would have saved me the trouble." 
  "Are you going to kill him then?" she whispered, unsure she wanted to hear the 
  answer. She missed him. She loved him. But she wasn't sure she could ever live 
  with him. 
  "No." LaCroix was surprised by his own response. "At least, I am undecided. 
  Children are not allowed. It is our code. Yet Nicholas seems quite attached to 
  it. I do not want to upset him at this time." 
  Natalie sighed. "I suppose that he is feeling guilty that this happened and is 
  suffering for it?" 
  LaCroix grunted. "You know how he can be. Although he still has not regained 
  all of his memories. He seemed oddly contented earlier, before all this 
  happened with Jarod and Cody." 
  "Will you be able to rescue Jarod?" Natalie asked hesitantly. 
  "I will," he said, with more conviction than he felt. They changed the subject 
  then, whispering a few more heartfelt yearnings to each other and ending the 
  conversation on a pleasant note. Reluctantly, he hung up the phone and 
  wondered just how much longer until he had his family under one room again. 
  * * * * * 
  Urs cuddled up against Nick's back, spooning around him as close as she could. 
  She had missed him. A month ago when he had expected to die, he had helped her 
  to get settled in Dallas where she would attend night school classes. She had 
  suspected then that he was severing all ties, and yet, she did not want to 
  wait around and watch him die by inches. She'd come home just last week when 
  she'd heard that he had been abducted. 
  Nicholas slept soundly without moving for many hours. She drifted in and out 
  of rest, awaking in time when she felt his stomach ailment return. His violent 
  dreams disturbed her. She did not sense them clearly, only the suffering, fear 
  and anguish. Yet, when he did awake, Nicholas seemed unaware of the dreams at 
  all. 
  "Hello, Urs," he whispered groggily, rolling over to face her. 
  She hugged him. "My knight," she said. She leaned her cheek against his chest. 
  This was where she wanted to be. Only here. This was where she was happiest, 
  in the arms of a vampire who loved her. This was better than college, better 
  than work, better than moving on... but this was only temporary. 
  He recalled the conversation from the day before. "I don't know how long until 
  I get all of my memories back. Will you please tell me how I have offended 
  you," he urged. 
  "Even when you get your memories back, Nick, you'll probably not know what 
  you've done, so I guess that it doesn't matter." 
  Nick tightened his arms around her, leaning his cheek against her soft curls. 
  "Yes, it does, Urs. Please tell me." 
  "You want to help others all the time..." she began, as she pulled away from 
  him. "It is who you are. But you won't let anyone help you. You keep me at 
  arm's length... You tell white lies, thinking to protect me from the truth. 
  But I sense your deception and it hurts." 
  She rested her head on his shoulder. His hand found the small of her back and 
  patted it gently as he considered her words. "I'll try to remember that, Urs. 
  And I'm sorry." He kissed her hair, finding something familiar in her scent. 
  She tipped her head back to capture his mouth with a warm, inviting kiss. 
  The desire he'd tried to deny earlier rose again, strong and overpowering. 
  Without memory and without eyesight, he made love to her as though it were the 
  first time. His touch was delicate and curious, sensual yet innocent. Urs 
  responded with abandon, giving herself to him completely. Later, sated and 
  sleepy, she snuggled once again against his side, her head resting on his 
  shoulder. 
  "Urs," Nick asked hesitantly. 
  "Hm?" 
  "Total honesty... what is it like between vampires?" 
  "What is what like, Nick," she murmured, fingering the still open, sensitive 
  bite wounds on his throat. 
  "This," he said, giving her an affectionate squeeze. "I mean, recently I found 
  out that both you and Janette are my lovers, and that I've been intimate with 
  Tracy as well, who is my little sister. Vachon implied that we have exchanged 
  blood... isn't this wrong?" 
  Urs leaned up on an elbow to gaze at him. His blue eyes were clouded, confused 
  with troubling emotions. She smiled as she patted his cheek. "No, Nick. What 
  we feel when we exchange blood is perfectly normal. It is different for us 
  than mortals. The blood satisfies our sexual desires, regardless of age or 
  gender." 
  Nick considered that briefly. She felt that sharing blood with many partners 
  was normal. She obviously was not jealous to learn that he'd shared with 
  others... but he could not bring himself to tell her how the blood of his 
  little boy had aroused him. 
  He reached out with senses he did not understand. LaCroix was nearby, and 
  others as well. Nick yawned, feeling the lethargy steal over him again. He did 
  not understand it. He could not even remember how he had wound up here in bed, 
  either. Well... a few more moments wouldn't matter. He closed his eyes and 
  returned to sleep. 
  * * * * * 
  The plane lurched, tossing Jarod around like so much luggage. He groaned as he 
  fought his way back from the fog of unconsciousness. His head was throbbing, 
  but it was nothing compared to the guilt he suffered for the trouble he had 
  brought to his new friends. Nick didn't deserve to be involved in this! Nor 
  Cody, either. 
  Angrily, he struggled to his knees, groaning as he felt each new bruise. The 
  chains that held him captive did not allow him much freedom of movement. He 
  glanced around for the video camera he was sure to find. It was mounted to the 
  bulkhead. He lunged forward, brought to a sudden halt by the short chains. His 
  arms were throbbing. "Sydney! How could you do this! Damn you!" he shouted. 
  Silence greeted him. They felt sure that he would not escape, chained as he 
  was in the cargo hold like some animal while they rode in first class. He 
  hated them. He hated that they wanted to control him, and he hated that they 
  had stolen his identity, but right now, he hated how they made him feel. Like 
  a slave. Degraded. Humiliated. Debased. 
  Jarod threw himself towards the camera again. "I hate you, Sydney!" he 
  shouted. He knew the psychiatrist could hear him. He felt trapped, and it had 
  nothing to do with his chains. He was trapped by his intelligence, the very 
  thing that made the Center want him. He was imprisoned by the society that 
  refused to keep tighter controls on the businesses and research facilities 
  within its boundaries. But most of all, he felt betrayed by the only father 
  figure he had ever known. The plane dipped suddenly and twisted. Jarod was 
  thrown against the bulkhead and knocked out. 
  He didn't know how long he was unconscious. When he awoke he was in a cage, 
  undoubtedly somewhere deep in the bowels of the Center. It was not his private 
  suite from which he had escaped, nor was it one of the cells in sublevel 27 
  which he had been locked in before. This prison cage was separate, solid steel 
  bars on four sides, in the middle of a large room of cement block. There were 
  no windows, no signs, nothing to indicate where he was, only the ubiquitous 
  video cameras. Jarod should be used to them by now. He had been under their 
  invasive surveillance for as long as he could remember, but after four years 
  on his own, he found them utterly intolerable. 
  The handcuffs had been removed. He rubbed his arms, wincing as his hands 
  passed over his shoulder. Slowly, he unbuttoned the dirty police uniform 
  shirt. His ribs were covered with dark bruises, and the flesh wound in his arm 
  was infected. He tossed the shirt onto the cot. 
  "Was this your idea, Sydney!" he demanded, displaying the bruises for the 
  camera. "Is this how you treat your lab rats now?" 
  "I'm sorry, Jarod," came a quiet, gentle voice. 
  Jarod whirled around to face the elder man, angry at the tears he felt 
  pressing against his eyelids. Part of him was glad to see Sydney again, and 
  that infuriated him. "Sorry for what," he spat. "Not sorry enough to let me 
  go!" 
  "They had no call to abuse you, Jarod," Sydney said. 
  "Just keeping me is abuse! I don't want to be here!" 
  "You know that they will not let you leave, Jarod. You know too much. No one 
  ever leaves the Center. Miss Parker and I are prisoners as much as you." 
  "I don't see you in a cage," Jarod said. He gripped the bars and shook them 
  violently. "I'm not helping you any more! You and your warped little sims can 
  just go to hell!" 
  "You will work for them, Jarod. The child's life depends on it." 
  Jarod's legs buckled and he sank to the floor. His shoulders slumped, his long 
  arms wrapped around his legs as he curled into a tight little ball. He rocked 
  slowly and let the tears fall unchecked. "It won't work, Sydney. They might as 
  well let Cody die. A life in captivity isn't worth saving." 
  "You will come around, Jarod. They have no intention of killing the child, but 
  I'm sure you can imagine how miserable they can make his life." 
  "Go away. I don't want to see you again." 
  Sydney inclined his head with a sad smile. "I'm leaving, Jarod. But if you 
  wish to talk to me, you have only to ask." 
  Jarod waited until he heard footsteps retreating, before he turned to look in 
  the direction his mentor had left. "I thought you loved me," he whispered. 
  The desolation was nearly overwhelming. For first time in his life, Jarod did 
  not know what to do. He had no identity of his own. He did not know who to 
  pretend to be. 
  Time blurred. The windowless level revealed no sunrise, no sunset. The lights 
  flicked on or off at the whim of the Center, regardless of Jarod's natural 
  circadian rhythms. He didn't know when it was day or night. No food was 
  brought to him. No one came to talk to him. No demands were made, no promises 
  or lies. Jarod was alone, in the twelve-foot cage with only a cot, a sink and 
  stool, and the unblinking eye of the camera. His anger swelled, taking on a 
  life of its own, insanity personified. Jarod shouted at the camera, but no one 
  came. He tore the cot to shreds and banged on the bars of his prison with the 
  pieces, but all to no avail. Finally, he slumped in a corner and refused to 
  move again. The hunger was nothing compared to the emptiness within. 
  * * * * * 
  "Hi, pop!" Tracy called as she flounced into the loft. LaCroix glared at his 
  youngest. She was too impertinent for her own good. He would relish the 
  opportunity to remind her of her place, but he didn't really have the time 
  right now. "What is it?" he snapped. 
  Tracy glanced up the stairs meaningfully. "How's he doing?" 
  LaCroix nodded almost imperceptibly. "The same." 
  "I was thinking," she began. 
  "That's a relief." 
  Tracy glared at him, but then she ignored the caustic remark. "I mean, about 
  his amnesia. It's just too weird." 
  "How so? This has happened before, if you remember." 
  "I do. But that time he was shot. I mean, if he'd been mortal, he would have 
  died. I held him, I saw his brain tissue bleed on the pavement. When the 
  vampire repaired him, growing new tissue, it made sense that he had lost 
  memories. But a mere bump on the head should not have affected him like this." 

  LaCroix grumbled. He had thought the same himself. But then, Nicholas never 
  followed the rules. 
  "And his memory is too selective. I mean, true amnesia should be right across 
  the board. Either you have memories or you do not. But Nick remembers me 
  perfectly. He can't remember you or Natalie. He remembers Cody, but not his 
  illness. He remembers Perry but not Jody. He remembers everything about being 
  a cop, and playing piano, and his cabin up north, but nothing about that creep 
  from Chicago - Tyrone Johnson." 
  "Get to the point," LaCroix interrupted. At times he found Tracy's enthusiasm 
  refreshing, her total honesty endearing, but today he just found her tiring. 
  "This isn't physical. I think it is emotional amnesia." 
  "Nicholas is NOT mentally unstable," LaCroix hissed. 
  "I didn't say that he was. It's just that, well, you know this has been a hard 
  year for him. He's been under a lot of stress. He was even suicidal, although 
  you wouldn't let him take that way out. I think he just shut down. No more bad 
  memories, no more stress. It's sort of like a safety valve." 
  LaCroix rose from his chair in a swift, sudden movement. Tracy flinched, but 
  he did not come towards her. Instead he flew to the window and gazed out over 
  the city of Toronto. "So you feel that this too is my fault?" he whispered. 
  "No, sir." She wanted to go to him, but something held her back. LaCroix would 
  not want her pity. "Maybe you are responsible for some of the stress in his 
  life, but he alone is responsible for how he reacts to that stress. He could 
  try a lot better methods than stuffing and stewing." 
  LaCroix grunted, feeling a moment of amusement. "Stuffing and stewing" did 
  rather accurately describe his capricious, precious son. "If you are right, 
  then how do we help him?" 
  Tracy shrugged. "I'm not sure. I suppose that when he is ready to face the 
  issues, then he will remember on his own. And trying to keep his life as 
  stress-free as possible should help." 
  LaCroix said nothing. Tracy watched him silently for a few moments. It was 
  time for her to report back to work... a job she found less and less 
  fulfilling now that Nick wasn't there. She went up to her ancient master and 
  put her arms around him. "Take care, Dad." 
  He turned and drew her in to a quick embrace. "I will be leaving with him 
  soon, to search for Jarod. Then we will be going to Romania. Would you like to 
  stay here, until I send for you, or would you prefer to travel with us?" 
  "I'd better wait here," she said, surprised that he was offering her a choice. 
  "Cody's disappearance from the Mall last night is all over the news. Maybe I 
  can run a little damage control?" 
  "Diggon will be here with you," LaCroix said. "And you should contact Merlin 
  to help you with the "damage control", as you so aptly put it. Here's his 
  number." 
  Tracy read the card, memorizing it before she put it in her pocket. She gave 
  LaCroix a brilliant smile. "Sure thing, Pop!" 
  "Tracy," LaCroix warned, his voice taking on a hard edge. "Merlin is ancient. 
  You WILL show him every respect." 
  "Yes, sir," she said quietly. Then she grinned. "Not like you!" She pecked him 
  on the cheek and flew out the door before he could say another word. LaCroix 
  shook his head. He must be getting soft. 
  Nick tossed about in his bed, struggling against the sheets, which in his 
  nightmares imprisoned him. Cold blood sweat broke out on his brow. Fire burned 
  inside, branding his stomach, twisting him into knots. He sat up abruptly, 
  vomiting into the basin LaCroix held for him. Nick trembled from the last 
  vestiges of his fear, no longer remembering the dream at all. 
  "LaCroix?" 
  "Good evening, Nicholas," the vampire master said quietly. 
  Nick cocked his head, listening to the sounds in his apartment. "Where is 
  Cody?" 
  LaCroix sat down on the bed. "Nicholas, I will tell you after you have fed." 
  "No!" he stated. "Tell me now!" 
  LaCroix caught his hand where he rubbed at his stomach absently and held it. 
  "Jarod and Cody are gone. Did he ever tell you the names of those who pursued 
  him?" 
  "Gone? You mean kidnapped? We have to go look for them!" 
  "Jarod told Urs that they would take him to Blue Cove, Delaware. We need to 
  find more information before we pursue them. As soon as you are ready, I 
  thought we would start with your friend Aristotle." 
  Nick jumped out of the bed promptly, momentarily unbalanced. LaCroix steadied 
  him until he was able to walk on his own. He still felt lost in his own 
  apartment. The memories were slow in returning, but each day brought some 
  small fact back from the misty abyss of the unremembered. Quickly he showered 
  and dressed before joining the others downstairs. He identified each of them 
  by scent. Janette, Urs, Amaru and Vachon all sat around his kitchen table. 
  "Let's go," he urged, unwilling to be delayed by this impromptu family 
  reunion. 
  LaCroix brought him to a halt. "Not until you have fed, my son," he chided. 
  Nick stammered awkwardly. Although Urs had told him that sharing blood was 
  normal in all vampire relationships, there was still something about the 
  ancient that made him uncomfortable. "LaCroix, later! We must hurry!" 
  "If you are to accompany us, Nicholas, you must be strong. Otherwise, I will 
  leave you behind." 
  Nick's mouth dropped. "You wouldn't!" 
  LaCroix said nothing. He allowed his age and power to slip through the 
  barriers he usually maintained, as he intimidated the younger vampire into 
  compliance. 
  Timidly, Nick stepped closer. He held his hand before him, moving until his 
  knuckles brushed against the long coat LaCroix had donned. Another step 
  brought him into the circle of his master's embrace. 
  He was hungry. Ever since Cody had disappeared, he had felt such an ache in 
  his gut that would not be appeased by mere blood. The bottled variety came 
  back up instantly. LaCroix's cold, ancient fluid soothed at least for a time, 
  but always he felt the burning dread of worry. 
  LaCroix tilted his head to bare the carotid artery for his precious son. It 
  was increasingly difficult to mask his deeper emotions, but for some reason 
  Nicholas was still afraid of him. He sensed it in the way the younger vampire 
  trembled whenever they touched, the way he kept himself an arm's length away, 
  and over their shared mental bond that remained open now that his memories 
  were locked away. 
  Nick licked at the sensitive throat, bringing the artery close to the surface 
  as it pulsed with thick, rich blood. His fangs lengthened, and he felt the 
  change come over him. Restraint was destroyed in an eye blink. All that 
  mattered was the blood. He struck, sinking his teeth in deep, drinking 
  heartily, sucking, craving, desiring all that his master had to give. 
  Slowly, he gulped the blood, soothing his tortured stomach. Nick felt the 
  passion build and crest, the tremors shook through him. Although he was 
  embarrassed that so many were present to witness this intimacy, he was 
  powerless to stop the sigh of contentment that escaped. Withdrawing from the 
  throat, he buried his face in his master's shoulder. 
  A gentle hand massaged the back of his head. A whispered word of endearment 
  caressed his cheek. Then LaCroix steadied him, stepping back. "Shall we go?" 
  Nick nodded, his face still downcast. 
  Before they got as far as the door, however, there was a buzzing sound below. 
  Automatically, Nick tapped the intercom. "Yes?" he asked. 
  "Nick? It's Father Pierre. May I come up?" 
  Nick felt restless and anxious to go, and yet, one did not say "no" to a 
  priest. LaCroix grunted disdainfully when Nick told him to come right up. 
  The lift rattled as it carried the visitor. Father Pierre entered, extending 
  his hand in welcome. Nick accepted it and gave a warm shake. A vague memory 
  stirred. He recalled that the priest was very young, with dark hair and a 
  gentle face, and he remembered sitting in a large room surrounded by children 
  and toys and a warm, contented feeling. Beyond that, there was nothing. 
  "Nick, I'm sorry to bring you such news at this time. But I was wrong to urge 
  you to adopt Cody. I thought he was an orphan. I am so sorry to tell you this, 
  but his uncle came to me yesterday. Nick, we must turn the child over to him." 

  Nick felt a stab somewhere around his heart. "No," he breathed. "No! Cody is 
  my son. He is my responsibility!" 
  LaCroix stepped in front of Nicholas protectively. "The child belongs to 
  Nicholas. There is nothing your mortal laws can do." 
  The priest stammered apologetically. "I realize that this unfortunate 
  circumstance is all my fault. I encouraged Nick to get involved. I thought 
  that he and the child would be good for each other. The mother told me that 
  there were no living relatives. I had no reason to doubt her. But this man has 
  brought birth certificates, and a will, listing him as the child's legal 
  guardian." 
  LaCroix narrowed his eyes at the priest. "That would be just fine if the child 
  were still mortal." 
  Father Pierre gasped. "What? You mean? You didn't! Not a baby! Oh dear God, 
  what have I done!" 
  Nicholas clamped a hand over his mouth as his vampire stomach threatened to 
  heave. Urs rushed to place a bucket in his grasp just in time. LaCroix 
  supported him, for the violent spasms seemed to shake the strength right out 
  of him. When at last it was over, a heavy silence fell. Urs took the bucket 
  away and Nicholas collapsed into his master's arm. 
  LaCroix held him close to his breast as he glared at the priest. "You will 
  leave now," he hissed. 
  "I'm sorry," Nick whispered. 
  Urs stepped forward. In her quiet, unassuming way, she took charge of the 
  situation. "Father, no one meant to bring the child across. It was an 
  unfortunate accident, but it cannot be undone. Also, Cody is no longer here - 
  he's being held hostage. We were just going after him. When we return, LaCroix 
  will be meet with this uncle and straighten everything out." 
  The priest nodded slowly in understanding. Then he stepped closer and laid a 
  hand on Nick's shoulder. At once LaCroix felt his son's agony lift. "Forgive 
  me, Nicholas," Father Pierre whispered. "I did not mean to upset you. I will 
  pray for you and the child. Perhaps this is somehow all part of God's plan." 
  Nick struggled to stand free from LaCroix's support. His face was ashen and 
  his hands trembled slightly, but he stood erect. "Thank you, Father," he said. 
  "I will call you when we return." 
  The priest let himself out. When the lift was empty, the vampires ventured 
  forth. 
  Aristotle met them at the door. His apartment was humming with the sound of 
  the computer equipment he maintained. With a gracious flair he welcomed them 
  inside, serving his finest vintage in crystal goblets. No one was ever quite 
  sure of his age, only that while he was perhaps as old as LaCroix, he had 
  always been more Nicholas's friend. The ancient Roman had little fondness for 
  him, but he remained civil. 
  "Now," Aristotle began, when everyone had been served. "You are looking for 
  someone. Mortal searches are simple things, really. Far easier than searching 
  for one of us. What is his full name?" 
  "He doesn't know," Nick said. "He just goes by 'Jarod'." 
  Aristotle's brow puckered. The simple task just got a bit tougher. "That is 
  peculiar. What is his age then?" 
  "He doesn't know that either." 
  "Birthday?" 
  Nick shook his head. 
  "Where does he live?" 
  Nick sighed. "Why don't I tell you what I do know, and then we'll take it from 
  there." 
  Aristotle sank into his computer stool. "Fine," he said, sounding defeated 
  already. 
  Nick told him what little Jarod had mentioned in the few days that he had 
  stayed with him. Jarod had been kidnapped as a small child, raised in a 
  laboratory, and trained to be a pretender. The only people he knew in his 
  sheltered childhood were a psychiatrist called Sydney, Miss Parker - the 
  boss's daughter, and Bruts, a computer whiz and grunt worker. He knew a Mr. 
  Rains, who was evil personified, and Angelo, an autistic-savant who had once 
  been nearly as brilliant as Jarod but was the unfortunate victim of one of Mr. 
  Rains illegal human experiments. For a while he had thought his father was 
  Major Charles, although he had no proof, and later a blood test revealed that 
  they shared no genetic similarities. 
  "They are destroying his life," Nick ended. "He has to live in hiding, running 
  from place to place. He is afraid to get close to anyone, for fear the 
  Center-" 
  "The Center?" Aristotle and LaCroix exclaimed together in a loud burst. 
  Nick jumped at the sudden noise. He nodded tentatively. "Yes." 
  "Nicholas, why didn't you tell me this sooner," LaCroix whispered, defeat 
  mingling with fear as he rubbed at his forehead. 
  "Do you know this place?" Nick asked urgently. 
  Aristotle swore, something he rarely did. "Nicholas, the Center is notorious, 
  even among our kind. No one willingly confronts them. They are just too 
  powerful." 
  Nick set his chin stubbornly. "I'm going to get my son! I'm not afraid." 
  Aristotle started to rebuke him, but LaCroix gestured for silence. "Nicholas. 
  The Center has been around for a very, very long time. If you had your 
  memories, you too would have recognized that. We've dealt with them before." 
  "Tell me now." 
  LaCroix drew a deep breath. "The triumvirate, the power behind the Center 
  among other things, began before I was born. They weren't known as the Center 
  then... but they were no less involved in world affairs. Who do you think 
  orchestrated the murder of Julius Caesar? Or Charlemagne's rise to power? Or 
  the tangled alliances that plunged the world into war with the death of that 
  Serbian, Gavrilo Princip?" 
  "But, they are just mortals," Nick murmured. "Aren't they?" 
  "They are mortals who know about us, Nicholas. What do you remember of Nazi 
  Germany?" 
  Nick looked inward. That word was powerful, evoking strong emotions. He 
  recalled pain and shame, but he could not remember the reason why. He 
  shuddered, uncertain that he wanted to remember at all. 
  "The Center supported Hitler. They were doing genetic experiments, using 
  vampire blood to try to create a perfect species. The Arian race would be 
  stronger, heal faster, and be virtually indestructible. You, Nicholas. They 
  were using you in their experiments." 
  Nick felt the terror rise and nearly overwhelm him. LaCroix was at his side at 
  once, comforting him. 
  "It is over, Nicholas. It was a long time ago. But that is the power you would 
  have us conquer tonight." 
  Nick gulped, wiping sweaty palms on his trousers. "You beat them before, 
  LaCroix, you can do it again." 
  LaCroix sighed. "I see I am getting no where with you. What would you have me 
  do, Nicholas? Blow them up, drain every last one? They KNOW about us! They are 
  too dangerous!" 
  Nick wasn't listening. He nodded, talking to himself. "It could work... I 
  think I learned enough from Jarod to fake it." 
  "Explain yourself," LaCroix demanded. 
  "You'll be a recent appointee of the triumvirate to take over the pretender 
  program. I'll be your star pretender. We won't use our vampire abilities to 
  rescue Jarod, then... we'll outsmart them at their own game." 
  LaCroix laughed. "Nicholas, you are absurd! But I like it!" 
  Nick set his glass aside. "Vachon and Amaru could be your personal security 
  detachment, Urs your secretary. Janette might be your daughter and associate, 
  the vampire equivalent of Jarod's Miss Parker? Who else do you think we should 
  get?" 
  "I will come," Aristotle said solemnly. "If you idiots manage to get inside, 
  you'll need me to get into their computer system. I'm sure the Center has more 
  sophisticated technology than anything either of you have ever seen." 
  "I don't see much these days," Nick admitted with a grin. He clapped his old 
  friend on the shoulder. "But I'd be grateful for your help." 
  LaCroix smiled. It was good to see Nicholas like this, excited and focused. 
  "We must plan carefully, my son," he cautioned. "We will get only one chance. 
  And the consequences could prove deadly." 
  * * * * * 
  Cody tossed the spoon to the floor and laughed. He kicked his feet, causing 
  the high chair to teeter precariously, then he slapped his hands down on the 
  mashed potatoes on his tray. Soft white globs splattered out, painting the 
  lady in the white lab coat and getting her glasses smudged. He giggled again. 
  Squishing his fingers, the warm potatoes mushed in his hands, then he rubbed 
  them into his hair until his fingers were clean. 
  "Go bye-bye!" he asked, slapping the tray again. 
  "No," the lab tech snapped, catching his wrists. "Don't do that!" 
  Cody moved his hands across the surface of the tray from side to side with 
  sudden, jerky motions, sending the last of the potatoes to the floor. 
  "That's it," the lab tech snapped. "If you play with your food, then you shall 
  go hungry!" 
  "I hungry!" Cody stated firmly. "Wanna eat!" 
  The tech took the tray away and set it in a sink. "Now you will have to wait 
  until dinner." 
  Cody squirmed as the woman washed his hands and scrubbed at his hair with a 
  wash cloth. "Where Daddy?" 
  She lifted Cody down from the high chair and spoke into the camera that was 
  mounted in an upper corner of the room. "Subject does not seem especially 
  bright. Speech is delayed, and coordination seems to be as well. It is not 
  known if this is environmental or hereditary at this point." 
  Cody ran to the door and tried to pull on the knob. "Go bye-bye, now!" 
  "Cody, I want to see you do a puzzle," the tech said, trying to sound 
  cheerful. 
  "No." 
  "Cody, this is fun. Let me see what a bright boy you are." 
  "No!" 
  "Cody, look, see? This is a fun puzzle." 
  Cody glared at the tech. With a swift motion, he brushed the puzzle off the 
  low table onto the floor. "Go now!" he demanded. 
  "We have ways to make little boys cooperate," the tech hissed. 
  Cody was unimpressed. He dragged one of the small chairs over to the door, 
  using it to reach the doorknob. The knob was stiff, it didn't want to turn. 
  Cody gripped it firmly with both hands, grinding his teeth as he tried to 
  force it to open. The tech grabbed him and lifted him off the chair. Cody 
  kicked his feet, striking the tech firmly in the chest. She nearly dropped 
  him. "You little brat," she cursed. 
  "Enough," snapped another woman's voice, as the door opened and she stepped 
  inside. "Remind me to put it in your record that you should never work with 
  children. You just don't have a knack for it." 
  "Miss Parker," the tech said, instantly apologetic. "Perhaps you'd like a try. 
  This child is hopeless. He does not belong at the Center." 
  "Cody," Miss Parker said sweetly. "I have a new tricycle for you. If you will 
  stay close to me, I will let you ride it in the hallway. Would you like to 
  show it to your friend Jarod?" 
  Cody nodded his head, sucking his thumb. He reached out to the lady with a 
  trusting hand, sending a glare over his shoulder to the incompetent tech. The 
  new lady was the same one who took him from Urs. Maybe she was ready to take 
  him back. 
  The tricycle looked new. It was bright, shiny red with a white stripe and red 
  and white streamers in the handlebars. He hopped on and began at once to pump 
  the pedals. The trike scooted ahead to the end of the short hallway. He turned 
  and grinned at Miss Parker, waiting for her to catch up with him. "Where my 
  daddy?" 
  "Jarod is this way," she said, leading him down the hallway to the left. They 
  entered an elevator, riding it down several levels. When the door opened, it 
  was only a short distance to Jarod's cell. 
  Cody rode right up to the cell until his front tire bumped into one of the 
  bars. "Jarod," he shouted, excited to see somebody he knew. 
  "Cody," Jarod whispered. He blinked in confusion. Hunger and lack of sleep 
  made him groggy. "Is it you?" 
  "Wanna go bye-bye," Cody said sadly. 
  "Me too." 
  Miss Parker walked closer, her high heels clicking a noisy tattoo on the 
  cement floor. "How touching. Maybe we should do a blood test on him, maybe 
  he's really yours." 
  Jarod shook his head. His lips were dry and cracked, his tongue didn't quite 
  want to work. "Impossible," he stammered. 
  Cody was three years old. Three years and nine months ago, Jarod had still 
  been innocent of the ways between men and women. Although he had been 
  thirty-something when he had escaped from the center, he had never been in 
  love, never been kissed, or hugged, or loved. 
  Cody climbed down from the tricycle and tried to fit between the narrow bars 
  of the prison. "Uh- Uh!" he demanded, reaching for Jarod. 
  Jarod took his small hand and held it, reassuring himself that Cody was really 
  there, that he was still alive, and not another vision that lurked somewhere 
  between dreams and nightmares. The hand was cold, but that was normal, Jarod 
  recalled. He had to get Cody out before the center did any experiments on his 
  blood, before they discovered the strange anomalies of the vampire child. 
  "Please, Miss Parker..." he whispered. "Please, let me hold him, just for a 
  minute?" 
  "I don't trust you, not even for half a minute," she said snidely. 
  "You hold the gun," he pointed out. "Once you had a soul, not that long ago. 
  You were somebody loveable. Thomas loved you.... Please?" 
  Miss Parker flinched at the mention of her deceased fiancé. Two years ago she 
  had thought she could take a leave of absence, get married, and have a life. 
  But Thomas had been brutally murdered. Although she had no proof, she knew the 
  Center had him killed. "If you try anything, Jarod, I swear, I will shoot the 
  child," she vowed. 
  Jarod crawled away from the door to his cell. He was weak and dizzy, his face 
  unshaven, his hair uncombed. He felt dirty all over and was ashamed to let her 
  see him like this. Miss Parker unlocked the door, holding her gun in one hand 
  as she shoved Cody through the narrow opening, quickly locking it again. 
  Cody ran into Jarod's arms and hugged him. Jarod cuddled the small boy. "Do 
  you remember your daddy, Cody?" he whispered. 
  "Uh-huh." Cody stared at him with solemn eyes. 
  "I want you to think about him," Jarod said, keeping his voice too low for the 
  sensitive camera to pick up. He had discovered that vampires had excellent 
  hearing. "Think about him all the time. Try to picture him in your mind. Call 
  to him. Nick will come for you, Cody. You have to believe that! Don't ever 
  forget him!" 
  Cody wrapped his arms around Jarod's neck. "I hungry," he whispered. 
  Jarod was weak, but he could not refuse. Craning his neck to offer it to Cody, 
  he patted the child's back, trying to keep Miss Parker from realizing what 
  exactly he was doing. Cody must have been very hungry... the small child 
  continued to suck from him, draining his blood and the last of his strength 
  away. "Remember, Cody," he whispered, just before he passed out. 
  Cody licked the wounds, closing them as Nick's daddy taught him to. The prison 
  door rattled as Miss Parker entered, pulling him from Jarod's lap. "Sydney," 
  she snapped at the camera. "Get a doctor down here. Your prize guinea pig 
  isn't doing too well!" 
  * * * * * 
  Samantha sat on her haunches and watched her young husband as he raced across 
  the hillside. She had transformed herself into wolf form using her magic, 
  which was not quite the same as Changing, but it did offer her an interesting 
  glimpse into his life. The fur coat was comfortable. She could get used to it. 

  Jonathan was magnificent. His powerful shoulder muscles bunched and stretched 
  taut with each fierce leap. His paws thundered across the earth. His tongue 
  lolled to one side and he was panting heavily, yet still he ran like one 
  driven, as he struggled to control his rage. The moonlight glinted off his 
  silver-tipped, black coat, adding to the magic of the moment. Sam held her 
  breath and stared in awe. Life with him was something new, something precious 
  to be treasured. 
  At last the werewolf collapsed on the ground in front of her. He flopped onto 
  one side and lay, barely moving but for the rise and fall of his deep chest. 
  Sam hovered over him. Tenderly, she nuzzled him, licking at his fur coat to 
  comfort him with her presence. 
  Slowly, Jonathan shimmered and Changed, returning to the handsome young man 
  she had married. He remained on the ground, exhausted and naked. Sam twitched 
  her nose and became herself again, dressing both of them in casual clothes. 
  "Why is this child so important?" she asked softly. 
  Jonathan stretched. He sighed as he moved to lay his head in her lap. She 
  scratched behind his ear, tugging gently on the thick ruff of hair. 
  "I'm not sure," he said, as he tried to verbalize emotions he didn't 
  understand. "Other than the fact werewolf children suffer when brought up by 
  mortal parents. As they mature more slowly, they are frequently compared 
  unfavorably to their mortal peers. Their wolf-nature is denied... sometimes 
  they never quite recover." 
  "But this is more personal," Sam suggested. "Isn't it?" 
  Jonathan shrugged. "I guess." 
  "Perhaps you feel you must give this child what you never had? Love, support, 
  freedom...." 
  "I would be a good father!" Jonathan snapped, sitting up suddenly. 
  "I never said you wouldn't. But, you should consider the child's needs, not 
  your own. With an open mind, let us meet this man who wants to adopt Cody." 
  Jonathan ducked his head sheepishly. "Of course, Samantha. You are right." 
  * * * * * 
  Vachon drove them to the airport in his battered, rusting van. By the time 
  they arrived, LaCroix had reached a pilot willing to fly them to Delaware 
  immediately. Amaru tossed their hastily packed luggage into the cargo hold, 
  while LaCroix escorted Nicholas inside. Aristotle went over their destination 
  with the pilot, a mortal ignorant of the ways of the nightshift, but who 
  understood the language of money well. He had worked for LaCroix on other 
  occasions and been well compensated. 
  The plane was fairly large and the ultimate in comfort. Overstuffed chairs and 
  couches were bolted to the carpeted floor in small conversational 
  arrangements, instead of the rows of narrow seats common to commercial jets. 
  Aristotle went to far corner and plugged in his laptop. "I'll try to get 
  inside their system before we land," he said to no one in particular. "I think 
  that they should send a limo out to meet our plane. Force them to accept us 
  before we step inside the Center." 
  Janette sighed. "This all sounds so very dull," she murmured. Her fingers 
  trailed over Amaru, igniting an amber glow to his dark features instantly. 
  Vachon and Urs drifted off together, to find a dark corner themselves. LaCroix 
  helped Nicholas into a seat directly over the wing. It was the safest part of 
  the plane he had heard, but until now he had never given it a second thought. 
  Nick leaned back wearily. He was already restless and the plane hadn't even 
  lifted yet. 
  "I know my first wish," he said suddenly. 
  LaCroix shifted uneasily. He had never actually promised, and yet, he knew his 
  son would cry foul if he backed out now. "You wish the trip to end?" he 
  suggested, stalling. 
  "I want your protection over Cody." 
  "No." LaCroix glared at the younger vampire. 
  "Why! Then what is this trip all about, LaCroix? Why should I help you find 
  him, if you mean to do him harm!" 
  Nick tried to stand, but LaCroix restrained him. Although the flight was as 
  smooth as they come, he didn't want to risk Nick injuring himself. 
  "You must help him," Nick pleaded. "Please!" 
  "I cannot, Nicholas. The Code cannot be broken." "Damn the Code! If you love 
  me as you claim, you would do this without forcing me to beg!" 
  "Nicholas, we do not bring children across-" 
  "You brought Daniel!" 
  LaCroix's eyebrows raised in surprise as he considered his child. "So. Another 
  memory." 
  "Harm him and you will destroy me," Nick murmured. There was no threat in his 
  voice, only a quiet conviction. 
  "Nicholas, I-" 
  "I'll do anything!" Nick blurted. "Anything! Tell me what I can do to change 
  your mind!" 
  "A trade?" LaCroix replied, already warming to the possibilities. "You will 
  grant me a wish for each wish?" 
  Nick hesitated only a moment. He sensed he was treading in turbulent waters. 
  "Yes." 
  "Very well. I wish for you to explain to me your reticence in sharing blood." 
  Nick clamped his mouth closed. He had expected to perform some menial act, to 
  serve the master and confirm his power over him, but this moment of truth 
  caught him by surprise. "I'm not sure that I know myself," he whispered 
  truthfully. 
  "Try." 
  "It is so... sensual," Nick began. 
  LaCroix waited, patiently allowing the younger vampire to put words to his 
  confused emotions, while he moved tentatively along their bond. He sensed 
  Nicholas's embarrassment as clearly as his desire. He always had been one of 
  strong conflicts. 
  "It is incredible, what I have shared with Urs, and yet, I learn that she and 
  I were only casual lovers. I haven't had a chance to share with Janette for 
  comparison. But one morning, I... I... experienced that same," Nick broke off. 
  He turned away from his master, struggling to conceal his shame. 
  "What, Nicholas," LaCroix prodded firmly. 
  "I felt aroused by my own child." 
  Nick was silent for so long that LaCroix wondered when he had finished his 
  telling. "And?" he said. 
  "And? And isn't that enough! I was turned on by a baby! How sick can you get! 
  I should let him alone, far away from me, but I find I need him! I want him 
  back! And I fear for him, that others will harm him, but how can I know that I 
  will be any better?" 
  The self-loathing was so thick that LaCroix could almost see it. "Nicholas," 
  he whispered, trying to calm his child. "The taking of blood is always an 
  erotic experience. This is what we are. Why does this distress you?" 
  "He is my child, LaCroix. This is wrong!" 
  "It would not seem wrong, Nicholas, if Cody were older. You and I have shared 
  such for centuries. You have enjoyed it, and even desired it. When I drink 
  from you, I mark you as mine. It protects you from many who might seek to do 
  you harm. When you drink from me, you are strengthened and confirmed in our 
  nature. This is what it means to be vampire." 
  "I did not feel this way when I drank from Jarod," Nick whispered miserably. 
  "You drank from him?" LaCroix had not known. That might come in useful, but 
  probably not. Too much time had passed for Nick to maintain any vestige of 
  Jarod's incredible talents. The skill gained in blood was temporal at best. 
  "You had been injured, had you not? Perhaps your vampire nature was acting in 
  desperation. The instinct to survive was all consuming, blocking the more 
  erotic experience in an effort to take what was needed as quickly as possible. 
  If you drink from him again, I am sure that you would find it a more intimate 
  encounter." 
  "But what about Cody? He is too young to know what this is about," Nick 
  murmured. 
  "Yes, Nicholas. He is," LaCroix agreed sadly. 
  Nick was silent for a time. LaCroix was not pleased to have won the argument, 
  but the Code would not bend for Cody. The child vampire would not be permitted 
  to exist. 
  "So, we have a deal," Nick said then. 
  "What?" 
  "The trade. I explained myself to you, and now you will protect Cody." 
  "Nicholas!" LaCroix exploded. 
  Nick smiled widely, a look of devilish innocence on his cherished face. 
  "Nicholas," LaCroix repeated. "You just said that Cody was too young for the 
  gift. How can you force him to live an eternity as a little boy? Never to grow 
  up, never to learn how to protect himself, never to be four years old, though 
  he may exist for centuries?" 
  "He won't," Nick said quietly. 
  "I don't understand." 
  "He hasn't had much of a life, LaCroix. His parents ignored him, then 
  abandoned him. He would not have been on that street that night, if he had not 
  been looking for me. He should still be mortal, he should still live with two 
  loving parents, and have all the joys and trials of childhood. But that was 
  taken from him. I cannot give it back or undo the wrongs that have been 
  visited upon him. But I can give him time. For sixty-five years, the span of a 
  normal life, I will protect him. I will love him as he deserves to be loved. 
  Perhaps I could spoil him just a little. Then, when his mortal days would have 
  ended, I will give him eternal sleep. But it shall be my task and no one 
  else's. This is the deal." 
  "Do you honestly think you can do this, Nicholas?" LaCroix asked, gazing at 
  his child with admiration. 
  Nick blinked rapidly, the telltale trace of his emotion clinging to his long 
  lashes. He nodded firmly. "I will do it." 
  "Then we shall bind this pact in blood, my son," LaCroix challenged. 
  Nick touched the buttons at his throat, slowly undoing them. He had known that 
  it would come to this. Perhaps he had desired it, just as LaCroix had 
  suggested, even as it terrified him. He slipped to kneel before his master. 
  His fangs had lengthened already in anticipation. Words came to him, a ritual 
  from the distant past, a memory out of time and sequence that he could not 
  place. He voiced them now, wishing he could see the ancient one before him to 
  know how he was affected. 
  "All that I am, and all that I have, I offer to thee, my master, my teacher, 
  and my dearest friend." 
  LaCroix's voice was thick as he responded in kind. "I vow my eternity to 
  protect and to cherish thee, my child, my brother, my closest -" He could not 
  complete the ritual. He drove his fangs into his son's throat, tears of 
  passion streaming down his chiseled features. 
  Nick felt his blood flow out of him as his master suckled. He caught one of 
  the tears on his fingertip and brought it to his lips to taste. The desire was 
  incredible, the promise nearly suffocated him with its intensity. Then he 
  returned the bite. 
  The ancient circle was complete. Blood flowed from one to the other, cold 
  blood made hot with need. Nick felt the tremors build and shudder through him, 
  even as his master trembled in his arms. The taste of LaCroix deepened, until 
  he tasted himself in his master's blood. He tasted his own arousal, his own 
  completion, as the passion crested and burst in a shattering explosion of 
  ecstasy. Tenderly, each removed their teeth, lapping at the sensitive throat 
  of their beloved, yet still they clung to one another. 
  "I need you, LaCroix," Nick murmured, awestruck. "How could this be wrong, 
  when all that I am cries out for you?" 
  LaCroix kissed the golden head. For once no lecture came, only the quiet 
  contentment over their bond. His son had finally come home. 
  A motorcade was waiting for them when the plane landed. LaCroix nodded to 
  Aristotle, acknowledging his efforts. Then he assumed the role Nicholas 
  himself had selected for him. The arrogant, evil, powerful, manipulative Lucas 
  Venduros, the new head of the pretender program. 
  Vachon and Amaru had been briefed on their roles as well. They were to act as 
  LaCroix's bodyguards, willing to take a bullet for him. The vampire twins 
  shrugged indifferently. A bullet would likely pass right through them both and 
  into the ancient vampire anyway, but they were willing to play the game. 
  Urs had changed. She wore a tight-fitting short skirt, a soft, feminine 
  sweater, and a tasteful touch of jewelry. As LaCroix/Venduros' secretary, she 
  might also share his bed when the mood struck him. 
  Janette would be "herself"- a spoiled, pampered daughter of the powerful 
  master. She was dressed in an expensive suit of emerald suede that skimmed 
  over her hips like second skin. Once inside the Center, she was to capture Mr. 
  Parker's attention and distract him. 
  Aristotle always looked like the bookish sort. He would be LaCroix's 
  equivalent to Mr. Bruts, in charge of research and technology. 
  Nicholas was sound asleep. Perry nuzzled him, nipping at his fingers to wake 
  him. Groggily, Nick rubbed at his eyes. 
  "Get up," Amaru hissed, yanking him to his feet. He was rough and insulting, 
  just in case anyone from the Center was watching. It had been discussed just 
  how the pretender should be treated. Aristotle had been able to access some 
  Center archives and learned that as gifted and valuable as Jarod was to the 
  Center, they treated him abominably. Nick had argued that perhaps they should 
  show the center a better way, but LaCroix reminded him that they could only 
  fight one battle at a time. 
  Nick rose swiftly, swaying unsteadily on his feet. Perry bared his teeth and 
  growled menacingly at Amaru. "Down boy," Nick whispered. He patted the Golden 
  Retriever affectionately. "Remember, we must all play our part. You too." 
  Perry's tail hung low between his legs. He was still angry with himself that 
  he had been unable to track the mortal. Now, he was denied the right to 
  protect his charge as well? 
  Nick took a grip on Perry's harness, then exited from the plane. He felt the 
  bond between himself and his master weaken. LaCroix must already be in one of 
  the cars, he realized. Janette had left with him. Nick let the guide dog bring 
  him towards one of the other vehicles. Vachon nudged him along, nearly 
  knocking him down. "Keep it moving, pretty boy," he snapped. 
  "Where is Lucas?" he asked nervously, beginning the charade. 
  "Shut up and get in." Vachon opened the door for Nick and pretended to shove 
  him, although it was with a gentle touch that he guided his friend into the 
  rear seat of the limo. He got in beside him; Amaru got in on the other side, 
  sandwiching their Pretender safely. Perry lay at Nick's feet, his head resting 
  on his paws. He did not like this at all. His hackles tingled. Someone was 
  going to get hurt and it was probably going to be Nick. 
  Sweepers from the Center joined them in the limo. Nick felt the subtle lurch 
  as the large vehicle smoothly accelerated. He felt a little hungry. Vachon's 
  scent assailed him from both sides. Nick didn't think that he knew Vachon's 
  twin. He wasn't sure that he had ever tasted him, but Vachon's blood flowed in 
  Amaru's veins. The sensation was nearly overpowering. His fangs hurt, his 
  stomach hurt. 
  "How long?" he asked quietly. 
  "Did I say you could talk?" Amaru snapped. 
  Nick flinched. He knew it was just a game. He could vaguely sense the 
  vampire's concern for him, which made it harder to react as he should. Nick 
  concentrated, trying to recall when he had ever been in a similar situation, 
  but his past was still foggy at best. He remembered clearly, though, the 
  feelings he'd experienced in Jarod's blood. He became Jarod... the most 
  intelligent man alive, and emotionally, a wounded little boy still searching 
  for love. For the first time he was grateful for his stomach affliction, as it 
  fit in well with his character. He rubbed at his stomach again. 
  "Oh shit, no, you aren't going to do that in here, are you?" Vachon said, 
  mimicking his twin's tone. He reached into his pocket and withdrew the small 
  flask, offering it to Nick. It was LaCroix's own blood. Nick gratefully took 
  it, chugging several deep swallows before Vachon snapped it away. "Okay, 
  that's enough." 
  "Why don't you keep him on a leash?" one of the Center sweepers asked 
  derisively. 
  Amaru shrugged. He was the more dominant of the two and naturally took charge 
  now. "He's blind. He can't run very fast. Where's he gonna go?" 
  "A blind pretender," he grunted. "Worthless. Never heard of that before." 
  "I read you just fine," Nick said. "You're a short book." 
  Amaru elbowed him. "I thought I told you to shut up." 
  "No, let him speak," the sweeper said. "Let's see what he's worth." 
  Amaru folded his arms across his chest exuding irritation, but he shrugged. 
  Nick took that as permission. He reached out with the strange abilities he did 
  not understand. 
  "You're single," Nick began. 
  "No duh. All sweepers are," he snapped. "It's a dangerous job, they wouldn't 
  hire a family man." 
  "But you would not marry if you were free," Nick said. "You have no interest 
  in women." 
  The sweeper's heart rate increased. Nick heard him shift uncomfortably in the 
  seat. He tried to focus on him. Then images pelted him, fast, clear, strong 
  scenes of the stranger whom he had never seen before. 
  "You're in love with him," Nick said. 
  "Shut up," the sweeper blurted. "You know nothing!" 
  "The bald man... he toys with you. He's told you it means nothing, but you 
  wish-" 
  The sweeper lunged for him, striking him across the face. Amaru and Vachon 
  grabbed his arms firmly and shoved him back into his seat. 
  "No one touches Venduros' favorite," they said in tandem. 
  The sweeper rubbed his wrists where bruises were already forming. The younger, 
  slender sweepers protecting the pretender were stronger than they looked. 
  "He's wrong," the sweeper said defensively. He glared at his partner. "He's 
  wrong!" 
  The other simply shrugged. "Hey, whatever gets you off. But anyone involved 
  with Mr. Rains has a way of just disappearing one day. Watch yourself." 
  Nick licked at the small trickle of blood that dripped from the corner of his 
  mouth. He felt something from the other Center employees then... admiration 
  or, was it belief? He had convinced them just that simply that he was what he 
  claimed to be? He rode the rest of the way in silence while he worked to 
  remember as much as he could about them. He tried to categorize them by their 
  scent and whatever emotions he could glean from them. Whenever a name was 
  mentioned, he added that to his memory as well. Although he still lacked most 
  of his past, he found that his current memory worked perfectly. 
  The limo stopped and Amaru opened the door. He grabbed Nick by the shoulder, 
  helping him to the curb. Nick inhaled, trying to remember this as well. He 
  smelled the ocean faintly. And dead grass and pine trees and leaf mold and 
  cement. He smelled car exhaust and human sweat. He felt the press of vampires 
  and humans surround him as he was escorted inside the massive stone structure 
  called The Center. 
  "Where's Lucas?" he asked again. "Take me to him, please?" 
  "Later," Vachon said. 
  "We're supposed to take him to his cell," one sweeper volunteered. "A suite 
  actually, on sublevel 25. Nice place, except there's no windows." 
  Nick lost track of the hallways they passed through. He felt slightly 
  panicked, fearing that he would never find his way back to the surface. 
  Although the Center was huge, and sturdy cement and steel construction, Nick 
  still felt an irrational fear of being buried alive. Finally a door was 
  unlocked and he was pushed inside. 
  "You'll stay here until you're needed," the sweeper told him. 
  Nick turned around swiftly, a look of panic on his face that wasn't quite all 
  pretend. "Don't go! Please, Vachon... you must show me around." 
  Vachon turned to the mortals. "The drawbacks of the job. Go on with out me... 
  this could take a while." 
  The sweepers shrugged. "We'll have to lock you in. Standard procedure. When 
  you want out, just speak into the camera." He indicated the video cameras 
  mounted around the suite. 
  "Sure," Vachon said. 
  The door closed, but they were still not alone. Any conversation would be 
  recorded, their actions plainly visible from nearly every inch of the 
  apartment. Vachon noted the only two blind spots. He would take Nick into one 
  of them soon and ensure that he was well fed, but to rush there now would look 
  suspicious. He let Nick rest a hand on his shoulder and he grudgingly walked 
  him around the perimeter, giving a verbal tour as well. 
  "This is the living room," he said. "Unfortunately for you, it is a dangerous 
  layout. It's a sunken living room, down three steps. Couch here, two chairs. 
  Odd, I'm sure you don't get many visitors." Vachon chuckled at the poor joke. 
  The apartment was not spacious, but it was adequate and comfortable. One 
  bedroom, with video cameras, the living room, an expensive computer system, 
  television, entertainment center, games, cards, paper... but nowhere was there 
  a kitchen. A mortal captive would be completely dependent on the Center for 
  his needs. 
  Throughout the tour, Vachon kept the tone of his voice as "bored", yet Nick 
  sensed Vachon's true feelings of concern clearly. When Vachon pulled him 
  suddenly against the wall, Nick kept quiet. 
  "Sh," Vachon whispered. "Quickly, we're out of range of the cameras. Are you 
  okay?" 
  Nick nodded. "Fine. Don't worry about me." 
  Vachon bared his neck. "Drink fast, and don't take time to argue. I don't know 
  when I can get back here." 
  Nick struck swiftly. Vachon's blood did not sooth like LaCroix's did, but it 
  was one of his favorites. Vachon, being Urs's master, tasted familiar. His 
  blood was different from most other vampires, except for his creations and his 
  vampire twin, Amaru. Vachon was a New World vampire, completely unrelated to 
  the majority of vampires on the planet. He tasted of the jungle, created by a 
  powerful vampire native who worshipped the sun. Nick gulped his essence 
  quickly. 
  Vachon pressed against him for a moment and embraced him. Then he pulled away. 
  "So, see you 'round, pretty boy," he said snidely. 
  Nick nodded, stepping out from the secluded spot. He rubbed at his jaw as 
  though Vachon had roughed him up instead of nourished him. He ducked his head. 
  "If you see Lucas, will you tell him I need to see him?" 
  Vachon ignored him. He waved at the camera. "Okay here. Spring me." 
  Nick felt a moment of real panic as Vachon left him. He slumped onto the couch 
  and coaxed the carouche to join him. "What have we got ourselves into," he 
  murmured sadly. 
  * My sentiments exactly, * the carouche agreed. 
  * * * * * 
  The Center was massive. It sprawled across acres of lawn like a monstrous 
  cancer of cement and sedition. It was heavily guarded and protected with 
  security systems, video cameras, and mortals cloaked in black. The complexity 
  did not disturb LaCroix at all. It only made the game more interesting. 
  He walked briskly through the halls, forcing Urs to skip to keep up. She 
  hovered near his elbow, pen and notepad ready to capture any of his utterances 
  for she would treat them like rare gems of wisdom. 
  Janette didn't bother. She followed at a feminine pace, falling further behind 
  as they went. She flirted outrageously with the sweepers who accompanied her, 
  one moment being seductive and cruel the next, yet the idiots seemed to desire 
  her all the more for it. 
  Aristotle observed everything. He peered over the rim of his wire frame 
  glasses, sneezing occasionally as he carried off the image of a harmless 
  computer geek. 
  They were brought into a conference room. LaCroix boldly went to the head of 
  the table and sat down. The sweepers hovered nervously around the door. 
  Several aging mortals entered then, accompanied by a few others who were 
  younger. 
  The bald man, dragging a tank of oxygen with him where ever he went, glared at 
  LaCroix. "Who are you and what do you want," he demanded, his raspy voice 
  managing to sound menacing in spite of his near-death appearance. 
  LaCroix eyed him coolly. He paused, building on the tension already in the 
  room. "I am Lucas Venduros, the firstborn and sole surviving heir to Dimitri 
  Venduros, from the triumvirate." 
  He let that knowledge settle for a moment, sensing their fear and disbelief. 
  At first he had doubted the wisdom of impersonating someone so well placed in 
  Center politics, but Aristotle had assured him it was their best option. The 
  higher up the totem pole, the more obscure they became. Anything related to 
  the triumvirate was so steeply cloaked in security and passwords that they 
  would be virtually unable to prove LaCroix wrong for some time. 
  Mr. Rains spoke softly to his aid, words LaCroix was not meant to overhear, 
  but even as a mortal he would have been able to guess at their content. The 
  aid was sent to check with central intelligence to have LaCroix's claim 
  verified. He smiled casually. 
  "What I want is irrelevant. What I require is all information on the Pretender 
  program turned over to me at once, specifically, control of the subject Jarod. 
  The triumvirate is unhappy with your lack of progress with him." 
  "We could not use him for these past four years, because he was missing," Mr. 
  Rains quickly defended himself. "That is no longer the problem. He is back in 
  custody." 
  "And has been for a week. What have you managed to get from him in all that 
  time?" 
  "Jarod has been uncooperative," another older man said, before introducing 
  himself as Mr. Parker. 
  "Exactly," LaCroix said. "I am to make sure that he becomes 'cooperative'." 
  No one spoke for long moments. LaCroix could read them easily. They felt 
  threatened. Fear could make them foolish. He would have to watch them 
  carefully. 
  The door opened and three more mortals joined them. The young woman nodded to 
  Mr. Parker, identifying herself as his daughter, and yet, there was little 
  love between them. The scrawny man handed a piece of paper to Mr. Rains. 
  LaCroix was impressed. It was undoubtedly the information Aristotle had 
  planted, backing up their claim. The third man smiled at LaCroix. He was 
  olde