Disclaimers Here

A soft breeze fluttered through the silent loft announcing the arrival of LaCroix, his son securely wrapped within his arms. He immediately began to scan the deep shadows filling the loft's large living room. Perceiving no threat, the black clad vampire stepped out of the darkness into a small circle of light radiating from one of the table lamps near the couch.

A mild tremor coursed through Nick, drawing the ancient Roman's full attention. "Shhh, Nicola. Sommeil," he whispered, pulling the injured man tighter against his chest. His son's head twitched feebly against LaCroix' shoulder and he mumbled low in his throat. The elder vampire felt another weak attempt to awaken cascade through Nicholas before he fell back into the drugged sleep they had forced upon him.

He flew them both upstairs and placed Nicholas on the bed, tucking the bedcovers gently around his son. Sitting next to his son, the elder vampire reached out and fingered the tousled blond hair, feeling the need to touch this exasperating, much-loved child. LaCroix smoothed the stray locks back and leaned down to place a light kiss on Nick's forehead. "I cannot...will not lose you, Nicholas," he whispered determined.

Straightening, he continued to gaze at his son as he listened for the arrival of his daughter and the Moor. With the near disaster at the Raven earlier that evening, the three elder vampires had decided it would be better for all to retire to the loft for the duration of this crisis. LaCroix had gone on ahead with Nicholas while his daughter gathered enough supplies to see them through several days.

The sound of the loft's elevator engaging broke the quiet moment. LaCroix moved to the landing outside the bedroom, a scowl growing more pronounced as he waited for the appearance of this uninvited visitor. He knew neither of the expected vampires would be using the mortal apparatus.

The loft's sliding door opened revealing Natalie, doctor's bag in hand and a worried frown lining her face. She stepped into the dark room and looked around. "Nick?" she called, hoping a vibrant baritone would answer her. She sighed in frustration when no one replied.

With no answering call from the Raven, Nat had succumbed to her growing frustration, hating the useless feeling that waiting had accentuated. She had taken a chance and driven to the loft, trusting Nick would go there once he had recovered from whatever had happened to him. Moving further into the room, she placed her bag on the table behind the couch and gazed around the room. She was really becoming worried. "I wish I knew what was going on," Natalie sighed.

"What is going on, as you so quaintly put it, doctor, is not your concern."

Natalie started in surprise, her accelerating heartbeat visible in her neck as it began to wildly race. She took a quick breath and mentally steeled herself to deal with Nick's very dangerous master, hating her unintentional response to the old buzzard's voice. Great. Just great... "LaCroix..." she began, her voice dropping to a near growl in her aggravation as she slowly turned toward the upstairs landing. She snatched her medical bag tightly in hand and cautiously approached the stairs. "If it affects Nick, then I'm involved."

"I would love to debate that point with you, doctor, but I am rather busy right now," LaCroix replied, his scorn discernible in his voice. Suddenly, an inarticulate cry rose from the bedroom, drawing both mortal and immortal's attention. Without giving her another thought, he turned away from the coroner and entered the bedroom.

"Wait a minute," Natalie began, as she watched the broad back of LaCroix disappear from sight. Her face ossified into a determined mask. By God, that old devil is not going to shut me out. Not this time...

LaCroix moved to the bed, settling on the edge. He reached for Nicholas, both physically and mentally in an attempt to soothe his child, who was weakly fighting his way to consciousness. Gentle hands softly gripped both sides of his son's face as LaCroix leaned into the link, applying pressure against the turbulent mind. He pushed through an agitated wall of resistance, determined to reach some part of Nicholas that would recognize and respond to his touch.

There... he thought with relief. He closed his eyes and gently touched the bruised and battered ego, pursuing the fleeting contact when Nick mentally flinched away. "Sleep, Nicholas. Sommeil," he repetitively whispered, both vocally and silently until he felt his son responding, calming. A sharp gasp of alarm exclaimed behind him intruded upon his concentration. Ignoring the human behind him, LaCroix permitted his son to gently slide back into sleep and allowed the tentative contact to fade away.

The good doctor is beginning to be a nuisance, LaCroix growled silently to himself, annoyed. Though, he acquiesced, this might be *one* time this human may prove to be of use. LaCroix lightly stroked his son's temples with his thumbs, then slowly straightened up when he saw that Nicholas had resumed his deep-healing sleep. Placing his right hand possessively on Nick's thigh, he let his impassive mask slip into place and turned to confront Natalie, who had moved deeper into the darkened bedroom.

With very little information to go on, Natalie had tried to prepare herself for just about anything concerning Nick's physical condition. She realized now that she had failed.

Nick was lying on the bed, clothed. The top sheet had been pulled up around his chest, the dark sheets accenting his ashen face against the ebony pillowcase. She cautiously approached the bed, unsure of LaCroix' reaction, then stopped when Nick grimaced slightly and made a low noise deep in his throat. She turned to look at Nick's master, only to find his hard, ice-blue gaze appraising her. "What happened, LaCroix?" she whispered.

"Nicholas had an *altercation* with an old nemesis. He did not prevail in said argument."

Natalie felt a great wash of relief that LaCroix chose to answer her instead of resorting to a more violent and permanent resolution to her presence. She reached over and switched on the bedside lamp. With the pale light illuminating the room, the faint marks from Nick's earlier battle became starkly visible. She turned his head to the side, examining his face and neck before she moved down to his shirt, undoing the buttons. "Why is he still showing bruises? This 'altercation' happened last night, didn't it?"

"Nicholas' opponent has proven to be somewhat unique."

Any additional comment he might have made was lost in the combined groan from Nick, as unintentional pressure was placed to his injured side, and a gasp of dismay expressed by Natalie, as the damage to Nick's torso became distinctively apparent. She let his shirt drop open, revealing the puckered, partially healed wound in his shoulder, the purplish orange mottling blending in with the fainter blemish marks running down his ribcage. "What the hell happened, LaCroix!" she stormed. "An altercation doesn't cause *this* kind of damage!"

Returning her attention to Nick's master, Natalie quietly fumed, "Something else is going on here. What is it?"

"*It* is a long story, doctor." A scream from nearly eight hundred years ago slowly merged with the scream he had heard and felt the night before. His eyes drifted away from the coroner to return to the visage of his son. The memories of how this all started began to overtake the elder man.

"Humph!" Natalie softly murmured. "I see this tendency runs in the family." She watched the memory take LaCroix completely and smiled. "I wonder if the young ones do that too." Turning back to Nick, Nat returned to her preliminary check on him, stealing occasional glances at the distracted vampire as she worked.

Flashback:
Castle Artois, summer of 1214

The long corridor echoed with the muted sounds of the festivity that continued to rage in the main hall of the castle. A slight smile briefly appeared on LaCroix' lips as he made note of the noise. These humans; they throw their entire being into their celebrations. His dark shadow continued to move silently onward, passing through the faint circles of light, which were cast from the flickering torches, to the darkness just beyond.

LaCroix suddenly stopped and cast his heightened senses outward, searching. He heard it again. A voice he had begun to listen for in the last fortnight softly cried from just ahead. Hurrying toward the sound, he concentrated on this young voice, noting the deep hurt expressed as it cracked and shuddered around the quiet, partially restrained sobs.

The elder man stopped outside the heavy wooden door and listened as a whispered plea for forgiveness was uttered to the currently worshipped God. Concerned, LaCroix pushed into the room to find young Nicholas sitting on the floor by the bed, his back to the door with his legs tightly curled under him. The sleeping tunic the boy wore was torn, exposing the hand shaped bruises that were starting to develop on the exposed skin of his neck and right shoulder.

LaCroix silently closed the door and walked toward the huddled form, then stopped as the unmistakable scent of blood assaulted him, teasing his beast awake. Forcing the gold that had flared in his eyes to subside, he stepped closer to the young man.

Nicholas didn't seem to realize he was even in the room, much less standing nearby. Moving closer, the ancient vampire froze as the disheveled, battered young squire brought a large dagger from the folds of his soiled tunic and raised it level with his heart. "Forgive me, Lord," whispered from the squire's cut lips.

"No!" LaCroix yelled, grabbing for the young man's wrist, determined to stop this foolish, desperate act. Wrenching the dagger from Nicholas' grasp, he hurled it across the room then quickly knelt in front of the young squire and took hold of his shoulders in a firm, but gentle grasp. "No, Nicholas. You must not do this," LaCroix repeated, his voice softer now that he seemed to have the squire's attention.

Nicholas flinched at the yell, not realizing anyone was in the room. His demeanor crumbled when the older man easily wrestled the dagger from his grasp. "Please, milord, you must allow me this coup d' grace." A shuddering sob broke from the young squire, turning into a ragged moan of despair.

"No, I will not allow it, Nicholas. You must endure for a time. You still have to face, then seize, your destiny." LaCroix framed the tear-streaked face with his hands and tried to catch the young man's gaze, but failed. He saw Nicholas mentally retreating as shock began to overtake the young squire.

With tears streaming down his face, he vaguely heard Lord LaCroix tell him he must not seek release from this shame forced upon him. Faced with the memories of what had happened, and the knowledge of how his father and lord would react, Nicholas broke. Falling into LaCroix' arms, the young squire sobbed, his world shattered.

LaCroix blinked, breaking the grip this particular memory held him in. He noticed that the doctor had almost finished her examination of Nicholas in the time he had been distracted. Checking to make sure his son would continue to sleep deeply, he rose from the bed. The warning tingle of approaching vampires made itself known; his colleagues had arrived. "Stay here, doctor. We have company."

LaCroix was walking down the stairs when Janette, then Tabari floated through the skylight to lightly land in the living room. Both carried a couple of crates in their arms. Janette nodded to her master and moved to deposit her cargo in the kitchen.

"LaCroix." Tabari greeted his contemporary, then released the crates he was holding to Janette, who had silently appeared, arms extended. "Thank you, Janette."

As Tabari's deeply masculine voice flowed through the loft, LaCroix paused in his descent to the main floor and looked over his shoulder at the dark-skinned vampire, his eyebrows raised in query.

"I'm going to begin my search for Gautier. I'll check back in a few hours," the Moor softly stated, anxious to get started. "Hopefully I can locate him and end this, once and for all."

At the mention of Gautier, the simmering fury broke free from the General's restraint, his rage visible on his face. Stepping off the stairs, he ruthlessly curbed his anger, unwilling to permit his emotions free rein and advanced on Tabari until the two ancients were face to face. "Make sure this time, Tabari. Don't make me have to deal with your prot�g�," he growled, his frown displaying his black humor.

"I've already established my stance on this issue, LaCroix. Don't...threaten me." With that smoldering retort, Tabari flew out the skylight and into the night, leaving the small group to deal with Nicholas.

To Chapter 14

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