Tracy glanced up from her paperwork. There it was again! He was smiling. She grinned, wondering if something had happened recently in his "secret" relationship with the medical examiner. Nick had been so moody and distracted these past weeks, that she was beginning to worry about her own safety on the job with him, but suddenly, he was a different man.

Nick added his signature to the report with a broad flourish then added it to the growing stack of completed work. Tracy blushed as Nick caught her staring at him. "What?" he asked. Then, glancing down at his shirtfront, "Did I spill something on me?"

"No," Tracy said, grinning nervously. "I've just never seen you like this."

He stared at her for a moment, then just shrugged. He even whistled tunelessly as he pulled yet another report from the endless pile and began to tackle the empty spaces with a fervor that was commendable, given his penchant for procrastinating. Tracy folded her hands under her chin and examined him, still unwilling to let it go.

"Are you sure you're all right? I mean, you did just bury your grandmother. You did, really, didn't you? You wouldn't have just said that, to spend a little more time with the coroner?"

Nick put down his pen. Leaning back in his chair, he gave Tracy his full, undivided attention for perhaps the first time in months. "Tracy, I've told you before, Natalie and I are just friends."

He was good, she decided. He certainly sounded convincing.

"I didn't know my grandmother. I'd only met her right before her death, and she wasn't herself. She was-- violent. Suffering. Her death, was a... a blessing, for everyone." Nick lowered his eyes, a look of pain marring the handsome features.

"I'm sorry, Nick," Tracy murmured.

He shrugged off her sympathy, almost like the Nick she was used to. "I told you, I didn't really know her. But, her death affected my father greatly. I guess, I'm still a little worried about him."

Nick had a father? No one had known he'd even had a grandmother, until he took two days off from work recently, ostensibly to attend the funeral, although no one from the precinct had been invited. Tracy had learned more about Nick's private life in the past ten minutes than she'd learned in almost a year as his partner. "We all handle grief differently," she said, more to keep the conversation rolling as long as Nick was willing to share, than because she really knew what she was talking about. "I think it's really important to talk about it though. Some people just clam up and try to go on, ignoring the memories of the deceased, and I don't think that's healthy. Can you get your dad to tell you about her, since you don't seem to have known her? It might help him."

Nick raked his fingers through the unruly hair that had a tendency to curl, not managing to do much to straighten it. "You don't know him," he said. "He's not what you would call a "sharer". And I have never called him "dad"."

"What do you call him?"

Then she saw the familiar invisible shield dropping, as Nick shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He picked up the pen, dropping it again, fidgeting boyishly. "Master, father, sir... never dad," he whispered. Then he pushed back from his desk and stood. She watched him head into the locker room.

Tracy sighed. Well, if Nick had opened up once, maybe he would do it again. Maybe, she would begin to know and understand her mysterious partner. "Master?" she thought to herself. Was his dad really that old-fashioned? The term implied power and dominance. Nick could be pretty intimidating himself. If his father could instill fear in him, now a grown man, she certainly would not want to meet Mr. Knight Sr. But maybe this new knowledge helped to explain some of Nick's peculiarities. She felt a strange sense of connection with him. They shared something else now, besides hair and eye color and a job. Her dad could compete for the Demanding Parents of the Year award himself.

Nick tore open his locker. He reached into the deep pocket of his coat for the small emergency flask. With a quick look around the empty locker room, he swigged the warm elixir, drowning his passion and his confusion.

Tracy hadn't meant anything, he was sure. She couldn't possibly know his complex relationship with LaCroix, which had become even more so recently. His life here are as a vampire homicide cop in Toronto was becoming curiouser and curiouser.

LaCroix was becoming nicer, Natalie was meaner. Janette was gone, Urs was back... Nick no longer knew what he wanted or needed, only that he did both want and need something. Or some one. He drank again, deeply, concentrating on the pleasant sensations as the thick liquid coated his throat.

A light wind blew in, followed by a soft click as the locker room door was bolted shut. Nick whirled around to face the one he called master. He tried to summon up the old feelings anger and indignation. He had always resented LaCroix's intrusion into his private, "mortal" lives before. But he couldn't do it. The being before him now looked much the same as always. He was dressed in black, his arms at his side, his straight back and broad shoulders giving the aura of power and control. But Nick had seen him weep for the death of his child, his mother, his master... the demon spawn named "Divia".

"What do you want?" Nick asked coolly.

"Only to see you, Nicholas," the ancient said, his silken voice almost a caress.

Nick didn't speak. Lost in thought, he corked the flask and returned it to his coat pocket. He closed the locker and leaned on it, his eyes downcast.

"I sensed you were troubled," LaCroix continued. "Forgive me for intruding, if my presence is not wanted."

Nick looked up in surprise. He had never heard LaCroix apologize before! Not say it and mean it. LaCroix turned as if to leave, and impulsively, Nick spoke out to stop him.

"No! Please, don't."

LaCroix remained, close but not touching. Nick looked into the familiar ice blue eyes-- sometimes intimidating, sometimes scornful, but today, the eyes merely reflected his concern. He rushed at his master and wrapped his arms around him in a firm embrace.

LaCroix took a sudden step backward to regain his balance. He put his hands on Nick's shoulders, intending to tear his protégé loose from the tender touch, but he hesitated. Hadn't he come here to comfort his son? He had sensed a sudden, overwhelming confusion through their link, and had come to identify its source. It would seem that since Divia's death, he had felt even more possessive of his favorite child. The strength of these emotions was almost frightening. If he should ever lose this one, would he want to continue his existence? Nicholas was his only weakness. It could be a dangerous, untenable position, yet the younger one had absolutely no idea how much power he wielded over his master. The ancient placed his arms around him and returned the embrace.

"I never thanked you," Nick whispered hoarsely.

LaCroix swallowed past a constricting discomfort in his throat.

"For Urs. For helping me. For so many things," Nick continued.

"You came back for me," LaCroix reminded him. "If not for you, Divia would have succeeded and I would be dead."

Nicholas's embrace tightened. There was much they should discuss, LaCroix realized, but not here. He touched the golden hair for a brief moment, savoring its silken texture, and leaned forward, breathing in deeply the scent that was so uniquely Nicholas. He brushed at two red tears that stained his son's pale face, bringing them to his lips and savoring the intensity of his passion contained in the minute offering. Then he straightened, regaining his composure. "Come to me tonight, my son? When you finish here?"

Nick pulled back, momentarily resisting his master. But the words had been asked, not demanded. He thought about work, and his usual routine. He could follow Nat home, or she might stop by the loft for a while. They might watch a video, chat over their work, or maybe take a walk by the lake before sunrise. But Nat was different lately. And Nick discovered he really didn't want to see her. At least, not until he figured some things out. Still, a lonely day alone in his loft was not appealing either. If Janette was still here, he could seek her out, but... Nick thought about his new feelings for another vampire, and knew he could not share them with Janette.

He stared at his master's controlled features, seeing no anger and no stipulations. "Thank you," he said simply. "I will."

LaCroix gave no outward sign of his pleasure, yet Nick felt something through the bond they shared. For a moment, he felt LaCroix's surprise. Then the ancient vampire left as suddenly as he had come. Nick stared at the empty spot his master had left in his wake. Was this a mistake? Would he be sorry tomorrow, if he renewed old ties? Maybe... but Nick needed to talk to some one. And LaCroix was available.

"Knight, Vetter!"

The two detectives jumped at that tone in their captain's voice, the tone that said, "you've got a case, and it's a nasty one." Tracy locked eyes with Nick, wondering if he was up to it yet. He'd been so weird since his grandma died.

Nick saw the uncertainty on Tracy's face. She was still so young, he thought. She had earned the right to be here- it wasn't just given to her, because someone feared her father, the police commissioner, or owed him any favors. Nick had faith in her ability. But still, she was young and she was a woman. "You can do this," he reassured her.

He held the door opened for her, then followed her inside the captain's office. Closing it, he leaned against the firm surface for a moment. Reese was shuffling junk on his desk, a nervous habit that told Nick more than words just how awful this case was going to be.

"Call just came in," Reese muttered. "Medical Examiner's on her way there now. This one's a baby, guys. Little girl... not yet six years old." His voice broke then, and the tough cop sank into his chair, burying his face behind large hands that trembled slightly.

Neither Nick nor Tracy spoke. They waited, knowing the captain would have something more to say, and watched respectfully for a sign that he was ready.

"The parents found her body. The father dialed 911, but, it was too late. Here's the address."

Tracy accepted the form with the information. When Reese looked at them, his eyes were tear-filled and threatening to spill over. "Get this bastard! Get him tonight! Half the precinct has kids! No one should have to go through what those parents are facing tonight!"

Tracy and Nick nodded almost at the same time. "We will, Captain," they said together.

Reese smiled somewhat. Finally, they were getting in sinc with each other, and they didn't even seem to notice it. They were both great individually. Together, they were probably the best detectives on the force.

Nick opened the door, following Tracy through it. He wondered at the strange sense of excitement that coursed through him. The crime sounded terrible... and it was always worse when the victim was a child. Surely he wasn't reveling in the bloodshed and the violence? He shuddered, wondering just how low he could stoop. But then he knew what it was. He was once again a hunter, in search of worthy prey. And this scum deserved to die! He quivered, striving to keep the excitement from his face. Tracy would never understand.

"Why do you always drive," Tracy complained, as Nick slid behind the wheel of his Caddy.

"That's how our partnership works," he said, grinning boyishly. "I drive. You fill out the paper work. Haven't you figured that out by now?"

Tracy slammed her door shut and punched his shoulder. "You are really bad, you know that?"

Nick paled visibly, giving her a wounded look.

"Oh cut that out, it was a joke! You have no sense of humor," Tracy said with exasperation. "You are the most noble, old-fashioned, polite, honorable, pig-headed cop on the force. How could you possibly think you were bad!"

"What else does it say about this case," Nick said, changing the subject.

She read off the scant details. The parents had been out for a walk. The children had been at home alone, with the nineteen-year-old in charge. When they returned, their youngest child was missing. After a short search, they found her body in the alley behind the garage.

"They claim they were walking. It's not much of an alibi," Nick commented.

Tracy gasped. "Do they need one? Nick, you can't possibly think that they would do this to their own child? Their own little girl!"

He shrugged. "We don't know the particulars yet, Trace. But, it happens."

The lights of the squad cars flashed, illuminating the Benson's house with an eerie glow. Yellow tape tried to keep the neighborhood cop wannabes from interfering, but several uniforms were having to steer the bystanders away, as well.

Nick saw Natalie get out of her car and head towards the back alley where most of the congestion was. Above the sounds of the cars, the police, the radios, above all the confusion, could be heard the wailing of a distraught mother. Tracy inhaled and held her breath. Together, they approached the crime scene.

Mrs. Benson hugged the small, limp form to her chest and rocked it. Her screams rent the air, bringing tears to even the most hardened on the force. Nick stared. The mother's tears were genuine, she was nearly hysterical. The child's blood was on her clothing. Hugging her dead child to her breast had corrupted the scene, possibly destroying crucial information. Still, her pulse was erratic. Nick didn't think she was covering anything up.

Natalie tried to get her to release the child, but the woman screamed at her. "She's my baby! Some one please help me! You have to save my baby!"

Nick knelt down next to her. His senses were instantly assaulted with the sweet, heady aroma of the child's blood. She hadn't been dead for very long. Trying not to inhale, he forced his instinctual hunger to withdraw. He touched the woman's cheek with a gentle caress and caught her in a hypnotic suggestion.

"We are here to help you," he whispered soothingly. "Release the child. We will do all that we can."

The mother obeyed, tenderly laying her little daughter back on the gravel lane. Then with Nick's reassuring hand on her arm, she stood and followed him away from the alley. Nick knew there was nothing he could really do for her to ease her pain, except maybe see the killer brought to justice. However, she had other children to care for. She would have to get control of herself, deal with her grief, and move on.

"You will talk with this officer," Nick murmured, continuing the suggestion as long as he still had her in his control. "After you have answered all of his questions, you will be tired. You will sleep. And when you are ready, you will seek counseling to deal with this tragedy."

The mother responded, meekly obeying his commands. Mr. Benson was giving his statement separately, to another officer across the front lawn. Nick returned to the alley.

Natalie avoided looking at him. She spoke gruffly, angrily. Nick suspected she was reliving the nightmare from when her own goddaughter had been the victim.

"Evidence of sexual assault, and the bruising around the neck would indicate she was strangled. TOD is fairly recent, within the last hour."

"You mean, the murderer could still be here," Tracy gasped.

No one answered, but the others all glanced around them nervously, as if the evil perpetrator might flash a billboard announcing his presence as well as his guilt.

"This has got to be so hard for her," some one was saying. "She just lost a child two years ago. How much pain can one woman face?"

Nick zeroed in on the speaker. He looked familiar. It took only a moment before Nick identified him as a TV reporter. Nick glared at him in disgust. This wasn't news! This should never appear in the papers, glorifying the criminal and advertising the parents' pain across the world! This kind of crime should be recorded only in police records, and remain concealed from the innocents of the world. He approached the reporter, fully intending to get rid of him.

The man was wiping his eyes, though, and the camera remained in its case. He was not here as part of his job. He was just a concerned neighbor.

"What do you know about them," Nick demanded.

The man extended a trembling hand and introduced himself. "I'm Jeff Corbin; I live just over there." He indicated the closest house to the alley. "I didn't see or hear a thing! I can't believe this has happened."

"What about their other child?"

Corbin blew his nose, but ignored the tears streaming down his face. "They're such good people! I've known them for going on ten years. I was at Mary Grace's baptism, for Christ's sake. I just can't believe it."

Nick didn't want to have to hypnotize him too, to get the information he wanted. Using his special abilities made him hungry, and the child's blood was already taunting him. This guy had better get to the point quickly. He stated his question again, firmly.

"Her daughter Emily was hit by a school bus. Just a freak accident. Not like this..." Corbin lost it then. An officer led him away.

It was strange, though. Two dead children in the same family. One, an apparent accident, the other a violent crime. Was it just coincidence? "Take both the parents downtown for questioning," he told another uniform.

"Nick, I hope you're wrong," Tracy murmured.

Natalie continued speaking, but Nick only half heard what she had to say. This was probably not the site of the crime, she suggested. There was no semen on the pavement, and no bruising on her bare skin that the rough gravel would have caused. Her arms were bloody, though. The shallow wounds were caused with a sharp instrument, possibly a jack knife. They were not the cause of death, only a sign of the torture she had endured in her final moments.

The warm blood called out to Nick again with its seductive siren's song. The vampire fought for release. With great restraint, Nick pushed it down.

"There is so little to go on, Nick. I'm sorry, I can't give you more. God, I hope you get this guy!"

Nick knelt beside the tiny body. Warm blood would still divulge its secrets. In every taste of fresh, human blood, flowed images of the life, the dreams, and the desires of the mortal's existence. It was almost intoxicating, and it was the most difficult part to give up when Nick had switched to drinking only bovine blood. Now, the identity of this child's killer was probably revealed in the blood. As it cooled, so too the images. Locked in Mary Grace's blood would be the vivid memories of her last moments, perhaps their only chance to identify the killer.

Natalie stood and turned away from the body. Nick touched the child's bloodied arms. The sticky fluid coated his fingertips. Stealing a cautious glance at Nat, he brought his fingers to his lips and tasted.

Tracy shivered, choking back her own revulsion. Her partner was so weird! Was he sniffing it? What would he hope to glean from the child's blood! Did he think he was part bloodhound or something? She had seen him make some pretty amazing connections in the past. She admired how he pursued a case, tracking down leads until they had a perp in custody. In fact, they had always caught a perp, for every single case since she'd become his partner, except for the few cases that she suspected were vampire-related. She wondered if he knew what a great track record that was?

Curious, she checked the child's neck for tiny wounds, before letting them bag the body for removal. This was not a vampire's kill. She heaved a sigh of relief, grateful that her partner would not be in danger again. He was so- so - so something, and he would never believe her if she tried to tell him about the creatures of the night. Keeping secrets had never been easy for her, and this one was getting harder all the time.

Nick jumped to his feet and looked around furiously, as though searching for some one to blame, to release the anger boiling inside. Tracy thought she knew just how he must feel. There were so few clues... she wondered how they would solve this case. Maybe the best thing would be to get him away from here for now, fill in the reports, search the records for similar MO's, and call it a night. Reese wouldn't be too happy, but she sensed that Nick was near to losing it. Maybe his grandmother's death affected him more than he was letting on? Something was definitely wrong with him. He'd been getting weirder and weirder... maybe he was coming down with something? Rumor had it that he'd taken his first sick day in six years last month.

So Nick was hardly ever sick. Neither was Vachon... and it certainly looked like Nick had tasted that child's blood... could he be? Tracy almost laughed aloud at the absurd possibility. Nick was so straight his clothes squeaked just to let him sit down. She hid a grin, as she wondered what Nick would say if she told him about Vachon. "Hey, except for that one little virus, my boyfriend's been healthy for five hundred years..." She shook herself. That would not be safe to share. Either Nick would have her committed, or the vampire Enforcers would have her permanently silenced.

"Come on, Nick," she said, touching his sleeve to gain his attention. "Let's get out of here."

"No!" He whirled around, glaring at her with barely contained fury. "Where is he!"

"Who, Nick? Calm yourself, before you burst a blood vessel."

Nick shook her off and left the alley with quick strides. Tracy hurried after him. "Nick! Wait up!"

He stormed through the house, kicking in doors, shouting out a name. "Roy! Roy Benson!"

A woman stopped Tracy, flashing her id from social services. "Roy is the oldest child. He's taken custody of the younger children, until the parents are released. If you can't get your partner under control, I'll have him removed from the premises. Those children are frightened enough as it is."

Nick charged out the door and raced to a car just backing out of the drive. He got in the path of the car, slamming his fists on the trunk. The driver shifted gears and tried to pull forward, away from the lunatic detective cursing at him. Nick lunged for him, grabbing the door handle even as the car dragged him down the road. The police officers stared in confusion. Tracy had to do something. Her crazy partner was going to get himself killed! Reese would hold her responsible. But the lady from social services was right, the Benson children didn't need this.

Whom should she protect? Her partner? The kids? If she didn't act quickly, she would be powerless. Nick was still clinging to the door, the car was careening down the street, and someone was going to have to answer for this. Nick had an uncanny ability to solve cases. Even when she thought he was a few french fries short of a happy meal back with that vampire-virtual reality game, he had been right. Tracy drew her gun and shot out the tires of the car.

The car swerved and hit a tree, stopping abruptly. Nick tore the door open and hauled the oldest boy, Roy Benson, from behind the wheel. Tracy could hear the other kids in the back seat of the car crying hysterically. She hurried to intervene, unsure whose side to take.

Nick slammed Roy against the hood of the car. "You bastard! You raped her, your own sister!" he raged. She had never heard him so agitated before.

"You're way out of line, mister," Roy shouted. "Leave me alone, or I'll file charges."

"You're under arrest, for the rape and murder of Mary Grace Benson," Nick spat. "And we're reopening the investigation into her sister's death, too. You raped her. You cut her arms with your jack knife. You threatened her. You told her to be quiet, or you'd kill her, and she believed you. But you killed her anyway!"

"Nick," Tracy said softly, nervous of the attention drifting their way. "Can you prove any of this? How did you come to this conclusion?"

"Yeah, Nick," Roy added snidely. "Prove it. Or get out of my face. I got the kids to take care of, and you're scaring them shitless."

"DNA tests alone will convict you."

"If you can even do one. You have to have probable cause to even investigate me. Why would I want to harm the kid?"

Nick tore the button off Roy's jacket and held it out. "We found this at the site. Probable cause."

Roy blanched at the audacity of the accusation. Would this cop lie? Could he get away with it? "You're crazy," Roy said, his voice shaking.

"You've molested her before. She wanted to tell someone, so you hurt her. You tortured her, then you raped her again, and killed her to keep her silent. You did it in the back of the car. There will be semen and blood residue there that will match."

Tracy opened the car door and helped the two terrified children to get out. Shining her flashlight on the seat, she found just what Nick had predicted. How had he known?

"Can you find the knife?" Nick asked.

She felt under the seats, cringing at the suspicious gooey items normally found there- stale chips, mushed M & M candies, half-eaten suckers, until her fingers brushed against the cold metal of a blade. Quickly taking out an evidence bag, she slipped the knife inside and sealed it.

Roy crumpled at the discovery of the knife. "I didn't want to do it," he confessed, crying now. "I didn't mean to hurt her. She just wouldn't shut up. I had to make her quiet!"

Nick snapped handcuffs on him and shoved him at the nearest uniformed officer. "Book him, he's all yours."

The social services lady came and took the hands of the frightened children. "Detective Knight? For the sake of these kids, I thank you. You may have just saved their lives."

He turned to her with a tortured expression. "They will need to see a doctor. They were probably victimized, as well."

Tracy paled, covering her mouth to keep back a startled cry as the cold reality struck. Had the older daughter, two years ago, also threatened to "tell"? Had she been pushed in front of the bus? How deep did the tragedy run? How many lives destroyed by that young man?

Tracy took Nick's arm and led him back to the Caddy. The fury had been spent and now he seemed about ready to collapse. Somebody else could book Roy Benson, and somebody else could take the samples from the car seat and run the tests. With Roy's confession, they could hold him and those damned reports could just wait until tomorrow. Nick had to sit down before he fell down. She opened the passenger side door and pushed Nick into it. Then, sliding behind the wheel, she held out her hand expectantly. "Keys?"

To her surprise, Nick handed over the keys without an argument. She turned them in the ignition and waited for the old engine to turn over. It roared to life. Nick kept it in great shape. "Where to, old man?" she asked lightly. "Can I take you home?"

Nick didn't answer. She pulled away from the police lights and confusion, then headed in the general direction of his loft. Nick stared without seeing. He should talk to some one... "Do you want me to take you to Natalie?" she asked.

He shook his head. So that was out. Then he directed her where to turn, leading not towards the loft, but to the Raven. "Pull around back," he said. His voice was flat, emotionless. She glanced at him again.

"Nick, I don't think this is such a good idea." She became even more alarmed when she scraped the tires on the curb as she parked and he didn't say a thing.

Nick reached for the keys to pull one off from the chain before handing them back to her. "You can take the Caddy back to the precinct," he said. "I'll flag a ride in tomorrow."

This was not good, she thought. There was no way she could leave her partner alone. He was definitely out of it and the Raven drew some of the seediest clientele in the city. The mortal ones seemed to live with a death wish, and the immortal ones... well, it just wasn't safe. And sometimes Nick could be so naïve.

She watched, dumbfounded, as Nick slipped the key into the door and let himself inside. Why would he have his own key? Tracy sprang from the Caddy just in time to grab the door before it latched shut behind him.

Nick didn't hear her follow him. It surprised her how much that comforted her, as she knew Vachon's hearing was superhuman. Nick was nothing like Vachon. Then she stopped in her tracks. Nick collapsed into the firm embrace of that Nightcrawler guy! She would never have believed it, if she hadn't seen it for herself. Nick, the rock, also known as the "Knightmare", now looked like a lost little boy. But the Nightcrawler! LaCroix was his name, she recalled, as he'd been brought in for questioning a few weeks ago when a beheaded corpse was found in his freezer. He intimidated mortals with no more than a glance. Still, there was something between them. She was about to ask, when the older man silenced her with a small gesture.

He held Nick, one hand on his back, another cradling his head. For many moments he didn't speak aloud, although Tracy sensed they were communicating somehow. Then LaCroix straightened. "Why don't you head upstairs, my son. I will join you shortly."

Nick complied, knowing just which door to take and left without a backward glance. Tracy was sure he still didn't know she was there. As the door closed behind him, LaCroix took a step closer. "May I help you?" he asked.

She felt prickles up her back. This guy was so creepy. "Your son? Nick is your son?"

"I will ask you again, Miss Vetter. What is it that you want?"

"I was worried about Nick," she stammered. LaCroix raised an eyebrow and waited. "We had a really rough night, and Nick sort of lost it."

"Lost it?"

"Yeah... he collared the killer, but he was pretty ragged. I got him away, and thought he should go home or something. I don't think he should be alone tonight."

"Yes, thank you. I too have sensed his uncertainty. I will see to his needs."

"Mr. LaCroix?" Tracy hesitated. How could she tell him to be gentle, when he terrified her? "Um, please, take care of him. I'm kind of worried about him, and he's the best. Really." Then she ducked out quickly and drove away.

LaCroix slowly ascended the stairs to his private quarters and contemplated Miss Vetter's strange appearance. She was too inquisitive for her own good. Something would have to be done about her. But she did have one redeeming quality. She cared for his son, and not romantically. She might yet prove useful.

Nick stood in the center of the living room without moving. He looked tired and lost. LaCroix hesitated before opening the mind link and gently probing his son. He was struck with a confusion so profound that it left him gasping. "Nicholas," he said. "What is it?"

Nick trembled. "I don't know, LaCroix. I- I - nothing is the same. I don't know who I am any more. I almost killed a man tonight- just in anger. In full sight of several dozen mortals. I'm losing control."

LaCroix slowly unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt. "Come, Nicholas. Permit me to do this for you."

Nick looked at him with wide eyes. LaCroix pulled the fabric back, revealing his smooth, alabaster neck. His protégé only stared, rooted to the floor. LaCroix held out his arms, beckoning, welcoming him. "Come, Nicholas. You know it will calm you. Quid pro quo."

He watched as the change came over Nick. Eyes glowed a feral red, fangs descended. LaCroix never tired of watching this, his beautiful creation. Then to his surprise, Nick loosened the buttons at his own collar as well before drawing near.

LaCroix closed his eyes and waited. Nick fell into his arms, burying his face in his neck. LaCroix felt the sharp points of his teeth lightly scrape across the sensitive skin. A delicious shiver shot through him. It had been many, many years since they had shared this most intimate of embraces.

Nick plunged his teeth into the soft throat, sucking the cold, ancient blood of his master. LaCroix felt a tremor run through his sensitive child. He wondered what had Nicholas so upset this time. This was more than just another mortal death, or the fear of losing control. So much had been happening of late. LaCroix came close to feeling a bit overwhelmed at times himself. The best thing for both of them would be to flee this area, to begin anew, somewhere else, but even as he considered it, he knew his son would disagree.

Nick sucked harder, yet craned his neck, exposing it for his master. He intended that this sharing be reciprocal. Words often failed the young knight, but his blood would tell the master everything. LaCroix braced himself for the emotional onslaught, then reared his head and struck swiftly, penetrating the proffered throat.

Images flooded past too fast to acknowledge. LaCroix did not even try. He absorbed them all and saved them to review later. For now, all he could do was relish the taste of his favorite son. It had been too long....

Nick pulled back, slowly licking the twin small wounds until they healed over, even as his tears broke loose to stain his cheeks. He buried his face in LaCroix's shoulder and sobbed.

"I couldn't do it," he whispered, trembling hard.

LaCroix thought about what Tracy had told him. Nick had almost killed a man tonight. Was that what he couldn't do?

"I wanted to go to her, to help her. Divia had attacked her, and I knew she was probably dead, but I wanted to go there. I thought maybe I could save her. But I couldn't leave you alone. How I've hated you over the years, I even tried to kill you. But that night, I couldn't turn my back and let her win!"

Now some of the montage of images LaCroix had gleaned from his son were starting to make sense. Nick had had to chose between Urs, his newest romantic fling, and LaCroix. It had worked out well in the end, as LaCroix had been able to save the fledgling, but at the time, Nick couldn't have known that. He had chosen to save his master. For some reason, that made him weep. LaCroix was certain he would never understand the boy. But it was getting quite late. The sun was already up. Nicholas was exhausted. Time to end this little foray into emotionalism. He scooped Nicholas into his arms effortlessly and carried him into the bedroom. Only half hearing the boy's sobbed confessions, he removed his clothing and tucked him in between clean satin sheets of the seldom-used guest bed.

"Rest now, my son. We will straighten things out tomorrow."

Nicholas still seemed agitated and distraught. LaCroix wondered if he would have to hypnotize him to calm him down. He had thought his protégé had grown beyond that decades ago. "LaCroix?" he asked.

LaCroix waited by the door.

"Thank you."

The ancient vampire discovered, much to his chagrin, that sleep eluded him. As he closed his eyes and tried to relax, he was inundated with visions from his son. The more he tried to ignore them, the more persistent they grew. Exasperated, he tossed back the quilt and went to refill his glass. He might as well sort through them. Then perhaps he would find rest.

LaCroix sat in his favorite leather chair, crossing his legs and setting the crystal goblet on the end table. Then he closed his eyes and opened himself to the images.

First, there was grief. Nicholas still grieved for his partner, Schanke. The pain was tolerable, though, as he had finally come to accept that this one's death was not his fault. Still, it opened a new wound. Nicholas had been deeply hurt, yet his beloved Natalie had failed him. Instead of consoling or comforting him, she had yelled at him. How dare he think about moving on! How dare he turn his back on her and all the work she'd done for him! LaCroix's anger for the coroner grew exponentially. Didn't she know by now that his son was a most passionate, emotional being, and not particularly known for clear and rational thought?

Then there was that dreadful night, when Nicholas's memories had been taken from him. Natalie had almost succeeded, LaCroix thought with dread, in killing his child then. Nicholas hadn't known how to protect himself any more, and had burned himself quite badly in the light of dawn. Later, he had come to LaCroix for help in regaining his memories.

LaCroix was no fool. There were many things in their past that did not bear remembering. Eventually, they would come back to Nicholas, depending on how frequently they exchanged blood. But that day LaCroix had concentrated on the more pleasant memories. The times they had traveled together, reveling in their existence. He did let Nicholas see something of his senseless quest, but he ensured that the younger vampire saw LaCroix's distress over it, at the thought that his son did basically want to commit vampire suicide.

Then came the demon possession. LaCroix still doubted that it had actually happened. Was Nicholas really possessed by something LaCroix didn't believe to exist, or did he merely think he was possessed? It was immaterial now. LaCroix had come to his aid, and Nicholas had been grateful.

Then LaCroix came across some memories he knew nothing about. They were confused and concealed. Someone should teach that boy how to think more clearly. There was a vampire with three names... Monica, Jacqueline, and ... something else. Only, she was disturbed, and Nicholas had not even been certain she was a vampire. LaCroix wondered who her teacher had been. Her mental powers must have been great. She had died, falling from the roof of a tall building and not flying to save herself. She must have been a very young fledgling for such an injury to have been fatal. His employee, Urs, was in the memory as well. She was crying, and Nicholas was comforting her.

A smile lifted the ancient's lips. Once a knight, always a knight, he thought. Nicholas had a most gallant way with women. Too bad that most modern females could not appreciate it.

Then the memory grew more intense. Nicholas felt something for this young vampire. LaCroix was irritated. Ursula was conflicted, often miserable and unhappy with her vampire existence. Of all the vampires in Toronto, couldn't Nicholas have found a more suitable mate for his needs? Perhaps he should fire her, and send her far, far away....

The images were crystal clear now. LaCroix felt their passion as they filled one another, his own undead heart beat too fast with arousal. Again and again Nick's blood memories displayed their passion as they had spent many hours in each other's necks. That his lusty crusader should behave so was no surprise, but the sensuous female in the memory bore little resemblance to the shy, timid dancer known as Urs.

The next images were of the strained relationship between Nicholas and the medical examiner, Natalie Lambert. She must have sensed Nicholas was pulling away from her, returning to the fold, yet Nicholas was not yet ready to sever the ties with her. He felt a sense of duty towards her, but he questioned his love. He acknowledged that they often hurt each other and he wondered just how much more either of them could endure.

Well, if Urs could drive a wedge between his son and that infuriating mortal, then LaCroix would honor her for the rest of her unlife. He'd extend his umbrella of protection over her, and offer to care for her, if the irresponsible Spaniard should abandon her again.

But there was still more in Nicholas's confused offerings. There was fear, love, hatred, desire, devotion, and more, all aimed at him. Nicholas was torn between their centuries old battle of wills and wanting to be a part of a family again.

No wonder the poor boy had nearly come unglued. So much turmoil in one small brain. He should not have let so much time pass before offering the comfort of the blood kiss. LaCroix pushed the images aside for now. He stood and went to check in on his son. An overwhelming feeling gripped him at the sight of the innocent young knight asleep in the large bed. Golden hair against a black satin pillow, a graceful arm draped across his chest. The lines of worry and fatigue were gone, the face was smooth and peaceful.

"Sleep well, Nicholas," he whispered.