Sons of Darkness, Child of Light

By Lorelei Sieja

A missing scene from Sons of Belial, and a prequel to "The Last Dance".

"This never happened!" LaCroix glared at the priest, resisting the desire to drain him only because Nicholas was still there. Vanderwahl's pulse sounded loud and tempting in his ears. He must leave at once! He glanced at his son, reassuring himself that Nicholas was safe once more.

Nick felt Nat's arms around him, but instead of being comforted, he felt like he was drowning. Fear still overwhelmed him. He didn't understand what had happened to him; he didn't understand any of it. Nothing made sense.

He had witnessed an exorcism and something evil had filled him... a cold, dark presence so insidious that at first he had not even been aware of its menacing power. It had been this evil in him that had prompted a man to commit suicide and the captain to fall ill, a repairman to be electrocuted and Nick to nearly decapitate an infant vampire in lust and rage. Was it truly over now? Or did it lurk for him, ready to reclaim his conflicted, tormented soul? Nat might be willing to stay with him, but she would be powerless against the evil force, as she did not even believe in its existence. He turned to his master, his savior... his friend. He was desperate for something, and yet, he knew not what.

LaCroix nodded once. He removed all trace of the strong emotions from his face. He was not angry with Nicholas. He would not cause him to worry any more about it. Then, in a flurry of air, he left the cursed residence, the abode for both good and evil, for the security of his nightclub.

Nick staggered, weak from the ordeal. Nat uttered a cry of alarm. "Come, Nick. Let me take you home."

Vanderwahl touched Nick lightly on the shoulder, a knowing smile on his lips. "Go in peace, child."

Natalie scowled at him. It was bad enough that Nick believed in all this hocus-pocus, it probably came with the territory, but a man of God should not be taking advantage of anyone like that.

The exorcist opened the door for them. He watched as the woman helped the vampire into her car and wondered. This was one story he could not record in his next letter to the bishops as he strove to appeal their decision. Excommunicated or not, he would continue in his work for he was needed in the world, but he still hoped one day that the strength of the church would support him.

Nat helped Nick into the passenger-side seat, then reached around him to buckle the seat belt. She caressed his face once, planting a motherly kiss on his forehead before closing the door. Getting in behind the wheel, she started the engine.

"Mind telling me what this was all about?" she asked. She hadn't meant for her voice to sound so harsh. She grew tired of Nick chasing after fairy dust and rainbows. No mystical magic was going to return him to mortality. She would; or a scientist after her... if vampires existed, then there must be a scientific explanation for them!

Nick did not respond. He stared blankly ahead, although his hands trembled where they rested on his thighs. She reached over to grasp one hand and squeeze reassuringly.

"I talked to Tracy. She thinks you went home with the same flu that's running through the precinct. Is that the story you're going to stick with?"

"I can hardly tell her the truth," Nick murmured.

"And what is the truth, Nick. Hm? That someone, LaCroix maybe, is yanking your chains?"

Nick stiffened. He owed LaCroix everything tonight! He didn't care to listen to her criticize the one who had saved him.

"Come on, Nick! Demon possession? I just cannot buy that. Who tore up your apartment? Broke all the strings on your piano? Were you in a really bad mood? Did you and LaCroix have another fight?"

He closed his eyes. Nat just didn't understand anymore. She hadn't understood a lot of things... like the curse of the Black Buddha, or the haunting of Kessel House when he'd seen Alyssa's ghost. He had never even told her about visiting with Erica's ghost four years ago. Sometimes, he wondered why Nat with her science-only mindset could believe in vampires.

She drove on in silence. She'd seen Nick in a lot of strange moods and this was just one more to add to the pile. He did look tired. She'd take him back to the loft, then return to work. Tracy would be worried. Nat would have to reassure her that Nick was going to be fine and she was not to bring over any chicken soup.

At the warehouse Nat had to unbuckle his seat belt and tug him from the car. He stood weakly and tapped the numbered access on the door lock. He resisted her offer to help him. Nat shook her head. She had left work early because she was worried about him; she had rescued him from whatever mind games LaCroix was playing on him, and he acted angry with her? Sometimes, a relationship with a vampire just wasn't worth the effort. She decided not to see him up.

"Good night, Nick," she snapped.

He made no response, not even a head nod. She got back in the car and slammed the door, squealing her new tires a little as she pulled away.

Natalie sighed as she waited at a red light. Should she go back and console him? He'd seemed so needy... but this whole evening had annoyed her. She didn't want to give in to his superstitions.

Accepting the existence of vampires had been difficult. Even after seeing him sit up on her table when moments before his lifeless form had been only a shattered shell of a man... after watching him heal miraculously and drink packets of blood, she still had not believed him. She had touched his cold face, stubbled and still gritty with dirt from the explosion, and still she had not believed. She heard him speak, his voice mesmerizing and oh so very lonely. "I am dead," he had said. "No, not dead," she stupidly replied, always denying what she did not believe. Even after he had left, there had been a lingering, undefinable scent, one she now recognized as uniquely Nick - a mix of wild honey and sandalwood and wine- a powerful scent so fresh and different from the smell of formaldehyde and death that generally permeated the lab. She had observed him with her senses and still she doubted herself later that night when she returned to her sunny orange apartment. It had all been a hallucination, a strange dream created from a fractured memory of some old horror movie and her own longings for a little romance and excitement in her life.

Two days had passed, and Natalie finally believed herself that the whole experience had never happened, when she saw him again! He was different from the wounded, battered body she had first envisioned. His chin was still darkly stubbled, his unruly hair, while cleaned free of blood and dirt, was still a tangled mass of dark golden waves. He seemed menacing somehow in the long black duster, the collar pulled up around his neck, as though warning all to stay away even while the turbulent blue eyes cried out in their loneliness and despair.

"You want to hurt me," she had said, trying to sound brave while her voice trembled ever so slightly.

"No. But I might anyway," came the strange response.

Her heart ached to comfort him then! She hadn't embraced him, sensing that the contact would drive him away, so she had tried to wrap him in the warmth of her words. Promises to help, words uttered in desperation only to keep the handsome creature near her.

Yes, vampires were real. If Nick had not been enough proof, then LaCroix, Vachon, Urs, Janette, and all the rest she had met in the past six years were abundant testimony. There had to be a scientific explanation for them, too. She hadn't found one yet, but that didn't mean it wasn't there. She might have more success if she could get a team of specialists to work with her, but that would be forbidden.

Still, Nick believed in so many things that were not scientific. He was afraid of religious objects; probably his guilt creating very real symptoms to an imagined cause. Nick believed in ghosts, had even talked to them on more than a few occasions. He believed in curses, in magic, and in the afterlife.

These things were not real. Their existence could not be proven. They were excuses created by those who could not accept cold reality. Nick was a vampire. Natalie was a mortal. Was he inherently evil while she was all good? Not hardly. There was good in Nick. LaCroix had been right about that. Nick could be giving and selfless, just as he could be obstinate and obtuse. Of course, Nick would never believe so.

She glanced back in her rearview mirror, almost ready to go to him. But no, she just couldn't. He was a big boy. He could deal with it. She pressed on the accelerator and pushed the speed limits the rest of the way home.

Nick leaned against the door, hesitant to go up. He didn't want to be alone. Evil had been there. He was afraid to face it. What if it came back? He stepped inside the garage, leaning against the door as he closed it behind him and slid to the floor.

Where was everyone? In 800 years, he had to have made at least a few friends. What was the use of a long life if he was always alone? The words of the priestess Gwynyth so long ago came back to haunt him. "You will live a very long life and in all that time never know happiness."

Tears spilled over, trailing down his face unchecked. She had been right. Beginning with her death, the only one he had been blamed for that he was not actually guilty of, his life had begun a nightmare that had lasted for centuries. There was always pain and death, suffering and longing, and always the aching misery of loneliness.

Memories resurfaced, thoughts of the ones he had dared to call his friends. Where was Schanke now? Did he finally have the right answer to the question for which he had pressed Nick? "Is there anything after death?" Nick had lied to him. Schank should know that now. As he would know all the other lies Nick had been forced to tell to protect him. But, would Schank know the reason for the lies? Or would he just hate him?

Erica had believed that one day Nick would join her, that he would come to find life a burden. They had been lovers for a short time, performing on stage by night and sharing wild, passionate abandon by day. She had been odd from the very start, melancholic as though she almost lived the characters she portrayed on stage. When they had done Romeo and Juliet, she had kissed him passionately while talking of suicide. Her portrayal of Camille had been so tragically perfect, that not one patron ever left the audience dry-eyed, and yet, although death and disease could not touch her, she seemed to thrill in its possibility with morbid fascination.

Would he join her now? And if so, would they be united on the other side? Where? Was she in hell? She had come to him after death, urged him to walk into the sun... would she have been so cruel to do so, if she were suffering the eternal flame? Yet, weren't all those who sinned, and suicide was a mortal sin, condemned to eternal damnation?

He knew Hell was real. He had seen it. Tonight, it had opened up before him, sucked at his heels even as LaCroix and Vanderwahl struggled to pull him free of the demon's grasp. He had seen it before on his second visit to the sands between this life and the next. The gate to the next was barred while Hell beckoned to him, claiming it already possessed his soul and only waited now for his body. Natalie had saved him then. She hadn't really believed when he told her about the sands, although she hadn't lectured him about it. Perhaps she had sensed how intensely personal the experience had been for him.

And what of Nat's brother, Richard? There was another lost soul in Hell who would hate him. Richard should have been assured of a seat in Heaven for his good works, but Nick had damned him when he brought him across. Natalie didn't believe in Hell, but then she didn't believe in Heaven either. She believed Richard was dead, simply a more permanent sleep, and at peace. She just didn't know.

Where was Janette? LaCroix? Nick was alone, friendless, frightened, and so terribly, terribly sad. He buried his face in his arms and wept.

LaCroix leaned casually against the bar as he stared at tonight's patrons. No one would know to look at him that he was nearly crippled by the turbulent emotions swirling through his cold heart tonight. He had almost lost his most precious possession, the child he had never really fully possessed! This time it was not by some corporeal enemy. There was no one he could pursue to exact retribution, to tear limb from limb in a pitiful attempt to assuage the pure fury that filled him. Not even Nicholas...

This time, his son was innocent. Nicholas had not purposefully put himself in danger and he had come straight to LaCroix for help. It had taken a while before the ancient had realized that Nicholas was even in danger. This "possession", he sighed for lack of a better name for it, had been insidious from the start. LaCroix shuddered at the recent memory.

"Can I get you something, boss?" Patrick asked, doing his best to cover his concern.

LaCroix glared at him, fangs barely concealed. Patrick jumped, looking nervously for customers at the far end of the bar. LaCroix shut his eyes as he struggled to contain his ire. He was not angry with Patrick, but the urge to hurt someone hadn't been this strong in years.

Natalie had appeared at Vanderwahl's at the most inopportune moment. The demon within Nicholas had nearly killed her. LaCroix shuddered. He cared not for what happened to the coroner, he reminded himself again, only how it would affect his child. Nicholas would not blame her death on the demon but on himself. LaCroix was worried for him. He feared that it would not take much to push his temperamental progeny to walk into the sun.

Then suddenly it was over. Natalie had her arms around Nicholas, offering him a ride home, and LaCroix forced Vanderwahl to forget the entire episode. Perhaps he should also wipe it from his son's memory? It would not be the first time... But then there was the matter of the coroner.

Nicholas had glanced at him before he could leave. A look, no more. A pained, confused look of such longing... what did it mean? LaCroix fumed, realizing that if the coroner had not shown up, Nicholas would be with him right now! He didn't want his protégé to be left alone, not after such a frightening ordeal.

It had been frightening, he realized with no small surprise, for him as well as for Nicholas. It was more than the fear of the holy crosses, which was no more than a minor irritation to the ancient. LaCroix could not remember the last time he had ever been truly afraid... unless perhaps it had been his last mortal night as he had recognized that all his money, wealth and power could not save him from the destructive force of nature. He had been invincible in battle, and yet he cowered before the molten rock. Then Divia, the child he could never claim, had saved him. All that he once knew no longer existed. The powerful general became afraid of mere sunlight and slave to the bastard child.

Tonight Nicholas reminded him again that nothing was truly permanent. Although he was immortal, his existence was not unchanging and it was the prospect of change that was unsettling. He knew he would not want to continue to exist if Nicholas ever truly left him.

Tentatively, he reached out to touch the bond he shared with Nicholas. Gently at first, as he did not want to intrude on his son's privacy while he was with Natalie. The first impressions floating back through the link were puzzling. LaCroix pushed a little more firmly. Then he gasped, nearly losing his balance as the power of his son's grief overwhelmed him.

LaCroix had to get to him immediately! He lunged for the back door and leaped into the night sky without bothering to concern himself about who might be watching. The distance between was as nothing; in moments LaCroix was at the loft.

Nicholas was not upstairs. LaCroix followed the pain-filled bond to where his son sat slumped against the door with his face buried in his arms. LaCroix hesitated. Would his son even wish to see him now? "Nicholas?"

His son made no movement, but the reply through the link was staggering. Help me!

LaCroix swooped his son into his arms and held him close. Nicholas was limp, neither resisting nor embracing. He no longer wept, although traces of tears still stained his face and the sleeves of his shirt. LaCroix cradled his head with one strong hand and pressed it close to his breast. "I am here, mon fils," he whispered.

Nick could not speak. He felt a great lethargy as if a thousand pounds crushed upon his chest and simply breathing was too difficult. The demon had driven him with rage but when it left, it had taken something of himself with it... his strength. He was terrified, as he had never been before in his entire existence, both mortal and after.

He could not lift his arms, nor move his lips, but the bond with his master was strong. Don't leave me, Father! Please!

LaCroix startled at the rarely used term of endearment. He held him and swayed gently, attempting to soothe the troubled younger vampire. "I will stay, Nicholas, for as long as you need me."

For what felt like hours he remained, holding his son in his arms. He sensed the passage of night, as the sky grew darker just before dawn. He heard the timer close the steel shutters upstairs, the answering machine handle several telephone calls. Still Nicholas trembled in his arms and he was no closer to learning what exactly had him so upset. The demon was gone. Nicholas was free. Was this not the end of story?

LaCroix stiffened as a yawn escaped. He blinked, fighting against the instincts urging him to sleep. He didn't know how much longer he could succeed. The garage was not sufficiently protected from the light. It was time to move. "Nicholas?" he asked softly. "Are you ready to talk to me now?"

Almost imperceptibly the golden head shook in denial. That at least, he thought dryly, was some improvement. "Would you like something to drink?" He loosened his hold.

Suddenly Nicholas's arms encircled him, almost crushing him. "Don't go," he whispered.

"I won't, Nicholas," LaCroix said, feeling the slight tug of a smile. He wished he could record this for future reference. Nicholas had a way of forgetting just how much he truly loved him. "Come with me, mon fils. I am thirsty."

Nicholas did not move or release him, so LaCroix flew them to the lift, engaging it to bring them up. He reached the refrigerator with his son firmly attached. He worked one hand free from the powerful hold to pull out a bottle. Then, grabbing a second, he flew Nicholas into the bedroom and set the bottles on the end table.

"Come, Nicholas. It is time to sleep."

"I can't," he answered.

"Never the less, you are going to try." LaCroix forced Nicholas to release him. The younger vampire gave him a wounded look. It was desperate and imploring, almost a twin to the look he had given earlier when he had uttered those wretched words, the plea for help.

LaCroix pulled the silver pin from his collar and undid the buttons of his shirt. Perhaps getting undressed and in bed would reassure his son that he was not going to leave him alone as the full morning sun had not yet been able to do? He kicked off his shoes and removed his trousers. Nicholas did not move at all.

The elder vampire then undressed his anxious son as well. He felt a stirring in his loins and clamped down on it. Nicholas needed comfort right now; LaCroix did not want to frighten him away. Nicholas did not resist him, but neither did he make any effort to help. He was passive and beaten, like one surrendered to his fate. LaCroix hated to see him like this.

Angrily, LaCroix threw down the covers and tossed Nicholas onto the bed. When he climbed in beside him, he was again wrapped in a tight embrace. With no small effort, he pulled the coverlet back over them. He reached for the first bottle and pulled out the cork, drinking it straight, like some boorish plebian.

"Nicholas. Tell me at once what this is about."

"I am evil," he whispered, still clinging to him.

LaCroix sighed hugely. "The evil was driven out, my child. And you were not responsible for your actions while it dwelled in you. You are not evil."

"All the time it was me, not you," he said, as though LaCroix had not even spoken.

LaCroix drank again, tempted to drink from Nicholas to uncover his peculiar mood.

"I blamed you. For centuries. I thought it was your fault; that I was not really evil, and if I could only shed myself of this dark gift, I could be good again. But the demon possessed me, not you. It drove me. It recognized me. I am evil and you saved me."

The hands clenched him tighter. LaCroix winced as bruises formed over his muscled ribs. "Nicholas. I do not wish to speak of this possession again. It happened and it is over."

"No, master!" The denial was forceful, worthy of retribution. LaCroix forced his anger to recede along with his lust. There was a time for all things.

"No, it is not over," Nicholas continued. "It was real. It was frightening. And I am so confused. I saw hell open up beneath me! It sucked at me, huge chains anchoring me in its vile grip, dragging me down! Only your voice was there. What was it you said? 'There is God in you'? Did you really mean that?"

LaCroix grimaced, unwilling to respond.

"Answer me!"

Nicholas moved so suddenly, that he had LaCroix pinned to the mattress, his hands around the ancient's throat. "Answer me!" he screamed again.

LaCroix's fangs erupted and he growled at his child fiercely. He struck a forceful blow, freeing himself, then took the younger vampire's fists and held them above his head. "I do not respond well to threats, my son," he said coldly.

"I am sorry, master," he pleaded, blood tears filling eyes of mutable blue. "Forgive me, LaCroix! For everything."

"Always, my son," he said more gently. "Always." Slowly, he released the hands. Nicholas reached up tentatively, touching his smooth jaw.

"I have been such a child," Nicholas whispered. "And you are my dearest friend."

LaCroix blinked in stupefaction, not believing his ears.

Nicholas smiled shyly. "Yes, Lucien. My dearest friend."

LaCroix knew the moment would not last. Tomorrow his son would return to the precinct, to his work among mortals and his search for a cure with the coroner. Nicholas might regret this moment, or even chose to forget it altogether. All that did not matter. LaCroix would treasure this moment always.

"As you are mine," he whispered, before claiming what was truly his.

There was an incredible passion in Nicholas that LaCroix could not remember having experienced anything quite like it before. It was desperate, filled with longing. His kiss left bruises, his teeth drew blood, his nails clawed at LaCroix's back. And then his fangs sank into LaCroix's throat, sucking from him fiercely, regardless of LaCroix's wants or desires.

The ancient vampire returned the blood kiss. He savored the cold, sweet blood of his favorite as it spurted into his mouth. He gulped him greedily, knowing that it could be years, decades, before Nicholas would permit the intimacy again. He drank more perhaps than he should. His son withdrew his fangs, yet clung to him desperately. LaCroix closed the twin wounds. He pulled back, hesitant to gaze at his golden one, the younger brother, at once both the eternal friend and enemy. Would he see hatred there now? Revulsion? How far would Nicholas withdraw this time? Would he run away again? LaCroix felt anger fill him.

Nick closed his eyes. He was so tired. The evening had exhausted him. He was too tired to think anymore. He felt safe in this familiar, ancient embrace. If only LaCroix would stay, Nick was certain the demons would not return.

LaCroix tried to push away from him, not wanting to see the hurt. Instead, Nicholas's arms tightened again and panic shot through their bond.

"Don't go! Please!" Nick whispered.

"I must," LaCroix said, although he wanted to stay.

Nick clung to him, the trembling returned and blood sweat broke out on his brow. "Please, master. Don't leave me."

"You know this is not what you want, Nicholas. Tomorrow you will regret this."

Nick's fangs erupted once more; his eyes glowed crimson in his fear. "Damn you! I'm asking, no, I'm begging you to stay!"

"What of your mortal friends, Nicholas. How will you explain this if Natalie calls this afternoon?"

"I don't care," Nick growled. "For once, don't argue. Don't think, don't threaten. Just do as I ask!"

LaCroix chuckled. It was amusing to see Nicholas like this. "Very well, mon fils. I shall stay." He tried to move to the side, but Nicholas held him firmly on top of him.

"I mean it, LaCroix. Stay right HERE."

The chuckling deepened. He shifted his weight, delighting in the thought of using his child for a bed. "Sleep, Nicholas," he soothed.

Slowly, the desperate embrace loosened. Nicholas seemed comforted, cocooned as he was beneath him. Sleep came to the younger vampire first. LaCroix gazed down at him, lightly brushing at the dark golden hair. How he loved him! He loved to protect him and to fight with him. He loved the rare moments of pleasure they gave each other. He could never tell him just how much he meant, yet Nicholas would be able see it in the blood if only he would look. Then he relaxed, protecting Nicholas with his body as he slept.

Natalie punched in Nick's number code and let herself into the loft. The sun was still up, but not for long. She suspected he would still be asleep. She had wanted to do something for him though, to let him know she was worried about him, and cleaning the mess he'd made in the loft seemed a good step. She could not talk to him about the possession; every time she thought about it she was convinced that Nick needed psychiatric help. Where did one take a depressed vampire?

The sink was black and smelled of sewer gases. She sprinkled cleanser in it, then went to the windows. She partially opened the shutters and the glass to let in the fresh breeze. A faint light played on the floor, but Nick should be able to avoid stepping in it. There was blood smeared on the lift door, broken glass everywhere, and of course, the piano was ruined. Perhaps new strings would be sufficient, but restringing a piano had to be expensive. She cringed at the waste. Sure, Nick could afford it, but that shouldn't give him the right to have such expensive tantrums. She sighed, as she located the broom and dustpan to clean up the glass.

LaCroix hissed, sensing the mortal presence in his sleep. He awoke with a start. Momentarily disoriented, he gazed lovingly at the child beneath him. "Nicholas," he whispered.

The younger vampire pretended not to hear. He turned, burying his face in LaCroix's shoulder, flaunting his smooth white neck seductively. Fangs erupted. LaCroix bent to stroke the vein with his tongue. He chuckled softly as the motion stirred desire in the younger one's heart.

Nicholas squirmed, craning the neck further still in open invitation.

"Nick?" a woman's voice called. "Nick? Are you still asleep?"

Nick stiffened.

"Yes, Nicholas," LaCroix whispered, his teeth grazing one earlobe sensually. "We are not alone."

"Send her away," Nick said.

LaCroix rolled over, bringing Nicholas with him. "That, my child, is an impossibility. The harder I would try to send her anywhere, the more firmly she will dig in her heels to remain. If you want her gone, you must do it yourself."

Nick nodded sheepishly. "You're right," he said.

"At last, an ounce of intelligence! How I have waited to hear you say that." LaCroix couldn't resist the jibe.

"Don't go anywhere," Nick threatened, his voice menacing yet his eyes held the promise of seduction.

"I chose to rest a while longer," LaCroix said, giving in without actually appearing to.

Nick rose gracefully from the bed. He pulled on a pair of trousers over bare skin and grabbed his robe on the way out. Belting it loosely, he flew to landing. He glowered at Nat.

"I see you didn't get enough beauty sleep," Nat teased lightly. "I just came over to tidy up a bit."

Nick did not answer. He went instead to the refrigerator and poured himself a large glass while he felt her accusing eyes on him. He needed it. She smelled tantalizingly delicious this morning, and it had nothing to do with love. He wanted her. He wanted to drain her life away, to assert his power over her. He wanted to kill again. Bringing the glass to his lips, he tossed back the contents in one long swallow.

"I heard you booked off work for tonight," she said. "It's probably for the best."

"I don't know, Nat. I think this last experience set me back, set us back. A lot." Nick stared into his glass of cow, his stomach tangled in knots. "I haven't had such a powerful need for human blood in a long time."

Nat shrugged indifferently. "We'll beat this, Nick. Hey, you beat the devil. Not bad for a night's work." She laughed lighting, hoping he didn't hear the disbelief in her tone.

He turned away from her, wishing she would just go.

"Well, you get some rest," she said. She patted his shoulder affectionately, then let herself out.

Nick fumed. She didn't get it. After all these years, she still didn't get it. He was not her white knight with a slightly tarnished halo. He never had been, even as a mortal. He had not been blameless even in the north country when he had fallen in love with Gwynyth. He had been sent there as God's emissary, to assist the Lord de La Barre to bring truth to the pagans, and yet he had fallen in love with their priestess, had bedded her no less. His sins had destroyed whatever chance there had been for a peaceful outcome.

Now, that way was lost to him forever. The demon had shown him that. He was evil. He had committed great crimes and even if he returned to mortality tonight, he would still have the stain of sin on his soul. The chains of his damnation were thick, forged for centuries. Perhaps he would need the eternity vampirism promised to make atonement? Sin recognized itself. It was because of his sins that the demon had been able to claim him. His sins. Not the sins of his father.

That was what shook him. That he'd had to recognize his own faults. He could not blame this on LaCroix.

He had always thought of LaCroix as evil. LaCroix tempted him, seduced him, dragged him into the endless pit of evil that now consumed him. It was LaCroix's fault. It had been comforting to believe that in a way. Although he knew he had accepted LaCroix's dark gift and therefore he was not blameless, he had always felt justified that the greater sin had been LaCroix's. He had been young, confused, lost, vulnerable.

But the demon had not possessed LaCroix. In fact, it had been driven out by LaCroix. The priest had said the powerful words to stir up the demon, but LaCroix had freed him. LaCroix had argued with it, denied its claim on Nick. LaCroix was his salvation. Nick tossed the bottle of cow against the wall. The glass shattered with a satisfactory sound and cow blood dripped to puddle on the floor. He was consumed with hunger.

Return to me, purred a familiar voice.

Nick glanced upstairs. LaCroix had not spoken aloud. The words were soft and tentative over the bond they shared. It wasn't exactly a command, but more of an invitation. Return to me, to the life I have promised you...

He wanted this. He needed it. Now, awake and refreshed from sleep, the demons of the previous night were not as terrifying and yet, Nick did not want to be alone. In the past, he had believed that by returning to LaCroix, he would be damned. Yet, he knew LaCroix could not have driven out the demon that possessed him if he was of the devil himself. Even the Good Shepherd had said as much when the Pharisees claimed his power was not of God.

LaCroix did not believe in God, did not believe he was a creature of God. But not believing it did not necessarily make it untrue. Could he be? Could Nick be? Was he still one of God's creatures and not the spawn of the devil? His mind hurt with thinking. His stomach hurt with needing.

Return to me the gentle command beckoned. Nick hurried to obey.

Much later, after they had showered and dressed, LaCroix embraced Nick in a farewell. "I must return to the Raven, mon fils," he said.

Nick nodded shyly. He didn't want the elder to go, but he was ashamed and embarrassed at how much he needed him. He wasn't sure about letting him back into his life. So much was changing. It unnerved him.

"You are welcome to join me," LaCroix offered hesitantly. "I am not going to argue with you about your diet tonight, but perhaps you would consider something more satisfying until you feel your strength has returned?"

Nick grinned. Such a round about way of offering him a drink! "I'd like that," he said.

LaCroix smiled. He gave the apartment a casual glance, pleased that much of the damage had been removed. Perhaps, when his son returned later, there would be little to remind him of the terror he had experienced before. LaCroix decided then to have the piano replaced while his son was out. "Shall we go?"

Nick grasped his hand before flying into the night. It was such a small gesture and yet it spoke volumes that his son was still fearful of the demon. LaCroix held his hand firmly, setting a comfortable pace for flying in tandem.

At the Raven, LaCroix gestured to Patrick. "The special reserve," he said. Patrick nodded and reached for the key to unlock the vintage stock. He brought the bottle and two glasses to the secluded booth and left, sensing their desire for privacy.

LaCroix poured, then raised his glass. Nicholas took the other glass and stared at the dark liquid. As the rare scent rose to fill his nostrils, his eyes glowed and fangs erupted. Then he lifted his glass as well. "To us," he whispered.

LaCroix raised an eyebrow at the odd salute. "So, my son. What do you wish to do tonight?" He meant it to be polite conversation. He didn't really want to get into another emotional, philosophical discussion.

"What was her name?" Nick stared at the liquid again, swirling it around in the glass.

The elder reached through the bond for clarification. Nicholas was open to him tonight, unguarded and trusting. He was thinking about the vampire he had nearly strangled in the back room last night. She was young, another orphan that depended on the Raven for everything. LaCroix grew tired of the strays and yet he found he could do nothing about them without alienating both Janette and Nicholas.

"Currently, she goes by "Robin". I am not sure of her origins. She lost everyone she knew to the fever."

Nicholas winced. He drained the glass and held it out for LaCroix to refill. The elder scoffed at the reversal, as his child should be waiting on him. Still, he silently filled the glass and delighted to watch his child consume it.

"I must go to her," Nick said.

"I am quite sure that you are not top on her list of welcome visitors, my son."

Nick nodded. "I know. Still, where can I find her?"

LaCroix gave him the address. "Do be careful, Nicholas."

Nick finished his beverage. He looked at the other cautiously. What was happening between them? Was LaCroix being sincere or merely manipulative? "LaCroix, I," he began.

LaCroix silenced him with a gesture. "Please, Nicholas. I've heard it all before."

At his son's curious look, he finished the thought. "You are afraid to let me back into your heart or your life, you don't know what you want or where you wish to go, and you do not want me to interfere or offer advice. Fine. Have it your way. When or if you figure it out, you know where to find me."

Nick winced at the sharp tones, and yet, he knew his master was justified somewhat. Nick had used him last night. He had been so frightened. Lonely and needy and without a thought to how it would affect the other, he had begged for his attentions. Nick was wrong now to back away and yet he knew he must. Perhaps, a true lasting peace could be forged out of this, but it must be because he wanted it and not merely because he owed the other something.

"Thank you, LaCroix," he whispered.

Robin was home in her basement apartment. He could hear her. She was angry and sobbing, and throwing something around. He felt a wave of guilt wash over him; he was the cause of her suffering. He knocked.

"Go away!" she shouted through the door.

So, the fledgling had sensed him, he thought dryly. She was not entirely untrained. But then, he had not been trying to shield his presence either. "Robin," he said. "Please let me in."

"No! Go away! Don't worry, I will not smear your name among our kind. Just let me finish packing and I will leave!"

Nick continued to knock. Some of the neighbors were peeking around the edges of chained doors secured to doorframes. Nick tried again. "I will not touch you, Robin. I swear. Please let me in."

To his surprise, she flung the door wide. She barely resembled the hot, attractive vampire he'd seduced and nearly destroyed last night. Gone was the sophistication and black leather. Today her eyes looked swollen from crying and her hair was tied back in a tacky braid. She wore blue jeans and a man's cotton shirt and bare feet. Nick saw several suitcases open on the bed, items haphazardly thrown inside.

Nick stepped in and closed the door behind him. Robin swung a hand, slapping his cheek hard. Nick blinked, feeling her strength behind the blow, yet he did nothing to stop the second slap. Robin's hands clenched into fists, which she pummeled into his stomach, she kicked him, threw him across the room, and straddled him as she continued to rain blows on his face and chest. Nick clenched his eyes to subdue the vampire. Still she vented her fear and rage.

"I hate you," she sobbed.

"I know," Nick admitted. He tasted his own blood. "I don't know what to say, except that I am very sorry."

She bared her fangs and struck, biting his throat savagely. Nick turned his face, giving her easier access. He coughed once, nearly choking on his blood. His stomach hurt. He lifted his arms tentatively, patting her back as she assaulted him. Through his blood, he let her see the demon that had driven him and the guilt and sorrow he suffered now.

Robin collapsed on top of him, still crying, but no longer angry. Nick continued to pat her back, doing nothing else. His fangs itched, his stomach rebelled. Hunger was warring within, but he could control it.

"I have to leave," she spat between sobs. "Your master's orders. I don't know where to go!"

"Please let me help you," Nick offered.

"I still hate you." Her words were less forceful now.

Nick chuckled, in spite of the pain he felt. "What about Montreal?"

Robin shrugged. She clung to him for a moment, drawing some small measure of comfort from this vampire. He was not the cause of all her pain, only the last straw in a string of bad luck. She had lost her master, her siblings, her lover, and her friends in the fever. The Raven had been her surrogate family, and now the owner forced her to move on. "What's in Montreal?" she whispered.

"A new start," Nick said. "I have an apartment there you may use. It isn't much, but one day I hope I can make it up to you."

"That doesn't change a thing," she sniffed, rising.

Nick grimaced. She might be a fledgling, but she was no infant. He swallowed blood and struggled to his feet. "Let me introduce you to Aristotle. He can help you get settled and I will pay for your move. It is the least I can do."

Robin touched the bleeding wounds in his throat. Standing on her toes, she stepped closer and licked at them until they closed. Nick shut his eyes, aroused by the simple gesture. "All right," she agreed. "And one day, you may come and visit me, to give me the chance to forgive you."

He nodded. He hurt like hell, but he also felt very, very good. He offered her his hand and escorted her to Aristotle.

Later, he returned to the loft alone. He touched the scorched marks on the lift door, a constant reminder of his volatile temper. He had often considered having the door refinished, but it was a part of him. He had thought he had killed his master then. For over a year he had lived as one lost. So much like Robin. She was old enough to live on her own, and yet the vampire within craved companionship. She would grieve for her lost master until another came to take his place. He and LaCroix had fought viciously when the ancient returned. Behind the fight, however, had been surprising joy. He was not alone any more.

Wandering away from the lift, Nick viewed his home, the "temple of doom" as Schanke had teasingly called it. The room was cool and smelled fresh. He closed the window as dawn would be soon approaching, and turned the shutters to close out all light. The loft looked clean, no sign of the demon possession remained. He turned then to face the piano.

It sat there, shiny and new, beckoning to him. Slowly he approached. It was black, the same make as the one before, and yet Nick knew that this was not his instrument. He sat on the bench and poised his fingers over the keys. This was beyond Nat's budget. She would not have been this thoughtful, and even if she had, she did not have the power to ensure such swift action. This was a gift from LaCroix.

LaCroix was not here now. Nick opened himself to the other. He could sense him, clear and strong, as the other prepared for sleep, across town in his apartment above the Raven. For a moment, Nick considered going to him, but it was too soon. Instead, he would play for him. He would thank LaCroix through song. And although the melody haunted him, the words made him weep, Nick knew exactly what he would play.

"For you," he said, ensuring that LaCroix would listen.

His fingers hovered above the keys, his eyes closed. He drifted back through time, to the mid-eighteenth century, to the home of young Wolfgang Mozart. Nick had met the child prodigy and they had become good friends, as they felt an affinity for one another. Mozart's father had been a hard, driving man, but he adored his children, instructing them himself. While LaCroix and Leopold visited in the library over their children and the affairs of the world, he and Wolfgang had composed a suite dedicated to their fathers. They had committed the music to memory, and never performed it in public. It was a private gift.

He had not played the piece in over a century. Momentarily, he wondered if he would even be able to play it correctly, but as the music swelled to fill his soul, he knew every note, played every phrase, as he had in that long ago conservatory, with the child Mozart beside him. Words were failing him. He could not speak to his master tonight. His thoughts were in a swirl, his desires unknown, but he allowed a sense of harmony to flood the bond they shared. Together, they had fought the demon. Together, they could face anything.

The end.

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