==================== 
Part Fourteen 
====================

The loft was pitch black, a suitable match for Nick's mood. Though
the sun had set hours ago, the heavy iron shutters remained closed,
sealing out any trace of illumination from either the moon above or
the streetlights below.

He felt as if his world had ended.

Staring blindly at the empty green bottles littering the floor around
the sofa, Nick felt a fresh wave of despair surge through him. There
was still one bottle he hadn't finished off, an oversight he was
determined to rectify. Head tilted back, he raised the bottle to his
lips, squeezing his eyes shut as the steer's blood coursed down his
throat. In its wake came a familiar sour aftertaste, which he grimly
ignored as his mind replayed, once more, the events of the previous
night.

For one euphoric moment he had thought he'd found her. Even from a
short distance away, seen from behind, the resemblance had been
remarkable. The shining mass of auburn curls, the distinctive way she
carried herself -- he'd come so close to calling out her name.

And then she'd turned. And he'd known it wasn't her. In that split
second, his newly revived hopes had come crashing down around him.
And he was left with one inescapable certainty.

He would never see Natalie again.

*"Your heart is still untouched. It has never quickened with such
passion, never ached with such sorrow."*

For the first time, Nick felt the full weight of LaCroix's words,
uttered that fateful night at Azure. His master had been at least
half right, in a sense, though Nick would not have agreed at the
time.

It had seemed such a cruel irony then.  He had finally found the
courage to acknowledge his feelings for Natalie, only to realize he
had no choice but to deny that love and to carry on as though nothing
had ever happened between them.

But she'd still been there. She'd still been a part of his life. On
some level, he'd even felt relieved, easily convincing himself it was
for the best. As long as he remained a vampire and she a mortal,
anything else was far too dangerous to contemplate. And if, one day,
he had been forced to move on without her, he could have taken
comfort in the knowledge that somewhere in this world, she existed.

However short-lived it might have been, that solace was now denied
him.

For the first time, Nick admitted to himself that it could already be
too late. It might as well be. Last night's bitter disappointment had
destroyed any hopes he'd had of finding her in time.

'In time for what?' he wondered bitterly. 'In time to watch her die?
To turn my back on her again if she asks me to --' He couldn't finish
the thought. Instead, he closed his eyes again and took another large
swig from the bottle still clutched tightly in his hand.

Not even the grief that had assailed him over the death of Alyssa,
his beloved wife, could match the utter despair he felt at this
moment. Why that should be, he didn't know. Perhaps his heart ... the
vampire's heart ... had been incapable of such depth of feeling all
those centuries ago.

But now, the sudden conviction that Natalie was lost to him forever
touched the very core of his being in a way nothing else ever had.

No. LaCroix had been right in that respect. He had never known such
sorrow. Until now.

He had failed her. Nothing would ever convince him otherwise, and he
would carry that bitter knowledge with him throughout eternity. If he
had only understood what she'd really been asking that day she had
visited him in the loft, things might have turned out differently. He
could have talked to her, eased her confusion. He could have made her
realize that there was nothing he wanted more than to be there for
her. She might never have felt compelled to leave.

It was all so clear to him now. Why couldn't he have seen that then?

*"And what about Janette?"*

For one mind-numbing moment after Natalie had asked that question,
Nick had been certain she knew the truth about everything that had
transpired the night of the fire. How, in his selfishness, he had
turned a deaf ear to Janette's protests and brought her back across.
He hadn't been thinking of Janette, of what she wanted, but only of
himself. He simply couldn't bear to lose her -- not that way.

With bowed head, Nick had stood in the loft, mentally groping for
some way to make Natalie understand why he'd done it. But how could
he, when even he didn't understand?

Before he could reveal the truth, however, another query from Natalie
had made him realize that she still believed his lie of omission,
still thought Janette was dead.

*"If you could have saved her ... if you'd been able to get to her in
time ... would you have brought her back across?"*

He understood now why she had asked that question, but at the time,
he hadn't even wondered. Hadn't really wanted to know. Instead, he'd
ended the discussion abruptly, afraid to go any further. Afraid of
where such questions might lead. Afraid he would tell her the truth,
and that she would finally see how utterly unworthy and completely
irredeemable he really was.

Afraid that she would turn away from him, once and for all.

*"I shall enjoy watching it take hold of you ... the torture I have
felt every moment since I left your sister behind."*

Despite LaCroix's claims, Nick had always thought his master
impervious to such emotional pain. He had never truly believed that
the ancient vampire had harbored anything more than a passing
fascination with Fleur and a longstanding resentment at having his
wishes thwarted. But the pain he'd seen in LaCroix's eyes that night
at Azure ...

Was it possible? Had his actions those many centuries ago forced
LaCroix to endure eight centuries of torment -- the same kind of
anguish he himself now faced? If so, how could LaCroix bear it? Why
would he want to?

No. It couldn't be. It was unthinkable. And yet ...

With the keen responses of a predator, Nick's head snapped up, as if
yanked by an invisible string. Nostrils flaring, he moved in a blur
of speed, abandoning the sofa and coming to rest on the loft's
second-level landing. His eyes flared a brilliant amber as they
zeroed in on the vampire that had suddenly materialized in the middle
of the room. A deep, warning growl instinctively escaped his lips an
instant before he recognized the figure below.

Vachon.

Looking a bit taken aback by Nick's reaction to his arrival, the
Spaniard glanced quickly around the room, eyes widening as he spotted
the large number of empty bottles scattered across the floor. Then,
slowly turning his head, he gazed up at Nick.

"Sorry if I'm interrupting something," he said quietly. "I would have
called first, but since I don't have a phone ... " Vachon shrugged,
trailing off into silence. He waited for his reluctant host to
respond, his expression carefully neutral.

The golden hue faded from Nick's eyes, only to be replaced by a stony
glare.

"Next time, you might try a pay phone," he suggested in a slightly
acid tone.

In a flash, he was beside Vachon. With no small amount of
satisfaction, he noted the younger vampire's momentary disconcertion.
He usually took great pains to move and act as a mortal, even around
Vachon. Seeing Nick's vampiric nature so blatantly displayed,
however, obviously took some getting used to on the Spaniard's part.

"Why are you here, Vachon?" He allowed his eyes to revert to their
normal blue, but his voice still carried a hint of the vampire.

"Information. Thought you might like some." Though Vachon's tone was
subdued, Nick was certain he detected an amused glint lurking in
those dark eyes. It hadn't taken long for the Spaniard to regain his
composure, he'd give him that.

Unlike Vachon's last visit, this time Nick refused to draw
conclusions about what the aforementioned information might entail.
He was through getting his hopes up only to have them cruelly dashed
again. He merely waited in stoic silence for Vachon to continue.

"The General's back." At Nick's startled glance, the Spaniard allowed
himself a faint, wry smile. "Heard you were looking for him."

Nick stared intently at Vachon, more than a little wary of a vampire
bearing gifts. Especially this vampire, who had nothing to gain by
helping him and everything to lose if LaCroix ever found out.

"I don't suppose you also ... *heard* ... where he's been these last
two days?"

"Sorry," Vachon shook his head. "My source is good, but not *that*
good. All I know is that he got back early this morning, cutting it a
little close, by all accounts. Oh, yeah. And he was not a happy
camper."

The dark-haired vampire suddenly grinned, as though he found the idea
of an irate LaCroix vastly entertaining. Nick, who had vivid memories
of how truly terrifying his master could be when enraged, suppressed
a shudder and shook his head at the younger vampire's folly. He
didn't bother, however, to point out what should have been obvious to
any 200-year-old.

"That's why you came here?" He asked instead, a hint of suspicion
coloring his voice. "To tell me that?"

Vachon shrugged. "One good turn deserves another."

Nick stared at him blankly.

"Tracy," he clarified. "I don't know what you said to her, Knight,
but whatever it was, it seems to have helped. She's feeling a lot
better about things."

Vachon hesitated, then added, "Besides, I owe the Doc. Tracy seems to
think it would be a good idea for both of you if you found her."

Before Nick could respond, their conversation was cut short by the
grating sound of a buzzer. It was the intercom hooked up to his
security system, announcing the arrival of a visitor. Exchanging a
questioning look with Vachon, Nick quickly crossed the room and
activated the monitor. Tracy appeared on the screen.

"Nick? Are you there?" Although he hadn't yet answered her summons,
she'd noticed immediately that the green light above the camera had
flashed on.

"Yeah, Trace. I'm here."

"Is it okay if I come up a minute? I need to talk to you about
something."

Nick hesitated. The last thing he wanted was more company, especially
in his present state. But he could think of no good reason for
turning her away.

"Sure," he finally answered, flipping the switch that deactivated the
electronic lock. "Come on up."

As the screen went black again, Nick turned back to Vachon.

"Well, I guess that's my cue to leave," the Spaniard said, glancing
in the direction of the open skylight. As the grinding mechanism of
the old freight elevator kicked in, Vachon moved toward the spot
where he'd first appeared, then stopped.

"Oh. And Knight? A friendly word of advice? Lay off the caffeine."

With a devilish grin and a slight whooshing sound, the Spaniard
disappeared into the night. Nick hurried to gather up the empty
bottles from the floor, consigning them to the trash mere seconds
before the lift groaned to a halt. The metal door rumbled open, and
Tracy stepped into the loft.

"Hi, Nick," she greeted her partner, who had retreated to the living
area. "I'm really sorry about just dropping by like this. It was kind
of on impulse."

She stopped, looking around the room in a slightly distracted
fashion. She'd only been to the loft once before, and then just for a
few minutes. She was obviously curious about her partner's home
environment.

But Nick wasn't in the mood to play tour guide.

"It's okay, Trace. Don't worry about it. I was just ... " His voice
trailed off. What could he say? That he'd been busy guzzling blood
and contemplating a life of eternal heartbreak?

He looked up to see Tracy regarding him with a sympathetic gaze. It
was clear that while she might not know the exact path his thoughts
had taken, she had a pretty good idea of what ... or who ... they
centered around.

Nick slammed the lid shut on his emotions, retreating behind a mask
of quiet indifference that had served him well in the past. He
gestured toward the sofa.

"Why don't we sit down?" he suggested, waiting for her to settle
herself before he took a seat in the armchair. "I'm afraid I don't
have anything to offer you, except tap water."

"That's okay," she demurred. "I'm fine."

Having dispensed with the social preliminaries, Nick looked at Tracy.
The next move was hers.

She took the hint.

"I was on my way into the station, but I thought I should talk to you
first," she began, somewhat hesitantly. "I've made my decision."

Nick remained silent, letting her take things at her own pace.

"It wasn't easy, but I've decided not to quit the force. Mainly
because of the things you said the other night. You gave me a lot to
think about, Nick. You made me realize that you don't have to be
perfect to be a good cop. You don't even have to always be right. You
just have to try your best and learn from your mistakes."

She glanced down at her clasped hands, then back up at Nick. "Uncle
Sonny tried to teach me that, but I guess I lost sight of it
somewhere along the way. I got wrapped up in trying to prove myself
to everybody. I kind of forgot that the main person I need to answer
to is myself.

"You helped me realize something else, too, Nick. Things aren't
always as black and white as I grew up believing they were." A wry
smile appeared on her face. "Believe me, I've learned that in more
ways than one these last few months," she murmured.

"And the fact that you understood how I felt ... it made me feel I
wasn't alone. That helped more than I can say." Tracy hesitated, then
drew a deep breath and squared her shoulders.

"Anyway, you're the main reason I was able to get things straightened
out in my head, so I wanted to tell you first. And I wanted to thank
you for not trying to act like it didn't matter -- the whole thing
with Uncle Sonny, I mean. And for letting me make up my mind without
trying to pressure me."

Tracy looked deep into Nick's eyes, her voice strong and confident.
"It means a lot to know you respect me enough -- trust me enough --
to make the right decision. And that you understand and don't think
any less of me for what I almost did. I couldn't ask for a better
partner, partner."

She smiled, and for the first time, Nick couldn't find a trace of the
sorrow that had haunted her eyes since her uncle's death.

For a long moment, he was at a loss for words. True, he had given
Tracy what support he could at the time and left her to make her own
decision, but he couldn't help feeling he was accepting something
that didn't belong to him. He cared about Tracy, and wanted the best
for her, but his mind had been preoccupied with finding Natalie. So
much so, that it had left little room for any other considerations.

"I think you're giving me too much credit, Trace," he said at last.
"I'd say the person you have to thank for this is yourself. But
whatever the case, the most important thing to remember about what
happened is that it's not the last mistake you'll ever make ... or
almost make. Learn from it, Trace. Let it make you a better cop. A
better human being."

"Is that what you do?"

He smiled sadly. "It's what I *try* to do."

They were quiet for several seconds, lost in their respective
thoughts. It was Tracy who finally broke the silence.

"Well, let's just hope I don't do anything to make us both regret my
decision," she said, grinning cheerfully. "Too many mistakes and you
may be wishing I'd opted for a waitressing job at the Greasy Spoon."

Nick responded with a smile before his expression sobered. "I'm glad
you decided not to quit the force, Tracy," he said quietly. "Metro
can't afford to lose you ... and I don't want to lose another
partner."

Even as the words left his mouth, Nick suddenly realized that, for
the first time since they'd been assigned to work together, he really
did think of Tracy as his partner. For months, he'd resisted the
idea, convinced deep in his heart that a formal acknowledgment of
anyone else in that role would somehow constitute a betrayal of
Schanke's memory.

Hardly rational, but true nonetheless. In this moment, however, he
finally understood that it didn't matter how many partners he had, or
how much he did or didn't trust them. Nothing would ever diminish the
value of his friendship with Schanke and all that it had given him.
Once a partner, always a partner.

And now, that partner was Tracy. It was a major breakthrough for
Nick. In fact, this suddenly seemed to be the night for life-altering
revelations. For even now, as the underlying meaning behind Tracy's
words slowly sank in, Nick was experiencing an epiphany of sorts --
one that rocked the very foundation of his 800-year-old existence.
All the soul-searching he'd done of late, coupled with this
unsettling new perspective, was finally bearing fruit.

Suddenly, he knew what he had to do.

"Look, Trace," he began, "I hate to rush you, but I --"

"That's okay, Nick," she interrupted, quick to take the hint. "I have
to be going anyway." Without further ado, she stood and moved toward
the lift, Nick trailing along in her wake. But as she slid open the
door to the elevator, she hesitated, turning back to face him.

"I promised myself I wasn't going to ask, but I take it you haven't
heard anything from Nat?"

Nick froze in place, then slowly shook his head. Tracy laid her hand
on his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze of encouragement.

"You'll find her, Nick. And you'll find a way to fix whatever's wrong
between the two of you. I know you will." The familiar grin
reappeared on her face. "Call me a cock-eyed optimist, but I believe
you and Nat were meant to be together. Whatever you do, don't give
up."

Without waiting for a reply, Tracy turned and entered the lift.

"And call me if there's anything I can do to help, okay? 'Cause
that's what partners are for, right? To back you up when you really
need it."

The door clanged shut. Before the old elevator had even started its
descent to the ground floor, Nick was out the skylight and on his way
to the Raven.


================== 
Part Fifteen 
====================

Nick landed softly in a dark alley across the street from the Raven's
entrance. Moving toward the mouth of the alleyway, he halted just
short of the sidewalk, choosing instead to linger a moment in the
deep shadows that filled the narrow opening.

He'd been almost desperate to get here, recklessly departing the loft
as soon as Tracy had entered the old freight elevator. Now that he
had arrived, he couldn't quite bring himself to take those final
steps. Steps that might well determine what course his life followed
from this moment on.

So much depended on what happened next. Despite all Nick's
experiences to the contrary, he couldn't help but hope that what he
had come here to say would have some impact on LaCroix. That his sire
would relent and finally tell him where Natalie had gone.

In the deepest recesses of his heart, however, he knew that would
never happen. No matter, though. It wouldn't stop him from continuing
the search. And it didn't change what must be done. Regardless of the
final outcome, this was a conversation long overdue.

+++++++

Inside the Raven, LaCroix paused as he felt a tingling sense of
Nicholas' presence coursing through him like the very blood in his
veins. Setting aside the accounts ledger he'd been poring over for
the past half hour, he leaned back in the leather chair, his face
impassive as he waited patiently for his son to seek him out.

It hadn't taken long for Nicholas to learn of his return.

LaCroix had arrived back in Toronto shortly before sunrise, heading
straight for the Raven, where he had immediately sequestered himself
in his private quarters. He had not emerged until late in the
evening, having had a great deal to contemplate, little of it
pleasurable.

When he had at last appeared in the outer environs of the club, he
was greeted with the news that, in his absence, Nicholas had come
calling.

"He was here looking for you," the bartender had told him. There had
been no need to explain who "he" was.

For an instant, LaCroix had stared at the man in much the same way a
poised cobra regards its prey. Resisting the urge to kill the
messenger, he had instead claimed his glass of bloodwine and retired
to his office, closing the door firmly behind him.

So. Nicholas had been looking for him, had he? Determined, no doubt,
to make yet another pathetic attempt to ascertain the whereabouts of
the lovely Dr. Lambert. What a pity. His efforts would once again be
wasted.

LaCroix would do nothing to bring them together, even for the brief
time she had left. Except under his terms, of course.

It amused him, however, to ponder the possible outcome of such a
reunion. Would she ask Nicholas for the very thing she had refused to
accept from his sire? He knew his son better than to believe he would
ever offer it of his own accord. And if she did ask to be brought
over, how would Nicholas respond? Would he recoil in horror, or would
he be willing to make the same kind of sacrifice for her that she was
willing to make for him?

When the moment of truth came, which course of action, in Nicholas'
mind, would prove his love more? Letting her die in that questionable
"state of grace" that his son called humanity, even though the pain
of that loss would follow him throughout eternity? Or risk destroying
what he loved by bringing her over because it was what *she* wanted?

Of course, therein lay the dilemma. What was it the doctor truly
wanted?

When LaCroix had offered Natalie Lambert the gift of immortality, he
had expected some initial resistance on her part. But he'd felt
certain it would give way beneath the shadow of her impending death
and the tantalizing prospect of an endless succession of days and
nights with Nicholas.

Instead, she had surprised him again with her staunch refusal to
succumb to the temptation he'd placed in her way.

LaCroix didn't like being surprised.

At that moment, he had been sorely tempted to bring her across
despite the answer she had given him. As Natalie Lambert's master,
his power over her would have strengthened his influence over
Nicholas to a degree he had not enjoyed for some years. But as long
as she had doubts, as he sensed she did, he could not be certain she
would turn away from the light and embrace the eternal life he could
give her.

She might indeed choose to die, and he would not risk alienating
Nicholas that way. Once before, with Sylvaine, he had seriously
misjudged the final outcome of his actions. He would not make the
same mistake again. If Nicholas had reacted so strongly to the death
of that empty-headed dancer with whom he was merely infatuated, how
much worse would it be if LaCroix killed his beloved Natalie?

He had almost done so when he had lured her to Azure. The pain of
Fleur's loss, which had resurfaced with a vengeance, had blinded him,
rendered him heedless of the consequences of forcing Nicholas into
such a position. It had also made him question, momentarily, his own
assessment of the true state of affairs between his son and Natalie
Lambert.

Afterward, when his emotions were once again under tight control, he
was strangely relieved that he'd doubted, however briefly, Nicholas'
feelings for his mortal love. It had been enough to stop him from
irrevocably widening the rift between himself and his recalcitrant
child. No matter how much he would prefer a future without the good
doctor in it, he was prepared to tolerate *anything* that would draw
Nicholas back to his side.

With an irritated sigh, LaCroix abruptly ended that particular avenue
of contemplation. While he was perfectly content dissecting the
thoughts, failings and emotions of others -- particularly those
belonging to Nicholas -- self-introspection, as a rule, held little
appeal for him.

He would not, however, give up on the headstrong coroner and her
potential role in bringing Nicholas to his senses. There was still
time. As her condition worsened, she could yet be persuaded to change
her mind. He knew now where she was, and he was certain she would
remain there. She was far too proud to run from him.

Yes. There was still time. He would visit her again, and soon.

For now, he would sit here biding his time as Nicholas lurked
outside, no doubt gathering his courage for the confrontation to
come. The vibrations LaCroix felt along their link told him he would
not have much longer to wait.

+++++++

Nick watched the last of the Raven's mortal patrons trail out of the
club, signaling the approach of closing time. He knew he had delayed
long enough.

Tracy's visit to the loft had clarified a great many things for him.
Things that he had never understood before, never even considered,
now seemed so obvious. It had started with the gratitude she had
expressed for the nonjudgmental support he had offered her.

Although she hadn't said it, Nick knew what Tracy had meant. Unlike
her father.

Unlike *his* father.

As different as he and Tracy were, they had that common thread
binding them together. Possessive, controlling fathers who demanded
the right to decide what was best for their children. Fathers who
could not accept that their offspring chose to follow a different
path. Commissioner Vetter's domineering nature kept Tracy from
turning to him for advice and guidance, just as LaCroix's iron-handed
tactics had long ago taught Nick to distrust his sire's motives.

Throughout the centuries, Nick had attributed virtually every action
LaCroix had taken, every word he'd ever spoken, to the elder
vampire's all-consuming need to control his son ... to manipulate and
shape his creation into his own image.

He'd believed the same to be true when LaCroix had given up Fleur. If
his sire had truly wanted her, he would have taken her, despite all
of Nick's protests. Instead, he had allowed his fledgling to bargain
for her life ... for her very soul. And in exchange, Nicholas de
Brabant had given his master a nameless, faceless woman he was
certain would never exist.

Only she did exist. She had a name and a face. Natalie's name.
Natalie's face.

He had agreed to the bargain, never believing he would have to pay
the price. And when all was said and done, he had seen it as the
first in a long line of steps LaCroix would take to keep him in
thrall.

He knew now that he had been wrong.

Tracy's words echoed clearly in his mind.

*"Things aren't always as black and white as I grew up believing they
were."*

And perhaps they weren't as black and white as he had believed them
to be all these centuries.

*"And the fact that you understood how I felt ... it made me feel I
wasn't alone."*

But he hadn't understood, had he? Not until now, almost 800 years
later.

*"You don't even have to always be right. You just have to try your
best and learn from your mistakes."*

No matter how hard he'd tried, he'd had little success in that
respect. Could he change that now? Was he finally capable of learning
from his own failures? Or was he doomed to repeat those mistakes over
and over throughout eternity?

*"It means a lot to know you respect me enough -- trust me enough --
to make the right decision. And that you understand and don't think
any less of me for what I almost did."*

But he hadn't done that, had he? Not for the ones who had mattered
most. So many times he'd taken those decisions upon himself, always
believing he'd known what was best.

*"I kind of forgot that the main person I need to answer to is
myself."*

He did have to answer to himself, for a good many things. And it must
start here, tonight.

With renewed resolve, Nick stepped out of the shadows, heading for
the Raven's front door and all that lay beyond.


==================== 
Part Sixteen 
====================

When Nick entered LaCroix's office, he found the elder vampire
standing off to one side of the room, positioned in front of a large,
mahogany bookshelf. He was casually leafing through the pages of a
leather-bound book, his back turned indifferently to the door.

There was no need for Nick to announce his presence. He was well
aware LaCroix had been awaiting his arrival since the first moment he
had touched down outside. He stood silently, marking time until his
sire deigned to notice him.

Seconds ticked by, stretching into minutes. At last, the ancient
vampire sighed, carefully replacing the book on the shelf before
turning to face his visitor.

 "Nicholas," he greeted him.

"LaCroix."

It was all he could manage to say. Standing face-to-face with his
master, the speech he had so painstakingly prepared suddenly deserted
him.

LaCroix regarded him expectantly, one eyebrow raised in a silent
query. Obviously deciding Nick required prompting, he sighed once
more.

"I presume there is some reason for this visit," he said, adopting a
slightly mocking tone. "Perhaps you would care to enlighten me?"

 "You've been gone."

It wasn't what he had intended to say.

"So I have been," LaCroix agreed. "How astute of you to notice."

"Did it have anything to do with Natalie?"

He hadn't meant to say that either, and he mentally cursed himself as
a derisive gleam appeared in LaCroix's eyes. But the elder vampire's
expression remained impassive.

"It's a terrible habit you have, Nicholas ... jumping to
conclusions," he replied. "And as usual, the *wrong* conclusions."

In the space of a mortal heartbeat, LaCroix stood beside him. The
mocking gaze that had taunted Nick mere seconds before hardened
abruptly -- a subtle reminder that there were boundaries between them
it would be wiser not to cross.

"You know better than anyone that I am not in the habit of accounting
for my comings and goings," LaCroix chided softly. It was an
unexpectedly mild admonishment. "But I'm feeling unusually indulgent
tonight, so perhaps I shall humor you."

Pausing long enough to make a point, LaCroix continued, his
dismissive tone expressing his obvious boredom with the topic at
hand.

"It was a business matter, Nicholas -- one that required my ...
*personal* ... attention. As difficult as it may be for you to
comprehend, not *all* of my actions center around you or the
insignificant mortals on whom you place such a high premium. If you
choose to believe otherwise ... well, you have always been my most
obstinate child."

He was lying. Nick was certain of it. But he also knew LaCroix would
never tell him what he needed to know. What was the point in hoping
otherwise? Instead, he forced his attention back to the real motive
for his visit.

"I'm not here to argue with you, LaCroix."

"No? How unusual. Then I suppose you had best tell me why you *are*
here."

Nick hesitated ...

"It's about Fleur," he said softly.

Without warning, the room lurched sideways, and Nick found himself
fighting to maintain his balance as the link between the two vampires
resonated with an intensity that took his breath away.

"You dare to speak her name to me?" LaCroix growled. His piercing
eyes, though still an icy blue, burned with repressed rage. "You, who
swore upon her grave --"

"LaCroix, please!" Nick protested. His voice dropped to a whisper,
his tone almost deferential. "Let me finish."

He stood quietly, eyes wordlessly pleading, as LaCroix subjected him
to a long, hard stare. After an interminable amount of time, the
unsettling reverberations that bombarded him through their link
slowly faded away. The elder vampire inclined his head in a barely
perceptible nod.

Nick released the breath he'd been holding, bowing his own head
briefly before raising it to meet LaCroix's gaze. Once more, he
silently entreated his sire to hear him out.

"I came to tell you ... that I understand now."

The icy stare never wavered. "I'm so happy for you. What is it, pray
tell, that you understand?"

"Everything." Nick returned his master's gaze, blue eyes brimming
with remorse. "I know now that you truly loved Fleur ... and that you
gave her up ... for me."

An unearthly stillness settled over LaCroix's features, transforming
his face into a rigid mask,  pale and devoid of emotion. He resembled
nothing so much as an alabaster bust carved from uncaring stone.

Nick knew he was trespassing on forbidden ground, straying perilously
close to inciting the wrath of the most powerful vampire he'd ever
known. But he also knew that if anyone were allowed such a
transgression, it would be LaCroix's favorite child, a status Nick
had never appreciated more than at this moment.

He owed this to LaCroix. He owed it to himself. And most of all, he
owed it to Fleur.

"It's taken me a long time to understand ... to acknowledge the
sacrifice you made." Nick stared earnestly at his master, attempting
to reach past the implacable gaze that barred his way. "I didn't know
then ... I didn't understand what it was I was asking you to give up.
But I do now. And I deeply regret the pain it's caused you."

Eons seemed to pass before LaCroix responded. When he did, it was
with an eerie calm that Nick found far more disquieting than the open
rage or ridicule he had expected. Those would have been easier to
deal with than the unscalable wall that stood between them.

"I see." Although LaCroix's voice was pitched low and soft, the
withering look he directed at Nick clearly conveyed his scornful
skepticism. "And am I to believe that if you had it to do over again,
you would react differently? If you had known then what you know now,
you would not have stood in our way?"

Nick hesitated. It would be so easy ...

"No," he answered firmly. "I loved Fleur, LaCroix. As such, I did the
only thing I could. I can't pretend that I would have had it any
other way. The darkness *would* have destroyed her. At some level,
you must have known that."

"Indeed?" Though outwardly calm, Nick sensed LaCroix's iron-willed
control was dangerously close to snapping. The bitter anger that
seethed inside the elder vampire was even now searching for an outlet
-- straining to break free, demanding the right to unleash the beast.
And it hungered not  for blood, but for recompense.

It would only be denied for so long, and then ...

Time was running out. Gazing earnestly at his sire, Nick tried to
convince LaCroix of both his sincerity and his certainty.

"I believe you wanted to spare her that," he said, "as I believe now
that you loved her in a way I had not thought possible. You let her
go for me, yes, but a part of you also did it for her."

"The only thing I did for your sister, *Nicholas,*" hissed LaCroix,
voice dripping with venom, "was to condemn her to a lingering death!"

"No! You did more than that," Nick insisted, his eyes shining with
conviction. "You spared her the darkness, LaCroix! You preserved her
soul."

A harsh laugh escaped the elder vampire as a self-denigrating sneer
crossed his face. "Derive what little comfort you can from that,
Nicholas," he said, "for I can find none."

Closing his eyes, but too late to conceal the emotion radiating from
their depths, LaCroix turned away. He stood, head bowed, seemingly
oblivious to everything but the pain of a love forever lost. Reaching
out, Nick placed a consoling hand on his sire's shoulder and was more
than a little amazed it was allowed to remain there.

"I know we are of different minds on this, LaCroix. But it's done,"
he whispered. "I am sorry for the pain it has caused you ... the pain
that *I* have caused you." He hesitated, then added quietly, "If
you're willing ... perhaps now, we can start to let it go."

LaCroix turned, dislodging Nick's hand from his shoulder. The ghost
of a bitter smile crossed his face, causing Nick's heart to sink as
he met the other vampire's cynical gaze.

"How interesting. This ... revelation ... of yours and the remorse
you so eloquently express. The timing is quite convenient, is it
not?" The smile changed to a knowing smirk. "Yes ... *quite*
convenient."

Nick opened his mouth to deny the implication but found himself
silenced by the peremptory hand LaCroix raised and the piercing gaze
directed at him.

"You have grown desperate to find your mortal love, believing that I
have conspired to keep her from you. And quite suddenly, you
*understand* and *appreciate* the sacrifice I made for you all those
centuries ago?"

A familiar jeering note insinuated itself in LaCroix's voice. "What
next, Nicholas? Do we embrace and declare that all is forgiven? Vow
never to allow such a petty disagreement to come between us again?
Ah, yes. And we mustn't forget the part where, in my gratitude for
your understanding, I disclose the location of your beloved Dr.
Lambert."

Though his tone was mocking, LaCroix's eyes burned with rekindled
rage. "You disappoint me, Nicholas," he sneered. "I had expected far
better from you."

"This isn't a ruse to trick you into helping me, LaCroix!" Nick
protested, though he knew it was useless. His sire would never
believe him. No more than he would have believed LaCroix had their
positions been reversed. Nevertheless, he persevered.

"I had hoped that what I came here to say would make a difference. I
freely admit it. But if you think that's what I expected to happen,
you're wrong! I know you better than that." Nick faced LaCroix's ire
head on, unflinching and resolute. "This was something I *had* to do
... as much for myself as for you. And even more ... for Fleur."

His voice broke on her name, sorrow filling his eyes. Vivid memories
of his sister's heartfelt pleas, her passionate defense of what he
had deemed an unnatural love, tore at his heart anew. Old wounds ran
deep, cutting far beyond mere flesh and bone. And what might well be
the deepest of these had been reopened this night. Not just for him,
but for LaCroix, as well.

It was something no amount of blood, mortal or vampire, could heal.

LaCroix uttered a softly derisive sound, turning away from the grief
clearly visible on Nick's face. But in the brief instant before he
averted his gaze, Nick saw something hiding in those glacial depths.
A hint of vulnerability he never would have believed possible.

Almost before the thought could take form, Nick found himself staring
into LaCroix's eyes again. This time, however, they revealed nothing
but scornful amusement.

"I must confess, you have finally succeeded in surprising me,
Nicholas. I am amazed at my *miraculous* transformation. For so long,
I have been a monster intent upon making your existence a living
hell. Now, it seems I'm a doting father filled with the spirit of
altruism. Come now, Nicholas. You do seem somewhat confused. Which is
it to be?"

"I'm not confused, LaCroix," Nick countered. "Not about this. That
doesn't mean I've forgotten what's passed between us ... the things
you've done to keep me tied to you ... to this cursed existence. And
don't think I'm fool enough to believe this will change anything," he
added.

But he had believed it. A part of him had wanted to believe so badly.

LaCroix glared at Nick, who answered with a long, measured stare of
his own. Then, almost imperceptibly, Nick's gaze softened, and when
he spoke again, his voice carried the unshakable conviction of one
who at last knows the truth.

"It may not be what you want to hear, but the fact remains, LaCroix,
that in that moment ... that one, crucial moment ... you chose to do
something selfless. That you've regretted it bitterly ever since
changes nothing. You cannot deny what happened, and neither can I.
For that, if for nothing else, LaCroix, you have my ... eternal ...
gratitude."

Nick searched the pale depths of his master's frigid gaze, hoping for
some hint of emotion, some sign of acknowledgement. Nothing. His
shoulders sagged as he bowed his head in resignation. Without a word,
he moved toward the door.

LaCroix's mocking words followed him.

"Where to now, Nicholas? Off to search for your lady love?"

He halted but didn't turn around. "I *will* find her, LaCroix. I
won't stop until I do."

"And if you don't find her in time?"

Slowly, reluctantly, Nick turned back to face his sire.

"Then you shall have your retribution at last," he whispered
hoarsely, the harsh reality of the words searing into what little
soul he had left. "Your heart will not be the only one to ache with
eternal sorrow ... "

His voice trailed off as he gazed at LaCroix in mute despair, unable
to stay any longer, yet powerless to leave. He was trapped, as it
seemed he'd always been trapped -- between light and dark, between
truth and distortion, between the spoken and the unspoken.

Between what must be and what could never be.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Nick felt a bitter desolation well up inside
him. He knew in his heart that he had no right to ask for LaCroix's
help. The bargain they had made precluded that. But he wanted to ask.
He wanted to beg and plead. For the first time in his long existence,
Nick *wanted* LaCroix to see everything that lay within his heart. To
forsake any attempt at defiance by giving, of his own free will, what
his master had always taken. Hoping, that perhaps in this way if no
other, there could finally be peace between them.

This time, the thrumming that reverberated along the link binding the
two together originated from Nick. It began as a mild vibration ...
faint, somewhat hesitant ... a connection too long denied. But with
each passing second, the intensity increased until it throbbed with a
newly awakened energy.

With growing assurance, Nick channeled the flow, searching for a
response. At first, there was none. Then, the faintest whisper of an
answer caressed his mind. Without hesitation, he opened himself to
the questing presence, offering no trace of past resentment, no
thought of possible resistance -- merely calm acceptance.

It was all there. Eight centuries laid bare. The carnal desires and
disillusionment that had made it so easy to accept a stranger's
promise of eternal life. The misgivings that had plagued him
afterward, when it was too late to turn back. The glory of the dark
temptations to which he'd quickly succumbed. Centuries of reveling in
the vampire -- the all-consuming bloodlust, the unmatched thrill of
the hunt, the sweet ecstasy of the kill. All the while striving to
ignore a tiny flame of light inside him that would not be
extinguished. One that only grew stronger and brighter with the
passage of time.

Janette was there, as was the passion that ignited inside him at her
slightest touch, the love that filled his heart each time he saw her.
Fleur was there, desperately pleading with both of them until her
image slowly faded away, obscured by the black fog of her brother's
remorse.

Janette reappeared, accompanied by a crushing sorrow and guilt born
of the ultimate betrayal. These were tempered, however, by the
undeniable joy of knowing she still lived. Fond memories of Donald
Schanke surfaced but quickly disappeared beneath a surge of intense
grief. Grief over the loss of a mortal who had meant more to him than
he'd ever realized ... until it had been too late.

And there was more. So much more. Wondrous delight at discovering
worlds of which he'd never dreamt and sensual pleasures he'd never
imagined. A seed of doubt ... or hope ... planted by a young girl
whose faith had outshone the brightest stars in the heavens. The
beginnings of a relentless inner battle between the seductive
darkness that pulled at him and the reawakened faith he now fought so
hard to preserve. Each, in turn, gaining the upper hand until it
seemed as if, one day soon, he would literally be torn apart by the
fierce struggle within.

Nestled at the very core of his being was the compulsion he felt to
return to the light -- to regain his mortality, reclaim his lost
soul. But it warred with the deep and inescapable love he still bore
for the one who had introduced him to the darkness. The one who
viewed his renewed hope for salvation as rejection of the cruelest
kind, and who responded with a ruthless malice that knew no bounds.
The one who also surprised and confused him with rare moments of
self-restraint and fleeting generosity.

His master. His father. His enemy. His friend.

LaCroix.

Eight-hundred years worth of hopes, dreams, fears and regrets
cascaded through their link, a long-awaited gift of trust -- one he'd
never expected to bestow. And interwoven throughout them all were
images of Natalie Lambert -- smiling, frowning, laughing, crying.
Gazing at him with love in her eyes. Turning away to conceal the
hurt. Reaching out in compassion. Lashing out in frustration. But
always providing a strength and support that had seen him through
some of his darkest moments.

The love he felt for her now was the strongest thread in the fabric
of his existence -- as enduring as the heavens, yet equally
unattainable. Forever out of reach, slipping further and further away
...

With an anguished cry of denial, Nick severed the connection.
Staggering slightly, he kept his eyes tightly closed, too exhausted
both physically and emotionally to face his master. Silence filled
the room, broken only by the sound of his ragged breathing.

At last, Nick opened his eyes. But whatever insight he'd hoped to
find in his sire's expression was carefully hidden behind a
dispassionate facade.

He had accomplished nothing.

Without a word, he moved toward the door. As his hand touched the
knob, he was stayed once again by LaCroix's voice.

"Nicholas."

A wealth of unspoken feeling lay in that one word.

Nick turned to face his master, gazing with growing amazement into
weary eyes that, for once, clearly revealed the emotions churning in
their depths. Somewhere deep inside him, hope was reborn, infusing
him with a radiant warmth the likes of which he'd never known.

And as it did, LaCroix spoke again.

"I have news ... "


==================== 
Part Seventeen 
====================

Natalie was dreaming about Nick again. Hardly unusual. Almost every
dream she had these days, at least those she could recall, centered
around him ...

She was standing in the loft. It was dark, so dark that even the
familiar furnishings around her were nothing more than vague shadows.
Or so she thought. But as she turned in a slow circle, her eyes fell
upon the grand piano, rich wood gleaming in a warm pool of
candlelight emanating from a massive candelabrum positioned on the
floor beside it.

Nick was seated at the piano, head bowed, golden curls shining in the
flickering glow of the candles, eyes closed in intense concentration
as gentle fingers caressed the instrument's keys. The soft chords he
coaxed forth were filled with such poignant emotion, such unanswered
yearning, Natalie thought she must surely weep.

The piece was one she'd never heard before, and it drew her
irresistibly. As she neared the piano, she could see Nick's face more
clearly. His expression, one of great sorrow and pain, tore at her
heart. She longed to reach out to him, to smooth away the lines of
despair etched so deeply into his features. But her hand wouldn't
move. And though she tried to speak to him, he continued to play on,
oblivious to her presence.

She began circling the piano, hoping to catch his eye, trying with
increasing desperation to make him hear her words. She had to talk to
him -- about what, she wasn't certain. She only knew it was
important, something that must be said.

But it was no use. The harder she tried to reach him, the louder he
played, his fingers dancing faster and faster over the keys. Finally,
in angry frustration, she lashed out with one hand, knocking over a
vase of bright yellow daisies that had mysteriously appeared on a
corner of the piano. The music crashed to a halt, an oppressive
silence descended upon the loft ...

... and time slowed to a crawl.

It took an eternity for the vase to fall, striking the surface of the
piano at last with a dull thud. Natalie tried to look at Nick but
found herself unable to tear her eyes away from the vase and its
contents. In silent fascination, she watched as the flowers slowly
cascaded to the floor, coming to rest in a heap of bruised and broken
petals.

She was equally transfixed by the small pool of water that spread out
along the piano's surface, inching its way inexorably across the
fine-grained wood. Reaching the edge at last, it spilled over,
dripping steadily onto the ivory keys below. It was only then, with
dawning horror, that Natalie realized the liquid was no longer clear,
but thick and red.

Blood.

She watched, utterly mesmerized, as an unending flow of crimson drops
fell with increasing rapidity, raining down on the keyboard with all
the force of a small cloudburst. Still more blood began to ooze its
way down the piano legs and onto the floor, flowing toward her like a
hungry miniature tidal wave. Though she tried to back away from it,
her legs refused to budge.

With great effort, she forced her eyes closed, hoping in that way to
halt the advance of the terrible red tide. Instead, the rhythmic
pattering of the blood as it splashed and splattered onto the ivory
keys grew louder and more insistent until it filled her ears with a
steady drumming that could not be ignored ...

Stirring restlessly in her sleep, Natalie slowly fought her way back
to consciousness. As she did so, the deafening sound that had
permeated her dream gradually resolved itself into the muted pounding
of raindrops on the roof above her head.

Opening her eyes, she sighed, a slight frown forming on her face as
she stared up at the ceiling. Already the dream was fading. In
another few seconds, it would be gone, slipping away, like so many
others before it, into the recesses of her subconscious.

Turning her head, Natalie glanced at the rain-streaked window.
Illumination from an outdoor floodlight streamed through the
partially open curtains, trailing its way across the floor and onto
her bed. The lights were a legacy of LaCroix's visit, her lone
concession to the fear she had refused to show him. Irrational to
believe the bright beams could somehow hold one very formidable
vampire at bay, but their presence gave her some small measure of
comfort nonetheless.

With another deep sigh, she rolled over to lie on her side, eyes
still fastened on the window. Watching the raindrops chase each other
down the glass pane, she shivered slightly, a flicker of memory
pulling at her, then dancing out of reach ...

She froze.

There had been no sound, no movement, nothing to alert her. But
suddenly, she knew she wasn't alone. Turning her head, this time away
from the window, her eyes were drawn to a dim corner of the room. As
her gaze settled there, a shadow moved, detaching itself from the
darkness. It halted just beyond the path of light that stretched
across the floor.

Natalie slowly sat up, hoping and fearing. It couldn't be. It mustn't
be.

"Nick?"

She barely breathed the name.

The shadow moved again, the sound of her voice drawing it closer. As
he stepped into the light, a distant part of Natalie's mind noted the
moisture glistening against the dark leather of his jacket, the
tousled hair still slightly damp from the rain. She wondered vaguely
how long he'd been standing there, watching her sleep.

Then she looked into his eyes, and what she saw there shook her to
the very core of her being. There was such longing, such a helpless
hunger in those clear blue depths. As if he were a drowning man, and
she, the distant shore.

It literally took her breath away.

Slowly, as if caught in a trance, Nick moved toward the bed, holding
her gaze with his own. Heedless of his damp clothing, he sank down
onto the mattress, his face mere inches away.

For endless moments, they stared at one another ...

Until the gentle rumble of distant thunder broke the spell.

"Nick, how --?"

His hand touched her cheek as his thumb softly caressed her lips,
silencing the question before it could be asked.

"LaCroix," he whispered, his eyes never leaving hers.

Natalie fell silent again, taking a moment to digest the unexpected
answer. But her breathing quickened as she gazed into blue eyes
filled with tender yearning and a kind of vulnerability she'd never
thought to see. The sheer depth of feeling revealed there sent a warm
shiver of anticipation coursing through her. She began to tremble
ever so slightly.

As his knuckles brushed lightly across her cheek, Nick scanned her
face, seemingly intent on memorizing even the smallest details --
every freckle, each eyelash. His gaze lingered longest on her mouth,
prompting her heart to skip a beat before it settled into a slightly
accelerated rhythm.

After what seemed an eternity, Nick raised his eyes to meet hers.

"I love you," he whispered.

Natalie's heart stopped altogether.

He'd said it. He'd said the words.

It was her last rational thought. And then she was in his arms, his
mouth capturing hers in a desperate kiss. Almost of their own
volition, her hands slid up his chest and over his shoulders, her
arms winding themselves tightly around his neck. She arched her body,
pressing hard against him, twining her fingers in his hair and
drinking in a kiss that seemed to go on forever. She felt his left
arm snake around her waist, pulling her even closer. His right hand
cupped the back of her head, holding it gently but firmly in place as
he continued his sensual assault.

When she opened her mouth wider in wordless invitation, Nick
responded with a ferocious hunger. And Natalie, in turn, willingly
surrendered herself to the dizzying array of sensations coursing
through her body.

Gradually, however, the nature of the kiss changed. She could sense
it in the way he held her, feel it in the way his mouth covered hers.
Strong arms that had previously bound her in an iron embrace, now
gently cradled her. Lips that had been desperate and demanding now
caressed her with a slow and aching tenderness.

Breathless moments later, Nick pulled back, cupping her face in his
hands. He gazed at her with growing wonderment, then lowered his
mouth to hers for a kiss so soft and cherishing, so filled with
tender reverence and love, that it totally overwhelmed her. A lone
tear escaped from beneath her lashes to slide slowly down her cheek.
At the same time, she moaned deep in her throat, wordlessly pleading
with him not to stop.

An answering growl rumbled through Nick, his arms tightening around
her. The passion of their earlier embrace reignited, and he began to
kiss her with ever-increasing intensity.

When Natalie was finally forced to tear her mouth away long enough to
draw in a ragged breath, Nick quickly reclaimed it, licking, nipping
and teasing her lips with sensuous abandon. As she melted deeper into
the embrace, his mouth began to roam, dropping feverish kisses on her
cheeks, nose, forehead and chin. Then, with another low growl, he
once again sought out her mouth.

She welcomed his return, matching his ardor with an equal passion of
her own. Demanding lips and wandering hands aroused a bittersweet
ache that had been too long denied. With one heated kiss after
another, she felt the pressure building inside her, an anguished
yearning for something more ...

... something ... more ...

... something ...

Nick abruptly broke off the kiss, eliciting a faint cry of protest
from Natalie. Panting heavily, he bowed his head, eyes squeezed shut,
and carefully rested his forehead against hers.

"Nat --" he rasped, his voice hoarse with passion ... and something
else.

"Shhh. I know," she murmured soothingly, one hand stroking his face,
the other still firmly tangled in his hair.

"It's okay," she whispered. "It's all right."

Reaching up, she placed a tender kiss on first one eyelid, then the
other, before laying her head on his shoulder. They remained thus for
several seconds, both struggling to calm the raging torrent of
emotion that flowed between them.

When her breathing had at last returned to normal, and the coiled
tension in Nick's muscles had eased somewhat, Natalie raised her
head, speaking softly but firmly.

"Nick, look at me."

He flinched slightly, reluctant to obey the gentle command. His eyes
remained closed.

"Look at me," she repeated insistently.

Slowly, almost fearfully, he complied, and Natalie found herself
facing the unearthly gaze of the vampire. But she wasn't afraid.
Despite the eerie glow, there was a profound tenderness in those
amber eyes that hadn't been there in any of her previous encounters
with the beast.

The tenderness quickly gave way to self-loathing, however, the
instant Nick saw his own image reflected in her eyes. Though he tried
to turn away, she stopped him, framing his face with both hands,
forcing him to look at her.

For a long moment, she gazed into his eyes. Then, like sunlight
breaking through the clouds, she smiled. It was a brilliant smile
that spoke eloquently of her feelings. One fueled by all the warmth
and reassurance she could summon forth. It was a gift of acceptance
and understanding. A smile meant not for a monster, but a man. A man
constantly at odds with the dark part of his soul.

The man she loved.

As Natalie watched, the golden glow slowly receded, giving way to the
pristine blue she so loved. His answering smile was faint but
heartfelt as a radiant light shone from his eyes.

Seconds later, the light vanished and his smile faded.

"Why, Nat?" he whispered, a wealth of pain and confusion coloring the
words. "Why did you leave?"

Natalie dropped her gaze, suddenly uncomfortable. "I explained why.
In the letter."

"But, Nat --"

"You said it yourself, Nick." She still couldn't meet his eyes,
choosing instead to throw his own words back at him. " 'It's been
better that way --' "

He grabbed her by the arms, stopping her before she could finish.

"I was wrong!" he said hoarsely. "*You* were wrong!" Unconsciously,
Nick tightened his grasp, pulling her closer to him, driven by the
need to make her understand.

"Running away isn't the answer, Nat. You've tried to tell me that in
the past." He stared earnestly into her eyes, the distress he felt
plainly visible in his own.  "Did you really think I wouldn't look
for you?" he asked. "That I would forget about you?"

As she gazed into his anguished face, Natalie knew she couldn't tell
him what she had thought ... what she'd feared. It would hurt him to
know how little faith she'd had in the depth of his feelings for her.
She wouldn't add to the pain she had already inflicted.

Instead, she pulled away, straining against his grasp until he
reluctantly let her go. She reached for her robe and pulled it on,
sliding out of bed and turning her back to him as she quickly knotted
the sash. Raking her fingers through her hair, she tried in vain to
tame the unruly mass. Then, without speaking, she moved toward the
bedroom door, all the while avoiding Nick's questioning gaze.

She heard the mattress springs creak as he rose to follow her, but
she didn't slow until she had crossed the living room and switched on
the table lamp. As warm light flooded the room, Natalie let her hand
drop to her side. She stood there, unmoving, head bowed, acutely
aware of Nick's presence as he came up behind her.

"Nat?" His voice was soft, his tone uncertain.

She turned back to face him, tears glistening in her eyes. "I never
thought he'd tell you." She laughed shakily, a wry smile twisting her
mouth. "I never in a million *years* thought he'd tell you. He really
surprised me with this one, Nick. Even I didn't expect him to be this
vicious. What is it with him, anyway? Does he get some kind of
sadistic thrill out of hurting us this way?"

Nick's face was a study in confusion. "I don't know what you mean,
Nat. LaCroix was trying to help --"

Her harsh laugh interrupted him. "Oh, I just *bet* he was," she said
bitterly. "The same way he was trying to 'help' when he offered to
bring me across."

Nick's expression shifted from bewildered to appalled. Nat snorted.

"I see he forgot to tell you about that part. Yeah. He offered to
bring me across. I think he had a pretty good idea how
less-than-thrilled you would be, but trust me, that didn't slow him
down any. I guess he figured you'd come around eventually. And if you
didn't ... well, hey! Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?"
Glancing away, she muttered darkly, "Except maybe a 'daughter' he
didn't really want."

Turning back, Natalie took in his clenched jaw and grim expression
and shook her head. Her lips curved upward in a wry smile as she
gently chided him. "Come on, Nick! Can you *honestly* tell me this
surprises you?"

He stared at her, forehead creased in a frown, then sighed and shook
his head. "No," he admitted. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. *You* are not responsible for what he does." She looked
him squarely in the eye, her tone warning him it would be wise not to
argue the point. But then a shadow crossed her face and she sighed,
her shoulders sagging a slightly in weary resignation.

"What *good* would it have done to stay?" she asked softly. "What
good would it do now?" She gestured helplessly. "It's getting worse,
Nick. Every day is harder, and I gotta tell ya, the end is *not*
going to be pretty. I didn't want you to see that. I didn't want you
to remember me that way."

Despite the tears shining in her eyes, she regarded him steadily. "I
still don't," she told him.

"Nat --" he began, then stopped, obviously at a loss. Gazes locked,
they stood in strained silence -- he, unsure of what to say next, and
she, reluctant to pursue the conversation to its logical conclusion.
Finally, Natalie relented.

"I did try to tell you ... once," she confessed. "It just didn't work
out."

Though the change was nearly imperceptible, Natalie sensed the
renewed tension that flooded Nick's body.

"The day at the loft?" he asked slowly, searching her face for
confirmation. "When you asked me about Janette?"

She nodded.

Bowing his head, Nick shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his
leather jacket. He stayed that way for several moments, not moving,
not speaking ... barely even breathing. When he finally looked up,
she saw a profound sadness in his eyes -- and a flicker of something
else. Shame mixed with fear?

Fear of how she might react to what he was about to tell her, she
suspected.

"Nat, ... Janette ... Janette didn't die in the fire that night." His
voice was so low she could barely hear him. "I brought her back
across."

Slowly, she nodded again, her eyes never leaving his face.

"I know."


==================== 
Part Eighteen 
====================

Nick stared blankly at Natalie, his mind refusing to register what
she'd said.

*"I know"*

He had finally summoned up the courage to confess the truth, that he
had brought Janette over again rather than let her die. And though he
knew there was still more to reveal -- a deeper, more damning truth
to acknowledge -- it was a start. The first step down a long and
arduous road to honesty and trust. It was what he owed her and what
he owed himself, as well.

Looking into Natalie's face, he had expected to see shock,
disappointment, even anger, reflected there. Anything but the quiet
acceptance he found.

She knew. But how?

His face darkened.

"LaCroix!" he growled, his voice deepening with rage. The newfound
accord with his sire was instantly forgotten in light of this latest
treachery.

"No!" Her sharp denial cut through his sudden surge of fury,
extinguishing the blaze like a blast of cold water, leaving him to
stare at her in confused silence.

"LaCroix didn't tell me. I figured it out on my own. Although I'm
ashamed to admit it took me a while." She shook her head ruefully.
"Looking back on it, it's so obvious."

Nick stood motionless as her eyes caught and held his own. Slowly,
she drew in a deep breath, then quickly expelled it.

"When I came to you that day in the loft and asked you about Janette,
I thought you were angry at me for bringing it up. That it was too
soon for you to talk about it ... about her. I thought that you were
grieving still. But since I've been here, I've had a lot of time to
think. I kept replaying that whole scene over and over in my head,
and it suddenly hit me that it wasn't grief I'd seen in your eyes,
Nick. It was guilt. Guilt ... and shame."

Nick's gaze dropped and he abruptly moved away, as if by distancing
himself from her he could somehow lessen the impact of the words. He
knew he couldn't hide from it anymore -- he didn't *want* to hide
from it. But neither could he welcome it.

Her voice compelled him to turn back.

"To tell you the truth, I don't know why I didn't recognize it right
away." Her lips quirked in a faint, wry smile. "It's certainly not
the first time I've seen that look in your eyes. But that's when all
the pieces started to fit together. The way you disappeared from the
scene after the firefighters arrived. The murdered men at the train
station -- killed by a vampire."

She shook her head. "You didn't even bother making up a story to
explain what that was all about. You didn't tell me *anything*,
except that it was 'taken care of.' And of course, I didn't ask," she
added, a hint of self-derision creeping into her voice. "I knew you
didn't want to talk about it, and I didn't want to risk pushing you
further away. Which means you're not the only one who took the easy
way out."

This time, it was Natalie who turned away.

"Most of all, I remembered how, for weeks after that, you could
barely look me in the eye. Sometimes it felt like you were doing
everything you could to avoid being alone with me." Swinging back to
face him, she laughed, but without humor. "I thought it was because
you were still grieving for her. And maybe because there was a little
... awkwardness ... between us about the cure, about what she'd told
us and what it might mean."

A weary sadness filled her eyes as her lips curved again in a
self-mocking smile. "I guess you thought I wouldn't understand. And
you would have been right -- at first, anyway," she admitted. "I ...
uh ... probably wouldn't have been very ... receptive ... to the
news.

"On the other hand, people in glass houses ... " Natalie shrugged,
her voice trailing off. "Well ... you know." Hesitantly, she
approached him again, clearly contrite. "Nick, I *begged* you to
bring Richie across because I couldn't bear to lose him. Even though
I knew it was the wrong thing to do under the circumstances, I still
pushed you into it. What right do I have to blame you for doing the
same thing?"

He stared at her, uncertain how to respond. Though she obviously
wanted to reassure him, to ease the crippling sense of guilt he felt,
the thing that took precedence in Nick's mind was what Natalie
*hadn't* said. Her failure to acknowledge what had passed between
them during the asteroid scare -- the request that had been made and
denied -- was all too apparent. It was the elephant in the room that
neither one had the courage to mention.

A lengthy silence fell, until Natalie finally broke it.

"So ... where is she?"

It took a moment for him to realize she was asking about Janette.

"I don't know," he admitted, albeit reluctantly. "She left without
telling me where she was going."

"Why?"

"She was ... upset." It was the hardest part of the confession, and
he suspected it would be even harder for her to hear. But neither of
them had a choice. She had to know, and he had to be the one to tell
her.

"Janette didn't want to come back over. She asked me to let her die
... as a mortal."

Another long silence descended upon them as Natalie attempted to
assimilate this latest revelation -- and everything it implied. She
hid it well, but Nick could tell how deeply it had affected her. At
last, she cleared her throat and spoke, her eyes not quite meeting
his.

"She was angry with you?"

He nodded.

"Then why did she choose to come back? You said there was a choice,
right? She could have stepped into the light instead."

"It was because of me," he whispered, the remorse rising again inside
him. "It was my fault that she didn't."

"Nick!" Her tone was more than a little exasperated.

"It's what she said, Nat!" he insisted. "She said my pain called her
back!"

They stared at one another, trapped in a momentary impasse. Though
Natalie's expression remained carefully neutral, Nick detected a
flicker of emotion there, and her tone, while matter-of-fact, failed
to conceal the haunting sadness in her eyes.

"You must really love her."

Which was what it came down to, Nick realized, at least for her. And
if they were to get past it, he knew he must find a way to make her
understand. It wouldn't be easy. He wasn't even certain he understood
it all himself. But he had to try.

"I do love her, Nat," he acknowledged quietly. "I have for a very
long time."

Casting his gaze upward, but not quite daring to call on the heavens
for help, Nick searched for a way to explain what he had never
thought to question in over seven centuries of existence.

"She's been there ... from the very beginning, and I can't remember a
time when she wasn't a part of my life. Nothing seems real before
that. Those memories ... memories of a mortal life ... they belong to
another man." For an instant, his eyes grew cold and distant as his
voice hardened in self-condemnation. "One who died ... and was reborn
a creature of darkness."

Images of the soulless existence he had embraced flooded his mind
until the gentle touch of Natalie's hand on his called him back. But
Nick couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze. Instead, he looked
away, staring blindly across the room.

"Janette knows things about me --" His voice was a strained whisper.
"She knows things I've never been able to confess to anyone, no
matter how much I wanted to." He turned his gaze back to Natalie,
eyes silently pleading for her understanding. "We are linked
together, Janette and I. She is ... a part of me. Just as I am a part
of her ... just as LaCroix ... is a part of us both."

It was even harder than he'd feared. Saying such things out loud gave
substance to that which he had tried to deny for decades. And the
fact that he no longer had to struggle for the words unnerved him
more than he cared to admit. It poured out of him now, without
thought and with increasing certainty -- a new and unsettling
experience for one who had always had trouble expressing his
feelings.

But there was more to be said, so much more ...

"Her return to mortality didn't cut the connection between us, Nat
... not in a way that mattered. She was still Janette. Still a part
of me."

Nick was surprised by the faint thrill of expectation that coursed
through him, as if he stood poised on the verge of a long-awaited
discovery. And suddenly it was there in front of him, so simple, and
yet not.  "I couldn't let go." Amazed comprehension colored his
voice. "I was *afraid* to let go. Afraid of being left alone ...
afraid ... of the judgement she would face."

How strange that his words were as much a revelation to him as they
undoubtedly were to Natalie.

Natalie.

His eyes again sought out hers, but in their depths he found only
pained resignation backed by a fierce pride that refused to concede
how deeply hurt she was.

She still didn't understand.

"I do love Janette," Nick repeated slowly, deliberately. "And no
matter how she feels about me, Nat, I always will. But you ... "

Cradling her face in his hands, he gazed at her intently, willing her
to listen and believe.

"You ... are *more* than a part of me. You're *everything*." Voice
resonating with quiet intensity, he shook his head. "I thought I
knew, but I didn't. Not until you were gone, and I couldn't pretend
anymore. That's why I had to find you, even though you asked me not
to look for you. Without you --" Nick shook his head helplessly,
again at a loss for words, as he had been throughout so much of their
relationship.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, knowing that what came next
would require all the resolve he could muster, and then some.

"Nat, if it's what you want ... what you *truly* want, I'll leave and
I won't come back. But it would --" He halted, his voice faltering
along with his resolve. He tried again.

"I don't think I --" And again he stumbled, fighting for composure.
His thumbs softly caressed her upturned face. "I don't want to lose
any time we could have together," he whispered. "Please, Nat ...
don't ask me to do that. Let me be here with you. Let me help you."

Hot tears welled up in Natalie's eyes, spilling over onto his hands.
Slowly, carefully, he lowered his head to kiss them away even as he
fought to suppress the bloodlust that stirred inside him. Still
aroused by their earlier intimacies, it strained to break free,
demanding gratification. The sweet scent of her blood, intoxicating
in its intensity, filled his nostrils.

It was so alluring, so impossible to ignore -- a siren's song,
coursing through her veins. He wanted it so badly. He wanted her ...


==================== 
Part Nineteen 
====================

Nick froze in place, jaws clenched, exerting an iron control born of
desperation. He saw Natalie's eyes widen slightly in recognition, yet
she remained motionless, waiting silently for him to master the
hunger.

Several moments passed, and still they stood, locked in a precarious
tableau. But as the tension in his body gradually lessened, Natalie's
warm hands reached up to cover his own. Turning her head, she
bestowed a light kiss in one palm before easing out of his grasp.

"How long has it been, Nick?"

He knew immediately what she meant and tried to recall the last time
he'd fed. It must have been just before Vachon had come calling at
the loft. So much had happened after that. Feeding had been the last
thing on his mind. Even the few bottles of blood he had shoved into
his overnight bag as he prepared to leave Toronto had been secured
more out of habit than forethought.

"It's been a while," he admitted, then regarded her with a
questioning gaze. She nodded in response.

"Maybe you'd better," she said quietly. "We've got a lot to talk
about, and we already have enough distractions to deal with as it
is."

Still, he hesitated, but at a second nod from her moved away, heading
toward the bag he'd left near the front door -- the same door he'd
silently forced open to gain entry to her beach house. As Nick knelt
and pulled forth a bottle of cow's blood, it occurred to him he would
have to do something about repairing the lock. Later.

Moving to the kitchen, he rummaged through the cabinets, searching
for something to hold the blood. He grabbed a coffee mug and quickly
filled it. Then, raising the cup to his lips, he turned his back on
the living room ...

And found himself confronted by an unwavering green stare.

The pair of unblinking eyes belonged to Sydney, who had leapt up onto
the bar that separated the kitchen from the dining alcove.
Motionless, but for the nervous twitching of a tail and a slight
trembling of whiskers, the cat surveyed the interloper with an air of
detached interest.

Feeling a bit self-conscious, Nick returned the stare. He rapidly
downed the contents of the mug, then just as quickly refilled it.
Pausing, he reached out to Sydney, offering up his hand for
inspection.

"Hey there, Syd," he said softly. "Been a while, huh?"

Ignoring the tentative overture, Sydney stared past the hand, eyes
still locked with Nick's. While they'd never been enemies, the cat
had always maintained a wary distance, as if recognizing in Nick
something that was better avoided. Apparently, the status quo was to
remain in effect, even here.

Suppressing a twinge of disappointment, Nick was just about to give
up when Sydney abruptly rose and butted his head against the
outstretched hand. Encouraged, Nick ventured further, running an open
palm lightly along the cat's back. He grinned in delight, absurdly
pleased that, instead of slipping away, Sydney arched into the
caress, then circled back for more.

Eager to see what Natalie thought of this new development, he cast a
quick glance back over his shoulder. His grin faded as he spotted her
standing in front of the bay window, back to the kitchen and head
bowed, steadily massaging her forehead with both hands.

Frowning, he paused just long enough to finish off the blood still
left in the mug, then moved to join her.

"Nat? What is it?"

She looked up with a wan smile. "I'm okay," she said, but the pain in
her eyes told him otherwise. His frown deepened, and she sighed,
shrugging her shoulders. "It's Excedrin headache No. 2,051," she
quipped. "Or is that 2,052? I tend to lose track sometimes. And here
you thought I left all my headaches behind in Toronto, didn't you?"

What began as a dry laugh ended in a sharp hiss of indrawn breath and
a grimace of pain as Natalie turned away. "Look, Nick," she said, her
voice strained, "I think we'll have to postpone our conversation for
a while."

Nick hesitated, then placed his hands gently on her shoulders and
pulled her around to face him. "Nat, listen to me. I can help. I can
take the pain away, if you'll let me."

Still vainly massaging her temples, she stared at him with a
perplexed frown. "Nick, you know that doesn't work on me."

"It will, Nat, if you let it," he promised softly, reaching up to
take her hands in his own. "Just don't fight it. It *will* work if
you don't try to fight it."

Natalie hesitated, and a long moment of silence passed between them.
Nick couldn't tell from her expression what she might be thinking. He
knew she trusted him, sometimes too much. But he also knew there was
a part of her that found it difficult to relinquish any degree of
control over herself to another. She hated the idea of being
vulnerable and was not inclined to deliberately make herself so,
regardless of the circumstances.

Seconds later, however, she surprised him, granting permission with a
slight nod. Half afraid she would change her mind, Nick wasted little
time. Taking her face in his hands, he gazed into her eyes, easily
picking up the steady cadence of her heartbeat. His words, as he
spoke, took on a long-practiced hypnotic quality that weaved a
soothing spell around them both. He felt the tension drain from her
body, but only after he was certain the pain had completely subsided
did he finally release her.

+++++++

Staring blankly for several seconds, Natalie suddenly blinked, the
action serving to bring Nick's face into sharp focus. Her eyes
widened with surprise as she realized the throbbing pain in her head
was gone. Taking a step back, she swayed slightly, still mildly
disoriented. Nick's arm flashed around her waist, steadying her until
she had regained her balance. It was a bit of an overreaction on his
part, perhaps, but she wasn't about to complain.

Raising her face to his, she smiled. This time, with genuine
amusement.

"Damn shame we can't bottle that and sell it, you know. We'd make a
fortune." She jabbed him lightly in the chest with her fist,
eliciting a faint answering smile, then sobered. "Thank you," she
said softly.

Nick's expression turned equally serious. "Nat, I --"

Catching sight of the clock on the mantelpiece, Natalie realized with
a start it was almost dawn.

"The sun will be up soon," she said, cutting off whatever he'd
intended to say. "I assume you're planning on sticking around, so
we'd better get busy making this place a little more vampire
friendly. Then we'll talk."

After a brief hesitation, Nick nodded. A short time later, most of
the windows in the beach house had been covered with assorted sheets
and blankets, along with anything else they could find that would
help block out the sunlight. They'd even had to strip the bed bare.
It wasn't the most ideal daytime environment for a house-bound
vampire, Natalie thought as she surveyed their handiwork, but it
would do.

While Nick was busy securing the last window, she glanced down at
herself. "I'd better get dressed," she told him. "Be right back."

Five minutes later, she returned to the living room wearing a
T-shirt, jeans and an oversized flannel shirt. She'd washed her face,
brushed her teeth and pulled her hair back in a loose pony tail but
hadn't bothered with makeup beyond a quick attempt at covering up the
dark circles under her eyes. She found Nick back in the kitchen,
finishing up the bottle of cow's blood he'd opened. Settling in on
the sofa, she waited for him to join her.

"What?" she asked as, grinning, Nick sank down beside her.

"You," he said, touching his finger to the tip of her nose. "Right
now, you look all of 12 years old."

In another time and place, her ego might have been a tad bruised by
the statement, but she couldn't forget the way he'd looked at her
such a short time ago. She regarded him now with mock solemnity.

"Sorry. Best I could do. Forgot to pack my evening gown and hair
stylist."

"Oh, don't apologize. I think it's cute," he assured her, blue eyes
shining with tender amusement ... and something more.

"Uh-huh. And you need to get your eyes checked," she snorted. "I
think that vampiric 20/20 vision of yours is on the fritz." But her
traitorous heart skipped a beat or two.

Instead of answering, Nick merely shook his head and continued to
grin at her. Talk about cute, Natalie thought. He definitely had the
market cornered on that one.

They sat in amiable silence for another moment or two, seemingly more
at ease with each other than they'd been in a long time. But it was a
false sense of well-being, one that was already fading. Nick had
started to fidget a bit, his gaze darting around the room, and
Natalie was forced to admit to herself that they'd stalled long
enough.

Before she could speak, however, Nick beat her to the punch.

"Nat ... about Janette ... about what happened ... can you forgive
me?"

She stared at him for several beats before answering.

"I forgive you for not telling me, Nick. I'm not exactly blameless on
that score myself. You should have trusted me enough to tell me the
truth, but I should have had the courage to tell you why I was
asking." She shook her head sadly. "We just can't seem to get it
right, can we?"

She glanced away, then back. "But if you're talking about me
forgiving you for what you did, that's not my place."

Dropping his gaze, Nick nodded slightly, and they both fell silent
again.

"Nick?"

He looked up.

"Can *you* forgive me?"

To his credit, he didn't try to let her off the hook by claiming
there was nothing to forgive.

"I already have, Nat," he answered, reaching out to take her hand.
She watched him study it as though he'd never seen it before, his
thumb slowly caressing her palm. But as tempted as she was to lose
herself in the moment, she knew the time had come.

"So ... what now?"

Nick froze, his eyes still fixed on their joined hands.  "We'd ... um
... reached a bit of an impasse earlier, as I recall," she continued.
"You want to be here for me, and I don't want you to see me that way
... to remember me that way. I know it's not fair. And if our
positions were reversed, I'd be as mad as hell that you were pushing
me away. But there it is."

She, too, looked down at their joined hands, hers so snugly nestled
in his, and took a deep breath. Don't do it, Nat, she mentally
berated herself. Don't.

"There *is* a third option. You can bring me across."

His head snapped up, panic rising full bloom in his eyes. He freed
her hand and opened his mouth to speak, but she stopped him.

"Nick, please! Just hear me out first."

She tried to ignore the shock and horror so plainly reflected in his
expression.

"I'm not saying that's what we should do. I'm not even saying I
*want* you to bring me across. I'm just saying that it *is* an option
we haven't discussed ... at least not in this context. And in order
for us both to agree on where we go from here, we have to weigh all
of the choices. Even those we may not like."

He searched her eyes for what seemed like a lifetime. When he finally
spoke, his words surprised her.

"What *do* you want, Nat?" he asked.

He appeared to have stopped breathing, waiting for her answer. But he
didn't have to wait long. This was something she had thought about a
great many times over the past few weeks.

"What I want --" She stopped, inhaling deeply, not quite able to meet
his eyes. "What I want ... is for you to be mortal again. And happy.
I want us to be together the way I believe we were meant to be,
without having to worry about what might happen. Without having to be
afraid."

Her eyes were brimming with unshed tears, but her voice never
faltered. "I want to see your face as you watch the sun rise, every
morning for the rest of our lives. And I want to know that, no matter
what happens in the future, you'll be all right because you'll have
finally found the peace and forgiveness you so desperately need."

She raised her chin, facing him now head-on as she fought against a
growing sense of despair and loss.

"But I can't have what I want. Not the way things stand now."

She was amazed at how calm and matter-of-fact she sounded.
Apparently, so was Nick. He'd been visibly moved by her words, and it
took him a moment to find his voice.

"But, Nat ... even if I made you like me, we still couldn't have
that."

"Not now," she agreed. "But someday we might."

He stared at her with disbelieving eyes. "Are you *asking* me to
bring you across?" he whispered.

"No!" She shook her head adamantly. "I'm asking you to think about
it. And I'm going to think about it, too. I haven't before, not
really. It's always been just a vague possibility, one I never really
believed in because neither one of us wanted it that way. Even during
the asteroid hoax, I grabbed on to it partly because I was scared,
but also because I thought it was our last chance to be together. It
seemed like the answer then, but I didn't think it through."

She watched as Nick shook his head helplessly. She could tell he was
shocked at the turn the conversation was taking, but she couldn't
figure out why. Surely he'd known when he'd followed her here that it
was bound to come up. It was one of the reasons she'd left Toronto in
the first place, so they wouldn't have to go through this. She'd told
him as much in the letter she'd left him. Hadn't he believed her?

Natalie sighed and smiled wryly.

"Don't worry, Nick. You'll get plenty of chances to tell me how crazy
I am for even considering it. And how it's completely out of the
question. But just for a minute, let's pretend it's not. Okay?"

She looked into his eyes and found an anguished resignation there
that sent warning chills down her spine. This had nothing to do with
his reluctance to bring her across. Somehow, she just knew. It was
something else. Something ugly.

Instead of answering, Nick rose from the sofa and moved away, clearly
agitated. In a tell-tale nervous gesture, he ran his hand through his
hair as he turned back to face her.

"Nat ... before we go any further, there's one more thing you have to
know."

Nick's grave expression sent another chill coursing through Natalie
as she struggled to hide her growing unease.

"Saving the worst for last?" She attempted a smile, but failed
dismally. "Should I take this one sitting down?"

There was no response from Nick, not even a token grin for her
admittedly weak attempt at humor. Despite a silent admonition to
remain calm, Natalie felt an uneasy fluttering sensation deep in her
stomach. Standing up, she slowly closed the distance between them.

"Tell me," she ordered.

He shook his head in frustration. "It's not that simple, Nat." His
voice was subdued. "Something happened. Something you don't
remember."

She stared at Nick with a puzzled frown. What was he talking about?
It was obviously something important, so why would he think she'd
forgotten it? Almost before she completed the thought, a cold chill
swept through her.

She wouldn't have, unless she'd been *made* to forget. But that was
impossible. Wasn't it?

"Wait a minute, Nick. I'm not sure --" She broke off, trying to grasp
the terrible suspicion taking root in her mind. "Are you ... are you
telling me that you've been messing with my head?"

She answered herself before he could. "No." Her head shook in
vehement denial. "No, that can't be it. Nick?"

Pain-filled eyes met her incredulous gaze.

"Natalie, please. It's not that easy to explain," he insisted, then
his voice dropped to a whisper. "There's only one way to do this."

"What?"

He hesitated, clearly apprehensive, then ... "Open your mind.
Surrender your will to me."

She stared at him.

"Wait a minute. Is this some weird kind of deja vu? Didn't we just go
through this a little while ago?" She could hear the sharp edge to
her voice even as she struggled to suppress both it and the anger
rising within her. It couldn't be what she thought. He wouldn't have
done that ... not to her.

Nick's answer failed to reassure her.

"This goes deeper, Nat." His voice was steady, but his face reflected
a nervous apprehension. "I don't want to ask it of you, but there's
no other way ... please."

It was the "please" that got her. That, and her undeniable need to
know the truth, no matter how unpleasant it might be.

"All right, Nick. We'll do this your way," she agreed. But her voice
implied that, in return, she damn well better get the answers he'd
promised.

Again, Nick's hands rose to caress her face. And again, she felt
herself relaxing beneath the spell of that beautifully hypnotic
voice. All extraneous sights and sounds faded away until she could
see nothing but the startlingly blue depths of his eyes, hear nothing
but the mesmerizing cadence of her own heartbeat. His lips formed
words that held no meaning for her, yet they echoed in her mind with
increasing urgency.

*Remember.*

Remember what?

A wisp of memory flashed by. There, then gone ... then back again.

Her voice.

*"So I thought you were just going to phone."*

His answer.

*"Yeah, well, I was just driving and thinking and next thing I knew,
I ended up in your neck of the woods, so I thought I would come and
visit."*

There was more, but it floated away, until ...

*"Driving and thinking about what?"*

*"About what? Ahh ... about nothing. About everything. About me.
About you. About us."*

How was it possible to remember something that had never happened?
And yet ...

*"What are we going to do about this, huh? About how we feel?"

His touch, his kiss -- it came to her with such clarity, a lucent
memory brought back to fill a void she hadn't known existed. And
others followed.

*"But how can anyone know if it's real, and not just something we
invented because we can't live without it? How can *we* know?"*

*"Are you afraid?"*

*"No."*

Yes.

Still more fragments came, flowing with increasing rapidity and
coherence.

*I'm honored that you could accept my invitation, Ms. Lambert ...
Natalie, if I may."*

A voice as warm as a summer night. Eyes as cold as polished steel.

*"Sorry, but I have no idea who you are."*

*"Oh, but you do. You must. I'm certain that Nicholas has spoken of
me at some point or other."*

She knew, of course. She'd guessed the moment she'd seen him. But
wiser to pretend otherwise.

He lifted a bottle of champagne, and her heart leapt with the popping
of the cork.

*"You do ... love ... Nicholas, do you not?"*

Burning eyes demanded an answer, though she tried to refuse.

*"Yes."*

*"True love is like morphine -- one taste, and you're enslaved.
Unless, of course, there are extraordinary circumstances that stand
in your way."*

So many things in their way. And so hard, at times, to hide the
growing despair.

*"It is not uncommon, the attraction that you feel -- a force of
nature as immutable as the stars. Others have felt it before. Did it
surprise you, when Nicholas expressed his love for you?"*

Heavy eyes repeatedly drifted shut, no matter how desperately she
willed them not to close. Too hard. Too hard to keep them open.

*"Surprised ... yes. Scared."

There was nothing for her now but the low murmur of his voice,
echoing through her head, and the cool breath that caressed her ear.

*"And did he tell you that he wished to spend the rest of his days
with you? That you moved him as no mortal ever before?"*

*"Beautiful things ... he said ... beautiful things."*

Wondrous things. How could she have forgotten?

Her heart leapt again with the sound of shattering glass and a
terrible roar.

*"What feeble excuse do you have for backing down on our
agreement?!"*

He was there. And the voice that answered him was no longer warm and
seductive, but deep and harsh with rage.

*"I have not backed down on our agreement! I'm here to claim what is
rightfully mine!"*

*"I will have the retribution that you promised me! I will deprive
you of the mortal that you love, or I will deprive her of you! Either
way, your promise will be fulfilled."*

Promise?

*"Do you think this is about love? This is about survival, LaCroix!"*

What? What was he saying?

*"I do not love this woman."*

No. This isn't right.

*"Then prove it to me. Bring her over."*

No ... please ... must stop ...

Strong arms pulling her up ... up into a cold embrace. His arms. His
voice. But not his voice. Cold. Detached. Uncaring. His lips on hers.
Hard. Demanding. Desperate.

*"No!"*

*"Why not?"*

Not his voice. Something ... inhuman. Something ... hungry.

*"I know you too well. You revere all that is mortal, all that is
human. If you really loved her, you would never take that from her.
You would rather see her die!"*

A whoosh of sound, then arms enfolding her so tightly she could
barely breath. A whispered sigh of relief ... or regret? A gentle
kiss. A tender caress.

*"Natalie ... you must forget."*

Forget? No. She must remember. Time to remember.

All of it.

+++++++

Her face was wet with tears, though she wasn't crying now. She
blinked several times to clear her vision, bringing his face into
sharp focus. Apprehensive eyes gazed down at her, faint worry lines
wrinkling his brow. The hands that had so recently cradled her face
now rested lightly on her shoulders.

Slowly she pulled away, taking one step back, then another. Her eyes
never left his.

"Nat --" He reached out, as if to halt her retreat. She shook her
head quickly -- to stop him, to silence him -- and pressed the heel
of one hand against her forehead.

"All this time ... " she whispered. "All this time ... " She couldn't
seem to complete the thought.

"I'm sorry, Nat." Deep remorse filled his voice. "I thought it was
better that way. I had to keep you safe. I know ... "

He kept speaking, but his voice faded away and she no longer heard
him. Horrified awareness swept through her, leaving a disconcerting
numbness in its wake. Blindly, without thought, she turned and ran.
Her hand touched the doorknob before her mind even registered the
fact that she'd moved.

The air stirred and parted behind her. A cool hand grazed her arm,
but she violently shook it off. Then, yanking open the door, she fled
outside.

Out into the blessed light of day, where he couldn't follow.


==================== 
Part Twenty 
====================

With weary eyes, Nick tracked the progress of a thin strip of
sunlight that slowly inched its way across the floor toward the sofa
where he now rested.

Almost 24 hours had passed since he'd last taken note of a similar
stray sunbeam. That time, however, the light intruding through a
narrow gap in the window coverings had served more as an instrument
of penance than as a way of marking time ...

+++++++  

After Natalie had fled the house the day before, Nick had prowled the
room like a caged lion, unable to follow her out into the daylight
and equally powerless to summon her back. Instead, he'd been trapped
for hours on end, his anxiety escalating as reason fell prey to
imagination.

Natalie was out there somewhere, upset and confused, trying to cope
with the sudden resurgence of long-buried memories. There was no one
to help her, nowhere for her to turn, and he had no way of knowing
when she'd be back.

Or *if* she'd be back.

So acute was Nick's self-condemnation, that each time he paced to and
fro, he deliberately crossed through the narrow band of light,
inviting the touch of scorching rays upon unprotected flesh. He took
an almost fierce satisfaction in every searing flash of pain that
shot through him.

As punishments went, it was far from adequate penance for the
monumental blunder he'd made. He should have known how she'd react.
He should have better prepared her. He should ...

He should never have come here.

But even as the thought crossed his mind, he dismissed it, knowing
full well that every step he and Natalie had taken over the course of
the past six years had led inexorably to this point. He was no more
able to let go of this life ... and of her ... than he'd ever been,
despite his best intentions.

The afternoon waned as Nick alternately cursed himself for having
mishandled the situation and fretted over Natalie's continued
absence, envisioning all sorts of mishaps that might have befallen
her in such an agitated state. He desperately willed the sun to set
so that he could go in search of her, though in truth, he had no idea
where to start.

By now, she could have put considerable distance between herself and
this place. But the quiet voice of reason told him she hadn't gone
far. Even had she been willing to leave Sydney, trusting him to see
to the cat's well being, she'd had nothing with her when she'd left.
Her purse, her money -- even her car keys -- were here in the beach
house. She had to be relatively close by.

So why didn't that make him feel better?

At last, Nick felt the silent pull inside him that signaled the onset
of dusk -- a familiar tingling of anticipation that had nothing to do
with his present plight. But tonight, the approaching darkness
promised more than the freedom to venture abroad. It represented what
might well be his last chance to make things right ... provided he
could figure out what "right" was.

With an impatient grimace, Nick pushed the thought aside. He would
deal with that later. First, he had to find Natalie. The rest could
wait.

But no sooner had he turned toward the door than he froze, his
heightened senses picking up the unmistakable sound of a mortal
heartbeat drawing near. As he watched, the door opened, revealing the
dwindling daylight beyond. He instinctively stepped back to escape
the reach of any lingering rays, but it proved to be an unnecessary
precaution. The door quickly closed, and Nick found himself staring
at a solemn-faced Natalie.

She gazed silently back at him, her hand still resting on the
doorknob as if, even now, she debated the wisdom of returning to the
house ... to him.

The silence stretched out between them, building in intensity until
it seemed the sheer weight of it would force him to his knees. Her
chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths as she stared at him,
her eyes large and luminous, her expression indecipherable.

"Why?"

Her voice was a mere whisper, yet he flinched at the hurt and sense
of betrayal so clearly conveyed by that lone word. He looked at her
uncertainly, reluctant to speak for fear of saying the wrong thing
but equally afraid of what would happen if he didn't. She stared at
him, waiting. His eyes closed briefly, then opened, and his gaze
locked with hers.

"He would have killed you, Nat." Though Nick's conviction was strong,
a faint note of desperation crept into his voice as he struggled to
make her understand. "I had to say those things. You have to know
that I didn't mean --"

"No." She raised a hand, palm outward, to emphasize the quiet
command. "What I want to know ... is why you made me forget."

Nick stopped, confused. He had expected her to be more concerned with
the things he'd said to LaCroix that night -- the hurtful lies he'd
been forced to tell -- than with anything that had happened
afterward. Not that he'd fooled himself into thinking she would
overlook the rest, he'd known better. Nonetheless, her question took
him by surprise.

He fumbled for an answer.

"Nat, I ... it was the only way --"

"No!" This time, there was more force behind the word, and he saw the
brief flash of anger in her eyes. She took a deep breath, as if to
calm herself, then continued in a quieter tone. "No. It wasn't the
only way. It was *your* way."

She regarded him with an intent stare. "Just tell me why. The truth,
Nick."

For a long moment he hesitated, then nodded slowly, closing the
distance between them until she was within arm's reach. He wisely
refrained from making any overtures but felt absurdly heartened that
she didn't move away from him.

"I did it to protect you, Nat," he said, though he suspected it would
only anger her further. "I thought it would be better ... safer ...
if you didn't remember." He searched her face carefully, trying to
gauge her response.

Pursing her lips, Natalie lowered her gaze to the floor, apparently
considering his words. Then her eyes rose to meet his.

"Since when have you been all that concerned about playing it safe,
Nick?"

Shocked by the unspoken implication, he froze. But Natalie continued,
seemingly oblivious to the wounded look that flashed across his face.

"I knew there were risks involved from the first moment we met. We
both knew. You warned me in no uncertain terms, remember? Granted,
maybe I didn't have a clear idea in the beginning, but since then
I've had plenty of chances, up-close and personal, to see just how
dangerous associating with vampires can be.

"And what about you? You were willing to take those risks, too. I'm
not saying you deliberately endangered my life at any time, but you
knew what a narrow tightrope we were walking. What were you thinking
that night in my apartment when you told me how you felt? Did you
just forget about the bargain you'd made with LaCroix? Did you think
*he* had? Or did you decide that what we felt for each other, what we
might have had together, was worth the risk? I know I did."

Natalie paused, eyes suddenly narrowing as she gazed at him in
measured speculation. Nick saw a spark of resentment flare briefly in
their depths before it was concealed behind a carefully composed mask
of indifference. It was a trick he knew well, having mastered it
himself centuries ago.

"The truth is, Nick, you didn't trust me to handle it. Which is kind
of ironic when you stop to think about it, considering all the
practice I've had in hiding my feelings." She made a sound halfway
between a snort and a laugh. "Or maybe you just changed your mind.
Maybe you came to your senses and decided it wasn't such a good idea
after all -- getting emotionally tangled up with a mortal who isn't
going to be around that long anyway, relatively speaking." Her chin
lifted defiantly as she gazed up at him with stormy eyes.
"Congratulations on the narrow escape."

"Nat, stop it!" Grasping her firmly by the shoulders, Nick pulled her
as close to him as he dared. Her hands flew up to grip his forearms,
nails digging into the soft fabric of his shirt in token resistance.
"You *know* that's not it," he insisted, his voice low and vehement.
Though he knew she spoke out of hurt and anger, that she could even
suggest such a thing stung bitterly.

"Then what?" Natalie asked, staring up at him. Though she didn't try
to pull away, there was an open challenge in her eyes.

"Nat --"

"Tell me, Nick." Her tone grew more insistent.

"Nat, please --"

"Tell me, damn it!"

This time, she almost shouted the words, and his heated response
escaped him before he had time to think. "I was afraid for you to
remember, Nat! I just --"

Breaking off, he stared at her, dismayed. Slowly, he released his
grip on her, taking one step back, then another. A tense silence
filled the room. Natalie stood motionless, staring at him, her blank
expression once again effectively hiding her thoughts. Several
seconds passed before she spoke.

"Why is that?"

Nick sighed, bowing his head. His shoulders sagged slightly as his
gaze rose to meet hers. "I was afraid that you couldn't ... that you
would have wanted to go ahead with things, in spite of the danger,"
he admitted. He was reluctant to reveal even that much. No matter
what he said, she could never fully comprehend the desperation and
fear that had driven him to take away her memories that night. And he
suspected any attempt to explain it would only make things worse.

But she was right. He owed her an honest answer.

"Don't you see, Nat? If you had insisted on taking that risk, there
would've been no choice. I would have had to leave." Renewing his
hold on her, Nick stared deeply into her eyes. "I didn't *want* to
leave," he whispered fiercely.

It had been more complicated than that, of course. There had been
many reasons behind the decision he'd made -- his concern for her
safety, his desire to shield her from the same pain of unrealized
love and longing that he'd been forced to endure, the guilt he felt
for having so foolishly put her at risk. And at the heart of it all
lay the fear that he would be forced to move on, leaving behind the
woman and the life that had come to mean more to him than he would
ever have thought possible.

Nick tried to convey these things to her, with his eyes, if not his
words. After what seemed an eternity, Natalie's head moved in a
barely perceptible nod.

"I understand, Nick," she said, her voice subdued. She heaved a tired
sigh. "At least, I think I do. But it doesn't change anything. You
had no right to make that kind of decision for me ... for the both of
us. You just --"

Natalie broke off in mid-sentence, a strange expression flitting
across her face as she stared up at Nick. Without warning, she
started to laugh, softly at first, then louder as she took in his
perplexed expression. Transferring her gaze to the ceiling, she shook
her head ruefully while Nick stood there, totally bewildered by the
abrupt change in attitude.

"Nat?"

"C'mon, Nick." The laughter was replaced by a tight, self-belittling
smile that quirked the edges of her lips. "You've got to admit it's
pretty ironic. Here I am lecturing away about the evils of making
high-handed decisions that affect other people, and I'm guilty of the
same thing, more or less. Right? I made the decision to leave Toronto
without talking to you first, without telling you why." Snorting
softly, she shook her head in bemused resignation. "We are quite a
pair, aren't we?"

Nick frowned as he let go of Natalie's shoulders. Despite the initial
anger he'd felt and the considerable anxiety her disappearance had
caused, honesty compelled him to protest.

"It's not the same thing, Nat."

"You're right, it's not," she agreed. "You took something from me --
something very precious. Something I didn't even know I'd lost,
except deep down inside, maybe." The slight catch in her voice tore
at Nick's heart, fanning the flame of his guilty conscience. Natalie
took a deep breath, then slowly released it as she gazed up at him.

"I guess what I'm saying is ... I'm not totally blameless here, Nick.
I've made my share of mistakes. But this --" As her voice broke in
earnest, she fell silent, eyes brimming with unshed tears. His hand
rose involuntarily to caress her face, but the movement halted as she
spoke again.

"I honestly don't know if we can get past this, Nick. Or if there's
any point in trying."

He caught a brief glimpse of sadness in her eyes before she turned
away from him. At first, he thought she was heading for the kitchen,
but she bypassed it, aiming instead for the bedroom door.

"Nat!" he called, desperate to halt her swift retreat. Once she took
refuge in the other room, it would be easier for her to shut him out,
both figuratively and literally.

For a moment, he feared she would ignore the plea, but as she neared
the doorway her steps faltered and slowed. Finally, she came to a
stop just short of the threshold and stood there, head bowed, clearly
unwilling to turn and face him. Nick was forced to address her rigid
back.

"Making you forget ... I know it was wrong ... I do. And I'm sorry. I
never wanted to hurt you. Whatever else, you must believe that, Nat.
But --" He stopped, frustrated. Though he understood and accepted
what she was trying to tell him, could he honestly say that, faced
with the same situation again, he would do things differently? Old
habits died hard, especially after eight centuries of practice. As a
noble, Nicholas de Brabant had been taught it was both his right and
his duty to make sweeping decisions on behalf of those who enjoyed
his protection. In the intervening centuries, he had rarely
questioned the validity of this belief.

But recent events had proved a catalyst of sorts, turning certainty
into doubt. Against his will, Nick found himself asking the same
question he'd asked the night before.

"Nat ... what is it you want?"

Slowly, she turned toward him, her expression a mixture of surprise,
indecision and, finally, resolve. Her answer, when it came, was brief
and to the point.

"The choice."

The world fell away, all sound and sensation fading as Nick stared
into Natalie's eyes. Slowly, with the sorrow of eight centuries
reflected in his gaze, he nodded.

+++++++

They had spent the remainder of the night and a good portion of the
next morning talking. Nick had refused to discuss the future until he
had laid bare his past. It was the only way he knew to make Natalie
understand, as much as was humanly possible, exactly what becoming a
vampire would mean. The shame and degradation of giving voice to the
more horrific aspects of his existence were nothing compared to the
potential cost of his continued silence -- the eternal damnation of
Natalie's soul.

And so, over the course of several hours, he had opened himself to
her in a way he never had before, holding nothing back. Gone were the
vague references to the evil he had embraced and the vile horrors he
had perpetrated while caught up in the undeniable ecstasy of the
bloodlust. He had revealed to her, in unflinching detail, the
deepest, darkest secrets of his tainted soul.

It was the hardest thing he'd ever done.

At times, his voice had hardened with self-contempt. At other times,
he had forced the words from his lips in an anguished whisper,
certain that at any moment she would turn from him in horrified
revulsion. But to his unceasing amazement, she hadn't. Instead, she'd
sat quietly throughout it all, asking questions from time to time,
which he'd done his best to answer. Though she couldn't hide the
sorrow in her eyes or the shock that occasionally flashed across her
face, her manner had been neither condemning nor judgmental. On more
than one occasion, she had wept openly, tears sliding silently down
her cheeks. But instead of pulling away, she had reached out to him,
capturing his hand in a firm yet tender grasp, squeezing it in silent
support.

Nick had been stunned -- and heartbreakingly grateful.

In the end, Natalie had insisted the final decision must not be made
by one or the other of them, but by both. At the same time, she had
assured Nick that regardless of the outcome she would not send him
away. They would face the future -- and whatever it held in store for
them -- together.

But first they must spend time apart, thinking things through, free
from outside distractions and undue influences. Accordingly, Natalie
had left the beach house, while Nick had remained behind in the
relative security of the darkened living room.

Now, some several hours later, Nick glanced again at the lengthening
band of light  stretching across the floor and sighed. Soon, the sun
would set and Natalie would return, possibly bringing with her the
question he dreaded most.

He had no idea what his answer would be.


==================== 
Part Twenty-One 
====================

The beach was deserted, save for the lone figure huddled on the sand
a short distance away from the breaking waves. A bevy of sandpipers
that had spent much of the afternoon scurrying up and down the
shoreline had long since relocated to parts unknown.

The tide was coming in, and the temperature had dropped with the
sinking sun, but still she sat, staring out to sea. Natalie shivered
a bit as the chill wind cut through the thin fabric of her
windbreaker. With arms wrapped tightly around herself, she rested her
chin on upraised knees, consigning the growing discomfort to a small
corner of her mind.

She would have to return to the beach house soon. With the onset of
dusk, Nick would be expecting her, though he no doubt dreaded the
outcome. He was convinced she had already made her decision, despite
assurances to the contrary. The look in his eyes when she'd turned to
leave the house had told her as much. But nothing could be further
from the truth.

She was torn by conflicting emotions, plagued by uncertainty. Her
mind still reeled with the stunning revelations of the last 48 hours
-- from the return of her stolen memories to Nick's graphic accounts
of the darkest episodes of his past. The struggle to put it all in
some kind of perspective was almost more than she could manage, under
the circumstances.

It was a wonder her head hadn't exploded from the pressure.

Even more miraculously, since Nick had worked his magic on her the
night of his arrival her headaches had yet to return. Though it was
only a matter of time before they did, she was grateful for the
temporary respite, especially now when there was so much to consider.

Each time she felt she had finally reached a decision, doubt would
rear its ugly head. One moment, she took solace in the idea that she
and Nick could finally be together. The next, hope gave way to
despair as she contemplated the enormous price demanded for such a
union.

It was a price she had come unwittingly close to paying that night at
Azure. Or was it?

With the return of those memories had come the inevitable question:
What would have happened if LaCroix had insisted Nick follow through
with their agreement? If he had called Nick's bluff, would she now be
a permanent member of  the night shift ... or would she be dead?

She had no answer, and neither, it seemed, did Nick. She had
questioned him about it that morning shortly before leaving the beach
house, but his response had been far from definitive. Natalie closed
her eyes, recreating that final scene in her mind -- the dismayed
look on his face, the strain so evident in his voice, even though
he'd made it no further than her name ...

"Natalie --"

Shaking his head, Nick had broken off, his eyes conveying a silent
plea, though for what, exactly, she couldn't say. His mouth opened
then closed again as he looked first at the floor then back up at
her. Considering he had spent the last several hours baring his soul,
this flustered reaction surprised her.

Seated beside him on the sofa, Natalie waited patiently. When nothing
more was forthcoming, she tilted her head and folded her arms,
eyebrows raised expectantly. "Yes?" she encouraged.

Sighing, Nick shook his head again, weary-eyed but earnest. "I can't
tell you, Nat. I don't know. I had to convince LaCroix that I was
only using you. I couldn't let myself think about anything beyond
that. I couldn't allow myself to consider, even for a second, that he
would see through it. Because if he had ... "

He trailed off, unwilling to finish the thought. But it wasn't
necessary. She understood what he was trying to say.

"So, you never made the decision. What about afterwards? Didn't you
think about it then? About what you would have done if he hadn't
bought your act, or changed his mind, or whatever the hell happened?"

Nick didn't speak but nodded in silent affirmation.

"Well?"

"I couldn't have brought you across, Nat."

"That's what you decided." It was a statement, not a question.

Again, Nick nodded.

"But ... not until *after* the fact ... after it was all over and
done with."

"Yes. I realized I cared about ... *loved* you ... too much to do
that."

"But can you really be sure?"

His gaze was bleak as it met hers. "At the time, I was. I was certain
I would never condemn you to my hell, no matter how much I wanted to
keep you with me. But after what happened with Janette ... "

His voice trailed off again. Natalie supplied the missing words.
"After what happened with Janette ... you can't be sure of anything."

Squeezing his eyes shut in pained acknowledgement, Nick nodded
sharply, his lips compressed in a tight frown. Glancing away, then
back, Natalie took a deep breath, keeping her tone carefully
matter-of-fact.

"When I first found out I was terminal, a lot of things went through
my head -- some of it pretty crazy, some not. At one point, I even
thought about coming to you, telling you the truth and trying to
persuade you to try Janette's cure. At least that way, something good
might have come from all this." She shrugged, cutting short his
attempted protest with a look. "Nick ... let me finish."

His frown deepened as he retreated into an uneasy silence, and after
a moment or two, Natalie leaned toward him, deliberately placing her
hand on his chest. As it came to rest, she felt a single beat, then
... nothing. With a sad smile, she said, "I didn't make that offer,
Nick, because I knew you'd never accept. No matter how much I might
have wanted it, I could never have convinced you. You'd see it as
somehow ... taking advantage ... profiting from my death --"

The stricken look that flashed across his face stopped her cold.
Tenderly, she reached up to smooth back his hair, the gesture meant
to comfort herself as much as him.

"I gotta tell you, Nick," she whispered. "Things would be a heck of a
lot easier if you weren't so *damned* honorable." Her gentle teasing
tone coaxed a faint smile from Nick. Capturing her hand, he brought
it to his lips for a lingering kiss then returned it to his chest
where he covered it with his own. But in his eyes, the sadness
remained.

It took several seconds before Natalie felt she could trust her voice
enough to speak. Finally, she cleared her throat.

"I also thought about asking you to bring me across," she began, with
no small amount of trepidation. But as she felt him stiffen, his
muscles tensing beneath her hand, anxiety gave way to a sudden fit of
exasperation.

"Nick, c'mon! How could I not at least *think* about it?" She stared
at him in open challenge. "Can you honestly tell me that you didn't
just once, for a split second, consider it yourself?"

Nick looked away, unwilling or unable to meet her eyes. And in that
instant, Natalie knew he had indeed considered the possibility,
however briefly. To her surprise, the knowledge gave her no pleasure.
Any satisfaction she might have felt was overshadowed by concern for
Nick. He had questioned his convictions, wavered, if only for an
instant, in his resolve. Now he damned himself for that very human
weakness.

Studying his profile with somber eyes, she slipped her hand free from
his, moving it up to rest lightly on his shoulder. "Nick," she
whispered, "it's okay."

Weary blue eyes gazed back at her. "No. It isn't," he softly denied.
"How can it be?"

Natalie stared at him a moment longer, then pulled away, sinking back
into the sofa cushions. Her gaze settled on the fireplace before
them. Her tone was reflective, even detached, as if she no longer
spoke about herself but of someone else entirely. But her words
indicated otherwise.

"When I thought about making that choice, and all the reasons not to
do it, you know what it all kept coming back to? Time. All the time
it would give us. Time to be together. Time to find a way back for
both of us." A sharp, self-conscious laugh escaped her. "And they
lived happily ever after ... or something like that."

Eyes still focused on the fireplace, Natalie held her breath, waiting
for his inevitable lecture on the horrors of choosing the darkness
over death. Well, it was only fair, she thought, smiling wryly. If
she could dish it out, she ought to be able to take it, too.

"What if there isn't a way back, Nat?" Nick's quiet tone and calm
gaze caught her off guard. For a moment, her mind went blank and all
she could do was stare.

"But there is," she finally replied, mustering up a conviction she
didn't entirely feel. "Janette proved as much."

Once again, Nick surprised her. Instead of the angry frustration she
expected to see in his eyes, there was sad acceptance and sympathy,
as if he understood the desperate need she had to believe. Which, of
course, he did ... all too well.

"Then what if Janette's way is the only way?" he asked her. "Think
about what it would mean. You'd be trapped. Forever. With only one
way out ... *if* you had the courage to take it. And either way, your
soul would be damned." Without warning, Nick rose to his feet,
pulling her up with him. He cradled her face in his hands. Though she
knew he wasn't trying to exert his will upon her, his gaze was almost
hypnotic, the deep timbre of his voice reverberating with unusual
intensity. "You may be willing to accept the consequences, Nat ...
but I'm not. You're too precious to me."

The sweet warmth that underscored his words brought tears to her
eyes, but she willed them away. "We promised to take the day to think
about this, Nick. An open mind, remember?"

He responded with the barest hint of a nod, blue eyes locked with
hers. In their depths she saw hope warring with despair. That's when
Natalie realized that, in her mind at least, this was no longer a
question of her own survival -- if indeed it ever had been. It was
about Nick's pain and the potentially devastating tragedy of a hope
forever lost.

He was so close to giving up, a vulnerable spirit waiting to be
crushed by the final blow. She had to make him believe again, find a
way to revive that dwindling spark of hope, so that he could survive
and move forward ... even if he did so without her. Whatever lay in
store for her, she could accept it, embrace it even, as long as she
believed Nick had the strength and will to carry on. It was a measure
of her love for him, perhaps her final gift.

She reached out and grasped his hand, summoning up every ounce of
conviction her soul possessed.

"Nick ... do you remember how close we came with the litovuterine-B?
All right, so it wasn't a cure and the effects were only temporary,
but it *did* suppress the vampire. For one whole day you walked in
the sun! Your heart was beating, you ate real food, you got a
sunburn, but you didn't implode --"

Natalie broke off, suddenly struck by the fact that Nick wasn't the
only one whose belief had faded over time. She, too, had begun to
doubt. She had questioned his commitment, lost confidence in her own
work as each new failure or dead end had chipped away at her resolve.
But now, in trying to revive Nick's waning hope, she found her own
faith inexplicably renewed. Though her eyes filled with tears, her
voice remained steady, this time backed by the strength of true
conviction.

"Everything we've been through ... it's taught us a lot, Nick, so
much more than you realize. It's brought us that much closer to
understanding what we're dealing with. Knowledge is power. It's the
key to everything. Whether I'm there to help you or not, the more you
learn about your condition the better chance you have of controlling
it. And if there's a way to control it, there's also a way to reverse
it. Even if it's not possible with today's technology, one day it
will be."

Nick shook his head. "Natalie, it's not that simple. This isn't just
a disease --"

"But in a way, it is! I still believe what I told you all those years
ago, Nick. There *is* a physical basis to your conversion. The extra
nucleotides we found in your blood confirmed it. And that's only a
small part of what we've discovered in the short time we've had,
working with limited equipment under less-than-ideal research
conditions." Natalie paused to let the words sink in. "The bottom
line is, Nick ... you were human until the vampire element was
introduced into your bloodstream, and then it changed you. Like a
virus, it spread, altering your body chemistry, bringing about
radical changes in your physiology. And it did it at an incredibly
fast rate. But you're not dead, Nick, you never were. Your heart
still beats, your blood still circulates. You still feel and hurt and
love ... "

She halted again, taking a deep breath. "Now having said all that ...
*you* were right, too. About the metaphysical aspects involved. As
much as I hate to admit it, there are things at play here that defy
scientific explanation -- at least, science as it exists today. And
that's part of what needs to be better understood, I grant you that.

"But I also believe in the power of the mind, you know that. When you
were shot and didn't remember what you were ... the vampire was still
there, but it didn't control you. And what about Ellen, or Monica, or
whoever the hell she was? She took it even further. She functioned as
a human being, Nick. She did things that should have been physically
*impossible* for a vampire. But somehow, she did them."

With each new point, she had watched the gleam in Nick's eyes grow
brighter. Now they were positively shining. "Nat ... you believe
we're really that close?" he asked softly.

She hesitated. Despite his restrained manner, he was clearly on edge
awaiting her answer. She had wanted to rekindle his dying hope, yes,
but perhaps she'd been too successful. A little hope was a good
thing, but with Nick, too much could be almost as destructive as none
at all. Why couldn't they find a nice, safe middle ground --
somewhere halfway between wildly irrational hope and the darkest
depths of despair? Natalie sighed.

"We've learned a lot," she said cautiously. "But let's not kid
ourselves, Nick. There's a lot more that needs to be understood --
things we probably haven't even thought about." At his slightly
crestfallen look, she squeezed his hand and smiled. "I guess what I'm
trying to say is that ... I believe there *is* an answer. In fact, I
think there may be more than one. Despite what you may have thought
these last few months, you're a long way from having exhausted all
the possibilities. *But*," she added, before he could interrupt,
"that doesn't necessarily mean the cure is just around the corner. I
wish I could snap my fingers and make it happen for you, Nick, but it
just doesn't work that way."

Natalie looked at him again, expecting to find bitter disappointment
shadowing his face. Instead, she saw a glimmer of amusement in his
eyes.

"It's okay, Nat," he smiled. "I know I get a little carried away
sometimes, but I understand what you're saying. I just need to know
if you really believe it, or if it's all for my benefit -- because
you think *I* need to believe."

Natalie's voice was solemn. "Nick ... do you trust me?" He nodded,
his gaze intent upon her face. "Then the answer is yes, to both. I'm
afraid you're close to giving up, but I also think you'd be a fool to
stop trying. The answer is out there."

Slowly, carefully, Nick reached out, gathering her into his embrace.
As his arms closed around her, he rested his head against hers, and
in a voice thick with emotion he whispered in her ear. "Thank you."

Wrapping her arms around his waist, Natalie hugged Nick to her as
tightly as she could. For a moment, she stopped thinking and simply
reveled in the depth of feeling that flowed between them. She
relished the all-too-rare sensation of his body pressed against hers
and the tenderness with which he held her. But there was more that
needed to be said.

"Nick ... now I have something to ask you." She ignored the nervous
fluttering in the pit of her stomach as she pulled back, her gaze
locking with his. "If I choose to become a vampire ... can you accept
me that way?"

The light in his eyes vanished. "So, you've decided," he said, the
words stark and toneless.

"No. I haven't," she sighed, shaking her head in weary contradiction.
She felt as though the emotional turmoil of the past few weeks had
caught up with her all at once, leaving her drained and exhausted. "I
haven't decided anything yet," she