From - Sun Jan 04 19:27:14 1998 Disclaimer: This story is for the private, non-commercial use of our audience. Any rebroadcast, retransmission duly prohibited. Permission to archive on jadfe site or fkfanfic site. Reasonable distribution is OK. You know the drill - The Forever Knight characters belong to Sony/Tristar - just borrowing them. Any resemblance to real people, dead or undead, is purely coincidental. I love praise, but will use flames for a weinie roast. ;> This story is lovingly dedicated to Francisa Merlina, Vampgirl. "Francisa" Antonia Spadafina copyr. Nov 1997 asginger@ix.netcom.com m/f, Nick/chick, explicit Part 1: The frozen ground crunched beneath her slippers as she ran from the house. The squares of firelight were left far behind, like the warm comforts of a down quilt. Now only the moonlight provided the illumination for her to make her way into the forest, its blue-green glow casting deceptive shadows upon the grass. A chill wind sighed in the upper reaches of the trees, and the thin keening was akin to a babe's frightened cry in the night. she thought frantically. As if from the bottom of a deep well, she heard a woman's voice plaintively calling her name. She did not turn, only lifted her heavy skirts higher in order to race beyond the sound of her nurse's voice. Faster and faster she ran, the snow kicked up in little puffs of white, like the powder from her dressing table. Her heart pounded with the effort to keep to her speed. Labored breath escaped from her lips in transparent bursts of steam. At last, dozens of yards from the house and far beyond the sight or sense of it, she came to a rest against the knotted bole of an ancient tree. All lay about her in silence, even the small forest creatures in their den asleep on such a cold night. She shivered in her sable-lined cloak, and pulled its edges closed across the scarlet velvet of her costly gown. A slight sound pulled her around to face further into the jumble of trees and brambles that lined her father's orchards. Peering steadily into the gloom with wide eyes showed her nothing, yet her other senses foretold a presence. She slowly turned her back to her visitor, pretending not to feel his arrival in her bones, in her heart, in the core of her that only he could touch. Pale hands gripped her shoulders, and though the night was deadly cold, she felt the chill of his flesh through the double layer of her cloak and the fine tooled leather of his gauntlets. The hands were gentle, yet demanding, as her lover turned her within his arms. A great elation filled her and she buried herself in his strong embrace with a wordless cry of joy. The tall knight returned the embrace fiercely, with barely leashed desire. Her scent drove him mad, yet he was tender, gentle as he pushed her back to gaze into her eyes. "Francisa," he whispered as softly as the falling snow, "my love." Stripping the gloves from his hands, he tucked them into his belt, then tipped her chin up with one long finger until she met his eyes. "Nicholas," she breathed, her voice caressing his name. Francisa looked upon this man, this fantasy, with a desire as great as his own. He was the most beautiful creature she had ever chanced to see. Nicholas was tall and lithe, with eyes the color of cornflowers and hair like spun silk. She reached up to touch it, reveling in its softness as the flaxen locks slipped through her splayed fingers. She ran her hand over his ear, tracing its outline, then took the picture of his face with both palms spread over his cheekbones. She discovered his lips, and he parted them beneath her questing fingers, nipping the tips playfully, careful not to pierce her delicate skin. Taking her hands in his, he trailed kisses of icy fire from palm to wrist, catching the excited beat of her heart with his tongue. Unable to resist any longer, he crushed Francisa against his chest and his lips found hers with a swiftness that stole the breath from her lungs. His hands cradled her head, slipped sensuously down the hollow of her spine and rounded her derriere until she moaned and molded the full length of her body closer to his. Stepping back, Nicholas nimbly lifted the cloak from her shoulders and spread it on the ground at her feet. Offering his hand, he helped her down to its inviting warmth and softness, his eyes roaming over her face with love and passion. He lowered his mouth to the rounded valley between her breasts, and bestowed light kisses, eliciting a series of throaty laughs from the young woman beneath him. His seductive ministrations raised the beat of her heart to a fevered pitch; his own matched the staccato rhythm of her growing desire. Though coherent speech had all but fled, she whispered his name again, like a prayer. "Nicholas, take me. I am not whole without you." "Francisa, it is dangerous." She shook her head in denial, her ebony hair catching the wan moonlight. He smoothed the heavy locks from her face, then kissed her nose, her cheeks, his cool breath raising the gooseflesh along her arms. "I care nothing for the danger. All I know is that we must be as one." She pulled his head down and pressed it to her throat. His lips found the artery, but he merely trailed his tongue in a line along its blue length, the heat just barely contained below the sun-colored skin. Nicholas wanted that heat, wanted that life. Supported on arms above her, he let the desire flood his eyes with gold. His fangs budded and dropped into place. A low growl issued from deep in his chest. Dipping his head swiftly, Nicholas sought out the mortal woman's full mouth. Catching her lower lip in his teeth, he pierced the tender flesh with one sharp canine. Dulcet blood, hot with suppressed lust, poured over his tongue and into his mouth; his throat worked to swallow the sweet nectar of her life. The demon, now loosed, fell upon her throat. His fangs sank into the artery, and she stiffened with pain, until the erotic suckling moved her beyond the discomfort and into a world of ever-growing passion. she thought, lifted by wave upon wave of pleasure. ~~~~~~~~~~ It had to end though. Francisa knew the truth in her heart. If this continued, she would die, and then she would have her love no more. Struggling against the sensations flooding her every nerve, she pushed weakly against the creature above her. Finding her voice was difficult, but she managed to whisper his name hoarsely, as a prayer or a plea. Nicholas did not respond. The vampire had taken full control of his will. Francisa pushed harder, desperation making her stronger, but still he suckled at her throat, drawing from her warmth and life. She knew she must try something more forceful if she were to survive; she raised a hand to his cheek, and quickly, before she could contemplate the ramifications of such an action, gouged four deep furrows into Nicholas' cheek with her nails. Again, she pushed against his chest and sharply cried his name. The vampire growled deeply in his throat, but the lines of pain brought him back some human awareness, some measure of control. As he heard her laboring heartbeat in his ears and caught the tangy scent of her sweat and tears, he jerked back, alarmed. He reared up on stiffened arms, a horrified expression casting a pall over his otherwise handsome features. Scuttling backwards, he put some distance between himself and the sweet scent of her blood, but still it called to him like a siren's song. Nicholas moved further away, intending to leave, until a small sound from Francisa drew him back. "No, don't go," she cried plaintively, stretching out a slender hand in entreaty. "There is danger should I remain, Francisa," he replied in a voice colored with hunger. His eyes glowed golden with need, and his fangs had not retracted, yet she was unafraid. Francisa could not turn away from him. She had pledged her love and trust so many months past, and it was not in her nature to renege on her promises. "I am not afraid, Nicholas," she assured him quietly. Her hand shook as she raised it to the twin wounds in her neck, though from fear or cold Nicholas was unsure. "You should be." "I cannot. I should not have hurt you. Your cheek -- I am sorry..." She trailed off when he turned his face aside. The moonlight showed smooth, pale flesh where mere moments before there had been deep scratches. His vampire nature had healed them before her eyes. "I am fine, Francisa. You did well to bring me to my senses." His lids drooped closed as the remembered sensations of her blood pouring into him, the soft flesh of her throat beneath his lips, the fresh scent of her hair, played through his mind. "I must go," he said as he opened his eyes, cutting off the internal play of emotions. The bright orbs were still jewel-like, but the cat-like topaz had been traded for a brilliant aquamarine. She nearly lost herself in that liquid gaze, but she shifted and began to rise to her feet. Unsteady from the loss of blood and the near shock, Francisa lost her balance. She would have fallen to her knees, wrapped in the yards of velvet skirt, had Nicholas not risen and moved to assist her in the blink of an eye. He lifted the fur-lined cloak and settled it lovingly around her shoulders, then his hands encircled her small waist, and he drew her close. Her head came to just below his chin and, tempted beyond his ability to control, he kissed her lavender-scented tresses. Francisa tilted her head back, and Nicholas took the opportunity to trail kisses across her forehead, over her cheeks and down the slope of her freckled nose with a feather's touch. Her mouth was a mere finger's breadth from his, and her sweet breath warmed his lips. Her eyes, like a pool of liquid jade, were an invitation. Raising her hand to tangle her fingers in the nimbus of hair that surrounded his face like a golden wreath, she pulled his face down to meet hers with gentle insistence. Their lips touched fleetingly, and Francisa felt complete again. And then, she was standing on her own, her cloak still stirring in the breeze his departure had made. She turned, calling his name, but only the tree frogs and crickets spoke in the moonlight. Wearily, Francisa made her solitary way back to her father's home, the promise of a warm fire so very welcome. She felt frozen to her very soul, and it was only the memory of flashing eyes, a disarming smile and strong arms that allowed her to keep a steady pace. she promised herself. ~~~~~~~~~~ Francisa entered the house unseen through the scullery, the way she had left. All the occupants of the house had retired to their chambers long since. The only candle burning was in Francisa's own rooms, her nurse sitting vigil beside the tester bed. The fire had burned low upon the hearth, and only a few red embers remained aglow. "Child, child, I've been so worried!" the nurse exclaimed as she rose to her feet and rushed to her charge. "I am fine, Elsbet," Francisa assured the older woman. She stripped off her cloak and draped it over the small settee placed below the room's only window. A chill ran through her, and she shivered violently. "Come, take off those wet clothes. You'll catch your death, child." Francisa turned and walked towards her nurse, her confidante and companion, a substitute mother since her own had passed so many years ago. As the small light cast a feeble glow upon her charge, Elsbet gasped, taking in the faint blush of passion still lingering on Francisa's cheeks and breasts with disappointment and concern. "You've been with *him* again," she accused in a querulous voice. Francisa remained silent, though she permitted a slight grin to spread her lips. "God's own truth, Francisa, he is the devil himself." The slur wiped the smile from her face. "He is kind and gentle..." "Gentle," the nurse scoffed. "Then what is that wound on your throat?" Francisa raised a hand to her neck in an attempt to hide the evidence of Nicholas' love. Elsbet would have none of it, and roughly pulled the slender hand aside. Bringing the candle flame close to Francisa's throat, she studied the twin wounds. The bleeding had stopped and small scabs had formed, but Francisa flinched back from the nurse's probing fingers. "Oh, child, don't you see? He will kill you." "No! We are in love. He would never harm me," she protested, defending her lover. As Elsbet opened her mouth to continue the argument, Francisa held up her hands wearily. "Please, spare me this night. I am cold and tired and would soon see my bed." Elsbet met Francisa's challenging gaze and backed down, as she had done with countless arguments, though the tide often turned her way with such a strategy. She must win this round, for the victory would mean more than words, it would mean the girl's life. Elsbet was not Francisa's keeper, but as the woman who had reared her as if she were her very own child, she just cared for her quite deeply. "I do not wish to see you harmed," Elsbet replied in a subdued voice. "But we will speak of this no more _tonight_." Her own challenge issued, Elsbet assisted Francisa with her brief toilette in near silence. She spread the heavy bed curtains aside and Francisa climbed onto the high tester bed. Elsbet smoothed the eiderdown coverlet up to the younger woman's chin, then bent to bestow a small kiss on her forehead. She lifted the candle from the low night stand, its flickering glow casting her face in more shadow than light. "Sleep well, 'Cisa, pleasant dreams." As the chamber door closed behind the nurse, Francisa whispered into the darkness, "Oh, they will be. Of that I may be certain." ~~~~~~~~~~ The two women had had a heated argument the very next night. Elsbet had physically detained her charge from running to the arms of her lover, but only barely in time. Threatening to have Francisa sent away to the nunnery stunned the younger woman into a temporary submission, but Elsbet was not fooled. She knew Francisa would take the first opportunity to fly to her mysterious stranger. She wished for the strong presence of Francisa's father, a man of great stature and assuredness, but feared he would not be home in time to prevent this tragedy. Elsbet must take the responsibility upon herself to prevent the tragedy she felt was brewing. A few loyal servants remained for Elsbet to call upon for assistance, but Francisa would listen to none of them. Even Elsbet had trouble controlling the head-strong young woman, and she had all but been a substitute mother. Elsbet sighed. It would be a long fortnight before the message would reach Francisa's father, and likely another fortnight before he could find his way home - if he even decided that this incident warranted his return from a lucrative journey. In the days that followed, Elsbet contrived to be at hand at all times, whether Francisa walked among the barren fruit trees, or did crewel work by the fire. There were few moments the young woman could call her own. She grew frantic that Nicholas would tire of her absence and search out another woman to take her place. She had to find some way to leave the house. A plan was born of desperation, but the timing would need to be exquisite. Patience was in short supply, but Francisa would bide her time for the perfect moment for escape. Just after midnight on the fifth day since the confrontation between the nurse and her charge, Francisa rose from bed, fully dressed in her warmest travelling clothes, a quilted gown of velvet and brocade. She cursed her lack of foresight; she should have ferreted away a uniform of the yeoman of the guard. It would have made the trip so much easier. Yet, there was no help for it now, and the jewels sewn into her undergown would aid her in her new adventures. Francisa had not permitted Elsbet into her chambers, calling out that she was not in need of aid from someone who cared so little for her well-being or happiness. She felt a twinge of guilt and doubt in speaking to her closest friend in such a manner, but Nicholas weighed heavily on her mind. All would be put to rights once she saw her knight. It was Elsbet's habit to see Francisa to bed, then make a survey of the grounds along with one of the guardsmen. Then she would settle herself in her chambers to say her nightly prayers. Francisa knew Elsbet would be long asleep at midnight, though she had assigned two guardsmen to patrol the grounds each half hour. Francisa had taken note of their schedule very carefully. Watching from her high vantage point, she saw one of the guards walk by and stop below her window. He looked up, and Francisa quickly faded back into the darkness of her chambers, glad she had not lit even one small candle. Francisa bided her time, knowing that the guard would soon be fighting off sleep, yet succumb as he had done each morning at this time. She had listened to Elsbet stress the importance of vigilance, but the young soldiers had merely chuckled as soon as the nurse had turned away. Yet they knew the folly of disobeying her orders outright; they must at least give every appearance of deference to the nominal head of the household while the rightful lord was away. However, that did not mean standing a full day's watch or doing a hard day's labor without a decent night's sleep. After all, these were nothing but womanly worries. Francisa chewed on her fingernail as she watched the young guard head off for his favorite spot against the low stone wall that surrounded the manor. He settled down and, minutes later, his body posture told Francisa that he had finally drifted into a deep sleep. Another minute and she would be able to walk right past him and into her lover's arms. The only part of her plan she had no control whatsoever over was Nicholas, and whether he would be waiting for her. She had had only one glimpse of him in the past week; she had put a candle on the sill, the signal prearranged between them and used successfully many times, but he had heard her gasp of fear from the window and retreated before any member of the household spied his presence. Her most fervent wish was that he had also heard her whisper "glade" before he had vanished into the trees. Tying the bedclothes together into a rope had come to her in an inspired burst of creativity. She fastened one end to a post of the heavy tester bed, and threw the other out the window. It fell far short of the ground, but that did not deter Francisa. The cloth rope only needed to reach as far as the limb of the old oak tree that spread out over the kitchen. Once on the sturdy branch, Francisa would have little trouble climbing to the ground, her childhood memories a steady guide to the hand and footholds necessary to reach the ground safely. Standing on the small bench beneath the window, Francisa climbed out and sat on the sill to get her bearings. The ground looked so far away. Resolutely raising her eyes to the sky, she stepped off into the blackness of a moonless night and hung on to the tied-off sheets with a tenacious grip that belied her age and slight build. After a slow, hand-over-hand descent, her booted feet touched the sere branch of the old oak, and she breathed a sigh of relief. That relief was short-lived, as one of her feet slipped on a patch of ice that clung to the wood. She caught herself against the rough trunk, skinning the tender flesh of her hands and cheek. Droplets of blood welled up in the cuts, but the bleeding soon came to a halt, staunched by the cold night air. Somehow the climb had seemed so much easier when she was a girl. Francisa peeked around the trunk of the tree to take a worried look at the guard. He had stirred restlessly, but he did not awaken. Searching her memory for the path to the ground, Francisa proceeded more cautiously, checking each foothold for ice before committing her full weight. After nearly a quarter hour, her feet finally came to rest on the frozen ground. Glancing in both directions, her eyes searching in the smothering darkness, she quickly darted from her spot beneath the tree, the slit skirts of her heavy tabard pulled out of her way. She ran as far as was prudent, then crept past the young man sleeping directly in her path. He mumbled to himself and huddled more deeply in his cloak, but Francisa passed him as quietly as possible, and without incident. Her feet flew along the familiar path through the barren orchards and into the forest beyond. She was far enough from the house to chance a cry of attention, so she called her lover's name. The first attempt came out as no more than a sharp whisper, yet she immediately sensed a presence. "Nicholas?" she called again, her voice gaining strength and confidence. She turned in the darkness, seeking him out, and collided with a solid object. Francisa started, a gasp of fear escaping her lips, and would have fallen away had Nicholas not gripped her with strong hands. "Here," was the reply, close to her ear. "I need to see you." "One moment, Francisa. Let me guide you to a safer place." He took her hand in his and led her to a secluded glade surrounded on all sides by trees and low bushes. Here, a lantern burned, bathing the frozen ground in a circle of golden light. His face was still lost in shadow, the lantern-light too weak to cast more than a pale glow above the hem of his cloak. She bent to retrieve it, but his hands around her waist stopped the movement. He pulled her to him with a roughness to which the young woman was unaccustomed, and growled deep within his chest. Francisa felt a wetness against her cheek, then the softness of his lips. With a start, she realized he was tasting the blood that had dried on her face. She stiffened and tried to pull away, but his grip was like iron. "Please," she whispered, "not like this." A few moments passed between them in silence, but Nicholas withdrew at last, giving her cheek one last pass with his tongue and pressing his chill lips against her forehead in apology. The knight stepped away hastily and turned his back to Francisa. Trembling from the cold and with the realization that her plans had come to fruition, Francisa stood undecided for several minutes. //"God's own truth, Francisa, he is the devil himself. He will kill you."// Strangely, the memory of her nurse's voice, thick with dire threats and warnings, lifted the veil of uncertainty from her mind. She found her resolve once again. Lifting the lantern from her feet to eye-level, she closed the distance between them. The frozen grass crunched loudly beneath her light steps and seemed to echo within the copse of trees. Hearing her approach, Nicholas turned, meeting her gaze. His eyes were haunted with a deep sadness and remorse, but also alight with a savage hunger or desire. He stepped backwards, no sound produced by his movements, until his retreat was halted by the gnarled trunk of an ancient chestnut tree. The knight held up his hands, palms outward, silently asking that Francisa halt her approach. She did not understand his request, and was upset by the rebuff, but she came to a stop an arm's length away. They studied each other intently in the lantern light, blue eyes meeting green, as two currents of the same river blend. Nicholas saw a young woman, beautiful, in the first blush of womanhood, with an active intelligence not seen in many women of this era. Francisa saw a handsome man, an enigma, equal parts predator, seducer and protector, a knight who would whisk her away to great adventures and lift the dreary burden of daily life from her shoulders. That these descriptions were more simple and yet more complex than any mere words did not escape their notice, but they were lost in the liquid gaze that locked their souls together. He had tasted the truth of her love in her blood, and she had learned trust when he kept the beast from killing her. What was there left to say when mere words could not express the depth of passion or the enormity of their love and desire? There were no words, only actions. Francisa slung the heavy lantern on a low-hanging branch. The golden glow burnished Nicholas' hair to a fine copper and lit his eyes with a reddish fire. She moved slowly into his arms, giving him the chance to refuse her once again, but he was caught up in the moment, as was she. Her hair gleamed with iridescent highlights in the lamplight, like the wing of a raven; the warmth of her flesh and the scent of her blood held the promise of ecstasy. Even as he clasped her within his embrace, she tilted back her head and invited his lips to take hers. Holding the hunger in check took a supreme effort, but he managed to cage the beast. Francisa was a delicate beauty, one he wanted with what remained of his soul, and he would not take her as some whore against the rough bark of a tree. Pushing her away gently, yet still keeping a hand on her arm, he looked into her eyes. "This is not the way it should be between us, Francisa." "I am here for you, Nicholas," she replied, confused. "Are you? Do you know what I am?" he asked harshly. "You are my love." He dropped his hand from her flesh as though burned. "I am a creature of the night, Francisa. If you truly come to me, you will share my fate. I will not make the decision for you." "I am here for you," she repeated after a moment of serious consideration. She thought about her father, Elsbet, and all that she was leaving behind with this choice. Yet, the decision had already been made by her heart, by her soul. She would not turn away. "I understand what that means, and I wish to embrace it." He stared at her for many heartbeats, weighing her sincerity, then he lifted a hand and offered it to her. "Come, then. Let me see to your comfort. I have rooms nearby." She nodded and allowed him to guide her past the trees and into the clearing beyond. There was neither a horse nor a carriage. She wondered how they would reach the inn ahead of the sunrise she knew to be inimical to Nicholas and all his kind. He did not appear concerned at the lack of conveyance, and simply smiled when she asked how they should travel. "Will you trust me yet again, Francisa?" "Of course, {signore}," she responded readily. Wrapping an arm tightly about her waist, he murmured a few words of warning, then their feet lifted from the frozen ground and they were airborne. Francisa gave a gasp of fright and buried her face against his shoulder, yet she was easily coaxed out of hiding by his amused laughter. Wonder replaced fear as they flew over the dark, squat shapes that could only be the houses and barns of her nearest neighbors. The glimmery surface of the Arno, deep and silent as it bisected the city, north from south, passed far below them. They were over the heart of the city in a matter of moments. Francisa could make out the Ponte Vecchio, where meats were sold by day, and the tower of the Bargello, with a tower so high she could see it from her window on a clear day. Directly below them, but for merely a moment, was the pitched roof of Santa Croce. In the distance, the eight-sided Duomo rose above the landscape; Francisa now understood why everyone touted signore Brunelleschi's cathedral as the engineering marvel of the age. Following the Affrico, a minor tributary of the Arno, led the couple towards the Appenines, but Nicholas maneuvered safely through the narrow pass only a short time later. The flight was not overly long, and Francisa uttered a sigh of disappointment as Nicholas set them down just beyond the stables of the inn he had chosen for their tryst. She understood now the great appeal and wonder over Leonardo's flyng machines. "Where are we?" she whispered shakily. "An inn outside Faenza," he replied casually. Her eyes widened in disbelief. "That is far, far from Firenze, Nicholas." "So it is, Francisa, but not beyond my range." He smiled down at her, seemingly reading her earlier thoughts. "Leonardo's machines are but the promise of flight; I have shown you the reality this night." She could do naught but agree as Francisa yet felt the effects of their headlong journey. He waited until her legs had stopped their trembling, then took her by the hand and led her to the door of the inn. Although the hour was late, a few men ringed the fire, goblets of the local wine in their hands and on the trestle tables that dominated the greatroom. The innkeeper bustled over, taking Francisa's cloak and Nicholas' mantle and throwing them over his arm before leading them to a table by the roaring open hearth. The expensive cut of their garments and the shiny gold of the Florins Nicholas spilled from his purse marked the couple as one of means. Their needs would be met, whatever the hour. Nicholas called for wine, and the serving maid sauntered over, two goblets balanced precariously on a pewter tray she held with practiced ease. Her chemise was sheer and low-cut, and her overgown was tucked up to reveal a shapely ankle and bare feet. She leaned forward to place the goblets on the table, offering more than just the wine. "Is there another service I may do for you, my lord?" she asked in a husky voice. Nicholas had no time to answer, for the innkeeper returned in time to witness the offer. He called sharply, "Carina, cease your prattling, and see to these good people's rooms." Giacomo shooed his daughter off towards the stairs at the back of the greatroom, and took over serving Nicholas and Francisa himself. "Forgive my daughter, {signori}, but we do not receive such fine guests everyday. Your rooms will be ready in a few moments. Take this wine to warm you." "Thank you, good innkeeper, you are most kind in your praise," Francisa told the jolly man. He blustered about, and wiped his hands on his apron, then turned to attend to his other customers. A dish of hard boiled eggs was set on the table, and Francisa chose one for herself. Nicholas took it from her hands and peeled the shell for her, presenting it like a gift. She was heartened by this attention, however small it might have been, and chewed thoughtfully on the tender flesh of the egg. Carina appeared within the quarter hour and announced in a petulant voice that their chamber had been made ready. Murmuring, "If you'll follow me," with the minimum amount of deference, she led the way to the prepared rooms at the top of the stairs, then turned and left the couple to fend for themselves. Their travelling cloaks had been brushed and were lying atop a small chest that sat at the foot of the massive bed. A blazing fire burned in the hearth, and the bed was newly dressed with fresh linens. A copper warmer had been filled with hot coals, and Francisa clapped her hands together in delighted surprise. A squat pitcher of wine sat on the bedside table, as well as a ewer of clear water for bathing. A spread of meats, cheeses and bread was laid out beside the wine. Although the serving maid appeared flighty, she had seen to their every need. "You should eat, Francisa," Nicholas advised in a concerned tone. "You'll need your strength." "You are my only food, Nicholas, and I shall draw my strength from yours," was Francisa's reply. She had no idea her words would prove so true. ~~~~~~~ end part 1 Part 2: Francisa moved to the fireplace, bending to fetch a brand to light a candle or two about the room. Suddenly, she felt strong arms around her waist, and her feet left the floor. Just as abruptly, with very little sensation of movement, she found herself several feet away. Nicholas had somehow placed himself in the great armchair by the hearth, and Francisa was perched on his lap. A mischievous grin graced his pale lips, and his eyes twinkled with amusement at her slightly bewildered expression. Recovering her composure, Francisa wasted little time in exploiting her new position. It seemed Nicholas was of a like mind, for his lips met hers part way in a kiss that seared her mouth with an admixture of fire and ice. She gasped, breathless, as they broke apart. Nicholas buried his face in the valley between her breasts, drinking in the fruit-fresh scent of her with the full measure of his unnatural senses. Arching back in pleasure, Francisa clasped his head and kept it pressed to her chest. Her heartbeat was loud in his ears, a gentle rhythm that quickened its pace as he listened, like the thunder of a fast approaching storm. Pulling his lips from the satiny skin of her breasts, he kissed a trail to her collarbones, sank into the hollow of her throat and rounded her chin to again find her eager mouth. He teased her lower lip with his teeth, careful not to break her skin. The night would be long, and he wanted to give Francisa as much pleasure as he himself would garner from their coupling. A taste of her blood now would drive him over the brink of the dark chasm, and throw down the wall he had carefully erected to cage the beast. Nicholas withdrew his lips from hers, and chuckled softly as she pouted her displeasure. As he began to unlace the tiny fastenings of her decolletage, a look of kindling passion washed over her features. Francisa raised trembling fingers in aid of his, and soon her chemise lay gaping. Nicholas freed her breasts and took each one in his hands. Kneading the soft mounds of flesh, he lowered his mouth to first one rosy nipple, then the other. They budded into hardness beneath his ministrations, the chill of his tongue causing her aureoles to crinkle in response. Her moan of pleasure encouraged him, and he gave his full attention to continuing her enjoyment. Francisa had never felt a man's hands touch her thusly, and she was amazed at the abandon his had inspired in her. She felt the alien hardness of his erect penis against her derriere, and felt the moist heat of her own desire beneath the quilting of her heavy undergown. Suddenly the dress was too cloying, too restrictive, and Francisa yearned to rip it from her body. She wanted his hands to roam the length of her, not be confined to her breasts alone. She imagined what his cool fingers would feel like against the burning heat of her own pulsing desire. Again it seemed their minds were linked, for one of Nicholas' hands strayed past her narrow waist. He fisted aside the rich material, and searched out the soft triangle of her pubic hair. Her thighs parted in anticipation, and her breath caught in her throat as his fingers found the hub of her desire. Rubbing her clitoris gently between thumb and forefinger, but with a rhythm that seemed to match the staccato beat of her heart, he stirred a loud moan from the young woman on his lap. His mouth silenced hers, the kiss deep and mutual, their tongues moving in a parallel motion to their hips. Nicholas growled his frustration at having so little access to her warm skin. She echoed with a throaty purr of her own, giving her consent, her encouragement to continue. Nicholas needed no further urging. He stood easily and carried Francisa to the bed, his supernatural strength making her weight negligible in his arms. Setting her down on her feet, he pushed aside the shoulders of her heavy tabard; Francisa stepped free of the stamped and embroidered velvet piled around her feet, removing the matching brocade slippers in the same graceful movement. Nicholas reached behind her, and with a deft motion, freed the lacings that held her jewelled undergown in place. He felt as if he were unveiling a portrait of great worth from its heavy protective wrappings. Before his enamored gaze, she raised her delicately boned hands and smoothed the light chemise where it encased her arms and breasts, her movements slow and langorous, designed to enflame her lover. Nicholas could wait no longer. He locked his teeth in the delicate cotton of her chemise, quickly peeling the final layer which denied him access to the full expanse of her creamy flesh. With a practiced ease, he removed the filmy undergarment and let it slither to the wooden floor. He pressed a passionate kiss to her shoulder, then tossed her gently atop the feather quilt to await his pleasure. His eyes were ringed with gold as his sight ravaged her, swept over her with a palpable heat, as he took in every feature of her nubile body. Their gazes remained locked as he made a show of slowly removing his belt and leather ankle boots. Gripping the pleated skirt, he pulled the velvet tunic over his head; his form-fitting undershirt soon followed and joined Francisa's garments in an untidy heap on the floor. Her eyes were just as appreciative as he slid the parti-colored hose over his hips, eased them down his straight legs and stepped out of them gracefully. His erect penis, pale and hard like a fine marble column, was freed from its woolen prison at long last. Francisa raised her arms in supplication, and Nicholas quickly obliged his love by joining her on the wide bed. She took his weight atop her and wrapped her arms about his neck. His lips plummeted to capture her lips beneath his with the swiftness of a hawk seeking its prey. Her mouth opened to his questing tongue as her fingers tangled in his silky hair. Francisa felt the change in Nicholas as he lifted from her and rolled aside. His breathing was ragged, and his eyes had turned a deep golden, as if a candle flame were captured beneath his lids. When he spread his lips, she could just spy the glint of each elongated canine, the evidence of glorious danger she longed to embrace. For a bare moment when he stared at her, he ceased to be the man she loved and became the predator with no hint of a human soul. She felt a jagged frisson of fear and tried to move away, but the vampire flung his leg across her thighs to keep his prey within his grasp. The knight must have felt the seed of doubt from the young mortal, and it was enough to spark the tenuous control he had maintained for the many months that he had courted and pursued her. His eyes lost most of their burnished hue and his canines retracted into their sheaths. His voice was still somewhat harsh, but he had regained enough of his human mien to temper his words with compassion and love. "We are at the crossroads, Francisa," he warned her. "You must make your decision. I cannot go on without harming you if you choose not to follow my path into the darkness." Her features took on a worried cast, but her voice was sure as she responded. "I want to be with you, Nicholas." "You are afraid. I felt it." She opened her mouth to deny the accusation, but she had promised herself to be honest. "I was afraid, for a moment, for it seemed the man I loved was taken from me." "I am not a man, Francisa," Nicholas corrected in a low voice, "but a vampire." The young woman turned her head away, but Nicholas would not allow her to evade the truth. He gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger, and gently but insistently pulled her face back so that their eyes met once again. His hand fell away, yet he swept a finger tentatively across her jawbone and settled it over the artery pulsing hotly so close to the surface of her skin. His ears caught the erratic pulse of her blood as it coursed through her veins, and he had to tear himself away, lest the sound hypnotize him with its seductive song. He snatched his hand back, and quickly put another span between them for her safety and his comfort. "I have asked before, but now your response will guide our actions here tonight. Do you trust me?" "I trust you with my life, Nicholas," she responded as she had each and every time he had asked. "I hope that is so, Francisa, for to accept this gift of eternal life that is exactly what you must do. You must give your life to me for safe-keeping, step across the threshold into another existence, and receive your life back as I guide you out of the light." Growing introspective as he focused on the events of his own crossing, he concluded, "The journey is not an easy one to make." "With you as my guide, I am sure I will make the journey unhindered by fear or doubt," she murmured. ~~~~~~~~~~ Francisa waited for her words to reach through the maudlin haze into which Nicholas had fallen, but he lay very quietly, with an arm flung across his eyes. He gave no sign that he heard her at all. Francisa turned over and, tentatively reaching out, she quested forward with her hand. After a short span of crisp muslin her fingers encountered the hard muscle of his upper arm, then slid into the fine hairs sprinkled across his chest. His flesh was so chill, and smooth like the finest porcelain, with no blemish to mar the pristine surface. She felt she caressed a statue. The thought disturbed her, and she lifted her hand from his chest, but he captured it in his own before she could draw away. His lips brushed across her knuckles, then he returned her hand to his chest, encouraging her to continue her exploration however she saw fit. Searching like one who was blind, Francisa ran her fingers lightly over his chest once again until she found the small peaks of his nipples. She leaned forward guided by touch alone, for the dying embers of the fire provided little light for her human eyes, and took the nearest nipple into her mouth. Her teeth teased the tip of flesh to hardness before her tongue swept over it to give him pleasure. Her lips trailed across his chest to capture his other nipple in her mouth. She sucked greedily on the firm little peak, eliciting a moan from Nicholas. Her hand slid downward, trailing warmth past his flat stomach and over his belly before moving to wrap her slender fingers around his flaccid penis. She heard him catch his breath, but still he made no move to return her caresses. He seemed content to lay back and accept whatever sweet torment she cared to inflict. Smiling knowingly to herself, she released him. She was not ready for him quite yet. Francisa explored every inch of his pale skin, touch taking the place of sight. Her lips followed along the line drawn by her fingers, bestowing tiny, maddening kisses to the wave of each rib, both nipples and the hollow of his throat. Her teeth found his earlobe, and she nibbled playfully, before her breath rushed out in a husky whisper. "You are so still, my love. Is there nothing you wish to do?" she teased seductively. His own breathing grew harsh in her ears, yet he lay unmoving beneath her, the predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike at his chosen prey. The mortal knight, her lover and protector, held the beast at bay with great difficulty, but he wished to give the young beauty as much pleasure from his body as he would eventually find in her blood. Remaining still was torture, but resisting only built the desire burning inside him to a fevered pitch. She glanced down and could just spy the rising of his shaft in the dim light. Abruptly, her hand darted down to seize it; her fingernails raked across the sensitive glans, massaging the head and length of his stiff member with a secret rhythm all her own. His hips moved in time, seemingly without his consent. Francisa deepened her massage, sliding her fingers more and more quickly, until his flesh absorbed her warmth, and pulsed hotly within her cupped hand. A deep growl was her only warning that she had finally broken through his calm shell. His arms snaked around her waist, and suddenly she was beneath him, his cool flesh pressed along the length of her body. She shivered from the chill, and Nicholas had the presence of mind to snatch the bedclothes from the edge of the bed and pull them over their entwined bodies. His eyes shown golden, lit from within by an unearthly glow, and when he smiled down at her, his feral canines just touched his lower lip. Yet the look he turned upon her was gentle and passionate, and Francisa was not afraid. His mouth plunged down to capture hers, stealing the breath from her lungs. Her tongue darted into his parted lips, fencing with his tongue, but he parried the tender flesh away from the danger of his extended fangs. As he broke the kiss his eyes turned a bit wild with hunger and his lips strayed to the slim column of her throat, but she was more than ready for that part of the desire. To her surprise he simply kissed her cheek, then buried his nose in her lavender-scented hair, perhaps distracting himself from the sweet aroma of her blood. Francisa raised her arms, and trailed a lazy spiral up the center of his back, fingers tracing the ridges of his spine from his waist to the planes of his shoulder blades. Her breath warmed his ear as she placed a delicate kiss on its outer fold. Her lips strayed to the sensitive flesh of his neck, and he convulsed at the erotic sensations her tongue had stirred in him. It seemed Nicholas had reached the limit of his restraint, spurred on by her tantalizing touch. Pushing upwards on arms turned rigid with desire, a knee spreading hers apart, he plunged into the moist heat of her tight sheath. The young woman was a virgin, and the initial entrance hurt, but the bliss that spread throughout her limbs a moment later far overshadowed any discomfort she might feel. Francisa moved beneath him slowly at first, then with more confidence as he murmured encouragement into her ear. He matched her rhythm, burying himself deeply inside her, and together they played a symphony of passion. Aroused beyond her ken, the mortal matched the feral growl of her demon lover with a sensuous purr of her own. Moving of their own accord, her slender fingers tangled in his blond curls and tugged insistently. Nicholas seemed lost in the feel of her lithe body as she moved beneath him, the heat her ardor had drawn from her satiny skin warming his own, and the dulcet scent of her blood inflaming his hunger. Yearning for the touch of his lips against hers, she raised herself up, hands braced around his neck for support. Her tongue traced the outline of his full mouth with maddening deliberation. His lips were mobile and somewhat pouty, and she could not resist taking the lower one between her teeth; biting down hard enough to draw blood, gained his attention. She fell back upon the mattress, her goal achieved. His head angled down to study her as his tongue slid out to capture the single red drop of liquid that had formed there before the wound healed. Her hands had resumed their exploration of his back, her fingernails raking lightly over his skin. Relaxing his stiff posture, he lowered himself, crushing her small, firm breasts beneath his chest. Nicholas wound his fist in the ebony mass of her hair, and twined his legs through hers. With an easy maneuver, he flipped them over so that Francisa now lay atop him. Their hips ground together in an ever-quickening cadence, raising both mortal and immortal to a higher plane of existence. His mouth covered hers, silencing the increasing cries of abandonment. Her tongue brushed against one sharp incisor, the few drops of blood wetting the inside of the vampire's mouth and whetting his unnatural hunger with a brief appetizer of the full banquet to follow. With another quick movement, he rolled them over once more, the bedclothes falling to the floor in an unwanted heap. Their bodies were pressed more closely than Francisa could ever imagine, and his weight pressed against her. Her skin was slick with perspiration, and the cool air hanging in the room dried her slowly. She had no time to be cold, for his hands, his mouth, gave her no respite from the heat of their building ardor. She felt she burned in a paroxysm of flames, yet he was a shaft of ice within her. Faster and faster, deeper and deeper he delved inside of her, her clitoris engorged and so sensitive that the friction straddled the line between pain and pleasure. His face was plainly etched with his need, his eyes gleaming with an unholy light and his lips barely concealing twin sabers of death. His tongue traced the blue line of her artery from jaw to shoulders and back again. The promise of her life eroded his control, and he pulled away abruptly. Hanging suspended above her for a long moment, he threw his head back. She approached her climax, and he prepared to reach for his in the only manner permitted his kind. Eyes limned in crimson, and with a growl like that of a hunting cat, he sank his fangs sharply into her artery. The first hot spurt of her blood catapulted him to a state of euphoria that a mere bodily connection could never hope to match. He greedily swallowed the fruit-flower essence of her, the taste of peaches from her father's orchards crushed and distilled into her veins, the scent of roses just a hint of sweetness beneath the slight tang, as it flowed over his tongue. Francisa stiffened in ecstasy, the walls of her tight vagina convulsing around his thick shaft still encased deep within her. She gave a cry of exaltation, his name formed by her soft lips. Her fingers splayed across the back of his skull, encouraging him where he needed no encouragement. Nuzzling her throat, the predator greedily drew her blood from her body in great draughts, ignoring the faltering beat of her heart, and the rasp of her labored breathing. A soundless keening wracked the young mortal's brain, and it felt as if her head might split asunder from the pressure. She dug her nails into his shoulder and the nape of his neck, locking them even more closely together. The pain was so great she thought she would lose her hold on the world around them, but the pleasure far surpassed her wildest imagination and she would give up no small part of the experience. Her veins were on fire, and she reeled from the heady sensations his suckling aroused. Nicholas knew he must stop now or kill her, but her life filled those places in his heart, his soul, that had not been satiated since he had parted from his vampire family some years before. The once-strong heartbeat fluttered weakly, her chest barely rose with the intake of breath, and her skin had chilled alarmingly. Her hushed cry of anguish reawakened the knight, and he fastened onto the low sound of pain like a lifeline. He had to withdraw, yet her blood was a life-giving elixir, a cure for his sundered heart, the nectar of the gods, and he took one more swallow and then another. // Francisa walked in an orchard, the redolent scent of peaches thick on the summer air. A doorway stood in her path, and a great lady filled the framework, a brilliant white light obscuring her form. She was dressed all in silver, and a sparkling tiara graced her fair brow. A veil covered her face, yet Francisa had the impression that her eyes were large and compassionate, and that her fine lips curved in a welcoming smile. The woman raised a hand and beckoned Francisa closer. A warm breeze blew, stirring the hem of the young mortal's silk gown. The guide spoke nary a word, yet Francisa understood everything; it seemed birds sang, but the sky was clear, not even a cloud to mar the deep and perfect blue. The mysterious woman stepped aside and gestured through the archway to the brilliance beyond. The invitation was so tempting. Francisa knew instinctively that the doorway led to light and warmth and eternal peace, and away from the world she knew. Yet a sound pulled at the edge of her awareness as she began her approach to the strange portal. The sound was familiar, and she paused to listen. Words were being spoken. No. One word. One word of a familiar shape, formed by a familiar voice. Her name. His voice. Nicholas called her name. With a cry of joy, she turned her back to the guide, the portal fading into the distance as her feet flew along the desert sands. The light was left far behind, and an all-encompassing, encroaching darkness surrounded her. A carnelian waterfall cascaded over her. She opened her eyes. // Her heartbeat faded completely from his awareness, and he tore his fangs from her throat with a cry of despair. he berated himself. Raising a trembling hand to his mouth, he ripped a jagged wound in his wrist and pressed it against her lips. Massaging her throat with the fingers of his other hand, he nearly uttered a prayer to a higher power, but stopped himself before he could commit such blasphemy. The wound healed, and Nicholas savagely tore at it again and again, inflicting a great amount of damage to keep the wound bleeding freely. He returned her blood, now tainted with the demon seed, to her body, willing her to live. Whispering at first, and then with greater volume, he spoke her name over and over, begging her to return to him. "Francisa, Francisa, turn away from the light. Follow my voice. Francisa." The movement was so slight he thought he had imagined it, but with a sudden intake of breath, her mouth opened over the wound in his wrist and she began to suckle like a newborn babe. Her eyes flew wide; they glowed golden with the promise of immortality. An unsteady hand rose to press his wrist more firmly to her mouth. Small fangs budded and pierced the vein running just beneath flesh that no longer felt cold. He once again hardened inside of her, his passion aroused by the insatiable pull of her first feeding. A whimper escaped her as Nicholas pulled his wrist from her weak grasp. He slashed open the artery in his throat and pulled her up to feed from that more bountiful source. As soon as the scent of his blood filled her nostrils, Francisa plunged her fangs into his flesh with a desperate hunger that would not be denied. Nicholas supported her with strong, steady arms that grew less so as she drew her life back into her own veins. Although the pleasure he felt was nearly overwhelming, he pushed her away after only a few moments, finally withdrawing from her body as he disengaged her fangs from his throat. She had entrusted her life to him and he had returned it, as promised, on the other side of the gateway between life and death. Francisa would need to sleep for several hours, and then he would guide her through her first kill. The fire she showed, and her unquenchable spirit, would make of her a magnificent vampire. Nicholas smoothed a heavy lock of raven hair from her forehead, and placed a gentle kiss there. Smiling drowsily, her eyelids fluttered closed, and her breathing deepened in slumber. He whispered close to her ear, "Sleep, my love, and when you awaken, we shall feast." ~~~~~~~~~~ Francisa woke in the wee hours before dawn. Opening her eyes was an effort, but she finally managed to lift her heavy lids. The fire had burned down to nothing, and the room should have been cast in darkness, yet her eyes picked out the features of the room with great detail. She could hear the sere grass in the courtyard as it was stirred in the breeze that no longer chilled her. The muslin sheet and blanket which covered her felt rougher than she remembered. A tantalizing scent filled her nostrils, and with an unexplained certainty she identified it as Nicholas, her vampire lover and love. Suddenly his face filled her vision. He had been beautiful to her mortal eyes, but now he glowed with a radiance, a perfection that could never be matched by a mortal man. His eyes were three shades of blue, like the layers of color in the lightening dawn sky. His hair danced about his face, even in its stillness, like summer wheat swaying in a warm zephyr. His skin was even and unmarked by the harshness of weather, and so pale as to resemble the finest porcelain. When he smiled down at her, his teeth were as white as the marble floors in her father's home. Francisa raised a hand to cup his cheek, assuring herself that the vision was real. His skin was warm to her touch, and the point of their contact burned with a barely contained fire. Nicholas turned his face and kissed her palm, his soft full lips shooting shivers of pleasure through her nerves. His tongue tracked a fiery path along her lifeline and slid sensuously down to the vein in her delicate wrist. "Welcome back, Francisa." The timbre of his voice was a honey-smooth baritone, and it comforted her. She had no chance to reply, for his mouth briefly covered hers before licking her jawline, her chin, the outline of her lips. He moved from the bed with a burst of speed that she saw as well as felt, and although he was not in her immediate sight, she could sense his location with unerring precision. They were connected through their shared blood, and that thought pleased her enormously. When he again appeared beside her, he held a cloth dampened with water. Her master pulled the bedclothes from her body, and he smiled at the beauty that lay revealed to his appreciative gaze; he had chosen this one well. Her hair shone like strands of polished ebony. Her skin had bleached to the color of pristine snow, no trace of the freckles which once speckled her nose with bits of color; her face would remain locked in youthful perfection forever. Her eyes were the color of winter melon, a luminous green that would no doubt sparkle in the moonlight with mischievous humor. "Thank you, Nicholas, for keeping your promise." She tried to say more, to relate the depth of her feelings, but he silenced her with a finger across her lips. The cotton cloth took the place of his finger. Nicholas trailed a wet line over her mouth, wiping away the last vestiges of dried blood. His lips followed the path of the damp cloth as he moved it over her chin and into the tempting hollow of her throat. The water pooled in the shallow depression between her clavicles, and ran over and between her breasts. His lips found the tender, forbidden flesh beneath the small, firm mounds, and nipped playfully, a throaty chuckle his reward. The cloth slipped ever downward, flowing over her ribs, stopping at her navel. His tongue dipped in to tickle the sensitive flesh there, then moved along to tease the slight curve of her belly. His lips next found the sweetest flesh of all, and he bestowed the sweetest kiss, his nose nudging the hood from her clitoris, his tongue plunging within to give her pleasure. Her hands had followed his path of lazy discovery in a leisurely fashion, but as his mouth found the musky entrance to her body, she cried out with renewed arousal and tangled her fingers in his hair, trapping his mouth against her. Francisa raised her hips to meet his questing tongue, but he only laughed and drew away. The cloth continued its maddening journey, traveling down one shapely leg, and coming up the other. He lifted her calf to his shoulder, and kissed the soft flesh behind her knee, deeply massaging her thigh with his strong fingers. She groaned, aching for satisfaction, and she lifted her hands in supplication. Nicholas was nearly ready for her, but he wanted to explore every inch of her body with his mouth and his hands. He gave the same attention the back of her other knee, then allowed her to straighten on the bed, the fine hairs on his cheek caressing the long line of her leg from ankle to thigh. She arched up again, begging for his tongue to enter her once more, enticing him nearly beyond his ability to think. Her eyes were washed with gold, casting the room in a hazy glow. A strange pressure wracked her upper jaw as her fangs budded and emerged from their sheaths. A growl issued from her chest, and she tossed her head like one possessed. Francisa reached for her lover again, and this time was not disappointed. Nicholas sat up abruptly and, wrapping his hands around Francisa's narrow waist, lifted her easily onto his lap. He slid into her, like a hand into a glove, his hands cupping her derriere to keep her in place. She flung her arms around his back with fierce abandon, wantonly pressing her breasts against the hard muscles of his chest. One of his hands wandered up to her head, his fingers lacing through a swath of her thick hair, while the other trailed the cool rag up the shallow depression of her spine. He tilted his own head to the side, giving her ready access. Guiding her to his throat, he invited her to feed. She wasted little time, the hunger coming upon her with a vicious speed, and sank her fangs deeply into the proffered artery. He reveled for a few luxurious moments in the sensations her suckling engendered before plunging his own fangs into her slim throat. They were joined in the way of both worlds, fangs and blood and sweat and flesh making a circle of love and life and death and renewal. Francisa trembled with reaction, nearly overloaded by the alien, intoxicating emotions that pounded through her veins from the inside out. This was the first hunger, and Nicholas had to help her quench the fire of her thirst. He withdrew his fangs from her neck, pulling her mouth from his throat with the same spare movement, and she whimpered at the loss of blood and connection. His blood had guided her across the threshold drawn between life and otherlife, but only a mortal's blood could douse the flames that set her every nerve afire. The deadly sun would rise in little more than an hour, and that left scant time to feed and find a place to shelter for the day. "Francisa, we must leave this place. The sun will soon rise." She looked at him, the truth slowly dawning in her eyes that this was not a dream, and that the once-welcome sun was now a deadly enemy. She nodded her consent and moved to retrieve her chemise, donning it slowly, as if she were still asleep. He dressed quickly, then helped her with her own garments. With both of their hands working on the problem of the row of tiny lacings and all the many layers of clothing that Nicholas ofttimes cursed, they were both dressed and ready to depart in minutes. "{Ho molto fame, Niccolo}," Francisa complained, her native language surfacing in her distress. "Yes, I know, Francisa, I know," he soothed. We will soon feast." Nicholas threw open the sash, then lifted Francisa into his arms. He shot through the window at great speed, flying faster than the human eye could track. At this time of the morning there would be some early risers preparing their stalls for the day's market. He had to pass by without being spied by those below. The trip back to Francisa's manor was short, though they raced the light the entire way. Nicholas landed in the forecourt, and a sleepy guardsman challenged him as his feet hit the frozen sod. The young man was no match for a ravenous vampire, and before an alarm could be raised, he lay dead and drained at Nicholas' feet. Francisa stood stunned for barely a second, then she caught the coppery scent and bent to taste the blood from the young victim's throat. Instantly her eyes hardened to the color and consistency of topaz, and her fangs gleamed in the light of the false dawn. Nicholas hefted the body, and threw it into the field beyond the stone wall where it would not be discovered until they were long gone. He caught Francisa's hand and tugged her along to the door of the manor. Noises could be heard in the scullery, and Nicholas headed there, but Francisa pulled him towards the front stairs. She had other prey on her mind. There was one who had tried to keep her from this new life and, although the woman had reared her, nurtured her through all her young adult years, the newborn vampire remembered only the pain of separation the woman had forced her to endure. Francisa licked her lips in anticipation. Tracking the elusive scent of cloves that scented her nurse's skin, Francisa came upon the older woman just as she emerged from her chambers. A candle dropped from nerveless fingers, splattering hot wax on her gown and on the dark wood of the floorboards. The newly-made vampire flung herself on the frightened woman, and a bloodcurdling scream passed her lips before an unconscious command from the vampire willed her victim into silent submission. She wrapped her hand around Elsbet's hair and tipped her head back viciously. Her fangs found the artery pulsing beneath the nurse's papery skin, and plunged in. Thick blood, spiced with fear, poured into her mouth and down her throat. The fledging gulped greedily at her victim's neck, swallowing quickly so as to lose not one precious drop. Her eyes closed and she purred in satisfied contentment, the first hunger assuaged at last. Elsbet slipped from her grasp, drained, and fell heavily to the floor, like a puppet whose strings had been suddenly cut. Francisa leaned against the wall, lost in the images sent to her in her erstwhile friend's blood. She felt a tinge of regret and she reached for her master, yet Nicholas had no time to comfort her for footsteps sounded on the stairway below them. Master and fledge fed side-by-side until the house was silent and all lay dead. Francisa looked at the carnage, the bodies strewn at their feet, a pool of crimson liquid thick beneath her slippers, and she bared her teeth and growled her victory. Her eyes were as deep a red as the blood staining the floorboards, and she felt nothing but elation and freedom and satiation. Nothing would tie her down ever again. She had Nicholas, and they would have eternity. ~~~~~~~~~~ finis comments and/or virtual banana jelly beans to: asginger@ix.netcom.com ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ asginger@ix.netcom.com Dark Knightie from NYC / GWDFC / HarbourKeeper / Gertherer '97 / '9SD8 Proud Owner of the Black & Brick Gerthering '97 jacket Remember: "Swear like a sailor (me), curse like a carpenter (Ger)" - it's for charity Kussing for Kids===>http://members.tripod.com/~FranL/G3pix/g3pix1.html