Burned by the Light

by Fenris

fenris@ma.ultranet.com  =20

Missing scenes/flashback, Sons of Belial

ADULT: Explicit sex, M/M Nick/LC, slight violence


This story is a missing scenes/retcon piece concerning the "Sons of
Belial" flashbacks.  The question has arisen more than once of just
exactly how our capable fanged heroes could have gotten themselves bagged
by the Inquisition "while they slept".  This is my take on one possible
explanation, and on the actual flashback itself.=20

Many thanks to Leslie for her kind comments and encouragement and to
Rienna for her skilled beta help.  Special thanks and honey stix to our
own Illinois Jules, my cheering section and author of the SoB Slant,
which came in *very* useful!  And, very special thanks to April Hackett,
Beta Babe Supreme for all her invaluable help and hard work!!!  Virtual
hugs and chocolate for all. <<bg>=20


<bigger>Disclaimers: These characters do not belong to me, they belong to
Tristar/USA. If they did belong to me they'd be doing this on the screen,
not on a written page.=20


</bigger>-------------------------------------------------------


Burned by the Light

by Fenris

           =20


	They fed upon a group of drunken young bravos, who in their brandy
soaked giddiness and high spirited viciousness had marked the two foppish
looking men who carried no swords as easy prey. Their end had come with
blinding, snarling swiftness. Besotted with the thrill of the fight and
the fierce young mens' blood, Lacroix and Nicholas had not stopped with
one apiece but had drained them all, all six of them, in a whirl of
gleaming sulfur eyes and flashing, bloodstained teeth.


	Glutted on brandy-laced blood, the two vampires wove a slightly wobbly
course down a narrow side street, still managing to side-step the piles
of garbage and offal that littered the street and sidewalks. Arms around
each other's waists, they reeled to a stop. Nicholas was laughing,
looking up into Lacroix' chuckling face.=20

	"Phew! This street is noisome. Can't we go somewhere less fragrant?"
Nicholas said, looking at the filth in the gutter. "Why are we on this
street, anyway?"

	Lacroix looked around, still chuckling a bit. He furrowed his brows and
looked around again, falling silent. Then he looked at Nicholas and his
expression sobered. He lowered his face slowly until his nose was barely
a quarter inch from his companion's and drew in a deep breath, his eyes
holding Nicholas' steadily with a dark, serious gaze. Nicholas' smile
began to fade a bit. Lacroix whispered in a somber tone,

	"We're lost."

Nicholas stared at him for a moment, face blank, then he burst out
laughing. Lacroix began to laugh as well, and their mirth echoed down the
grimy side street, causing the sleeping occupants of the buildings to
stir uneasily in their slumber. A few woke to listen to the feral
laughter, crossed themselves and burrowed down into their bedding,
praying to the Virgin to see them safe to morning.


	Lacroix was pleased at how fastidious Nicholas had become. When he had
first brought the young Crusader over he had subscribed to the abominable
rules of personal hygiene that were standard in his day. It had been a
real struggle to teach him simply to keep himself personable, and to
convince him that a daily bath was a pleasure, not an unnatural risk to
one's health.

	The elder vampire abhorred filth, and deplored how badly standards of
cleanliness had fallen in the centuries since he had walked the broad
streets of Rome in the light of day. Unfortunately he abhorred living
away from civilization even more, which meant he had to put up with the
reprehensible modern standards of the populace in this wise.

	"Well, where's our street? It's gone! It left! "  Nicholas looked
around, still grinning but looking a bit bewildered. Lacroix looked at
him and couldn't help laughing at his son's blank expression. Nicholas
tried his best to level a glower at his master, but ruined the effect by
stumbling into him and bursting into laughter again.  Hanging onto
Lacroix' shoulders, he tipped his head back and drew in a deep breath,
eyes shut.

	"Oh, I am drunk..."

	Lacroix watched Nicholas through half-closed eyes, enjoying the sight of
his dearest child so abandoned to his nature, so filled with glee. If
only things could be like this more often...there was no better company
he could wish for than Nicholas in a good mood. More and more of late, he
feared that Nicholas' well-nursed black humors, his festering guilt and
conscience were going to someday be the end of him. Lacroix was beginning
to feel at something of a loss to know how to remedy this.=20

	Nicholas stirred, and Lacroix' attention was brought back to the matter
at hand. He regarded Nicholas, who was leaning all his weight against the
old vampire now, arms lying loosely around his neck. His eyes were still
shut, and Lacroix wondered for a moment if he was falling asleep on his
feet. Nicholas' throat was temptingly close, skin bared, his ornamental
ruff lost earlier, sometime during their feast. Pale champagne threads
began to seep into Lacroix' pale blue eyes, deepening to hot gold. The
full lips parted slightly, and he felt his eyeteeth begin to grow as he
drew in Nicholas' scent, the slow pulse beating under the skin of his
throat, so close. All he had to do was to incline his head, just a bit,
just so...

	Nicholas came to life suddenly, placed his hand over Lacroix' face and
gave a mighty push that sent his master stumbling back, fetching up
against an ornate wrought iron gate. Lacroix stared at him in amazement,
then growled.  Nicholas laughed into the angry face and spread his arms
wide.

	"Chase me for it." He sprang into the air and was gone.


	Lacroix leaped, and took to the air. As he left the narrow street behind
he took in a deep breath of the cleaner, cooler air above the streets. It
cleared his head somewhat. Rising above the rooftops he paused,
listening, every sense alert, his blood singing within him. His Nicholas
wanted to play. This was what their life was meant to be, this revel, a
glorious hunt followed by the wild playfulness of well-fed predators.

	Nicholas hovered in the air not twenty feet away, eyes gold embers in
the moonlight. As Lacroix' gaze met his, he bared sharp teeth in a grin,
hissed a challenge to his master and fled.


	Agile as swallows, they darted through archways, around tall chimneys,
under a massive granite abutment, one rough stone corner brushing
Lacroix' short-cropped hair as he flashed around it pressing his speed,
intent on the glimpses of pale hair and skin that revealed the course of
his prey. He was rather surprised that Nicholas hadn't yet knocked
himself senseless against a wall or chimney; in truth, he was a bit
surprised that he hadn't dashed his own brains out yet.


	In the central square of Madrid there were several large stone
buildings, ornate and old. Lacroix saw Nicholas land on an arched
buttress, stagger for a second, then wheel and flash a grin at his
approaching master. Then he dropped down from the buttress and
disappeared into the darkness behind it. Lacroix landed where Nicholas
had been moments earlier and stood still. He closed his eyes as drunken
dizziness caught up to him, no longer kept at bay by the ferocious
concentration needed for pursuit. Reeling a bit, he sank down into a
crouch, fingertips pressed against the smooth stone to steady himself.

	The vertigo passed, and he opened his eyes again, smiling. Now, where
was his chase-me lad hiding? Lacroix knew he was somewhere on the roof of
the enormous stone structure. As if to answer his thought, a low growl
floated out of the shadows, pulling an answering rumble from the old
vampire's throat. Evidently Nicholas had not tired of playing yet.
Lacroix wanted to throw his head back and laugh, shout his gratitude to
the band of young firebrands who had unwillingly fueled this rare abandon
in his beloved protege. Instead, he dropped down from the arch, silent as
falling ash and disappeared into the shadows.


	They stalked each other over the complex rooftop, taking advantage of
every steep gable and massive carved adornment to conceal themselves.
Lacroix had closed off his link to Nicholas, confident that he would be
aware of it if his son tried to use their connection to locate him. He
stopped and held still, listening. Enjoyable as this was, his need to see
and touch Nicholas was beginning to take precedence over this game of
hide and seek. Perhaps he could lure his son out.

	Placing every ounce of seductiveness he could into his beautiful rich
voice, Lacroix spoke to the shadows around him.

	"Nicholas," he crooned, " are we going to play this game until sunrise,
mon cher? I can think of better pursuits for us to follow." He paused,
eyes slitted, running the tip of his tongue thoughtfully along the edges
of his teeth. No answer, no sound to indicate Nicholas' whereabouts.=20

	Cocking his head to one side, Lacroix considered what he could say next
to successfully toll his creation into arm's reach.

	Lacroix's next comment, considerably less witty then the one he'd
planned to make, was "Oof!," as Nicholas tackled him flat and all the air
went out of his lungs in a single whoosh. He found himself on his
stomach, Nicholas straddling his waist, pressing him into the cold stone.
As he growled and started to draw his arms under him to rise up and toss
his rambunctious son on his head, Nicholas' weight settled down along his
back and a low amused voice whispered in his ear.

	"Like what, Grandfather?" The statement was punctuated by the tip of
Nicholas' hot tongue running along his neck, ending with a light nip at
his earlobe. Lacroix shifted, suddenly disarmed, drew in a deep breath
and flexed his sharp nails against the smooth granite, scoring faint
marks in the gray stone.=20

	He was going to have to go out and find groups of drunken idiots and
bullies more often when they hunted.

	Nicholas squirmed against him, licked the back of his neck and ran his
tongue around to his other ear. One hand reached around to caress his
throat, while the other one strayed to his waist, seeking a way under his
light doublet.=20

	Oh, yes, most definitely more often, he thought, closing his eyes with a
sigh of pleasure.=20

	Lacroix' initial intention, to simply get purchase under him with his
arms and fling Nicholas off headlong, changed.  Slowly he drew his arms
in under him, uttering a soft moan as Nicholas flicked his tongue against
the sensitive side of his neck and nipped him lightly again, just under
the ear this time. He pushed up slowly, arching his spine like a
stretching cat, for a moment raising Nicholas up in the air astride his
back like a child playing horseback, powerful thighs tight around his
waist. Then the younger vampire slid off to one side, chuckling, his arms
locked around Lacroix' neck. Hauling his master to him, he placed a loud,
smacking kiss against the side of the patrician face, then made as if to
bite Lacroix' ear again.

	Lacroix turned as he did and finally trapped his impudent son in his own
arms. He found himself nose to nose with his protege, Nicholas' eyes
feverish with glee, his beautiful face flushed with temporary warmth. His
skin was warm too, and Lacroix slipped his hands inside the torn
shirtneck to glide over silky young skin covering hard muscles. Nicholas
exhaled slowly, his arms tightening around Lacroix' shoulders as his
master leaned in for a taste of the warm skin over his collarbone.
Lacroix felt the younger vampire shudder as he slid his tongue along the
ridge of bone, stopping to idle in the hollow of the fine throat.

	After a minute of this, Nicholas voiced a soft growl and angled his head
around so he could apply himself similarly to his master, exploring his
ear, then traveling downward.

	Lacroix' eyes glittered pale topaz washed over with silver as he tilted
his face up toward the moon, allowing Nicholas better access to his
throat. Although he did not really need the extra air, his breath was
beginning to come faster, one reaction unchanged over the ages. The glow
in his eyes deepened from topaz to ocher, and he drew in a sharp breath
as Nicholas' hand swept down over his flank and came up to press boldly
against his groin, gently squeezing the hardness concealed beneath the
layers of cloth. Lacroix reached out and hooked one hand into the ruined
collar of Nicholas' shirt, tearing slowly down, the fine linen parting
with a purring rip, exposing the marvelously fine chest, its hard rolling
muscles preserved forever at their peak.=20

	Lowering his head, he licked the smooth chest, tasting just enough of
Nicholas in the blood sweat that had broken out across the flushed skin
to tip him completely over into arousal. Nicholas' gasps as he teased a
pale nipple with his teeth made him ache pleasantly. He pressed his groin
into Nicholas' questing hand, rewarding his son with a soft cry of
pleasure as the hand finally succeeded in loosening his clothing, slipped
into his trousers and closed around his hard shaft. Nicholas' hand moved
firmly, alternating stroking up and down with an occasional gentle
squeeze. =20

	So bold tonight, Lacroix thought, shuddering with delight as the hand
moved, fingers exploring. Then Nicholas brought his other hand to the
back of his neck and covered his mouth with his. His tongue slicked
across Lacroix' teeth before reaching further in, exploring his creator's
mouth, his motions urgent, almost frantic. Lacroix found himself
responding with equal fervor, lost himself in savoring his son's unique
taste, spiced tonight with fierce heat and the taste of fine brandy. =20

 	Nicholas pulled back, then leaned forward again to whisper the three
words into the old vampire's ear that completely undid him on the rare
occasions that they were spoken. =20

	"I love you," the low urgent voice said in his ear, then the lips were
back upon his before he could utter a response.=20

	This most effective weapon in his son's arsenal against him was made
infinitely more powerful by the fact that Lacroix knew Nicholas had no
inkling of what those words, or moments like these, did to his flint-hard
soul. He also knew that the words came straight from Nicholas' innermost
heart, devoid of any deception.=20

	The balance of their clothing was hastily shed, and they lay down on the
jumbled pile of clothes embracing, both reveling in the feel of the
other's skin held hard against him. They began kissing and moving
together, eager hands suddenly everywhere at once, as the barrier that
came down between them so tragically seldom crumbled and they set aside
the enduring struggle between them for control and began to make love.=20

	Lacroix worked his way down the marvelous body, fingers kneading, tongue
darting out and tasting as he went. He lingered for a minute at Nicholas'
belly, languorously exploring his navel, then swirling his tongue down to
the top of the nest of crisp dark blonde curls and lingered there.
Nicholas shuddered and strained against him, hips moving of their own
volition. Lacroix felt hands at his head, gently pushing him down in a
silent plea.

	Taking a pinch of tender skin between his teeth, he nipped at the taut
abdomen, not quite breaking the skin, before he allowed Nicholas to guide
his head down to the straining groin.

	Delicately, as if tasting some new confection for the first time, he
merely tasted, touching here and there, darting the tip of his tongue
against the intoxicatingly hard flesh. He curled one hand around the hard
shaft, pausing to simply feel the pulse inside, the power held
concentrated in that one bit of proud flesh, then moved his thumb across
the top, spreading the slick droplets that wept from the cleft in the
iron hard tip. Nicholas squirmed as he did, breath coming faster and
faster until Lacroix heard him choke on a near sob.

	Lacroix dipped his head down, took one last swipe with the tip of his
tongue across the slick head, then took Nicholas completely into his
mouth, lips sliding down until the harsh curls tickled against them, and
began to apply himself in earnest. He moved so that his weight held
Nicholas' legs down as his son began to cry out and writhe around so that
his ancient lover could barely keep him in his mouth. Pinning the
restless hips against the cool stone, he slowed his ministrations to give
his captive a short respite.=20

	Nicholas' hands came down to caress his head as he did, and the feel of
the large strong hands running over his temples, his neck, the back of
his head, fingertips massaging his scalp made Lacroix groan. Nicholas
shuddered as the vibrations transmitted themselves from the clever mouth
to his achingly hard cock.=20

	"Please, Lacroix." Unable to resist a tease, Lacroix left his
ministrations, one stroking hand keeping his place for him, and rose up
to kiss Nicholas deeply, drinking in the delicious tension there.  He
whispered against the trembling lips,

	"Please what, Nicholas? What do you want?"  His amber eyes smiled into
Nicholas' fiery gaze. Usually the next step took a few more minutes of
teasing, of bringing Nicholas up to a level of arousal that was near
torture before his son would finally gasp out his request, embarrassment
and resistance burned away by need. He tensed in surprise when Nicholas'
hands grabbed his head roughly and he felt hot, moist lips against his
ear as Nicholas whispered, his voice harsh.=20

	"Fuck me. Fuck me blind. Now. Please...".

	The demand was punctuated by sharp teeth piercing his earlobe through.
Eager lips sucked greedily at the few drops of blood that squeezed out in
the seconds before the tiny wound closed.=20

	Barely able to contain his glee and the explosive rush of arousal the
words and motion engendered within him, Lacroix murmured against the
pulse hammering in Nicholas' throat.

	"Mmm, since you ask so nicely, mon amour," he paused, lifting his head
for a look into the feral golden eyes, "anything you want." =20

	Nicholas smiled triumphantly, then reached down to take firm hold of
Lacroix. Breath caught in the elder vampire's throat and he forced
himself to hold still, trembling a bit as Nicholas' hand slid over his
erection, smoothing the slick moisture seeping from the tip over the rest
of it to ease his entry. Then Nicholas lay back, lips parted, eyes
glittering as Lacroix slid his hands under his buttocks, raising him up
to hastily shove some of their bundled clothing underneath him to support
his hips at the best angle. He fancied that he could actually feel the
heat of Nicholas' gaze on him as he maneuvered himself into position,
hands grasping the slender hips to hold them in place.

	As he began to press inward, Nicholas groaned and reached over his head,
hands finding and grasping his much-abused shirt, his fingers twisting
into the fine fabric. Lacroix thrust in and sheathed himself, near
fainting with pleasure as he did. Nicholas' hard length rubbed against
his stomach, its touch burning his skin. Nicholas whimpered and moved
himself against his master, then wrapped his legs around the hard muscled
torso and pulled him in hard, eliciting a sharp gasp from Lacroix.=20

	"Please, Lacroix. Please, touch me, ahh..."

	He broke off as long, slender fingers that could crush bone with no
effort closed around his twitching shaft and began to gently stroke in
time with Lacroix' increasing thrusts, while the other hand remained at
his hip, holding him steady. His hands clenched and ripped the shirt in
half like a dry leaf and continued to shred the white cloth as Lacroix
worked him, their bond waking and braiding the threads of their nerves
together.=20


	Nicholas cried out and Lacroix froze in mid-thrust, studying his son's
face. Nicholas opened his eyes wide and groaned in frustration when he
saw the smug expression in the gold-shot eyes regarding him. Lacroix
smiled down into his protege's face.

	Lacroix was very, very good at this. He'd been considered good at this
when he was still mortal: after fifteen hundred-odd years of practice,
his skill was frightening. It was one of his favorite techniques with
Nicholas, bringing him up to this point, stopping, letting him build up
tension, then starting again, only to repeat the cycle until Nicholas was
begging and wild enough to satisfy Lacroix' own needs. He brushed his
fingertips across Nicholas' mouth, licking his own full lips as he did.
Their bond was fully open now, and he was momentarily lost in savoring
Nicholas' pleasure, his son's desperate need for relief.

	Nicholas wasn't having any more teases tonight, though. In an eyeblink
he captured Lacroix' index finger in his mouth, his eyes never leaving
Lacroix', and began to suckle the finger, flicking his tongue against it,
teeth sharp against the skin, but not piercing it. As his master drew in
a deep breath, Nicholas began to move his hips, using his inner muscles
to stroke and squeeze the hard shaft inside him: then he bit down,
sinking one fang deep into the base of Lacroix' finger.

	Lacroix snarled, driven smartly out of control by the simultaneous
caresses and the sharp bite. Throwing his head back, he gave a loud cry,
eyes flaming, teeth extended, then struck at Nicholas' ready throat,
thrusting uncontrollably into his writhing lover. As his teeth pierced
the base of Nicholas' neck, Lacroix felt fangs sinking into his own
shoulder, and the two vampires convulsed, seized by the overwhelming dual
pleasure of the bite and their imminent orgasms.

	Fiery blood coursed into Lacroix' mouth, blinding him with the ecstatic
pleasure he tasted there, flowed through his own body then out again into
the demanding pull of Nicholas' mouth, the flowing, living tide bonding
them more closely together than ever before.  Each felt what the other
felt, and the doubling and redoubling of pleasure threatened to overwhelm
them both. They clung fiercely together, no longer two distinct beings,
but one creature completely possessed by a seizure of ecstasy as the
first waves of orgasm broke through them.=20

	Blood spattered black in the moonlight as they let go of each other's
throats to scream, mouths awash with burning liqueur. The wild sound
reverberated across the rooftop, sending roosting doves into hysterical
flight, drawing answering howls from dogs in the empty square below.

 =20

	The two of them remained locked together, faces buried in each other's
necks. Occasional shudders ran through them, but otherwise they were
still, feeding upon each other more quietly now. The only other movement
on the roof was caused by the night breeze which had picked up in
strength and was blowing Nicholas' long, disheveled hair about a bit.

	The moon was noticeably lower when they finally disengaged and regarded
each other, both more shaken then either one wished to admit.


	They climbed up on a decorative cornice overlooking the moonlit main
square. Lacroix settled his back against the base of one of the massive
gargoyles and moved to give Nicholas room to settle down in front of him,
pulling him back gently between his long legs to lie against his chest.
Nicholas grasped one of Lacroix' hands and pulled it around himself to
rest comfortably against his stomach and wrapped his other arm around the
old vampire's hard-muscled thigh, fingertips idly caressing the hollow
behind his knee. The fierce high spirited aggression ingested from their
intoxicated prey had burned most of itself out in their chase and their
wild coupling after. What was left now was a comfortable floating
languor.=20

	They presented a eldritch, beautiful tableau in the silvered light,
nestled beneath the stone sculpture, pale serene faces warmed only by the
smoldering yellow light gleaming in their eyes.=20

	It was a rare moment of utter contentment for Lacroix, and he closed his
eyes for a moment to store away the memory of it against what he knew
would be Nicholas' likely reaction after the last of this intoxicant mood
wore off. Lacroix was fully aware that Nicholas would probably begin
regretting his abandon within hours after getting over the last effects
of tonight's excesses.

	But as long as he received these occasional glimpses of the bright
exuberance, the spirit, the deep devotion that Nicholas was capable of
when he let himself be, it was enough to see him through the dark moods
and recriminations, agonizing over things he could not change; all of the
things that marked Nicholas' usual state of mind. =20

	'Sooner or later he will come to his senses', mused Lacroix. 'This
cannot last forever. I can wait. And, when he does come into his own,
then what a companion for the ages he will be! Together we will be
unequaled.'


	They stayed in comfortable silence for a while, then Nicholas turned his
head to peer sidelong up at his master's face, asking,=20

	"How much longer do you think Janette will wish to stay here?"

	Lacroix tilted his head, considering, idly twirling a lock of his son's
long blonde hair around a finger as he did.

	"I've no idea, Nicholas. It's my impression that she intends to play
with this one for a while. At least while he continues to shower her with
jewels and those Spanish lace-trimmed confections she's gotten so fond
of. You know Janette, mon fils. She's very good at this sort of thing,
and she enjoys it greatly. It is her special brand of hunting."

	Nicholas snorted and waved a hand dismissively, but dropped the subject.
Lacroix, who knew Nicholas missed his impish coquette of a sister,
smiled. He recognized an attempt to sound him out on whether or not he
might be persuaded to encourage Janette to end her play-acting and come
away with them. But Janette would follow her own course and he was
content to let her, for the most part. Janette did love Nicholas, as he
was well aware, and even bore Lacroix some small measure of love mingled
with the great respect and gratitude she had for him.

	But Janette's heart had its own agenda, and Lacroix very much doubted
that agenda would ultimately have anything to do with either himself or
Nicholas. Whatever the true motives were that drove his lovely fierce
kestrel of a daughter remained her own secrets. Which Lacroix was willing
to have so. As long as he commanded her loyalty and respect, her
obedience and some small measure of affection he was content. It was so
with the rest of his children as well. Nicholas was the only creature who
inspired in him the compulsion to know everything about him, to be
completely and utterly aware of what went on behind the mercurial cobalt
eyes.=20

	As far as Nicholas' motives went; well, when it came to understanding
his own drives, his own feelings, he knew that Nicholas was no more aware
of the true nature of his own heart than he was of what might live upon
the moon.

	Hopefully time would remedy that problem. He closed his eyes and let
himself float as the moon overhead continued its endless course through
starry blackness and tarnished pewter clouds.


	His senses told him that dawn was not far off. He stirred, sighing.
Nicholas took in a deep breath, and squeezed Lacroix' hand, muttering,

	"It's time to be away." =20

	"Mmm." Lacroix nodded in reluctant agreement. Nicholas rose to his feet
in a smooth easy motion and held his hand down to give his master an
affectionate, though unneeded, hand to his feet. They embraced once more,
briefly, then made their way back across the roof to retrieve their
scattered clothing. Their garments were in a sorry state, and Lacroix
laughed as he watched Nicholas attempting to somehow close the shredded
front of his linen shirt.

	"Give it up, mon cher. It's breathed its last. Luckily for us we have
our cloaks, so we won't present too much of a spectacle to any early
risers."

	His own clothes, though looking a bit mangy now, were less damaged and
he reckoned that he would pass muster from a casual look by lantern
light.

	Lacroix raised his head as if scenting the air, then scooped up
Nicholas' cloak and tossed it at him.

	"We're cutting it a bit finer than I care to, Nicholas. Come." He rose
up into the air and hesitated, looking down at his protege, who was
wrapping his dark brown wool cloak around himself. "Nicholas?"

	"All right, I'm coming! For a man who counsels me to patience so often,
you should set me a better example." Grinning and golden-eyed, Nicholas
flew up beside Lacroix, grabbed a fistful of black military cloak and
hauled him sharply backwards, then darted away, gaining a starting lead
on his master. Lacroix regained his equilibrium within seconds, snorted a
laugh and sped off after his impossible son.


	It did not take long to get to their street. Nicholas landed on one of
the roofs overlooking it and peered down into the narrow cobbled lane.
Lacroix landed beside him, sank into a crouch and gave the street a quick
once over. No one was in sight, and Lacroix stood back up, ready to step
off the roof and descend, when he paused. Then he began to chuckle
softly. Nicholas looked at him, an eyebrow raised. Lacroix flashed a rare
full grin at him and pointed down at the street.

	"Nicholas. Does that look familiar?" Nicholas frowned at his master.

	"Are you all right, Lacroix? Of course it's familiar, we've been living
here for two months." Then he took a closer look where Lacroix was
pointing and began to laugh, recognizing the ornate iron latticework that
he had pushed his astounded master into earlier that night. He grinned at
his companion, who inclined his head and said dryly,

	"It's been a long time, Nicholas, since I was too drunk to recognize my
own street. A memorable night."

	Nicholas was still laughing as they touched down to the cobbles and
began to make their way to the front gate of the tiny house they were
renting.


	Lacroix could feel the light rising in the eastern sky before he looked
up and saw the deep indigo that presaged the first rays of the sun.  They
had cut it close indeed, but their door was within sight.

	As they passed the rag seller who habitually pitched his camp in an
alley several houses down from theirs, Lacroix noticed that the man was
already up and moving about. Nicholas left Lacroix' side for a moment,
fished in his purse and tossed a coin to the man, smiling.

	"You're up early today, friend,"  he said, "Such industry deserves
reward. There, now we've both had a good night!" He walked on, catching
up to Lacroix in a couple of steps and threaded his left hand behind the
crook of his master's elbow and into the arm opening of Lacroix' long
military cloak.=20

At the old vampire's sidelong look he said,=20

	"My hands are cold," with an impish expression that Janette would have
been proud of, and slipped his other hand into Lacroix' cloak as well.


	Bartolome reached out to retrieve the gold coin with trembling hands as
the two men walked on. He looked up after them and at the same moment the
taller man turned and looked back at him. As their gazes met, Bartolome
felt his bowels turn to water, his strength deserting him as he looked
into the pale cold eyes. The smile on the patrician features faded, and
the awful eyes focused on the rag seller, a bleached-bone gaze that spoke
of deepest winter, black ice, and Bartolome's death.

	artolome closed his eyes and prayed.

The expected blow did not come, and he opened his eyes to see the older=20
man walking away, dragged by the handsome young one who spoke impatiently
to his companion.

	"Why are you so slow, old man? Come on!" As Bartolome watched, his heart
numb, the demon and his companion made their way up the street and turned
into the short walkway of the house he knew they were living in. They
paused in the doorway. The young man said something in the other's ear
which made him laugh, then he hooked both hands into the tall man's
doublet and pulled him through the doorway.

	Bartolome remained in the alley, unmoving, until the first rays of the
sun warmed his legs. Then he scrambled to his feet, wrapping the gold
piece in a blackened rag as he did, stuffed it into a pocket and ran.


	The front hall of the house was dark and smelled faintly of cloves and
anise, the scent left behind by their housekeeper, Marielena. Nicholas
had hired the woman to come in once a week to clean the tiny house.
Shortly after Marielena began, she had offered her services as a cook to
the two wealthy Frenchmen, extolling the virtues of her fine pastries,
sure to delight any palate; even los frances fino, the discerning French.
She had been somewhat taken aback by the laughter her offer had
engendered.  Their mirth had been followed up by a gratifyingly polite
and gracious refusal as the two gentlemen explained to her that they
followed a very strict and particular dietary regimen which allowed for
no ordinary sweets.

	Lacroix had wondered aloud to Nicholas a few times since then if the
spices she constantly worked with had penetrated her skin to scent her
blood as well. Nicholas was not entirely comfortable with the joke,
having grown somewhat fond of the stocky, cheerful woman. Lacroix
benignly assured Nicholas that he needn't worry-good housekeepers were
hard to come by, and good housekeepers who minded their own business and
smelled nice as well were even rarer.


	The bedroom they shared was pitch dark, well shielded from the sun's
rays by wood and heavy drapes.  Lacroix lit a small lantern, giving their
vampiric eyes plenty of illumination to see by, and was surprised to find
himself yawning.=20

	Nicholas gave one last rueful look at the remains of one of his favorite
shirts, then grinned and tossed it over his shoulder to the floor. His
trousers quickly followed. Lacroix dropped his cloak to the floor, then
shed his doublet and shirt, glad to be out of them. Feeling a bit dizzy
again, he went and stood in the doorway, leaning his head against the
doorjamb.=20

	He was tired and his head was still unclear--but he was also running the
picture of the ragpicker in the alley past his inner eye. At the time it
had not seemed so important; the sunrise had been imminent and Nicholas
had been fondling him in a most distracting manner, before dragging him
along...Damn. He was reasonably sure that the noxious flea feast must
have seen *something* to put that glazed look of terror in his eyes,
which Lacroix was now more sure about having seen. He sighed.

	The charming little house was no longer safe. He supposed in a way it
was just as well. To be honest, he was glad for the excuse to leave.  He
was tired of this city, the filth, the crowded conditions, and the damned
priests that seemed to be everywhere. They would leave tonight, as soon
as the sun was down.

	Deep in thought, he rubbed a thumbnail against his full lower lip.
Perhaps he should risk a light scorching, go back to the alley and break
the man's neck right now, just to put his own mind at ease. Or, he
supposed, he could simply influence him to forget... No, he decided, that
wouldn't do. He wouldn't have time to stay and assure himself that the
man wasn't resistant to their mesmerism. Better to just kill him and be
sure. One dead rag seller, hardly to be noticed in a city this size.
Nicholas would be upset about it, though. And sunlight was now streaming
down in the street outside...

	Fingernails traced a light path down his spine and he started.  Nicholas
was looking at him, curious, his expression a bit concerned.

	"Lacroix?  Is something wrong?"  Lacroix looked into the blue eyes, a
hint of worry beginning to show in them, and shook his head with a
smile.

	"Non, mon Nicholas. C'est rien, nothing's wrong. Except for you having
worn me out, that is." The smile returned to Nicholas' face. Lacroix
allowed himself to be led away from the door and suffered being undressed
the rest of the way with elaborate, still somewhat drunken care by his
son. He pushed the matter of the ragpicker to the back of his mind. The
chances were next to nil that the man would pluck up the courage to try
anything within the next twelve hours, alone or with help. And if the
slim chance occurred that he did, it would simply be a matter of travel
refreshment delivering itself to their door. As soon as the sun was down,
they and their few belongings would be leaving Madrid. He would send word
to Janette from their next stop as to their whereabouts and she could
join them when her play here was done.   =20

	Lacroix stretched out on the bed, drawing a deep breath and letting it
out slowly. A smile came to his lips as he inhaled the pleasant scent of
pennyroyal mixed with fleabane and other herbs. He had instructed
Marielena to mingle the blend of dried herbs with the fresh mattress
stuffing when she changed it once a week, to keep it free from vermin.

	The heady effects of overfeeding on intoxicated adrenaline-charged blood
were finally fading away, leaving him enervated and a little bit
nauseous. Closing his eyes, he waited for the feeling to pass, listening
to Nicholas move about the room, then walk out into the hall.

	Lacroix considered for a moment the idea that the wretch in the alley
might contact the Church about what he had seen. In these dangerous days
of the Inquisition, such people might still hold faith in their God, but
were rightly terrified of the Church itself and the men who ran the
entire business.  He dismissed the idea and opened his eyes to admire
Nicholas as he reentered the room, moving like some sinuous graceful
dream.


	It did not occur to Lacroix that what the man had seen might have been
even more terrifying to him than the Church.


	Nicholas blew out the lantern and crawled onto the bed, eyes faintly
phosphorescent in the darkness. Like some sentient vine he twined himself
around his master, finding the other's mouth unerringly in the darkness.
Lacroix stirred as the silky lips brushed his. The lips returned to
linger, and the tip of Nicholas' tongue gently traced the outline of his
mouth. Not willing to move just yet, he merely parted his own lips and
allowed his son access. The invitation was accepted and Nicholas began to
gently probe, running his tongue along the roof of his mouth, then along
his teeth, purring as he felt Lacroix' eyeteeth begin to sharpen and
swell. When he deliberately pricked his tongue on Lacroix' fang, the old
vampire shuddered and moved at last, sliding his arms around Nicholas
while he savored the sweet coppery tang of the few drops that bled from
his lover's tongue before the tiny wound closed.

	Nicholas lay on top of him and they kissed and caressed each other in
the darkness, hands gliding over the contours of well-known territory.
Lacroix deepened their kiss, slid his own tongue into Nicholas' mouth and
brought one hand up to cradle the back of his head, fingers sliding
through long strands of silk. He felt Nicholas' strong response hard
against his thigh, and felt his own arousal growing, driving back his
fatigue.  Pulling back from the eager mouth, he whispered against his
son's lips as they earnestly tried to reunite with his own,

	"Hm. I don't believe I'm sleepy yet, after all.  We do have all day to
recover.  Another hour or two won't make much of a difference-"

	"Lacroix."

	"Nicholas?"

	"Please stop talking." =20

	Lacroix smiled, unseen in the darkness, and drew Nicholas' mouth back to
his.

	An hour later they were deeply, soundly asleep, limbs intertwined,
Nicholas' head tucked firmly under Lacroix' chin. Each moved in strange
and powerful dreams that ran intertwined as well.=20



	Father Salzillo looked at the warden in the doorway. He frowned.

	"What is it, Stefano? I don't wish to be disturbed."  It was a
dismissal. After a few moments passed and Stefano had not gone, he looked
up again, dark brows drawn together under his thick iron-gray hair,
glaring.  Stefano moved uncomfortably, looking embarrassed.

	"Father. Forgive me, but...I think you should listen to this man's
story."

	"What man?" Salzillo snapped.

	"He is waiting for you out in the hall.  He's only a rag seller, from a
street near the Place de la Mena, but...I think you should hear him,
Father."


	"Father, they are demons! I saw it myself this morning, as they returned
from the devil's Sabbath. May our gentle Lord strike me dead on the spot
if I lie, if I-if you think it's wine that speaks!"

	Bartolome trembled under the priest's severe gaze. He was well aware
that this could turn upon him and place him in the dungeons awaiting the
rack if he could not convince Father Salzillo of the truth.

	"They flew down from the sky laughing with the devil's own humor. They
had not regained their mortal faces when they came, the tall one still
had the teeth of a wolf, and--and, the yellow eyes of a wolf. Yet I saw
them both two evenings ago on the street and he spoke and seemed as any
lord would, his face--it was fair, indeed noble. His young companion also
fair, mild as any lad from the Basque countryside.  He gave me this."
Bartolome pulled the gold coin, still wrapped in a scrap of cloth, from
his frayed pocket and held it out to the priest with a trembling hand.

	"Here, father, I beg you, take it. It is money from the Devil's hand. I
do not dare to keep it."


	This, more than anything else, convinced Father Salzillo that this
mendicant was telling the truth, at least the truth as he believed it to
be. No man like this would give up what was probably two month's earnings
for the sake of spite toward a neighbor. The man was truly afraid to keep
the coin.

	Salzillo believed in the existence of the Devil and his servants, and
believed that they were in a constant war against the demons of Hell who
walked the earth in an endless quest for human souls. He also knew in his
heart that not one in fifty of the doomed wretches they dragged in here
had any more real acquaintance with the Devil than his left shoe=20
buckle.

	He made a decision.

	"Stefano, gather six of the Church guard. Make sure they're well armed
and have them wait for me in the front courtyard. You will come too. Let
us see what we have living by the Place de la Mena."



	Lacroix awoke to several pairs of gauntleted hands grabbing him roughly
by the arms and legs. Still groggy with too much blood, he rounded with a
growl and grasped one of the arms. Bones cracked and a thin scream came
from one of his attackers. Snarling satisfaction, he reached for one of
the other men and felt the bed shift as Nicholas awoke and launched
himself at several other uninvited guests.

	Poisonous, fiery pain splashed across his chest and shoulders and he
howled, flinging himself backwards to avoid a second acid splash of holy
water. It splattered Nicholas, who cried out and spun to stare,
wide-eyed, at the priest who held a large crucifix in one trembling hand
and was fumbling another container of holy water out of his robes.

	"Down, servants of the Devil!  You are in the hands of the Church. Retro
me Satanis, in nomine Patris..."


	The crucifix was highly blessed. Lacroix could feel the power from it
robbing him of the strength to move, to fight. He pressed himself back
against the wall, eyes averted from the holy object. Seeing quite well in
the dim lamplight, he swept his gaze over their opponents, counting at
least seven (eight, if he counted the one on the floor curled sobbing
over his fractured arm). Four were armed with crossbows, two with pikes,
all pointed at himself and his son.

	Their options began to unfold for him, dealing themselves out like cards
through his quick tactician's mind as he assessed their chances. The room
was too small to avoid all of them, one of the soldiers could easily get
off a lucky crippling or even fatal shot from a crossbow. Outside, he
knew, the sun was high overhead.

If they went quietly now, they would doubtless be taken to one of the
Inquisition's cells and kept there to await being put to the Question.
Once locked up, the mortals would think them safely caught and would
almost certainly give them room to make their escape. And, with any luck
at all, the sun would be down by the time either one of them was sent
for.

	Making his decision, he reached out and clutched Nicholas' trembling arm
as the other vampire sank back onto the bed, hands over his ears,
recoiling from the crucifix and the priest's prayers. Using all the
strength of their newly refreshed connection, he sent a rapid message
through their bond.

	"Nicholas. Stop fighting, mon fils. This place is too small: we cannot
escape their weapons here, and the sun is up." Nicholas tried to pull his
arm from his grasp, making a small panicked noise in his throat. Lacroix'
hands remained locked on his son's arm. " Be *calm*. We will get away
when they take us to whatever cell they think we will not be able to
escape from. Hide your nature from them, the room is too dark, they saw
nothing sure. Let them think we are merely more fodder for the
Inquisition."

	Lacroix breathed a sigh of relief as Nicholas got hold of himself,
lifting his head and glaring at the priest. One of the soldiers lit
another lantern, his hands trembling, and the group of mortals stood
staring at the two on the bed, crossbows cocked and aimed.

	He gave his son a hard look, trying to gauge whether or not Nicholas had
himself under control. Then he glanced toward the open door and the
shafts of sunlight that gilded the outer hall. Summoning as much
influence as he could under the circumstances, Lacroix spoke in a low,
quiet voice to the priest.

	"Our surrender...Father. We'll go quietly with you. Pray ask the
soldiers to give us room." Slowly, he slid toward the edge of the bed,
swung his legs to the floor and stood, aware that the soldiers were
clutching their crossbows with white-knuckled grips, eyes all fixed on
him now.

	Avoiding looking directly at the priest and the large crucifix, he
reached down for his cloak, dropped carelessly to the floor last night.
Keenly aware of the crossbows and pikes the men held, he took a small
step toward the armoire. One of the soldiers, his nerves on hair trigger
edge, jabbed at him with his pike, catching him on the hip. He placed his
hand over the small wound, so they wouldn't see it close and spoke to the
priest, his head still averted.

	"Allow us to dress first." The priest snorted, and motioned the soldiers
back a few steps.

	"Dress yourselves, then, and be quick. The Church is not in the habit of
marching naked catamites or devil worshippers through the streets. You
think to display your shame to all of Madrid?  Cover yourselves, and pray
for your miserable souls.  Your punishment is at hand."

	"Dress yourself Nicholas,"   Lacroix said, looking at the man who'd
nicked him with the pike, memorizing his face.  He could feel rage
starting to surface, and quelled it. =20

	<<Heavily>, he added through their bond as Nicholas moved off the bed
and went to the armoire to retrieve clothing.=20


	Lacroix felt as stupid as he could ever remember feeling in his long,
long life. Why had he allowed himself to ignore his instincts so?=20

	He knew why. Because he had allowed himself to be careless, to be lazy
and dismiss his common sense like any love struck adolescent, unwilling
to risk Nicholas' anger and withdrawal when he learned that Lacroix had
killed the ragpicker.

	He knew the tiny house had become unsafe, that Madrid had become unsafe.
He had seen the look on that miserable lice ridden beggar's face, had
seen that the man understood they were no mere dilettante nobles slumming
in the poor quarter. He should have risked a scorching from the sun,
ordered Nicholas to stay and gone out to snap the ragpicker's neck. He
and Nicholas should have been miles away from the tiny house by now,
sheltering from the day in some remote loft or darkened cellar.  He
should have--

	'Enough', he admonished himself. Lacroix closed his eyes and
concentrated on keeping his facade of calm intact. It had been a small
mistake, in reality, but the old soldier within him whispered in grim
satisfaction that it only took one small mistake. It was not a forgiving
world.

	The sun lay like a smothering hot blanket over his hooded cloak, making
his skin crawl and feel scalded. Lacroix concentrated on the discomfort,
seeking to distract himself from their predicament. Effectively blinded
by the cloak hood pulled low over his face, the old vampire was
navigating primarily by sound and touch. He could feel Nicholas close at
his side, searching for him along their bond, seeking reassurance. The
younger vampire, fearless in battle, was afraid to his very marrow of the
terrible burning end that would be theirs if one of their captors took a
notion to tear the hoods covering their heads away.

	Lacroix tried to limit the extent of the emotions Nicholas could glean
from him through their mental bond, but he knew that more was getting
through to his son than he wanted.


	Nicholas could sense intense rage, chagrin and something that turned him
cold deep inside: fear. Lacroix wasn't sure they were going to escape
this. His own terror of being burned alive loomed large in Nicholas'
thoughts. The realization that his fearless master was also afraid loomed
even larger.

	The procession stopped and Nicholas found himself leaning against what
felt like the wheel of a large wagon. Rough hands grabbed him, lifted him
up and threw him into what he assumed was the back of the wagon.

	Nicholas landed on his chest, and grunted as Lacroix was tossed in on
top of him, driving his chin into the floorboards. Fortunately his heavy
hood protected him from having any splinters driven into his face. He
felt the floor dip as more men climbed in with them.

	Nicholas couldn't feel direct sunlight on his clothes anymore-a hesitant
look from underneath the hood of his cloak confirmed that the back of the
wagon was indeed enclosed. Doubtless to prevent passersby from
accidentally recognizing certain prisoners, he mused. It was a boon for
himself and his master, though: a few more minutes and he knew their skin
would have begun to smoke and char, even through their heavy clothing.
Gingerly, he lifted the edge of his hood just a tiny bit more, enough so
that he could see some of what was happening.

	Lacroix rolled himself off and away from Nicholas, then moved to get his
feet under him. Nicholas heard him snarl as one of the men who had
followed their roughly loaded cargo into the wagon rammed the blunt end
of a pike into the juncture of Lacroix' neck and shoulder, knocking him
back to the wagon floor.

	"Stay down there, demon! Consider yourself lucky we don't chain you both
to the back of the cart and drag you through the streets." Lacroix
muttered something crude in a voice too soft to reach any but Nicholas'
ears--but stayed where he was. Nicholas pulled his hood back down,
completely shutting off his sight once more and crawled over to lie
alongside Lacroix. They remained quiet as the wagon jolted over the rough
cobblestones.


	The wagon rumbled to a stop. They were yanked out, hauled to their feet,
and propelled up a set of stone stairs. The noise from the street was
abruptly cut off as they heard a heavy door slam to behind them. Lacroix
felt that the smothering mantle of sunlight was gone from his cloaked
head and shoulders. He straightened, pulled his hood back and looked
around. They were in a dark stone corridor, lit by torches. Before he
could take in any more, he received a sharp blow to the small of his
back, and gauntleted hands shoved him forward.

	"Move, you two!"  He heard Nicholas protest and turned to see one of the
armored men rap the pommel of a dagger against the side of Nicholas'
head. The blow would have dazed a mortal, and the soldier looked
surprised when Nicholas merely ducked his head, cursed in pain and glared
at him. The reluctant procession continued to make its way down one
corridor, then another, and another as they proceeded into the heart of
the vast structure.

	The smell of smoke, human waste and burnt flesh was heavy in the air,
all mingled with an overwhelming stench of terror.  Lacroix felt the
hairs on his neck begin to rise. His acute hearing registered myriad
noises of suffering, coming from all sides and below. Cries of agony
mingled with sobs and an occasional scream. Somewhere in a cell nearby a
man was laughing, stopping only to gasp for breath, a sound more chilling
than any of the others. The oppressive atmosphere had a strong effect on
Nicholas, who pressed close to his side, shivering, as they stopped
before a large, iron-banded door. Lacroix did not like this development
one bit; they had not been taken underground yet as he had expected them
to be.

	A soldier slid back the heavy well-oiled iron bolt on the door, and
swung it open, grinning at them as one of the other soldiers entered the
cell ahead of them.

	"Your room, my lords. I hope it meets your standards."  He reached out
to take hold of Lacroix' heavy fur collar, leaning in toward him, voice
guttural with anger.

	"You crushed Stefano's arm, you motherless bastard. He's a good man. I
will be there for *your* questioning, don't doubt that." Lacroix favored
him with a look of bored contempt, pulled his cloak collar from the livid
man's grasp, smoothed the rumpled fur and turned to saunter into the
room.

	The soldier, now behind him, gave him a savage push which sent him
stumbling into the large cell. Lacroix staggered, trying to regain his
balance, and his hand passed through a broad ray of sunlight pouring down
through one of the cross-shaped windows set high in the wall. White-hot
pain burst in his hand, radiating up his arm for one agonizing instant
before he could pull his hand back out of the searing cross of sunlight.
He gasped sharply as he did, unable to keep from uttering the one
expression of pain. Nicholas was close behind him, carefully avoiding the
shaft of light. He gave Lacroix a quick look of concern as he saw his
master cradling his hand to his chest, then turned to bestow an unloving
look on the soldier who had propelled Lacroix in so abruptly. His eyes
narrowed as he memorized the man's face, then he turned back to=20
Lacroix.

	The soldier who had entered ahead of them scuttled back, holding a clay
pot and brush and giving them a wide berth. Dipping the brush in hastily,
he began to daub a thick dark liquid on both sides of the door,
plastering it over older dried layers of the same substance. The liquid,
some kind of blood, had a fetid stench to it that put both of the
vampires on edge. Nauseated, they moved away from the reeking door. Not
even to keep from starving would either of them have ever attempted to
drink such foul stuff.

	Like freshly caged wild animals, they cautiously began to move out into
the cell, stepping carefully between the rays of light streaming down
from the windows. They stopped and took stock of their surroundings.
There were two mortals in the cell with them, two men. One, filthy and
wild-eyed, was chained to the wall with heavy iron manacles, and a
heavier iron collar around his neck. The other was a mild looking man,
small in stature, who sported a thin mustache.  He wore clothing that had
been as expensively made as theirs, but was currently much the worse for
wear. The unchained man stepped forward into the light and addressed the
two newcomers who were looking with distaste at the blood smeared by the
door. In a mild, pleasant voice he said, nodding toward the reddish
stains,

	"The Blood of the Lamb, the Blood of our Lord. To repel evil."

	The deranged looking man chained to the wall spoke to the silent pair.

	"Come, sit with me, friend.  I am Ario, and this" he nodded toward his
cellmate, "is Sancho. Tell me how you came to be among us."

	It was unclear if he was speaking to Lacroix or to Nicholas, and the two
vampires exchanged glances and minute shrugs. Lacroix, not trusting his
voice quite yet, walked slowly along one wall, rubbing his burnt hand
gingerly and surveying their prison with a sinking heart. This place was
not going to be easy to escape from, as he had thought it would be.
Another mistake, and quite possibly his last.


	Lacroix was silent, and Nicholas could feel the old vampire struggling
to bring himself under control. The realization that Lacroix was still
daunted by their situation had the unexpected effect of calming him as
his own protective nature, never deeply buried, surged forth. He paced
toward the chained man and said in a grim voice,

	"They took us as we slept." He hesitated, glancing at Lacroix, then
continued, "Said we were in league with the Devil."

	Ario grinned, eyes rolling in glee. "And they offered up no evidence?"

	Nicholas looked at him dispassionately, realizing that if the filthy,
ragged man had been sane when he came to this place, he was entirely
unhampered by sanity now. Just as well the man was chained, if he were
violently mad. He didn't want to kill a man simply because he was not in
his right mind. He stepped back to stand in front of Lacroix, placing
himself between the mortals and his master. Ario continued, nodding,

	"As it is with all their victims. The Inquisitors have put thousands to
death in His name, to rid the world of evil." Nicholas made no reply. He
remained ranged protectively in front of Lacroix, waiting.


	The agony in his hand had tapered off to a dull burn, and Lacroix began
to pay attention to what was going on. Nicholas had placed himself
between him and the mortals. The unnecessary protectiveness both touched
and annoyed him. He could have broken both humans' necks in the space of
time it would have taken either one of them to utter a cry for help. The
fact that Nicholas was reading his emotions so easily brought home to him
the extent of his loss of self-control. He straightened up and glared at
the two humans. His voice was firm and cutting when he spoke, the words
carefully enunciated.

	"This God, and this Devil..." All eyes were on him now.  Nicholas looked
relieved.  "They are a mere human contrivance and convenience. They are
for the justification of slaughter without the tricky business of
accountability."

	It was said with more feeling than he'd been intending to inject into
the statement. Lacroix truly did loathe the human propensity to avoid
responsibility for their actions by justifying them through some lofty
ideal, or some religious fairy tale like this offshoot cult of Judaism.

	The unfettered prisoner, Sancho, stared at him in dismay as he listened
to the heretical statement. His eyes left Lacroix and turned to Nicholas.
Gesturing toward Nicholas, he spoke in a hesitant voice.

	"You too are a nonbeliever?" Nicholas narrowed his eyes and looked
contemptuous.

	"If there is a God, he has not yet shown himself to me."

Lacroix laughed outright at Nicholas' statement, genuinely amused and
delighted. Oh, my son indeed, he thought, forgetting their circumstances
for a quick moment.=20

	Nicholas shot him a look that was half-pleased, half-annoyed. It was
rare for him to make comments concerning his mortal religion and he
looked as if he were already regretting his words a bit.

	Sancho looked at Nicholas, then at his chuckling companion and shook his
head. Voice stronger now, he implored them,

	"For the sake of your souls, do not abandon your faith. Though there may
be evil within you, there is God also." Lacroix stopped laughing and
fixed a cold regard on the slender Spaniard who continued, oblivious.
"You must believe this. It is all that will save you from the=20
exorcism."

	Ario yanked at his chains and spit in Sancho's direction, hissing like a
snake before sneering to the other man,

	"Will you still believe that when *we* are pronounced to be demons and
must face the exorcism?" Nicholas exchanged worried glances with Lacroix,
then drifted toward Ario, head cocked, studying the deranged man as he
continued.  "How will your faith save you when you are made to drink the
Blood of the Lamb and your flesh is consigned to the fire?"=20

	Lacroix watched Nicholas stop and look back at Sancho, who stood silent,
arms hugging himself. Lacroix snorted and turned away from the fool. Of
course he had no answer to Ario's question. Perhaps the chained man was
mad, but he was also quite right. Pity he'd never have the chance to
speak to Ario outside of this hellhole, it might have proved
interesting.

	Now, how were they going to escape this place? It would be roughly six
or seven hours until nightfall, he estimated, consulting his senses. Once
sunlight was no longer streaming through the cross-shaped windows he
thought there was a good chance that between his strength and Nicholas'
combined they could eventually break loose several of the stone blocks
which formed the cross shaped opening; those blocks were only connected
to the wall on two sides.

	It would be even easier to break down the door, assuming they could
stand being in such close proximity to the mix of holy water and lamb's
blood for the time it would take the two enraged vampires to tear the
door from its hinges. Breaking free in that way might prove easier, but
escape would be much more risky.

	True, the temptation to wreak as much carnage as he could on the way out
was strong-but the likelihood of the priest being on hand with that
accursed crucifix of his was strong as well. Someone of great faith had
focused much of their power into the holy symbol. Lacroix was confident
that the priest carrying it now wasn't the one to have done so. Without
the crucifix in his hands, that priest would have found himself sharing
the back hall of their small house with seven other corpses until
darkness would have allowed the two vampires to dispose of the bodies and
leave.  Yes, Lacroix decided, escaping by the window was the best way.
Better to come back at some later time and remove a few throats when he
could choose the place and time himself.

	Confidence partly restored and a plan in motion, he relaxed a bit and
moved to stand close by Nicholas, leaning in so his voice was pitched to
a level audible only to the younger vampire. Lips lightly brushing the
other's ear, he murmured,

	"Don't worry, mon coeur. We'll win free of here as soon as night falls.
I see how we can escape."

	His son nodded, and gave him a small relieved smile. Then Nicholas
sighed, turned and retreated to a far corner as far away from the windows
and the cell door as possible. He sat down, placing his back against the
wall and closed his eyes. Lacroix eyed the two mortals carefully, in
particular the unfettered Sancho, before moving to sit next to Nicholas.
The two vampires sat shoulder to shoulder, leaning on each other for
comfort, and settled themselves to wait.=20


	Several hours passed. Both vampires became more and more restless as the
time passed. The diffused sunlight was hurting their eyes, the poisonous
reek from the blood-slathered doorway was making both of them ill, and
above all the daytime imperative to rest, to sleep, was becoming more
than an annoyance. Lacroix and Nicholas were strong enough not to need
much daytime sleep, but they did need some, especially Nicholas. The vile
stench and painful light made sleeping in the cell out of the question,
though. They would just have to stand it until they could leave.

	Wishing for anything to distract him from their situation, Lacroix rose
in one smooth motion and turned his attention to their devout cellmate.
Sancho was standing against the opposite wall, lost in his own misery,
clutching a small rosary and silently moving his lips. Nicholas rose to
follow as Lacroix drifted toward the despairing man, whose eyes widened a
bit as he saw Lacroix approaching him, Nicholas close behind.

	Like wolves circling a deer to gauge its weakness, they positioned
themselves on either side of Sancho, almost touching him. It was purely
instinctive on Nicholas' part, less so on Lacroix'--the mortal's fear was
a calming influence on him, reminding him that they were far from
helpless, even in this position. The sport of picking at Sancho's morale
would help to distract him from their own predicament and allow him to
vent some of his frustration. Lacroix leaned against the wall, settling
himself comfortably a few inches away from the Spaniard. His bland
expression was at odds with his tightly clasped hands, whose twitching
betrayed how tightly strung his nerves were at the moment.=20

	"Tell me, Sancho. How does a man of such faith as yours come to be
called a demon?"=20

	Nicholas shot him a look, unsure as to why Lacroix was devoting this
much attention to the doomed man. He knew that Lacroix vastly enjoyed
confounding people with their own moral contradictions, but now hardly
seemed the time for such play.=20

	A bitter expression crossed Sancho's face as he stared down at his own
clasped hands.

	"I own valuable land near Barcelona that I refused to give to the
Church." He raised his head and looked directly into Lacroix' pale amused
eyes. "*That* was my heresy." The betrayal he felt for the Church he'd
been faithful to all his life was plain in his voice.

	Lacroix inclined his head, brows furrowed in mock concern. His voice
sympathetic, almost caressing, he drawled,

	"Ah, yes. None greater, in the eyes of the Inquisitor." Turning, he
gestured with a flourish toward their manacled cellmate. "And...Ario?"

	Sancho looked at the grinning man, dark eyes troubled. "He is said to be
marked by the Beast." At the words, Ario twisted toward them, eyes
rolling. As if barely able to control his glee, he spoke slowly, drawing
out the slurred words.

	"I...am...no more a demon than you are," the last being spoken directly
to Lacroix, who laughed. He was beginning to like this mortal. Madness
sometimes lent them an oddly sharp perception, and he was beginning to
suspect that Ario sensed more about his and Nicholas' true natures than
any of the other mortals here had done. Nodding at Ario, he purred,

	"I quite agree." Smiling, he turned to Sancho and Nicholas, pale eyes
dancing. "Why give glory to a devil other than yourself?"

	The statement hung in the air. Sancho stared at him in disbelief.
Nicholas looked thoughtful.

	At that point the sound of the massive outer bolt being drawn back
riveted their attention on the door, all four heads turning in unison.
The door opened and two armored soldiers entered, followed by the priest
and a warden. Lacroix squinted painfully through the shafts of sunlight
at their visitors, his body tensing for battle.

	The gray-haired priest swept them all with a look of contempt, crucifix
clutched tightly in one hand. Lacroix simply ached to cross the room in
an eyeblink and literally tear the expression off the man's face. His
vampiric instincts rose, demanding violence, and he shoved them
ruthlessly back down. Sancho looked at the group facing them and crossed
himself, trembling. The priest pointed at Ario and snapped out to the
soldiers,

	"He is next. Bring him."

	Ario crouched, whimpering in a paroxysm of terror as the armored men
advanced on him. They unlocked his shackles and began to half-drag,
half-propel him toward the door. As he was dragged toward the priest,
Ario struggled weakly, having no effect on his captors. When he sagged to
the floor they simply picked him up by his arms and legs and kept
walking. Ario writhed in their grip, breath wheezing from his
terror-constricted chest, and he began to yell in a desperate voice
devoid of any remaining sanity.

	"You have no power over him! He is the darkness and the light! Belial!
Beelzebub, my father! Save me!"=20

	They dragged the writhing man out, still shouting to Belial to save him.
Nicholas looked disturbed, Sancho distraught. Lacroix' expression was
grim as he watched their briefly-known acquaintance carried away to be
burned alive. Then he turned and dismissed the man from his thoughts. A
mortal lifetime of warfare and a thousand years of surviving alone had
drilled that response into his bones past any unlearning. The man was
gone, and that was the end of it.

	Before he left, the warden pointed at Sancho and warned him,

	"Make your peace with God. We will return for you." Sancho closed his
eyes, fist to his mouth, and sagged against the wall.=20

Lacroix retreated with Nicholas to lean against the wall facing each
other, barely a foot apart. He raised his eyes to meet Nicholas' and was
met with an unexpected brief smile. Surprised, he smiled back and sent a
quick surge of affection over their bond, his thoughts reaching out for a
moment to caress and mingle with Nicholas' warm response. The fact that
Nicholas was not seeking to blame him for any of this debacle touched him
deeply. It also made the humiliation and unpleasantness of their
situation that much keener, and made him that much more determined that
he would get himself and his dearest child out of here alive.


	Sancho walked to the center of the cell and crouched in despair,
mumbling into his clenched hands. Nicholas followed and stood a few feet
away, watching the man. Lacroix ignored both of them and paced, his mind
racing. Ario would not occupy them for long with the Question-he had
obviously decided that there was no sense in suffering when the end
results would be the same whether he confessed or not. Inwardly he
congratulated Ario for not allowing an idiotic religious ideal to keep
him from claiming the quickest ending he could hope for. He would be
burned alive, to chase the devil from his body, but he would be spared
the hours of agony the Question inflicted on its victims to force a
confession of devil worship from them.

	All of this meant, though, that they had less time than he had thought
they would. He had been counting on both of the mortals taking some time
for the Inquisitors to wring confessions out of. Lacroix looked up at the
cross-shaped window, brilliant sunlight streaming down through it, then
at the blood smeared door frame. Their captors had, without quite being
aware of it, made this cell proof against escape for all its occupants,
at least during the daytime.=20

	Well, Ario would not take up much time, but hopefully their remaining
cellmate would provide the Inquisitors with more of a challenge.

	The idiot's misplaced faith was annoying, but if he honestly believed
that he would be damned if he denounced his God, then it would take a
while to break him to a confession of worshipping the Devil.=20

	If it came to it, Lacroix knew that being put to the Question was
something that, while very unpleasant, he or Nicholas would recover from.
Torn or broken, their limbs and joints would heal. Burns would take a bit
longer and require more blood, but they would heal as well. The trick
would be in withstanding the pain well enough to keep their vampiric
natures from emerging before nightfall. He was fairly sure he could
manage it; he was not as confident that Nicholas could.

	Well, he would simply ensure that when they came for one of them, he
would be the one to go first. At least it would get him out of this
damned reeking cell. If that indeed proved to be what happened, once
darkness fell he would take immense pleasure in turning the tables on his
tormentors.

	The ancient vampire could feel fury rising in him again, snarling for
attention, demanding to be expressed. Lacroix desperately wanted to rend
something, preferably something living, but he fought down the urge to
take his anger out on the feckless mortal sharing their cell. He was
necessary to occupy their jailers with his suffering, to buy them time to
remain unharmed until darkness fell and they could make their escape.

	Nicholas had moved closer to the kneeling man. He watched silently for a
few minutes, then gestured to catch Sancho's attention.

	"Who do you pray for, friend?"

	The mortal looked up into Nicholas' curious face, unshed tears in his
dark eyes. His voice, when he responded, carried enough pain in it to
capture even Lacroix' attention.

	"Por mi familia. My family. If I die, my wife and children must be cared
for." Nicholas' eyes softened at the selfless words, and the love the man
so obviously bore for his family. Lacroix doused the flicker of sympathy
he felt at the man's statement and hastened to cut him off before he
could say more.

	"And who will do that?" Sancho looked at him as the tall feral man
stalked closer. "Your God?" The words were drenched in sarcasm and some
deeper, older anger. "The same God that would allow your flesh to be
incinerated?" Sancho swallowed, drew in a shuddering breath and said,

	"It is not for me to question God." Lacroix' eyes darkened at the mild
words and he curled his upper lip, the anger now plain on his face and in
his eyes. Voice cold, he sneered,

	"Of course not. Because, once the question is asked, it must be
answered." Nicholas turned to look at Lacroix, aware that there was
something here, some deep matter that he had been unaware of until now.
Slowly Sancho rose from his kneeling position to stand and face Lacroix,
a terrier defying a lion.=20

	"God," Sancho said, certainty ringing in his voice, "is in *all* of us.
Even you, though you serve the Devil."

	Lacroix' eyes narrowed as the words left Sancho's mouth, and he saw
Nicholas tense up in front of him, no doubt expecting Lacroix to do
something swift and final to the unwisely outspoken mortal. Lacroix drew
himself up to his full impressive height, face a study in fierce pride.
His eyes radiated fury.=20

	"I-serve-*no one*," hissed Lacroix.  =20

	Sancho trembled, face pale, then lifted his chin and looked directly
into the terrible eyes. His voice was quiet, but carried conviction.

	"Then you have no purpose."=20

	It was not the response either of the vampires expected, and Lacroix,
bare moments away from flashing across the few feet of space separating
them and ripping the condescending bastard's throat out, paused. He
admired courage, and had to grudgingly admit that the little Spaniard had
courage; though evidently not much common sense to go with it--a
combination his Nicholas had made him painfully familiar with during the
last several hundred years. Restraining himself, he growled,

	"Perhaps. But at least I do not deceive myself."


	Nicholas, sensing his master's angry intent, moved away from Lacroix to
stand close to Sancho. He looked at him curiously, waiting for him to
speak again. Sancho stood the silent scrutiny for a few moments, then
turned away to avoid meeting the predatory blue eyes. Mistaking Nicholas'
intense gaze for the prelude to an attack, he murmured,

	"Please.."

	Nicholas blinked, surprised, then realized that the man had
misinterpreted his intentions. Eager to put the man at ease, and also
suddenly eager to keep him from saying anything that would anger Lacroix
any further, he reached out and touched Sancho's sleeve.

	"You have nothing to fear from me," he said, stressing the 'me' just a
bit. Hopefully the man would register the meaning of his words and
realize that he had deliberately not included his master in the
statement...Sancho's courage and devotion to his family had deeply moved
the younger vampire. The idea of this brave quiet man being tortured and
burned alive merely for not wanting to give up his land to thieves who
hid behind a mask of piety revolted him. A quick look at Lacroix
confirmed that there would be no help from that quarter.  His master's
eyes, hard as flint, conveyed better than any words that he had no
intention of helping anyone except himself and his Nicholas.  He looked
back at Sancho, who was still watching him, distrust in his dark eyes.

	"You?"  Sancho firmed his grip on his rosary. "You who cannot walk in
the daylight?" He gestured at the beams of sunlight coming through the
windows. More alert than either of the vampires had realized, he had seen
Lacroix recoil in pain from the touch of that light, had watched the two
carefully avoiding the luminous shafts of sunlight wherever they slanted
down through the darkness. He pressed on. "The lamb's blood and crosses
repel you-tell me that you are not an angel of the Devil!"

	Nicholas, overcome by sudden guilt, looked helpless, unable to answer
the question he still asked himself at times. Lacroix' honeyed voice
broke the tense silence.

	"Yes, Nicholas. Do tell." Nicholas' head turned and he glared at
Lacroix, his inner turmoil forgotten again for the moment. Oh, of course
Lacroix would think this was funny! His master--who was never plagued
with guilt or shame over anything he did--never missed a chance to tweak
Nicholas about it when he saw those faults appear in his son. Nicholas
opened his mouth to say something tart in reply to Lacroix' jibe, then
his head snapped around to look at the door, hearing footsteps
approaching the door.


	Lacroix fought down the urge to simply walk over and cuff some sense
into his sentimental idiot-child. They were in danger of losing their
lives, and Nicholas was becoming maudlin over this utter stranger. He
made the cutting remark primarily to goad Nicholas into anger and
therefore out of the black mood that the mortal's words seemed to be
leading him toward. It was also partly made out of the frustration he
felt at seeing Nicholas sliding into guilt-ridden depression once again.
The sooner this miserable psalm-spouting wretch was dragged off to his
just reward for a lifetime of worshipping his God, the better.

	As if summoned by his thoughts, he heard steps in the hall at the same
time he saw Nicholas turn toward the door, eyes alert. Sancho looked from
one to the other, confused, then his eyes widened as he heard the heavy
bolt slide back. The massive door swung open, and the gray-haired priest
entered, flanked by two armed soldiers, two more entering close behind
them. His severe gaze swept over the three prisoners, then he pointed at
Sancho.

	"It is time," he said, motioning to two of the soldiers. They moved
forward to take hold of Sancho, who stood frozen and unbelieving as they
advanced on him. Nicholas put a hand on the doomed man's arm in a useless
gesture of comfort. Lacroix looked at Sancho. A small wintry smile
touched his mouth but did not reach his eyes, and he purred,

	"Enjoy."

	With that he turned and walked away from the man, his attention now
focused entirely on the priest and his henchmen. The soldiers continued
to advance, and Sancho found his voice. He stretched out his hands to the
priest in desperate appeal.

	"Please-I beg you, Your Grace-have mercy!" The priest's face took on the
slightly amused, rather bored expression of one who has heard the same
heartfelt plea from hundreds of men, and he intoned,

	"Let mercy be the providence of God." His voice became harsher. "You
will be exorcised, and your flesh will be put to the flame."

	Lacroix noted with amusement that Sancho, who had been calling Nicholas
a minion of the Devil not two minutes ago, was now turning to Nicholas
for comfort, clutching at his arm. The priest continued, his voice
slightly gentler. "If you are the innocent you claim to be..." he glanced
skyward, "God will take you into His Kingdom." His voice hardened once
more and he fixed Sancho with a stern look.  "That is something only a
demon would fear." He barked at the two soldiers, who had paused in their
advance, "Bring him!"


	Fear finally overcame Sancho as the two men moved to take his arms, and
he began to plead, backing away,

	"No! Please, Your Grace!"

	Ignoring him, the priest moved forward, crucifix outstretched to warn
off the two remaining prisoners.

	"Both of you, back!" He made a sweeping motion at them with the ornate
cross, and the two moved away from him with gratifying speed, the taller
one shielding his face with his arms. The soldiers took hold of Sancho
and began to drag him toward the door. The terrified man finally began to
struggle, shouting for help to any who might hear him, looking back at
the man who had shown him sympathy.

	"I am innocent! In the name of God, help me!" Unmoved, the two soldiers
continued to drag him along.  The priest stopped his advance and began to
back toward the door, following the struggling trio.


	Lacroix glared angrily at the priest. He could feel his muscles still
twitching in reaction to the proximity of the crucifix. Ario had taken up
even less of the Inquisitor's time than he had expected. He certainly
hoped for better from this one, although by the way he was beginning to
caterwaul...

	"RELEASE HIM!"

	The deep throated roar, vibrant with compulsion, came from his right. He
turned disbelieving eyes toward his Nicholas, who strode forward, eyes
blazing gold and his threatening fangs fully displayed. Lacroix could
only stare dumfounded as his snarling son advanced on the four mortals.

	The priest's eyes bulged, and he stumbled back. The two soldiers loosed
their grips on their captive as they stared in horror at the unholy thing
advancing on them. Sancho gaped in amazement at the fiery-eyed creature
that had been a normal looking man only moments ago.

	Nicholas snarled, and they all took a step back, one of the soldiers
fetching up against a wall.

	His head spinning at what Nicholas had just done to them, Lacroix
flailed around for something to say, some way to salvage this situation.
He opened his mouth, for once entirely unaware of what was going to come
out of it.

	"Really, Nicholas. Such crass showmanship."

	Lacroix was amazed at how calm and amused his voice sounded. Well, he
supposed it was better than screaming, "Nicholas, you *idiot*!" He found
himself watching Nicholas with unwilling pleasure as his son stalked
forward, reveling in his vampire nature, a chilling smile on his lips. An
idiot, no doubt, but he was magnificent when he displayed his true self
like this.

	Nicholas hissed at the humans, eyes glowing,

	"I am the demon you seek." Nicholas spread his arms and grinned at the
priest. "I am the Devil's servant. This man," he pointed at Sancho,
"refused to join us. His faith has twisted his mind."

	The priest looked at Nicholas, then at Sancho. He motioned to Sancho,
his hands trembling but maintaining a death-grip on the crucifix.

	"You may go. God be with you." He hastily sketched a blessing in the air
toward Sancho, who shook his head, looked dazedly at the priest, then at
Nicholas. Crossing himself, he took a few hesitant steps toward the door,
then when the soldiers made no move to grab him, he ran.

	The priest turned back to the yellow eyed demon and his tall silent
companion, and gaped at them. One of the remaining soldiers picked up the
pot of blood they had used to anoint the door and hurled it at Nicholas
and Lacroix, who had moved to stand beside his son. The clay vessel
sailed between them, both of them ducking gracefully to avoid being hit,
and it shattered against the wall behind them, bathing the stone in a
mixture of holy water and lamb's blood.=20

	An overpowering reek struck Lacroix with the force of a physical blow as
the scent of the sanctified blood roiled over him. The vampire in him
rose at the assault to his senses, and he let it, rejoicing in its
release. Eyes blazing molten gold, fangs extended and bared, he
straightened and snarled at the terrified humans. Nicholas had
straightened beside him and was echoing his challenge with equal
ferocity. Shoulder to shoulder they stood, a fearsome brace of once-human
predators, ready to rend to pieces any who dared to oppose them.


	Father Salzillo was torn between terror and exaltation, as he beheld the
unholy things raging in front of him. They began to move, seeking a way
past the protection of his crucifix. Here, beyond a shadow of a doubt,
was true evil. Here were Satan's creatures, snarling menace at him from
the visages of beasts. With the eyes and teeth of wolves indeed, he
realized, thinking of the rag seller.

	Here, perhaps, was his own absolution for playing his part in conveying
so many innocents to their deaths in order to please his masters and
ensure his own wealth and safety. Surely God had sent these demons to him
to offer him a chance to prove himself worthy of Heaven. Though every
sense in his body told him to flee, he stood and reached out to grasp the
arm of the soldier nearest him.

	"Bring oil, and fire," he ordered the gaping, unmoving man. He shook him
fiercely. The soldier tore his eyes away from the hellish pair and looked
at Salzillo, eyes glazed with fear. Salzillo shook him again. "Go! Bring
oil, and fire! Go, quickly!" The soldier ran. Father Salzillo took a deep
breath and thrust the crucifix toward the snarling demons, who flinched
backward. He breathed a prayer of thanks to his father, Bishop Salzillo,
for his gift of the jeweled crucifix. His father had given it to him when
he had left the seminary for Madrid. It was a holy treasure blessed by
the Pope in Rome years ago. Encouraged by the demons' retreat, he began
to pray and advance on them.

	"In the Lord's name, I condemn thee!"


	Raging, Lacroix felt himself forced backward by the awful power in the
crucifix, bolstered by the priest's chanting. Nicholas reached out and
placed a hand on Lacroix' chest, his other hand seeking his master's arm.
Lacroix covered the hand on his chest with his own as they retreated,
struggling every step of the way to resist the blessed item's power.=20

	Lacroix' control wavered and he felt his bond to Nicholas assert itself
and reach out to connect with his son's mind, his own mounting pain and
fear flooding across their connection to mingle with Nicholas'.

	The priest continued to advance, a strange joy in his eyes, as he forced
them back, snarling, into one of the far corners of the cell.

	"The Devil's servant has no power over our Lord." The words lashed them
more cruelly than any whip, the poisonous aura of the crucifix driving
them back until they were pressed into a corner, bodies flattened against
the rough stone wall. Lacroix twisted and raged, his deadly nails
scraping futilely across the filthy stone as his instincts took over,
demanding he find some way to escape this torment.

	Three soldiers came back into the cell, one carrying a bucket in one
hand and a lit torch in the other. One of the other soldiers took the
torch from him and held it as the soldier holding the bucket reluctantly
came forward, eyes never leaving the raging creatures in the corner. He
began to splash the liquid in a wide arc around the trapped pair, and the
scent of lamp oil cut through the foul miasma, reaching the two vampires
who became riveted on his actions. The soldier flinched back, almost
splashing himself and the priest with oil when Lacroix roared at him and
cut a swath in the air with a clawed hand, coming perilously close to
snagging him by the arm. Scrambling on hands and knees, the soldier flung
himself behind the priest. The soldier who held the torch swept it
downward, almost grazing Lacroix with it before he could snatch his hand
back. The man moved forward and dipped the torch down again, touching it
to the puddle of oil. Lacroix felt Nicholas' choked protest and surge of
terror as flames sprang up, moving quickly to surround them with a
curtain of fire.


	Father Salzillo was in an ecstasy of righteousness and religious fervor
as he chanted an exorcism rite in Latin, holding the crucifix high so the
damned things trapped behind the ring of flames could see it clearly. At
bay, they snarled their protest, panicked eyes darting from the flames to
Salzillo and back to the flames again. Like the beasts in human form they
were, they turned in a frenzy, scratching at the walls without reason,
nothing more than trapped animals before the power of the Almighty. They
cringed away from the spreading flame, clutching at each other's arms,
each cravenly seeking shelter behind the body of the other.


	The fire crept toward them as the pool of oil began to spread out.
Terrible heat was beginning to scorch their skin and clothing, and
Lacroix heard Nicholas utter a moan as a burning piece of straw landed on
his neck, searing it before Lacroix could slap it away. He clutched
Nicholas to him and attempted to maneuver himself in front of his child,
offering him the only protection left that he could. Nicholas pulled at
his arms and he realized that his son was attempting to swing himself in
front of Lacroix, offering his sire what protection his own body could
provide. The heat increased, and Lacroix could see his cloak beginning to
smolder, the fur on its collar curling up and filling his nostrils with
the stench of burned hair.

	<<Lacroix, I'm burning...please, help me...> The terrified plea came
through their bond, not from Nicholas' singed lips, and Lacroix nearly
screamed, his own helplessness to do anything to save them unbearable. He
looked into Nicholas' eyes, then at the priest, heat making the man's
visage swim before his eyes. He then locked gazes with his son and firmed
his grip on the powerful arms. It was madness to face the power in the
crucifix and in the priest's words, but it was also madness to stay where
they were. He would have faced anything at that moment to get away from
the flames and buy Nicholas and himself even one more minute of life. 	'I
refuse to let us end like this,' Lacroix thought, and spoke to his son
through their blood bond.=20

	<<Nicholas, we must go through the fire. We must try to fly. Are you
with me, mon amour?> Nicholas shot a despairing look through the towering
flames at the priest, then returned his eyes to Lacroix', nodding.

	<<Always. Go!>

	They exchanged last looks of encouragement, then wrapped their arms
tightly around each other and tucked their heads down. Lacroix swept his
cloak over their heads, and they leaped, taking to the air.

	For one moment, the flames surrounded them, roaring in their ears and
licking at their clothing. Then they emerged. The priest shouted prayers
in Latin he backed away, thrusting the crucifix out toward the airborne
bodies.

	The aura of the crucifix brought them down, robbing them of the power of
flight. They crashed to the ground, smoking. Staggering to his feet,
Lacroix flung off his burning cloak and began beating out the areas of
his clothing which had caught fire. Beside him, Nicholas was frantically
doing the same, his eyes wild. Dimly, through the roaring sound of the
flames, Lacroix heard the priest order one of the soldiers to give him a
torch.

	Satisfied his clothing was not going to burst into flames, Lacroix
straightened up and swept a look around the cell. All of the soldiers had
fled, or were fleeing, but the priest remained and he advanced on them,
praying in Latin and holding the crucifix out to them.

	Lacroix went to his knees, gasping at the power that emanated from the
ornate crucifix, antithesis of his own life force. Power that vibrated in
the priest's words and echoed through his head until he thought his skull
might shatter. Words spoken in the language of his birth---stilted and
mispronounced, but even so, more devastating to him because of it.
Nicholas dropped to his knees beside Lacroix and groped for him, catching
one hand and holding it in a painfully hard grip.

	"Qui deum esse credunt, in nomine Deus, haec expellent illos
daemones..."=20

	The ringing voice continued, merciless. Lacroix struggled to rise, but
his legs would not obey him. It was all he could do not to collapse to
the floor. Nicholas' hand still gripped his, tight enough to grind the
small bones in his hand together, but any pain he might have felt from
that was drowned in the waves of agony beating him down to the floor. He
could not see it, but he could feel the crucifix right above him,
crushing him as surely as a massive boulder. Chanting rang through his
head; splinters of hot glass tearing at his soul until he was near ready
to throw himself back into the fire to escape the unbearable pain.
Opening his eyes, he looked to Nicholas and saw him writhing in torment,
as weak as his master. His son moaned and held up one feeble hand as if
to push the priest away from them somehow. Lacroix clenched his fist,
driving his nails into his palm, near insane with rage at his futility.
This mortal, this breakable morsel of flesh, was going to kill them both.
In a few more moments he would be driven back into the flames, preferring
to burn rather than stay to be shredded further by this priest and his
weapons.

	Nicholas hissed feebly up at the priest, still holding up a shaking hand
above Lacroix' head, a futile resistance to the implacable man bearing
down on them.


	Salzillo grinned in fierce triumph as he forced the demons back.
Writhing, they went; oh so slowly, but they were moving, into the
cleansing fire. Soon they would burn like torches in Hell, a small taste
of what would be their eternal lot now. They would claim no more innocent
souls, tempt no others to bow to the Devil. This was his absolution, his
opportunity to even out God's ledger-all the innocent deaths he had been
a party to balanced out by the innocent lives the destruction of these
two would save. How could he have ever doubted that God's mercy was truly
infinite?


	Beyond all thought or reason, Lacroix could bear it no longer, and he
felt Nicholas reaching the end of his endurance as well. The fire was the
only avenue of escape left from the awful words, the crushing power
blazing forth from the cross. The ancient vampire gathered the last of
his strength, marshaling his vast and terrible pride. He had not yet made
a sound, and he was determined to remain silent, even in the fire-he
would not give this unworthy opponent the satisfaction of hearing him cry
out in pain.

	He had failed them both, had betrayed his best loved child's trust in
his ability to protect him, no matter what: had delivered him to a death
he feared perhaps more than any other. Lacroix tightened his grip on
Nicholas' hand.

	"Nicholas, I'm so sorry-forgive me."

	"Lacroix..." There was infinite feeling expressed in the single word.
Nicholas reached out to touch his face before turning toward the fire.


	The priest cried out and fell backward, the crucifix tumbling from his
hand to the floor as he dropped, unconscious.

	Nicholas turned his head back from the flames, aware only that the
soul-flaying prayers had stopped, that the force pushing him inexorably
into the fire was suddenly gone. He looked up through a red haze, eyes
half blinded from burst blood vessels.=20

	Sancho stood a few feet away from him, shaking, looking down at the
fallen priest. The warden's small wooden stool was clutched in one of his
hands. Sancho looked at the stool, then at the priest, and dropped the
stool, falling back a few steps. Nicholas looked at Lacroix who was still
doubled over to the floor, chest heaving, eyes shut. He didn't know why,
but Lacroix seemed to have been hurt more seriously than Nicholas had
been, and looked to be only half-conscious. Afraid that his master might
be permanently damaged in some way, he gently shook his shoulder, calling
his name.

	His master's head snapped up and glazed yellow eyes shone into Nicholas'
without a hint of coherence in them. Lacroix snarled and scrambled to his
feet, his actions pure instinct and fury. Hissing, he lunged for the only
standing human in sight: Sancho, who stood swaying and exhausted not ten
feet away.


	Lacroix dimly felt himself being shaken and realized that the
overwhelming din and agonizing pressure were gone. Beyond rational
thought, he merely registered that an avenue of escape had somehow opened
for him and his child, and he let instinct drive him toward it. His
blood-hazed eyes registered a human standing between them and their
escape and he moved to attack, closing the ground between them and
grabbing his prey's shoulders in one smooth quicksilver motion. As he
bared his fangs to strike, though, two strong hands grabbed him by his
own shoulders and pulled him away from the mortal.

	He wheeled and began to strike for his new opponent, then pulled up
short as he recognized his bondmate.


	Nicholas leaped to intercept his master before he could pull Sancho into
a killing embrace, grabbing his shoulders and hauling him back. Lacroix
turned on him, and Nicholas braced himself for the attack, but the old
vampire paused in mid-strike. Nicholas saw sanity flood back into the
golden eyes, and felt dizzy with relief. He eased his grip on Lacroix'
shoulders and looked earnestly into his face.

	"Lacroix, no! He saved us." Lacroix pulled away, and Nicholas saw events
falling into place in the pale eyes as Lacroix fully registered what had
happened. Lacroix glanced from Nicholas to Sancho, then back to his son.
His expression was still furious, but he gave a curt nod to Nicholas,
acknowledging his words, then turned toward the door.


	Nicholas' words penetrated the blood rage controlling him and called him
back to himself. Lacroix looked into Nicholas' imploring face, then at
the swaying human, who was still looking down at the fallen priest. The
fragmented pieces of what had just transpired formed themselves into a
whole, and the elder vampire winced as he realized that Nicholas was
right. He owed his life and his son's life to a mortal. *This* mortal.=20

	Sancho had accomplished what he could not, had saved their lives. It was
a bitter draught to swallow, but Lacroix had to admit it. He moved behind
the slender man and looked over his head into Nicholas' eyes, not
trusting himself to look directly into the mortal's face.


	Nicholas caught the glare that his master was directing at him over
Sancho's head. Anger and urgency were foremost in the pale eyes, and
beneath that Nicholas could see deeply wounded pride. Dismayed, he
realized that his master would not get over this quickly, and wished he
could say something to ease Lacroix' spirit. His master was not going to
be easy to live with after this, probably for quite some time.

	Sancho put a hand out to touch Nicholas' chest, and looked up at him.
His voice was thick with emotion as he spoke.

	"You were the hand of God. He spared me through you." He hesitated,
looking into the eyes that shifted from gold to deep blue as he watched,
then continued. "I don't understand what you are. But there is God in
you." Nicholas' eyes narrowed as he listened, intent. He ignored the
furious expression coming over Lacroix' face as his elder hovered behind
Sancho. A hint of sharp eyetooth peeped out as Lacroix' upper lip began
to curl up into a snarl. Sancho continued.=20

	"There *is* God in you. Your actions were proof of that."  Something
flared in Lacroix' eyes and Nicholas flinched as his master dipped his
head sharply down, killing fangs less than an inch away from the side of
Sancho's throat. Lacroix hissed fiercely into the startled Sancho's=20
ear.

	"His actions suited his needs, and *nothing* more!"

	Sancho remained very still, unspeaking, his eyes wide. Lacroix
straightened up and backed away from him abruptly. He turned to the door
and began to walk briskly toward it, back stiff. He snapped back over his
shoulder harshly,

	"Come, Nicholas!" His link to his master was closed off tight. Nicholas,
for once, realized when to obey. He moved after Lacroix, but first
reached out to take Sancho's arms in a gentle grip. Eyes shining, he
locked gazes with Sancho, trying to convey the depth of his gratitude for
what the man had done for them, for him.

	"Thank you," he said simply, unable to think of anything adequate to let
this man know what he had given him. Sancho gave him a weary smile, and
nodded, saying,

	"Go now. Go in peace."

	Nicholas turned to his seething master and followed him out into the
corridor.


	Behind them, Sancho looked down at the priest's body. The fallen
clergyman lay unmoving on the filthy floor, one outstretched hand almost
touching the jeweled crucifix. He crossed himself, and ran from the
cell.

	He did not stop until he reached the ostlery where his horse was=20
stabled. Before night fell he was miles away from the city gates, on the
road to Barcelona.


	Lacroix stopped halfway down the corridor and waited for Nicholas to
catch up to him. He took a long, slow breath and tried to suppress his
whirling emotions. They were not safe yet, not by a long way. =20

	He desperately needed a few moments to collect his thoughts and reason
out what they should do. This entire debacle was something he fervently
wished to be done with, so he could somehow try and forget that it ever
happened. But for him to be hasty and make yet a third fatal mistake in
one day was unthinkable.=20

	His first urge, to flee to the nearest exit from the building, might not
be the wisest thing, he realized. It was still daylight out, and would be
for several more hours. Their cloaks were useless, burned rags discarded
in the hall outside the cell. The soldiers who had panicked and run away
would be returning at any moment to find the fallen priest and raise an
alarm.

	Nicholas pulled at his arm, eyes imploring him to move. Lacroix could
sense that his high-strung child was fast approaching his limit. His son
had held up well so far. Now that the mortal was safely away, though,
Nicholas was no longer distracted from his own fears. It was no surprise
for Lacroix to feel the younger vampire becoming nearly frantic with the
need to get out of this place.

	Lacroix took a deep breath, and took Nicholas' hand from his arm. He
trapped it in both of his and looked intently into the frightened,
exhausted blue eyes.

	"We can't leave yet, mon fils." He squeezed Nicholas' hand as his son's
eyes widened, incredulous, and his mouth fell open.  Lacroix shook him
lightly, cutting off the protest before it began. "It's daylight outside,
we have no protection against it. The agents of the Inquisition will be
hunting for us. We may not be able to evade them during the day." He
hesitated and tilted his head up, listening, then tightened his grip on
Nicholas' hand. 	"They would never expect us to remain here. If we go
underground, we should be able to find some unused cell or corridor to
hide in. There may even be passages to other buildings. We will stay
below for the day, and leave after night falls. The guards will have
grown complacent by then, I expect. If we do need to leave by the way we
came in, I would like to make a certain...impression on our way out."

	For a moment he thought that Nicholas was going to simply turn and bolt
for the exit, forcing Lacroix to chase him down and drag him underground
by force. His son swallowed, took a shaky breath and nodded. Then he
moved close and leaned against him, shivering lightly. =20

	Lacroix spared a quick moment to slip his arm around Nicholas'
shoulders. He closed his eyes and pressed his face for a moment into the
tumbled blonde mane, inhaling the faint scent of his son's hair
underneath the smoky reek that overlaid it. Then he turned and began to
walk down the long hallway, his senses pitched to their highest levels.
Calmer now, Nicholas paced behind him, a silent shadow at his back with
eyes of yellow foxfire.


	They moved like wraiths down long, twisting dark corridors. Listening,
the two stalked carefully along. Their keen hearing detected approaching
humans long before they were actually in sight, and by the time any
passing mortals actually reached them they had already slipped through a
doorway or flattened themselves into a dark niche.

	Lacroix strained to catch some hint, a sensation or perhaps a draft of
air carrying a scent, that would lead them to the building's cellars and
possible underground passages. At last he caught it, a hint of dank, cool
stone and old sour earth, and smiled in triumph. Finally. This place was
a maze, but the old vampire was not worried in the least about retracing
his steps if he needed to when the time came for them to leave.

	A faint shout floated down the corridor, immediately followed by several
more. Lacroix turned his head back toward the noise, lips pulling back
from his fangs in a silent snarl. The pale phosphorescence in his eyes
flared red-gold for a moment, then he turned back to Nicholas. His son
looked back at him, his own eyes smoldering like banked coals.=20

	"Come, Nicholas. Later, I promise. For now, we go to ground and stay
there until the sun dies. This way." Following his instincts, Lacroix led
his son into the dark bowels of the vast structure, to the head of a
narrow stairway leading down.=20


	The journey underground was not without its moments. It was down here
that the Inquisitors plied the most repulsive aspects of their trade,
shut off from any windows or other portals to the outside. There were
many more people down here, and for a while they played a tense one-sided
game of hide and seek with the unsuspecting jailers and wardens who were
going about their rounds of misery.=20

	Vampires who were concentrating solely on not being seen rarely were,
however, and they passed through the many rooms of pain undetected.
Subdued by what was going on around them, for once the pervasive scent of
blood held little attraction for either of them. Even Lacroix, certainly
no stranger to the art of cruelty, found himself taken aback at some of
the things they saw.  Face grim, he kept an iron grip on Nicholas, both
by the arm and through their bond. He clearly read his son's impulse to
somehow try and stop what was going on around them. Using their link, he
kept a close watch on Nicholas' thoughts, apprehensive that his woefully
softhearted child might choose this as another moment to put on a
performance commensurate with the one he had played in the cell earlier.=20

	Lacroix did not feel any urge to stop what was going on, but as he made
his way through the chambers, observing, the cold distaste he carried in
his heart for humankind and their ways distilled and hardened permanently
just a little bit more.

	And this was something Nicholas still regretted leaving behind, the old
vampire mused, his membership in the brotherhood of humanity. For his own
part, Lacroix was perhaps never more satisfied to bear in mind that he
was not human anymore. At least he and his kind killed to survive, and
one at a time. This was simply a waste, and nothing more.=20


	They passed through the occupied area and turned into a corridor that
was cluttered with chunks of debris, old fragments of human bone, and
several collapsed portions of the ceiling. Evidently the structural
integrity of this portion of the old cellars and passageways was unsafe
enough to have caused it to be abandoned. It was as welcome as nightfall
to Lacroix, though, and he quickly led Nicholas down the abandoned
passage. It was too close to the torture pits for comfort; he could still
smell the stench of blood and seared flesh, and he felt Nicholas flinch
as a bright, sharp scream echoed down the hallway. But in this case, they
were beggars, not choosers and Lacroix felt sure that this was the best
place for them to stay. None of their pursuers would be likely to imagine
that an escaped pair of prisoners would descend into the Inquisition's
torture chambers and hide there voluntarily. They would be searched for
above and in the streets outside, not down here.

	They came to an open doorway, its wooden door, dark with age, half
sprung from its hinges. Cautious as a wolf inspecting a deadfall trap,
Lacroix paused in the doorway's opening, head cocked and listening. He
heard nothing, no heartbeats, no rustle of movement. =20

	The two vampires moved into the abandoned room, eyes adjusting to see in
the faint glimmers of light reflected down the corridor outside.

	Water had seeped through a crack in one of the walls and formed a small
pool in one corner. Nicholas squatted down next to the pool, tore a piece
from his shirt and wet it in the gritty water. Lacroix circled the room,
looking for the least damp and clammy area. Finding it, he lowered
himself to sit tailor-fashion and began to ruefully explore the smarting
areas of seared skin on his face and neck with his fingertips. He hissed
lightly as he came to a deep burn above his collarbone, and left off with
his self-inspection. The burns were painful, but nothing that a good meal
this evening wouldn't remedy.=20

	Nicholas carefully sat down next to Lacroix and submitted patiently to a
similar inspection from his master as the elder vampire satisfied himself
that his son was no worse off than he was. Scorched, but nothing really
damaging. Sighing, Lacroix took his hands away from Nicholas' face and
folded them carefully in his lap. Now they simply had to wait.=20

	Almost hesitantly, Nicholas reached out to Lacroix and began to dab at
his face with the soaked rag, his touch gentle, washing away some of the
ash and dried blood sweat. Lacroix allowed it, closing his eyes with a
sigh. The pool had looked silty enough for him to know that this was
probably making his face dirtier, but the cool touch of water on his skin
felt good. Opening his eyes, he reached out, took the rag from Nicholas
and began to swab some of the soot away from his son's face. Nicholas'
gaze caught his eye. His hand faltered for a moment, then he resumed
stroking Nicholas' face with the rag, staring into the reflective blue
eyes.=20

	Lacroix wanted to speak but he did not quite know what he wanted to say.
His level gaze bright with emotion, Nicholas looked as if he too wished
to say something but was also unable to find the words. They sat in
silence and studied each other.=20

	Both of them had seen the other's imminent death back in the reeking
cell. It was perhaps rank cowardice, but Lacroix admitted to himself that
in one small, selfish corner of his mind he had been glad to think they
would perish together. He had been alone for far too long before finding
Nicholas; the young Crusader filled a void in his spirit none of his
other children or companions ever had. If Nicholas were to be destroyed
now...Afraid to follow that train of thought any further, Lacroix shifted
his gaze and broke the trancelike stare. He kept his connection to his
son carefully closed, ignoring Nicholas' bewilderment that he was doing
so. It was too much, he could not bear to let Nicholas read any deeper
into his soul than he already had today.=20

	The cloth dropped from Lacroix' hand, unnoticed. The elder vampire
closed his eyes again and sought to turn his attention inward. Reaction
to all that had occurred was finally catching up with him, and he folded
his arms to hide his hands when he realized they were shaking.

	So much had happened to them since the last sundown. Had it really been
just the previous night that he and Nicholas had been strolling along,
intently debating the merits of a violinist they had heard perform
earlier that evening?  Halting their discussion when they heard the
drunken hooting and catcalls of the intoxicated band of cavaliers and
smiling at each other, hungry and golden-eyed, before slowly turning to
face their unexpected bounty?  When he had still been quite confident of
his own ability to keep himself and his child from any danger? =20

	The unaccustomed taste of humiliation rose uneasily in his throat and
sat there, burning. So many mistakes he'd made this day. Ignoring the
danger of a mortal who had become aware of their true nature, and leaving
him alive. Being so sure that any cell the mortals locked them up in
would be easily escaped from. Allowing them to be brought into the
headquarters of the Inquisition to be nearly destroyed by one lone
priest. And the last, least bearable thing of all: not only had he been
helpless to save them, but they had been saved by a mortal. A mortal that
he had mocked and dismissed.=20

	Yes, Nicholas' little show had intensified their danger and made it more
immediate, but blaming him for being a sentimental idiot over certain
mortals was like railing at a stream for flowing downhill. By now he
should expect things like that from his son. Were it not for his own bad
judgment they would never have been here in the first place.=20

	"Lacroix."=20

	Nicholas' voice broke in on his bitter reverie, and he opened ice blue
eyes to look his son in the face, wary. Was this where Nicholas was going
to begin blaming him outright for what had happened to them? Nicholas
took one of Lacroix' hands, picked up the damp rag from where Lacroix had
let it fall and began to carefully stroke his hand with it. He looked up
into his sire's guarded eyes. "Lacroix, what happened--we really didn't
have any choice, you know. We had to go with them. Those soldiers would
have filled us with crossbow bolts until we looked like hedgehogs. They
would have had us for sure, then. It was a string of bad luck that you
couldn't have foreseen." Lacroix snorted and half-turned his face away
from his protege, not believing that Nicholas was being this perceptive
or this understanding.=20

	"I do not believe in luck, Nicholas, good or bad."=20

	"I do." Lacroix turned his head to peer intently at Nicholas, searching
for any hint of mockery. Nicholas gave him a tired grin, and said, "We're
here, aren't we?"

	The tension in Lacroix' chest loosened, and he shook his head, smiling.=20

	"Yes. We are still here." As he spoke the words, he realized how
thankful he was that they were true and he reached out to draw Nicholas
into his arms. Nicholas slid his arms around his neck, kissed him on the
mouth then buried his face in Lacroix' neck. The old vampire moved to
bring his son to him, embracing him, suddenly needing the close contact
badly. Nicholas shifted, turned and got comfortable, positioning himself
much as he had the previous night on the roof, his back against his
master's stomach. He pulled the other man's arms around him like he would
a warm coat, laid his head back against the broad chest and was still.=20

	For a while they sat in silence, then Nicholas spoke, his voice faint.

	"Lacroix. Are we...are we damned?" At the noise of disgust Lacroix made
deep in his throat, Nicholas lifted his head and hastened to explain.
"No, Lacroix, I'm serious. If we're not damned, if we're not evil by our
very nature, then why do things like that crucifix hurt us so?"

	Lacroix sighed. He really didn't feel like discussing this right now.
Later, maybe, at a fine inn over a game of chess, both of them sated from
a good hunt...but not right now. He realized that Nicholas truly needed
an answer, though. He'd pulled away and turned to face Lacroix, waiting
for him to speak. The old vampire reached down to pick up the drying rag
and examined it idly as he spoke.=20

	"Nicholas, I do not know why those things affect us the way they do, but
I suspect it has far more to do with the--energy, or magic if you will,
of mortals' belief in them." He shifted to look into Nicholas' face.
Nicholas was watching him intently, listening, his expression puzzled.=20

	Lacroix continued. "There is no such thing as good or evil. They are
simply names and nothing more. What is considered good or evil depends
entirely upon which side of the sword or the plate you happen to be on. I
imagine that a sheep considers a human to be quite evil, and I'm sure
that the unfortunate heathens in the East who encountered your
Church-sanctioned Crusaders thought you were all evil incarnate.=20

	Who was evil in our cell, Nicholas? That priest, who would have piously
sent an innocent man to a terrible death so that the Church could own a
few more acres of land, or the angel of the Devil who imperiled his own
life, and mine, I might add, so that he might be spared?  There is *far*
more to it, Nicholas, than the idea that we are simply evil and therefore
repulsed by symbols of good."

	Nicholas nodded and looked thoughtful as well as chagrined at the
reminder that he had put his sire as well as himself in danger when he
had helped Sancho. Lacroix touched his chin, and Nicholas looked up into
his eyes again. In a gentler tone, Lacroix continued,

	"It was you who inspired that overly trusting mortal to return and help
us. If it were not for your words, he would never have returned as he
did. Of course," he eyed Nicholas for an instant, and Nicholas tensed,
looking guilty again, "it would have considerably helped the situation if
you had kept yourself...to yourself, mon fils. I would truly appreciate
some warning before you do anything that asinine again. It was a mistake
to leave the man alive, but--"  he added hastily as Nicholas' eyes met
his, "I concede your point about that. I consider our debt to him paid,
however." He shrugged. "Small matter, we are leaving this garbage strewn
Spanish midden as soon as we quit this hellhole." Lacroix hesitated, then
added, "You did well today, mon amour."=20

	He smiled affectionately at Nicholas. His son returned the smile,
looking relieved. Then a fresh series of shrieks broke out nearby and he
flinched and moved in to clutch at Lacroix, tucking his head in against
the elder vampire's throat, trembling.

	"Lacroix, I'm sorry. I cannot listen to this all day.  I'm sorry, I just
can't. Please, can we leave now?" =20

	Lacroix lightly pressed his son's head to him with one long pale hand,
stroking the golden hair as he did.=20

	"Shh, my Nicholas. You don't have to listen to it. Sleep.  I'll stay
awake and keep watch. Such things don't bother me any more."  He drew
Nicholas in close against his chest, settled his back against the clammy
stone wall and cradled the other vampire in his lap, blond head tucked
under his chin. Then he gently exerted his command over his exhausted
son's psyche, coaxing him into the healing rest his body sorely needed.=20

	Nicholas fell asleep within moments, his breath a cool even whisper
across Lacroix' hand. His ancient sire stared into the shadows, chin
resting on the sleeping Nicholas' head and spoke quietly.

	"Though I confess, at times I wish they still did." =20




finis


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