Spirits Colliding

PROLOGUE

In need of a sharp instrument, Nick removed the small sword-shaped pin attached to LaCroix's collar. The elder vampire stirred slightly. The ever-present bond between him and Nick was weak, but LaCroix still could sense his son's presence as he drifted in and out of consciousness. *"C'est moi. Nicholas,"* Nick whispered softly, hoping to offer some reassurance to the stricken vampire. *"Soyez tranquille."* Cursing himself and his existence, Nick used the dull edge of the pin to trace an uneven line along the path of a vein on his inner arm, cutting deeper with each repeated incision. He didn't remember this hurting as badly in the past as it did now, but fleetingly chalked up sensitivity to pain as another concession he had made to his quest for mortality.
When he finally had cut deep enough to produce a steady trickle of blood, he gingerly held his wrist above LaCroix's mouth, allowing a few drops of blood to fall to the pale lips. The taste of fresh blood stimulated LaCroix's instinct to feed and, regaining consciousness, he grabbed Nick's arm in a vise-like grip and held it savagely to his mouth. As he drank from the open wound, Nick felt himself growing progressively weaker.
"Enough, LaCroix!" Nick winced as he felt the sting of LaCroix's fangs digging deeper into his inner wrist. When Nick had arrived at the radio station, the elder vampire was lying on the floor of his broadcast booth close to death, a wooden stake protruding grotesquely from the center of his chest. On closer inspection, Nick found the skin had bonded to the wood, and although he had pulled it out as swiftly as he could, LaCroix's scream still echoed in his memory. The blood LaCroix had lost had been reabsorbed by his system, but without a fresh supply, his body could not complete the healing process.
"LaCroix, please!" he pleaded. Nick's restricted blood intake forced him to function on less than capacity, and LaCroix's hunger had drained him to a critical level. His diminished blood supply also left him weaker than most of his kind, which, combined with LaCroix's insatiable hunger, caused his head to swim. Afraid he would lose consciousness, he jerked his arm out of LaCroix's grasp, shredding the skin at the puncture sites. He stumbled backward into the chair at the control console and held his injured arm tightly to his chest. Closing his eyes, Nick fought valiantly to keep from passing out. He took several deep breaths, hoping the oxygen rush would clear his head as he watched LaCroix's still body for some sign of life. Within a matter of minutes, he could feel the inexplicable bond between them grow stronger, and he knew his master would survive.
"C'mon Nat," he said to himself, as if willing her to be there would make it so. Since there was no blood at the radio station, he had called Natalie and asked her to bring some from his supply. His need for blood now was almost as urgent as his mentor's. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally heard a movement in the hall.
"Nick?" Natalie called, proceeding cautiously down the dimly lit hallway, two bottles of cow's blood and her ever-present doctor's bag firmly in her grasp. She wasn't sure what had happened, but had responded to the note of urgency in Nick's voice when he had called. Ever since their meeting four years ago, she often found herself on the receiving end of such urgent phone calls, and had begun to include bottled cow's blood as part of her triage kit.
Nick's head snapped up, alert to the sound of her voice, his hunting instincts surfacing at the arrival of potential prey. He fought to suppress 800 years of learned response. "In here," he called, noticing his voice becoming more ragged, the vampire within him fighting for dominance. When he looked up at her in the doorway, his eyes already had changed to a luminescent gold and he felt his fangs slip into place. A small, frightened sound escaped from Natalie at the sight of Nick holding his arm tightly against his chest, struggling to remain in control. She looked at the floor and, in the shadow of the control room, saw LaCroix's body move ever so slightly.
Nat moved tentatively toward Nick, who had turned his back to her when he realized he had frightened her. He jumped involuntarily at the touch of her hand on his shoulder. Still he remained turned away from her. "Just leave the blood," he said, sounding a little more like himself. She hesitated, then focused on the gaping wound in LaCroix's chest.
"Nick, what happened? Did you. . .?" The idea that Nick had done this was too incredible to believe. Although he refused to acknowledge it, she knew Nick's feelings toward LaCroix had mellowed recently, and the two vampires had reached an uneasy truce in their age-old battle.
Nick turned suddenly. "Please, just leave the blood and get out. It's too dangerous for you here." He had regained his precarious control, but wasn't sure what would happen if LaCroix realized there was a human being in the same room with them. Even at his weakest, LaCroix could be a formidable opponent, and Nick knew he didn't have enough strength to protect Natalie if LaCroix's hunger clouded his judgment.
Undaunted, Natalie quickly uncorked a bottle and knelt beside LaCroix. He drank ravenously and, once the hunger had subsided, slipped into a healing sleep. Nat decided to examine the open wound and, grabbing her bag, searched for forceps and a roll of gauze. As there was very little blood, it didn't take long for her to clean the area. From the location and depth, she assumed it had been made from a wooden implement, so she delicately probed the hole in LaCroix's chest to ensure a stray splinter had not been left behind. Doubts gnawed at her subconscious. There was something wrong with the entire situation, but she couldn't put her finger on it. "Isn't there a light switch in here?" she asked no one in particular. "It's kind of hard to see anything." She continued her work, but noticed Nick had not answered her. "Nick?"
She rose quickly from the floor and turned to assess Nick's state of health. His left arm rested unmoving on the console, still bleeding slightly, and his head hung weakly on his chest. Although she remained uncertain about the recent course of events, it was obvious Nick also needed a fresh supply of blood. Uncorking the other bottle, she handed it to him. His senses quickly registered the scent, and he brusquely took the bottle from her. He savored the taste as the blood collected in his mouth and, when he swallowed, he could feel it course through his body, granting renewed strength. He drained half of the bottle before stopping to take a breath. The taste was intoxicating, almost sensual. He lightly brushed his lips with his fingertips while the flavor lingered in his mouth, lost for the moment in pure euphoria. He looked uncertainly at Natalie, expecting her to reprimand him for his actions. Instead, she watched quietly as her friend struggled with his divided existence.
"Okay?" she asked, hoping the fresh blood would allow him to keep the vampire in check. Still holding the bottle, he wiped his mouth with the back of his uninjured hand and nodded. Deciding it was safe to approach him, Natalie turned his left wrist over and looked at the gaping wound, which had started to bruise around the edges. The ragged puncture wounds told her all she needed to know. She realized now what had transpired between Nick and LaCroix, but chose not to acknowledge it. Nick was grateful for her discretion. He constantly struggled to separate the brutal side of his Nature from his relationship with Natalie, but could do nothing about the remorse he felt when the two worlds collided. "Let me wrap that for you," she said, reaching again for her bag.
"It's not necessary, Nat," Nick said truthfully. The wound would heal quickly now that his blood supply had been replenished and, due to his vampire's immune system, he didn't run the risk of infection. However, it seemed to make her feel useful, and he had to admit he enjoyed the idea of someone fussing over him.
Natalie cleaned his arm, wrapping it in her best medical manner and then, taking Nick's chin in her hand, raised his head to look at her. She searched his eyes for a moment, as much to reassure herself as to help him. "Can you tell me what happened?"
Nick took another drink from the half-empty bottle, sighed, and looked once more at LaCroix. Since the day when LaCroix had brought Nicholas deBrabant into the vampire community and called him his "child," their relationship had been a roller coaster of love, hate, companionship, and alienation. Now, finally, after eight centuries of sparring, they had settled into a tenuous friendship. "He came to me a few days ago," Nick started. "Something about being hunted. . .I dismissed it as paranoia." He half-smiled. "You don't live for as long as LaCroix has and not make a few enemies." He rose from the chair and walked to where LaCroix lay on the floor, sleeping peacefully, the chest wound slowly healing. He turned toward Natalie, who was waiting patiently for Nick to come to terms with what happened. "When I woke up this evening, I felt. . .," he shook his head, searching for the right words. "I *knew* something had happened to him. I got here as quickly as I could, and found him like this." He looked at LaCroix with more tenderness than he ever would admit feeling.
Nat still could not shake the feeling that something was wrong here. "So you don't know who did this, or why?" she asked, as she stood beside him gently touching his arm and watching LaCroix.
"I could take an educated guess," Nick answered.
"Another vampire?"
Nick shrugged. "I honestly don't know. None of this makes sense, does it?" His face tightened, perplexed. "I guess I should've taken him seriously. Perhaps I could've prevented this."
Natalie rubbed her face with her free hand. She never had understood the twisted love/hate relationship Nick shared with LaCroix. She couldn't keep track of the number of times Nick had vowed to kill LaCroix, or the number of times he had attempted it, without much success.
"Why do you do this?" she asked, hoping to understand their complex relationship.
"What do you mean?"
"How many times have you tried to kill him in the past, Nick? And now, when there's a chance he may die, you give him your own blood to save his life."
"I couldn't let him go, Nat," he answered, certain she did not understand what losing LaCroix would mean, how losing the bond to his master would affect him.
"No, I guess not, it's just that. . ."
"I'd finally be rid of him," he finished her thought.
"Yeah," Natalie agreed.
"Nat, when this happened, I had a very disturbing sensation I'd never felt before." He began pacing nervously. "I can't explain it, but I knew he was dying, and it was as if a part of me were dying too. It was. . .," he struggled to understand his human emotions. "I felt so alone. Not lonely. . .but utterly alone. It scared me, Nat. I had to do something, for my own sake as much as his." Nick looked at his bandaged wrist and back to Natalie. "I'd like to think I would've done as much for anyone else."
Natalie smiled at his sincerity. This was the side of him that drew her to him. At times he seemed almost childlike, learning to sort out his redeveloping emotions, trying to separate the conflicting signals he received from his heart and his mind. She also realized that following his heart often landed him in these predicaments.
"Oh well," he sighed, "at least he didn't enjoy it!"
Nat raised an eyebrow in Nick's direction. "Come again?"
"Cow's blood," he reminded her. "I imagine about 90% of my blood tastes like cow."
Natalie managed a smile. "Oh, he'll never forgive you for that!" she chuckled.
Nick bent down and gently lifted LaCroix's limp body in his arms. "I'll take care of him from here." He looked at Natalie apologetically. "I'm sorry I got you involved in all of this." It wasn't much of an apology, but it was genuine.
Natalie glanced around nervously. "I'm sort of getting used to this." Nick smiled in agreement. "Are you sure you don't need my help? I--"
"It'll be okay, Nat," he cut her off in mid-sentence. "I'm used to this too."
Immediately Natalie understood the implications of his statement, and wondered how many times this had happened in the past. "Yeah," she agreed, closing her medical bag. She laid one hand on his forearm that cradled LaCroix and looked up into his eyes. "Let me know if you need anything."
Nick smiled and, for the millionth time, thanked whatever gods-that-be for Natalie's understanding and patience.
Nick awoke early the next evening. He barely had slept at all during the day but, swinging his legs over the edge of the couch, he pulled himself into an upright position. He unwrapped the bandage Natalie had applied the night before, and was pleased to find all that remained of his injury was a thin pink scar. He could feel the sun still hanging low in the sky, and raised the blinds just enough to allow a few inches of sunshine to illuminate the floor. The light was soft enough not to bother his eyes, and he watched as the gentle radiance inched its way back into the darkness that was his existence. He also sensed LaCroix was close by, asleep in the bed where he had left him that morning. Nick let his head fall backwards, stretching his neck, trying to resist what his body was telling him. After the events of last evening, his need for blood was more intense than usual. Mildly disgusted with himself, he tossed off the blanket which had partially fallen to the floor, and scuffled to the refrigerator.
As he uncorked the cold bottled blood, in the back of his mind he could hear Nat's voice telling him not to, that it was the blood which kept him from regaining his mortality. The vampire in him told him Natalie was wrong, that she didn't understand the incessant need for blood was as natural to him as breathing was to her. It wasn't an addiction--it was a necessity. He looked longingly at the bottle in his hand, the rich scent and color teasing his senses, daring him to give into the hunger. Once again, the vampire was victorious as, unable to resist, Nick slowly brought the bottle to his mouth. Suddenly the phone rang, jarring him out of his reverie. He looked at the phone and then back to his breakfast, trying to decide which was more important. He took a quick drink to steady himself, then picked up the phone.
"Knight," he answered in his usual manner.
"Nick?" He was pleasantly surprised to hear Natalie's voice. "How are *things*?" she asked somewhat conspiratorially.
"I was just thinking about you," Nick said truthfully, eyeing the bottle in his hand and wondering if Nat had a sixth sense.
It was Natalie's turn to be pleasantly surprised. Their relationship was often difficult at best. For four years they had struggled through the delicate cycles of friendship and romance, every phase constantly overshadowed by the specter of Nick's divided existence. Every touch, every moment of happiness they shared, only were reminders of what they could not have. For now, she had to take comfort in the knowledge that she was on his mind. "Is everything okay?"
Nick looked toward his closed bedroom door. "Yeah, so far, so good. I think he's still asleep. Where are you?"
Nat hurriedly recorded the weight of an organ she had extracted from a cadaver and changed the phone to her other shoulder. "I'm at work. Had a nasty explosion today at a chemical plant--I'm just trying to put the pieces back together."
Nick cringed. Hers was a particularly nasty profession. "Are you okay?" he asked. Chemical explosions meant fires and burned victims, something Nat was not inclined to handle well.
"Yeah," she answered, somewhat distracted, "just a little tired." Last night's events combined with today's emergency had taken their toll on her. "Are you planning to come to work tonight?"
As he settled back on the couch, Nick looked up at his bedroom door again, wondering what kind of shape LaCroix would be in when he awoke. "I guess not," he sighed, loathing the idea of spending another night with his nemesis. "If he's still not well, he may need my help."
Natalie paled as she remembered the sight of Nick's wrist. "Just don't be too helpful, okay?" she cautioned, concerned about LaCroix's hold over his protigi.
Nick understood Nat's apprehension. "Don't worry, I can always order out." His smile traveled over the phone, making Natalie smile, too.
"Nick, I've been thinking a lot about last night," Nat began, changing the phone back to her other shoulder and sitting behind her desk.
Nick braced himself, still uneasy about her involvement in last night's affair. "Nat, it's over, can't we just--"
"No, no," she interrupted, "it's not that. It's. . .," she looked around to make sure she was alone. "It's LaCroix's chest wound."
Nick thought for a second and shrugged. "From the stake," he said.
"Yeah," she half whispered into the phone. "Nick, I got a good look at it before it healed." She paused, uncertain what effect her next statement would have on her friend. "I think it was self-inflicted."
Nick sat upright and had to catch the bottle of blood to keep it from slipping from his grasp. "*What*?"
She knew she would have to do some fast explaining before he tried to dismiss her theory. "I kept thinking about it all morning, Nick--the angle and location of the wound. . ." She knew Nick had seen enough suicides by various means to know what to look for in self-inflicted wounds.
Scenes from the previous night flashed through his memory. The wooden stake rising out of LaCroix's chest, and his deathly pallor made him shiver. No vampire of LaCroix's stature would cause himself that much harm. *No,* he decided, *she had to be wrong.* However, the scene haunted him. There had been no signs of a struggle, nor any evidence suggesting anyone else had been in the control booth with LaCroix.
"Nick?" Nat asked, "Nick, are you still there?"
Nick brought himself back to the present conversation. "Nat, we're talking about Lucien LaCroix, remember? The Eternal Vampire! Why would he want to kill himself--especially like that? There are easier, less painful ways."
Natalie suspected Nick had, on more than one occasion, considered the different ways a vampire could commit suicide. "You tell me, Nick," she demanded, being deliberately obtuse. "I can't begin to fathom what goes on in your head sometimes--I won't even guess at LaCroix's!" She would leave him to draw his own conclusions. "But I can tell you that the stake went straight in, and I doubt that it hit his heart."
Nick took a long drink from the bottle and tried to think clearly. He was convinced this had not been a suicide attempt. For the better part of 2000 years, LaCroix had led a self-assured, privileged life of status and power, never hampered by remorse or guilt, and only occasionally touched by regret. He harbored an intellectual, if cynical, interest in everything; it was this emotional detachment that allowed him to survive even the most tumultuous events of history unscathed. No matter what the contest, LaCroix was not one to give up easily. On some level Nick envied his tenacity, even when it encroached on his own life.
Nick's thoughts returned to LaCroix's chest wound. If the injury had been done by an intruder, there would have been an angle to the entrance wound, and some sign of a struggle. Yet Nat was convinced the stake had gone straight in, and nothing seemed out of place in the studio. Deep within, Nick began to suspect she was right, that this was another page in LaCroix's book of manipulation.
Natalie looked up as her lab assistant wheeled in the next body. She sighed at the thought of dissecting yet another badly burned body, unsure of how much more of this carnage she could handle. "Nick, I've got to go. What are you going to do?"
Nick rubbed his eyes with his free hand. If he remembered correctly, this was what a headache felt like. "I don't know, Nat. This is all too unreal." *But what wasn't when it involved LaCroix,* he thought.
Nat put the phone back in her right hand, and propped her elbow on the desk. "Whatever you do, be careful, please?" She knew that even with the best intentions, Nick had the potential to do himself more harm than good.
"Yeah," he agreed absently, "I'll call you later." He turned the phone off and laid it in the cradle on the table behind him.
He turned sideways on the couch to stretch out his legs, then brought his knees up to his chin. The bottle of blood dangled loosely in his hand as he tried to make sense of LaCroix's new game. Lost in his thoughts, he suddenly felt his master's cold stare penetrate his consciousness.
"Good evening, Nicholas." LaCroix, holding the handrail, had stopped halfway down the stairs, to watch his son. "Thinking good thoughts, are we?"
Nick refused to turn around and acknowledge his presence. Feeling like the butt of some twisted joke, he was uncertain how to address the apparent attempt on LaCroix's life. "LaCroix," was all he could manage as a response.
A cloud of animosity hung heavily over the couch where Nick sat, but LaCroix chose to ignore it. "Yes, I'm feeling much better tonight, thank you," he replied to the question Nick had not asked. He walked down the last few steps to Nick's living room, and stood between the couch and fireplace. "I owe you a debt of gratitude."
Nick looked up at LaCroix, taking note of the smugness that accompanied the gratitude. "You owe me nothing," he replied, wishing his ancient mentor would leave him to his solitude. Looking away again, he took a long drink of the cold blood and then rested his head on his knees. This was definitely a headache.
LaCroix, as usual, was not to be ignored. "You saved my life, Nicholas. I am very grateful for your assistance. What can I do to pay you back?" Insincerity dripped from every pore of his undead body.
Nick looked up at him, taking the bait. "You could go to hell," he said, with false hope.
"So much sarcasm, and the night is still young!" LaCroix sat gracefully in a chair, facing Nick. He decided to pursue this game of cat and mouse with his favorite creation; Nicholas could be so entertaining at times. "If you despise me so much, why didn't you let me die last night."
"A momentary lapse of reason," Nick answered, getting up from the couch and walking away from LaCroix.
With inhuman speed, LaCroix moved in front of Nick, blocking his way. "*Never* turn your back on me, Nicholas. It is far too dangerous, even for you!" His anger was almost palpable.
Nick stopped short in front of the vampire, but stood his ground. "Get out of my way," he raged, half under his breath.
In a show of magnanimity, LaCroix moved aside, happy to have elicited such an angry response from his pupil. He walked back to the chair where he had been sitting. "You know, Nicholas, I thought you would at least inquire about my health, if out of nothing more than simple courtesy."
Nick placed the cork in the bottle of blood and set it in the refrigerator. He closed the door and, without looking back asked, "what kind of sick game are you playing now, LaCroix?"
"Why, whatever do you mean?" LaCroix casually inspected the nails on his left hand and then folded his hands in his lap, smiling at Nick.
"I know what happened last night." Nick paused, waiting for a response that didn't come. "No one has been following you and certainly no one attacked you." He turned to face his antagonist. "There was no sign of any struggle and you're too strong to be overcome so easily." LaCroix waited. "You. . .," the thought sickened him, "you staked yourself. Do you take me for a fool? Did you think I wouldn't have figured it out eventually?"
LaCroix smiled to himself, delighted his plan had come together as expected. "It was unfortunate your little coroner friend arrived when she did," he lied. "It might have taken you a little longer to put the pieces together. You used to be much brighter, Nicholas."
Nick could feel his head begin to throb. LaCroix hadn't even bothered to deny it! This whole charade had become too much to endure. He held his hands to his temples, as if the pressure would diffuse the pain. "*How dare you use me like this*?"
"Spare me the melodramatics," LaCroix sneered.
Nick pulled up the sleeve of his sweatshirt to reveal the fading scar. "You drank my blood!"
LaCroix's face twisted in indignation. "Please--I can still taste that bovine swill."
His arrogance was too much. Nick grabbed the edge of the table behind the couch with both hands and leaned forward in LaCroix's direction. "And if I had not come, then what, LaCroix?" He didn't wait for a reply. "You would've died."
"I knew you would come."
"If you knew, why go to all this trouble?"
"I wanted *you* to know you would come."
Nick could feel what little blood he had drain from his face. At that moment he understood the ramifications of LaCroix's latest scheme. "Get out!" he ordered menacingly. "Get out before I kill you."
LaCroix smiled in amusement at Nick's empty threat. "Perhaps you're much brighter than I give you credit for." He looked at the skylight and, in a flash of speed, disappeared into the night sky.

With his head still pounding from his confrontation with LaCroix, Nick hurriedly dressed for work. He needed to concentrate on something else, and hoped work would provide a distraction. He was about to holster his gun when the phone rang. He planned to see Natalie later, he thought tiredly, and anyone else could just leave a message. "Nick, it's Tracy." He took a deep breath and listened. "It's kind of quiet around here tonight. But. . .the paperwork is piling up again, and Captain Reese wants the report on the Snyder case yesterday, so I'm off to ballistics to do some research. If you need me, you have the number. See ya." Relieved that he would be working alone tonight, Nick pocketed his keys and headed toward the elevator door. Dealing with his perky partner was challenging enough on the best of nights; tonight it would have been next to impossible. Paperwork was just the therapy he needed.
The Cadillac's engine turned over smoothly, the radio coming on with the ignition. "*Bonsoir, mes amis.*" LaCroix's voice came in clearly over the AM band. Nick reached over and switched off the radio before he backed out of the garage. LaCroix's nightly discourse was the last thing he needed to hear.
"Tonight's subject is deception, how we deceive each other and how we deceive ourselves," LaCroix's voice continued. Nick reached over and checked the on/off control. He was certain he had turned it off. "Deception is an ancient art, is it not? Cleopatra deceived Caesar, Caesar deceived Rome, and Marc Antony deceived himself. Self-deception runs rampant among us. We lie to ourselves that we are omniscient, omnipotent. That our lives are our own, that we govern our own destinies, never realizing that our fate lies in unseen hands--the hands of those who are truly powerful, whose strength comes through ultimate control." His voice seemed to be coming from everywhere. "Have we practiced deception for so long that we no longer understand the truth? And when does the deception end? When we can no longer live with our half-truths and lies? When we finally understand the reality of our existence?"
Nick pounded the steering wheel in frustration. *Leave me alone,* his mind screamed at LaCroix's mental intrusion.
"And what is reality?" LaCroix's voice asked before fading away. Nick took a deep breath and looked around. His mind listened again. . .nothing. The voice was gone. He pulled himself together, put the Caddy in gear, and drove the few miles to work in blessed silence.
Arriving at the precinct, he signed himself in on the duty roster and made his way to his desk, which was piled high with case files in various stages of completion. The fluorescent lights in the office seemed unusually bright tonight, irritating his sensitive retinas. He draped his coat on the hook behind his desk, resisting the urge to put on his sunglasses. The last thing he wanted to do was draw attention to himself.
"Knight!" The familiar voice of Captain Reese called to him from across the room. Nick was squinting against the light, as his commanding officer came over to give him the evening's assignments and tossed another folder on Nick's desk. "I want the Snyder paperwork tonight, Nick. No more excuses, okay?"
Nick winced at the idea of yet more paperwork, but resigned himself to the task. "Will do, Captain," he promised, closing his eyes against the increasingly brilliant light.
Reese immediately noticed something was wrong. "You okay, Nick?" He never could tell. It seemed to him Nick's complexion could not get much paler, and the guarded edginess never seemed to leave him. Although Nick was one of the best detectives he had ever worked with, there always seemed to be a self-imposed barrier between him and the rest of the world that Reese could not get around.
Nick laughed nervously. "Yeah," he replied, rubbing his eyes. "Did they change the lights in here or something, Captain?"
"Eh, they're always fixing something around here." Reese looked doubtfully around the office, wondering if Nick's allergy to the sun also applied to bright lights. He didn't notice any change in light levels, but he could tell Nick did. Reese watched as Nick began to grope blindly for his sunglasses inside the breast pocket of his overcoat. "Let me help ya there, Nick," he offered. Taking the coat from him, Reese found the case with the sunglasses inside and handed them to Nick.
Nick squinted narrowly and tried not to appear so visibly shaken as he adjusted the sunglasses. The dark glasses were enough to diffuse the lighting but, under normal circumstances, he did not need them indoors. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was definitely wrong. First the headaches, and now this.
Reese obviously was concerned. "Better?" he asked with fatherly compassion.
Nick tried not to feel foolish in front of his superior officer. "Yeah, thanks, Captain."
Reese did not want to let his feelings for the young detective sway his decision. The paperwork still had to be done and, when it came to filling out forms, Nick's reputation for procrastination was legend. But, he knew better than to push him. "If you're not feeling well. . ."
"I'm fine," Nick declared, a little more aggressively than he had wished. "I'll get this cleaned up tonight, Captain." He needed to be here, among his mortal friends, safe in the routine of a mortal life. And he desperately needed not to be alone. Again he heard the voice in his head. "*And when does the deception end? When we can no longer live with our half-truths and lies?*"
"Okay," Reese said doubtfully. He gave Nick a reassuring pat on the back. "But if you need some aspirin or something. . ."
Nick smiled, wishing the remedy were that simple. "I'm fine. Really." Reese shook his head. The barrier had come up again.
The evening hours passed slowly. It was barely 1:00 A.M. when Nick looked up from his stack of papers. He had fought all evening to concentrate on work, while ignoring the voice in his head. But as the evening wore on, the dull ache had become a blistering pain, and he barely had made a dent in the material in front of him. Deciding a break was in order, he picked up the phone and punched in Nat's speed-dial number.
"Coroner's office," Natalie answered, before noticing the call was coming from Nick's extension. "Nick? Are you here?" She had not expected him to be at work after their conversation earlier that evening.
Nick massaged his forehead for a second, trying to do something, *anything,* to ease the pain. "Yeah. LaCroix left soon after you called. I thought it'd be better to come in and do something to keep myself busy. I'm surprised you're still here."
"Yeah, well, it seems a coroner's work is never done. Did you have a chance to talk to him?"
"Yeah." He didn't want to go into detail over the phone. "Nat, can you take a break?"
She rested her head in her free hand. It had been a long shift already and, more than anything else, she wanted to go home to her cat Sidney and a long, hot bath. But curiosity got the better of her. "Sure, come on over." The seclusion and quiet of the morgue often provided a good place for their rather peculiar discussions.
Nick hung up the phone and, grabbing his coat, hastily left the precinct office, abandoning the unfinished files scattered about his desk. More from habit than necessity, he slipped on his black overcoat as he walked out the front door into the clear, crisp night. The cold air filled his lungs as he inhaled deeply, attempting to clear his mind of the nagging discomfort that had plagued him all evening. Removing the sunglasses, he paused for a moment. He cast his gaze upward--after 800 years, the natural spectacle of the bright stars shining against the black backdrop of the night sky still fascinated him. A sudden gust of wind whipped around him. As it caressed his face, the breeze called to him, daring him to take to the air, to feel again the ecstasy of free flight. With great self-restraint, he again put on the dark glasses, and regretfully dug into his coat pocket to find his car keys.
He was about to insert the key into the door of the Caddy, when the sterling key chain caught his eye. Turning it over, he read the inscription on the reverse side of the silver tag dangling from the ring. "As is once, will always be." Reading the inscription, he felt again the twinge of longing and regret associated with memories of Janette. Tied together through LaCroix's bloodline, they had been lovers, adversaries, and friends for eight centuries; her absence left an aching void in his life, an open wound that refused to heal. The pain was made more keen by her decision to leave without a word of explanation. The small medallion cast back the soft moonlight in tiny flashes of light, and Nick wondered again where she had gone.
Driving to Natalie's office, Nick's thoughts remained with Janette. She always had been satisfied with her existence, living undaunted by the death and darkness that surrounded her. Although she could be supportive and caring, she never understood fully Nick's desire to become mortal again, or his need for atonement. "There is no such thing as a vampire cop," she had taunted him. "How will you deal with the sight of all the dead bodies? Or the hunger, when you're surrounded by pools of blood?" She had attempted to reason with him, to show him how impossible his career choice would be. "You are a child of LaCroix. A vampire. These mortal concerns are not yours." She eyed him suspiciously. "Or is this incarnation just another way to punish yourself?" He had argued that he was making an important contribution to society, that he was saving lives instead of taking them. At the time, he had been convinced his path was the right one. But now, as Nick pulled into the 'No Parking' zone outside the Coroner's Building, he wondered if Janette had been right.
Unexpectedly, LaCroix's voice whispered to him, "when do we finally understand the reality of our existence?" Sighing, Nick slumped in the driver's seat, as the throbbing in his head continued unabated.
Like a moth to the flame, LaCroix repeatedly tested his connection with Nick--pursuing him almost to the point of incineration, then violently retreating when the sparks flew as they came too close. The bond between them waxed and waned in synchronous rhythm with the distance between them. Recently they had grown closer, and Nick had hoped the most recent phase of antagonism and retaliation was behind them. He wondered why LaCroix had chosen this specific time to reassert his dominance. Knowing his creator felt the emptiness of Janette's departure as sharply as he did, he suspected LaCroix feared losing him as well. Looking up at the lighted window of Nat's lab, he remembered the one person who had renewed in him the hope of ending this tumultuous relationship. Natalie.
Nick rounded the corner to Nat's lab, and was glad to find the hallway deserted. "Hi," he said timidly, cautiously poking his head around the corner of the oversize double doors. He hoped the room was clear of corpses, since he seldom liked walking in on one of Natalie's autopsies. As Janette had predicted, the scent of fresh blood often could overwhelm him, and tonight especially was not the night to test his resolve.
Natalie had taken the time between Nick's phone call and his arrival to take a brief nap; now she groggily raised her head off her arms folded on the top of her desk. "Hi, yourself," she replied, pleased to see him looking healthier than he had the previous night.
He propped himself on the corner of her desk. "You're beautiful in the morning," he joked, meaning more than he could express.
Tilting back in her chair, Nat stretched her upper body. "How would you know?" she yawned. Was he wearing sunglasses? She tried to clear the cobwebs out of her mind. "So what happened with LaCroix?"
"He all but admitted the entire thing was a setup. A ruse. You were right." He shook his head in disgust. "He staked himself and he used me. *Again.* And I let him."
LaCroix's confession didn't surprise her, but she was dismayed at the self-loathing in Nick's voice. "Nick, this is not your fault. You did what you thought was best. You did what your heart told you to do." She gave his knee a friendly pat. He folded his arms in front of him and stared at the floor. Or at least she thought he was staring; she couldn't see his eyes. "What's with the dark glasses?"
He thought for a moment before saying anything about his recent physical problems. He didn't want to alarm Nat, but at the same time he knew something was wrong. "The lights. . .," he waved his hand at the ceiling. "They're really bothering me tonight
Natalie shifted into her doctor persona. "Want me to take a look?" she asked, while moving to turn off the overhead fluorescent lights. Her medical curiosity always got the better of her when it came to Nick's physiology, and she couldn't blame him if he felt like a lab rat at times. She rationalized her enthusiasm by claiming that any findings she reached about Nick ultimately could contribute to finding a cure, and she jumped at the chance to inspect his eyes.
Nick, however, hesitated. After four years of countless tissue samples, specialized diets, and endless blood tests, he remained uncomfortable with the vague feeling he represented nothing more than a walking research project to Natalie, even though he knew she had his best interests at heart. He took off his glasses, but winced and turned his head away from the lamp on the desk. Nat immediately reached for the switch and turned it off.
"That bad?" Natalie asked, surprised. She knew his eyes were sensitive to bright lights, but he never before had reacted this violently to normal lighting. This would present quite a problem. "Nick, I can't look at your eyes if you can't tolerate light." Then she remembered a box of candles left over from someone's birthday party. "Hold on a second." She disappeared into Grace's office and, after rummaging through the top drawer of her desk, returned with the candles and matches. Nick jumped involuntarily when she struck the match in front of his face. "Sorry," she muttered. She had forgotten his natural aversion to fire. "Is this okay?"
The soft light was somewhat better, and he followed the flame as she passed the candle in front of his face. "Look straight ahead," she ordered, as she watched his pupils contract and dilate, adjusting to the light. "As far as I can tell, Nick, your eyes are reacting normally." She didn't bother to add that it was difficult to tell anything by candlelight, and she wasn't sure exactly what constituted 'normal' for a vampire. Extinguishing the flame, she handed him the dark glasses. "Any other symptoms? she asked, switching the desk lamp on. "Headaches, dizziness, nausea?"
The pain he had felt earlier suddenly intensified, and he grabbed his head. "Nick?" Natalie tried to look at his face, but he had dropped to his knees on the floor. "Nick, what's going on?" She knelt on the floor next to him.
The pain subsided as quickly as it had come. "It's okay," he said somewhat breathlessly. "It's okay." Although the spasm had abated, the throbbing continued. He awkwardly held her arm and got back to his feet. "Headaches. I've been getting them off and on all evening."
Nat guided him to her desk chair. "What kind of headaches, Nick?" Her clinical instincts took over. "Where?"
He let his head fall backwards, desperate to try anything to stop the pounding. "It just keeps throbbing, and occasionally I get a sharp pain--mostly at my temples."
"Have you noticed any flashing lights, or loss of consciousness?"
"No."
It could be a number of things in a human, but Natalie knew Nick would object to submitting himself to the standard clinical tests that might pinpoint his illness. Besides, he would argue that vampires weren't supposed to get sick. "Nick, you've been under a great deal of tension lately and, after last night, maybe this is just stress related." She knew her explanation sounded lame, but it was the best she could offer.
"There's something else." Nick added reluctantly, hoping she wouldn't think he was going insane. "I keep hearing his voice."
"Whose voice?" she asked, already knowing the answer.
"LaCroix's."
The possibility that LaCroix would use mind control as another device to torment Nick didn't surprise Natalie. "Do you think he's behind this?" she asked innocently. "Does he have that sort of 'power'?" Nick always had been reluctant to divulge the mysteries of his adopted community, but what Natalie didn't understand was that LaCroix never had shared these secrets fully with him, either.
He shrugged his shoulders. "I honestly don't know, but I suppose it's possible." He pulled his overcoat around him. "If it is LaCroix, this is something he's never tried before."
"Oh, Nick." With a gentle sigh, Nat embraced him as he rested his head on her shoulder. When it came to dealing with LaCroix, he was completely on his own, and the only thing she could offer was comfort.

At Natalie's insistence, Nick left work early that evening but flew home instead of driving, not wanting to chance being blinded in traffic by oncoming headlights. Dawn was still a few hours away, so he called the Raven, hoping to catch LaCroix and confront him with his suspicions. Instead he reached Miklos who, with some trepidation, informed him LaCroix had taken the night off. Nick knew he was lying but left a message for LaCroix to return his call, suspecting it was a futile effort.
Nat had suggested a variety of methods to relieve the pain that no doubt would have helped a human, but Nick opted for the only remedy he could count on to work. He took a full bottle of blood from the refrigerator and quickly downed half of it, trusting his body to take advantage of the sanguineous fluid's healing properties. The headache persisted as he finished off a second and then a third bottle, still unable to stave off the pain. LaCroix's monologue finally had stopped intruding on his thoughts and, checking the clock, Nick assumed his tormentor had retired for the day. He was appreciative of the quiet, even if the pain had continued to beat at him. Making a concentrated effort to relax, Nick changed into his sweat-pants and a clean T-shirt, hoping at least to achieve a minor level of comfort.
He walked downstairs in his bare feet, resisting the urge to uncork another bottle of blood as he neared the refrigerator. His stomach had grown queasy, adding yet another dimension to his strange malady. The queasiness soon developed into nausea, like none he had ever felt before, even as a mortal. He raced to the kitchen as he began to retch, but did not make it to the sink before his evening meal came back up and landed on the tile floor. He finally reached the sink as again and again he vomited, the clotted blood collecting in a pool in the stainless steel basin.
He remained for a long while, bent over the sink gagging, but there was nothing left in his stomach to bring up. Resting his arms on the counter, he laid his forehead on the cool divider between the double basins. Collecting his strength, he tore off a long strip of paper towels and attempted to clean up the mess coagulating on the floor. His stomach was empty and the scent was reinforcing his hunger. Unable to control the blood lust, he took another bottle of blood from the shelf and drank again. The blood soothed his irritated throat, but it too did not stay in his stomach long. The cycle of feeding and regurgitation continued throughout the day and into the night. Exhaustion coupled with hunger finally took their toll, and he lost consciousness.

Natalie waited anxiously as the elevator did its slow crawl to Nick's loft on the top floor of the renovated warehouse. After his visit to her lab, she had become concerned when he had called in sick the following night, but she had forced herself to ignore the nagging suspicion that something was wrong. "Nick?" she called, taking a tentative step inside the loft. It was so dark. Much darker than usual. . .and quiet. It was the quiet that puzzled her. She had known Nick to prefer darkness over artificial lighting, but rarely did he *not* have the TV or stereo playing. He had called it background noise, but she secretly suspected he preferred the sterile companionship of electronic media to being completely alone. She folded her coat over a kitchen chair. Her unanswered phone calls had precipitated this visit and she glanced briefly at the blinking message light on his answering machine. As she walked into the kitchen, an all-too-familiar odor caught her attention; she found its source when she switched on a light over the sink. Blood had seeped into the white caulking between the blue tiles of the counter top and, although an attempt had been made to clean the sink, a bloody layer of film remained behind.
As Nat hurriedly inspected the rest of the kitchen, she noticed the red stain on the floor and began to panic. Checking her watch, she realized it was only 5:30 P.M., still too early for Nick to be outside in the waning sunlight. He had to be here, but she feared that if he were, he was badly injured. Then, she heard a suppressed cough from the far side of the loft. "Nick?" she called again, her heart starting to beat rapidly. The darkness engulfed her as she stepped into the dark living room and her imagination threatened to overtake her logic. Lighting one of the candles on the table, she gamely walked toward the sound.
An audible gasp escaped her as the candlelight illuminated the far corner of the loft beyond the staircase. Nick was sitting on the floor, leaning his head against the brick wall, with his arms wrapped around his knees, pulling them close to his chest. He didn't seem to notice her when she knelt next to him and placed the candle on the floor next to the wall. She was reaching out to touch his shoulder, when all at once his head jerked in her direction, as if she had startled him. It was then that she recognized the familiar gold cast in the vampire's eyes. He stared at her for a moment, tightening his grip around his knees as if he were trying to hold himself together, then he simply stared past her. Frightened by the change in his eyes, she quickly pulled her hand away. It appeared that he was in control, but she wisely took the precaution of moving away from him. Slowly, he turned his head back and let it rest against the adjoining wall.
Nat reached for the candle, and raised it higher to see him better. His face was extremely pale and unshaven, and he was dressed only in a T-shirt and sweat pants. She guessed that he had been like this for some time. There was something else. . .the same odd smell she had noticed in the kitchen. Dried blood had clotted at the corners of his mouth and down his chin. The front of his T-shirt was spattered with it. As far as she could tell he wasn't injured, and the absence of empty bottles meant he had not fed for some time. She shuddered, suspecting the blood was his vomit. Her mind began to race. If he couldn't keep blood in his system, he eventually would lose control, or starve to death, or both. She had to do something to keep him lucid until this crisis passed. Deciding to start with the obvious, she ran to the refrigerator and pulled a half-empty bottle from the shelf. Hastily pulling out the cork, she poured the blood into a large glass. Returning to Nick's side, she hoped the scent would get his attention. Her hopes sank when he didn't react to the stimulant.
She held the glass to his lips. "Here, Nick, try to drink this." Still there was no response. Dipping her index finger in the glass, she held it, dripping with blood, to Nick's lips. *God,* she prayed, *just don't let him bite me.* She dabbed the blood on his lips, then quickly pulled her hand away.
He was desperate to feed. The unrelenting need that constantly gnawed at his entire body, that ruled his every thought, forced him to react. Unable to resist the temptation any longer, he opened his mouth slightly, and lightly licked the blood with the tip of his tongue. Feeling that once again he had been defeated by forces he could not control, he turned his head to the wall, as if he were trying to hide from Natalie. She took some comfort in the thought that his turning away was a conscious decision. At least there remained a small part of him that she was able to reach.
"Nick, let me help you," she pleaded.
"I can't, Nat." His whispered voice was so hoarse she had trouble understanding him, but she was overjoyed that he was coherent.
"Can't what, Nick?"
"The blood. . .I can't."
She had to ask the question, but wasn't sure she wanted to hear the answer. "Nick, are you vomiting blood?"
He nodded. "Yes."
Nat's mind began to work on alternate methods of feeding him. A direct line into his stomach was out of the question, as it was his stomach that was rejecting the blood. He would need a transfusion, and soon. "Nick, I can infuse you with the red cells in your freezer. It won't go through your digestive system, and it won't make you sick." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to maintain control. He looked at her with such hopelessness that her heart cried for him. "Please let me try, Nick."
Horrified at the prospect that he might harm Natalie, he wanted her to go. But, desperate for her help, he needed her to stay. The overwhelming thirst was devastating, and, after 36 hours of insatiable hunger, feeding, and regurgitation, he knew his options for survival were few. A transfusion was his last hope. He gave her one small nod.
"Can you walk to the couch? I'll have to prop your arm on the coffee table."
The simple act of getting to his knees made his breathing difficult. She never had seen him so weak. Holding him by his arm, she pulled him to his feet. Feeling his control slipping away, Nick hurriedly freed his arm from her hands. With his eyes closed, he rested for a moment against the wall, trying to collect his strength and restrain the vampire. Natalie took a step away from him and waited for a sign--something that would permit her to get near enough to help him. When he looked up at her again, it was through the human eyes she had come to know so well. Putting her arm around his waist, she led him to the couch. Then, after pushing the coffee table against the edge of the couch, she propped his arm on a pillow. The man who she thought was indestructible suddenly appeared so fragile and frightened.
"I'll have to defrost one of your red cell packs. Just rest now," she whispered reassuringly. She retrieved one of the frozen blood packs from his freezer and put it in the microwave. While she was waiting, she brought a wet towel and gently cleaned his face and mouth, praying he could suppress the vampire a little longer, so she could help him. "You're really a mess," she said with a nervous laugh. The blankness in his expression was enough to destroy her. "I'll get you a fresh shirt."
She quickly rummaged through his chest of drawers and was rather surprised to find them in meticulous order, a vast improvement over her own disorganization, she thought. She opened the second drawer and found his beloved Maple Leafs T-shirt. She held it for a moment, recalling the evening he had bought it.

(flashback, two years earlier)
They had decided to attend a hockey game at Maple Leaf Gardens. It was his first time in such a large crowd. Although he had been hesitant about going, he had bravely faced down his fears and queued up for tickets. He did have a thing for hockey--it was all the blood he claimed, teasing her. During intermission they had found a popcorn vendor, and the compulsive shopper in Nick had investigated the gift shop. It was an ordinary shirt, emblazoned with the logo of the Toronto Maple Leafs, but he had worn it as a badge of honor, proud he had been able to sit through two periods of the game before the sound of 14,000-plus heart beats, and the scent of human blood, had forced him to retreat to the safety of his home.**

She smiled at the memory of how it hung loosely from his shoulders, and how attractive he looked in its normalcy.
Returning to the kitchen with the T-shirt, she opened the microwave door and removed the thawed blood bag. Leaving it to cool to room temperature, she put another frozen bag in the oven and set the timer before going to help Nick change shirts. To her surprise, she found him sleeping peacefully, his hands crossed on his chest. She sat on the table beside the couch and watched him sleep, unwilling to disturb whatever moment of peace he might be enjoying. Still, she knew she would have to wake him before beginning the transfusion.
"Nick," she whispered softy, gently rubbing his left arm, not wanting to jar him from his sleep. His head jerked without warning and his hand flew uncontrollably towards Nat's face. She dodged his flying arm, catching it in mid-air and laying it back on his chest. She had seen him do this before, a reaction to the violent memories he experienced as he slept.
"Nick," she called again, a little louder. This time he awoke with a start and looked around in a panic, abruptly recalled from the past to the present. Nat caught him by his shoulders with both her hands and tried to restrain him. She struggled to hold him still. "Nick, it's okay. It's me, Natalie. It's okay." He looked at her, acutely aware of his surroundings.
"Oh, god," he gasped, as his hand flew to cover his mouth. Unexpectedly, his body convulsed in the grip of a massive spasm. He coughed, bringing up more undigested blood, which escaped through his fingers, oozing down the outside of his chin and hand. Nat grabbed the towel she had used earlier and held it to his mouth while supporting the back of his head. He gagged again and the towel turned dark red. At once, the scent of the bloody towel both aroused his feeding instincts and made him nauseated; he closed his eyes and took quick shallow breaths, anticipating another episode of vomiting. He snatched the towel away from Nat and held it to his mouth, fighting the impulse to suck the blood stained fabric.
Nat tried to pry it out of his hands, realizing he might try to feed from at the bloody cloth. "Please, Nick, give me the towel." He hesitated, then quickly turned away from her. "If you swallow any of that, you're going to make yourself sick all over again." Desperation colored her words. How did one reason with a starving vampire?
Without warning, the gold reappeared in Nick's eyes as he looked at Natalie. He deliberately put the towel down and stared at the pulsating carotid artery in her neck. The rich scent of human blood played on his heightened senses, short-circuiting his ability to control his desire. Calling upon the vampire's strength, in one fluid movement he swung his legs over the couch and sat on the edge of the leather cushions, as if he were ready to spring at her at any moment.
Natalie recognized the predatory movements of his body and took several steps away from him. "Nick, please think about what you're doing." She felt like a sacrificial lamb, trapped and defenseless. Her voice trembled with fear. "Nick. Please!" she pleaded again. "Think!"
With tremendous effort he forced himself to look away from her, closing his eyes against the onslaught of blood-lust and hunger. Wrapping his arms around himself he doubled over and slowly rocked back and forth, trying to handle the guilt and self-recrimination brought on by his conduct.
"Nick?" Natalie reached out to touch him, but hastily withdrew her hand, uncertain about his ability to control the vampire.
"It's okay," he answered, trying to dispel her fear, but still not looking at her. "I'm sorry, Nat."
She gingerly placed her hand on his shoulder and knelt down at his side. "Nick, what's happening? I want to help."
He tried to form some saliva, swallowing hard, his mouth and throat dry and irritated. He took a deep, steadying breath. "It's my head."
"The headaches aren't any better?"
He shook his head and swallowed again. "It never stops. The constant pounding. The pain. . .it won't go away."
"Any dizziness or other vision problems?"
He shook his head. "I just feel so weak, and the lights are still bothering me."
"When's the last time you fed?"
Nick thought for a second. "Not long, maybe an hour ago. But it doesn't stay with me." He looked at his blood-stained hands, and back to Nat. "And the hunger. . ."
He didn't need to finish as Natalie put the symptoms together and arrived at a diagnosis. "Nick, the headaches probably are causing the nausea and vomiting." She looked at the glass of blood standing on the floor. "And the only thing that's going to help is the blood you can't digest."
Nick nodded and looked disgustedly at his soiled shirt. "A thank-you gift from LaCroix."
Natalie rose and picked up the bloody towel before he could see the tears welling in her eyes. "How can he keep doing this to you?" she asked, unable to comprehend LaCroix's cruelty.
"He wants me back, Nat, and he's added a new method of persuasion to his repertoire."
"And there's nothing you can do to stop him?"
"No," he answered tiredly, beginning to lose his voice. "He won't even talk to me. He's waiting for me to break. . .to get to the point where I won't have the strength to fight him anymore." He didn't add that his only alternative to this torture was to leave Toronto, to escape from LaCroix, if only for a while, to get his life back in order.
Natalie forcefully threw the towel in the sink and ran some cold water over it, in a hollow show of strength that she didn't feel. Her impulsive activity reinforced Nat's conviction there had to be some course of action, some way to fight back; she knew the first step was to get Nick back on his feet. She grabbed the blood bag from the table and a clean towel from the kitchen counter. "Well, we may not be able to do much about LaCroix, but we can take care of that strength problem," she declared.
He gratefully took the towel from her. His whole body seemed to tremble as he wiped the blood from his hands and face. Nat retrieved the towel and briefly held his hands in hers, resisting the urge to embrace him, to calm the fear that consumed him. She knew his control was still too uncertain, and what he needed more than comfort was blood.
He gave her a faint smile at her choice of shirts and, after changing, lay back on the couch and extended his arm for Natalie's inspection. She easily found a vein to accommodate the transfusion needle and gently inserted it into his arm. She watched in amazement as the blood level in the bag dropped rapidly, as it was consumed by Nick's body. In a human, the rate of flow would have been alarming, but Nat had discovered long ago how quickly and efficiently the vampire's metabolism was able to process the blood.
After Nick had consumed two units of red cells without any adverse side effects, Nat brought him a third one, and sat on the edge of the table near his head. She smiled at him with compassion, but the stress of the evening showed in her tired eyes. "Feeling okay?" she asked.
"Better," he answered honestly, feeling giddy as his body processed the sudden rush of fresh blood at an accelerated rate. He could feel his strength returning, and reached for Nat's hand.
"You should get some rest," he suggested, concerned for her well being.
She folded his fingers into hers and wondered at his caring heart. "I will," she promised, giving his hand a small squeeze.
He closed his eyes, savoring the warmth of her touch. "I'm okay," he reassured her, hoping she would choose to leave before he could change his mind. "Go home. Feed Sidney and get some sleep."
Nat let out a long, slow breath, feeling the exhaustion setting in. "I suppose Sidney has already shredded the curtains. You're sure?" she asked, suspecting that by now his recuperative powers had begun the healing process.
"Yeah. I am, at times, able to care for myself."
She smiled to herself, and kneaded the blood pack with her free hand. "Let me start this one, and I'll leave another for you when you're ready."
He held her hand for a moment longer, unwilling to let her go. "I owe you so much."
Nat disentangled her hand from his, and patted his chest. "I'll think of some way for you to repay me," she said playfully, changing the near-empty blood bag. She readjusted his arm on the pillow and checked the needle in his vein. "Looks good," she said encouragingly. "I'll leave the other bag. . .just change the tube at this connection and. . ."
"I know, Nat. Go home," Nick said, trying to persuade her to leave. "I'll be fine."
She smiled at him, bending down to give him a comforting kiss on his forehead. "I'll be back tomorrow," she promised.
After cleaning up the kitchen as best she could, she switched off the overhead light and took one last look at her patient. She was pleased to find Nick sleeping peacefully and, before opening the elevator door, she turned and whispered, "Sweet dreams." SPIRITS COLLIDING (6/15) by Bobbie Williams userknight@aol.com Disclaimers can be found in part 0/15
Natalie didn't remember driving to her destination; too tired to think and pushed past the point of exhaustion, she was functioning on pure adrenaline. Dawn was beginning to break on the horizon as she parked Nick's Caddy in front of the Raven. She knew LaCroix would be there and, with the sun rising in the east, he would be a captive audience. At the front door, she fumbled with Nick's keys, certain one would fit the lock. After two unsuccessful tries, she inserted a third key that turned the lock. Pushing the heavy door slightly ajar, she peeked inside, unsure of what she would find in the club at this hour of the morning. She had been here only once during the day, with Nick, but that was when Janette had owned the club and required her customers to exercise some restraint. Under LaCroix's ownership the club had gained a more depraved reputation; Nat couldn't imagine what she would find now. The morning sun illuminated the ramp that led to the dance floor and bar. In the daylight, the club seemed less intimidating than at night, when it was dark and filled with the odor of smoke and alcohol, crowded with its usual patrons. She walked inside and quietly closed the door behind her. If LaCroix were in the club, he would be aware she was there, but she decided it wasn't necessary to announce her arrival by slamming the door behind her.
Nat steadied herself, resisting the urge to run back outside to the safety of the sunlight. She had come this far and had no intention of turning away now. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she walked slowly to the back room Janette had used for an office, hoping it still served that function. The heavy door opened before she could raise her hand to knock, and LaCroix greeted her with an unamused smile.
"Do come in, Doctor," he intoned. His voice was velvety and inviting; Nat thanked whatever fates that ruled her life she was what Nick called a 'resister,' unable to be hypnotized by a vampire. He opened the door wider, and she stepped into the dark room illuminated only by the soft light emitted by his computer screen. She looked around hesitantly, unsure of what sort of debauchery she might find. To her surprise, LaCroix had left things much the same as they were when Janette had owned the club. She stood in the middle of the room as LaCroix closed the door behind her.
"Uh, if you don't mind," she waved her hand to the doorway, "I'd rather you leave that open." She was frightened, and she knew that he was aware of it. LaCroix smiled in self-satisfaction; he loved playing these games, especially when he knew he had the upper hand. He propped the door open, and crossed the room to sit behind the large oak desk covered in papers, where the computer was located. On the corner of the desk, the ever-present bottle of blood and a half-filled wine glass stood on a silver tray. He looked at the blood and then back to Natalie, enjoying her uneasiness. "I was just having dinner," he explained.
Nat took a deep breath and dropped her purse into the chair in front of her. She could feel her knees shaking, but she was determined to keep her fear from LaCroix. "I guess you know why I'm here."
LaCroix leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of him, pressing them to his lips. "Let me think," he said sardonically, "this has something to do with Nicholas."
"You know damn well it does," she answered hotly, feeling her madly pounding heart rise in her throat. She made a conscious effort to calm her fears, and wished she had something to do with her hands.
"Miklos did say something about his calling me." He rifled through some errant slips of paper on his desk, pretending to look for the message. "But I haven't been able to reach him. He's not answering his phone."
*Like you need a phone,* she thought to herself, relieved he couldn't read her thoughts as he did Nick's. "That's because he's lain unconscious on the floor of his loft for the past 36 hours." She watched him carefully for any sign of surprise or concern, but found none. "He's sick, LaCroix, and it's all your doing."
LaCroix arched an eyebrow at her. "I do not play at being God, doctor. I can no more be held responsible for Nicholas' state of health than you can." Nat noted his contempt but chose to ignore the sarcasm.
"But I don't control his mind, LaCroix, you do."
LaCroix laughed derisively. "My dear Dr. Lambert, if I knew how to control Nicholas' mind, you would have met your maker a long time ago, and he would be here with me now." He rose and leaned menacingly over his desk. "He controls his own well-being; he just doesn't realize it."
Nat returned his stern glare. "He's unable to feed, LaCroix," she said, slowly and deliberately. "The desire is still there, but because of the severe headaches, he's unable to keep anything, even blood, in his system. I was able to transfuse a few pints of blood through a vein, but he can't go on like this indefinitely--you know that. I don't know what you think you're doing or what you hope to accomplish, but if you persist in this, you'll destroy him."
"Why is it I constantly am blamed for Nicholas' fragile physical state?"
"Because you made him what he is."
"Nicholas chose to be what he is!" LaCroix responded vehemently. "He made the decision to come to me, to be one of us, and it's about time he faced the choice he made 800 years ago!"
Nat was not to be dissuaded. "You gave him the choice."
"I gave him immortality."
"Yeah, well, if you don't leave him alone, his immortal life is going to end very soon. Then neither one of us will have him. Is that what you want?" Disgusted with his arrogance, Nat turned to leave.
Instantly, LaCroix appeared in front of her, barring her way. "This has never been about Nicholas choosing between you and me, doctor. Don't flatter yourself. Nicholas has been mine for the better part of his entire existence. The connection we share is something you can not begin to comprehend. Don't believe for an instant you could ever change that."
Natalie's legs began to quiver again, and she was certain LaCroix could hear her rapidly beating heart. Nevertheless, she put up a brave front. "The difference, LaCroix, is that I love him. This twisted affection you claim to have for him is nothing more than obsession. No, let me rephrase that--it's possession. And since you haven't figured it out yet, let me be the first to tell you, he won't let anyone possess him. Not even me." She looked him straight in the eyes, with more courage than she felt.
LaCroix felt the anger rising within him. His first instinct was to take her, now, before she could leave. By taking her life, he would make her understand finally how much power he wielded. But if LaCroix had learned anything in his extended lifetime, it was patience. Killing her now would be too simple--there would be no challenge to it. Besides, she still had her uses. "This is just the beginning of our contest, doctor," his controlled voice masking his rage. "And let me assure you, Nicholas and I will be alive long after you have turned to ashes."
Her glare hardened. "What kind of monster are you?"
LaCroix took a step back and straightened his finely tailored, black jacket. "I am a vampire, doctor--the same sort of 'monster' as Nicholas. He'll tell you. All you need do is ask him." Before she could respond, he disappeared into the darkened club.

Nick awoke the next evening, feeling a little stronger but slightly disoriented. He gingerly pulled the needle out of his arm and tossed it on the coffee table next to the empty blood bag. Flexing his stiff arm, he paused to lick the blood which oozed from the tiny wound left by the needle. His saliva sealed the small hole, which began to disappear almost immediately. The throbbing in his head had lessened to a degree, and he assumed the blood had provided some relief. He glanced around at the few lights Nat had left on. Relieved that they no longer caused him any discomfort, he wondered if LaCroix had released him for the moment. Attempting to ignore his hunger pangs, he slowly peeled himself off the leather couch to an upright position. He counted the number of empty blood bags lying around the loft and decided that four pints of blood in three days wasn't enough to sustain him even under normal circumstances. The need for blood began to assault his weakened body, but Nick hesitated when he remembered the repercussions associated with feeding.
Nick decided to reuse the needle Nat had left rather than challenge his unstable digestive system. Opening the freezer door, he took out another pack of red cells to defrost in the microwave. While setting the timer, he felt the pain in his head intensify, and the oppressive bond between him and LaCroix immediately deepen. Swiftly scanning the loft, Nick found his master staring down at him from the dimly lit balcony. At once, LaCroix appeared at his side.
"Good evening Nicholas. Not feeling well?"
Nick forced down the pain. "You should know," he answered, feigning indifference to LaCroix's visit.
The elder vampire smiled, and again the throbbing intensified. Nick grabbed his head with his hand and looked at LaCroix's smug face. "I know why you're doing this," he stated in a strained voice. "But it's not going to change anything."
LaCroix walked away from his son. "I don't know," he said casually, "it seems to be having the desired effect."
"Why?" Nick asked in desperation. "Why must you keep playing these sick games?"
"Because I want you to appreciate the gift I've given you, Nicholas." LaCroix seemed indifferent to the misery he was causing. His words registered in Nick's mind, and the pain stopped. Nick gave an audible gasp of relief.
"You mean the curse," he replied defiantly, and just as abruptly as it had stopped, the throbbing in his head began again. He winced as the pain seemed to spread through his entire body. "Stop this!" he pleaded. Not wishing to provoke LaCroix, Nick took control of his anger, and the pain was gone.
"You see, Nicholas, you are the one who controls the pain, not I."
The relief which washed over Nick was a blessing, and he thought better of antagonizing LaCroix with a derisive answer, hoping to maintain the current quiet in his mind for as long as possible. "Why are you here?" he asked, knowing the answer.
"I want you to remember." LaCroix walked to the kitchen table to inspect the blood bags, now emptied of their contents. He selected one and held it up for his child to see. "I'm certain you don't get any pleasure out of these tube feedings," he said disgustedly. He passed the open tube under his nose, enjoying the faint aroma. "Surely you'd rather *taste* this, Nicholas."
Nick sat wearily on the couch. He knew where this conversation was heading, and he was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with it. LaCroix's presence was so strong within him, he felt as if he were suffocating.
"Isn't that true?" LaCroix demanded an answer.
"Yes," Nick answered quietly. He was obligated to play along to avoid the pain LaCroix seemed able to inflict at will.
"You want to feed normally again, don't you?"
"Yes." There was no sense in arguing; they both knew it was the truth.
"Do you remember how it felt, Nicholas? The way your bite pierced the skin as your victim struggled in your grasp. . ."
"Yes." His fangs ached unexpectedly.
". . .and the way their voices trembled as they begged for mercy. . ."
"Yes." The memory was perversely seductive.
". . .the scent of their blood and the sweet taste as it filled your mouth. . ."
"God, yes." The vicious hunger intensified as he succumbed to the memories. Yielding to LaCroix's control, Nick could feel himself slowly being drawn deeper and deeper into his violent past.
". . .and how it warmed you as you drank. . ."
The memory stifled his response.
". . .and the power you felt as you drained the life out of their bodies. . ."
All at once, the elevator door opened, and Nick turned to see Natalie enter the loft. His eyes turned gold as his fangs slipped into place.
LaCroix mentally applauded her timing, and congratulated himself for sparing her life. She had, as predicted, proven to be useful. He felt the vampire resurface in Nick, and knew that all he needed was one final push. "Take her, Nicholas. Renew your strength with her blood."
It was this last appeal that persuaded the vampire to take her. In one swift move, Nick was behind her. He grasped her head by her chin and gently moved her hair from her neck. He enjoyed feeling her struggle in his grip. Her soft white skin beckoned to him, as her blood pulsed under his fingertips. With the expertise of the centuries, he gently, almost lovingly, probed her neck, seeking the point where he would derive the greatest pleasure.
Natalie caught her breath and looked frantically at LaCroix. She knew this was his doing, but she had to try to reach the human in Nick before the vampire could dominate him entirely. "Nick, please, don't," she pleaded, then realized that begging for her life was precisely what the vampire wanted to hear. His fingers tenderly stroked her neck, and she knew she would have to use a different method. "Nick, this isn't what you want." He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him. "You're not a murderer. LaCroix is controlling you. You have to take control of yourself." Although Nick made only a slight movement, she distinctly felt his grip loosen. She had reached his human half and could feel his indecision. As did LaCroix.
"Take her, Nicholas!" LaCroix demanded menacingly. The promise of her sweet, warm blood intoxicated Nick. The power he felt completely controlled him. He tightened his grip again and Natalie gasped for air.
Natalie felt his cool breath on her neck as his fangs touched her skin. She knew it might be only a matter of moments before she would cease to exist, and she made one last attempt to reach him. "I love you, Nick," she stated calmly and quietly, then closed her eyes and waited for the inevitable.
Nick hesitated, and Natalie knew his human half had heard her. Confused, Nick looked at LaCroix, and then back to Natalie. Something deep within him told him this was wrong. The gentle voice of human compassion pleaded with him to reconsider what he was about to do. Even as LaCroix commanded the vampire to take her life, the small ray of light that guided his soul broke through the darkness. He felt the love that was his salvation radiate from every beat of her heart. He *did want her*. . .but not like this.
Closing his mouth on Natalie's neck, he gently kissed her. Then, taking a deep breath, he dropped his hands and Natalie stumbled out of his grasp.
LaCroix moved toward Nick with a calm that belied the anger raging in his face. "Nicholas," he breathed, his voice full of menace and disappointment.
"I can't, LaCroix," Nick pleaded, feeling like a child defending himself against a disapproving parent. "I'm not like you." He glanced at Natalie, who was hovering in the corner where the wall and fireplace met. Tears streamed down her face as she looked on in horror. Nick kept talking, hoping LaCroix would focus his anger on him, and forget she was there. "I've tried to tell you before--I can't be this anymore. I can't go on killing. It's not what I want. It's not what I am."
"You are what I made you!" LaCroix railed at Nick, who braced himself for the blow he had learned to expect from these confrontations.
Nick instinctively flinched as LaCroix drew near, but the blow he felt wasn't physical. His mind felt as if it were going to explode. The thousands of voices of his victims rose in unison, screaming at him, cursing him for their demise. The cacophony steadily rose in pitch, and he fell to the floor clutching his head. "Stop this, please!" he cried, but his plea went unheeded. Their faces appeared in his memory, taunting him, and one by one their deaths replayed in his mind, over and over, until he thought he would go insane. The images circled him, moving faster and faster as the room began to revolve around him. Their heartbeats pounded in staggered syncopation, hammering in his ears.
LaCroix grabbed Nick by his hair and jerked his head up so that he was looking directly into his eyes. Nick's breath came in short gasps, as he reached up to pull LaCroix's hand away. "You see, Nicholas, you are exactly like me," LaCroix observed smugly.
"God, no!" Nick cried aloud.
"Your God can't help you now, Nicholas. Only I can." He threw Nick face down to the floor, causing him to bite his tongue as his jaw struck the carpet. Nick tried unsuccessfully to scramble to his feet as he heard Natalie scream his name. LaCroix turned sharply and waved a warning finger at her. "He won't be able to save you if you interfere," he cautioned. He turned back to his student. "Do you have more questions, Nicholas, or is this little lesson over?"
Nick swallowed the blood that flowed from his tongue. He was having trouble keeping his head from swaying as he sat back on his haunches. "Yes!" he said, defeated. "Yes! It's over. It's all over. Just tell me what you want from me."
The voices stopped, the images faded, the pounding quieted, as Nick bent over, his head all but touching the floor. He took a few deep breaths, grateful for the quiet in his mind. LaCroix circled him like a vulture descending on his prey, deciding what his next course of action should be. Stopping before Nick, he knelt down to look him in the eye. "You could start by admitting your love for me."
The thought of saying the words sickened Nick, and his rebellious Nature surfaced again, unconcerned about the consequences. "I hate you, LaCroix," Nick responded vehemently, waiting for the onslaught of retribution. Surprised that he felt nothing, he wondered if LaCroix had heard him.
Instead of reacting to the hatred in Nick's declaration, his master gently cupped his chin in his hand, lifting his head to meet his gaze. "Well, if that's true, why did you come to me when I was injured? Why did you allow me to drink your blood?"
"I thought you were dying. . .," was the whispered response.
"But, if you are so determined to be free of me, why didn't you just leave me to die?"
Nick looked desperately at Natalie. Their relationship now seemed utterly hopeless. This overwhelming defeat brought with it an emptiness that crushed his soul and broke his spirit. He had no answers. "I. . .I don't know."
*I have him now,* LaCroix thought triumphantly, knowing precisely where to lead Nick's exhausted mind. "Do you remember how it felt, Nicholas? The feeling that I was no longer with you. You were terrified, were you not, *mon petite*? The complete loneliness, the emptiness inside. You don't want to feel that way, do you?"
"No. . .yes," Nick answered weakly. "I don't. . ." LaCroix rose from the floor and flashed a victorious smile at Natalie.
"Why don't you come and spend the day with me?" LaCroix urged, as he helped Nick up. "It would be good for you." His voice was loving and compassionate.
Nick, unable to reply, was so bewildered, hungry, and exhausted, he would have accepted the help of the devil himself.
Natalie ignored LaCroix's earlier warning. "Nick!" she cried, when she realized LaCroix finally might succeed in reclaiming Nick. Pushing herself away from the wall, she took a few tentative steps toward the two vampires. LaCroix wore a self-satisfied smile and did nothing to stop her, knowing he had won Nick over. "Nick, don't do this," she pleaded. She touched his arm, anxiously searching his face.
Summoning what little self-respect he had left, Nick jerked his arm from LaCroix's grasp, and lifted his head. He gently held Nat by her arms and looked into her eyes. "I have to, Nat. I can't fight this anymore," he explained, with an alarming calmness that contrasted starkly with the violence of the evening.
Natalie's lower lip began to tremble, and she could do nothing to stop the tears. Angry, weary, and frustrated, she grabbed Nick by his forearms. "If you go now, everything we've done, everything we've worked for, will be ruined. He'll destroy you, Nick."
"I don't have a choice. . .I'm already damned, Nat." Nick's words came slowly, as he fought to control the rage he felt against himself and against LaCroix. "He won't let me go, and I can't go on like this."
She couldn't argue with his logic, but she could argue with his heart. "You don't need him, Nick. You have me."
He shook his head and sighed. "I almost killed you tonight." He looked at her for a moment, wanting to be certain she understood how close she had come to dying. She started to argue with him, but he laid his finger across her lips to quiet her. "It's too dangerous for you. It's too dangerous for both of us. I can't keep using you like this. I won't go on hurting you." He felt LaCroix's vise-like grip on his arm.
"*Viens avec moi, Nicholas,*" LaCroix beckoned, looking up to the night sky.
Nick twisted to look back at Natalie, standing alone in the middle of the cavernous loft, tears streaming down her face. "Forgive me, Nat," he whispered. She brought her hand to her mouth to stifle the sound of her sobs.

The endless hours stretched into endless days into endless weeks. The winter snow turned into the green grass of spring before she finally had stopped dreaming about him. With the passing of eight months, she had gone through all the stages of mourning--denial, anger, and finally, acceptance. For the first two weeks after he had gone, she had spent every day at his apartment, surrounding herself with everything that reminded her of him, desperate to feel his presence again. In time, her desperation and her need waned, and any hope she harbored for his return faded. Finally, she had stopped going to his loft altogether; she had stopped waiting.
Work became less of an obsession as she no longer could look forward to interacting with Nick on the job. Trying to fill the void in her personal life, she began seeking out the company of long-neglected friends, awkwardly rebuilding her mortal relationships. Her entire world had crumbled her around her that evening in the loft and, once again, she had been left alone to pick up the pieces. Now she was determined to regain whatever control she could over her life, even if that life no longer included Nick. Occasionally, when she was in the right frame of mind, she could rationalize his decision; nevertheless, she still would feel the hurt and rejection his decision had caused her. He had gone with LaCroix willingly, but the pain in his eyes as he left her standing alone, and the violence of the entire night, haunted her dreams still. Wherever he was, she wished him peace; it was the only feeling she could spare him now.
She finished the paperwork from the previous day's autopsies and, more from routine than genuine interest, sorted through the accumulation of three days' mail. Conference announcements, insurance offers, equipment ads--the same flow of mail she had seen daily for the past five years as a medical examiner for the city of Toronto. She was ready to toss the entire stack, when one envelope caught her eye. It was handwritten, addressed to her personally, and post-marked from Paris, France. She eyed it for a moment, afraid to open it; thoughts of Paris inevitably equated to Nick. Her fingers trembled as she carefully lifted the corner of the back flap and opened it along the sealed edges. Reaching inside, she removed a round-trip airline ticket in her name, and a short note. She couldn't bring herself to read it. Hundreds of possible scenarios passed through her mind. What if it were from Nick? Did he want her to join him? Would she have the strength or even the desire to become involved in his life again? And what right did he have to think she would even want to? What if it weren't from him? She carefully unfolded the small sheet of note paper and looked at the signature first. The only thing that registered was that it wasn't Nick's name at the bottom. She read it again. "Yours, Adam."
*Adam?* It had been over a year since she last had seen him, although she knew he had stopped to see Nick on his last visit to Toronto. He was the only person, other than herself, whom Nick had trusted as a true friend. Her hands trembled as she unfolded the rest of the paper.

17 Rue de Madeline
Paris, France
3 May 1996

Dear Natalie,

Please use the enclosed ticket and come to Paris as quickly as you are able. He needs you, even if he doesn't know it.

Yours,
Adam