Date: Mon, 15 Mar 1999 20:22:32 -0000 From: Barbara Vainio Subject: Family Ties (01/03) To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU This story is the 4th in my Charlotte Jeffreys series. It takes place immediately after LaCroix enters Janette's apartment in the Raven where we've learned that Charlotte is Nick's daughter and that LaCroix believes that she betrayed him in some way. The previous stories in the series (Charlotte's Ruse; Oh, No, Janette; Southern Knight) are archived at Mel's site. Thanks to Lori Dehn for once again being a terrific and supportive beta reder (and it's probably easier now for her to do the cheerleading she provides as well) . And thanks to Lessi, too. I'm sure she helped a lot :-) Permission for Mel to archive at fkfic-l. Anyone else, please ask permission. Disclaimer: LaCroix, Et. Al. are not mine. They belong to Sony/TriStar and I thank them for letting me use them briefly. There is no intent to profit from the use of the Forever Knight characters. Charlotte Jeffreys is mine, please ask permission if you want to use her. ******************************** Family Ties (Part 01/03) By: Barbara Vainio ***Toronto, Present Day*** Charlotte stared at LaCroix as he sipped from the glass that she had so recently held and felt her temper flair again. She laughed out loud at the absurdity of condemning *him* for what she'd done not even an hour earlier and fancied she saw quickly suppressed amusement flicker in the arctic ice of his eyes. She started to speak, but couldn't force the words through the suddenly narrow passage of her throat. She coughed softly and tried again, but still nothing came out. Maybe if she started moving. That took almost as much effort as talking, but at least she was able to lurch forward a couple of steps. She glanced furtively at the black-clad vampire, but saw no change in his bland expression. She reached blindly for the bottle she'd put down and lifted it to her mouth, only to have it gently removed from her hand. flashed through her mind as she felt another bottle placed in her still groping palm. She looked up to see her father grinning sheepishly as he drank from the bottle he'd taken from her. Did she imagine the next thought, or had he really said ? She lifted her bottle in a tentative toast and swallowed a large portion of its remaining contents. Did she have an unexpected ally or was her sire merely reminding her of his superior will power as he returned the salute and took a brief sip? "Family bonding. How...quaint." LaCroix' realized his mistake as soon as Nicholas' jaw tightened in stubborn defiance. He'd hoped to keep the younger vampire on the sidelines with his mockery, but he'd obviously underestimated the strength of his son's parental concern. The irony of that miscalculation rang loudly in his mind. He nodded once, as though agreeing to some unvoiced decision, and held out his empty glass toward Charlotte, who stared at him in disbelief. The woman's hesitation gave LaCroix the opportunity to study her more carefully. Her voice, of course, had changed: warmer now, as if the climate of her adopted home had bathed her vocal cords in its heat. He knew she'd traveled throughout the world, even when they weren't together, but always returned to the American South - Natchez, Mississippi for the last 5 years. He'd never understood her love of that area - too much sun, too little excitement, too many "friendly" neighbors. But somehow it suited her. Of course, there was very little that didn't. He watched as she moved to brush a non-existent lock of hair off her face and smiled to himself. So the short style was relatively new...and, he hoped, short-lived. Perhaps it was necessary as a disguise of sorts. Her usual long tangle of toffee-colored curls was very distinctive. He remembered the first time he'd swept it off her neck, having to hold it with one hand as he caressed her face with the other... The sound of liquid splashing into his glass wrenched him back to the present, surprised to see Nicholas doing the honors from a newly opened bottle. Charlotte had retreated to a chair on the far side of the room where she was studiously watching the pattern her drink made as she swirled it in her goblet. LaCroix relaxed just a little. Perhaps this was more difficult for her than he'd imagined. He decided to begin the skirmish. "So, my dear, which particular...friend of yours felt he - or is it she - had been deceived?" The normally self-possessed woman started at the directness of the question. She'd expected to fence with him for a little while, advancing and retreating as necessary, but never really surrendering control. However, he had effectively just turned her strategy upside down. She smiled to herself as she realized that had been his very deliberate intent. Very well, she'd had to change plans on the spur of the moment before and could do so again...although the stakes had rarely been this high. She stood up and pirouetted slowly as she assessed her options, the velour skirt of her gown undulating around her legs as she moved. She heard a sharp intake of breath and a hiss as it was forced out again. Even after 50 years she could still distinguish between the two men's voices enough to know that the sound had come from Lucien. She contemplated what advantage his reaction might give her and this time smiled openly as she found the answer to her dilemma: if she couldn't fence with him she'd try dancing. She'd always enjoyed dancing with him. Music echoed in her mind as she recalled one particular night. ***Vienna, 1857*** They'd arrived at the ball separately, each with a mortal partner. The doors of the ballroom were thrown open to the heady scent of the Viennese spring and the partygoers welcomed the cool air as they left the dance floor. Charlotte was trying yet another ploy to empty the cup her escort kept refilling. She'd tried leaving it full, but that only encouraged Friedrich to pour her a fresh cup to keep the punch from getting too warm. He was a dear boy and she enjoyed flirting with him, but at the moment she felt like draining him and dumping his body in the nearest pond. She briefly envied LaCroix, whose absences would be ascribed to a gentleman's need to drink something stronger than punch. Little did they know. Her silent chuckle was echoed by light laughter close to her ear. "Permit me to refresh your drink with something more to your liking." LaCroix briefly held up the silver flask he'd taken from the inside pocket of his evening jacket. Surprised that she hadn't felt his approach, she smiled questioningly at the elegantly dressed vampire who kissed her hand as he savored the way the bronze accents in her cream-colored silk gown highlighted the rich dark gold of her hair. "Don't worry, I left your escort in the garden sharing whiskey and cigars with some of the other young men and I've graciously retreated to allow Fraulein Von Reinach to gossip with her friends. We'll be undisturbed for a while." He smiled wolfishly at her. "Unless some of the other gentlemen who've been staring at you since your arrival take this opportunity to formally make your acquaintance." Charlotte laughed out loud at the compliment, and at the hint of jealousy it didn't quite hide, as she gratefully surrendered her cup. When LaCroix returned it to her, she forced herself to sip in her most ladylike manner to prolong the unexpected interlude. The two vampires had been in Austria since September, enjoying some rare time to themselves since Nicholas was off on one of his periodic quests for independence and Janette remained in Paris where she was being wooed by several of the premier couture houses. Charlotte wasn't sure how LacCoix had managed it, but they had been warmly welcomed by Viennese society, receiving invitations to most of the major winter events. Although they'd - regretfully - chosen not to attend weekend parties in their hosts' more remote country estates, they were still much in demand. The exact nature of their relationship had never been specified, which provided great opportunity for speculation by the chaperones and matrons who watched them each evening. The most popular theory was that they were uncle and niece, traveling together because of some unspecified problem in her family. But the seemingly small difference in their ages wasn't quite enough to make that a realistic choice and it certainly didn't account for their obvious mutual attraction. So the speculation continued, amusing the lovers, but making them cautious as well. For the last two months they'd made a point of being seen with different escorts, often at different events. They'd even hunted separately for the past several weeks and so had been surprised to find that their individual pursuits would coincide this evening. They'd made no plans to meet at the ball, knowing they'd share any...interesting experiences after dawn, but Charlotte was pleased at the chance to spend some time with LaCroix, however brief. Especially without the tension her father's presence brought to their relationship. She probably should have left the family permanently after he chose to shut her out, but she wanted Lucien in her life and he wanted Nicholas in *his* so...she always returned. If he hadn't wanted her to, he would have made that quite clear. Charlotte laid her hand on his arm and squeezed gently, eliciting a genuine smile just as the orchestra began tuning up for the next set. LaCroix saw Friedrich returning from the garden and reluctantly lifted her hand, caressing the fingertips before he let them drop. She really was very special. If only... Charlotte watched him cross the room with his predator's grace and bow to the lovely blond he'd escorted to the ball. She deliberately eavesdropped as he said, "I believe I have the honor of this dance", but heard none of the regret she'd hoped for. Her partner's offer to lead her onto the dance floor prevented any further descent into self-pity. She danced the entire set and part of the next one, dutifully changing partners, her mind brushing LaCroix' when they passed closely enough. She'd hoped he'd rejoin her during the break but when she'd seen him across the room he appeared totally engrossed in a conversation with Fraulein Von Reinach and a woman who could only have been her mother. Perhaps she should drain the fair Elsa and drop *her* in a pond. Her next partner reached for her hand, but as she automatically lifted it for him to kiss it was diverted by a strong, familiar grip. Her would-be partner bristled at the insult, looking rapidly around the room. He would not be humiliated by this stranger. "Excuse me, Mein Herr, but the Fraulein has promised this dance to me." Charlotte suppressed a grin as the smooth voice replied, "I'm sure you're mistaken, Monsieur." LaCroix stared intently at the man, whose eyes immediately lost their focus. "Mademoiselle Jeffreys graciously consented to save this waltz for me several hours ago. I'm sure you meant to ask the young lady in the silver and burgundy gown for this dance." He gestured toward Elsa who looked quite bewildered - as though there was something she should know but couldn't quite remember. The Austrian turned around and walked where he was directed, embarrassed that he had almost issued a challenge over a mistake that seemed to be his. Charlotte finally let the grin escape as LaCroix led her to the dance floor. "You didn't...? "Only a light suggestion that she accept the invitation to dance without checking her program." He dismissed the effort with a wave of his hand. "Your scheduled partner seems like a nice enough young man. I'm certainly glad I could resolve his...dilemma without the tiresome need for the duel he was contemplating." The female vampire stumbled at her partner's words. "A duel!!?? How did you know - ?" "It was quite evident in the rapid elevation of his heartbeat and his search for his friends. I'm surprised you didn't notice it yourself. Surely you've had at least one duel fought over you." Charlotte didn't know whether to be embarrassed or relieved as she whispered, "No." LaCroix stroked the hand he had captured and smiled teasingly at her. "Perhaps I should have allowed him to call for his seconds. But then, of course, we would have had to postpone the pleasure of our dance." He placed his hand around her waist, holding her just slightly closer than propriety allowed and led her into the sweeping steps of the waltz. They hadn't waltzed together since the early part of the century in Paris, when the three older vampires had regaled her with stories of other "shocking" things that had gone in and out of favor during their long lives - many of which made the waltz seem tame in comparison. But the long gap between dances made no difference - they were instantly in unison, moving smoothly through the crowd. When she would have hesitated, unsure of his next move, he directed her silently, using the link they'd developed through more than a half-century of shared blood. What would it have been like if he had been her sire, if she'd...? The need to maneuver through another group of less accomplished dancers forced Charlotte to give her full attention to her partner and she let the thought drop. And then there was no thought at all, only feeling: LaCroix' hand on her back guiding her around the floor; his fingers closing around her right hand, squeezing it lightly; her body moving even closer to his, petticoats crushed between them. The overwhelming desire to kiss...bite...taste. When the music ended, Charlotte dropped into a deep curtsey and whispered, "You take my breath away, monsieur." Regret shone briefly in the light blue eyes that still held hers as LaCroix easily helped her stand again. "Would that I had, my...dear." ********************* End of Family Ties (01/03) Date: Mon, 15 Mar 1999 20:24:10 -0000 From: Barbara Vainio Subject: Family Ties (02/03) To: FKFIC-L@lists.psu.edu See disclaimers in part 1 *********************** Family Ties (Part 02/03) By: Barbara Vainio ***Toronto*** "What are you humming? I don't recognize the tune." Nicholas' question choked off the sound as Charlotte fumbled for a reply. She looked quickly toward LaCroix, who only raised an amused eyebrow. She stammered an explanation, embarrassed that she'd allowed herself to lose complete contact with the present. This was no time to get nostalgic. "It's nothing...just something I heard...I don't know where...I'm surprised I even remembered it..." The attempted explanation drifted to a halt and Charlotte was stunned to hear her father's voice whispering in her ear, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make this more awkward than it already is." He closed his eyes tightly and opened them a few seconds later with a determined sigh. He watched his daughter's face as he opened their link ever so slightly. He stopped as he felt both her physical and mental recoil and waited for her to decide if she wanted to proceed. Charlotte stood totally still for several moments, assessing what Nicholas was offering, before looking directly into his eyes and asking, "There's no half way to do this, is there? We either get it all or we leave things the way they are." Nick directed a sharp glance at the relaxed figure on the love seat pretending not to overhear their conversation and pointedly answered, "*I* don't know of any way to limit what we transmit - not when we're this close. After all, we were both shut down as tightly as we could be and things were still leaking through. But I'm willing to try." Now it was Charlotte's turn to look at the ancient vampire, whose expression could have been the model for the Mona Lisa, and gently tease, "You're not going to help with this are you?" LaCroix, ruthlessly burying the memories the brief snatch of melody had dredged up, merely shook his head and took another sip from his glass. Father and daughter exchanged a glance and simultaneously reopened their link. The result was overpowering: a mixture of familiar emotions and new experiences all clamoring for attention at once. Charlotte staggered under the onslaught of Nick's struggle and the courage it took to face it every day. She felt his hope for a cure and his frustration over those that had failed; his hatred of his life and his desperate need to continue it until he found a way to balance the scales. She also felt his love for Janette, the pain at her first departure still sharp after 600 years. And his...confusion about LaCroix: demon, tormentor, Inquisitioner, mentor, companion...friend. She lightly touched her father's face as a promise that she wouldn't betray his trust. If she was aware of the irony of that promise, she was too overwhelmed to acknowledge it. Nick's look of thanks was brief as he tried to deal with "Charlotte". Everything she was poured through the link, filling spaces he'd deliberately emptied, re-igniting sparks he'd purposely smothered. LaCroix followed the silent exchange avidly. He could no longer read Charlotte directly - they'd been apart for too long - but the effect her presence was having on Nicholas was quite...amazing. He felt a slight yielding in his son's instinctive rejection of who and what he was, and a brief moment of uncertainty about his "intrinsic" evil. He noted an infinitesimal lessening of Nick's fierce will that didn't produce a corresponding increase in guilt. He looked at Charlotte appraisingly, wondering if her presence would have prevented the rift in his relationship with Nicholas from becoming the chasm it now was. Could she, even now, close the gap between them? The part of him that he had so successfully schooled to neither expect nor accept help quickly fought that idea. After all, she hadn't been able to prevent that foolish interlude with the French dancer or the almost-fatal attempt to stake him in the loft...or his current involvement with the female coroner. The fact that she wasn't anywhere near Nicholas during any of the incidents was immaterial. He looked at his granddaughter, - how absurd that description was - her face etched with the pain of assimilating everything her father was sending her, and turned away before his resolve shattered. He would not - could not - forgive her betrayal, even for a chance to repair his relationship with Nicholas. But he would have to stop the increasingly strong bond father and daughter were reestablishing. Right now, it posed a greater threat to his plans than even Nicholas' continued alliance with the good Dr. Lambert. The Toronto Medical Examiner could only offer him the pipe dream of finding a cure, ultimately driving him back to his master's protection when she failed. Charlotte, on the other hand, might very well be able to make him comfortable with his "condition", making it possible for him to enjoy the rest of eternity - without his father. Mentally sending Nicholas a brief glimpse of the emotions connected to the song, he addressed Charlotte laconically. "That melody *does* bring back rather fond memories, doesn't it, my...dear?" Charlotte gasped, her eyes darting around the room, seeking asylum from her lover's deliberate cruelty and her father's sudden fury. Nick snarled, his eyes washed with yellow and his fangs partially descended, as he whirled to face his master, holding his daughter protectively behind him. "This doesn't concern you, LaCroix!" Surprised by the intensity of Nicholas' reaction but always ready to accept a challenge, the elder vampire stood, raised an eyebrow and replied, "Of course it does, Nicholas. You are my son and Charlotte...*was* very special to me. Why should I not speak of an experience both of you should be interested in?" Nick felt his daughter stiffen at LaCroix' use of the past tense and sent a brief burst of reassurance across their still strengthening link. If the ancient son of a bitch were really that indifferent to her presence, he wouldn't have tried to bait her so deliberately. Charlotte's silent thanks bubbled back to him, overflowing the last of his emotional barriers, washing through him with a vivid memory of being warmed by mulled cider on cold evenings when he was still a child. He quickly dropped his hands from her arms to put some distance between them as he reached for the always-smoldering anger he needed to fuel his attack... but it was gone. Totally. Completely. The wonder of it froze him in place. The terror of it hammered at him to run. Suddenly, there was nothing by which to measure his thoughts, to calibrate his feelings. There was no way to gauge "happy", or to decide if it was really "good" or "bad" not to drink human blood. Even his guilt had no anchor, no focal point. For centuries, he'd evaluated everything in terms of "more" or "less" angry. Now all he could do was stand silent and try to tame his personal whirlwind. LaCroix felt as if the rope in a centuries-old tug of war had suddenly snapped. He barely managed to keep from tumbling onto the sofa as he was rocked backward by the massive shift in his link with Nicholas. What had always been focused and measured was now chaos. Emotions and images appeared at random, replaced too quickly to grasp by another swarm no more organized than its predecessor. Panic was the only constant.. It raced along the link, a symbiot gone mad. Its tentative whisper swelled to a piercing shriek that paralyzed its host and threatened to overpower its recipient. The soldier fought the enemy as the father sought to calm his son. He tried to send comfort, friendship, love, even anger, but he could push nothing back through the link. He was unable to concentrate fully as the waves of panic kept pounding at his mind, drowning his control. He needed to reestablish his own self-possession before he could truly help Nicholas. As he turned away, the tiniest flicker of reassurance made him hope the worst was over, until he recognized Charlotte's "signature". She shouldn't have been able to link with him, not after all this time. However, it was obvious that she had, since he could now feel her glee at his surprise and her confusion about what was happening to her father. He pushed the puzzle to the back of his mind as he rested his hands on the back of the sofa and let his head drop forward. Slowly, he bent his son's panic to his will and forced it behind the steel of his self-control. He stood up and rubbed the back of his neck as he closed his eyes and tried to forget how close he had been to surrendering to the sea of emotion. "If you're fully recovered, I could use a little help over here." Charlotte's sarcastic tone couldn't quite hide her concern and LaCroix spun around, quickly gulping down the contents of the nearest bottle and spitting them out just as fast. "Damn you...and your taste for cow, Nicholas!" "Lucien!" The concern in Charlotte's voice had turned to desperation and LaCroix reached the other two vampires just as Nick began to slide from his daughter's grasp. The older vampire grabbed the younger man's arm and easily pulled him back up, reveling for a moment in the unaccustomed contact. Suddenly, "Charlotte" blazed through the turmoil of images that Nicholas was still unable to control, and LaCroix glanced up to see that she had reestablished her grip on the almost unconscious vampire's other arm and was smiling serenely at him. He shook his head in disbelief that she could be so calm in the face of "hurricane Nicholas" and almost lost his hold when he figured out how that had happened: everything had been flung only at him! LaCroix wondered briefly whether it was only force of habit, or if Nicholas had fought for enough control to deliberately ask his father for help. He laughed out loud as he realized it didn't matter: Nicholas had once again chosen *him* as he always did when he was in trouble. He scooped the semi-conscious form quickly into his arms, breaking Charlotte's grip none too gently, and laid him on the sofa. He carefully slid the black-clad legs out of the way to make room for him to rest while he worked in earnest to save his son. He murmured softly as he brushed the tangled hair away from Nicholas' face, using phrases as old as the Latin he spoke them in. He switched to French, German, Russian...and a dozen other languages, but none of them worked. He felt the younger man's strength fading and could just sense the beginnings of his surrender to the madness that would be the inevitable result of his father's failure. He thought briefly about force feeding Nicholas his blood, but discarded the idea immediately. He had no idea what that kind of intrusion would do and he was afraid -. He'd never imagined anything could affect him that powerfully again...made *sure* nothing had. But now... He shook his head once, violently flinging the useless memories away. Keeping one hand on Nicholas' shoulder, pretending it would help prevent his son's spasmodic shudders , he locked dark gold eyes on Charlotte as she started across the room holding a bottle of bloodwine. "What have you done to him?" The younger vampire stopped short, surprised she could distinguish words through the inhuman growl. She'd never heard him sound like this, not even that evening in London. She tried with only partial success to keep her voice steadier than the hand that set her bottle's contents rippling. "I have no idea. I responded to something he sent across our link and suddenly I felt shock, confusion and for a brief moment complete terror. Then there was nothing at all. He'd obviously shut me out - again." Charlotte was surprised at the stab of pain the realization caused. It had always been *Lucien's* absence from her life that she regretted. She looked at the two men and really *saw* LaCroix for the first time since he'd entered the room. She gasped and instantly closed the gap between them. He looked so haggard she was concerned he would collapse where he sat. She shoved the bottle of bloodwine at him so forcefully some of its contents spilled across his hand as he reached for it, emphasizing the extreme paleness of his skin. Surely she would have noticed if he'd looked like this when he'd first come in? She cautiously steadied his shaking hand as he brought the bottle to his lips and emptied it. The fact that he accepted her touch without so much as a scowl frightened her. What was happening to him that he couldn't even lift an eyebrow in censure? Charlotte knew he needed more blood, but was afraid to leave him alone to find it. Not that she was being all that helpful just standing there staring at him in horror, but she couldn't shake the premonition that if she left, she would come back to find both Lucien and Nicholas reduced to small piles of ash. She jumped as a hand touched her shoulder and tightened to keep her in place. "Cherie, what is wrong? Half the patrons of the club can "hear" you. And the other half know something is going on, but cannot quite tell what it is. You are broadcasting like a two-day-old fledgling." Janette's gaze followed the tilt of Charlotte's head and gasped. How could she not have felt whatever held the two men in its grip? "What - ?" "I don't know. I felt something from Nicholas, but then he shut me out. And Lucien -." Charlotte's words ended in a strangled sob. "Lucien is killing himself trying to save him!! And I don't know what to do," she wailed. The sobs came in earnest now, freeing the tears that she had dammed up behind her eyelids. Janette patted her shoulder ineffectually and ran toward the cellar to get more blood. Charlotte continued to sob, unaware that she'd left her hand in LaCroix' when she'd removed the empty bottle until she felt a violent squeeze. Lucien's voice was almost normal as he said, "I tried several gentler attempts, but couldn't get your attention -." But the sound stopped abruptly as the small reserves the bloodwine had given him were depleted by just the short attempt at speech. He began to tremble more violently as he tried to focus his dwindling strength on Nicholas again. Charlotte screamed in frustration. What had Lucien wanted her to do? How could she help? In desperation, she grabbed one of her father's now-unmoving hands and pushed everything she could through him, hoping that it would reach LaCroix as it had earlier, hoping that it wasn't too late if it did get through. The ancient vampire felt older than his almost 2000 years as he continued to fight the seemingly futile battle for his son's sanity. How could Nicholas *choose* to want this...this weakness, this pain, this surrender to helplessness. The power he'd taken for granted for so many centuries was almost exhausted, forcing him to fight a second battle against his own self-doubt. He knew he didn't have the strength left to fight both Nicholas and himself. He began to lose control of the images still tumbling from the younger vampire. A kaleidoscope of faces swirled in his mind. Images from a dozen cities sped by in a jumbled slide show. Memories wove themselves through the pictures. Were they Nicholas' or were they from another source? He could no longer distinguish between them. He surrendered himself to the tide of thoughts: London...Paris...Gwynneth...St. Petersburg...Francesca...Richmond. The sudden electricity surging through the link broke him free from his fatal reverie. Charlotte's presence ripped through the confusion and grabbed his attention. He felt the shifting images stabilize once more and retreat to the dark corner he'd blocked off for them. He gathered his still disjointed thoughts to focus them on his son again. But as they came together, they centered on a night more than 200 years ago, in which Nicholas played no part. ********************************* End of Family Ties (02/03) Date: Mon, 15 Mar 1999 20:25:38 -0000 Reply-To: bevainio@worldnet.att.net Sender: Forever Knight TV show stories From: Barbara Vainio Subject: Family ties (03/03) To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU See disclaimers in part 1 ************************ Family Ties (Part 03/03) By: Barbara Vainio ******Richmond, 1780******* LaCroix sighed deeply, cynicism playing briefly at the corners of his mouth. Patriotism. Freedom. That's all people were talking about. His lips curled a little more. War was about power and control. About doing unto others before they could do unto you. That was all. Even as he'd used their patriotism to motivate them, he'd sneered privately at his own troops' naove ideas about protecting Roman freedoms and bringing culture to the unenlightened. Rome needed money in its coffers and labor to continue its expansion. Tribute from conquered enemies was necessary for both. There was no glamour, no idealism - and certainly no heroism - about any of it. He dismissed the thoughts and resumed his hunt. As usual, it had taken the city a long time to settle down and it was well after dark before he had started hunting. He'd been roaming the streets for several hours and still hadn't found the right opportunity for a clean kill. With both the militia and portions of the regular army - such as it was - guarding this poor excuse for a Capital, it was becoming increasingly more difficult to find people out alone and unnoticed. Then, suddenly, he heard it: an individual heart beating calmly in the midst of the patriotic thumping he'd been subjected to since he'd begun his search. He turned quickly down one street and, more quickly still, down another, unwilling to take to the air with so many eyes still watching. He moved further from the commotion of the main streets, the heartbeat becoming louder in his ears until he had to consciously dampen the sound. When he knew he was close to his quarry, he stopped and inhaled deeply, adding her scent to the beat of her heart, the whisper of her breath and the soft rustle of her skirts. He was pleased it was a woman. He'd been feeding on the battlefields for too long. While the soldiers' blood nourished his body, it didn't ignite his spirit or...intoxicate his soul. He shrugged away the flight of fancy and moved close enough to watch his prey. He had expected her to be in one of the gardens whose flowers added to the heady perfume of the night air, but she was moving toward him on the dusty road. How convenient. He could take her in the dark with little chance of prying eyes seeing something he would have to erase. He readied himself to spring as she walked past, planning to smother her expected gasp and drain her before she could even struggle. No. In an instant he changed his plan. He'd play with this one for a while. Perhaps she would even provide him with a much-needed diversion. Even though he and Nicholas were getting along better than usual, his son was not the easiest of long-term companions. He melded with the shadows and watched her intently as she walked purposefully up the road, her determined steps making it clear she wasn't just out for an idle stroll. She was a few inches over 5 feet tall but her posture made her appear taller. She'd obviously benefited from the attentions of both a conscientious governess and a demanding dance teacher. The skirt of her pale green muslin dress, worn without petticoats, moved to the natural rhythm of her stride. He smiled as his eyes lingered on the fabric swirling around her legs. The woman walked past, too lost in her own thoughts to notice him. He waited until she was several yards ahead of him and moved to catch up to her, lightly touching her arm. Whatever reaction he'd expected, this wasn't it. She stopped, turned to look at him appraisingly and nodded her head slightly, never moving away from his touch. He was totally amazed. Even a prostitute, which this young woman certainly was not, would have instinctively tried to move away from him until she could determine if he meant her harm. He looked back at her as unflinchingly as she stared at him and said softly, "It's quite late for such an attractive young woman... " His eyes had confirmed the impression his other senses had formed: she was quite lovely. "...to be walking unaccompanied." The calmness he had marveled at was instantly replaced by confusion. The young woman looked around, her eyes darting from one side of the road to the other. She backed away from him, twitching his hand from her arm, still looking past him into the shadows, the concern in her dark brown eyes rapidly being replaced by fear. But LaCroix was certain it wasn't fear of him or even for herself. What would make this very self-possessed woman so frightened? He was pleased he'd changed his plans for her. This one would definitely provide a great deal of amusement. The rustle of leaves drew his eyes toward the woods on the far side of the road. He heard his unwilling companion's soft gasp as she followed his gaze. He knew she couldn't have heard the movement that was barely within the range of *his* hearing, but her reaction convinced him she'd been expecting someone to come from that direction. A lover? He discarded the idea. This was not a woman who would begin a tryst in the middle of a dark road. Oh, she was definitely becoming more and more intriguing. He moved further away from her, bowing slightly. "I am sorry I alarmed you. And needlessly interrupted your walk. There's obviously nothing, or no one..." He looked quickly toward the woods, not surprised when her glance followed his again. "...in the area to cause you any harm. Good evening, my dear." LaCroix turned and walked slowly back the way they had come, listening intently to what was going on behind him. He heard light footfalls mixing with the whisper of the leaves. He sensed movement from the woman, and knew that, if he turned around, he would see her motioning for someone to remain out of sight. He continued down the road until the increasingly loud rustle of fabric told him she was walking quickly after him. He slowed down even more to let her catch up and then stopped. The woman looked at him, her feigned agitation good enough to fool anyone who couldn't hear her steady heartbeat, and breathlessly mumbled, "I thought I heard something back there in the woods. It sounded like some kind of animal." She caught his eyes with her seemingly innocent gaze. "I guess I'm not as brave as I'd like to believe I am. Would you mind walking me back to my parents' house. It's only a short distance from here." Without waiting for his reply, she tucked her hand in his arm and began walking him rapidly away from her rendezvous point. The Roman vampire smiled to himself. For someone who professed herself to be so timid, she showed no fear of walking in the dark with a total stranger. This was proving to be a *very* interesting game, indeed. The white clapboard house she stopped in front of was indeed quite close to where they'd met. LaCroix could see the replica of an English garden stretching from the spotless picket fence to the wide veranda. Although some accommodations had been made to the climate - surely night-blooming jasmine wouldn't grow in the English countryside - he could have been standing outside a home on the outskirts of London. His companion slipped her hand from the crook of his arm and moved to open the gate. He gently curled his fingers around her upper arm and turned her back to face him, noticing for the first time the tangle of golden brown curls that had escaped the tortoise-shell combs meant to hold them off the nape of her neck. He forced his hand to gesture toward the garden. "Many of these plants aren't native to this area and must require constant care. Does your mother spend a lot of time in the garden?" For the first time, LaCroix heard hert uninhibited laugh. Full, free, and totally without artifice, it rang on the night air, bringing an answering smile to his lips. It was several minutes before the woman responded, a hint of laughter still warming her words. "My mother wouldn't be caught dead in the garden. My father does most of the work here, with occasional help from the servants, when he needs assistance." Wondering if he'd be treated to another dose of laughter, LaCroix asked, "Do you help him, or do you have other...hobbies?" Brown eyes locked onto pale blue and he heard her heartbeat quicken as she searched his gaze, trying to decide how innocuous his question really was. His deliberately bland expression must have convinced her of his innocence because she merely smiled and said, "I help when I can." She turned toward the gate again and this time LaCroix let her go. As she reached, fumbling for the latch, he moved close behind her, his arm pinning her to his chest and his hand tipping her head to the right. She struggled once and then stopped, waiting for his next move. When it came, she gasped in surprise. It certainly wasn't what she had expected. She felt his lips briefly brush her neck and heard his voice whisper, "If you remain still, the pain will be minimal." She felt the soft breeze caress the spot his lips had so recently covered and she began to struggle again. This only resulted in his tightening his hold on her while his other hand held the thick tendrils of her hair gently away from her neck. She could move neither her head nor her upper body but a quick movement of her right wrist brought her hand over the pocket of her dress. She closed her fingers around the handle of the razor-sharp stiletto she always carried on her late night walks and jabbed backwards. The blade slid easily through the folds of her skirt, the material of her assailant's trousers and 3 inches of his upper thigh, stopping only when the hilt encountered solid flesh. She heard his hiss of pain and waited for him to loosen his grip. Instead, he pushed her head even further to the side, snarling more like an animal than a man. She shivered, although the night air was warm. He should have let her go - in surprise if nothing else. She tried to resist the pressure that continued to force her head toward her shoulder. She felt the heel of his hand press against her chin, forcing her neck to bend and she accepted the fact that she was going to die. She tensed, waiting for the short thrust that would snap her neck. Instead, she was pushed violently to the ground. Her momentum forced her to twist so that she landed face down, the breath knocked out of her. Her chin hit the ground hard, scraping along the dirt and sending searing pain through the top of her head. Her forehead made contact with the packed dirt next, only partially cushioned by the hand she threw in front of her. Her vision faded and then returned in multi-colored bursts that seemed to explode in rhythm with her racing heart. She tried to scramble up, but that caused the pain in her head to pulse in time to the lights. She looked around more slowly until she could sense a dark shape that she assumed was her assailant. She sat up and propelled herself away from him using her hands and feet to help her slide along the ground. She blinked furiously, trying to clear her vision. She needed to know exactly where he was and what he was doing. "Do...not...move." His voice rasped weakly in his throat, raw from what she hoped was pain, but it stopped her nonetheless. She blinked again and then held her eyes tightly closed as she pinched the bridge of her nose. When she opened her eyes again, the pain in her head had receded to a bearable ache and she began to see some of the details of the scene around her. Her attacker was bent over, pulling the stiletto out of his thigh with one quick powerful motion. She gasped in unwelcome sympathy and blinked in confusion as the sound brought his eyes to her face. They were deep yellow with flecks of dark red. She shook her head, regretting the movement as the dull ache flared into bright pain again. Especially since nothing changed as a result. The...creature straightened up and began walking toward her, a barely perceptible limp the only indication that her weapon had found its mark. She moved backward as fast as she could but he was next to her in an instant. Even uninjured, no one could move that quickly. She looked at the coating that darkened the stiletto blade in her attacker's hand and wondered if her blood would soon join his. As if reading her thoughts, he glanced at the weapon, laughed mirthlessly, and flung it effortlessly across the road. "I assure you, your death - when I desire it - will come by very different means." He held out his hand and, when she didn't take it, closed his fingers around her upper arm and pulled her to her feet. She cried out softly, habit keeping the sound barely audible, as her head pounded again from the rough handling. Realizing how foolish she was to remain silent, she drew a deep breath and prepared to scream. Anyone who came would believe her quickly fabricated story of bring unable to sleep and coming out to the garden where she had been attacked by this...blackguard. As if reading her thoughts, her captor spun her around and held her in the position she had started in - her back pressed against his chest. Only now his hand covered her mouth. She heard the mirthless laugh again, followed by the merest of whispers. "Screaming will do you no good. We would both be gone before anyone came to your aid." The thought of being alone with this...animal.... Charlotte shuddered at the image of herself locked away someplace dark and cold in some deserted location. How he would make that happen she had no idea, but she knew he could. The knowledge froze her in place. "That's better. Now where were we? She felt his hand move from her mouth to the side of her head and tilt it gently toward the right, his other hand again holding the stray tendrils of her hair off her neck. His voice held the barest hint of amusement as he continued. "Ah, yes. As I was saying: If you remain still, the pain will be minimal." And then his lips touched her neck. He lightly increased the pressure on her head, forcing her to stretch her neck toward his now open mouth. She only had time to recognize that this would have been quite pleasant if she were a willing participant before she felt two sharp stabs of pain that made her gasp. LaCroix had been surprised by the woman's use of the stiletto, but that was nothing compared to what the first taste of her blood brought. He had felt nothing more than mild bemusement for many years at the secrets most of his victims "revealed" to him. But the information he gained astonished him into removing his fangs before they had done more that scratch he surface. Not since he'd first tasted Nicholas had anyone intrigued him this much. And he wouldn't make the same mistake with this one that he had with his son. He would slowly accustom this young woman - Charlotte - to his world...and his will. Although, based on this first taste, she would not find it difficult to accept his life. Bending to his will, on the other hand.... He smiled as he slowly licked the small wounds the tips of his fangs had made and released her. *That* would be an interesting struggle. Charlotte moved away from her captor, confusion causing her head to pound again. He had been right, after the initial pain the experience had been almost pleasurable. She shook her head in anger. How could she even consider what this stranger had done to her to be enjoyable? What was wrong with her? Her headache became worse and she could feel the scrapes on her chin and forehead beginning to burn. She reached up to brush her hand across the worst of the abrasions, but was stopped by her...companion's strong, cold grip and soft voice. "Rubbing it will only cause it to hurt more fiercely. Allow me." He very gently lifted her chin and brought it to his lips. He kissed it softly and then she felt his tongue running lightly over the scrape. She tried to pull away in disgust, but he held her firmly in place. He repeated his actions on her forehead, then steadied her face and stared into her eyes. The next thing she knew, she was standing on the veranda of her house, her headache gone and the abrasions on her face almost closed. She remembered everything that had happened, but knew she would tell her family and friends that she'd gone into the garden for some fresh air and tripped over...something, dirtying her dress and scraping her face. She tentatively touched her neck and wondered how she could explain the marks she felt there. She heard the sound of wood snapping and stifled a groan as she watched part of the trellis that held her father's favorite roses tumble to the ground. She felt the brush of cool fingers on her throat. They lingered briefly before gently positioning several loose tresses of hair on the side of her neck. She chose not to look too closely at the cause of the shiver that raised gooseflesh along her arms. "The thorns are quite sharp even though the roses won't bloom for several weeks yet. I'm sure your father will consider the roses well lost if they prevented you from coming to serious harm. The wellbeing of one's children is always of primary importance, Miss Jeffreys." The voice was soft, but Charlotte could still hear the change in tone his final sentence held. She also realized it came from across the road. How could he move that fast? And why did she suddenly feel so alone? Keeping her voice to a whisper, which she somehow knew he would be able to hear, she asked, "How do you know my name?" She turned toward the door and quickly turned back. "And when may I know yours?" She heard a soft chuckle that held more than a hint of self-satisfaction. "Soon, my dear. Very soon." *** Toronto *** LaCroix returned to the present rapidly shaking his head to clear the lingering effects of his...flashback. Part of him marveled at the sensation his and Charlotte's combined memories produced. He had never experienced anything like that before - he'd always refused to cede enough control. He would have to ask Nicholas if he -. The elder vampire jerked his head, and his attention, back toward his son. A bottle was tipped toward his mouth and he drank greedily, vaguely realizing that there had been others while he was lost in his or, more accurately, *their* memories. He briefly turned his eyes to see Janette holding the bottle. He quickly looked around the room, but saw no one besides his daughter, who answered his unspoken question. "Charlotte has gone to fetch more blood. She thought you would prefer her not to be present when you...awoke." The dark-haired vampire nodded toward her brother, now lying still on the sofa. "And I believe you will find that Nicolas is somewhat better." LaCroix forced himself to focus on his link with the younger vampire, dreading what he would feel. Janette might be wrong - the lack of movement could indicate that Nicholas had surrendered to madness, retreating beyond anything that his father could do for him. He took a deep breath and surrendered himself to the link. It was quiet. No, that wasn't quite right. It was...gentle. LaCroix felt foolish using that description, but it fit exceptionally well. There were still random images being transmitted, but they came individually - slowly - without the panic that had fueled the earlier onslaught. They still conveyed "Nicholas", but a Nicholas at peace with himself. The ancient vampire released his held breath in a sigh. He had never felt his son like this. He softly brushed back the hair that had matted on Nicholas' face and stood up, gently repositioning the legs he'd pushed to the side earlier. He looked around for something to cover the resting form with, even though he knew it would make no physical difference to Nicholas at all. "He can't stay like that, you know." LaCroix saw the regret in Charlotte's eyes as she handed him a fresh bottle of bloodwine. His voice was warm as he answered. "Why not? *You* have felt like this since the night I...met you." Surprised that Lucien would acknowledge, however obliquely, anything quite so personal, the toffee-haired vampire merely said, "My...father and I are very different, and probably have been since we were mortal." She smiled wickedly as she teased him, none too subtly, for his lapse of self-control. "Although you're probably the only person who knows for certain how we *felt*." LaCroix accepted the riposte with a raised eyebrow and allowed himself to look tenderly at the still form on the sofa. He knew Charlotte was right. He'd known for centuries that Nicholas needed a "quest" to pursue and a villain to conquer and he'd conscientiously provided both, enjoying the sport more often than not. But right now he wished he could give it all up and just enjoy his son's company without having to plot the next move in their eternal chess game. Janette marveled once again at how close to the bone LaCroix allowed Charlotte's comments to cut. She had never been able to learn from either of them why this was so. But she *did* know that whatever the reason, it was why he would never forgive what he saw as her betrayal. To allow someone to be so close to him and have her... The rustle of clothing drew everyone's attention back to the sofa, as Nicholas stirred softly. Allowing himself no further regret, Lucien laCroix closed his eyes for several seconds, straightened his shoulders and turned to rouse his son to battle again. End of Family Ties (03/03)