Truce 
by
tasha

     Author's note:  This story should be considered as a part of the "Odds
Against" and
"Metamorphosis" universe from the first two issues of "Dark Fantasies";
however, I do think
"Truce" will stand on its own.  It's more Nick's story than Starsky and
Hutch's or Bodie and
Doyle's.
     "Truce" may not quite agree with the timeline in the flashback shown in
the episode
"Father Figure."  It is unknown from the episode exactly what date Nicolas,
Janette, and
LaCroix are in London during the Second World War.  It should be noted that
Nicolas and
LaCroix are wearing British Army uniforms consistent with that era and that
London is being
bombed.    So "Truce" doesn't completely conflict with it, either.

Prologue

     The full, gleaming moon was becoming visible in the Detective Knight's
skylight.  The
calm Toronto evening was broken only by the occasional cloud floating slowly
across the bulging
orb, obscuring the nearby stars.  Not noticing the celestial display,
Detective Nick Knight rested
on his black leather sofa and tried to relax on one of his infrequent nights
off.  Squirming on the
soft leather and unable to get comfortable, he finally rose to pace the room.
     The current murder investigation seemed to be going nowhere.  He checked
in regularly
with Natalie, but she hadn't identified the chemical on the victim and most
of the other tests
weren't back either.  There was nothing from the states or RCMP.  The case
was on the back
burner at the moment, hence his night off.  He walked to the kitchen and
flung open his
refrigerator then grimaced at the half-empty, long necked bottle.  The
feeling of depression had
been growing over the past couple of days.  Nick walked the length of his
loft then finally he
flung on his jacket to cover his shoulder holster and hurried down to the
Caddy.
     He reached The Raven a few minutes later and sat for a few moments
looking at the black
bird on the front of the premises.  It was always the same thing; when mortal
life got complicated
he ran to Janette, perhaps not for sympathy which he rarely got, but simply
for company of his
own kind.  Right now, he needed a distraction.  Perhaps the Raven would
provide one.
     Disgusted with himself, he slid out from under the steering wheel and
left the car sitting
in a no-parking zone.  He was confident that the beat cop would recognize it
and overlook
ticketing it.
     Entering the club, he settled at the bar and observed the patrons,
dancing, drinking, or
attempting to make conversation.  He turned down a drink from the bartender.
 Smoke and noise
filled the Raven as patrons forgot their cares and woes just as Nick was
trying to do.
     Chains rattled as customers came and went about their business in the
Raven; there were
exchanges of both legal and illegal substances.  Keeping his profession to
himself, Detective
Nicholas Knight of Metro Homicide leaned against the bar and idly noted the
huge bartender
refilling drinks for two blond women.  He saw that they were both a little
drunk and seemed
uninterested in anyone else in the bar.  Janette circulated between dancing
couples, smiling at
various acquaintances.  She wandered over and sat beside Nick for a few
minutes.
     "Nicolas," her breathy voice giving his name the French intonation.
 "Slumming, I
presume."  The bartender sat down a wine glass which she picked up and licked
the rim before
sipping.  "You are not here for information, are you?  Because I'm fresh
out."
     "No, Janette.  I just needed a break from a case we've been working on."
     "Poor Nicolas," she whispered mockingly, leaning forward to look him in
the eye.
"Always so concerned about his cases."
     The bartender signaled for Janette, and she rose to her feet, giving
Nick a light peck on
the cheek.  Nick watched her walk the length of the bar and lean over to talk
to the bartender.
Her dress was tight in all the right places, he decided.
     He didn't immediately notice when the door to the street opened, and two
figures came
down the steps, sidling between dancers toward the bar.  Then there was an
peculiar surge in the
atmosphere of the club, the detective turned and watched the latest customers
moving across the
room.  He was puzzled momentarily by the haunting familiarity of the aura
until he saw a flaxen
head of hair reflected in the dim, oscillating lights.  For Nick, time
distorted as the tall, slender
figure came unerringly across the crowded floor accompanied by a shorter
stockier man.  For
endless moments Nick was once more in a chateau in occupied France more than
50 years ago,
trying to teach a hot-headed young vampire how to survive.  It had been a
difficult time for both
of them.  His rescue of the American pilot had been a spur of the moment idea
to frustrate
LaCroix.  Finding the pilot nearly dead, he had been forced to bring him
across.  It had been
successful one of the few times where his heart had led him in the right
direction.
     He wondered briefly if the American's companion was the same as the one
he had spoken
about in the endless nights hiding on the coast of France waiting for contact
by the local
underground.
     Nick slid away from the bar to be grabbed into a hard bear hug from one
of his own kin,
one of his own children.  He had never tied this child of his to him as his
own mentor had
leashed himself.  Knight was gratified to feel the healthy, unsullied gleam
in the ambience that
easily intertwined with his own.
     "Nicolas," the blond breathed into his ear, giving the French intonation
to Nick's name.
The American pulled back to arm's length and smiled a wide toothy smile.
 "It's great to find you
after all these years."
     Knight returned the smile and whispered fervently, "Hutchinson!"  For
the time being,
Nick was without words as he looked at his child of The Blood.  He had
deliberately avoided
contact with the American pilot and had opened no doors to the vampire
community at large for
his protege.  "And how did you manage after all these years?"
     "When you logged on the NCIC computer a couple of weeks ago, Starsk was
able to trace
you back to the precinct 96 in Toronto.  Easy as pie when you know how.  It
was especially easy
to find you when you had merely translated the name I knew you by into
English.  Not exactly
the best disguise."  Hutch gestured to his grinning companion.  "We thought
we'd take a few days
and come up here to surprise you."
     "Well, you did manage that," Knight answered, watching the vibes between
the two men.
There was a palpable intimacy even though the two weren't touching.  He
finally identified the
link as similar to the one between he and Hutch but with an addition.   Yes,
Hutch had made this
vampire as he himself had brought Hutch across or as LaCroix had created
Nicolas, the vampire.
But the addition was of slightly different nature than either of the above.
 He was sure this was
a bond that was made in love.
     "Nick, I want you to meet David Starsky.  You may remember we spoke of
him decades
ago," Hutch grinned as he shoved the shorter, dark-haired man toward his
guide from a troubled
time.
     Starsky held out his hand and Knight grasped it firmly, answering Hutch,
"Yes, I
remember our discussions."  As Starsky's eyes shifted between his two
companions, Nick
continued, "I see everything worked out well."
     "Better than well," Hutch answered just before he was jostled by an
enthusiastic and
drunken dancer.
     "This really isn't the best place for a family reunion," Starsky
observed, needing to raise
his voice to a near shout as the band on the stage began a piece with a heavy
metal beat that
reverberated off the wall and nearly setting the hanging chains rattling from
sound waves alone.
     Acknowledging the succinct point, Knight led the way around behind the
bar and down
a dimly lit hallway into a small room that Janette occasionally used for
entertaining her friends.
     "Tell me, what have you been doing with yourself since the war?" he
asked Hutch as they
walked side-by-side.  Starsky trailed along behind, watching both men with
interest.  He had
heard a lot about this mysterious figure from Hutch.  Starsky was bit
disappointed; Nicolas
seemed so normal and almost human.
     "We hung out with George Cowley's mob until it began to become obvious
that we
weren't aging normally.  So we came back to the states and have done a lot of
different things,"
Hutch paused and looked at the once very familiar features of his mentor.
 "How about you?"
     "Like you, I stayed in Europe for a while after the war then went to the
States for a while
and finally here to Toronto."  Nick opened the door into Janette's sitting
room.  The three entered
and settled themselves on the comfortable furniture.
     The reunion was a friendly one that ended with the nearing of the dawn.
 Nick invited
the two Americans to stay at the loft, but was turned down.  They had made
their own
arrangements.  Nick made an appointment to meet with them back at the Raven
the next night
when he got off shift for a further reunion.
     Watching the cab, carry away the young vampires, Nick slowly walked
toward the Caddy.
He was being overwhelmed with memories, memories that he had hidden away and
didn't want
to replay.  But the images were becoming crystal clear.  As he drove down the
streets to the
Gateway loft, he tried to push the recollections back to the dim recesses of
his mind where they
belonged.  Nevertheless, they were not to be denied....
     His last action was to put the green Cadillac in the garage and close
the door in defense
against the imminent daylight.  The images overwhelmed him as the garage door
rattled shut.
He didn't want to relive these things after all this time.  He had thought he
had put it behind him
forever.

From: Tashamccoy@aol.com
Date: Thu, 30 Nov 1995 00:51:47 -0500
Message-ID: <951130005140_39015674@mail04.mail.aol.com>
Subject: Truce - part 2 of ?

Truce part 2 of ?
France 1943

     Nicolas was miserable.  It wasn't the cold and damp of the atmosphere
that bothered him;
it was the location.  As a card-carrying, blood-sucking vampire, taking
refuge in the basement
of an ancient Catholic church on the outskirts of Paris probably wasn't the
wisest decision he'd
ever made.  However, finding himself in the vicinity after his last mission
without enough time
before sunrise to get to his normal hideaway, he had taken up the invitation
of the parish priest.
The priest had seemed to understand that his guest wasn't quite the normal
member of the
maquis, and didn't question Nicolas' request to spend the day in the cellar.
     His last mission for the underground had taken him farther afield than
he had anticipated
and had taken far longer than expected.  He had been out of the city nearly a
month.  He tried
to relax and wait for the sun to set so he could get back to his own
territory.  He would have to
check in with Janette at the club during the next few nights.  He didn't want
another assignment
right at the moment.  He was weary of rescuing a few privileged individuals
while so many
continued to be doomed to a horrible fate.  He didn't involve himself in
sabotaging railroads or
bridges, just tried to deny the death camps a few helpless people.  He was
discouraged by how
little he was able to accomplish even with his vampiric powers.
     Janette, on the other hand, gloried in blowing up bridges or troop
transports.  These were
invaders in her homeland.  Somewhere along the way she had acquired a measure
of patriotism.
Nicolas always suspected that it was not so much the invasion of her country
as the invasion of
her club that motivated her.
     "Monsieur Chevalier." Nicolas jerked around to see the stocky parish
priest descend the
stairs, fastidiously lifting his cassock off the dusty steps.  The man was
bareheaded with a closely
cropped fringe of graying hair around the base of his skull.  He had even,
soft features and large
dark eyes.  As he reached the bottom of the stairs, the priest paused.
     "Mon pere," Nicolas answered, rising from his makeshift resting place in
a dim corner of
the cluttered storage area.
     "Mademoiselle DouBravo has sent a messenger.  She would like to see you
this evening
after dark at Le Corbeau."  The priest squinted at his guest.  To reassure
his visitor, the priest
continued, "The messenger had the proper passwords, and it was coded for an
emergency
situation."
     "Merci, mon pere," Chevalier answered, smiling inwardly at the pseudonym
that Janette
had chosen for her work in the maquis.
     "Is there anything I can get for you, my son?" the priest questioned his
guest.  "Perhaps
some wine or cheese.  I don't have much, but what I have is yours."
     "Non, mon pere.  There is nothing I desire," Nicolas answered quite
truthfully.  He had
fed the previous night from a lovely large horse.  He had been able drink his
fill of the rich blood
because of the size of the animal.  There wasn't much chance that his needs
would have any
effect on the descendant of the huge chargers that carried the medieval
knights to war.
     "Then I will leave you and attend to my flock.  There will be a mass
said at four this
afternoon.  You are welcome to attend."
     Startled, Nicolas stammered out something to the effect that he was
exhausted and had
a trying night upcoming.  Already his soul and mind were in torment in this
place.  He wasn't
sure what would become of him if he was exposed to the Holy Eucharist at this
time.
     Nodding, the priest commented, "As you will, my son."  He was resigned
to the lack of
spirituality shown by many of these young men in the maquis occasionally
sheltered in his small
church. The husky human turned to ascend the stairs again.  He paused at the
top and
contemplated his guest.  Then shaking his head, he went through the heavy oak
door and shut
it gently.
     After the priest had disappeared into his church, Nicolas wondered what
Janette could
want that would be so urgent that she would send a messenger?  Checking his
internal clock,
Nicolas noted that it would be a few hours before the sun set.  He settled
himself on a packing
carton and wrapped up in his long coat.  It was the best he could do for
bedding.  Contrary to
popular belief, vampires do not prefer stuffy, dirty crypts for their day's
sleep, Nicolas thought
as he drifted into the twilight world of vampiric sleep.  The dust in the air
tickled his nostrils as
he tried to doze away the daylight hours.
     Eventually Nicolas' time sense told him that the sun was setting.  He
rose from his
makeshift bed and shook off as much of the grime from his coat as he could.
 Then he made his
way up to the top of the stairs and listened at the door.  His keen senses
could discern no
strangers within the building.  Gently opening the door, he peered around it.
 He noticed the
room behind the chapel was empty so he walked to the back door that led to
the rectory.  As he
passed an open doorway, he could hear bustling in the chapel, and assumed it
was the priest
setting his altar to rights after mass.  He didn't want to risk walking into
that holy a place.  He
smiled grimly as he thought of the look on the priest's face if his guest
were to go up in a puff
of smoke in his chapel.
     Once outside the stifling atmosphere of the church, his depression
lightened. Glancing
around the small ill-kept garden between the church and the rectory, he saw
no one.  Most honest
Parisians were home after dark.  It wasn't fear of his kind, but of the
deadly mortals that occupied
the city.
     He slipped into the narrow alley beside the church and took to the air.
 Over the blacked-
out city, he made excellent time to the side street that Le Corbeau faced.
 He settled quietly
around the corner from the club.  Le Corbeau was open, and from the number of
customers
entering and leaving, it was doing quite well for Mademoiselle DouBravo.
Slipping to the side
door, he pushed it open easily and went down the hall toward Janette's
private quarters.
     As he passed the men's lavatory, he was struck in the face with a
foul-smelling liquid.
"Garlic!"  He tried to levitate away from the noxious substance, but was hit
on the head and
shoulders at the same time by heavy chains which propelled him to the hard
wooden floor.
Blinking rapidly, he nearly screamed as only darkness met his visual senses.
 The substance had
affected him the same way as acid in the face would a human.  He was in agony
and blind!
There was scuffling as he madly tried to squirm away from the heavy weighted
chains.  Again
he was assaulted with the burning liquid; it splashed down the back of his
neck, scalding his
shoulders in lava.  This time he identified it as garlic mixed with water,
probably holy water
since it seemed to melt his skin.  The liquid fire felt as if it were melting
his flesh like sand
before the incoming tide.
     Calloused hands made grabs for his flailing limbs.  He was hampered by
the chains which
sapped his strength.  Finally he felt a hand grasp his hair and pull his head
up.  Something hard
was pressed to his lower sternum.  It was wooden and pierced the skin deeply
to rest against the
tough vampiric muscle protecting the vulnerable heart area, setting another
portion of his anatomy
alight.  Innumerable other hands were trying to still his struggles.  There
were grunts of mortal
pain as his fists and feet struck soft human flesh.
     "Demon, surrender to your fate," was intoned from a distance.  The wood
was driven
deeper into his flesh. The chains burned his flesh wherever they touched, and
he writhed in their
grasp.  Probably some damned priest had blessed them.
     "Now, demon, or whatever you are," a thickly accented voice rasped in
his ear.
"Cooperation will earn you less pain."  The vampire quieted his frantic
struggle.  Thrashing limbs
came to rest on the hardwood floor.  The stave was pulled back at this silent
acquiescence.
     "We must prepare a stake for this creature."  The voice came from behind
him now.  His
imagination threw him momentarily into the past, seeing a young woman's
torment at such a
stake many centuries past. At that time he had recognized a soul at peace; a
soul resigned to its
fate.   In the end she had been forced into women's clothing, which had
looked grotesque in view
of her shaved head.  She had been convicted of heresy for nothing more than
wearing men's
clothing.  The church, even in its modern incarnation, would condemn his kind
much easier than
the innocent, young peasant girl.  He would never surrender willingly to that
painful fate even
to save his own immortal soul if he had one, which he seriously doubted.
     "No stake for now.  When we have finished with it, you may have it for
whatever rituals
you deem necessary."  This was the German-accented voice drawing the
vampire's attention away
from his past.
     "Holy Mother Church dictates that you shalt not suffer a demon.  Burning
at the stake is
the only answer for his kind," the priest continued.  If he had dared move,
Nicolas would have
shook his head in wonder at the contrast between this man and his host of the
daylight hours.
This priest was in partnership with the Nazi regime while his host had been
strongly enough
opposed to assist the maquis.
     "First, the Fuhrer will be satisfied regarding the nature of these
things.  I have my orders."
     Hands were easing as Nicolas made no overt moves. Even in his blindness
he could
discern the different men in the room from the differing breathing patterns
and slight rustling
noises they made as they shifted positions uncomfortably. There was the one
in authority who
had held the stake to his chest, the priest, and five others. He could smell
the rank odor of fear
in the last ones; it seemed to override the reek of the garlic in which he
had been saturated.  He
relaxed his body even to slowing his breathing to almost nothing.
     The many hands holding the chains began to slacken as the priest and the
German
continued to argue.
     "You promised that the demon would be turned over to Mother Church for
cleansing."
     "And the Third Reich will do so when our scientists have finished
studying it."  Nicolas
shuddered at the tone and implications behind it.  He had some very vivid
memories of another
scientist who had started to help him find a cure then decided he would make
an interesting
laboratory subject to keep and study.
     As the unseen hands loosened their grip even more, Nicolas made a lunge
with fangs
bared.  Two of the assailants were knocked free of the chains, but the other
three held on
doggedly.  Then Nicolas was sprayed again with a fiery liquid.  Pure holy
water this time, he
estimated from the excruciating torment on his torso and face.  Limply he
dropped back to the
parquet floor swathed in the chains.
     "You fools!" snarled the authoritarian voice.  "Get that cage in here."
     Nicolas began to feel increasingly weak as he heard rattling and
clanging.  There was a
loud thud as something very heavy hit the floor near his head.  His agony
would be relieved
momentarily as he deliberately gave his consciousness permission to flee,
thus permitting his
body to concentrate on healing.  He felt no more.

* * *

     Returning to consciousness, Nicolas noted that his body was healing
itself at frantic pace.
If he had not fed well the night before, this type of accelerated healing
would have been
impossible.  He could feel the weeping blisters on his shoulders and face
rapidly closing.  The
blindness was dissipating more slowly.  But he could dimly see the outlines
of his cell that was
inside another cage, resting on the bed of a troop transport.  The canvas
sides and top were
pulled tightly closed.  He was able to distinguish all this only faintly
since his normal night
vision had not recovered completely, but he was no longer entirely dependent
on his other senses.
     The outer cage in which he was incarcerated could have been built to
hold an elephant.
Each bar was a four-inch steel post.  Even at his best strength he might have
been hard pressed
to break one at a weld.  The lock on the cage which should have been its
weakest point was
forbidden him by the simplicity of having a cross welded to it.
     He could hear the priest chanting from the front of the truck.  He was
facing the rear exit,
leaning against one side of the interior metal crate. His hands had been
pulled behind him and
threaded through the bars then bound with what felt like beads, probably
rosary beads.  These
were fragile bonds for anything but a vampire.  His wrists ached and stung
from long contact
with the strong religious artifact.  Their efficacy was  enhanced by the fact
that they had been
blessed by a true believer.  The priest behind him obviously had strong
religious convictions no
matter that he was coincidentally serving a regime that the rest of the world
would condemn
when it found out what Nicolas knew.  Because of his body's regenerative
process, Nicolas hadn't
the strength at the moment to combat such a belief; consequently, the flimsy
beads held him with
ease.
     During the seemingly endless journey, Nicolas had time to reflect on how
his enemies had
gained this information about him.  He wouldn't let himself think that the
knowledge had come
from Janette or of the manner in which it had been acquired.  The other
source was LaCroix, but
in all the long centuries of their association, Nicolas had never known
LaCroix to betray him to
others.  Castigate Nicolas himself, certainly.  But it wasn't his style to
abandon his ungrateful
child to the retribution of strangers.  No, he didn't think this predicament
was of LaCroix's
making, and he hoped not of Janette's.  All he could be sure of at this point
was that the
informant had given deadly accurate intelligence.
     After long hours of travel, the truck jerked to a stop, and the rattle
of a gate opening was
audible.  With its motor growling, the truck lurched forward then turned up a
long incline on a
gravel road.  The tires whispered on another paved section of road for a few
miles then slowed
and made a turn.  After the truck ground to a halt and the engine was killed,
the canvas was
unlaced and the tailgate dropped down.  A spotlight nearly blinded Nicolas
with his precarious
healing vision.  As his sight continued to clear, Nicolas saw the priest
being helped from the
truck.  Pointing at him in his cage were at least a half dozen soldiers
holding crossbows which
were loaded with heavy wooden arrows.  Yes, his enemies had done their
homework well.
     Cautiously, three uniformed figures materialized out of the glare.  They
affixed heavy
chains to loops at the bottom of the outer cage.  Six more men came into his
range of vision
carrying a heavy metal ramp which slid into slots at the bottom of the truck
bed.  Then the
uneven rumble of a tractor motor shattered the stillness of the night.  After
it was backed into
place, the weighty chains were attached to the hitch at its rear.  The
tractor's motor roared just
before the chains snapped taut.  The vehicle plunged forward, yanking the
cage down the ramp
to the pavement.  Nicolas was flung forward and the rosary beads parted with
the impact.  The
fall might have stunned a human, but the vampire only snarled and leaped at
the cage door
hoping that the drop had weakened some portion of the metal crates.  They
were more sturdily
built than that and his efforts were an exercise in futility.  In the
background the continuous
chanting of the priest was getting on his nerves.  He suspected that if he
were mortal it would
have still bothered him.  It was not the beautiful Gregorian chants he
remembered from his
childhood, but a dull monotone that grated on his mind.
     He was distracted from the priest by the appearance of a German officer,
probably the
authoritarian voice from the club.  Now through the gleam of the spotlights,
he began to get a
look at his opponent.  The man was of average height and weight, but in the
artificial glow, his
coloring was nondescript.  There was nothing that set him apart from his
fellow humans except
the black uniform with the lightning bolts on the collar.  Those pips marked
him as an especially
dangerous person.  Strutting back and forth in front of the cage, he
occasionally flicked a short
crop against his thigh.  This affectation did not bother Nicolas at all he
was only concerned
with escape from the clutches of this man.
     "Demon, what do you call yourself?"  the SS officer asked in a
conversational tone.
     Nicolas disdained to answer.  His fangs and eyes had returned to their
mortal camouflage.
He simply stood in the cage, stared at nothing just over the officer's head
and waited for the
Nazi's next move.  He was resisting in the only way left to him, passively.
 He vowed not to
speak or inform on his companions in the maquis.
     Coming closer to his prisoner, the German studied the healing face with
its clean-cut
features.  He saw wavy blond hair still tousled and damp from the water and
garlic oil.  He
grimaced from the strong odor emanating from the human-looking creature.
     The vampire kept its features unmoving but alert.   Dissatisfied with
the lack of response,
the officer turned away from his victim and nodded toward the priest who came
forward chanting
louder and now rocking an incense burner toward the cage.   The danger of the
action was
not at once apparent until the incense began searing the vampire's lungs.
 Nicolas stopped
breathing at once, but the damage had been done.  The holy incense was within
his body where
it nearly stopped the slow beat of his heart.  He collapsed to the floor of
the cage.  It was that
simple to incapacitate him with the right weapons.  His vulnerability to
these ancient tools of the
Inquisition terrified him.  Once more he had to suspend consciousness to
allow his body time to
heal.  Whether he would wake up again was only speculation, but he believed
that he would.
There had been so much effort made to take him alive when killing him would
have been a much
simpler task.

* * *

From: Tashamccoy@aol.com
Date: Thu, 30 Nov 1995 00:52:57 -0500
Message-ID: <951130005256_39016896@mail04.mail.aol.com>
Subject: Truce - part 3 of ?


Truce part 3 of ?
Chateau d'Argenlac

     After meeting Nicolas in Paris a few months ago, LaCroix had cut his
ties to the Gestapo.
It had been an interesting diversion at the time, but he had grown bored with
the situation and
the fools that had run the interrogation unit.  It was maddening to be at the
beck and call of those
stupid mortals.  He had quietly left Paris and spent his time at Chateau
d'Argenlac.   The house
itself was even older than any of the nearby residents thought;  it was built
on the site of an old
Roman villa that LaCroix had occupied in various guises over the centuries.
 On this ancient
estate there were simpler pastimes, but amusing just the same.
     He kept track of the adventures of Janette and Nicolas.  Their newly
found patriotism was
a favorite distraction.  Janette's childish delight in blowing up trains or
feeding on the invading
troops was a vicarious pleasure to be savored.
     However, Nicolas had cut himself off entirely or as much as was possible
with a bond
of blood between them.  He received few impressions or emotions from his
favorite child.  He
could possibly force a link if he wanted to make the effort, but he didn't
want to.
     After an especially satisfying hunt many miles from his property,
LaCroix rested in the
secluded chateau.  Lately he had hunted the invaders himself, always making
sure his kills were
far from the village that owed traditional fealty to his estate.  This night
he had killed one of the
hated SS troopers.  It had not been easy to lure one of the sentries into the
forest and finally
terrify it into a kill worth the taking.
     Reclining back in a leather chair, he basked in the light of the full
moon and did not
notice the figure that made its way across his neatly kept lawn.   Then the
impact of another
vampiric presence impinged on his consciousness as the person arrived on the
second floor
balcony.  Briskly he rose from his chair and walked out to greet Janette as
she came closer.
Mentally he congratulated her on her stealth.  Perhaps all her time spent
with the rabble wasn't
going to waste.
     "Ah, Janette, it has been too long.  Have you decided to give up this
foolishness of
helping fight a human war?  Human wars aren't for our involvement, only our
pleasure.  There
are always the leavings of human wars for us to feast upon."  The elder
vampire leaned forward
to plant a gentle kiss on the perfect forehead.  Still gently holding her, he
pulled back to observe
his loyal daughter's disheveled appearance.  Her heavy mane of raven hair was
pulled into a
careless, unkempt knot.  She wore wrinkled men's clothing, nothing he would
ever have imagined
she would do.  Smiling to himself, he remembered many hunts when she had
inappropriately
wandered the woods in her finery.  This was a different Janette than he would
have expected.
     Shrugging free of LaCroix's hands, Janette shook loose her dark mass of
hair from its
confining pins.  Running her hands through the tumbled mass, she thought of
what she had to
tell LaCroix.
     "Nicolas is missing," she said quietly then froze like a deer caught in
the head-lights of
an approaching vehicle.  She waited for his reaction uneasily.
     "When isn't the young fool going off searching for his cure?"  LaCroix
snarled, returning
to his chair in disgust.  This wasn't going to be as interesting an interview
as he had hoped.
     "I think it's different this time," Janette hesitated.  She turned and
paced back toward the
stone railing outside the open glass-doors.  "On his last mission for the
maquis, I know he
returned to Paris or at least very near Paris.  One of my contacts said he
spent the day he
returned in the basement of Saint Anne's."
     "Bah, spending the day in church could have been Nicolas' undoing."
 LaCroix turned his
head away, muttering, "Young fool."
     "Non, the priest said he left as soon as the sun was down."
     "Then he's off somewhere pursuing whatever he thinks might bring about
his miraculous
cure."
     "Non, the priest said he left to meet me.  I was supposed to have sent a
messenger that
said I needed him immediately."  Janette turned back to her mentor.  "I
didn't send that
messenger.  I haven't been back to Le Corbeau for weeks.  Nicolas wouldn't
know that as he was
in Germany for nearly a month.  Someone was to contact him at his normal
resting place.  In
fact, Michelle had been there for two days ever since we had gotten word that
he was coming
out of Germany.  He didn't stop at his place, but went directly to the club.
 He must have been
given the right codes for an emergency situation."
     LaCroix rose from his comfortable, leather chair and walked toward her.
 "Tell me the
rest of it.  There's something you aren't telling me."  His face was hard,
and his eyes were
glittering nearly in transformation.
     "One of the young ones disappeared a few weeks ago and hasn't been heard
of since.  His
master can't locate his mind, but they were never close.  You know how
careless Sebastien has
always been with his 'get.'"  She worried her hair again.  "We assumed the
fledgling left the area
or was killed accidentally.  Now I just don't know...."
     "Then you think Nicolas would return to Le Corbeau to find you?"
     "Mais oui.  Neither he nor the priest knew that we had changed our base
of operations.
The priest wouldn't be told in any case.  He was simply running a safe-house
for our agents.
Best he didn't know too much.  But this time perhaps he didn't know enough."
 Janette reached
into a pocket of her uncharacteristically mannish coat and pulled out
cigarettes and a lighter.
Hurriedly she lit the cigarette and drew deeply on it, blowing smoke over the
edge of the railing.
She paced back and forth.  "Is there anything you can do?"
     "Perhaps I could force a contact with his mind if I wanted to, but at
the moment I see no
need to.  Let our young friend stew in his own juices for a while."  LaCroix
smiled thinly and
walked back into his sitting room.  "Come, my dear, let's have some
refreshment and perhaps you
can convince me of a good reason to rush to his rescue that is, if he really
needs one."
     Janette shook her head and walked back across the veranda, "Non, I must
get back to base
before daylight."  She nearly sobbed as she took to the air and disappeared.
     LaCroix smiled slightly and sauntered in through the wide french doors
that were open
out to the veranda.  He paused, then turned to his wine cabinet.  Lifting out
a long-necked bottle,
he reached for a crystal goblet and poured in a healthy measure of his own
private stock.  Janette
wasn't the only one that enjoyed a few of the finer things of life.  Perhaps
this would be an
opportunity to return Nicolas to his nest.  His child had fled him before and
had returned when
he had gotten his fill of dealing with mortals and their deceptions.  Yes, he
would give Nicolas
time to remember how badly he needed his mentor.

* * *

     It was seemingly hours before the next time Nicolas regained
consciousness.  The first
thing he noticed was that only his trousers remained of his clothes.  Then
the ache from his arms
called attention to the fact that he was lying on a cold metal table with his
arms drawn up over
his head.  The ache from that region was not from the position, but the
weighted metal cuffs that
held his wrists in place.  Once more he realized that he was in the grasp of
something with
religious significance.  Probably the shackles had been blessed by the
traitorous priest.  His
internal clock told him that the sun would drop below the horizon soon and
all his well-honed
instincts hammered at him to flee; in a human it might have been described as
an adrenalin surge.
He wasn't sure what it could be called in a vampire.  He didn't care he
literally wanted to fly
away.  However, the chains holding his limbs were doing an effective job of
immobilizing him.
     Warily he opened his eyes to mere slits.  There was an astoundingly
bright light directly
over where he lay.  Behind his head, he identified the chanting of the Nazi
priest still mumbling
his incessant prayers for Nicolas' destruction.
     Through his narrow line of vision he could see two men talking.  With an
effort, he tuned
out the chanting and listened to the two figures.  One of the men wore a
wrinkled white lab coat
and the other was the SS officer from the night before.  Ignoring his various
aches and pains, he
concentrated on hearing what was being discussed.
     "Don't let this one get too strong.  You know after our other specimen
killed that gypsy,
it was strong enough to break your restraints.  We still don't know if it got
back to any of its
kind," the uniformed figure spoke intensely to the one in the white lab coat.
 "I can't afford to
lose another one."
     "I really don't think it went very far," the scientist answered softly
and perhaps with a
tinge of regret.  From his accented German, Nicolas could discern he was
probably French.  "I
kept some samples of its blood and tissue."  He turned to the refrigerator
beside a door.  He
opened the door and took out a petri dish.  "Come over here and watch this,
Major Peiper."
     Nicolas watched as the scientist opened the latches of the heavy steel
door letting in the
waning daylight. Unconsciously he flinched, but he forced himself to observe
what the scientist
was showing the other man.  In the dying rays of the sun, the contents of the
petri dish began
to smoke then flared into flames.
     "Our first guest escaped during the day if you remember," the scientist
commented quietly
to his companion.
     "Interesting.  Then your theory is that it couldn't have gone back to
Paris, Dr. Marchand?"
the German officer murmured.
     "Or anywhere else."
     "That is probably why our guard dogs found a few scraps of clothes, but
no body."  The
uniformed figure turned to look speculatively at the still form on the table.
 Turning back to the
other man, he said, "Then you think the legends are true then that vampires
burn up in the
sunlight."
     "I wonder if this one is so handicapped," the scientist murmured as he
led the officer back
toward the gurney.  He observed it carefully as the soldier spoke to him.
     "Use all the samples you want of its blood and tissue, but don't kill
it.  Just keep it under
control."  The major drew the attention of his companion back to him.
     "I won't forget.  The last one cost me two lab assistants.  One was bled
dry and the other
had a broken neck."  The scientist turned his attention back to Nicolas lying
quite still on the
steel table.  "These restraints are much heavier than the last set."  He
looked again closely at their
prisoner.  "I think our latest guest is awake."  Dr. Marchand walked toward
the table and reached
into his pocket.  He brought out a small silver cross which he placed
directly in front of Nicolas'
face.  The vampire flinched and turned his head away.  Smiling and dropping
the cross into his
coat pocket, he looked toward the German officer who had come to stand beside
the table.  Major
Peiper nodded his comprehension.
     "This one has fantastic healing powers.  Watch this," Dr. Marchand
commented casually
as he took a scalpel from his lab coat.  With an economic movement, he sliced
a long deep cut
along Nicolas' ribcage.  The vampire gasped as the blade cut nearly to the
bone.  In his weakened
condition, the effort of healing was excruciating, and Nicolas panted with
the effort not to scream
out his agony.  He controlled the urge, trying to cover his weakness before
the mortals intently
scrutinizing him.
     "Notice there is little or no bleeding.  And what blood escapes the
wound is drawn back
as the wound completely seals itself."  The two watched, fascinated for a few
minutes as the
wound healed itself to a red welt that quickly began to fade.  "I think the
other vampire was
telling the truth when it said it was young and didn't have all its powers."
 The clinical
perspective of the scientist accompanied by the cold-blooded attitude of the
German was
frightening.  Nicolas realized that he wasn't anything more than an
interesting experiment to one
and something less than human to the other.
     "It did tell us that this one and the female who ran Le Corbeau were
much older.  Too
bad we haven't found that woman.  It would be interesting to see them
interact together, that is
after you've finished your investigations."  Silently Nicolas sighed in
relief to find out that Janette
had been spared anything like this.
     "I think keeping one in the lab is dangerous enough even with all the
precautions we've
taken this time," the scientist answered, turning away from the gurney on
which Nicolas rested
uneasily.  "However it's fascinating to see what tolerance these creatures
have."
     "Just don't kill it or let it get away," the officer commented, "before
you have figured out
how these creatures are made and how we may exploit them.  Remember, you have
a great deal
to lose."  The rumpled scientist seemed to shrink from the Nazi officer.
 Major Peiper continued
speaking without seeming to notice the effect his words had on the man he was
talking to.  "I
don't think it would be much help to have soldiers who can't fight during the
day; but to have
an army with that healing ability and invulnerability to bullets would be a
great asset to the Third
Reich."
     "Yes, Herr Major, I can see the military possibilities are endless even
if the men could
only fight at night," the scientist spoke with undisguised loathing.  Again
Major Peiper didn't
seem to notice or care.
     "If that is the only way to achieve such abilities, I will have to speak
to my superiors
before trying anything with any of the soldiers."   The major turned to look
at the vampire on
the gurney.  "However, see what you can accomplish.  You will have as many
experimental
prisoners as you need.  Just tell the sergeant in charge to get more from one
of the camps when
you run out."  The major paused and reached to the counter for his cap.  "I
need to go to Berlin
tonight, but I should be back in three or four days."
     "I beg your pardon, Major Peiper, but may I ask that the priest be sent
away?" the doctor
asked.  "I find his chanting a distraction to my research and a disturbance
to my assistants."
     "Certainly, Doctor; he's served his purpose, I think.  We only needed
him to control the
beast until we had him firmly incarcerated here in your laboratory."  The
major left and took the
bothersome priest with him.  Nicolas was relieved to see him go; the golden
silence was
something to be thankful for at a moment when there was very little to be
thankful for in his
present existence.

From: Tashamccoy@aol.com
Date: Thu, 30 Nov 1995 12:44:02 -0500
Message-ID: <951130124401_39425530@emout04.mail.aol.com>
Subject: Truce - Part 4 of ?

Truce part 4 of ?
     The next few days were a jumble of pain and disorientation for Nicolas.
 He spent many
days in the cage and nights painfully on the table.  On several occasions
when neither the threats
of wooden stakes nor holy water could budge him from his corner of the cage,
the scientist would
allow him a pint of stale human blood.  He always drained the glass container
quickly and looked
for more.  This deliberate near starvation was taking its toll on his
physical abilities.
     After being incarcerated for nearly two weeks, Nicolas could understand
why the young
vampire escaped, knowing he would die in the sunlight.  He found he was
waiting for a similar
opportunity, but his jailers watched him constantly.  The relief of suicide
was not going to be his.
     As time slowly passed Nicolas found himself left alone in his cage more
often.  There
were periods when he was left alone in his cell for hours.  It gave him time
to explore the steel
bars.  During one of his searches he found one bar that seemed to be weaker
than the rest.  After
that, whenever he could, he worked on the bar.  It may have been his
imagination, but the post
holding the hinges seemed to be gradually loosening at the weld near the top.
 He worried it off
and on over the blurred passage of days that followed.  It was probably a
futile effort, but it gave
him something to keep his mind occupied.  He was in danger of giving in to
the questioning.
The scientist had evolved a method of asking a crucial question regarding his
nature then, if not
answered, testing his theory, usually with painful results for Nicolas.

* * *

     One day during a particularly painful experiment involving gradual
exposure to the sun,
Nicolas felt himself beginning to lose control.  He knew that had been a
danger from the very
beginning.
     His gurney had been placed near toward one of the windows of the
laboratory that
afternoon.  The sun shone in the window brightly.  His hands and wrists were
exposed first; then
other parts of his body.  He screamed for the first time as the sun's deadly
rays enveloped his
face.  Then Nicolas' own private Mr. Hyde was completely free.  His brain
screamed its outrage
at the abuse of his body.  He released his conscious control to the animal
that always hovered
at the edge of his mind.  It raged at the restraints and managed to snap two
of the steel bands
imprisoning his arms and chest.
     One keeper who got within the range of  his free hand was dead before
anyone realized
his peril.  However, a splash of holy water in the vampire's face quelled his
struggles long
enough for the heavy restraints to be replaced.  Then the gurney was brought
back into the
dimmer light in the center of the room.
     With the assistance of four men, the scientist arranged more shackles on
his subject. Now
there were two sturdy cuffs on each of his arms.  Later the experiment in the
sunlight was
continued until the victim passed out with deep burns, and the little
clothing he wore was heavily
scorched.  Then Nicolas was taken back to his cage and incarcerated once more
to heal through
the remaining daylight hours.  This time it would take more than a pint of
blood and longer than
a day to accomplish the healing.
     After the sun had set the doctor visited the nearly comatose victim in
his cell and brought
three vials of blood.  Nicolas awoke feeling the proximity of his enemy and
watched from slitted
eyes as the glass bottles were shoved between the bars.  He finally reached
for one and pulled
the cork.  He emptied the container rapidly then grabbed up the others and
finished them off
without thought.
     Slumping against the bars of the cell, the vampire allowed his
hopelessness to surface.
Nicolas rested his head on his arms, wondering when this purgatory would end.
 His faith in God
had been shaken many times, but now he simply couldn't understand any god
allowing this agony
visited on anything, even one as patently evil as himself.
     The effort it took to work on the bar holding the hinge was more than he
could manage.
He had no tools but his hands.  He couldn't use the glass bottles since the
guards would come
for them soon.  Forcing himself up, he leaned against the door and used his
full weight and
waning strength against the bar.  It slipped a little and he wiggled the bar
back and forth in its
socket.  He kept this up until he heard steps in the corridor outside the
storeroom that housed his
cage.  Then he slid down to the floor.  He continued to feign weakness,
hoping that some day,
sometime, the doctor or his assistants would let their guard slip.
     The guards appeared with their crossbows and holy water.  With
undisguised dread
Nicolas moved to the back of the barred cell.  Surrounding the cage, the
three men gestured for
Nicolas to submit to the manacles and leave the relative peace of his cell.
 Knowing he had no
choice, he acquiesced.
* * *
Chateau d'Argenlac

     That same day in his peaceful bed, Lucien LaCroix shrieked as the
blazing sun ignited
his skin.  He could feel the heat well up through his entire being.  His
tormentors were just out
of reach of his grasping hands.  He threw himself at the ghostly figures and
came abruptly awake
as he fell off the edge of the world or so it seemed.
     Panting at his exertions, LaCroix levitated from the floor where he had
landed, his mind
panicking at the vision of the blinding sun that he hadn't seen in nearly two
thousand years.  He
was startled to find that the blackout curtains were snugly fitted to the
windows of the spacious
bedroom in the chateau.  He had fallen on the plush Persian carpet beside the
four poster bed.
He glanced around at the quiet paintings that lined the walls.  The fireplace
was cold and the
room empty. The contrast between the blistering memories of his dream and the
chilly
atmosphere of the room caused an involuntary shiver up his spine.
     Whatever had disturbed his rest was not in this room.  He paced as he
let his mind roam
free of his body.  The torture he had perceived was not his own, although it
was real enough for
someone.  The only person to whom he was susceptible in this manner was
Nicolas.  LaCroix
always knew when his young protege was in pain.  He had retained this much of
the master/slave
bond which he had used to enhanced his control of this troublesome yet
fascinating creature
centuries ago.  However, the pain that awakened him this day was excruciating
in the extreme.

     His first emotion was exasperation.  What had the young fool gotten
himself involved in
this time?  Then surely he wasn't contemplating suicide?   No, that wasn't
the impression he
had gotten from the brief contact.  Nicolas wasn't in the sunlight at his own
behest.  Something
or someone had forced him into the light.  LaCroix unfurled his vampiric tie
to Nicolas.  He
could feel Nicolas at the very edges of his range.  There was no direction
that he could discern.
Nevertheless, he couldn't ignore the implications of the contact.
     Janette did say that he was missing from the underground group.  Was it
possible that it
was as she had thought that Nicolas had walked into a trap which was sprung
for a vampire?
With this thought uppermost in his mind, he knew he would have to do
something, no matter
who was in danger.  Their whole community was at risk if the German regime or
any mortal
group had knowledge of their kind and how to disable them.  It seemed obvious
from Nicolas'
pain and helplessness that someone somewhere had that kind of knowledge.
     Once more he scanned the ether for contact with Nicolas.  This time
there were  only faint
traces on the edges of his consciousness.  He would probably have to wait for
Nicolas to be
tortured again to get some sort of directional beacon.
     So LaCroix waited.  The contact weakened then was gone.  He was left
with a hazy
impression of the direction from which it came.  But he needed more
information before he could
mount a rescue.  Once he had pinpointed the location, he could get there in a
matter of minutes.
Vampires of his age and strength could almost travel at the speed of light if
it were necessary.

* * *

     Once more Nicolas was strapped to the examining table under the bright
lights, feeling
the prick of a needle in his arm as the nearly bald scientist once more drew
his blood.
     There was a click as the door outside of Nicolas' field of vision
opened.  The scientist
raised his head and spoke, "Aaah, Major Peiper, I am making some progress at
finding out the
physical attributes of this disease, but am no closer to the reason for it."
     "What have you found out about how it is spread?"  the major asked,
walking around the
table and looking coldly at the semi-nude figure resting there.
     "Oui, certainment.  It is spread by an exchange of blood from the
infected vampire to the
healthy human.  This contaminated blood must mix with normal blood within the
environment
of the human body.   Change does not seem to begin until the person is dead
or very near death.
The name our ancestors gave these creatures is quite appropriate," the man
paused as he walked
around the room, picking up various test tubes and other common pieces of
laboratory equipment.
Taking a deep breath he continued his report, "But the changes in the human
body are remarkable
once the infection becomes active.  Complete transformation is effected in
about 24 hours."  The
man paused and brushed his hands down his rumpled white lab coat.
     The scientist was becoming quite caught up in his work.  The whole area
of his research
was terribly fascinating.  Early in the project, he had participated only
because of threats to his
family.  Now he was completely enthralled by his work.  Any thoughts about
the comfort of the
subject of his investigations was lost in the haze of finding out all he
could about this new
disease.
     Major Peiper walked around the room slapping his riding crop against his
thigh in an
unconscious movement.  "Has he told you anything about where he comes from
and how many
others of his kind there are?
      "Uh... no, it doesn't speak.  One might think it was mute, but I am
sure it just has a great
deal more restraint as well as much higher resistance to such things as
sunlight.  It's enormously
strong.  I've had to double the strength of the fetters on this table.  It
nearly managed to get free
two days ago.  It's always testing the bonds so I've not fed it very well.
 That seems to be the
only control I am sure of."
     The major nodded then said, "I will need a written report the next time
I am back from
Berlin.  Be sure to have it ready.  I am not ready to listen to your excuses
again."
     Dr. Marchand readily agreed to the major's instructions and watched the
German major
go out to his waiting car.  He carefully put his notes in the drawers of his
desk then ordered
Nicolas to be returned to his cell.


From: Tashamccoy@aol.com
Date: Thu, 30 Nov 1995 12:46:12 -0500
Message-ID: <951130124611_39427073@emout04.mail.aol.com>
Subject: Truce - Part 5 of ?


Truce Part 5
     It was a few days later when Nicolas was once more shoved from his cell
into the
laboratory.  He was weak from lack of blood so it took only two hefty guards
to prod him from
his refuge to the examining table.  He resisted ineffectually being strapped
down, but the burly
men effectively lifted him to the table.  As usual his arms were stretched
over his head and
slapped into two pairs of thick steel cuffs on each wrist.  His body and legs
were treated in a
similar fashion.
     "It's ready, Herr Doctor," one of the guards said.
     "Merci.  I'll be right there," answered Dr. Marchand from the other
room.
     Only moments later when the scientist appeared accompanied by the German
major,
carrying a bundle of notebooks.
     "The principal handicap of these so-called vampires is their sensitivity
to sunlight," the
doctor commented as he continued to walk toward the creature strapped to the
metal table.
     "Yes, that is a problem," the officer answered, following the doctor.
     "I am continuing to expose this one in hopes that his tolerance can be
built up.  Each day
the session is a little longer, but you can see it is getting weaker and
weaker.  I'm not sure how
long it will survive."
     "How many prisoners have you infected with the disease?"
     "Only one which we had to kill within a few days.  It went insane.  I'm
not sure why.
If this one would only talk!  I'm sure it could give us a lot of answers if
it would speak."
     "Then make it talk," the major snapped.
     "How do you make something like that talk?  We're effectively torturing
it daily, and it
never says a word except blasphemy in many different  languages."
     "Offer it something it needs," the major said, turning to look at the
man-like form on the
table.  "You say the only way you can keep it weak enough to remain
manageable is not to give
it much nourishment.  Well, then offer to feed it if it will answer
questions."
     "I tried that yesterday.  It now won't eat anything.  I'm beginning to
wonder if it has
decided to commit suicide.  I think it may just manage that if I can't find a
way to force-feed it."
     Nicolas was listening with dismay to this discussion.  He had thought,
if nothing else, he
could avoid further torment by slipping into vampire hibernation a state that
his people could
make use of if accidentally buried or confined without food.
     "No, I won't have it," the major shouted as he began pacing the room and
looking at the
vampire nearly unconscious on the table.  "Have you thought of a
transfusion?"
     "A transfusion... no, I just assumed that since it drank the blood...
hmmm... perhaps... it
won't hurt to try, I suppose."  The scientist began hurrying around the room
and opening cabinets.
Finally he came forward with tubes, bottles, and a needle.
     The German officer watched as he made his way toward the figure on the
table.  He
wrapped Nicolas' thin upper arm with a rubber strap and tightened it.  Then
he began probing
near the elbow for a vein.  He didn't have much luck.  Stepping back in
disgust, he motioned the
two guards forward.
     "Release its right arm."
     The guards moved to comply just as Peiper stepped forward.  "I think
we'd better take
some precautions."  There was something about the leashed strength in the
taut body and glitter
in the blue eyes that alerted the major.
     "Oui, you might be right."  He motioned to the guards, and continued,
"Take him to his
cell."  The guards manhandled the weak vampire from the table and literally
dragged him to the
cell.  It took two to carry him and one followed with the crossbows.
     Nicolas wasn't as weak as he appeared.  He had some vague hope that the
security would
relax if he allowed them their experiments without rebellion.  He had not
managed to escape
through violence, but perhaps he could with cunning.  Now, those vague hopes
were rising.
Perhaps the transfusion would strengthen him and he might get a chance to
escape; if not, a little
revenge on his tormentors would give him some satisfaction.  And perhaps he
could force them
to kill him in the process.
     Once in his cell, Nicolas allowed himself to slump to the floor.  He lay
in his fetters
without moving.  The doctor and two of his rough assistants lifted the
vampire to the cot in the
corner and began once more to find a place to put the needle.  Eventually,
the doctor managed
to insert his needle into the large vein in the vampire's arm.  Slowly, very
slowly he was given
three pints of blood.  It was the most Nicolas had been allowed since the
experiment with full
noon-time sun which had come close to killing him.  Nicolas relaxed and let
his body absorb the
fuel it needed desperately.  Finally the scientist began gathering up his
implements to leave the
cell.  This time Nicolas dropped his barriers deliberately and let his beast
rage free.
     Slamming the doctor against one wall of the cell, he heard the man's
skull crack with
satisfaction then turned his attention to the other two humans.  With fangs
bared, he moved with
blinding speed to crush the larynx of a guard reaching for his awkward
crossbow which was
made even more unwieldy because of the cramped conditions of the cell.  The
remaining guard
inside the cage fired one bolt at the vampire which caught Nicolas in the
upper arm.  He was
trying to get out of the barred enclosure when Nicolas caught him from
behind.  Before he could
do more than yell once, he was dead with a broken spine.
     The guard who had stayed outside the cell pulled the trigger on his bow.
 Nicolas was
slammed against the bars of the cage as the arrow pierced him in the side.
 He reached for the
bolt and tugged.  It was embedded deeply in his flesh and resisted being
removed.  As he heard
the crossbow being cocked again, he ignored the pain from the wooden bolt and
lunged for the
door.  As the door clanged discordantly against the wall, the guard hurriedly
let fly another
arrow.  It found purchase in Nicolas' thigh just as he grabbed the weapon
from the hapless guard.
Throwing the weapon across the narrow room, the vampire took the human by the
arm and
rammed him into the bars of his recent cell.  The man's skull split with a
sickening crunch.
     Panting, Nicolas surveyed the mayhem he had created with some
satisfaction.  He had
no guilt about these deaths these things were less human than he.  Slipping
out of his cell,
he walked down the hall, feeling the strength flowing to his muscles.  It was
still full dark so
he might have some chance of winning free.  Soon he would be free in some
manner, of that
he was sure.

* * *

     Having overheard the strangled scream from the converted storeroom,
Major Peiper had
rushed back to witness the deaths of the last two guards.  He was stunned at
the utter carnage.
Turning down the hall, he rushed out the back door of the laboratory to
summon help.  In his
complete horror, he forgot the strengths and immunities of vampires.  He
completely overlooked
the fact that firearms were useless against the menace in the laboratory.
 Racing toward the guard
barracks, he shouted out orders to all who responded to his yells.  Most were
not dressed and
were groggy from sleep.  However, streaming out from behind the main house
behind the cottage
three troopers emerged carrying machine guns.  Six more came from the front
guard post.
Gesturing toward the building behind him, the major urged the men forward.
     He stood back, sending the armed men in ahead of him.  The automatic
weapons rattled
as the major listened in satisfaction.  Then gradually the weapons were
quieted...too quiet...Major
Peiper peered in through the windows of the laboratory.  What he saw in the
converted living
quarters would haunt him the rest of his days.  All the guards were sprawled
on the floor with
their weapons discarded.  Some of the rifles had barrels bent at unnatural
angles, but it wasn't
any of this that appalled the battle-hardened major.  It was the thing,
snarling and pacing the
floor.
     Horrified by the butchery and by the deadly monster in the cottage,
Peiper started to flee
toward the main house only to be met with gunfire coming from that area.  He
ran to his staff
car, and not waiting for his driver, maneuvered it toward the gate on the
side of the compound
opposite from the firing.
     It was a measure of his fear that without a second thought he ran down
the guard from
that gate when he attempted to stop him.  He knew it was unthinkable that an
SS major would
leave the scene of an attack by the riffraff from the underground, but he
couldn't stop himself.

     It was only miles down the road when he noticed that the notebooks given
him by Dr.
Marchand were tucked into his uniform blouse.   Peiper thought momentarily of
disposing of the
evidence of his cowardice, but couldn't quite bring himself to do it.  The
research these notebooks
represented was simply too valuable.
     Thinking it over as he drove, he decided he would just arrive at the lab
a day too late.
Perhaps he could contrive some way to find the notebooks in the wreckage.  He
would dutifully
assist in the investigation of the attack.  All of the devastation probably
could be blamed on the
maquis.
     Perhaps someday he might turn them over to the Reich.  Or he might find
some other use
for them....
     He slowed the car to a reasonable speed then drove at a more sane pace
to the nearby
village.  He would rent a room and a woman for the night and arrive at the
compound tomorrow.
The woman would be his excuse for arriving a day late.  He would be
reprimanded for whoring,
but not disciplined as he would be if they knew about his fleeing the
horrifying scene.

 * * *

     Nicolas entered the lab just as the guards ordered there by Major Peiper
were coming
through the outside door.  The machine guns chattered a deadly hail of
lead... fatal to mortal
flesh, but scarcely noticeable to his undying vampire flesh.  But the
peppering of the lead pellets
served to infuriate the frantic vampire.  With little thought to fragile
human bones or the
environment, Nicolas literally tore both asunder.  The fiend was once more in
full control of his
mind.  It ripped furnishings to shreds.  The surviving troopers fled the
cottage, dropping their
weapons in their haste.  The enraged beast wreaked havoc on the room that had
witnessed its
torture.  Stopping occasionally to tug on one arrow or the other, the inhuman
creature, crazed out
of control, took vengeance on cabinets and glassware.
     Then there was a squeak of fright from the door behind the irate
vampire.  Nicolas turned
to see a woman scurry down the hall.  He flew after her, making a frenzied
grab for her just as
she entered her closet-like office.  In his haste, he missed her shoulder and
clamped down on the
back of her neck, not really noticing that her vulnerable spine shattered in
his grasp.  Startled,
the Nicolas portion of the duo watched her slump to the floor.  Then as
comprehension set in,
he sank down beside her as his nemesis receded.  Nicolas looked around the
hall and back into
the abattoir that he had made of the laboratory and wondered if his own
freedom was worth it.
With that despairing thought, his dark alter-ego took over once more and the
part of the vampire
that was Nicolas ceased to care.

* * *
Chateau d'Argenlac

     In his isolated villa, Lucien LaCroix paced his quarters, waiting.
 There was little he could
do but wait.  It had been days since he'd had the alarming contact with
Nicolas.  Since those first
distressing images of the sun, he had been alert to any tickle at the back of
his mind that could
be Nicolas.  He had been rewarded a number of times, but he was still waiting
for a good
directional link.
     His wayward protege had a nasty habit of getting himself into some very
tight spots; this
seemed like another one.  He stopped walking long enough to pour himself
another glass of his
private stock of blood and wine.
     Just as these thoughts were occurring, LaCroix was hit with a blinding
flash of rage that
caused him to drop his wine glass and snarl at an empty room.  Then as
before, he knew it was
an inadvertent connection with Nicolas.  Opening himself fully to the rage
and pain, LaCroix
knew that Nicolas was fighting his captors desperately.  And the demon that
hovered inside all
vampires, which Nicolas feared so much, was taking over.  In his fury Nicolas
had no mental
barriers and through all the pain, LaCroix was finally able to get a fix on
him.  Yes, suddenly
he had a direction and enough of a tie to locate his lost changeling.
     Taking to the air directly from his own balcony was foolhardy, but
LaCroix didn't have
time to be discreet.  Summoning his immense strength, he forced himself to
blinding speed; he
hadn't done it in decades so the concentration needed was massive.  The
sensation was a blinding
blur, disorienting him momentarily until he could focus on the bond with
Nicolas.
     In real time it took only a few minutes to cover the hundred or so
kilometers to another
isolated country estate.  Swooping down into the woods near a high fence that
surrounded the
compound,  he strained his enhanced senses outward.  It was long moments
before he found the
familiar, beloved aura he was seeking.  Then his hypersensitive ears heard
the rattle of machine
gunfire.  His mind filled with an insane rage it had to be Nicolas that was
being fired upon!
It didn't matter that Nicolas was invulnerable to the lead projectiles, it
was the fact that
someone any human was attempting to kill his Nicolas.
     Throwing caution to the wind, he vaulted the woven wire fence that
glinted with sharp
spikes of barbed wire on the top.  Following the sounds and his own
intuition, he soon arrived
at a small cottage about two hundred yards from the main buildings.  There
was another rattle
of gunfire from beyond the chateau just as he was about to burst through the
door.  Everything
became tinged with red as he smashed the door to toothpicks.  In passing, his
agitated brain
noticed the room had once been a laboratory of some sort.  Now it was just so
much debris.
Glass crunched under his feet as he stepped over bent metal tables and
chairs.  Cabinets were
pulling their screws from the plaster on the walls.  Almost in passing, he
noted the uniformed
bodies on the floor.  Some were nearly dismembered.  Nothing less than they
deserved, he was
sure.
     Pushing the fallen junk out of his way, he moved toward the open door
then on down the
hallway.   There was a feminine scream and then silence.  He entered what had
to have once
been a hallway leading to an office where file cabinets were askew with
drawers gaping open.
However, he didn't really notice anything other than the apparition that
confronted him.  It was
a scarecrow figure with gleaming eyes and snarling teeth.  There were
splintered arrows
protruding from various portions of its anatomy.  With no sign of
recognition, Nicolas leaped
toward his ancient mentor.
     In the space of a split second, LaCroix fathomed why Nicolas was so
enraged that his
sanity might be in danger.  He was thin to the point of emaciation with
weeping blisters from
repeated exposure to the sun's deadly rays.   He intercepted the
skeleton-like figure and used his
enormous strength to confine the flailing limbs of the enraged animal.  Then
as gently as
possible, he struck a heavy blow to the side of its head, enforcing the
impact with a mental
command, a command that went back 800 years to a time when Nicolas had been
his bondmate.

     The weight in his arms slumped toward the floor as unconsciousness
stilled the afflicted
brain.  LaCroix slid to the floor and held onto Nicolas as firmly and gently
as he could.  If he
could have wept, he would have for the first time in nearly a millennium.
 Time drifted for him
as he mourned his child because he was almost certain that the fine mind he
had always admired
was gone forever.  The torture and final killing spree had left Nicolas
insane or nearly so, he was
sure.  Insanity was always a fine line that his kind tread.  The very nature
of their lives meant
that only the strongest kept their unearthly instincts under control.  In the
last few years, Nicolas
had come close to eradicating his own vampire nature.  LaCroix had laughed at
his efforts, but
wasn't unappreciative of the control Nicolas was achieving at what was a
relatively young age.

     As he cradled the thin body in his lap, he pushed the wicked shafts
through Nicolas' arm
and leg then broke the jagged points off.  Then he pulled the arrows back
through the tunnel they
had made in the pale flesh.  Shifting on the glass strewn floor, not noticing
as a few sharp shards
pierced his own skin, he removed the one in Nicolas' torso in the same
manner.  It was more
difficult and the younger vampire moaned at the further intrusion in his
body.
     Next he began imposing more of his formidable will on the damaged ego to
suppress
consciousness.  Then he soothed the mind as he laid a strong command for his
protege to rest
and heal.  Momentarily, as he was forced to relive the terror of capture and
blindness, he was
nearly swamped.  Pulling back from Nicolas' mind, he allowed himself a few
moments to rage
at the suffering that had been endured.  Nicolas had taken a much milder
retaliation on those
responsible than he would have.  The humans involved were actually lucky to
be dead.  He
cuddled the form in his lap.  There was more tenderness than Nicolas or
Janette would have
believed possible.
     How long the elder vampire sat in the debris on the floor of the wrecked
cottage he would
never know.  Only when a gentle hand tapped him on the shoulder did he look
up and into the
face of his other child.  It was a measure of his distraction that Janette
and her companions had
entered the same room with him and not noticed their activities until she
touched him.
     Janette was squatting beside him with an appalled expression as she
observed the state
of her brother and former lover.  Only in passing did she notice the tender
expression of her
master.  That Nicolas was not dead was apparent in the fact that he had not
turned to ash.  But
the state of his tormented body revolted her even considering her war-time
experiences.
     "Lucien, we must leave this place," she said softly.  Behind her were
two humans holding
machine guns.  They were hardened veterans who were also shocked at the
appearance of the
comrade they had come to rescue.
     "Janette, how do you come to be here?" LaCroix questioned harshly as he
rose easily from
the floor with his burden.  Nicolas had lost so much weight that it was of
little consequence for
the older vampire to carry him like a babe.
     "I began making enquiries as soon as I left you.  We had infiltrated
this facility a few
weeks ago.  The secretary with the broken neck in the back room was our
agent.  She finally was
able to get out a report two nights ago."
     "Why didn't you tell me?  I could been here immediately."
     "From our last interview, I assumed you wouldn't be interested," Janette
said with cold
reproach in her voice.
     LaCroix began walking toward the doorway.  "Never assume anything about
me where
Nicolas is concerned, my dear."  LaCroix's voice would have frozen a tropical
forest.
     Janette gestured to her men to leave.  "No matter what you think of me,
we still have to
leave this area immediately.  I'm sure the radio operator got off a message."
 She brushed her hair
from her eyes.  "Where are you taking him?"
     Turning to regard icily his other protege, he said, "Back to my chateau,
where else?"
     She nodded then spoke, "Will he be all right?"
     "I don't know.  I have never seen a living vampire this damaged.  He may
be completely
insane.  If that is the case, I will take care of the problem."
     Janette watched her mentor walk toward the woods and the barbed wire
fence.  She didn't
attempt to follow or call out to him.  Eventually he would forgive her, she
thought, if Nicolas
survived.   If Nicolas didn't, she might have to watch her back for the next
hundred years or
more.
     Stopping before he was more than a few paces from Janette, LaCroix spoke
harshly, "Fire
this place.  Make sure all records here are destroyed.  I will inform the
Enforcement Council of
this mishap and your part in it."
     Janette froze at the implications of his speech.  Yes, all the records
would have to be
found and burned.  LaCroix was right; but she was reasonably sure that some
sort of records
must had been sent into Germany.  She would have to make contact with London
and see if
something could be done from that end.
     Calling to a small dark man named Marc, she gave explicit directions to
set fire to the
cottage and the chateau.  She would remain behind to make sure that the
Germans found nothing
but ash.
     Turning her attention to other matters, she gave Madeline and Andre
orders to forward
to the group about disbanding and reassembling later at their headquarters in
this area.  She
looked back to where she had last seen LaCroix with his self imposed
responsibility, but he had
vanished.
     Marc returned with a can of gasoline and she saw that other figures were
running toward
the mansion with more cans.  Marc drew her attention once more as he raced
through the
doorway to the laboratory deliberately spilling the can he carried as he
moved.  He was long
moments in the rear of the cottage before coming back minus the can.  With
her cigarette lighter,
Janette lit a fragment of paper, gestured Marc backward then threw it into
the cottage and moved
away with vampiric swiftness.  There was a whoosh as the gasoline ignited.
     Standing well away from the roaring bonfire, Janette and Marc watched in
silence.
Finally the wiry man spoke, "A fitting tribute to Monique.  I just wish the
bastard that broke her
neck was still in there."
     Janette nodded, reasonably sure who it was had broken Monique's neck.
 However,
Nicolas would never know who or what she was.  He was going to be afflicted
with enough guilt
from this whole scenario as it was, if he survived intact.


From: Tashamccoy@aol.com
Date: Thu, 30 Nov 1995 12:47:13 -0500
Message-ID: <951130124713_39428144@mail02.mail.aol.com>
Subject: Truce - Part 6 of 7

* * *
Truce Part 6
     Landing on the balcony of d'Argenlac, LaCroix took his still unconscious
ward to his
bedroom and began stripping him of what few clothes remained on his tormented
body.  Once
he had settled Nicolas on his own bed, he went into his bathroom and ran the
huge tub full of
warm water, not hot, since he was sure that would be more painful than
leaving Nicolas dirty.
When the tub was to his satisfaction, he went back into his bedroom to find
that his charge was
awake and in full vampire mode.  His eyes gleamed in the moonlight and his
fangs were almost
painfully extended.  As far as LaCroix could discern there was no
intelligence behind the flashing
eyes.
     This was not an unexpected event, but Lucien had hoped to bathe Nicolas
before he fed
him.  With the speed inherent in his species, LaCroix ripped off his shirt
and flew to his
weakened child who was trying to rise from the ruined bedspread.  Landing in
a kneeling position
on the bed, LaCroix steadied Nicolas as he tried to make contact with the
elder vampire's throat.
While feigning off that attack with one hand, LaCroix directed the matted,
greasy blond head
toward his chest.  With his other hand LaCroix scored his own chest with his
nails.  Nicolas
immediately attached his fangs to the other's muscular pectorals.
     LaCroix allowed Nicolas to feed for a long time, until he began to feel
the effect of the
drainage.  Not ungently, he pushed the younger vampire back down to the bed
and waited to see
what result this would have.
     Physically Nicolas began healing immediately.  His master's blood was
almost as powerful
a tool for healing as human blood would have been.  The weeping burns began
to dry up and the
welts started to shrink.  There was a slightly pinkish color returning to
Nicolas' countenance.  But
physical healing wasn't what was worrying LaCroix; what remained of the mind
behind the blue
eyes was the important thing.
     Those blue eyes blinked once then again.  There was recognition in them.
 LaCroix felt
an immense measure of relief.  His major worry had been that he would have to
destroy this
favorite of his creations.
     "I might have known that you would be involved in this," Nicolas said
bitterly, turning
his head away from his once-mentor.
     Stunned at the implications of that statement, LaCroix was momentarily
speechless.  After
long moments of silence between the two ancient friends and enemies, he
spoke.  "My dear
Nicolas, you might still be in that chamber of horrors or truly dead if I
hadn't come to your
rescue once more.  A little gratitude would be more appropriate, if you
please."
     Looking around at his surroundings, Nicolas started to rise from the
bed.  "This is
d'Argenlac.  Is this where I've been all along?"  Struggling to move away
from LaCroix, Nicolas
noticed his own weakness.  The blood singing in his veins wasn't enough to
provide him with
the strength to stand up, let alone fight LaCroix.
     Stung even more, LaCroix rose from the bed and walked away.  "Believe
what you like,
but I did once more come to your rescue.  I did remove you from the clutches
of those bastards."
Then in a moment of truth, he continued, "Although, you were doing a
reasonable job of rescuing
yourself, I simply brought you here to recover."
     Memory returned as Nicolas once more saw the carnage he had wrought in
those last
moments before all became dark.  He remembered the young woman dying by his
hand.  The
other deaths were dimmer and didn't trouble him as much.  Her death might
bother him for a
long time.  As far as he knew, she was probably innocent enough.  Although,
on the other hand,
she might have approved of the whole thing.
     Unless this was some elaborate trick of the Nazis, LaCroix may be
telling the truth.  In
the depths of his own heart, he still couldn't quite imagine LaCroix allowing
someone else to
torture him.  LaCroix had always rescued him from his follies in the past and
it seemed had done
so once more.  He was too tired and sick to express much gratitude or
continue the argument.

     "I beg your pardon.  I knew all along that it really wasn't your style.
 You would have
been more subtle," Nicolas conceded, sinking back down on the bed.
     LaCroix nodded sharply, curtly acknowledging Nicolas' apology.
     "You may rest shortly, but first I would like to save as much of my
bedding as possible,"
LaCroix quietly responded, reaching down to lift the wasted figure from the
bed.  "I prepared a
bath, but it may be a bit more chilly than I had planned."
     Nicolas nodded and nearly dropped off to sleep in the short distance to
the bathroom.  The
sun was rising and a vampire did most of its healing during the daylight
hours.
     The bath wasn't as cold as LaCroix had imagined.  The feeding and
argument hadn't taken
as long as he had thought.  However, before he had Nicolas dry, the injured
vampire was
unconscious once more.  This time, however, it was a normal vampiric rest,
perhaps a little
deeper than usual for one of Nicolas' age.
     After stripping off the now foul bedspread, LaCroix wrapped Nicolas in a
fluffy down
comforter then slid in beside him.  Nicolas muttered a few words and turned
as if for solace to
LaCroix.  Reaching out with his arm, LaCroix gathered the slight form into
his embrace.  Nicolas
snuggled closer and murmured unintelligibly into the bedding.  With an
overwhelming feeling
of relief, LaCroix slid quickly into darkness for his own slumber.  It had
been stressful during
the recent weeks.  Now he that he had Nicolas safe, he could rest.  No one
would ever know that
since that first agonizing contact, Lucien hadn't really had any respite.

* * *

     The day was barely advanced when the dreams began for Nicolas.  He
twisted and turned
in the bed eventually waking his bedmate.  LaCroix nearly screamed as the
visions of the sun
and the scorching pain of burns invaded his mind.  He reached for Nicolas who
was now trying
to climb out of the bed. Tussling with his section of bed clothes, LaCroix
was unprepared for the
violence of the attack that followed.
     Nicolas' eyes and fangs were prominent as he held onto the stunned
LaCroix.  Instead of
fighting back, LaCroix relaxed and let Nicolas' beast have its way.  He
leaned his head back as
the "other" Nicolas dived for his throat.  A peace settled over LaCroix as
Nicolas fed at the rich
blood of the jugular.  Nicolas' hands began roaming as the secondary
characteristics of taking
blood from this vein took over.  His fingers rubbed LaCroix's nipples then
made their way lower.
LaCroix turned, dislodging the other's fangs from his neck, wanting further
satisfaction.  In this
position, he forced Nicolas to sink his teeth into the large artery while he
moaned in both pain
and arousal.  Nicolas' hands found LaCroix's engorged penis and began to
systematically torment
it.  He rubbed and tugged.  He rolled the heavy balls between his fingers.
 Then he released his
fangs from the elder vampire's neck and they turned to face each other.
     The glittering yellow began fading from the deep blue eyes through which
a hint of sanity
glowed.  Nicolas took LaCroix's hand and kissed the palm.  The elder vampire
sighed,
remembering the gesture that had been a signal between them through the ages;
a symbol of what
Nicolas wanted, but would not say.  LaCroix knew he wanted to be dominated
LaCroix
understood that he wanted to feel owned and safe.  Nicolas wanted to
relinquish all
responsibilities.
     Both men were kneeling on the rumpled bed linen, facing each other.
 Leaning toward
Nicolas, LaCroix placed a tender kiss on his forehead and spoke more kindly
to Nicolas than he
had in decades, "Are you sure this is what you want?"
     "Yes, Lucien," Nicolas raised his eyes to LaCroix's and continued,  "At
this point, I need
to feel alive again.  I want to cleanse the last few weeks from my memory."
Nicolas' voice
dropped to a husky whisper.  In a lesser personage, the words that were
spoken could have been
a whine or a whimper.  From Nicolas they were a demand.  There was a
steadiness in his voice
and a determination in demeanor.
     LaCroix had wanted this for centuries.  However, he hadn't wanted it at
such a price He
would have preferred Nicolas turning to him willingly instead of  wounded and
in pain.  He was
turning to his oldest menace for protection from the memories of something
that had proved
worse than anything LaCroix had ever dreamed up.  Nevertheless, he was quite
pragmatic about
it.  He would take Nicolas any way that he could.
     Growling his assent, LaCroix took Nicolas in his arms and both fell back
into the pillows.
He sank his fangs into the alabaster neck.  Both became even more aroused as
the blood
exchange entered its second phase.  LaCroix pulled back and looked at the
dreamy expression
on his cherished lover.  He never admitted to either of his change-children
how Nicolas
fascinated him and how he wanted to possess him completely.  Now was an
opportunity that had
been denied him for far too long.
     He licked at the sluggishly draining wound on Nicolas' neck, then moved
down to the
chest.  He nibbled absently on the erect nipples as he considered how to
proceed.  Nicolas
whimpered in delight.  His eyes were a glowing blue, defining his submission.
     Using his hands as well as his mouth, he explored the long forbidden
body.  Even in its
present state of emaciation, it was only beautiful to him.  He kissed the
burgeoning penis and
sucked the furry balls between his lips.  Then he turned his attention to the
thickened cock.  With
a delicate nip, his needle-like teeth pierced the slowly throbbing vein on
the underside of the
organ.  He lapped the drops of blood that appeared then sucked gently from
the bounty.  It was
here that the blood was the sweetest.  LaCroix had to restrain himself from
gulping what should
be savored.  Nicolas began to quiver in his arms and LaCroix pulled away to
see how Nicolas
was reacting.  The blond head was thrashing on the pillow.
     "Do it, Lucien.  I want to feel you there and know that I'm really
alive." There was nearly
a plea in the silken voice.
     LaCroix leaned forward and stilled the honeyed tones before Nicolas
could say something
he would regret later.  Then he turned the thin body over and ran his hand
down the prominent
ribs.  Lifting the man too easily, he reached for another pillow and slid it
under Nicolas' hips.
With little further preparation, he positioned himself over the sprawled
figure.  Using one hand
to steady himself, he used the other to guide his penis to the place it most
craved.  It took a lot
of restraint and effort to make the penetration slow and steady.  He could
hurt Nicolas, though
not permanently, and could cause him some pain neither of which was he
interested in doing.
Once he was in to the hilt, he let his mind slide down quickly into the
other's mind.  He thrust
with his hips and matched it with his mind.  He was repelled by the images he
found there and
quickly tried to soothe them.  It would take more sessions than this one, he
knew.  But now was
the time to make a start.  Then it was over quicker than he had planned.  He
was convulsing in
orgasm.  The tie between their minds sent Nicolas over the edge at the same
moment.
     Slipping from between the spread thighs, LaCroix fell along side of his
lover.  He reached
for the slender shoulders then let the weariness and stress of the day claim
him as it was claiming
Nicolas.
     During the rest of the day LaCroix would wake occasionally from uneasy
sleep absolutely
sure that the huge disk of the sun was shining down on him.  When he had
attempted to calm
the memories in Nicolas' mind, they had become firmly implanted in his own
memories.  Time
would distance the recollections for both of them, but at the moment, they
were painful for him
as well as Nicolas.  It would take a few more restorative encounters to
finish the healing.
However, he was pleased that there was something left to heal.


From: Tashamccoy@aol.com
Date: Thu, 30 Nov 1995 12:48:49 -0500
Message-ID: <951130124849_39429465@emout05.mail.aol.com>
Subject: Truce - Part 7 of 7

Truce Part 7 of 7
     It was late that evening when an uncharacteristically hurried and
disordered Janette arrived
with a fresh supply of blood and news.  She landed heavily on the balcony
outside with bottles
clinking from the bulky pack she carried.  Her weariness was obvious from her
demeanor.  Her
shoulders were slumped and she rubbed her eyes and pushed ineffectually at
her hair.
     "We need to get out of here.  I lost the Boche that tried to follow me
before I took to the
air.  Our headquarters in this area was raided yesterday when we came back
from the operation
to free Nicolas.  I think that dear, sweet Monique was reporting to other
places than just to our
group."  Janette adjusted the scarf that tied back her hair and changed the
subject.  "I've brought
some blood that I managed to steal from an army hospital.  I think it's only
proper that German
blood be used to help him heal.  If I thought he'd feed from them, I'd find
as many SS troops as
I could and bring them here.  However, knowing our Nicolas, he would set them
free to torture
more French citizens.  Or the poor Jews.  I never thought I'd pity the Jews."
 Janette had never
quite left behind the medieval attitude regarding Jews.  In the environment
in which she had lived
as a mortal, all Jews were suspect individuals and regarded as killers of
Christ.  Even nearly a
thousand years later, she retained that much of her mortality.  She could
never quite understand
Nicolas' expending himself on their salvation until she had gotten a look at
those camps.  Then
her attitude began a transformation.
     "Yes, we should probably leave France.  Nicolas should be able to travel
slowly.  Flying
is out of the question for a while yet.  However in view of what has
happened, I do think that
crossing the Channel is the prudent thing to do at the moment.  I was going
to suggest it would
be best for Nicolas to be well out of this war, anyway."  LaCroix rose and
began to open the
pack that had been set down by the glass doors to the balcony.  "Nicolas is
far from healed both
mentally and physically."  LaCroix glanced at the sleeping figure on the bed
and then continued,
"We will have to hunt and save the bottles for Nicolas.  Any ideas on how we
are to cross the
Channel?"
     "The fishing fleet will take us as they have so many others.  We just
have to get to the
coast and get in touch with my friends in that area.   I have friends in
England that will get us
settled.  The British Secret Service owes me."
     "Is it wise to contact the Secret Service?  We can make our way as we
always have."
     "One of our own is working for the Secret Service.  In fact, he's one of
Nicolas'
fledglings."
     LaCroix sat back stunned, "I didn't know Nicolas did that sort of thing
any more."
     Stopping momentarily, Janette then remembered the circumstances of the
flyer's changing.
"Uh...well, I guess you'll find out soon enough, mon cher."
     Turning away from the pack leaning against Nicolas' bed, LaCroix towered
over his blood
daughter.  "What exactly do you mean?"
     "Last summer when you were working for the Gestapo, Nicolas took a pilot
that you had
questioned.  He had some idea of saving his life, but you had done too good a
job or too bad
a job in your interrogations."  She paused and looked into the blazing eyes
of her master.
"There was nothing to do, but bring him across."
     LaCroix turned and crossed the room then leaned his forehead against the
wall.  Janette
shuddered mentally as she thought of various ways he might react.  His
shoulders were shaking
so Janette backed slowly toward the bed where Nicolas still slept.  While she
waited for the
explosion, she checked on Nicolas' progress.  Then she saw the slowly healing
wounds in his
neck and knew exactly what had transpired during the day.  Yes, LaCroix was
strengthening the
blood connection, as he should considering Nicolas' health and recent
experiences.  She didn't
want to imagine what had been done to him.  No matter how much she tried to
put it from her
mind, however, it still haunted her dreams.
     She flinched when a hand came down on her shoulder.  Turning slowly, she
faced her
master with some trepidation.
     "I think I remember that stubborn flyer.  I assumed that the fools at
the Gestapo had let
him die before I could make use of him properly."  LaCroix showed his teeth
in a parody of a
smile.  "Do not worry, Janette, I don't blame you for Nicolas' foolishness.
 There may be a time
when I will call Nicolas for an accounting, but not just now.  No... not just
now." Janette
wondered in what manner Nicolas would pay for taking the pilot from LaCroix.
 However, now
wasn't the time to worry about it.  The Nazi troops could find this chateau
at any moment.  They
were searching the area and probably were going house-to-house at this
moment.  The raid on
the compound had alerted the entire area.  It was wonderful that d'Argenlac
had been so close
for Nicolas' sake, but it was now a problem for their escape.
     LaCroix walked over to the bed and shook Nicolas by the shoulder.  "Wake
up, Nicolas."
The younger vampire stirred and looked with blurred vision into his master's
eyes.
     "What...?"
     "Janette thinks we should leave, and I agree."  LaCroix then began
helping the frail
vampire to his feet and then into some clothes that were too large now.
     Janette went to the closet and retrieved some outfits that she would
need which she
packed around the glass bottles.  They would cushion the bottles and stop the
rattling.
     "I'll be back in a few moments," LaCroix said and left the room.  She
could hear him
striding down the hall then down the stairs.  Nicolas stood where LaCroix had
left him.  She
walked over and touched him on the cheek.  He turned to face her.  She looked
into his blue eyes
and saw only pain.
     "I killed an innocent girl," he said softly.
     "Don't worry about her in the least.  She died an easier death with you
than if the
resistance had caught up with her.  It was all a trap, mon cher.  The Gestapo
was waiting at our
rendezvous point.  Most of our group was killed.  Only the vampires were able
to flee from their
machine guns.  She is the most likely candidate for betraying us."
     "But I didn't know that," Nicolas countered.
     "Merde, stop this guilt!  Those people you killed incarcerated you and
tortured you.  She
was there and she didn't try to help you.  Don't regret killing one traitor!"
 She stopped and tried
to gather her random thoughts.   "Look at yourself... my men... all gone...
And... and you feel
guilty about killing those vermin.  Sabastien's child betrayed the vampires
and he's dead.   If
anyone is guilty for this whole fiasco, it is Sabastien for not looking after
one of his own."  She
shook her head and stomped across the room toward the windows.
     Nicolas had no reply to her impassioned speech.  He was saddened to hear
about the men
he had worked with for months.
     LaCroix came back into the room, his face flushed.  He had fed from his
house servant,
but the death he gave the man in ecstasy was a far easier one than the
Gestapo would have.
Since it would have upset Nicolas unnecessarily, he said nothing to his
waiting children.
     "Let's go," he said briskly.  His two changelings nodded and gathered
their meager packs.
"It is a long way to the coast."

* * *

     A two-night trek across France took closer to five because of the troop
movements along
the roads which made travel at night in stolen cars somewhat of a problem.
 Upon leaving the
villa, the fugitives immediately came across search parties looking for the
remnants of the
maquis.  Avoiding detection was a simple matter of hiding in the nearest
culvert.
     LaCroix left Nicolas in Janette's care while he acquired an automobile.
 Janette didn't
inquire exactly what the circumstances were.  This car got them a nearly a
hundred kilometers
before it had to be abandoned, leaving the vampires on foot or flying.
 LaCroix could fly short
distances with Nicolas, but it was exhausting.
     The crosscountry odyssey was completed in this fashion.  LaCroix was
strangely patient
with Nicolas.  Janette speculated on this with various scenarios, but found
none of them
satisfactory and neither of the men enlightened her.  She wisely decided to
leave her curiosity
unappeased.
     Once they neared the coast, the  nightly bombing of the RAF was a menace
mainly near
the railroads, factories, or cities.  The three vampires avoided those areas
assiduously, but it still
wasn't an easy trip.
     The blood was fast running out.  LaCroix knew there was only one
solution; he had to
feed on a human and then feed Nicolas.  He was looking forward to the
encounter.
     It was nearly morning of the last night when they found shelter in a
cave facing the
narrow expanse of water that separated the continent from the island
stronghold that was England.
LaCroix fed Nicolas the last of the bottled blood then made a bed for the two
of them in a
sheltered niche at the back of the cave.
     The three rested companionably through the day with only a few
recriminations.  The next
night Janette left to find her contact with the fishing fleet and LaCroix
left to feed.  Nicolas
paced the meager shelter, testing his returning strength.
     LaCroix returned first with blood on his fangs and licking his lips.
 Nicolas turned away
in disgust.  Smiling, LaCroix pulled Nicolas around to face him and said,
"Nicolas, you would
have approved of this night's work.  I fed on a very frightened Gestapo
interrogator.  It was
delightful."
     Baring his fangs, he pulled Nicolas into an embrace.  Lightly he settled
his fangs on the
nearly translucent skin on Nicolas' neck.  Nicolas sighed and leaned into
LaCroix's arms.  Feeling
the bloodlust aroused by his proximity to LaCroix, he snarled and pushed
LaCroix into the wall.
With little ceremony, he bit viciously into the other vampire's neck.
 LaCroix moaned into
Nicolas' hair.  Slowly they both sank to the rocky floor of the cave with
LaCroix pinning the now
very willing Nicolas.
     As the younger vampire fed from him, LaCroix ran his hands over the
too-slender body.
His own arousal was firing his imagination.  He wanted to immediately turn
Nicolas over and
sate his body in the other's.  However, this moment had a double purpose.
 The first and primary
purpose was to give Nicolas the strength to survive without further feeding
from mortal blood.
He wouldn't kill so this was the next best thing.  Besides, LaCroix so
enjoyed it.  Also, LaCroix
felt he could help Nicolas conquer the bitter memories of his imprisonment.
     Nicolas pulled back with his yellow gleaming eyes and extended fangs.
 He licked his lips
and pulled LaCroix's head down to his neck.  The elder vampire licked the
sluggishly pulsing
vein then extended his fangs deliberately.  He sucked slowly and then stopped
before he had
drank a tablespoonful.  It was enough to set his lust free.
      He let his eyes roam over the now limply sprawled body, enjoying the
sight of the nearly
hairless chest and slim hips.  Nicolas' eyes had faded back to their rich
blue.  His fangs were still
visible, but slowly receding.  LaCroix leaned down and kissed the full lips
and tasted his own
blood.  Nicolas ran his tongue over LaCroix's extended eye-teeth.  LaCroix
began panting.  There
were not many things more erotic to him than to have his mouth explored this
way, especially
as Nicolas' tongue caught on a fang and bled a little.
     LaCroix pushed out Nicolas' tongue and began to return the exploration.
 Nicolas was
breathing heavier and heavier as LaCroix went deeper into his mouth.
     They began to disrobe in a hurried fashion, piling their discarded
clothes in a heap,
forming a makeshift bed.   LaCroix looked into the blue eyes that had
fascinated him for
centuries.  He looked for acceptance and found it.
     "A truce, for now, a truce," Nicolas whispered, sinking onto the heap of
clothes.  Then
he pulled LaCroix down on top of him.
     "Yes, let's call a truce in the middle of this war.  Let's let the
humans fight all they want,
but we will not,"  LaCroix said into the curling, blond hair.  Then with a
chilling parody of a
smile, he said menacingly, "Until I have a chat with you about this fledgling
of yours that works
for the British Secret Service."   LaCroix watched Nicolas comprehend what he
had said.  There
was a momentary look of fear on the mobile face which quickly shuttered all
expression.  Then
he laughed lightly, "But not now I think.  I have better things to do with
you than ask silly
questions."
     "Yes, no silly questions," Nicolas said in relief as he felt between
their bodies for the hard
shaft that was nudging his belly.  He rubbed it and then ran his fingers
through the short curly
locks that protected the firm balls.  LaCroix took a huge breath and pulled
away, but only long
enough to caress the other's hard cock.  With his fingers, he spread the
pinkish precum liquid
over Nicolas' belly then tickled the furry balls beneath.
     Nicolas shoved LaCroix off him long enough to turn over.  He pillowed
his head on his
forearms while LaCroix ran possessive hands over his rib cage then down to
his ass.  LaCroix
took his time to soothe the fractious mount that Nicolas always had been.
 Then suddenly he
thrust home.  There was a moment of white-hot pain for both then stillness
between them as they
savored the closeness. The closeness that Nicolas needed after his weeks of
isolation in a
madman's laboratory.  A closeness that LaCroix had  always needed with
Nicolas.
     LaCroix extended his fangs and bit into the artery in the fair skin
behind the right ear as
his hands were busy with Nicolas' genitals.  He only tasted the rich blood he
craved.
Remembering the other purpose behind this coupling, he gently dominated the
elusive mind that
belonged to his lover.  He comforted the wounds which were still raw sores in
the other's
memory.
     Then another more primitive hunger took over his body.  He moved forward
as Nicolas
moved back to meet him.  It seemed an eternity that they moved in this way.
 Soon an urgency
came over Nicolas and he began to buck as LaCroix felt his hands fill with a
thick liquid.
Quickly the spasms of the body under him triggered his own passion.  He
thrust hard once more
then froze momentarily while his being shattered in orgasm.  He quieted the
thrashing body of
his much loved change-child.
     Slumping heavily over Nicolas, LaCroix saw sparks before his eyes.  He
licked the small
holes in the other's pale skin.  Nicolas sighed and pushed LaCroix off him.
     "Not romantic, I know, but you're heavy."
     "We were never romantic.  I wouldn't tolerate romantic from you."
     "I know."
     Pulling Nicolas over to his shoulder, LaCroix rubbed his shoulders and
then down his
chest.
     "You are too thin.  I don't quite see you fattening up on that bovine
stuff you normally
drink."
     "I didn't drink bovine just now, did I?  I don't think it will be a
problem for a while."
     The two reached for their clothes and shrugged into them.  It was
becoming chilly as a
fog began rolling in over the beach below.  It would be an ideal night to
travel.  Janette should
be back soon with news of where and when to meet the fishing fleet.
     Nothing was really settled between them, Nicolas thought as he watched
the shifting
waves.  Perhaps someday there could be real peace, but for now there was a
truce... a few
moments of peace.  Peace that he desperately needed after the past weeks.
     Nicolas turned away from the mouth of the cave.  LaCroix was studying
him with an
intensity that startle him.  He had no idea what the man was thinking.  He
walked back to his
own private demon and savior and raised his mouth to the taller man's lips.
 He didn't want to
think about the future.  It was enough for the moment to be save and let
someone else do the
thinking and planning for him.  He would worry about the future in the
another day.  Right now,
he needed the security of LaCroix's affection and approval.  Probably he
would try his wings
again as he had done in the past, but for now he was content to allow LaCroix
to have his way.

  * * *
Epilogue

     Rolling over on dark silk sheets, Nick came instantly alert.  He
couldn't remember getting
to his room last night.  He couldn't remember more than driving the Caddy
into his garage and
shutting the door against the coming day.  How he had gotten from the garage
to the loft
apartment then to his own bed wasn't clear.
     Raising himself up, he saw that he was in his own black pajamas.
 Somehow he must
have done everything by instinct, he decided.  As he started to go into the
bathroom,  he saw
sitting on his bedside table a stick pin which had been stuck through an
envelope.  Both were
propped up against the nightlight.  He slowly reached for it as though
reaching toward a
rattlesnake.
     Opening the envelope, he saw very familiar handwriting.  It said,
"Remember, Nicolas,
I always know when you are in pain."  There was no need for a signature.  He
could almost hear
the voice and feel the hands that had carried him from his car and up the
stairs the previous
morning.  They were the same hands and voice that had salvaged his sanity
over 50 years ago.
How LaCroix had traveled to his rescue during the day, he couldn't imagine.
 But then, LaCroix
was a law unto himself.      He pondered the note and contemplated a stop at
the radio station on his way to work.
Then he decided not tonight, but perhaps another time.  He had a lot of
nights to think about it.
Right now, he had a murder case to solve.  And he didn't want to confront
LaCroix while the
memories of that time in France were so raw.  He knew now that LaCroix had
suppressed them
to ease his pain.  He half resented LaCroix's tinkering with his mind, but on
the other hand, he
was thankful for his help.
     Also, there were two fledglings in Toronto that he wanted to get
acquainted with.  Hutch,
he knew in another lifetime, a time that was now dimly returning.  Starsky,
he wanted to
understand for the sake of his own child, Hutch.  It would be interesting to
find out how that
match-up had happened.
     Knight showered,  shaved, and dressed, then left the loft, directing his
Caddy toward the
Coroner's Office for another night with Toronto's Finest.  Perhaps Natalie
would have some
information, but he was mainly looking forward to her company.  He would
think about LaCroix
another time.  He and LaCroix had an eternity forever to solve their personal
problems.

Not quite the end of the matter.