I got a lot of wonderful comments about my last story "Next Valentines" so decided to throw this one out there too. Teach you all for giving me compliments! <g> It is not a Valentine story, but written near the same time, it took me awhile to get the guts to post them. This comes from the sneaky little idea crawling through my mind one night that asked the question…Just how would Tracy act if she met Lacroix and was in a –really- bad mood?

As always, I don’t own FK, they belong to some big wig Canadians; I don’t even get visitation rights on Lacroix! <frown> -Sigh-, anyway if I introduce any new characters their mine, so is the story, but if you want to archive it go ahead, just keep my name on it and tell me so I can go admire it. <g> This has an "Ashes to Ashes" spoiler on it.

By: Cousin Mary  (12-97)

Part:1/5

It was cold and miserable, ‘perfect whether for a funeral,’ Tracy thought. She pulled up near where Screed was buried and got out of the car, popping the trunk as she exited. In the trunk was Vachon, the man she had loved, and the vampire she’d killed.

Tracy steeled herself against the cold Toronto wind, pulling up her collar before getting her shovel out of her trunk. The shovel lay there, near the front of the cramped trunk space, Vachon’s body was also there, wrapped in a sheet from her bed, it was covered with a faded design of yellow buttercups and pink butterflies, it made the whole scene somehow even more gruesome. His head rested on her duffel bag, the one she’d packed soon after she’d learned about the existence of vampires, it was filled with crosses, holy water, stakes and anything else she could think of to help protect her from them. In the end, it’d been Vachon’s stake she’d used, she remembered with a snort.

The whole affair had taken on an almost work-like feel. She’d cried at first, but then a sort of numb, cynical detachment had come over her, she could feel the homicide detective in her reacting to the situation. Mostly what she –did- feel was not sadness, but a sort of low burning anger in the back of her mind. It wasn’t fair! He was supposed to be immortal, live forever! She was not supposed to have to bury him in the middle of the night, out in the middle of nowhere, alone!

Lacroix watched Tracy Vetter begin to dig the young Spaniard’s grave. She certainly was a strong-willed young woman. ‘A homicide detective,’ he thought with a smirk, the same mortal rank as his son, Nicholas. Lacroix was a 2000-year-old vampire and the idea of Women’s lib still amused him. The good doctor, Nicholas’s Natalie was easier to take…he’d run across women healers and midwives many times in his travels…but a young girl like Det. Vetter? No, she had the place of a warrior, images of Amazons flashed through his mind. It’d been the fantasy of most Roman youths to meet up with one of these famed female warriors, his included. Roman men wanted subservient wives, but the idea of an Amazon always held a secret appeal. He chuckled at himself for having such foolish musings.

He stood at the top of a small up rising, watching the girl work. He could hear her mumbling under her breath, but couldn’t make out the words. ‘Probably comments on her unsavoury chore,’ he thought. He knew what she was feeling; he’d just last night dealt with the remains of his mortal daughter, and vampire master. He turned his mind away from those unpleasant thoughts and again regarded the girl below him. She didn’t know he was there. Nicholas has asked him to erase the death of the Spaniard from her mind; she was a resister, so it would be difficult, but not impossible for him. Nicholas had also requested that she retain the knowledge of vampires, he’d doubted the wisdom of this, but had agreed anyway. Why Nicholas thought the girl would be better off thinking Vachon had left her, rather than died, he didn’t know.

He knew she didn’t realise that his son was a vampire, he’s always found Nicholas’s logic in that amusing. The girl knew of vampires, she was of no threat to their community, yet in keeping his nature a secret he put his young partner in danger, though he claimed it was for –her- protection. Lacroix thought of all the times his son had probably thrown himself into the line of fire, knowing full well that mere mortals with their guns could not harm him, and his young partner following him right in, to protect –his- back! ‘Ridiculous!’ he thought. Nicholas had no doubt not considered it in that light.

Tracy paused in her task, going to her car and drinking from the bottle of Diet Coke™ that she’d left in the front seat last Thursday, it was flat and warm, but, "grave digging is thirsty work," she mumbled wryly. She was amazed by her cynical detachment, "maybe I’m in shock," she uttered, hoping it was true, hoping it wasn’t because Vachon hadn’t really met that much to her. She turned to look at her work, the hole was not neat, not really even grave shaped, ‘more of an oval,’ she thought. But over all, it was going well; ‘at least the ground wasn’t frozen.’ She had no one to help her in her task; she had no one to talk with, to share her grief. None of the mortals she knew, knew about vampires, and of the vampires… Well, she’d met a few through Vachon, but no one she was particularly friendly with. Even Urs, the one vampire she might consider talking to was dead, attacked in the same way Vachon had been, only she hadn’t lingered as he had. Liam, another vampire had told her of Urs’ death shortly after she’d killed Vachon. He’d also told her the one responsible for attacking them both was now dead too. He’d come to deal with the body for her he’d said; he’d seemed rather sympathetic, but still very distant. She didn’t know him well and didn’t really want his pity. She wanted to take care of Vachon’s body, she’d told the other vampire. Liam had known that his friend had cared for this mortal woman, so with a formal bow, he’d left him to her.

"Maybe I should have let Liam take you," she told Vachon’s still remains. As soon as she said it, she knew she didn’t mean it. Liam probably would have just left him in an abandoned spot for the sun to deal with; the Irish vampire hadn’t struck her as the overly sentimental type. ‘Vachon deserved better,’ Tracy thought, he deserved to be buried next to his friend.

(Tell me what you think, anteros@juno.com)

Tracy Meets Lacroix

By: Cousin Mary

Part: 2/5

Tracy returned to her work. ‘Three more feet at least,’ she thought. As she dug she thought about her relationship with Vachon. They’d never been together, as man and woman, though she’d wanted to. He’d said he’d kill her if they tried, he wouldn’t be able to control himself, and he’d bite and kill her. He’d never offered to bring her across; they’d never even talked about it. She’d always wondered why that was. ‘Maybe he didn’t care enough to consider an eternity with me,’ she thought, and not for the first time. ‘Boy, I –am- getting cynical,’ she thought, ‘he did care about me,’ she knew that. Maybe he thought she would refuse if he offered, maybe she would have, maybe not…anyway there was no point worrying about it any longer, it was a moot point now. Vachon was dead. "And I have to deal with it," she angrily muttered as she viscously stabbed the ground with her shovel, taking her anger out on the cold, damp earth.

Blisters were beginning to form on her hands; she welcomed the pain. Tracy was usually a pretty easygoing person, and she tried to be cheerful and polite at all times. She knew some of her co-workers thought she was a bit of a ditz, a true airhead blonde, but it wasn’t true. She had received nearly straight A’s all through school, a delight to all her professors. She’s had her pick of any field, the pre-med. and pre-law department heads had both tried to get her into their fields. But she had felt the call of the police force; it was where she belonged. And though her father was probably responsible for her rapid advancement in the department, she definitely would have gotten there herself, it was just a matter of time. Her IQ was very high, and her police work was very thorough and getting better all the time with experience. If she’d been anyone other than the commissioner’s daughter, she would’ve gained the respect of everyone in the precinct. But as it was, most of the other officers thought she’d gained her position through her father alone and that she had no right to her badge. And the others, including the captain and her partner, treated her like a little girl, to be protected and coddled, even though she -was- a homicide detective!

Even Vachon had treated her that way. From the moment she met him, he’d tried to protect her. And in the case of other vampires, she’d admit she needed it. But from mortals? No, she was a police detective, fully trained in self-defence and arrest procedure, but he’d still tried to be her valiant protector. Tracy remembered the time he’d hypnotised her date, sending him driving off with no idea where he was going, interfering with her case in a way that was really inexcusable. Though she admitted she had used him for information from time to time, it had only been on cases involving vampires. And it’s not like she hadn’t returned the favour ten-fold; using her position as homicide detective to cover-up countless vampire related deaths, ‘to protect their -precious -community.’ As these thoughts raced through Tracy’s head she got angrier and angrier, stabbing at the ground with all of her pent-up frustration, about her job, her father, Vachon and all the rest.

Lacroix could feel her anger wash over him from where he stood. She really was a remarkable woman. Most would be sobbing at the loss of their love, not out in the middle of the unforgiving night, digging his grave. He decided to wait for her to finish her task. He waited as she deepened the grave. The wind was right so he could smell her, her perfume, her sweat from her strenuous task, and her blood. He realised with a start, that the odour of blood was too strong to be coming through her skin, even with his heightened senses the smell should not be –that- strong. ‘Her hand are bleeding,’ he thought. Then he watched, as her blood dripped down the shovel’s handle, mixing with her dripping sweat. He watched her wipe them with annoyance down her pants legs after the shovel began to slip from her grasp, then continue her work. "Remarkable," he muttered.

Tracy finished the grave. She was a mess; she’d begun crying during the last foot. She was even sure where the tears had come from, she’d thought she had used all her tears up last night. She’d let them fall, streaming down her cheeks silently, not even bothering to wipe them away. She stopped crying then, surveying the grave; it was ugly, untidy and misshapen. "Sorry Javier, it’s the best I can do," she whispered, regret and anguish telling in her voice. The wind was catching her words now, Lacroix heard her.

Tracy went to the back of her car and dragged Vachon’s body out. His corpse landed on the ground with a thud. She dragged the sheet wrapped body to the edge of the pit she’d dug. Lacroix watched in amazement as instead of just rolling him in she climbed into the hole herself, and gently pulled him in with her. He realised then she was laying him out inside his grave. From where he was he couldn’t hear the exact contents of the whispered words of love she said to the man. But her pain and grief did reach him, stirring up his own grief over the death of his daughter. He empathised with this young girl. Her grief came up to him and somehow mingled with his, he closed his eyes and allowed their shared sorrow to wash through him. At that moment he was closer to that young girl than to anyone he’d known in a very long time, and she didn’t even know he was there.

Tracy emerged from the grave, covered in dirt, and clutching Vachon’s leather jacket, ‘apparently she’d decided to keep it,’ Lacroix mused. He didn’t blame her, he knew she’d taken it to remember him by, not for any more contemptible reason. He knew the Spaniard would have wanted her to have it.

Tracy wasn’t sure why at the last minute she’d decided to take the jacket. But at the last minute she knew she –needed- his jacket. She remembered all the times Vachon had made her wear the thing as they walked around the city, ‘just because she looked cold.’ She remembered how when she’d go to see him at his church he’d take it off and drape it over her shoulders. It smelled of him, his cologne, the one she’d given him last year for Christmas, and of his shampoo, and just him. She slipped it on, even though she was filthy, so was it, it’d just nearly been buried. ‘Both of us have to be cleaned before resurfacing in polite society,’ Tracy thought wryly. She then began pushing the dirt into the grave, careful not to look into the grave again. She didn’t want to see Vachon actually being covered with the ground for some reason. She used her hands to push the soil into the grave. Her whole body got into the act. She was on her hands and knees, pushing the soil over him. It was going much faster than the digging, but if anything, she was actually getting dirtier from this. She’d begun crying again, and the dirt was digging itself into the wounds in her hands…she didn’t care.

(Tell me what you think, anteros@juno.com)

See part one for disclaimers.<g>

Tracy Meets Lacroix

By: Cousin Mary

Part: 3/5

Lacroix watched in fascination, her every movement a testament to her feelings. ‘This was more than just the loss of a loved one,’ he realised, this was about more than just her feelings for the man just buried. This moment was going to change her forever, he knew. He’d felt dozens of emotions flow through this girl, he’d felt her strength, nearly tasted her transformation in the air. Lacroix had been around long enough to see people go through life-altering experiences, and he knew that was what he was seeing now. ‘People don’t change,’ he’d said it more than once, and this wasn’t a change, at least not in her basic nature. It was growth, a metamorphosis in her. She’d emerge from this changed, the person she’d always been meant to be. "Rather like my first real kill," he said under his breath, thinking back fondly to his early days as a Roman foot soldier, and how at age 14 he’d disembowelled that Gaul solider twice his size.

Tracy was pushing the last of the dirt onto the grave. First flattening the grave with her open palms, then hitting it with her fists, pounding out every last bit of her anger and frustration. Finally she leaned over and whispered something Lacroix could not hear to the bit of earth that rested six feet above Vachon’s head. Then she leaned closer and gently kissed his grave. Rising from her knees, Tracy brushed away some of the dirt and grim she was covered with, she gave up. She gathered up the shovel and empty Coke™ bottle, throwing both into her trunk. She gave the grave one last glance, it –looked- like a grave, she hoped no one dug it up to investigate. But then, ‘no one ever reported Screed’s grave,’ she thought, thinking it was –way- too easy to make a body disappear. She shrugged, ‘if it is found I’ll probably get the case,’ she thought with a rueful smirk.

She checked around once more to make sure she wasn’t forgetting anything, and got into her car. Allowing her car to warm up a bit, she allowed some of the tension to seep out of her. She was beyond tired, physically exhausted and emotionally drained. She felt empty. After a few minutes she drove home.

Tracy was on automatic pilot at this point; her car somehow arrived at her apartment building. She pulled into her slot, and cringed at the idea of the doorman seeing her like this. ‘A blood covered, grave digger, the building association will probably ask me to move,’ she thought. She was in luck, he wasn’t at his desk, she quickly made her way to the stairs, she rarely took the elevator, and besides she was less likely to meet any neighbours on the badly lighted stairwell at this time of night. "What time is it anyway," she whispered to no one in particular. She looked down, she was wearing a watch but it was caked with mud, made from the dirt from Vachon’s grave and her blood and sweat. Even if it hadn’t been completely filthy, she realised with a start, the face was so scratched it would never be readable again.

Finally she reached her floor, and quickly jogged to her apartment, hopping that nosy Mrs. McCormick wasn’t peaking through her door to see what state she arrived in. Mrs. McCormick for some reason always thought Tracy spent her time in various depraved pursuits. The elderly widow didn’t understand that Tracy worked nights, thinking instead that she spent her nights engaged in nefarious activities. Tracy had never really bothered to correct her, never telling her she was actually a cop. It had always amused her that someone thought about her in such a light. But tonight she really wasn’t in the mood, and Mrs. McCormick didn’t have to see her arrive home in this state. She was wearing her oldest and tightest pair of jeans, the ones she’d had since high school, the ones she hadn’t cared if they were ruined while digging. Her tight brown sweater was covered with a grimy leather jacket, which was nearly as filthy as the rest of her. Looking down at herself she took in the bloodstains, and the fact that she was covered in dirt. She didn’t even want to think about how she probably smelled. Her boots were caked with mud…she’d left a trail of footprints she realised with a sigh. As she opened her door, she left a dirty smudge on the front of her door.

(Tell me what you think, anteros@juno.com)

See part one for disclaimers.<g>

By: Cousin Mary

Part: 4/5

Lacroix waited outside Tracy’s building until he saw her light go on. Flying up to her apartment he was delighted to find a balcony, he hated crawling through windows, so undignified. He watched as she closed and locked her door, ‘can’t have her making a run for it,’ he thought with a chuckle.

Tracy went into her dark apartment and flipped on the lights. Silence greeted her, "hi honey, I’m home," she mumbled humourlessly. She headed towards her small kitchen table, intent on taking off her muddy boots before she wrecked her carpets. She sat down and struggle to get them off, mud had caked over the laces, "damn," she said, ripping them off painfully, making her feet contort rather than mess with them any more…she wasn’t in the mood.

Lacroix chose that moment to enter. Tracy felt the cold blast of air from the balcony door, and she knew she had a vampire visitor, Vachon had always entered that way too. Tracy looked straight at Lacroix as he walked in, despite the fact that she shouldn’t have been able to see the door from where she sat. This momentarily unnerved him.

"What do you want?" Tracy demanded in a weary voice, she didn’t really know the man before her, she did know *who* he was however. Lucien Lacroix: the oldest and most powerful vampire in Toronto, owner of the Raven and voice of the Nightcrawler. Vachon had told her to stay away from this ancient vampire after she’d informed her boyfriend that she knew that the tall pale man was one of his kind. Though she knew she should be frightened or at least surprised to see him standing in her kitchen, she wasn’t. She just couldn’t seem to summon up anymore emotions…no matter what kind.

Lacroix paused, whatever he’d been planning to say deserting him. ‘What –do- I want?’ he asked himself. He had been planning to erase her memories as Nicholas had asked, but…how could he erase a milestone?…a turning point? He stared at the girl in front of him. She seemed to take his silence in stride.

Ignoring him, Tracy stood, and shrugged out of Vachon’s jacket. She slowly moved into the living room, walking straight past the vampire.

Lacroix was bemused by her behaviour, in what ever way he’d expected her to react to him…this wasn’t it!

"Have you decided to tell me why you’re here?" Tracy asked in a slightly amused voice.

Instead of answering her, he instead asked, "You know who I am? You know what- I am?" He knew she knew who he was, he’d had to go to the police station after Diva’s little ‘present’ had been found in the Raven’s refrigerator. The young detective should have known he owned the club, and probably that he did the nightly radio show Nightwatch. But, she shouldn’t know he was a vampire. ‘The Spaniard must have told her,’ he thought, ‘but no, he wouldn’t have, he hadn’t had the courage, after all he’d never told her about her partner.’ ‘She must have figured it out on her own,’ he realised with a bizarre surge of pride. He knew she didn’t suspect Nicholas…she was just too close to see the obvious. ‘But then again, after tonight she just might figure it out,’ he thought to himself. As he considered the ramifications, he realised that it might be better if she -did- forget, but not just about the Spaniard’s death, but about all vampires.

"Of course," Tracy sounded weary. She stood by her small couch looking around; assorted clutter was spread around her apartment. Tastefully decorated, but messy…she hadn’t exactly felt like cleaning in the past week. "Why are you here?" she asked, moving ever so slightly to the scarred oak end table and the box sitting on top of it.

"I can’t let you continue on with knowledge of my kind," Lacroix told her, sounding nearly as weary as Tracy had.

"I’m a resister, you can’t make me forget…I don’t want to forget." Tracy told him.

"I have my ways," Lacroix told her, approaching the girl he so admired.

‘He’s going to kill me,’ she thought, but instead of panicking she reached into the box on her left and pulled out a cross. She wasn’t stupid; she had a near identical collection in her apartment as she did in her car’s trunk.

The ancient vampire hadn’t expected that, he cringed away from the cross, it took him a moment for this knew development to register. He turned back, ready to swipe the cross from the woman’s hand. Only to be doused with holy water! Tracy held the now empty flask and watched the vampire writhe against the wall behind him. He moaned, trying not to cry-out and alert the neighbours. The little chit was attacking him!

"Get out now!" Tracy yelled down at him. ‘He really looks pathetic…but he wanted to kill me, he deserved it,’ Tracy thought grimly. She reached back into the box; she had more tricks up her sleeve.

"Dammit!" he moaned, he threw of his wool overcoat, it was soaked with the water.

"I’m not going to hurt you Tracy!" he mumbled through clenched teeth as he waited for most of the water to drip off.

"Yeah right, you want to be friends, right?" she asked sarcastically, rather upset he’d called her by her first name. She pulled back her arm, ready to throw another, even worse brew on her attacker.

Lacroix didn’t wait for her to finish; using vampiric speed he ran behind her, knocking the flask from her hands. Garlic fumes assaulted his senses. He looked down at the flask, spilling forth onto the beige carpet was a viscous concoction of garlic and oil…something that would have clung to his skin much worse than water. "Vicious little thing aren’t you?" he muttered in her ear.

Tracy made a move to elbow him in the stomach as he stood behind her. He grabbed her, avoiding her every attack. Every time he thought he had a hold of her, she’d slip out of his grasp and try to punch, kick or otherwise injure him. ‘The little beast,’ he thought. It wasn’t that she was strong, compared to him she was nothing, but she was cunning, slipping loose and avoiding his grasp. Since he wasn’t planning to hurt her, just restrain her, he was having a hard time of it. He had to control the vampire within him, he didn’t want it to respond to her attacks and kill her, but at the same time, he didn’t want to be battered by this young girl either. He wasn’t used to fighting with mortals, and he wasn’t used to not being able to use his full strength.

She considered yelling for help, and hoping the neighbours would call the police, but dismissed that thought almost as quickly, the people on her right were on vacation, the place on her left was vacant, and well, Mrs. McCormick was practically deaf. And even if things weren’t the way they were, the police would probably be too late to help, and any neighbour coming to help would most likely be killed for his trouble.

Tracy was a fully trained police officer, but she had also had classes above and beyond that. She’d enrolled in a few Judo and Aikido classes in college, and most recently she’d taken a kick boxing class, it was much more fun than regular aerobics. Now she used all of her acquired skills and instincts to try to beat this bastard in her apartment!

She turned around to face him, slightly crouched in a fighting pose. ‘That jerk is actually enjoying this!’ she thought, taking in the slight smirk on his pale face. Going as if to punch his face, he reacted to grab her arm, over extending himself. ‘Bad move buddy,’ she thought, dropping into a full crouch, she extended one leg and spun on her other, knocking him to the ground. If he’d been human, he’d be unconscious; his head hit the ground so hard. As it was he was only dazed. She didn’t miss a beat; she rose to her knees and lunged for his throat with the heel of her hand. Lacroix’s eyes widen; he again used his vampiric speed to grab both of Tracy’s hands, using her momentum to flip her over his chest. He then rolled over, trapping her beneath his body, her legs pinned beneath one of his, holding each of her hands in one of his own.

"Dammit! Enough!" Yelled Lacroix. In other circumstances he might have enjoyed this little tumble, but he was barely in control now. He was actually shaking!

(Tell me what you think, anteros@juno.com)

See part one for disclaimers. <g>

By: Cousin Mary

Part: 5/5

Tracy tried to wiggle out from under him; she failed. There was no escape; he had her. "Fine, kill me, just make it quick," she said without emotion, turning her head to expose her neck to him.

Lacroix nearly took her up on it. He had to fight to restrain himself. They were both breathing hard; he could hear her heart pounding after their exertion. He was so excited it was nearly impossible to stop himself from biting her. He took a deep breath, and turned her head to look at him. "Like I said, I’m not here to hurt you Tracy," he told her.

"Could’ve fooled me," she mumbled sarcastically, ‘I must have a death wish,’ she thought, ‘taunting a vampire.’ Again he’d called her by her first name, his accent doing strange things to her stomach. "Are you going to let me up then?" she asked him, smirking at him. She could feel his erection against her leg. ‘He really is gorgeous,’ she thought, instantly feeling guilty, Vachon barely in his grave and… ‘Well, damn, what does it matter anymore?’ Who knew if Vachon had really loved her, who knew if she’d really loved him? Maybe she’d just been fascinated by the fact he was a vampire, she thought about all of the things about him that had bugged her. How he’d never actually go out of his way to –do- anything, his relationship with Urs, and she knew he kept a lot from her. Would she have gone out with him if he’d been human?…She didn’t know. She had cared about him…but love? ‘Now is not the time or place to worry about it,’ she told herself. All thoughts of Vachon left her as she looked back at the man over her.

Lacroix stared down at her. She wanted him! He could feel it; he could smell it in her blood. Without thinking he leaned down and kissed her gently. Tracy wasn’t in for ‘gentle’ tonight; she’d gone through way too much emotional turmoil. She kissed him back, hard and aggressively. Forcing her tongue into his mouth. He moved slightly back, she followed him keeping their mouths in contact. He moved back onto his knees, she rose to hers and pressed herself against him. Her arms wrapped around him, and she ground her hips into his. All of her frustration of the last year came out in her movements. He groaned. She ripped his shirt off, pulling away just long enough to pull her sweater over her head. Her hands rubbed his chest, and went to undo his pants.

It had been a long time since Lacroix had been with a mortal. He revelled in the warmth of her, the smell of her blood. She was rough; her desperate hands moved over his body cruelly, it was nearly painful. They took each other violently, and in the end he buried his fangs deep in her throat.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>.

‘He didn’t kill me,’ Tracy realised with a start, she’d awoken just a moment earlier in Lacroix’s arms. They were on her bed now. She reached up and felt the bite marks, feeling the raised, bruised flesh with her fingertips. Her fingers moved from there, forward and up, to the base of her jaw. She felt the steady beat of her pulse and gasped. She was shocked; the last thing she remembered was him biting her at her moment of climax. She should be dead, ‘apparently he knew what he was doing,’ she thought. Wondering for a moment if Vachon could’ve been with her without killing her too.

She looked down at the man sleeping beside her. Naked under her lacy white comforter, he seemed even more male. It’d been a long time since she’d had a man in her bed, she thought. ‘Almost three years,’ she cringed, ‘and now I’m waking up next to a 2000-year-old stranger. ‘Wouldn’t Daddy be proud,’ she nearly laughed out loud at that thought, she didn’t care what he thought anymore. That didn’t mean she was exactly proud of herself. She carefully undraped his arms from her body and rolled out of bed. She really needed a shower.

Lacroix awoke with a start. ‘Where is she,’ he thought desperately. He relaxed when he realised she was in the shower. Whether he’d been afraid she might have left crying or gone off to get a stake he wasn’t sure, but all in all he was glad she was just in the shower. What the hell was he going to do? ‘I could still erase her memory,’ he rejected that notion as soon as it entered his mind; rather disgusted that he’d thought it at all. No, whatever he did, he wouldn’t be erasing any bit of her. She was his now, all of her, and every memory she had was part of her. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen. How Tracy was going to act when she came out of that bathroom. The one thing he did know was, ’Nicholas will not be happy,’ he began to laugh at that ridiculous thought. He had much more weighty issues to deal with the Nicholas’s reaction; the most prominent of which was still in the shower.

End?

If I get a favourable response maybe I’ll write a sequel and talk about how Nick reacts.