LaCroix waited for them in the darkness, standing at the far end of the vast, darkened space. He heard the creak of the door and listened for the heartbeats--one mortal, one vampire.
One vampire?
He sniffed the air and caught the scent of perfume. Not Janette--although he'd lost his sense of her some time ago, he knew that old habits died hard. It was not a scent she had worn or would wear. This had a spice to it that she would have thought was not quite her style. And it was far too expensive a scent for Dr. Lambert to afford, on her municipal salary.
Placing one hand along the iron rail he held the head of a match against the metal, knowing that he'd see them soon enough. As it was, they caught one another's eyes at the same time, vampire gazes meeting despite the darkness.
He knew her then. Knew almost instantly that this was the lost one that so troubled his Nicholas. This was the 'mistake' that he had tried to correct by taking a step that could only lead his sorry soul back to the true blood and the darkness of his nature.
He owed her, this 'Serena.' Whether she knew it or not.
There was no point in waiting any longer. LaCroix flicked the match across the iron railing and it flamed instantly, a brilliant star in the darkness. He moved it quickly to the candle that he lifted from the floor and stood staring down at them. "You must be Serena," he said graciously. "Nicholas has told me so much about you. And Dr. Lambert--you're looking far more flushed than when I last saw you. Almost recovered from our little ordeal?"
Serena flinched, slightly--good, it meant she knew who she was dealing with and knew her place. But Natalie Lambert merely stood there, glaring back at him. "Where's Nick?"
"I like that--the direct approach does, save time. But you see, Dr. Lambert . . . Natalie? We have nothing but time. Wouldn't you agree, Serena?"
"All the time in the world," answered Serena sharply. "From dusk until dawn, of course."
"Of course." LaCroix smiled and nodded in her direction, then gestured them toward the concrete stairs that led up to his perch. "If you're in a hurry--"
Natalie led the way, with Serena following. LaCroix leaned against the handrail, amused--Serena could have been at his side with nothing more than a thought, but she took the stairs. Out of deference to the mortal she accompanied or had her failure during her last sojourn in Toronto still not swayed her from following Nicholas' untenable search for mortality? It would be interesting to see which way the wind would blow on that one.
Just as they reached him, he leaned to one side and opened the door into what would have been the foreman's quarters and which he'd appropriated for his own purposes. The light from the room shone back upon them and Natalie paused to blink. Once her eyes had become accustomed to the light, she gave him barely a glance before walking past him and into the room.
He had to admire her courage . . . or was it desperation? After Serena had entered, LaCroix came up quickly beside Natalie and led her into the carpeted living area he'd prepared for himself, taking her arm as if they were old friends and holding it tightly so that she couldn't shrug off his touch. "Forgive me, but I can't help but wonder--what do you make of the events of last night?"
She didn't look at him, her hazel eyes fixed forward, as if memorizing the surroundings--and, he reminded himself, identifying possible weapons. A most extraordinary woman.
"Nick bit me." Her free hand raised to the bandage on her neck. "He was supposed to take a little, not too much."
"Really?" asked LaCroix, casting a knowing glance over his shoulder toward Serena.
Natalie met his eyes then and he saw accusation in them as she turned toward him. "He took too much. I could feel it--he couldn't stop. Then you came in--" She hesitated and lowered her eyes, staring past him, as if at a fuzzy, fading picture. "You took him away. You took him away from me."
LaCroix released her arm and took a step back from her. "Close enough," he said softly. He walked around her, then headed for the sideboard where a bottle of champagne was chilling and another green glass bottle had been warmed to room temperature. "May I get you something? Natalie?"
"No thanks. I learn from my mistakes."
He smiled and pushed aside the ice bucket with the chilling champagne. "Touche'. Serena, will you indulge?"
"Thank you, yes."
Pulling the cork from the bottle, he dropped it to the sideboard. LaCroix lifted the bottle and carefully poured two wine glasses full of the slightly thick, red liquid. "It's uncut," he warned Serena, handing her the glass when she approached him. "It was my understanding that you'd left Toronto rather suddenly. A pity--I'd rather hoped to meet you. I've met so few of the ones Nicholas has successfully brought across. You've returned for business . . . or pleasure?"
"Both." Serena took the glass from him, raised it slightly in his direction as if in a toast, then sipped from it delicately. Her eyes closed and she turned away, but not quickly enough to mask the twisted emotions that flashed across her features--rapture turned to disgust. So, her mortal leanings were still intact.
"Where's Nick?" Natalie demanded again, stepping forward.
"In time. I think it's best that you be prepared." He spoke softly, but sternly, then gestured toward one of the large, padded chairs that flanked the sofa and the shelves containing his electronic equipment. Natalie hesitated a moment, as if deciding whether or not to be obstinate, then seated herself on the edge of the cushion but seemed prepared to leap to the attack or run if the situation called for it. Serena, glass still in hand, wandered over to the couch and sank into it with the grace becoming a goddess.
He placed his glass on the table beside him, crossed his legs and then fixed Natalie with an even gaze. "Nicholas believes that you're dead."
She took a deep breath and panic crossed her features, just for an instant. "I'm not."
"Obviously. We both believed you to be dead . . . until I heard a radio broadcast earlier this evening." He steepled his fingers. "Imagine, if you will, his state of mind. His partner has just been killed, for which he blames himself. He believes he has murdered you. And now--"
"He wants to die," said Serena, her tone distant, almost ethereal. "He wants to end his existence."
"But I'm not dead," protested Natalie, half-rising from her seat and looking around the room frantically. "I'm not dead--he didn't kill me."
"Precisely why I've asked you here." LaCroix leaned across to take her arm and pushed her firmly back into her seat. "I've imprisoned him. I was hoping he'd come back to his senses on his own, but it hasn't happened. Your presence might make the difference."
Natalie was on her feet instantly, almost before he could move. "Where is he? I need to see him."
"You will--momentarily." LaCroix rose to his feet and raised an eyebrow in Serena's direction. "Will you join us?"
"I wouldn't miss it." Her smile was almost predatory as she met his gaze, waiting until Natalie and he had passed and then following them down the hall and to a door.
LaCroix opened the door, then turned on the wall switch, revealing the steep stairs and another door, barred, at the bottom. He placed his arm across the doorway, stopping Natalie before she could pass. "I must warn you-- keep your distance from Nicholas. I've restrained him, but he's not himself. He might attack you."
Her annoyance at the arm barring her way disappeared into a look of perfect faith that touched some part of even his long-lost soul. "No, you're wrong. Nick won't hurt me."
"Natalie--" Serena touched her shoulder, turning her. "You'll be the only mortal in a room of vampires. LaCroix is right--Nick might kill you, on instinct alone."
What Natalie would not accept from him, she seemed to consider from Serena--LaCroix put that thought away for future reference. Then Serena took a step closer to Natalie and whispered, "Your last chance. Run while you can. Leave him. Forget him."
She was a spider, this one, spinning her own web. LaCroix arched his neck in annoyance at her meddling, but steeled himself only to watch, to see what might happen.
If he had any doubts, they were stilled by the look on Natalie's face. He saw there that she had no choice, she could not leave Nicholas. He wondered if she knew how truly lost she was.
"I'll be careful," she said, placing her hand over Serena's. "He won't hurt me. You'll see."
LaCroix stood to one side as Natalie descended the stairs and met Serena's eyes. No words passed between them, but none were needed. A look was sufficient to convey his thoughts to her. Not the particulars, of course--the blood link between them was thinned by a generation. There was a means of communication consisting more of expression than thoughts or words, complex and layered beyond rational understanding.
Serena shied for a moment beneath his look, then lowered her eyes and continued down the steps. Suppressing a smile, he followed her, knowing that she would not oppose him again, whatever her plans might be.
Natalie already had her hands on the iron bar that held the door in place, attempting to lift it. Murmuring, "Allow me," LaCroix stepped past her and easily removed the bar, setting it to one side. Her eagerness to see Nicholas again concerned him, but only in that he might be forced to restrain her to keep them apart.
Serena met his gaze. When he nodded, she pulled the door open and slipped into the room. LaCroix followed, his hand brushing against, then resting on Natalie's arm. It was more than a courteous gesture, giving him a firm hold on her if anything untoward happened.
His first indication that something was wrong was the hoarse laugh that emerged from Serena. As he stepped into the room, he saw her cover her mouth and look away from him, but couldn't hide the amusement in her eyes.
The floor was covered with bits of torn blanket and glass shards, the chains had been snapped and the manacles twisted open, and the bars on the window had been bent apart, the window glass scattered along the sill and the floor at the base of the wall. The night breeze entered, setting the metal shutters creaking, half-ripped from the hinges at the frame.
LaCroix walked to the manacles, leaned down and lifted one. There was blood on it.
Vampire blood.
Her stomach churned at the sight of the manacles. Natalie glared at LaCroix as he lifted one from the floor and held it in his hands. "How could you--how could you do this?" She stalked past him and picked up the other manacle. The steel was cold and there were bits of flesh and flecks of blood along one edge of the cuff. Turning, she held the manacle out to him. "How could you chain him like an animal and still claim you care about him?"
For a moment she wasn't certain that LaCroix had even heard her; he was staring past her, his eyes focused elsewhere in time. But then he met her eyes and said solemnly, "A moot point, since he's escaped even my precautions."
Natalie dropped the metal restraint and it fell to the cement floor, the clang echoing. She leaned down to pick up a scrap of blanket. It looked as if it had been raked apart by the claws of an animal. And it was dotted with -- "Blood."
"Yes." Rising to his feet, LaCroix gestured around them, then at her sandals. "Mind where you step--there's glass. I'd hoped that leaving blood within his grasp might tempt him to feed, but Nicholas decided to expend his energy in yet another fruitless act of defiance."
"Not that," corrected Natalie. She reached down and picked up the manacle again, relieved that the sight and smell of the blood wasn't affecting her like it had in the hospital. Walking over to LaCroix, she showed him the spatters and torn flesh on a sharp piece of the twisted metal. "He's hurt. Badly, by the look of this."
"He had a shoulder wound. Rather than murder him with the stake as he asked me, I immobilized him with it." He brushed the manacle from her hand and it toppled to the floor again.
Natalie stared down at the manacle as it fell, then looked around the mess of the room, LaCroix's words beginning to sink in. Nick had thought he'd killed her, that she was dead. And then he'd asked LaCroix to kill him? Nick was going to commit suicide?
It didn't seem rational, but then, what did any more? It was as if their own private nervous breakdowns--Laura's suicide shaking her as much as Tracy's death had shaken him- -had collided with the force of two freight engines.
"If he's that badly wounded, he'll be ravenous. Despite his ill-considered scruples, I'd be surprised if he didn't kill the first mortal who crossed his path. Instinct wins in the end, as always." LaCroix walked over to Serena, who was still standing by the door, arms folded. She looked up at him as he approached. "Where is he, Serena? You're of his blood; find him for me."
"When hell freezes over." Turning her head, she spat on the floor, the spittle pink and flecked with spots of red. "I want nothing to do with him."
Natalie looked up at Serena's words, her heart catching in her throat when she realized that the venom was real. Startled, she looked to LaCroix, but he didn't seem at all surprised.
In fact, he turned away--she almost thought she saw the shadow of a smile lingering on his lips. "Then why did you return to Toronto?"
"Because I felt his anguish. I wanted to be here at the end--to watch him die." Serena straightened, her blue eyes turned gold as she pointed a finger at Natalie. "I wanted to save her from him. I thought that if I saved at least one from him, at least one . . . ."
There were tears in the corners of her eyes. Serena clutched her arms tightly to her chest and turned away. Natalie desperately wanted to go to her, but stayed where she was, watching LaCroix. Somehow, she knew this was for her benefit.
"That you could reclaim some small portion of the soul he took from you?" LaCroix shook his head and turned back to stare at Serena; Natalie would have said that his expression was one of pity . . . if she were speaking of anyone except LaCroix. "An exercise in futility for a number of reasons. But imaginative, I'll give you that."
Then Natalie found herself the subject of LaCroix's intense stare. He lifted an eyebrow and smiled slightly. "I believe it's your turn, doctor."
Natalie stared right back, her hazel eyes locking with and holding LaCroix's. "I have no idea what--"
"Trust me." The smile disappeared. "Or not. But trust yourself. Close your eyes."
She continued to stare at him, frowned, opened her mouth--
And suddenly he was standing behind her, her right arm pinioned against her body, her head tilted, baring her neck. She heard Serena hiss from the other side of the room and looked up to see the vampire's eyes blazing red-gold. But there was an answering hiss from behind her, from LaCroix. And Serena turned away, facing the corner of the room, her shoulders shaking.
Just as suddenly as she'd been captured, LaCroix spun her out of his grasp, holding her long enough to keep her from falling and then releasing her. They stood facing one another. She couldn't seem to get enough air and was certain that her heart had stopped sometime during the last two minutes.
"If I'd wanted to harm you, I could have done so at any time," said LaCroix, his voice razor sharp, yet soft as silk. "We're here for a common purpose--to save Nicholas. If he destroys himself, we both lose."
There was only one answer. Natalie nodded, however hesitantly, and took a deep breath. "All right. Truce. For Nick."
"Truce, as you say." LaCroix took a step closer to her and brushed his fingertips from her forehead down the bridge of her nose. "Close your eyes, Natalie. And listen."
Her eyes closed automatically and she held them closed, no matter how strong the urge to open them. She swayed and felt him grasp her upper arm to steady her. "Now what?"
He chuckled, probably because of the annoyance in her voice. "Think about Nicholas. Think about searching for him. Where is he? Search the darkness. Cast your mind outward . . . ."
It sounded silly, but she took a deep breath and did as he asked. She thought about Nick. She pictured his smile, but that picture changed quickly. She remembered his face when they'd spoken in the loft, his sadness and his refusal to bring her across. And the hope, finally, that she'd thought she'd managed to instill in him . . . .
But there was no hope any longer. Natalie knew this and it was an effort not to open her eyes. She felt tears gathering at the sadness that washed over her, the weight of his anguish pressing down upon her--then she gasped as she felt the burning in the center of her chest, like a fire had been lit inside her. She clutched her hands to her stomach, about to double over and felt them wrenched away. Cool hands covered her own, drifted over her fingers lightly, soothing her.
Blood. Red, thick, a mixture of salt and iron--she could taste it in her mouth. Blood. And peace. Darkness. Silence. He was going somewhere, heading for--
"The loft," she gasped, her eyes opening. And then she stopped, realizing that the room had moved around her.
In truth, she'd moved. She was standing at the door, one hand on the door frame. LaCroix's hand lifted from her shoulder and she turned to face him, licking her lips. Her mouth was dry and her heart was beating so fast it felt as if she'd just sprinted a hundred yards.
"The loft," repeated LaCroix, stepping away from her and walking to the center of the room. "There's blood there--he can avoid taking any more lives. He'll be looking for you. Or what's left of you."
Deciding that there was nothing to give a person heebie-jeebies like having her corpse discussed in her presence, she opened her mouth to give LaCroix a piece of her mind . . . and then stopped. Tightening her grip on the door frame, she tried to make her knees stop shaking as she met LaCroix's gaze. "It's only common sense. I didn't find Nick--how could I, I'm not a vampire? Of course he'd go to the loft. Nick's got no where else to go."
It was a brave front, but it was nearly shaken by LaCroix's self-assured smile. He walked toward her slowly and Natalie pressed her back against the door frame, having the feeling that she was being stalked. He stood beside her, facing the open doorway and said softly, "My dear doctor, you may not have joined the club, but you've certainly filled out an application." Before she could manage a denial, he turned that steely blue gaze toward her. "Didn't you ask Nicholas to bring you across if he couldn't control himself?"
There was a sound of disgust from beside her, a whisper of cloth, and Natalie was again aware of Serena's presence. But she couldn't take her eyes from LaCroix. "Yes. I--I didn't want to die."
"As I thought. And when he thought you were beyond his help, he was prepared to die with you, rather than lose you forever." He smiled, ever so delicately. "Will you deny him so quickly, Natalie? Nicholas was prepared, is preparing to give his life for you. Surely that must count for something."
Serena placed her hand against LaCroix's chest, pushing him aside as she swept past Natalie and on up the stairs. "Either it is done or it is not," she called back to them. "But I don't intend to miss this if I can help it. Follow if you wish, or argue, it's all the same to me."
LaCroix offered her his arm, but Natalie ignored him, running up the stairs after Serena. "Wait--I'll come with you. We're not far from Nick's place. We can walk it--"
"You may walk," said Serena sharply. "I have my own method of traveling."
The thought of Serena being alone with Nick right now frightened her. She turned to LaCroix as she reached the steps that led from the foreman's rooms down into the darkness of the warehouse . . . but he was gone. When she turned, she saw him waiting at the bottom of the concrete staircase. "Too damned fast!" she huffed, as she ran down the steps and met him at the bottom.
"Immortality has certain advantages," replied LaCroix.
Natalie shot him a glance. "Like going from rare to well-done in thirty seconds at high noon."
By the time she'd looked up again, Serena was already standing at the doorway from the warehouse to the alley--she saw the vampire's silhouette, black against black, step out into the less claustrophobic darkness of the alley. "We can't let her get to Nick--"
A breeze brushed past her--more like a wind--and the door opened and shut again. Natalie picked up speed, the soles of her sandals slapping against the concrete as she ran the length of the empty warehouse. Her body rebelled, a stitch in her side causing her to pull up short, but she continued to run as quickly as she could. It seemed insane that less than twenty-four hours ago she'd been on the verge of asking Nick to make love to her and to bring her across if he went too far and drained her. She couldn't handle much more of this. By the time she'd reached the door that led to the alley, she was more than winded.
Leaning back against the door, Natalie took deep breaths. At first, there was no sign of Serena or LaCroix and for a second she thought they'd gone off to the loft without her. Then she caught sight of them, or what she thought must be them, dark shadows standing at the mouth of the alley.
Standing over what looked to be a body.
A lump rose in her throat at the thought that it might be Nick. Gathering up the strength she had left, she dashed down the length of the paved alley. But she was at least half way there when she realized that the hair wasn't blonde. Serena was kneeling by the victim and, as Natalie approached, said softly, "It's Thomas. He must have followed me here."
Somehow, Natalie swallowed over the lump in her throat. She dropped to her knees as well and brushed back Serena's hand. It was Westwood. He had a large, purplish bruise on his forehead and the skin on the palm of his hand was scraped, with superficial bleeding that had already stopped. She held her breath as she turned his head, checking on side of his neck, then the other.
There were no wounds. He hadn't been bitten.
He was breathing regularly. Automatically, she picked up his wrist to take his pulse, glanced at her own wrist . . . and realized her watch was somewhere between Nick's loft and the hospital.
"I believe introductions are in order," said LaCroix, still standing in the shadows.
"His name's Thomas Westwood, he's a forensic psychologist," said Natalie. "He knows . . . he knew Serena." She looked up, watching Serena rise, then turned her gaze to where she could make out the outline of LaCroix in the shadows.
Serena must have been able to see better. She folded her arms defiantly. "He's no danger to us, or to the community."
"As you reminded me, we do not have time for this," said LaCroix sharply. He touched Natalie's shoulder, pushing her with enough force to knock her aside so that she was sitting on the pavement on her rear. Then he reached down for Westwood--
"No!" Serena grasped LaCroix's shoulder, stopping him. "No," she said again, backing up a step as LaCroix straightened. "I'll take care of it. He won't remember anything." LaCroix looked down at Westwood, eyes glowing gold. "It's another body to be rid of," said Serena hurriedly. "And you must go. To Nicholas. There's no time."
LaCroix looked up at that, and then away. Stalking to Natalie, he offered her a hand, which she took, still breathing heavily. As soon as she'd risen to her feet, she threw his hand back at him, staring. "You were going to kill him!"
He didn't so much as blink at the accusation, saying, "Yes, I was." Then he placed a hand in the small of her back and propelled her forward, toward the edge of the alley.
Glancing back over her shoulder, Natalie saw Serena bending over Westwood. She dug in her heels, refusing to move, then met LaCroix's gaze again when he shot her an annoyed glance. "Serena--I don't want Serena to hurt him either," she explained, remembering what Serena had said to her in the taxi about why she'd never confronted Westwood.
"He doesn't matter."
"He does to me. He works with the police--I told you." When LaCroix looked away, she added, "Why make a bad situation worse? We'll have enough problems trying to sort out everything that's happened with Nick. They've got an APB out on him. If someone gets to the loft before we do--"
He ignored her, looking over his shoulder at Serena and Westwood. "Is that probable?"
"If they're looking for him, they'd try to get a court order to search the loft. That's the first place I'd look for him. Especially if I expected to find him at the end of a rope or with his wrist slit in the--"
She couldn't finish the sentence, an image of Laura's body floating in the water coming to mind. Taking a breath, Natalie steeled herself and added, "I haven't asked you for much. I'm asking you for this. Make sure nothing happens to him."
LaCroix tilted his head and regarded her curiously, as if she'd suddenly turned blue or sprouted a third eye. Then, after a moment, he nodded, said, "Stay here," and then walked back to Serena.
Having pushed him that far, Natalie didn't dare move. She leaned against the wall of the alley, took a step closer toward it, then winced when she heard something crunch beneath her sandals. Leaning down, she picked up a broken bit of black plastic and wire circuitry that had been shattered into enough pieces that it was relatively unidentifiable. She dropped it back on the ground, then looked over her shoulder.
LaCroix was standing with his back to her, effectively shielding her view of Serena. They spoke quietly--she could barely discern any conversation at all, but after a moment LaCroix turned back. Noting her interest, he smiled as he approached, adding, "Now you owe me, doctor. Quid pro quo."
Even as he took her arm, Natalie hesitated, still watching Serena as she knelt beside Westwood. "Can I trust her?"
"As much as you could ever trust Nicholas." Then, he sobered and met her questioning look with an even stare. "Do you really have any choice?"
And, at that moment, Natalie had to admit that she didn't.
It was at least ten blocks from the warehouse to Nick's loft and Natalie tried to keep her pace to a brisk walk. She'd had little enough time in the hospital to rest after her near-brush with death. Every so often she'd find herself leaning on LaCroix's arm--then angrily push him away.
"It would be faster if we flew," he suggested at one point.
"Fly then. I'll meet you there." Glaring at him, she'd picked up the pace, the soles of her sandals slapping against the concrete.
Of course, he matched it easily. There was at least one point where she was certain that she saw someone lurking in the shadows . . . who drew back quickly when LaCroix appeared beside her. He was proving to be an efficient bodyguard--she'd have to thank him for that.
The sight of the small park around the corner from Nick's loft gave her a renewed burst of energy, but she stopped there, near a tree. LaCroix joined her and they both looked up at the windows--the shades were open and the lights were on.
"Wait--a--minute." Natalie turned and saw the underside of a stone bridge not too far away. "This place-- I think we had--an unsolved near here." Her breath was coming in gasps. It took an effort on her part not to sink down into the well-trimmed grass and rest.
LaCroix stood a few steps away. Staring at the lighted windows of the loft, he seemed to have forgotten her presence.
"Is Nick there?" asked Natalie softly. She pushed herself away from the trunk of a tree and stood beside him. "Is he . . . ?"
"He's there. And there's someone with him. A mortal."
"A mortal?" Natalie stared up at the windows, listening, trying to recapture some of what she'd felt before at the warehouse, a sense of Nick's presence.
Nothing.
Then she realized that LaCroix was watching her and she blushed, looking away.
"There are more surprises in store for you, Dr. Lambert," said LaCroix softly. "Be patient. In time--"
"Time is something we don't have. I've got to get up there." She started across the grass, back toward the sidewalk and across the street and didn't bother looking up when she realized that LaCroix was in front of her, already standing in front of the elevator entrance. "Show off," she muttered, then reached past him to tap in the security keycode.
"I'll accompany you."
"You'll stay here."
It was by accident that she happened to look at him and caught a brief flicker of surprise at her defiance, which quickly disappeared beneath a faintly disapproving mask. "You said it yourself, Nicholas is hungry. The mortal with him might prove sufficient for his needs, or--"
"He won't hurt me," she repeated. "And if I can get up there quickly enough, I may be able to save what's left of his sanity. I can't let him kill again."
She expected an argument, but it was her turn to be
surprised--LaCroix merely stepped back into the shadows,
disappearing into the darkness like the Cheshire cat, only
the glow of his eyes lingering. "It's your neck, doctor."