Disclaimers Here

The darkness embraced his soul, giving wings to his internal rage as the wind, warmed by the hot summer day, whipped through long ebony hair. Gautier could feel the precarious connection to deBrabant, weak though it was. He flexed his hand as he soared over the city, wishing he had the blond clasped firmly within his grasp.

Strong sensations from the city mixed with the night flavors he had grown to avidly embrace. Gliding over a large stand of trees, the citrus scent of evergreen and the shimmer of the moon reflecting back from the park's lake caused old memories to surface. Gautier considered how similar this night seemed to that fateful evening long ago when he began moving down the path that ultimately led to his mortal death... and rebirth.

Flashback:
Late summer, 1214
Castle Artois, Lord de la Barre's heraldry home

Gautier stood silently in the middle of his assigned suite, staring at the gray stones of the castle. Two of his pages worked feverishly, dressing their lord for his obligatory appearance during the planned festivities. He turned his head toward the open window and watched the last rays of the day's sun shift toward shadowy darkness, his still body belying his wildly churning thoughts.

Anger flared anew, burning sullen and bitter as the joust replayed once more in his mind. To think a mere boy would be the cause of his shame. Gautier had not tasted defeat since his sword and spurs had been granted; he was unprepared to deal with these harsh emotions. Adding salt to the wound was the shame of facing his downfall at the hands of foreigners.

One of the pages raised Gautier's left arm to adjust his doublet, causing a sharp twinge of pain to lance out from the bruised flesh along his shoulder. Gautier growled, then suddenly backhanded the boy, his fury refueled and murderous.

"Get out. Cretins!" He roared obscenities, striking at the other page. The young boy quickly ducked the expected blow and reached down to assist his stunned friend up. Knowing the danger when their lord's temper exploded, they scrambled away, letting the heavy door thud shut behind them as they escaped into the empty hallway.

Gautier continued to grumble angrily to himself about his inept staff, a raging thunderstorm of anger roiled within him, building strength as it fed on itself. Pacing before the empty fireplace, he gave into an adolescent impulse and began snatching anything within reach that he could throw, submerging himself in his destructive rampage. Watching the pewter pitcher that had been sitting near his bed flatten upon impact with the wall, he raged to himself. He had to do *something* to avenge the grievous insult of this afternoon's defeat. Picking up one of the candleholders from the nearby desk, he drew back his arm to throw it ... then stopped. A slow, ugly leer crept across his face. He set the holder down, nodding slightly to himself as he considered his possibilities.

Yes! I will extract my own form of revenge before leaving this paltry region. His mood much improved, Gautier considered calling for the return of the pages to assist him, however after a moment's thought decided to finished dressing himself. He suddenly found himself looking forward to this evening's feast -- particularly the events that would come afterwards.

Two hours later Gautier was holding his temper by a thread, his frustration and anger close to boiling over at all the barbed, rankling comments he'd had to endure through the evening. Seeing his youthful conqueror sitting in the place of honor at the right of the Duke particularly galled him. So much so, he had to struggle to contain himself, wanting swift, violent action to soothe his wounded ego. The only thing that helped to contain his fury was mentally picturing what he had planned later in the evening. A small smile tugged on his lips as he played out the scenario of his revenge in his mind.

A belly laugh from the head of the table pulled him back to the present, dropping Gautier back into a black funk as he watched the area's Lord clap young Nicholas on the back. A deep frown settled on his face as he turned back to pick at his plate of food. That place of honor had always... *always* been his until this match. He would even things with these foreigners.

Laughter from several of the local ranking lords drew Gautier's attention. His jaw clenched in anger when the subject of their humor became clear over the mingled conversations surrounding the table.

"What a glorious fight, Aimon!" A deep, boisterous voice rumbled over the normal din arising from the dining tables. "Nicholas fulfilled all my expectations," declared Larrimore, Lord de la Barre's master armsman, pounding a beefy hand against the table for emphasis. The burly knight beamed at his companions, his pride in his favorite pupil obvious to all.

"You're not mistaken, Larrimore. The boy showed that French *Lord* what a course really entails!" Aramis, master archer to Castle Artois insisted, gulping another mouthful from his cup.

"A boy no longer, I'm thinking," Aimon replied, with a great clap on Larrimore's back.

"He definitely earned his spurs, no one can deny that," Aramis, the castle's master armorer insisted, gulping another mouthful from his cup.

"Very true, my friend. Mark my words, Nicholas will have songs written about him one day."

"It was a perfect joust. His talent shone this day. Though, I will have to continue working with him on his sword work. He's still letting his guard drop too much. He shouldn't have let that Frenchman disarm him so easily." Larrimore nodded sagely.

"Not that the French are known for their swordsmanship," Aimon boomed, throwing an obvious verbal spear toward the decidedly quiet men surrounding Lord Gautier. The growing number of savage scowls and viscously stabbed meals among the visiting Knights attested to the accuracy of the hits of Larrimore and Aimon's vocal barbs.

Gautier listened to the boastful statements coming from the Brabant knights and kept a tight rein on his temper. It was time to begin his revenge. He leaned closer to his second in command, Baron de la Vallon Venteux. "Etienne, make a toast to the winner of the joust."

A sputtering cough erupted as the mouthful of food Etienne had just swallowed went down the wrong way. "What?" He coughed again, then wheezed slightly before his voice settled to normal. "Surely you jest, milord?"

"No. Do it. In fact, instruct the others that it is my will."

Etienne gave his liege a long look, noting the deadly earnest intent consuming his prince before turning to the knight sitting on his left and whispering something. A sharp hiss of denial rose, but Etienne quickly curbed it. "Do it, Marcil, both you and Remy."

Turning toward the head of the table, Etienne rose and raised his goblet. "A toast..." Heads turned toward the young Frenchman, curious and cautious. "A toast, gentlemen. To the winner of the joust -- what a wondrous fight."

Several goblets rose, sloshing their contents over the rim. "Here, here -- to Nicholas!" sang out as the gathering joined in to celebrate the success of one of their own.

The festivities continued past the midnight hour, with the French cavaliers offering toasts to the local favorite and the local Lord, mixing their praises with the rest of the room's gathering.

Gautier relaxed in his seat, sipped his drink, and patiently watched the roomful of knights become a roomful of drunks. Another toast was called from one of the local barons present. Several knights swayed to their feet, spilling more drink than they managed to swallow. Gautier hid his smile in his goblet, anticipating how sweet his revenge would taste.

The young knight, Nicholas, took another swig of his drink in response to the latest offered toast and turned a light shade of green. The French lord watched with amusement as the boy rubbed one hand across his middle and took a couple of quick breaths, presumably to settle his stomach. When he leaned toward Lord de la Barre and whispered something, Gautier almost smiled in glee. He had to restrain himself from jumping to his feet to follow young Nicholas when the boy rose unsteadily to his feet and with a brief thank you to the crowd, left the room.

He gave the new hero to the count of fifty before he rose from the table. "Milord, it grows late. After enduring this past day, I feel the need to retire and rest."

"So soon, Lord Gautier? The festivities are just beginning."

"If we are to be ready to march out tomorrow, it is necessary. There is much to prepare."

"Very well then. Avent, where are you?"

One of the royal pages that had been standing against the wall behind the head chair rushed forward. "Here, my liege."

"Escort Lord Gautier to the west wing. Give him any assistance he requires."

"Yes, Lord." The young teen quickly walked to Gautier's side and bowed. "This way, milord," extending his hand toward the southern door of the dining hall. With a curt bow to de la Barre, the French lord exited, young Avent leading the way.

Two figures moved down the dimly lit corridor, their shadows casing grotesque shapes upon the walls. Suddenly the larger silhouette loomed ominously over the smaller one. A loud thud sounded and two faint shapes merged into one.

Gautier paused briefly and fingered the hilt of his dagger. He gazed down on Avent, watching a trickle of blood drip from the back of the boy's head onto his surcoat. He picked up the boy, prompting a faint moan of pain to wheeze from the small form and opened a nearby door. Insuring the room unoccupied, he dumped the boy inside. Standing over the wounded page, Gautier considered just leaving. No one would find the boy until after long after he'd left. Turning to go, he hesitated then glanced over his shoulder at the still form. The black rage that he'd been containing through most of the evening broke free and rushed over him. Demanding blood and pain in tribute, Gautier let his murderous anger loose and slid the thin blade quickly into the still boy's unprotected back, piercing his heart. Shortly thereafter, a lone dark figure continued down the shadowed corridor heading briskly for the west wing.

Gautier glided through the corridors, making sure no one saw him. Upon arriving at the room he desired, Gautier eased the large wooden door open and peered carefully inside. Good, he had arrived before his prey. Easing into the room, he secured the door behind him and disappeared into the deep shadows filling the room. His vengeance was almost at hand!

The dark Frenchman shuddered, his anger fueled anew as the flashback faded from his consciousness. He banked toward the river, letting his hunger rise as he soared through the night skies.

Nicholas... Come to me, my pet. Gautier pushed against the slumbering detective's mind, trying to prod him awake. Come now, it's time you woke. It's time to play.

"Damn LaCroix! How is he controlling my pet?" However the ancient was keeping his young knight asleep, it was effective. Since he couldn't play with Nicholas, he would just have to find a new playmate. Soaring silently through the night sky, Gautier began his hunt.

LaCroix had just opened one of the bottles he had brought upstairs, when Nicholas moaned softly, a frown growing between his closed eyes. Setting the bottle down, the ancient settled on the bed and lightly stroked his fingertips along the furrowed brow, feeling a restless unease trying to ferment into agitation within his son.

LaCroix continued the tactile caress, letting the gentle touch extend into the unruly blond curls before beginning the stroke again. Using both physical and mental persuasion, LaCroix sent calming thoughts to Nicholas, coaxing his son to relax into deeper sleep.

With a slight sigh, Nicholas did exactly that.

Deciding to let Nicholas sleep, the elder Roman rose from the bed and headed out of the room. Gliding down the stairs, he heard Dr. Lambert on the phone, arguing with someone. He was beginning to regret his magnanimous gesture of allowing her to stay, when said decision caused this much commotion. Striding into the kitchen, he retrieved a glass of sustenance while eavesdropping on Natalie's phone conversation. A wicked little smile crossed the elder's face in spite of his control. Vampire hearing was so convenient.

"Has Grace come in yet?"

"No," a tinny sounding, irritated male voice replied. "And she won't be in until 5, either."

"I was hoping I could use a sick day today. Nick is home with a bad case of the flu and..." The frown that had begun to show on Natalie's face deepened.

"No, Natalie. We're really backed up with more work than the staff here can handle. This new delivery is part of your caseload anyway. I'm sorry Detective Knight is unwell, but I need you here ASAP."

Natalie sighed irritably. "All right. I'll be there within the hour." Natalie replaced the receiver, grumbling about understaffed coroners' departments.

Natalie gathered her things together and turned toward the kitchen. "LaCroix... Eeiii!" her yelp of surprise suddenly erupted as she turned right into the elder vampire's chest. "Damnit, I wish you wouldn't do stuff like that!" She took a couple of shaky steps back and glared at him. "I'm going to have to go into work. They've found another body that's part of this case Nick is working on."

"Then by all means, doctor. We will be fine here." LaCroix took a sip of his drink, watching the young mortal struggle with her desire to stay and her obligation to leave.

"I'll call later, if that's all right?"

"Yes." The imposing figure in black continued to silently stare, amused by Nicholas' current favorite, but also once again impressed by her courage and determination.

Natalie walked toward the elevator door, juggling her things as she shrugged her jacket over her arm. Jerking the door open, she entered the elevator. Glancing over her shoulder just before the door closed, she saw LaCroix, sitting on the couch, holding a half--full glass delicately in one hand as he watched her intently. Goose bumps rose on her arms and a slight shiver shook her as the door slammed shut, cutting the almost visible visual link between vampire and doctor.

Chapter 16 will be here once it's finished -- *note from the webmistress -- why don't you tell April and Susan just how much you appreciate the story so far. A little encouragement can't hurt!

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Comments to: Knightwave@aol.com, Knightwave@juno.com or SField8067@aol.com

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