Clan War: A Call to Arms, Part 1

10th Anniversary Edition


Horatio woke with a headache.

A bad one.

His ears were ringing.

And every bone in his body ached like he had just run a Marathon.

It took him a while to realize he was lying on a buttery soft couch, and there were pillows under his head in the corner join of an L-shaped arrangement.

His shoes had been pulled off, and his tie was loose.

He blinked.

Then he startled, seeing Nick smile down at him.

"Welcome back," Sylum's Clan Leader said quietly. "I have to admit, you scared the shit out of me."

It was hardly the kind of confession he would have freely given in public, but with the door to the Manor Office firmly closed, it was said quite gladly.

He poured Speed's Mate a glass of water from an elegant crystal carafe that Thomas had placed on the coffee table a few minutes before. "Drink. Slowly. If you feel sick, there's a bathroom through there."

Horatio, his vision not exactly back to the kind of clarity and depth he had been slowly getting used to as a Vampire, sat up a little on his elbows and peered in the direction he was being shown, unable to see any kind of door where there appeared to be only bookcases along the left hand side of the room.

An old fashioned liquor cabinet was up against the opposite wall. And there seemed to be quite a collection of baseball memorabilia in the furthest corner by the desk.

There was light spilling in from a window with a strange frame, set high up on the rear wall, that appeared to once have been part of a bigger, grander architectural expression, yet there was only painted plaster work where the rest of the glass ought to have been.

It was confusing, and the shadow of a long-bladed, rapidly spinning ceiling fan gave him an eye-twitching spasm as he fought to concentrate past the flickering movement.

He would've frowned, but it hurt his head just contemplating it. Still, he took the glass of water he was offered, sipping it gratefully while trying to get his thoughts, as well as his Bond with Speed in order.

"I can appreciate how strange things are for you right now, and I am very much aware that we have not yet been formally introduced, but I need you to take a firm rein on your horses and pay attention to what I am telling you."

Horatio appreciated the overall sense of concern he was being treated with, but the serious unease he was enduring in his stomach, make him want to squirm. "I'm listening."

Nick sat down in a wide leather chair to his left, leaning forward, addressing him urgently. "Your Mate is a magnet for trouble, as you most certainly are aware."

H snorted by way of reply.

"Many years ago, he Turned a man named Gregory Stillson, who is remarkably adept at both reading people and manipulating them, particularly those with whom he has had close association. I believe he has set in motion a series of events that led to Speed leaving here in a moment of distraction."

"I saw him. I felt his anger."

"Very good. I know your Bond with him is new, and being severely tested right now. You collapsed outside at the foot of the stairs, because the shock of something that happened to him, reverberated through that Bond to hit you unexpectedly. It can be hard, even for older and more seasoned Vampires, to withstand such things. It's not a weakness."

Horatio swung his legs off the couch and sat up, groaning, pinching the bridge of his nose. He felt giddy, like his sugar levels had dropped drastically. "I was not prepared for so powerful a thing," he murmured. "I think he's in serious trouble, but what I feel is more like drugged."

"That's possible. Our kind can either rigidly withstand drugs or be highly susceptible to them. Even so it would take some very potent chemicals to fully sedate a Vampire, given the nature of our metabolism."

"I understand. What's being done to find him?"

"We are triangulating a signal from the GPS in his phone."

"You can do that?"

"Certainly. We work very hard to keep fully up to date with technological advances. We may - some of us - be old, but we are not stupid."

"I didn't mean to imply that."

"I take no offense."

"Thank you."

"What I need you to do is reach out through your Bond with my son. Reassure him that we will come, and you are with him. You will likely experience a reflection of any further physical pain he may endure. You will need to brace yourself for that."

Horatio emptied his glass. "I will. Do you believe he may be tortured?"

"That will depend on who has him, and why. Vampires can endure much, and heal fast. We are both blessed and cursed equally in that regard."

The redhead snorted once more, and Nick found himself with a deepening respect for the man.

"To what end is this happening?"

"I cannot fully answer that yet. We have an enormously long history, and this could be the result of any number of events from our individual, or combined pasts. But as of right now, we have an advantage we did not have before."

"Speed."

Nick chuckled darkly. "He said you were exceptional."

"You haven't seen me on a really bad day yet."

"Then I look forward to it."

Horatio poured himself another glass of water. "I think he's confused right now. It's hard to get a bearing on it. He doesn't appreciate being confused."

"This is very true. You know how the Bond works."

The redhead nodded slowly and carefully. "What do I have to do?"

"Focus on your Mate. Be his reassurance. If he's going through pain, remind him he's not alone. Think on all the things that unite you, that bind you. Old and new. I've heard that you are very adept at recalling the man you once were to my son."

"I would be lying if I said Lord Sean didn't freak me out now and then, but I'm learning from him."

Nick smiled warmly. "It pleases me to hear that."

"I could not wrap the furthest reaches of my brain around the concept of having lived before, and yet…" He struggled for a moment, seeking the right words. "…I think the Vampire wants me to. Speed wants me to."

"Trust your instincts, Horatio. Even if Speed tries to block you out. And yeah!" Nick threw his hands up defensively when the redhead glared at him furiously. Really, he was going to smack the crap out of his kid for having clearly missed mentioning a few things to the new Vampire. "It can be done. It doesn't break the Bond, it just keeps a Mate from feeling what the other is enduring. It takes effort, but try not to let him do it. You'll know how, should it come to that."

"You think he's in that much danger?"

"I do."

Horatio sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "When we find him, and get him out of wherever the hell he's gotten himself, remind me to teach him he's got a Mate now who doesn't take well to feeling this helpless."

Nick got the distinct impression he wasn't the only one making confessions that day. "I will, just as soon as he's told us everything he can about what this all means."


***


"I have a proposition for you."

Seriously?

I'd be rolling my eyes.

If I could actually move my eyes.

My vision kept blurring, and not blinking made everything seem like it was burning at the edges.

"Well, there's no need to be so excited about it!"

The mocking chuckle that came from the self-righteous prick who clearly thought he'd gotten the better of me, was exactly how I remember it.

Armand Jean du Plessis, Cardinal-Duke of Richelieu and Fronsac, was a Vampire.

So yes, he was dead alright.

Just not buried.

Where he belonged.

Which made me wonder who the fuck had Turned him.

And when.

And where he's been hiding out for the last 363 years, given that he was meant to have died a lingering and ugly death in 1642.

A vague waft of French Lavender drifted up my nose, unbidden.

Was there someone else in here?

"Now, my dear Timothy, I have come to know everything about you. The real you, that is. I should have figured you for a filthy Irish turf-cutter the moment we first met."

Really?

Insults?

Racial slurs?

Oh!

Woe is me!

I am so wounded! Just kill me the fuck now…

"But that French accent of yours? Very tricky!"

He still smiles like he's licking his own balls.

If he actually has balls.

And someone should really tell him the 17th Century facial hair went out of fashion in, oh…

…yeah, the 17th Century.

"The Three Musketeers! Ha!! So over-romanticized and over sold. I mean, really? When your Papa was too busy screwing that Italian whore who's been far too well used by the old men of Rome for any heat to be left in her loins, and your brother was mooning around like a love sick puppy over his beloved Captain, we all knew you were the smart one."

Hang on.

Nick was doing what??

With who?

Okay, so 'Reesh-Loo' over there has certainly had a couple of centuries to catch up on shit.

Yay, lucky me!

Now, where did he get his education?

"The quiet ones, are always more studious."

No shit.

Is there a point to this bull?

Somewhere?

What about D'Artagnan?

"We don't count D'Artagnan after all that unsavory brawling. He's not a threat to anyone's plans but his own."

And your plans are what?

Bore me to death?

'cause too late already.

"I am tired now, of hiding."

So he's boring himself to death?

"It's time to make the world aware of our presence."

We? As in embittered old bastards who can't stay dead?

Badly dressed Frogs?

Tired old men with too much blood in their alcohol?

"Vampires, dear boy. Vampires."



You're kidding?

Like the world's gonna take a crusty old fart like you, even remotely seriously without strapping you in a straitjacket and tossing your ass in the nearest psych ward?

Or Congress…

Or staking your heart and lopping your head off?

Y'know, for kicks?

Which I would totally be doing right about now if I had the ability to actually move!

Fuck!!!

"We are the superior being."

Oh, shit.

Here it comes…

Cue evil bad guy's super-secret plan to rule the world.

This should be good.

Really, the urge to roll my eyes is just too much here.

"We can save the sinful from themselves. Imagine it, Timothy! A new rule, a just and fair rule under the leadership of those who are both morally and spiritually able to guide the huddled, frightened masses into the light!"

Excuse me a second…

Just need to vomit.

I'll be right back.

"Think of all that we can teach them!"

Like how it's still 1630?

"Think of the hope we can bring!"

Now you're cresting that wave of self-inflicted apotheosis, and I am so, so going to enjoy watching you drown in it. Then I'm going to kick your ass from here to the grave you were meant to be in!!

"I know you were born a Catholic. So there is hope for you. Much more than your brother, who believes the only way is that pious arrogance of his. He would never turn from the Code he follows, though we all know the true Templar Order is far more powerful than even his suave humility than fathom."

Just keep talking.

Don't mind me or anything.

It's not like I've got places to be.

"You, on the other hand, are more corruptible."

Gee, thanks.

I think.

"You may be smart, but you are weak. You lack the prowess of Nicholas, and the dignity of Antonio. You fight crudely, and without passion."

Hello, have we met?

Why, yes actually we have!

Apparently megalomania causes amnesia.

"But never fear, dear boy! These things can be corrected. We simply have to break you in like an obedient Irish Pony, or one of those Wolf Hounds you like so much."

Yeah, 'cause they're always so damn obedient.

"Then you can give me Sylum."

Give you?

You?

Give?

You??

Give you Sylum??

If I could be rolling on the floor and laughing my ass off right now…

"It is the perfect power base. The largest single Clan in the world, and perfectly located in this startlingly immoral country, that is begging 'from sea to shining sea' for a genuine revolution in moral thinking. There are Catholics, newly coming to the White House too, and Josiah Bartlet is so very devout. Who would even notice a Cardinal whispering quietly in his ear every day?"

I am going to kill you.

Wait.

I am going to hurt you.

Then I am going to kill you.

"I do have some experience with this, after all."

Okay, so megalomania only causes partial amnesia.

And probably impotence.

"Oh!"

He actually smiles.

Disgustingly.

"I am so running on ahead of myself when we have much to do before I fly out to DC. Namely, Bonding you with my colleague over there, who has been waiting so very patiently to make herself known."

I knew there was someone else here.

"Do come forward, my dear. Allow me to formally introduce you to Doctor Timothy Quinn. He is most eager for a strong and sensitive Mate, and I am quite certain he will find you to be just so."

Are you…?

What?

Forced Bonding?

Are you fucking crazy!!???

I already have a Mate!!

Oh…

Someone who think he know it all, doesn't know that.

Well, good.

That's a relief.

Sort of.

"Tim, let me introduced you to Mademoiselle Elise de la Serre."

She was 5' 6" or so.

Nicely curved.

Angelic face.

Green eyes.

Freckles.

Long red hair in elegant ringlets.

Flawless skin.

Leather bodice and tight pants that hugged everything.

Well, what I could see of it.

She smiles too.

Very charming.

Very fuckable, if my name was Crisafi.

She had a decent chest too, and clearly liked showing it off, but as she glided noiselessly before my eyes, my main point of focus was the necklace that hung at the top of her cleavage.

An enameled cross.

An even-sided plain red cross.

Seen that before…

"Oh, how I do enjoy these lovers' first meetings."

The sacrilegious old fucker stood up and raised his hand, blessing us like he was officiating at a wedding.

I really, really wanted to spit in his hideously bearded face.

"You two are going to be gorgeous together!"

They're really going to try this?

Do I look like that much of a pathetic weakling they think this will work on me?

I mean, do I?

Seriously?

Really?

I'm asking here…

"As much as I would dearly love to stay…"

I bet you would.

"…for the consummation of this most precious of moments…"

Pervert.

"…I sadly have to fly."

Off the toe of my boot, preferably.

"Elise is most efficient at her work. She was trained by the very best, and she does have a weakness for moody Irishmen."

She giggled.

It was not an unpleasant sound, but it ran down my spine like ice water.

"Don't look so worried, dear boy. This is going to be so much fun for you. And I do rather like you this way. So much better when you're not whining like a baby. We should talk like this more often, hmmm?"

Yeah, no.

Hell, fucking no.

I mean, I love the way he's treating this like I'm Bonded to the bitch in heat here already.

"Sorry he won't be able to scream for you M'amselle, but I am certain you will have plenty of time in the coming months, to have him cry your name to the heavens in pleasure."

Yeah.

I am in deep shit now.

And dad's gonna kill me.


Sylum Manor


"Are we under house arrest?" Gil demanded, as the Clan's guests were all gathered and ushered rapidly back up to their respective rooms.

There was no sense of panic, more a generalized air of concern, and those who were far more accustomed to their daily lives being helpful and useful in such moments, found themselves rediscovering what it meant to let others do such deeds for them.

Catherine and Lindsey were moved in Eric's room in Speed's wing of the Manor, that all the children might be kept closer together and continue playing without worry.

When Alexx asked where her colleague would be sleeping instead, she was not reassured by the way Huck tried to tell her he was 'going downstairs'. Nor was she very happy at hearing that Speed had left for a while, and Horatio was in a private meeting with the Clan's Leader.

"If there was something I should know, you'd tell me, right?" she demanded, hands on hips, giving Huck an imperious glare.

Whereupon he smiled most sweetly, and batted his eyelashes in return. "Sure thing, ma'am!"

Gil, however, was not about to be placated by the charming grace of the Deep South, and though he was politely informed that he could go down to the kitchen for refreshments whenever he desired, he chose instead not to indulge.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Greg's warning nearly had him shrieking like a little girl, but he had honestly not seen the boy, who turned out to be lying crashed on the big, deep couch by the main fireplace.

"What are you now? The Clan police?" he asked archly, trying to make like he hadn't really just had his hand on the door to Nick's personal rooms.

Greg sat up, dislodging the blankets he'd wrapped himself in. "No, but they are."

And as if on cue, there came a low yet distinctly vicious sounding wave of growls from the other side of said door.

"Guard dogs? Seriously? The man values his privacy that much?" Gil eyed the offending portal most warily.

"Like you would not believe!" Greg laughed. "Legolas and Gimli will chew you up and spit you out, and chew you up some more."

"Legolas and Gimli? What? Is he keeping The One Ring in there somewhere?" With a sigh, Grissom turned to his right and fixed his attention more fully on his colleague instead. "At least you finally staggered out of bed."

"Hey! This is like sweet vacation time for me."

From the sweatpants and rumpled t-shirt, both of which had to be a minimum of four sizes too big, it didn't exactly take the world's greatest detective to figure that out. "It doesn't bother you that we're being kept inside?"

"Just precaution."

"The Clan assumes we're all stupid?"

"Yes."

"What??"

"Because we are."

"Were you dropped on your head as a child? Is that was this is? Repeatedly dropped?"

Greg chuckled and gestured for him to have a seat in one of the adjacent armchairs. "Most of the Vampires around here are older than the combined ages of the rest of us mere mortals in the building. They know things, sense things, and have lived through things in ways even the best imagination can barely fathom."

"Then we're dispensable?" Gil asked, sitting down only because he found himself with nothing better to do. "Irrelevant?"

"Hell, no!"

"Food then?"

"Partly. Yeah. But when the shit hits the fan, we're also slow, weak and pretty well stupid. We also have a nasty habit of dying, and Vampires really don't like it when that happens."

"You've never doubted them? The Vampires?"

"Not once. Whatever's going on around here lately they'll figure it out. Things only go to crap if we try and get in the way too much. Besides, this place is huge, and you would not believe how easy it is to just wander off. You'd get lost for days."

Gil frowned. "None of this worries you?"

"They'll tell me what I need to know. I'll help out when that happens. But until then I'm gonna sit here with you, not worrying about it."

They were silent for a moment or two.

Gil jumped when a log slipped in the fireplace.

Greg leapt to his feet. "I think I should show you some cool stuff," he grinned.

"I thought you were going to be sitting?" Gil stared at the hand he was being offered, which he actually took when he realized the chair he'd chosen was wide enough and soft enough to require some assistance in getting out of.

"Oh, don't be a grumpy Bug Man for once. It's okay to actually live a bit! I promise not to tell anyone if you do." Greg patted him on the head, and won a growl comparable to the one Gimili gave whenever he was utterly pissed about life. "It's also time you saw some of Nick and Warrick's real history. I would've shown you the display cases last night, but everyone was too hyped to pay much attention."

Gil had to admit, as he was led across to the back of the room below the over-jutting wall above, that he suddenly found himself dealing with a very different Greg than the one who so regularly and predictably irritated him at the most inappropriate times. He wondered whether the circumstances, combined with the absolute culture shock he'd been going through, were driving him personally crazy, but somehow Sanders just seemed a bit more grown up than normal, and a lot more self-assured in a not entirely unattractive way.

He shook his head.

Maybe it was the Manor itself that had him weirdly confused about his place in the world.

Or maybe he simply wasn't meant to be there?

He knew for damn sure, there were too many questions running around in his head. And while he never usually minded it when that sort of thing started happening, he could not escape loathing it at that point. So he let himself be distracted for a while, and let Greg show off the fact that there were a vast number of ways in which his personal knowledge of the Vampire far outweighed the otherwise normally well-informed Gilbert Grissom.


***


Kate was also sure she'd missed something while out jogging. Gerald's attention might have been on the cars he'd discovered in the garage, but hers had been drawn to the long line of oak trees down either side of the driveway, and she wondered how old they were in their gnarly magnificence.

When the drama had played itself out in the lobby, she'd realized she was watching quite the face-off, and the similarities between the man in the old portrait over the big, welcoming fireplace, and the man who'd deliberately inserted himself in the middle of the situation regardless his own personal safety, had her staring quite unashamedly. He was, without a doubt, the Clan Leader, and she thought him very handsome in a square-jawed, self-assured, 'piss me off and suffer the eternal consequences' kind of way.

When the very pale looking redhead collapsed, she'd cast instantly about for Ducky, wondering where he'd gotten to in the middle of all that fuss. She had no idea who the other players in the scene might be, but at least someone had consideration enough to help the man who was clearly sick.

It in no way escaped her attention, that she was suddenly surrounded by some notably attractive men too, not in the least of whom was 6' 4", with thick, shaggy hair that hung just to his impressively square shoulders, and a pair of deep, dark eyes that were both shrewd and sexy. He strode past her and out the front door right in the middle of what was going down, his long, fierce stride carrying an air of serious determination about him, even as his ankle length leather coat flapped behind him like bat wings. She'd watched him leave, admiring the perfect specimen of sheer masculinity he represented, wondering if she was drooling on the floor.

He didn't look back, and she was actually rather glad, given that she was in a damply stained, ratty old Secret Service sweatshirt, and her hair was a total mess.

When everyone had started moving, Gerald slipped out to go back to his room for a shower, and she was more than ready for one herself, but as she scooted up the main stairs, hoping the redhead was going to be alright, so Tony ran past her, heading straight for his wing of the building.

"Hey!" she called out after him, yet he completely ignored her, neither acknowledging her greeting, nor showing any sign of even realizing she was there.

Huffing at his rudeness, she was still puzzled over just what the hell seemed to be happening with everyone, when she saw Ducky coming out of what she could only assume to be Tony's room. It stopped her, just as she was turning down the little corridor to the guest accommodations, but before she could say a word to him about going to help them all in the lobby, she was treated to more tense and stressed out yelling.

"I am not an idiot!!"

Jethro apparently felt the need to make that clear, though she wondered how in the last few years of working with him, that particular fact might have gotten lost.

"Gibbs, no one is saying you are!"

Ducky had stopped and sighed, hoping to be placating a little bit. Kate knew that tone of his all too well, and she'd always imagined it coming with a swift slap to the back of the head, but strangely it never did.

"Then could you both stop treating me like I'm about to have a fit of some kind? I'm a Vampire now. I didn't get ramrodded back into infancy!"

It took Kate a moment - or three - to figure out that the squeaking sound she heard was of her own making.

Everyone appeared from across the Great Room then, and stood there crammed in the doorway, staring at her.

She shrugged. "Hey! I'm not the one keeping more secrets around there than King Tut had in his tomb!"

Tony blinked. "I should get you Tut's phone number. You two could talk for hours."

She shook her head. "And what, go shoe shopping?"

"He's more of a hair and makeup kinda guy, with a bitchin' line in men's jewelry."

She glanced at Ducky. "He's kidding. Right?"

"Actually, no." The good doctor smiled warmly. "Tutankhamen is really most charming. Terribly polite."

She flailed. "What the hell!? No! Just, no!! Gibbs?"

Jethro had no idea what the problem was, but he'd spent the last couple of hours between showering and getting dressed, learning how to keep from exposing his fangs every time he got ridiculously irritated. "Who cares?"

Kate frowned. "I do! You're a Vampire now?"

He could almost feel the speed of her heartbeat. "I needed your permission?"

"No!" She almost shrieked in frustration. "But a heads up would've been nice! We're not all in on the big deal around here, and it's insane!"

"I'm so glad you think so," Tony snapped. "Welcome to Sylum."

Ducky looked at him with concern. "Has something happened?"

Though she tried really hard to explain, Kate actually never got a word in as Jethro also asked what the problem was, and why he was not being treated like an adult, given his sudden shift in status from being a virtual stranger in the Manor, to the Bond Mate of the Clan's Second-in-Command.

"There's a situation." Tony knew full well he had to be dispassionate or risk losing his composure entirely. "My idiot brother rode out of here and straight into trouble. McGee's trying to locate the signal on his cellphone. And I can't help with any of what comes next because I'm forced to play Jeopardy! with you guys like I'm a High Schooler with an encyclopedia of trivia I can call on at random!"

Ducky's frown deepened considerably. "What trouble are you referring to?"

"His Mate just collapsed…"

Kate snapped her jaw shut, making her teeth click together loudly.

"…so it's a very big deal, and I can't do anything about it. Yes, I'm worried. Yes, this is all building into something that will monumentally suck. Was this the best timing to Turn and Mate with Jethro? No! Not by a long way, but if there's one thing I absolutely, and undeniably know from the centuries I've had of faith, and hope, and love, it's that God does not ever make mistakes. So this is the way things have been dealt to us, and this is how things are. I'll do whatever I can to answer whatever anyone here need answers to, while praying my little brother gets to live through whatever is happening right now. Someone go get Abs, and we'll meet out here in 20 minutes. Duck? Call down for some coffee? Kate, grab a shower. The sweat rings thing is seriously unattractive."

Despite the very sober words, and the pressure of the situation, Tony managed a cheeky grin that spread some much needed relief across the Great Room.

Jethro eyed him in silence, his psyche still adapting to the Bond with his Mate as the rush of emotions that had been assailing him in the last few hours, all began solidifying into a cohesive thread. There was an unavoidable rush of arousal that came with the strong and authoritative timbre in Tony's voice, and he found himself in the remarkable position of actually enjoying the many other aspects of his Mate's personality that were finally beginning to show beyond the singular 'act' that was Anthony DiNozzo.

A whine broke the strange silence that fell, and Kate was startled as Ducky called for Merry and Pippin, and the dogs dashed out of their little hidden beds to throw themselves gleefully at him.

She chuckled at the sight of her friend bending down to get an armful - and face full - of wiggling, licking, excited and terribly adorable furriness.

"This is the strangest day I've had in years," she muttered, turning to her room, "and I used to work in the White House for a living."


***




If I could close my eyes and wish this Bitch Queen back under whatever rock she slithered out from, I would.

If I could get my hands free, I'd have them around her damn neck.

It wouldn't be the first time I've ripped the head off one of these wannabe Templars.

But I can't do that either.

God help me, I can't!

"Do not be afraid…"

Her voice is soft.

Her words meant to soothe me.

Her accent thick enough to tell me she's a native of France itself.

"You are all mine now."

Oh, really?

Think I missed that memo.

She's breathing on me.

On my neck.

I feel her against me.

Her hands on my back.

It's a mockery.

An intimacy she can't have.

But at least she's gentle.

I never liked the smell of lavender much.

And it's stronger now, though I still can't breathe either.

She's pulling at my shirt tails.

Her fingers are cold on my skin.

I can't flinch away.

It tickles.

She's kissing me.

Purring.

I feel her lips.

And her tongue.

Lapping.

Eurgh!

Guess it's been a while since she had a captive audience.

And when the fuck does the shit they hit me with, actually wear off??

I want to cough.

Can't.

Want to squirm.

Can't.

Want anything but this.

Not this.

Don't make me go through this.

Not this.

Not like this…

"You are more 'andsome than the Cardinal said you were."

Well, yay for me!

For the love of God, let me throw the fuck up!

I'll get it all down her cleavage.

Guaranteed.

She's stroking my face.

Smiling.

It's coy.

Like the game it's playing out to be.

Her fingers are in my hair now.

Her eyes flash.

Her fangs drop.

Yeah, bite me bitch!

Show me the drug in my system works just as well on you too.

I dare ya!

A kiss.

Soft.

Tender.

Like somehow I do actually matter to her.

But I doubt it.

It's all fake.

But I can't exactly respond.

I want to.

I want to so bad.

Her chest heaves as she sighs.

She walks around me.

Assessing.

Evaluating.

"You are like Shay. Dark. Moody. Dangerous."

Oh, honey you have no fucking clue.

I promise you that.

Wait.

Who?

Shay!

Shay?

Seriously?

It takes a second, but I can see what this is now.

Was Shay meant to be yours, sweetie?

Oh, such a shame.

For him.

And maybe me too at this rate.

She stops before me again.

My belt…

Yeah, that was just a matter of time, wasn't it.

"Let me see you better."

I want her to tear my clothes off in a frenzy.

Beat me.

Bleed me.

Scream and shout.

Force me.

Hurt me.

Don't treat me like a willing lover.

My jeans are open.

No!

No, don't!

Don't!

Not so soon after I got Horatio.

Not this, please?

Damn you!!

Her hands are in my pants.

Around my waist.

On my ass cheeks.

Squeezing.

Tight.

Possessive.

I want to vomit.

For real now.

She chuckles.

"No underwear? I 'ad thought you more refined. The boxer shorts, perhaps? Hah! It is no matter. It is one less thing between us, no?"

Cool air on my backside.

My jeans are coming down.

Slowly.

Her hands are a little warmer now.

This is…

…this.

No!

Around my hips.

Moving slowly.

"Very firm. Very nice."

I feel like I'm being brought up for auction.

Horatio…

I'm so sorry.

She's got my dick in her hands now.

Fondling my balls.

Squeezing.

Teasing.

I feel my jeans slip to my knees.

I can't stop her!

She's stroking me.

And…

And…

WHAT???

Seriously???

I'm…

I'm getting HARD!!??!!

I can't even blink but my DICK is good to go???

Slow and steady, her fingers wrapped around my length, she's meticulous.

And I'm responding.

How?

WHY??

How is this possible?

I HAVE A MATE!!!!!

No!

No, thinking about HIM is not helping here.

Think about nasty things.

Ice.

Yeah, cold showers.

Dead fish.

Dumpster diving.

Dismemberment.

Dead cats.

Um…

Floaters.

Corpses in water.

Alligators.

Decomp!

That's helping.

"Big boy!"

She's chortling like this is the way a fine date should always end.

With drugs.

And chains.

And her hand.

Pumping me.

Steadily.

God!

Make it fucking stop!

She's close to me.

Her hair in my face.

I like red hair actually.

Been a while since I had a woman this intimately.

Don't chase women much.

They have to be special.

Exceptional.

Please, stop!

Please!

"You are 'ot now. I taste the sweat on you."

Oh, goodie.

I'd hate to disappoint you when there's NOTHING I CAN DO ABOUT IT, YOU FUCKING BITCH!!!!!!!!

"You will be so perfect inside me. I promise. I know 'ow to make you beg for me. But first, we take of the edge, oui?"

And with that, she's tugging at me harder.

Faster.

"You are ready. Oh, yes, that's it…"

She smiles.

I want to rip her face off.

"Slick and wet. Stop denying that you want this. Why do that to yourself? Let go for me, eh?"

And to my eternal shame.

I did.


***




Sat on Nick's couch, Horatio was swamped by the sudden warm familiarity of sexual arousal, and the burning rush of anxious, nervous climax.

His face flushed.

Sweat beaded across his forehead, and a tightness gathered in his chest.

There was no mistaking what had just happened, but there was also no mistaking the lack of that beautiful, passionate Soul which his Mate had shared and sealed into the Bond for him, and him alone, to know.

It took the redhead a while to gather his wits, and he realized he'd flopped back against the cushions, breathless and confused.

Nick watched him in concern. "Not the kind of torture you were expecting?" he asked, being sympathetic and not in the least bit judgmental.

Horatio shook his head, hoping it wasn't about to fall off his shoulders. "I didn't know the Bond could do that so…" He scrubbed his hands over his face. "…so very well." His hair fell in his eyes as the cold steel of utter hatred for whoever it was currently touching his Mate, settled with firmly unshakeable conviction in his heart.

"It is a blessing and curse in equal parts. But don't imagine, even for a moment, that you are alone in experiencing this situation."

"You have a Bond with Speed too, right? As his Sire?"

"Indeed. It is not as your own. Mate Bonds are deeper, sharper, and more tightly formed in absolute intimacy, where there is nothing whatsoever between Souls in their joining. A Parent Bond is more generalized for sensation, impression, powerful extremes of emotion. It is more for education, instruction, guidance, support. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I think." Horatio took a much needed breath, yet as he opened his mouth to say something else, there came a very business-like knock at the office door.

Nick stood. "You good?"

The redhead sat up straighter, adjusting his tie. "Sure." He sipped some more water.

"Come in!"

It was Thomas who opened the door at Nick's bidding, stepping discreetly into the room, casting a seamless glance at the occupants, with an air of concerned professionalism.

"Excuse me, Master Nico."

He addressed himself at their Clan Leader, who nodded briskly.

"Miss Calleigh and Miss Abigail have been seeking Master Timothy, and failing that, they seek Master Horatio. I do believe however, that what they have to say would be far better delivered to you directly."

Horatio frowned, and quickly slipped his shoes on. "They were in the lab," he explained. "It's the evidence."

Nick nodded as the redhead stood up too. "Send them in Thomas."

"Very good, sir."

What happened as the two girls entered the office was something of a blur, but Horatio could clearly recall the squealing, the yelling, and the noises that followed, though it hit him rather fast and through a fog of peculiar emotions flooding at him from his Mate.

Nick, having no clue what was about to hit him, could in no way have prepared then for the loud and fast-moving, black clad creature who literally threw herself upon him with ecstatic cries of positively childish glee, knocking him to the floor while somehow still managing to cling tightly to his chest like the proverbial limpet.

"Oh, my God!!! I just knew it was you!! I saw your portrait over the fireplace when we came in and I knew it was you from all the things I saw when I had hypnosis and got to learn about my past lives! And I figured out I was Gloria because I remember your face, and your eyes, and your smile whenever you picked me up, and I knew I would meet you again someday because Mama always said no matter what, you were the strongest of us and we should always, always, always trust you. So here I am, Papa! I came home!!"

That she was talking so very fast she could barely draw a breath, seemed completely irrelevant to her, as did the fact that she was bouncing around with her knees on either side of Nick's chest.

Though his ribs began protesting, sure enough, Sylum's Clan Leader really wasn't sure whether to laugh, cry, or just yell in shock at who exactly was sitting right there on top of him before his wide, and incredibly startled eyes.

His youngest daughter.

Gloria.

Reborn in quite possibly the only way she ever could be.

"The last time I saw you," he gasped, getting some serious bruises, "you were a whole lot smaller."

She giggled, and it sounded so much like the little girl he had once known that tears finally did spring to his eyes.

"I'm Abby!" With a grin, she clambered off him and held out her hand to help him up, giving him chance to better assess her appearance and figure out what to do next. "Sciuto. Abby who works with Tony at NCIS," she explained. "It's all cool! I tried really hard not to tell him I'd already figured stuff out about him."

With a groan, Nick forced himself to move, sensing concern coming at him from Warrick through the Bond, and he wondered if anyone had ever thought to tell the Goth standing before him, that she could be just a tiny bit overpowering.

But there was no denying who she once had been.

His bubbly, lively, talkative, excitable, laughing Gloria.

Borne as a gift to him by his beloved Julia, she was his third child after Elena and Antonio. Named for having been conceived following his most glorious of victories in command of the Roman Army, he had treasured her as a prize which far outweighed the Triumphal Entry he ought by right have had, leading his men into the Eternal City. Instead, politics had intervened to do far worse damage to morale than any force of marauding Barbarians ever could. Still, Julia had told him firmly that his triumphal entry came in altogether different, and far more fulfilling fashion, producing a lasting glory that would long endure beyond any wreath of laurels. At which, he had held his offspring in her newborn tears, high above his head for his men to salute, and they too had shared in his moment of great blessing.

Of course, Julia had smacked him soundly for bearing the child around like a trophy, but nothing had ever served to dampen his spirits where Gloria was concerned, and nothing ever would.

He swallowed, forcing images of her terrible, and terrifying death, as far from his mind as he possibly could, before opening his arms.

"Now, come meet me like an adult," he said sternly, winking.

She had been tiny when the soldiers came.

Her little 6 year old body, skewered on a pike, born aloft and paraded around as she screamed…



Abby threw herself at him with a touch more restraint the second time, though he still nearly wound up on the floor again.

…until finally her pretty face was smashed in by the hilt of a sword.



Nick held her fiercely. "Welcome home," he whispered, praying that if she could indeed remember her past so well, she was at least spared the memory of her death.

Horatio and Calleigh were reduced to mere spectators, the latter having been alarmed by the former's rather sickly pallor and unusually rigid posture. They were, however, becoming strangely accustomed to the weirdly unexpected, and while they endeavored to maintain a professional decorum, it was nigh on impossible under the circumstances.

"Are you okay, H?" Calleigh asked quietly, tugging at his left arm, watching him zone in and out like he couldn't quite concentrate.

He shook his head. "Speed's in trouble, and there's too much crazy going on right now."

"What?" She frowned, hoping to maybe get him outside so they could talk about what she'd found on the gun from the night before, but the redhead refused to budge.

He wasn't entirely sure he could safely put one foot in front of the other at that point, and there were things he still needed input from the Clan's Leader on, particularly concerning Eric.

That was when he realized how Calleigh would need briefing on recent events, and the subsequent sensation that they were somehow inevitably running out of time, left him wanting to scream in frustration.

Which in itself, was horrifyingly unusual enough, for a man of his temperament to nearly keel over in shock.

Seeing his expression change, Nick finally pulled Abby off from where she clung to his shoulders, and bid her sit.

She did, taking one of the chairs across from the desk, and perching on it sideways.

"Horatio?" He didn't much like the way Speed's Mate kept staring into the vague middle distance, though he knew why it was happening.

Calleigh drew her Lieutenant onto the couch, catching Nick's gesture that she try and get him to sit.

She knew she was hopelessly lost with things transpiring all over the place that she had no idea about, but she did know how to stay calm and composed for the sake of others.

"Family reunion?" she asked, looking at her new friend.

Abby laughed lightly. "Yeah! Totally!! Tell you later."

Nick took the other seat beside Horatio, and leaning across his lap, lifted the report folder from Calleigh's grasp.

"Talk to me," he said briskly, scanning the information laid out in proper scientific fashion, that was almost immediately suggestive of certain interesting possibilities.

A powdery, darkly colored substance had been noted on the outer casing of the gunstock. It had been successfully identified as sugar, or rather, as molasses. It was also old, and bore a low sugar content similar to that which was being produced in Louisiana and Mississippi at the time of the American Civil War.

There were many places he could immediately identify as having once had the equipment for molasses manufacture, including his own Plantation, but there seemed no way to narrow it down more.

He blinked, realizing he'd missed something that was being said.

"I asked, who got killed last night. I mean, you were dripping with blood. If Speed hadn't explained who you were, I might easily have thought you were trying to hide a crime scene."

He looked over at Calleigh with a small smile on his face, appreciating her very blunt way of speaking. "The correct term for it is 'Turned', and my Second-in-Command saw fit to finally Claim his Mate last night, which…"

Abby squealed, terrifying just about everyone in a five mile radius, and shot to her feet, screaming Jethro's name as she tore out of the room.

Nick's eyes narrowed.

With remarkable aplomb, he closed the folder.

"I feel like I should properly introduce myself somewhere along the way." Calleigh sighed. "I'd hate for you to think I was being rude."

"I know who you are, Miss Duquesne," Nick assured her, leaping up again. "Mister Efford!!!"

The way he bellowed nearly had Calleigh fleeing the building for fear of her life.

Thomas however, having already had the sneaking suspicion that he would be called upon in the very manner with which he was indeed addressed, merely stepped a moment later through the door which Miss Abigail had flung open in her haste and not thought to close.

When his Master was so upset as to yell for him so rudely, he knew better than stray too far from the most immediate vicinity, or risk the consequences. Although hearing himself referred to as Baron Efford - as rare as such occasions truly were - tended to have his beloved James reaching for the strongbox that held his Last Will and Testament.

"How may I assist you, sir?" he asked cautiously, not really needing to have been with Nicolaus Valerius Meridius for almost 500 years to fully appreciate the depth of the Roman's anger.

"Go upstairs and tell my oldest daughter to get down here at her earliest convenience!" Nick threw the slim evidence folder down on his desk.

"Very good, sir."

But as Thomas backed away, one hand on the doorknob, he paused, expecting more, for drawn by the Bond's emotional pull, Master Warrick suddenly appeared in the very same moment from across the corridor in the Security Room.

Nick growled. "Y'know what? Screw her convenience. Get her ass down here, right now!"

Thomas nodded, and removed himself from the situation in about as dignified a tearing hurry as he could muster, which then left Warrick in the immediate line of fire.

"Have you found my son?"

"McGee's getting into the satellite to download local images. What the hell is going on out here?"

Nick growled again. "Get back in there and work faster!"

Anything which a notably disgruntled Warrick might have said in response to being so abruptly dismissed, was swallowed in the roar of the tow truck returning to the Manor with Speed's Ducati.

Van Helsing had gone to get it after Blade asked for him personally, wanting to get their Lead Hunter's advice on how best to begin a proximity search.

Tony ran down the Grand Staircase so fast, his feet barely seemed to touch the steps. That Abby had almost torn a hole straight through him in her desperation to reach Jethro, had certainly not gone unnoticed, but he had no way to know what he'd actually been summoned for so forcefully, until he ran into the office, saw his father's expression, and tried to turn back around in search of safety

"ELENA!!!"

Really, there was no place to hide when Nicolaus bellowed that way, and Thomas - who was coming down the stairs again at the time - gave the poor boy a knowing look that was at least marginally sympathetic.

Tony sighed. "We who are about to die, salute you," he muttered sourly, before pulling himself together, spinning sharply on his heels and going once more into the Valley of the Shadow of Death.

"You yelled?" he asked sweetly. Yet the truth of it was, there had been few foes in his lifetime of battlefield experience, could ever compare with one of the Meridii in a filthy mood.

"At what point in the proceedings were you going to tell me about your little sister?" Nick's righteous fury was in full flood, and nothing could keep it at bay.

Tony paled. "Crap."

"Up to your neck, boy! Got any more surprises waiting to bruise my ribs without warning?"

Mentally clocking up the long list of things he probably ought to have mentioned over the years but hadn't quite gotten around to explaining yet, Tony shook his head, hoping he didn't seem too shifty in the process.

"No? Then who's the dark haired woman in the sweatshirt? Or didn't you notice her resemblance to Maura Isles?"

Tony pursed his lips and cocked his head. "Kate?"

Nick growled.

Again.

"Kate Todd! Oh! Yeah… Yeah, she does look like Maura! Wow! If she dyed her hair blonde they'd totally be sisters!" He grinned. "Think they're related?"

Sylum's Clan Leader wondered how in the hell he wasn't personally killing people with his bare hands at that point. "You get to find out. That's an order."

"Sir! Yes, sir!" Tony saw the sharp light in his Sire's eyes and decided to respond accordingly.

"Go get everyone from DC up to date on what's been happening, before my patience is completely gone."

"I was actually just going to…"

"And take Calleigh here too. Your idiot brother may have failed to tell her a few things about us that she should know. Don't make his mistake."

Under any other circumstance but the one she found herself in, there would have been no way that Calleigh ever tolerated being spoken about like she had no choice in where she decided to go or not go, in any given situation. Yet she didn't interject, or object, or otherwise cause a fuss except in her commendable reluctance to leave Horatio's side. He was the one she usually took orders from anyway.

"Fill her in on what's happened with Eric too," Nick reminded his Second. "And get Artemus in here. See if we have an old Estate Map lying around of the immediate plantations between New Orleans and Baton Rouge, circa 1850."

Tony frowned.

Horatio patted Calleigh on the arm, wanting her to leave, but as she stood up there came yet another interruption.


***


Warrick had, in the interim, slipped swiftly back into the Security Room just in time to see McGee bounce up and down in his seat like a lunatic.

"Tracy International Geo Comms! Haha!" he whooped. "Newest birds up there! Just brilliant! Best quality data, ever!!"

"Best quality security?" Sylum's Co-Leader was certainly more than ready for some good news, but he never tempered his optimism with too much joviality, unless there was rum.

"Yes," McGee agreed, his fingers flying over the keyboard even as his disturbingly unblinking gaze never left the screen immediately in front of his face. "But I do like a challenge."

Warrick watched him work, smart enough to know when he should just be cheerleading from the sidelines. "One day we'll put our own satellites up," he mused. "Then Van Helsing can see where every Vampire on the planet is, in real time!"

McGee chuckled. "This technology will make Van Helsing a very happy bunny!"

"You had to pick the hardest platform to hack into?"

"Patience is a virtue!"

Warrick paced, trying deliberately not to ride the emotional rollercoaster his Mate was on. "Patience is an asshole," he muttered.

"You are not helping!"

"Sue me."

The big printer-scanner-copier at the rear of the room started whirring.

McGee gave a contented sigh and sat back in his seat, smugly grinning. He wasn't about to explain that he'd hacked nothing at all, just made a small arrangement with some friends. Why break the illusion of his mastery at all things technologically impressive?

"What?" Warrick threw his hands up at the sight of him. "What??"

"I got him."

"What?"

"I got him. Though there's no guarantee he's there. It could just be where his cellphone's at."

"Well until we can shove a GPS chip far enough up the kid's ass he won't be able taste it, we'll have to go with what we got." And with that, he scooted over to the printer, tore the sheet from the tray and promptly cussed like the vicious Pirate he once was, before dashing from the room with McGee on his heels, and a growing headache. "You're not going to believe this shit!" he cried, just barging his way into Nick's office without pause to even contemplate the diplomacy of the moment.

Tony leapt out of the way.

Barely.

And glared at McGee just because it made him feel better.

"How did you not realize that Kate looks like Maura?" he hissed, throwing his Childe so completely off what he'd actually been thinking about, that it was all he could do to remember his own name.

"Who?" he asked, lurking in the doorway.

"Dr. Isles? The one with the long fair hair and the really expensive taste in shoes!"

McGee shrugged.

"Works in Boston," Tony pushed, itching to slap him upside the head. "Loves creepy African Art. Talks like Ducky, and never shuts the hell up." He paled unexpectedly.

And so did McGee. "Never, ever let the two of them meet," he muttered, stunned by the hideous possibilities.

"You do remember!" Tony crowed. "I knew it!"

Nick slammed his fist on the top of his desk, making everything on it quake like a seismic tremor just hit.

For all the best intentions, Calleigh was still completely lost, and the distress on her face was more than apparent.

Horatio drew a shuddering breath loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Welcome to Sylum, Miss Duquesne," Nick said softly his tone a complete contrast to the anger he had just been displaying.

She whimpered in reply.

"Elena! What did I just tell you to do?"

Tony blinked, turned his attention to the woman he had all but forgotten about, held out his hand most chivalrously, and offered her his very best, delightfully charming smile. "If you would be so kind as to accompany me somewhere more calming, M'amselle? I can promise you wonderful refreshments, and an honest answer to every question you may have concerning our eccentricities here at Sylum."

McGee snorted.

Warrick did too.

Nick snarled at the both of them.

Calleigh did the only thing she could, and surrendered to the crazy, figuring she might just start shooting people later if she really had to.

Nick nodded and winked at her, then turned to Thomas, who could still be seen past the open door, pacing in the hallway. "Prep me two cars. I want Jimmy, Noah and Van Helsing. Alert Lennie. Guns and sword."

His instructions were interrupted when Horatio leapt off the couch with a cry of alarm, as though he'd just that second been electrocuted.

Calleigh, having gotten half way out of the room, tried turning to help him, but Tony ushered her forcefully away with assurances that all would be quite well.

"McGee! Get me Bobby Singer on the phone." Sylum's Clan Leader tossed him his cell. "Now! Warrick? Alert Rossi. Get him to find Carol. I want the hospital ready. Pack extra blood, water, blankets…"

"I know the drill," his Mate answered quickly, pausing only long enough to reach over the coffee table and squeeze Horatio's right arm. "Hang in there. We're on it."

Whether the redhead actually understood him or was lost in the Bond with Speed, it still had to be said.

Nick slammed the damn door shut when everyone ran to carry out their orders, and it was with some considerable gratitude that he went straight to the liquor cabinet for the Jack Daniels, pouring two glasses, and skipping the ice.

There was a burning flush of color on Horatio's face when he wafted the pungent alcohol under his nose and pressed the cold, crystal tumbler into his shaking hand.

"Down it in one. It'll help. I promise."

Every Vampire with a Mate, knew exactly how it felt the first time their Bond flared under painful duress.

The rest was just a matter of degrees.

"For me, it was Rome," Nick murmured, downing the contents of his own glass, grateful for the powerful fumes scorching his throat. "All the time you feel his pain, you can be assured your mate is awake and fighting. Timothy is not prone to quitting easily. Nor is he the weakling he is sometimes thought to be."

Horatio nodded. "I will kill whoever is doing this to him."

At that, Nick allowed himself a darkly knowing chuckle. "Good."

"You know where he is now?"

"Yes."

"Then why are we still standing here?"

"I need to know you can deal with what comes next," Sylum's Clan Leader replied carefully. "You able to handle a sword yet?"

Horatio tipped his head back and gulped the Jack Daniels he'd been clinging to, gasping as it worked its way down his gullet. "Guess I missed that course at the Police Academy."

Nick laughed, hearing Speed in that droll kind of wit. "Then…"

"What d'you have around there that goes 'boom'?"


***




She tore my shirt open with the kind of dramatic flair best kept for those bodice-ripping romance novels that Monseigneur Kiernan likes to read.

The lingering look of appreciation she gave me afterward, was not in the last bit endearing, and the lap of her tongue did nothing for me but tickle.

I should've been bored.

Really.

I just couldn't work out how I'd lost all capacity for speech and movement, yet every sensation seemed enhanced even above the Vampire norm I'd always accepted. And while I fought like fuck not to pay attention as she sucked on my nipples and squeezed me ass cheeks in her hands, my body began responding like there was nothing wrong with any of her caresses.

"Oh, yes," she purred, rubbing against me, her chest heaving. "Yes, that's it."

No.

Not that's not it.

That's not it at all.

"Babysitting the old man 'as been so tedious!"

Oh! Boo-fucking-hoo!

"No one thinks they will even come close to what he plans, but…" She shrugged, sucking on my bottom lip. "…who knows? He might get lucky. And once I 'ave you at my feet, there are many possibilities. This is not my first time with one such as you."

Lucky me.

A professional.

I'd hate to think she was new at this.

"A Bond like ours will be delicious."

A slap.

My left buttock tingles a bit.

Was that playful, or is there more?

"Razor edged."

There's more.

The second slap came harder.

"You will be delightful. Like a puppy."

That's it?

A puppy?

All the romance and passion of your native language, and the best you can do is call me a puppy?

She tugs my jeans down to my ankles, and makes a big production of stripping my shirt off completely.

Like I'm going to be overwhelmed by her prowess at shredding cotton with her bare hands?

"You are not scarred!"

Scars get her off or something?



"How very wonderful?"

I'd tell her why, but she'd never believe me.

I actually thought she'd start in on me with a knife or something.

Not my first time being tortured.

Sadly.

Some folks are just more creative than others, and I'm not really choosy but there's something about a well-crafted, well used blade that's actually…

WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME?????

I'm nearly 707 years old and NOW I figure out I've got a kink?

NOW???

Like this?!

The whispery, slithery sound of a well-kept whip tail spooling onto the floor, made my stomach drop with a cold squeeze.

I'd brace myself for what's coming.

IF I FUCKING COULD!!

The first blow was high across my shoulders.

If I'd been breathing, I would've lost whatever I held in my lungs.

She tutted at her apparent lack of accuracy, stepped back, and tried again.

The next blow hit my ribs, and curled a tongue of fire around my chest.

If she thinks this is doing it for me, she's in for a shock.

I don't do whips and chains.

No, just blades and knives apparently.

Shut up, Speed!!!

The third blow was slightly above my backside.

She's showing off now.

I feel Horatio.

He's angry.

Yeah, well…

Me too.

This bitch is pissing me off now.

Each lash left my skin torn.

But I was steadily getting pissed.

More pissed.

I smell blood.

Mine.

Not comforting.

I'm sorry, H.

I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry…

I'd been counting, just like Heather teaches.

Counting is good.

Counting is focus.

Concentration.

It's a way to stay in some form of control.

One ma'am. Thank you ma'am. May I have another, ma'am?

Over and over in my head.



It was mocking, but I didn't care.



Two ma'am. Thank you ma'am. May I have another ma'am?



On and on.



I lost the count at 14.



I've been here before.



Not like this.



But before…



When I could actually scream.



When I could actually vent the rage and hate.



When I could actually condemn my torturers for the fucking English pigs they were.



This charming, beautiful, vicious French whore will die today.



I swear to God.



I feel, H.



I know he's suffering too.



He doesn't deserve this.



But now you're Bonded to him, moron.

He's gonna feel everything…

…even when you're just jacking-off in the shower.



Come and get me, Horatio.



Come and get me, please.




***




It took McGee a while to reach Robert Singer, leaving him urgent messages on what sounded scratchily like an old tape-recorded answering machine.

What the guy was doing in South Dakota exactly, he had no idea, but he'd been seriously contemplating hitting the database for some Chosen Ones they might have up there to go beat the dude into answering his phone, when he finally got a call back.

"Where the hell have you been?" he demanded. "I've been trying to reach you!"

"For less than three minutes, idjit. How many times can you say, 'pick up your phone' in 90 seconds?"

McGee glanced at the row of assorted world time zone clocks all neatly lined along the two main walls of the Security Room. "A few?" he ventured, wondering if he'd gone just a tiny bit crazy.

"Why is no one beating my door down yet?"

"I was told to reach you."

"Well you got me, boy. I don't ignore calls from the Manor."

"Stand by to talk to Nico."

"What the hell is…?"

McGee put him on hold and rolled his eyes as he fled the room in search of his Clan Leader. Bobby was, at least as far as he could actually tell, the perfect epitome of a grumpy old man. Always had been. Always would be. For some reason they had never quite hit it off, and whenever they were under the same roof, they tended to bitch like a pair of girls who used to date the same boy.

Bobby said that was probably how they knew each other in a past life somewhere. But McGee thought it more likely that older guy kept reminding him of his misogynistic old bastard of a grandfather.

Seeing Nick's office door was still closed, he dithered, not sure if it was safe to knock.

The quiet, yet hasty efficiency he could hear going on outside, signaled that Sylum was about to retrieve its wayward Clan Advisor, and he was grateful that there felt like an air of positive determination going on. Not knowing what the hell was happening about anything from anything, always drove him nuts.

"They just went to the lab," Lennie informed him, emerging from his office with his own cell to his ear.

McGee flailed and ran for the Underground access tunnel on the far side of the stairs.

"You found what, Blade? This line sucks, man! Slow down. Tell me what you found."

The Clan's War Counsel had been trying to ensure that every weapon they possessed was clean and ready to go, when his phone had started buzzing and wouldn't quit.

It didn't take him long to figure that Van Helsing wasn't answering his own number.

He frowned. "A plastic shot cup? From a gun?"

He frowned some more. "Don't yell at me, man."

He kept frowning. "A plastic dart? From an air rifle?"

He was seeing all kinds of ugly possibilities. "Bring it back here. We've got enough forensic scientists in the building to figure out if it's how someone nabbed Speed."

Lennie pulled the phone away from his head as Blade got more than a little tense in replying.

He rolled his eyes. "Just get home would ya. Now!!"


***




I want…

I want this bitch dead.

Her hands on my bare ass feel soft.

What's wrong sweetie?

Gotta beat a man to get laid?

Not that I'm fucking you any time soon.

Or biting you, for that matter.

But I bet she's got that problem figured out already.

She's pretty efficient.

Wonder what poor sap she had before me…?

I want to scream.

Please, God let me get it out.

There's no way I can let H keep feeling this.

No way.

Just no way.

I can't find him.

Horatio!?

No, wait.

He's there.

God, he's so pissed.

He's hot when he's mad.

All tightly controlled fury and redheaded rage.

Come get me, love.

Come get me.

Then it stops.

Her hands are gone.

And the beating starts again.

Not a whip.

A cane.

A switch.

Across my ass.

FUCK YOU!!!

I will not submit.

I will not.

But my face is wet.

Wait, I can blink?

Yes! Yes!!!

I can blink!

For real!

Oh…

God.

Please…!

Can't tell what's worse…

The whip.

Or this.

Screaming in my head.

Or through the Bond.

I should be twitching like a frog on a hotplate by now.

But I still can't move.

Tears.

That's why my face is wet.

It's just my eyes.

It's natural.

Eyes have to be wet.

But at least I can blink.

A human being would be done by now.

I'm not that easy to break though.

And neither is she.

The Templars pick their people well.

Wonder if Richelieu knew that?

Oh…

Oh…

Lost count again.

FUCK!!

Okay.



Okay.

You can do this, Speed.

Concentrate.

I can…see…

H?

Yeah, the way he stands there with his head down, eyeing me over his Ray-Bans.

I can stop this for you.

I can.

Let me go.

Let me go, H.

Just for a while.

Hit the 'mute' button.

Don't you look at me like that.

Don't you do it.

Don't you…

And then it stops.

My ass is on fire.

The back of my legs too.

She's in front of me again.

What?

You want a round of applause or something?

Fuck.

You.

To.

HELL!!!

There's color on her face.

Sweat on her chest.

A smile on her lips.

"What is wrong, pet?"

The cooing.

I'm going to kill her for that alone.

"Too much for you?"

I fucking blinked when she touched my cheeks with her thumbs, and brushed my tears away.

I can't see too good.

But she knows I can move my eyelids anyway.

Her laughter is smug.

Bitch.

"Yes, yes! Not long now and I will hear you plead for me."

I close my eyes.

Finally.

But her hands are on my dick.

Stroking.

Not again!

She squeezes.

Tugs.

Giggles at me.

No!

No!!

I am NOT getting hard again.

NO!!

No way!

I can't stop it.

She's got me.

And I can't stop it.

Her teeth on my left nipple.

Her teeth…?

Shit! Shit!

She bit me!

Wait!

Wait, wait.

She got me to open my eyes.

Just in time to watch her spit the blood out on the floor and wipe her lips with the back of her hand.

"You taste sweet."

Was that a compliment?

"Shay was sweet. Must be the way Irishmen are raised. He promised me 'e would come 'ome. He said we would finish the Bonding. Yet 'e never returned."

Cry me a fucking river.

"Oh, he will. I understand this. It is the way of the Vampire."

If they'd started Bonding when Shay lost his head…?

That would seriously explain the crazy in this whore's eyes.

I guess I should rightly be a little tiny, subatomic bit sympathetic.

Not.

"He was so much more than the limp-wrested Frenchmen I knew as a child. Oh, mon pere insisted I get to be introduced to those who would oppose our little Revolution. He 'ad wild imaginings that a Templar and an Assassin could truly come together and unit our causes."

She's stroking me like I'm a lamb shank that needs seasoning before its roasted.

And it's not attractive.

But here I am.

Getting off.

I need to Feed.

I'm losing blood more, and I need to Feed.

Horatio! You son of a fucking bitch, step away!!

But he won't.

Because he's Horatio fucking Caine.

DAMN YOU!

DAMN IT!!

DAMN IT ALL!!

DAMN IT!

DAMN IT!!!!

She made me come again.

There was no pleasure in it.

Just an itch.

Like a tingle I can't reach to scratch.

"There, there," she whispers, her lips on my right ear. "Was that so very bad?"

I want you DEAD, so very bad! That's what.

Actually, if she knew what I'd done to her darling Shay, this would end with beheading.

Mine.

After vivisection most likely.

Still, hearing HIM scream as MY Papa pinned him to the floor like a bug on a card, is probably a memory I should hold onto for a while.

"Even if Richelieu fails to bring us Sylum Clan, I will still keep you."

Bending down, she's kissing my spent cock so very softly…

Please, God let me watch Horatio shank this woman?

Please, please, please, please, please, please.

Now the look on her face is one of happiness.

Without the blood kinked crazy she would likely have been a very nice woman.

With the switch she's had tucked in the side of her belt, she taps at my chest.

Slowly,

Firmly.

"Pain and pleasure go together. But of course you know this. I know who your grandmama is."

The tip of the switch moves downward and lingers at my navel before rubbing at my dick.

Up and down.

Up and down.

Up and down.

Feathery taps hit my balls.

Don't do what I think you're gonna do!

Don't do it!

Don't…

I can't move enough to truly see the intent on her face, but the very real fear of what's going to happen next, is a special spike of agonizing terror all by itself.

I can see the movement of her hand.

She draws her arm up.

Then promptly walks back around behind me like she changed her mind.

FUCK IT!

FUCK IT!

FUCK IT!

FUCK IT!!

FUCK IT!!!!!

"I think my puppy should have a tail, no?"

The whip.

No, no!

"Oui! Very fetching."

Oh, you are so not going to…

The handle is inside me before I can form the next thought.

Dry and unprepared.

She shoved it up my ass about as deep as it would go.

There's tears again.

The pain is phenomenal.

I feel the leather against my bleeding thighs.

"It would be so much better to 'ear you scream, mon cher!" She sighs as if she's the one missing out on the special occasion. "The drug in you was not originally designed for Vampires. We had to adjust it slightly. She said it was perfect, but there is much to be achieved with a more vital subject."

Now I'm too easy for her?

Are you kidding me?

Wanna try this from where I am, you piece of shit?

No don't kiss me…

I can't.

I won't be yours.

I'm his.

Always his.


***


Horatio got in the back of the first SUV that was waiting in the driveway outside the main doors of the Manor. Nick slid in beside him, wary of the leather satchel that sat on the floor between them.

"Bobby!"

McGee had tossed the phone at him a moment before, having run halfway around the Plantation Estate and back, looking for him and missing him again by the slimmest margin.

"What's going on, Nico?"

There were no civilities or polite greetings between them.

They were old enough, and had known each other long enough not to need them.

"Have you sold your land and I didn't know about it?"

"No! Why? You want it?"

"When this is done. Yes."

"What's done?"

"There's a good chance someone's using it for less than credible reasons."

"The next guy over keeps his bees in the top field, but why do you care?"

"It's not him I'm having a problem with."

Jimmy got in behind the wheel. "Where too, General?"

"Ellislie Plantation."

The Hunter blinked at him, decided any and all commentary of a sarcastic or expletive nature was entirely unnecessary, and turned his attention instead to starting the engine.

In the second car, Noah was driving for Warrick and Van Helsing.

At the very last moment, just before the vehicles pulled away, Ducky Mallard appeared from down by the garages, waving his medical bag and trotting with red-faced urgency toward them.

Thankfully, it was Warrick who spotted him, opened the car door and hauled him inside.

"Oh, thank goodness! Very kind." Ducky took a long pause to get his breath back and adjust his coat and belt. "Anthony sent me, post haste. He said there is a good chance that all our young McGee has found of Speed is his cellular telephone signal, but on the possibility that you may indeed find his brother, he thought it opportune I be there for him."

Van Helsing frowned, but said nothing.

"Settle in, Doc. It's going to be a couple of hours," Noah advised, having just heard over his earpiece where it was they were headed.

"I need to know what's left on your land, Bobby." Nick had been trying to remember what damage the fire had done to the main house, but there were other structures still remaining. Or so he thought.

"Cellars. Couple of outbuildings. Nothing big."

"Been a while since I was last up there."

"Me too."

"It's off the road."

"It's the middle of nowhere."

"Yeah, I already got the significance," Nick sighed. "You made molasses up there?"

"Yes. The gear finally fell apart in the 1980s. I think some of its in one of the sheds. Not like anyone wants it."

"You had any inquiries about it? Say, in the last year?"

"The gear, or the land?"

"Either."

"Some big international agri-corp asked if I was selling. I said no. You know how I feel about those assholes."

"Who was it?"

"It was six months ago at least."

"Bobby?" Nick could hear some papers shuffling around. "Bobby?"

"I scrawled it… Yeah, here we go."

Bobby Singer wasn't exactly a hoarder. He just failed to tidy up behind himself on a regular basis. It was a habit he'd gotten into after his wife left, when his son had died fighting for the Confederate Army and came home in a box.

"Red Moon Foods Corporation. They do those plastic TV dinners. Got a little round moon symbol on the carton."

"What did they offer?"

"About 40 percent more than the land's actually worth, even with the relics on it."

Nick whistled. "Serious."

"Stupid. I got no time for those idjits and their fake crap. It would be tastier microwaving the box it comes in," he snorted.

"Alright. Listen up. I need a detailed plan. Give me everything you remember. Then I'll tell you what's happening."

As he spoke, so Horatio sat bolt upright, his body rigid against the seatbelt that held him. Shaking his head just a little, he kept repeating, "No, no. No, no. No. No…" And from that alone, Nick knew Speed was trying to block the Bond with his Mate.

Reaching out a hand, the older Vampire patted the redhead on one knee, wanting him to know he wasn't alone.

The Parent Bond he held with his Childe, was quaking too, and it took him a deliberate degree of concentration to get it steady. His boy was in pain. That much he knew, yet there was no fear from him, only bitter rage.

That was good.

He knew what that felt like.

He'd been there himself.

Ellislie Plantation was about 130 miles north of Sylum Manor, in the State of Mississippi.

Nowhere near as vast as the Sylum Estate, it was actually nowhere near civilization either, and Nick was rather sorry that Murdock had left with the chopper, or they would certainly have reached the place a hell of a lot faster.

As Bobby talked, Nick could picture in his head how the main buildings once looked, and he mourned for the lost magnificence of the old house.

Jimmy kept his foot down, and the second SUV stayed perfectly paced on their tail. If they were stopped by local law enforcement, they'd simply show their Marshal Badges and keep their tempers in check.

Once they crossed into Mississippi and were heading for Natchez on the 61, it finally felt like they were getting somewhere, though Horatio could only growl whenever traffic slowed their progress. It seemed like an eternity for him, trapped on that journey, wrestling with Speed's anxiety and pain, and the disconcerting sensation of him climaxing one more time. He had known anger in his life, at varying times, the worst of which had come the day he'd killed his father for beating his mother to death, yet even that was eclipsed by the sheer rage that seared through him knowing his Mate was at the mercy of some unknown torturer.


***




"Let me explain…"

She's in Richelieu's chair.

Legs crossed.

Very prim and proper.

Don't mind me, I'll just hang here naked with my pants down and your whip up my ass.

"It will be a fun story while we wait for the drug to wear off. Then I can 'ear you scream for me, and we will Bond. After all, it is only fair that lovers keep no secrets, so you should know of me, as I already know of you."

Clearly no one told this crazy Frog I already have a Mate, and he's not the sharing kind.

"My father was a Templar, as was 'is before 'im. That 'is only offspring should be a daughter did not dissuade 'im from training me to follow the Templar cause, and I was taught all necessary skills for the destiny that awaited me. I understand the fight. I see the picture that is painted in so rich a struggle for power. Father wished for me to find an 'usband amongst the Assassins. You see, 'e believed, as others 'ad before, that we would one day cease our bloodshed and our 'atred for one another, if we could begin a new generation of those raised to see that there are elements to both our causes which when combined, would truly make us utterly unstoppable in benefiting the world, and lifting all its people from their fear and suffering.

I found the perfect man in Seamus Cormac. Once an Assassin, he grew to support the Templar ways when they turned against 'im. 'e embodied all that was best in both sides of our fight, and I gave myself to 'im freely. Gladly! Only later did 'e tell me of the Vampire."

Seriously?

Can we go back to the other type of torture now, 'cause you're boring the crap out of me.

You and your precious Shay…

He was an asshole who gave assholes a bad name!

"He was to follow a different path, but return for me before our Revolution began. Mon pere was plotting with Richelieu and his most delightful Mate, for years and years! It would be glorious. The people of France were to rise up and overthrow the powerful for us. How better than to 'ide in plain sight. As the Vampires do, non? Hiding behind those who would feel that they truly fought for themselves yet were secretly doing what their new saviors would later thank them for. It is an unmistakable, and beautiful symmetry, oui? Alas, my Shay did not return for me. He bit me, you see? Before 'e sailed for the New World. He said it would seal us together forever, and when 'e returned, 'e would make me 'is."

Are you done yet?

Really.

Hold on!

Wait up…

Richelieu has a Mate?

Did I hear that right?

Seriously?

The slimy scumbag has a full-on Mate?

Of the Vampire kind?

For real?

Okay, so now I've got this image of him in those overly dramatic red robes he used to wear, taking it up the ass from a guy, because there's no way he'd take a woman for a Mate given that he took those pesky vows for the Church 'n' all. But hey! Y'know it's okay for him with a man like that, 'cause in his tiny little mind it's not really real sex when two guys are just getting busy scratching an itch for each other.

Who, this side of hell fire and damnation, would be able to get it up for that rat bastard anyway?

Oh!

Oh!!

Oh, you have got to kidding me!!!

It's Mazarin!

His little toady.

The Cardinal everyone loved to hate.

More than Richelieu.

Though that's debatable.

Oh, it has to be.

My.

God!!!

Like there haven't been enough shocks today already?

Wait, hold up. What's this woman driveling about now?

And how is there a draft in here?

"…but I found myself with Sabine de Winter, and she understood my plight. She was so merciful, doing for me what Shay could not, for I knew in my Soul 'e was gone. It was so sad."

Lady, you have no fucking clue.

It was an absolute pleasure actually, seeing him die.

I mean that right now.

"I was in a terrible place, but dear Sabine? Well, she taught me all I should know that I might survive after my loss."

Oh, I bet she did.

She's never missed a chance to fuck someone over.

Literally.

And metaphorically.

"She made me a greater fighter than I knew it was possible to be. I found my strength with 'er, and she gave me a knowledge of men that I 'ad never before seen that I could 'ave, which now I am sure you can fully appreciate. Oui?"

I will kill Sabine.

I swear to God.

And piss on her ashes.

"But I am digressing. Richelieu, he 'ad the most brilliant way of ensuring those who would come stand against us were removed from the Revolution. His personal influence was greater than any of us knew until 'e truly 'ad Vampires imprisoned in the Bastille! It was a stroke of genius! Meant to be a trap to lure the man who had delayed our Revolution before. Ahhh!!! I see you 'ave no idea who it is I refer to."

Don't know how.

I'm not doing anything but hang here with an expression like a dead cod.

"You know 'im as Javert. A big man. An arrogant man. One who became an Assassin, as though his presence in France was not insult enough! He is the reason mon pere died. I owe him so much for that crime alone! Old men, 'ave weak hearts. This is a truth, but one day, Javert will stand before the Templar Order to face justice! This you can be assured of."



Someone remind me to thank the Meridius Frog next time I see him.

Arrogant?

Dude!!

He helped start Interpol.

Arrogance is allowed.

She's shaking her head in disgust.

God, this is so fucking depressing.

Can I just snooze here for a while before you try and rape my ass again?

Wake me when you're done, 'cause I know what happened at the Bastille.

Everyone does.

"To those who thought 'im 'eroic, 'e was 'Arnaud'!"

I honestly imagined she was about to spit on the floor from the way she said that.

"No one could 'ave anticipated what came that day. The crowds were 'uge! It was a blood soaked mess. The streets were overrun. Alas, Richelieu fled. Mazarin 'as an acquaintance with mutual concerns in the vast expanse of…" She paused, teasing. "I should not say, but," she shrugs, "it matters not. You are to be mine, and we will need some time together when all this is done. Richelieu has a house in Russia. A beautiful place. Near the Black Sea. It will be our honeymoon, while Richelieu settles 'imself into Sylum Manor and takes up where it's leadership left off."

She stretches her back, shoving her chest out in the process, before standing up and offering me a beaming smile.

She thinks this is a done deal.

She thinks her skill with a whip, and some sexual molestation is enough to have me licking her boots.

She thinks Sylum is a ripe fruit for the plucking, that's just gonna fall on the ground at Richelieu's feet.

And here I am, wondering if I've ever been forcibly jacked-off by a bigger moron.

But I've lived for quite a while, so…

There's a knife.

Not a big one, but a slim, pretty, feminine blade.

She took it from her bodice.

Right there in the front, where the laces are tied and there's something silky at the edges.

Guess I should've seen that before now.

"Close your eyes, and this will be far worse than you are doubtless imagining."

Her words are an alluring murmur that does nothing for the meaning behind them.

"Now, you must see that this is going to be good for you."

She slices her right palm open, flexing her fingers to get the blood flowing from them.

The smell is mouthwatering.

I'm so hungry.

Vampires only Feed from other Vampires when there is no other option, and death is imminent. It's not the best sustenance, and certainly not the richest source of nourishment, but it is more often than not, just enough to keep the wolf from the door.

Literally.

This bitch thought it would start a Bond between us. But I would have to submit to her drinking in turn from me. And there was no way in hell…

As she steps against me, pressing herself to me, I realize I can finally move my eyeballs themselves, and they are longer glued onto the same narrow strip of visual annoyance that has been swimming in and out of focus before me for however long this fucking nightmare has been happening.

"Yes! Not long now before that nasty drug is all gone!"

And I can kick your head all over this shithole we're in.

I think I smell…

What IS that?

Her blood is dripping on me.

She has a hand in my hair.

Tipping my head back.

Holding me still.

She lifts her fist.

Blood is dripping.

From her clenched fingers, blood is dripping.

And I want it.

I want it because it will help.

Some of the blood I've lost has already turned to dust on my skin.

Hers will go the same way soon enough, but for now it's pouring down my throat, and I cannot swallow it on purpose. But I can't spit it out either, so maybe it's not a bad thing I can't fight this or I'd be choking to death.

The benefits of any sort of nourishment in my system, are not immediate, but I feel them nonetheless.

I feel the tiredness fading.

A bit at a time.

Don't think about it.

Let it happen.

"Good puppy!" She crows. "Good puppy!"

I'm staring up at a dusty, cobwebbed cellar ceiling, hoping the weird sensation that I'm somehow drowning, will pass quicker if I don't think about it.

"I knew you would be fun to play with."

She finally pushes my jaw shut with the palm of her bloody hand, much like the way you'd get an actual dog to take it's meds.

The blood had stopped coming.

Her hand must've healed.

It's okay.

It's going to be okay.

Let it happen.

"But I cannot 'elp wishing it was your dear papa hanging 'ere at my mercy. Assassins are always so much more of a challenge."

The sound that concluded her words, was at once eerily familiar and desperately welcome.

A blade.

A hidden blade of the kind worn by Assassins on their stronger forearm.

Or for some, on both forearms.

I was not, in any way, expecting the womanly voice that went with it.

"Now look at you…"

There was mockery in the newcomer's tone for sure.

"…getting so close and personal with the man who ripped Shay's head clean off his shoulders."

I knew that accent.

I think.

"Never saw anything like it before. Never knew such a thing was even possible before."



Eyes wide in shock, Elise had already leapt back at the first indication of danger, though I'm pretty sure the Assassin who's just made herself known, has in fact been listening in on us for a while.

Sneaky bastards, those dudes.

Oh, and I was meant to be shocked that Papa's one of the Assassins too?

'cause, no.



Not really, no.



I already knew that, and knew who Arnaud really was back then too.

Why does everyone seem to think Clan Advisor is code for 'dumb schmuck'?

When Nick went running off to Paris, France in the Spring of 1789, he said he'd be gone three months, maybe four, possibly six if the weather failed when crossing the Atlantic. He pissed everyone off, insisting that he and D'Artagnan would be perfectly fine. All they would be doing was getting Nathan out of there, checking in on Passion Clan, and sailing home.

Seemed simple enough.

Thomas, who has never in his entire life, been capable of any other accent than a snooty English one, was furious at being left behind.

Tony, whose very 'Frenchness' would absolutely have put him on the guillotine in five seconds flat, consoled himself by demanding that someone check on Le Phantom and his precious Chateau. But the joy of being Second-in-Command is that you get to stay home when your Clan Leader decides to go see the world all by himself.

After all, it wasn't the first time.

Warrick wound up in grumpy ass Pirate Mode, being sadly once more on the nasty end of what it fully meant to be a black man in that time period.

Van Helsing stayed to cover Tony.

Diego was doing boring political stuff in the city.

So that left yours truly here to go after Nick and keep an eye on his 'adventuring'. He likes to think I'm the trouble magnet in the Clan, but truth is he's way worse.

I got to Paris about a month after he did.

No, he did not realize I was there.

Yes, he was easy enough to find.

What am I, stupid?

I was not shocked to see D'Artagnan get his idiot ass arrested, though in a moment of the most cosmic justice, I'm told he did end up in the same cell as the father-in-law he had allegedly come to rescue. Nathan, who mostly treats the boy like an unwelcome dose of the Clap, was not exactly charmed by the unfortunate situation, but at least he had courtesy enough not to kill the man his lunatic daughter had once seen fit to marry in the dim and distant decades already long gone.

Got to admit, I never saw fucking Richelieu hanging about back then.

Guess Papa didn't either.

Still, I did see him and a couple of others doing Assassiny-type stuff, and figured to stay the hell away from it.

Not that I couldn't hold my own with those guys, I just didn't want a poster going up with my face on and a hefty reward plastered underneath.

Been there.

Done that.

Don't like to talk about it.

When Nick finally put the freshly freed D'Artagnan and his ever-loving father-in-law on a boat for America, with nothing but a packet of letters for his Clan by way of explanation for not appearing beside them on the docks of New Orleans, I came very, very close to smacking my Sire on the head, tossing his unconscious ass on the same vessel, and jumping in their beside him.

Why I didn't, I still have no fucking clue.

The Revolution was a hell on earth I might otherwise have blamed the British for, if I wasn't actually surrounded by Frogs.

In the end, I found myself being a spare set of eyes and ears for The Shadow in Geneva, as well as mouth and nose for Merrick, who held his Clan together during that time with sheer force of personality, some bailing wire and a lot of spit.

Come to think of it, he still owes me for that unsavory incident with the wine vat and the fox fur coat…

I hear fighting.

My head is in roughly the same position it was earlier, which is a relief. I can't move it myself yet, and it would've been nasty if the bitch over there had left me staring up at the dark ceiling.

I can see a bit more though.

Blades clash.

Yelping.

Oh, come on!!

Get it done with already, could you please?

Shadows are moving around me.

Fast and fluid.

Most of what's happening is behind me I think.

Damn it!

Let me see this!

C'mon!!

Wish I could help out, but y'know how it is…

Don't mind me or anything…

FUCK!

FUCKNG FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!!

FUCK IT!

FUCK YOU!!! FUCKING FUCK!

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!!!!!!

Pain.

Lots of pain.

Too much pain.

HOLY FUCKING SHIT!!!

FUCKING FUCK SHIT FUCK!!!!!!

The whip.

The whip is gone.

Which is good, but…

FUCK YOU, BITCH!!!!

I hear it lash out.

There's a grunt.

A squeal.

I thought I'd get through this with one trip to see the Clan Shrink, but now it's gonna be two.

AND FUCK YOU FOR THAT YOU FUCKING FRENCH FUCKING FUCKER!!!

I can't see who's winning until the bitch I've been steadily coming to detest with the heat of a thousand suns, gets tossed before me, face first onto the floor.

Nice one!

Yes!!

I'd be laughing if I could.

Trust me on this.

The other woman is familiar.

I just can't place her.

Lithe.

Quick.

Really, really quick.

Before Elise is able to lash out with a foot or an elbow, the Assassin has that damn whip around her foe's neck.

Heh!!

I'm smiling on the inside here.

Really.

There's a brief struggle.

Again.

Finally, somehow…

…not really sure exactly, but it's very athletic and there's a lot of blows passing back and forth…

…but Elise is on her back and the Assassin is straddling her chest, a very long, very shiny, very deadly stiletto in her hand.

Think it was in her right boot.

She's wearing all the best kind of gear for one of those quiet but lethal stalker-types.

They're side on to me.

I see her profile.

Hello there, Aveline.

Now I recognize you.

The fucking bitch she's about to kill isn't going easy, but the stiletto spears her to the floor, straight through her upper chest, piercing that cheap ass pendant she had at her throat.

It makes a very solid, very satisfying sound.

Elise flails a little.

But she's done.

Aveline!

Ah, beautiful, charming, deadly Aveline.

Another one of Papa's secrets I've been keeping.

But she adores him, and who am I to argue?

She's also as cold and calculating as a certain Italian I've been trying to better fathom out for a good few centuries now.

The whip is gone.

No idea where it went

Aveline pulls a short sword from her hip.

There's an explosion.

Startling.

Loud as hell fire.

And yet oddly reassuring.

The Bond washed over me then, with a deep sense of anticipation and relief.

And redheaded determination.

"Before you go, cher," Aveline murmurs, her hidden blade sticking out again from below her left cuff, "you should know that sound is Timothy's Bonded Mate." She crouches up a touch more on her knees, the right one of which has crushed her opponent's left hand.

Elise knows she is done, but there is only defiance in her eyes.

"And he's pissed."

With that conclusion, she pulls the stiletto free, the pendant coming with it as the chain snaps.

At the same instant she draws the sword down.

Quick.

Efficient.

Effective.

Then it hits me, as Aveline jumps effortlessly to her feet and taps the Vampire dust off her boots before slipping away without even a glance in my direction.

I've just been totally rescued by a girl.

Which humiliation I shall keep firmly to myself.

Not that being found strung up like this won't be humiliating enough for one day.

Please, God!

Don't let it be H who finds me…

"Well now!"

Jimmy!

Thank you, Lord!

But, really?

Jimmy?

Well, it could've been worse.

Like Papa, for a start. Or Tony close after.

"This is not a new look for you, is it."

Thanks for bringing the obvious to the party, dude.

If he's expecting snark, he's going to be disappointed.

"Okay, we're gonna get you out of here."

No, leave me swinging in the breeze, that's fine.

"Ducky's here."

Oh, Lord.

Really?

Well at least you didn't bring Alexx.

Wait, you didn't bring Alexx, right?

"He'll take good care of you."

He'll bore me to sleep.

Which is actually not a bad plan right now, as plans go.

"Okay, this is gonna hurt, but I figure we can just tell folks that your pants mysterious rose all by themselves, right?"

His hands are on me.

He's gentle but…

DAMN YOU! FUCK! DAMN IT!!!

You've got all the bedside manner of Gregory fucking House!

I know he's helping.

He's helping.

It's okay.

He's good.

He gets it.

Standing in front of me, the sight of him is welcome, but the frown on his face not so much, as he fastens my fly and buttons me tight.

Hurts like a fucking son of a fucking bitch.

"Let's never talk about this moment ever again, 'kay?"

No.

Let's do what men do.

Let's be men here.

"The silence is disturbing…"

Given that I can hear voices outside, I'm somewhat sure that he could be referring to me, but who knows?

So in rolling my eyes, I tried to convey a slight hint of what the real problem is, but I must've missed the mark somewhere.

He offers me a smile that's laced with enough sympathy for my predicament that all I want to do is slap the shit out of him.

"It's okay. Talk when you're ready. Hey! Noah, in here! Help me get this chain down."

If it'd been rope, he would've cut it.

I can hear a lever.

A ratchet and clanking metal.

Wherever this shithole is, it used to have mechanical equipment of some kind, and electricity at some point.

Jimmy's got his arms around me.

Feels good.

Feels like a friend.

Closing my eyes, I let him take my weight.

I couldn't exactly fight it.

There's nothing to fight now.

Nothing to be strong for.

Hurts so bad when my arms come down.

I see the bruises.

Probably a great help I can't move for myself.

Just, everything hurts.

Like pins 'n' needles in my fingers and toes.

Is that the drug?

Or is it me?

"SPEED!!!"

H!

Finally.

Finally, thank you.

I am so done.

He's got me now.

My Mate.

His arms replace Jimmy's.

"Ah! Yes, here we are."

Hey there, Duck.

Do your thing…

Gimme some blood.

There's nothing that a good Feed won't cure.

"Lower him down here to the floor, Lieutenant. Jimmy, help me with this blanket. Put it out on the floor. Don't want him lying on all this dust with his back ripped open like that."

And seriously, I'd be laughing at the sight of everyone scuffing over the ashes that were once the pretty Elise de la Serre, if I actually had any fucks to give…


***


Nick left Warrick and Van Helsing at the front gate, which Horatio had taken an inordinate amount of joy in blowing apart.

There had been more than sufficient evidence of heavy usage along the approach road, and the very new, very solid, very high, imposing and impenetrable looking construction where the old, wrought iron entryway once use to be, was more than enough to convince everyone they'd reached the right place. And they were not about to be disappointed with what was hidden inside.

The lack of prominent guards, or even cameras for security, made it clear that whoever was illegally occupying the Ellislie Plantation, never believed they would be found, let alone disturbed.



Making so loud and affirmative an announcement of their presence, had a swarm of about a dozen Rogues running like their anthill just got kicked over.

Sylum's Co-Leader and Lead Hunter had certainly not had quite so much fun in a while, chasing down the lurkers, while everyone else began a hard target search of the outbuildings and old crafting shops. There were plenty of places to hide. Not every roof had fallen in, not every wall was crumbling, but Nick had one intent, and set his attention to where the molasses had once been produced, down to the right of the ruins, only to be distracted by a familiar figure sliding with ghostly ease through the columns on the hill that marked the lingering remains of what had once been the big Plantation House.

It was positively eerie with the sun setting, and low cloud writhing through the kudzu vines that had been growing in rampant, unchecked fury across absolutely every structure in the vicinity.

Nick was instantly reminded of some ancient Greek Temple that had been left magnificently haunted by time and torment.

Sensing a sudden rush of relief through the Bond with his son, he turned quickly to the left instead, and slipped over to the still remarkably soot stained square base pad that used to hold a beautiful and very elegant place once upon a time, but was more like the broken, weather bleached, towering ribcage of some long dead, sadly doomed dinosaur.

"Nothing is true," he said softly.

"Everything is permitted," Aveline answered.

And the two of them were happy to have not mistaken each other's presence in the same unexpected location.

"Explosives, Mister Nicolaus? That would be a new approach for you," the Assassin said simply, as they hid themselves from view and swiftly embraced.

"Speed's Mate," Nick explained. "What are you doing here?"

That she should be found in the very spot he had only just discovered as being relevant to the strange situation Sylum Clan appeared to be facing, seemed absolutely not about to bode well.

"I found a person of interest," she replied, holding up the stiletto with its prize still attached. "And I thought when you texted me earlier, that this would be a simple elimination."

"Tell me everything."

"I watched Riddick take a prisoner. Female. Very angry. Neither saw me. She had been with Gregory Stillson. I followed him to the Hotel Monteleone on Royal Street. He flew in and out in less than five minutes, and left in a cab, bags in hand on route to the airport. I was about to call you and ask if I should follow, when a woman emerged in company with a man I did not recognize. She was his guard. That much I could tell."

"Whose was this?" Nick asked, examining the neatly speared pendant he had been presented with, and recalling each time he had himself committed very similar executions.

"Elise de la Serre."

He felt his eyes widen. "You have done very well."

Aveline shook her head. "No! I did poorly. I followed the bitch out here with her companion. She referred to him as 'Your Excellency'. But I do not know if he was Richelieu or Mazarin. Those were the names she…"

Nick almost let out a loud and vicious expletive that would certainly have put Horatio's dramatic bomb making prowess to shame.

Of the many enemies he had been unfortunate enough to encounter in his almost 1600 years, he had not expected either of those names to be spoken of ever again in terms of immediate threat.

"Master Nicolaus? I know such men from history, but I have not known of them in terms of Vampire." Aveline told him all that had been overheard, sparing no detail, watching him closely, gauging his reactions. "I thought at first to follow the man when he left here, not knowing what Elise was doing. On my bike, I stayed close to him, but discreet. He drives a rental. A silver Lincoln. I turned back to this place when it became clear he was merely returning to his hotel. I wish I had stayed here first. I might otherwise have spared Timothy the torture he had endured." She shrugged. "But then, had I interrupted sooner, I would not have discovered so much. Please tell him I regret only that such things had to be."

"You did right, Aveline. Do not doubt it." Nick handed back her prize. "I want you to take this in person to Dastan at Masyaf. Tell him everything that has occurred here. I'm trying to determine whatever new ploy the Templars are plotting. Your actions have been of great service to us."

"Of course. History is repeating itself, no?"

"Apologize to Remy for me. I know what such a journey means."

"My Mate will grumble. But not for long."

"Where is your bike?"

She habitually rode a very sleek, black BMW that she could practically mold herself too as she traveled.

"Hidden in the vines. Well off the road. I can leave now. No one will see me."

Nick nodded. "Advise Dastan to have Nikolai check this mention of the Black Sea."

"I will. Should I pass a message to Warrick on the way out?"

Her cheeky wink and vivid smile did much to alleviate some of the more immediate stresses they both were feeling.

"Safety and peace, Aveline de Grandpré."

Palms up, arms extended at the elbow, Sylum's Clan Leader offered her a traditional Roman blessing.

"Safety and peace, Nicolaus Valerius Meridius."

She laid her own forearms over his, and squeezed firmly.

He felt the blade mechanism up her sleeve.

They nodded.

Parted ways.

And no one was even aware they had talked.

To Nick's utter disgust, but not total shock, he soon discovered he had no cell reception, and cussed that he couldn't call Riddick to send him and Diego to the Monteleone.

His mind was still reeling at the knowledge that Richelieu was alive, and wanted rather to believe that perhaps it was the man's Soul returned instead.

That terrible, bitter, twisted Soul…

He did not want to believe.

I could see it in his eyes.

Even in the smokey candlelight.

"You live?"

He choked the words out.

And what could I say in response?

I had played so many times in my mind, the very moment that now lay before me, and thought long on all those eloquent words which best contained the nature of my feelings for the man who took everything from me, including my life.

Yet none of those grand speeches, or that rich oratory, would come forth from my mouth.

None of it seemed to matter.

I had paid the guards very well indeed for the privilege of sitting there, watching Marcus come to terms with seeing me again.

Such a price also ensured we would not be disturbed.

But I did not intend on staying long, or sharing old times.

Though we once had been friends, there was nothing that could ever induce me to recall those days with ease or pleasure. I could no more have conceived of his betrayal then, than imagined myself the victim of it.

Yet there we sat.

Across a crude wooden table.

He the prisoner.

I his executioner.

And finally…

Finally Justice would be done.

He was older than I remembered.

Time had chiseled at his features, leaving lines and shades of grey where there had previously been a smug smile, and vicious, jealous eyes.

The shock of his treachery being uncovered after so long, had left him shaken, and stunned into a certain humility that sat upon his shoulder like a tired, moth-eaten old blanket.

But I cared not.

Theodosius had bested him.

My little one.

My tiniest.

The child for whom dear Julia gave her life.

Now a man.

Of the Meridii.

Our Name restored.

All that remained then, was to see the end of him who began the nightmare I had fought so long to wake from.

I smell death here.

Fear.

Decay.

Despair.

I cared not, save that it was a fit place for Marcus to die.

"You are dead!" he hissed, casting around himself, but there would be neither escape nor explanation.

In part, I knew that addressing him would only grant his ego reason to begin justifying yet again, all the reasons for his devastating hatred of me. Though I wanted to tell him everything - of the reasons why I still walked this Earth, of all I had seen and all I had learned, of the hope which fed me, the friends who guided me, the love I had discovered, the battles I had fought, the seas I had traveled, and the lives I had touched.

I wanted to tell him he had failed. My family would survive, and those whom he had murdered for political gain and selfish ambition, would return to my side soon enough.

Yet he could not ever truly understand.

So why waste time I could not spare? Or breath I did not need?

He might well have leapt at me, had he not believed me a ghost, for I was certainly still every bit as virile in appearance as he must have remembered me being.

And it petrified him to see me there.

Unblinking.

Unmoving.

Unbreathing.

As silent as the grave.

With deliberate intent, I tossed over my shoulder, the riding cloak that had sheltered me on my way to the prison, and presented him with a small, cork-stoppered bottle which seemed quite stupidly elegant for the grim purpose with which it had been procured.

Having kept it in my hand, I felt relief at relinquishing so meaningful a burden, and like a conjuror, slid the reason for my surreptitious appearance, steadily across the table top toward him.

He recoiled, as though I were passing him a live snake.

"You cannot be here!" he hissed fervently. "You are dead!!"

Yes.

I am.

But not as dead as you would like.

"I had you crucified!"

His voice is a painful, hysterical shriek.

No one cares.

"You cannot live!!"

I beg to differ.

Fortuna has offered us different paths, for now you will die.

And no Vampire shall offer you Salvation.

Nor shall your connections amongst the powerful, the rich, and the elite.

While there was a chance he could still live because of them, I would not permit it so.

How could I?

Blood cries out for blood.

And it has become a constant wail which much be silenced.

I simply stare at the bottle.

Hemlock.

Not as easy to find as I had first imagined, but potent enough for even the vilest soul.

Marcus too, stares hard at the small, innocuous item between us.

Yet in truth, there is so very much more between us than the juice of a poisonous plant.

He shakes his head.

He understands.

Yes, he was always the clever one. Or rather, he thought himself the clever one.

How far we have come, you tired old bastard.

Now end it here.

As ancient honor decrees.

He frightens easily now, this sad excuse for humanity.

"No! No, no!!"

Leaping up, he spills the stool he was sat upon.

I dare not move.

Let him scream and cry as he will.

His time is ended.

And I will pour that poisoned vessel down his throat myself if he has not the decency to draw the draught with his own hand.

Yet still he does not come near me, thinking me an embodiment of Retribution, returned from the glorious peace of Elysium to take his worthless life to Hades.

Oh…

He is so very right.

"General!?"

Nick snapped back into the present moment at the sound of Warrick's voice, alarmed by the cold chill that crept horribly down his spine.

"We rousted more. There's been a camp here for a while. Gabe found tents and outdoor gear, cooking pots, fire pits. Hard to judge how many exactly have been living here but enough to be serious trouble."

"Are you kidding me? How did we get a Nest of Rogues less than 200 miles from the Manor, and no one noticed?" Sylum's Clan Leader was not exactly finding much to endear him to Van Helsing.

Again.

Warrick cocked his head at his Mate. "There's no way to know how many were here to start with, or if any got out when we arrived. It's possible to flee across the back fields, but you could be wandering around out there a couple of days before you found the next road, 'specially if you don't know the local area."

Nick growled. "Where's my son?"

"Jimmy found him. He's with Ducky right now. We need to get some people in here. There could be evidence we can use."

It was not a bad idea.

"Get Gabe to establish a perimeter. Fast. I don't want anyone sneaking back in."

"He's on it. Don't worry," Warrick replied, seeing his Mate's expression. "He's trying to stop the fuck ups."

Nick snorted. "I'll kick his ass for him later."

"I think he's already expecting that.

Over the small earpieces they were all wearing to communicate and help synchronize their efforts, the two of them heard Noah ask for the 'all clear'.

And then Van Helsing's response that they were safe to move, but there should be no delay in getting out of there.

Nick snorted one more time, stopping on the weed dotted driveway, as from the direction of the molasses sheds, his people appeared, moving swiftly up toward him.

Everyone was tense, alert, cautious. But after their initial surge onto the property, and the brief chaos that had followed, the ruined Planation felt suddenly quiet, still, stifling. Untrimmed, the trees vied with the grasses for space, and there was not a single breath of air to stir any of it.

Perfect hiding for those with the skills to best use it.

Warrick found his Vampire sight drawn to closely consider such possibilities, and every blade of seemingly innocent plant life, suddenly harbored ill-intent, or shelter for his Clan's enemies, despite his straining to better assess their current environment. But for Nick there was nothing else at that instant, save his boy, and seeing him carried forth from the dark in the arms of Horatio Caine, made his heart ache deeply.

Ducky, being in somewhat of a concerned flutter for his patient, followed close behind, his own attention on ensuring that Speed remained wrapped in a blanket.

Time was the most important issue, and while Nick knew that his Childe would ultimately heal soon enough, he wanted very badly to be the one reassuring him he was safe.

It just felt weird that Horatio was the one doing that, and not him. Like he'd misplaced something important somewhere, but he couldn't recall what.

Warrick squeezed his arm urgently. "Let's get out of here."

Van Helsing was still combing through the immediate fields as they got Speed into the back of the first SUV.

"He's drifting in and out," Doctor Mallard explained to all of them, when it soon became clear that the pain they were inadvertently causing for Timothy, resulted not in a steady stream of violent cussing, nor even in Gaelic snark, but an appalling silence and utter lack of all physical resistance to his plight.

"The dear boy has been drugged…" Ducky continued.

Nick nodded, figuring that as obvious cause for Speed's incapacity to escape what was in truth, a rather rudimentary imprisonment.

"…with what appears to be a most unusual paralytic agent, in that it has apparently rendered him unable to do anything, even speak. I have to admit to never seeing anything quite like it. Although there was that one time in the…"

"Duck!" Nick growled, cutting off what would absolutely have become quite the meandering diatribe. "Get him home."

"Of course, General!" Donald Mallard, MD. was not in the least bit offended at being issued orders so abruptly. "He has been able to consume a little blood, but naturally it has not been easy without the ability to swallow. We shall get some nutrients into him intravenously when we get him to the hospital, and assess him better there."

"Thank you, Doctor."

The sound of an approaching car had everyone with a weapon, instantly alert, and upon seeing the reactions of those around him, the ever cautious Ducky, dove into the SUV with his patient, who lay about as comfortably as it was possible to get across the backseat with his head in Horatio's lap.

Nick slammed the door shut and ordered Jimmy behind the wheel. "Get them out of here! Now!!"

And he slapped the rear of the vehicle as it made a very tight U-turn and tore away with spray of gravel under its tires.

The newcomer heading in their direction, slowed somewhat to let them pass, and Jimmy put his foot down on the accelerator, just to make sure there was less chance of getting shot at by unfriendlies.

Sylum's Leaders watched with more than mild concern, uncertain about what was happening, until they recognized the bit Ford F-150 pick-up that the Clan's Stable Manager owned, it's dark blue panels looking almost black in the twilight.

"What the actual fucking fuck??" Warrick demanded, voicing what was on all their minds.

Though no one put their guns or blades away.

Just in case.

So, it was with some open hostility and incredulity, that Gil Grissom, Kate Todd, and Calleigh Duquesne were greeted at the scene, each clambering from the big work truck with fully stocked flight cases that held every professionally required item for the detailed collection and further processing of forensic evidence.

Nick honestly didn't know whether to start yelling at them, or congratulate their ingenuity, but he was sure as hell going to kill Greg for not only stealing Kevin's pride and joy, and for absolutely being the one responsible for telling Gil where they could find the field kits they were wielding, but for leading civilians out to a potentially lethal situation without so much as a goddamn phone call as a courtesy.

Which thought promptly reminded him he had no cell reception.

"Don't think I'm not going to kill you later," he growled, wiping the smile off Sanders' face. "And McGee too. Smart money would be on him telling you where to find us."

Greg, abashed, but only slightly, decided his best bet was to stay in the cab.

"Let us help," Calleigh said firmly. "It seems the least we can do."

Grissom had a strange expression however, one that seemed more than normally disgruntled at there having been a crime take place for which his presence was not instantly and officially requested. "Or were you forgetting what most of us actually do for a living?"

Nick rolled his eyes, doubting that such a thing was even possible.

"Abby is in the lab, standing by for whatever we can bring her." Kate had been steadily trained on the techniques needed in evidence gathering, and was eager to get working. "We all want to contribute here," she continued, smiling most charmingly at the Clan's Leader.

"Strictly speaking," Warrick interjected, not exactly sure how much any of them had been told, or had come to expect, "Vampires don't leave their DNA behind. Or much else in the way of retrievable evidence."

"Now that's not strictly true, is it Nicky?" Gil smirked at him knowingly. "We found you through a fingerprint pressed into honey on a coffee mug."

"Locard's Principle," Calleigh affirmed. "Everyone leaves trace of themselves somewhere."

"This is a dangerous area, ma'am," Noah said quietly. "There could still be Rogue Vamps out there, and the vegetation is dense."

Nick was about to open his mouth and tell them to wait, when Van Helsing appeared, trudging down the path to the ruined gates, hat in hand, wiping his brow with the sleeve of his coat. "We're good," he said simply. "Site is clear to a perimeter of three miles." He nodded chivalrously at the ladies, and stopped before his Clan Leader. "Timothy is found?"

"Yes," came the curt reply.

"Good," came the equally curt response. "You called for forensics already?"

Nick sighed. "Not exactly, but they're going to examine this mess anyway. Co-ordinate with Doctor Grissom as senior investigator."

"You're not going to help?" Gil asked, finding himself being referred to like he wasn't really there. It didn't sit well on his shoulders.

"I'm going to be with my son," Nick snapped, at the very end of the very last thread of the very final piece of rope that marked his very exhausted sanity.

And with that, he promptly climbed into the front passenger seat of the blue truck, ordered Greg to take him back to the Manor, and paused just long enough to let Warrick jump into the backseat before they were turning around on the narrow access road, and peeling out of there with furious haste.

"Is it always like this?" Kate asked Van Helsing.

Calleigh snorted in amusement.

"Sometimes it's worse," Sylum's Lead Hunter replied grimly. "But not by much."


***


Having earned her nursing experience in assorted war zones - both of the battlefield and inner city variety - Carol Hathaway was a force to be reckoned with when it came to the Emergency Room, and patient assessment.

Not one for being bored, wasting time, or failing to offer her considerable talents to those in need of help, she had recently turned her attention to the setting up of a series of clinics across New Orleans for the poor and homeless. They were modeled after similar examples she had helped to direct in New York, Chicago and Los Angeles, all of which were funded by an international health foundation which had been started some time before, under the purview of the Second-in-Command at Lealta Clan in Italy.

Workload usually kept her in the city, where she had an office, a Chosen One for a Personal Assistant, and a small townhouse in the Garden District.

It was from the latter, that she was fleeing as the result of a 911 emergency message sent from Dr. Rossi at Sylum Manor, and in the process she ran straight across Riddick and Diego, who had come to her wondering if any of her staff at the clinics had picked up on anything concerning the disturbing appearance of Gregory Stillson in the city.

"No time to chat today guys!" She waved them off, heading for her car, her long dark hair whipping over her shoulders.

She was a woman of classic beauty, and utter determination, reflecting not only her ancestry in the lineage of Morgan - who sat on the Vampire community's Ruling Council - but also the heritage of her Soul, as one of the five lost daughters of Ra's Al-Ghul.

"Places to go! People to mend!" she cried, rummaging in her coat pocket for her car keys.

And she was gone before either man could even so much as say hello.

Which rather left them with not very much to go on but some half overheard rumors that a bare handful of their own Chosen Ones had mentioned, about a man with a goatee looking to recruit locals who worked on the Sylum Estate, for a more lucrative financial recompense than their current employer might be offering. No one knew if the man was dangerous or just stupid, but the people of New Orleans were generally more than cautious at even the most seemingly casual mention of Sylum by individuals from out of town, and as far as anyone could actually tell, nobody had seen the man for weeks since then.

On a simple day, it would likely have been treated as no more than a curious attempt at trying to substantiate information by some person or persons unknown, who couldn't tell whether they had a lead on tracking the existence of Vampires, or not.

But it was not a simple day.

They were trying to determine their best course of action, and whether to start door to door in the Square where Riddick had managed to grab an angry and astonished Megan Donner from the arms of one of the most annoying enemies they had the misfortune of knowing, when their answer arrived with a cryptic text message from Nico.

Richelieu alive. Believed at Monteleone Hotel. Observe and report. Use EXTREME caution.

Riddick stared at the tiny screen on his phone. "Who the hell is Reesh-Loo?"

Diego frowned. The name was not unfamiliar, but without context he had no notion of its relevance to their situation. "Let us go the hotel, and find out," he shrugged.

Carol arrived at the Manor approximately twenty minutes before her inbound patient, and while she was more accustomed to receiving rapid fire briefings on the fly than most people really imagined, she was startled by the information that came at her from the Clan's Psychiatrist, and she prepped fast as he talked.

Giovanni Rossi was not a medical doctor, but he knew his way around the Emergency Room well enough to be more a useful pair of hands than an actual treatment specialist.

His field of expertise was definitely mental, not physical, and he spent his time when not dealing with the many and varied mindsets of Sylum Clan's Vampire community, consulting with the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit as a Forensic Psychologist.

His personal acquaintance with Nicolaus Valerius Meridius, had begun with a period of time he was apt to refer to as 'The Civilizing of Warrick Calhoun', when the erstwhile Pirate Captain had been forced by both the nature of his Bond and the circumstances of his really rather vicious, blood thirsty, and life threatening occupation, to turn his attention to future matters beyond the more immediate confines of his ship, into the waiting arms of a potentially eternal existence where seafaring bandits were neither vast in number, nor of desperate concern.

The doctor had, as Nico himself so very kindly put it, a face that made it seem as though he was more likely thinking about what he wanted for lunch, than actually paying attention to what you were saying. But he was okay with him saying that, he had been called many unpleasant things in his life, and such moments served only to help him better appreciate the compliments.

Which was exactly what he believed his Clan Leader's assessment was.

Complimentaro.

Said with a smile, of course.

No one was smiling however, when their patient arrived, though Carol was glad to see Ducky. She always figured there might be a time one day, to finally train as a doctor, and qualify for giving a greater level of medical treatment than she already did, but it was a commitment she never really quite had time for.

"Ah! My dear! How wonderful to see you!" Dr. Mallard was polite, and as courteous as ever. Which on occasion was rather jarring in an ER where brusque, business like efficiency and tensely snapped orders were the more usual rule.

What she seriously wasn't expecting, when Jimmy brought the car around to the front reception of Sylum's small hospital unit, was the grimly attentive redhead who carefully took Timothy in his arms, bore him quickly into the building, and placed him on the waiting gurney.

She had not been forewarned that their Clan Advisor had finally gotten his Mate, for though they had yet to be formally introduced, she knew from the man's expression alone that he was Bonded to Speed. She had seen similar moments of crisis, written all too large on the faces of too many other Vampires for it to go unnoticed.

"We'll take him from here," she said firmly, nodding at the Mate, wanting him to understand that he could trust her.

And thankfully it was Jimmy who hauled Horatio back from trying to flail, as things were snatched, quite literally from his grasp, as well as his control.

The drive home had been a lesson in emotional restraint for him, that verged on reigniting old memories of the struggle he had endured growing up in an abusive and violent New York household. He had developed a fierce streak of stoicism from back then, that only shattered when he was pushed beyond the limits of his own personal fortitude.

Such was the one trait he had been instructed to obtain as a boy.

Fortitude.

The Priest who had been his friend when he was a youngster, who encouraged him to serve at the Altar, and harbored hopes of him one day entering the Seminary, would have been proud of all that his former charge had achieved, if quite genuinely shocked at how it had been done. Though probably not nearly as horrified, nor as confused by the Vampire being real, as Horatio had himself been. Still, the concept of becoming a man of great fortitude, had been set in place by Father Cabot, and such was how the older of the two Caine brothers had chosen to enter the world.

Until Timothy Quinn melted every ounce of resolve he had ever possessed, and left him needing an altogether very different depth of fortitude with which to accept the difficulties of his 'undead' life, and all its contradictions.

His disgust and outrage at what Speed had apparently been forced to endure, left him shaking with frustration at not only being unable to prevent any of it, but at being entirely unable to have stopped it from happening, at all. And he felt the righteous indignation at his continued inability to do anything, begin manifesting itself in extreme anger, which resulted in a kick that he launched at the Assessment Room door, as Speed was wheeled inside and taken out of his reach.

The Bond was quiet though, which in itself seemed highly distracting until he reasoned with some decent logic and at least some immediate sense of rational thought, that Tim had finally passed out completely.

It had been immensely strange to hear him utter not a single sound on the ride home, when he could feel through the Bond such an intensity of pain and indignation. Truly, he thought he was going insane with all the contradictions that assailed him, and just kept on coming.

Jimmy abruptly withdrew to see to the car, and determine whether he should return to Ellislie. That he'd not received any desperate messages for every available Hunter to get up there ASAP, was at least a blessing, and he was feeling no uncertainty or anxiety from Noah.

He did rather want to stick around with his Sire's Mate, but he knew well enough when to back the hell off and let a man have his moment of coming to terms with the issue at hand.

Nicolaus arrived twenty minutes later, in the same damn blue truck they had skirted past on the way out of the old ruined Plantation.

Warrick had the increasing sense that he'd missed something while he'd been Hunting down Rogues and running his ass off in the undergrowth, but he figured there would be time to catch up sooner or later. The rigid tension underlying his Bond with Nick, had taken on a razor sharp edge that he knew from long experience tended to herald secrets rising out of nowhere to come bite them on the ass.

"What's happening?" Horatio demanded.

Too agitated to sit on one of the long, low, actually very nicely padded benches in the waiting area by the main entrance, he had been pacing around for the wont of something better to do, deliberately forcing from his mind the many recollections he suddenly had, of all those occasions in his life when he'd been standing in similar places, awaiting news, his heart in his mouth, his chest tight, his brain refusing to contemplate any other scenario but the most immediate.

"My question to you, I think," Nick replied, for he too had felt his Childe pass out. "Get used to being the one stood here." He patted the redhead between the shoulder blades. "Your Mate has a tendency to get himself in some difficult situations."

"You think I don't know that?" The last thing Horatio needed, was placating. "Get in there, and find out what's going on! You're the Clan Leader! They'll talk to you."

"Funny thing about doctors is they always count as 2 ranks above the most senior person in the room."

"That's my Mate lying in there!" The fury lurking just below Horatio's skin was like an itch he couldn't scratch.

"And you have every right to be pissed off about what's happened to him, but remember something here, okay? What you feel, he feels too. You need to calm down."

"What I need is to get my hands on whoever did this!"

Outside, Warrick ordered Greg to fill up Kevin's truck and return it to the man immediately.

There had been a great deal of growling on the drive back to Sylum, mostly whenever Greg tried to open his mouth and say something, so he knew better than to argue with his instructions. Though he knew he'd done a helpful thing getting people out to Ellislie, he at least figured the timing had been his biggest screw up. But to redeem himself he'd go wait in the lab and process evidence. He knew how to do that without getting his ass handed to him for being too efficient.

Warrick felt the need to be at Nick's side, and wondered whether there was any way to get messages to the investigators without sending someone else into Mississippi.

"Hey! News on Tim?" he asked, sensing the tension spike. "Or d'you two want some privacy so you can hit each other?" He stayed right in the doorway, just in case he needed a very fast exit and a clear shot at reaching the tree line for cover.

Horatio glared at his flippancy, and was about to respond when the double doors to the Assessment Room snuck open just enough to let Dr. Mallard out.

For a fleeting second, as Ducky took a breath and composed his thoughts, Warrick had no idea whether he'd have to hold back Nick or the redhead, or possibly both.

"Goodness! Nicolaus, you got here fast." Ducky smiled at his Clan's Leader warmly. "I'm rather pleased not to be explaining the situation twice."

Horatio could not have cared less by then about how the doctor felt. "I have to see him."

"You will. Just not yet. He has not been able to tell us what exactly happened, but I can confirm that he was hit by a dart in the region of the right side of the lower neck. The drug is most potent, and the dear boy has recovered neither functionality of the limbs, nor extremities. Nor does he yet have the power of speech in any way. There was some very noticeable redness of the eyes, and I am tempted to postulate that whatever he was dosed with, it may have denied him absolutely all movement completely, including the ocular muscles. If it was given to a human being, it would be lethal. Or perhaps it would facilitate a long and lingering death. After all, it is not…"

"Ducky!" Nick growled. "Theorize later, okay?"

"Ah! Hmm, of course. Well now, there were no defensive wounds that I could find, which suggests Tim was drugged immediately, and has remained so. His injuries are consistent with a sustained beating from either a whip or a switch. Possibly both. In several places he has been cut to the bone, but stitches have been placed to encourage healing all the faster. There is damage to the back, shoulders, chest, buttocks and thighs. Definite blood loss but not critical levels."

Nick put a hand on Horatio's shoulder for moral support.

As well as restraint.

"There has been some damage to the anal region…" Normally the doctor would have taken his patient's most immediate spouse or next of kin aside, to discuss such matters privately and discreetly, but when it came to Vampires, there was absolutely no point in making people who needed to know the facts, repeat everything over and over like a bad version of Chinese Whispers. "…most likely from the forcible insertion of a large, blunt object not designed for that purpose. Some bruising has occurred internally, and some tearing externally. It will heal fully once he can drop his fangs and Feed properly, but for now he is receiving fresh bagged blood intravenously."

Noting the confusion that worked its way over the redhead's face, reminded Ducky that the poor man had barely been a Vampire for a week by then.

"Let me explain this. Blood which is drunk and works its way through the digestive system, helps heal and replenish a Vampire, but not as fast as blood that goes directly to the bloodstream itself from a bite. Intravenous blood, like a transfusion, is therapeutically somewhere between those two options. It's faster than drinking and processing digestively. But it bypasses the action of the fangs, and that is quite probably the most vital element to a Vampire. Everything relates in Vampire terms, to the power of biting. I mean, after all, it's how a Vampire is born!"

Horatio frowned, knowing only that he needed to be beside his Mate in the worst possible way. "I will see him, now!" And with that, he moved left toward the doors that had been in his way for far too long.

"No! No, no!" Nick held onto him. "We do as the doctor tells us. Okay?"

Warrick snorted softly, well able to recall more than one occasion - not all of which lay in the dim and distant past - when his Mate had been absolutely the very last person to ever even see a doctor, let alone listen to one's advice.

"Timothy is asleep. Carol is with him. As soon as the drug is fully flushed from his system, we can remove the IV," Ducky continued. "Then Carol will clean him up and we'll move him to one of the Recovery Rooms. You can see him then. I promise."

"Sleep is good," Nick murmured.

Unable to express himself with the words required to not actually offend or outrage anyone, Horatio shrugged free of Nick's grasp, shoved his way past Warrick, and stalked outside.

Just a brief pause later, there came the sound of splintering wood.

Ducky - having been witness courtesy of his particular profession, to those times in the lives of his patients and their families when there was either the most enormous triumph, the most debilitating defeat, or every other emotion in between - sighed heavily at no one in particular. As far as Vampires were concerned, he had clearly recognized rather early on in his association with them, that they were prone to a most serious intensity of emotion that often ran equally to the intensity of their senses. And when expressed, it was probably better not to interfere.

He flinched noticeably at the apparent violance being done to a defenseless tree, but could hardly blame the poor Vampire who was doing it, and from the look on Nick's face, he felt rather astonished that the redhead was not being freely accompanied in his arboreal destruction.

Warrick sighed too, with hard won patience, absorbing his Mate's pain with practiced grace. Such was not their first experience of dealing with violence inflicted on one of their own, and he knew full well that for Nick there was a degree of personal vehemence brewing that would not be alleviated with kind words and comforting hugs.

To hurt one of his children, was to hurt him.

To hurt him, was to pay for that mistake.

Few things in life were more simple than that.

It took Horatio a little more time to calm himself, yet when he reappeared in the hospital, he was still very much his own, perfectly attired, utterly unruffled self.

"Tell me who did this to my Mate," he said quietly.

"She's dead," Nick replied. "You have my word on that, and the word of the person who killed her."

"She?" Warrick demanded.

"This was done by a woman?" Horatio frowned darkly, having fully believed that only a man could possibly have committed such deeds.

"The man whom I believe to be responsible for instigating all this, is currently under surveillance in the city." Nick had no choice but to tell it like it was. "This information is between us alone. At least for now."

Some of the quite justifiable rigidity in Horatio's spine suddenly left him, and he sagged, albeit just a little. "What the hell is the meaning of all this?"

"Old enemies. Old enough to have been thought a very long time dead." Sylum's Clan Leader was still shocked by it, and knew they could probably hear so in his voice. "The woman who hurt Speed was trying to Mate with him."

"What!?" Horatio yelled, pushed yet again into the same anger that had barely begun dissipating. "Why? Is that even possible? He has a Mate!!"

"Who?" Warrick demanded. "Who was she?"

"You don't know her. Neither of you do. I'm pretty sure Speed didn't know her either until today. But yes, it is possible, just not with someone already Bonded, or someone with a hell of a stubborn streak." Nick rubbed the back of his neck where it was aching like a bitch.

"Like father, like son," Ducky said pointedly.

"Proudly," Warrick answered, grinning.

"Is there any chance of finding out what he was drugged with?" Nick wanted answers to more than one question.

But Ducky looked at his Clan Leader like he'd gone insane. "You of all people, being a CSI, know how very hard it is to determine that, especially with it already working out of his system. I've taken swabs from around the injection site, and Gerald will get them to Abby shortly, but we don't yet have the reagent that Marie has been working on to preserve Vampire blood and tissue specimens. I know she has had some quite remarkable successes, but until she's ready to produce it in quantities that exceed the purely experimental, there's no way we can test Vampire specimens thoroughly."

"Marie?" Horatio asked.

"As in Curie," Nick answered. "Yes, that Marie Curie. She has a research facility in Switzerland."

"She's a Vampire?" Though the redhead wasn't entirely sure why he even uttered such a stupid question. "Wait! What else would she be?" He rolled his eyes, needing something to do that was more useful than standing around, reacting like an utter idiot.

In the end it was Warrick who took pity on him, recognizing that expression for what it was, and as Nick's cell began distracting him from the doctor's concerns, so the Pirate snuck off with their Clan Advisor's Mate, leading him by the arm, out of the opposite side of the building, into a night that seemed to have gotten very dark, very fast.

Horatio, his Vampire eyes adjusting with increasing ease to the differences in whatever environment he suddenly found himself in, realized they were walking on a neatly lined gravel path that ran around a small reed ringed duck pond, which was illuminated by a series of glowing lights on shoulder high metal stalks, that reminded him of some weirdly wonderful modern art display. There were long, wooden benches further back too, surrounded by trees, bushes and flowers. It was tranquil. A place for unwinding, or recovering.

Across the other side of the water, an identical door sat in perfect symmetry to the one behind him, and he figured it was the rear entrance to the forensic lab he'd been heading for earlier that same morning.

Though he would have to confess that it felt more like a decade had passed him by since then, rather than just a few short hours.

Thankfully, he discovered it to be a place he was far more at home in than a hospital, and Abby waved at him excitedly, spinning her chair around from the workstation she'd been sitting at.

"You've met?" Warrick asked, having not really kept any track of who knew who from where, why and how. "Great! Then no need for me to hang out and get you guys settled. We have everything you need here. You know how it all works. I'll make sure Dr. Mallard knows you're in here. He'll get you when Tim's awake."

Horatio nodded, watching Abby wave again, gesturing wildly for him to come and see whatever it was she had been examining, and by the time he turned to say thank you to Warrick, the man was gone.

"Lieutenant, where have you been? Calleigh said I should absolutely talk to you if I found anything. She went off with Kate and someone called Grissom, to the place where they found the Clan Advisor. But you probably know that already, being that you're his Mate. Which actually makes me his sister. And you, kind of like my brother-in-law. At least I think that's how it works. Tim's my brother from like way back in the distant past, and I was his little sister. So yeah, I'm not a Vampire yet. I will be. But stuff has gotten suddenly like really way complicated around here now, and I don't think this is the right time to talk about that yet. I feel like I've been here forever though. Which, I guess, I probably have, seeing how old Souls all gather together and like totally move around each other."

Abigail talked a lot with her hands, in a very animated way, that had been a little startling at first over the breakfast table, and seemed all the more energetic in the lab.

"I don't remember Speed talking about you," Horatio admitted, frowning.

"That's only because he doesn't know about me yet," she replied, beaming at him like it all made perfectly rational sense.

He had a vague memory of her throwing herself at Nick, and of there being a lot of shouting, but his attention had been increasingly drawn to Speed while all that was going on, and though he had some recollection of it taking place, he couldn't quite recall all the details. It was annoying. Like knowing there was an important meeting he'd forgotten to attend.

"Do you have some information for me?" he asked, not really sure when Calleigh had gone to the old Plantation, or even if he'd heard Abby right, but there came at least some relief in knowing a trusted CSI he could thoroughly rely on, was out in the field on Speed's behalf. It restored him a certain sense of the proper purpose in things.

"I do!" the Goth girl beamed. "Take a look at this!"

And from the workbench behind her, she produced a small, clear plastic evidence bag in which sat a disposable injector of the type that would be most familiar to animal handlers, game wardens, and zoologists the world over. It was made for remote drug delivery, or the insertion of radio tags.

"This thing is very cool!" Abby enthused. "Poly-carbonate and aluminum. They're usually color coded for size and type, but this one isn't. It has an unusual flight stabilizer arrangement that makes it really more accurate than normal. I'd have to test it some more to be sure, but it's very hi-tech. It's designed to be fired from an air or CO2 pistol, or rifle. Smooth bore. It holds 10cc of whatever drug you want, and gets injected by a small explosive charge that goes off on impact. This one is super cool because it has a tiny LED that flashes to ensure a visual confirmation on successful delivery."

"This was used on Speed?" Horatio could, despite holding the dart up to the bright fluorescent overhead lights, see no sign of there having been a substance in the injector.

"This wasn't used at all. Someone may have dropped it. Sadly there's no usable prints, no drug, not even a serial number." She sighed. "I'm going to start researching manufacturers."

"Where was this found?"

"Blade picked it up, near where he found Tim's bike."

"Why have a dart with no drug in it?" Horatio found that he was frowning way more than usual. "An experienced marksman would have his darts preloaded before going after his target."

"Totally! So maybe whoever did the shooting, discarded the one that wasn't filled?" Abby had already been contemplating the same problem.

"Or it was left on purpose to make us waste our time."

"Ha!" She looked him up and down appreciatively. "Now, you're talking! It's a conspiracy. I love it!"


***




Nick sat in the dark, away from the lights around the pond.

He needed to talk to an old friend, one who would understand the significance of what was taking place, and see it from a whole new perspective.

"D'you have any idea what time it is?"

Sylum's Clan Leader smirked as his call was picked up on the other end. "Do I ever?" he snorted, hearing some very disgruntled muttering from his friend's long suffering Mate. "Pardonez moi, Arnaud."

That got him the attention he was seeking.

"What is wrong?" Javert asked, struggling to sit up in bed, letting his Mate squirm out from beneath him, pulling the blankets off his bare ass and leaving him chilled in the process.

It was just past 3am in France, and he hadn't had any serious time to be alone with Valjean in months. The last thing he either needed, or wanted, was any kind of interruption, but there were certain circumstances that could never be ignored, just by sheer weight of history.

"I have news you need to hear."

"That couldn't wait?"

Nick glanced over at the lights on in the hospital. "No." He was smart enough to know what he'd gotten in the way of for his old comrade, but there was no changing it. "Elise de la Serre is dead."

There was a long pause from Paris.

"That name should be familiar," Javert said at last, having managed to sit up against the pillows.

"It should. She was Sabine's little minion. Enjoyed Clay's favors a couple of times while trying to get close to us."

"Blamed me for her father dropping dead."

"Did she have good reason?"

"He knew I was coming for him."

Nick snorted again. "Yeah, that would do it."

Javert watched his Mate roll over away from him, effectively stealing the remaining bed clothes. "So she's dead. Where's Sabine?"

"That's for you to tell me."

"Merci beaucoup, mon ami. What else? Do you want me to investigate her death?" He put his left hand on Valjean's right hip, and squeezed gently.

"I already know how she met her end. And I have no problem with it seeing that she was torturing my Timothy to try and create a False Bond."

"What?!"

"Turns out she had a special penchant for Irishmen, and would have Mated to…"

"Seamus Cormac!! Ah! Merde!!!"

Nick could only agree as he was interrupted. "It gets worse."

He explained about the drug, the details Aveline had been privy to, and the apparent continued existence of former Cardinal, Armand Jean du Plessis, Cardinal-Duke of Richelieu and Fronsac.

"Can you tell me most importantly, right now, if there are any records anywhere in Interpol, of a drug being capable of such complete paralysis, being used in a criminal case? I need to get this shit identified. If you've got nothing recent, I need to be told the minute it shows up. And I mean, anywhere at all."

"Consider it done. As soon as I know, you will know. How is your son?"

"He has a Mate he's Bonded to at last. Happened just days before all this. He will recover. They both will." Nick sighed. "I need to know where Richelieu's been. We've always known that Rochefort was still around, but his boss too? Someone's been hiding him. I very much doubt he's stayed in Russia all this time, and like a swallow to Capistrano, I'd bet good money he's been in France."

"More pointedly, how did no one know? That he was instrumental in pushing France to revolution does not shock me, old friend. But how is it possible that he was so universally believed dead, yet now is not?"

It was the anger in Javert's tone that made Valjean turn and sit up in concern. He knew his Mate's moods, sometimes better than even his Mate did, and there was always a certain fear crept mercilessly down his spine whenever talk of the Revolution came about.

"I'm going to have to leave that with you too. Dastan will have Nikolai check in. You know how to reach me."

"Always, Nicolaus. I know who you suspect."

"I need evidence, Inspector."

"Of course," Javert sighed, warmed as his Mate put one of the blankets over his legs. "Do you need help, right now over there?"

"I doubt you'd get here soon enough, but if you can help pick up the pieces…" Nick left that thought hanging, his head spinning with too many possibilities.

"You think it will come to that?"

"Richelieu sent his very own crazy pet bitch to rape my son. Given past experience, and what Marcus did to my babies in Rome, I don't think he's going to knock politely on the front door and ask permission before he steals my Clan out from under me."

Javert growled angrily. "I'm on my way."

And the phone when dead before Nick could say another damn thing.

He glared at it as Warrick sat down beside him and pulled him in close.

"Richelieu, huh?" the Pirate asked, hugging him against his chest. "You should've told me before this."

"I didn't want to make it real."

"Qui desiderat pacem, praeparet bellum," Warrick murmured, voicing the wise old Latin motto to remind his stubborn Roman that he was never alone, no matter how heavy the darkness that surrounded him. "Call Imenand."

"No! Council drama? Now?" The shudder than ran through Sylum's Clan Leader then, was not entirely born from the thought of having to deliberately air his personal family history for the consumption of those amongst their esteemed number whom he knew he could never count as friends. "I just want to see my son," he whined, sinking into his Mate's strong shoulders. "This was never something I'd imagined."

"We'll find the answers. We're good at that. And our boy is strong. Stronger now, with his Mate."

Nick knew it was true. "He blew the shit out of that gate!"

Warrick's chuckle was rich and deep, vibrating up from his stomach. "That was pretty epic!"

"He's going to be good for Tim. I can see it already."

"Talk about getting a baptism of fire into Vampire life."

"Were we any better? Really?"

Warrick looked away, his eyes narrowing. "We should check on Jethro."

"Yeah, there's another mess to deal with right in the middle of all this."

"You think my Mate won't be able to fight for us as hard, now he's a Vampire?" Tony demanded, stepping from the path a few feet to their left. "Because I know he will."

Warrick leapt to his feet. "Were you spying on us?" There was a hint of defensiveness to his voice that countered the words of their Second-in-Command.

"I was coming to see my brother. No one saw fit to even tell me he was home, until Carol called Thomas to ask for some clothes for Squirt, and I happened to run into him on the stairs." He held up a small overnight bag. "Should I ask what's happening? Or shall I wait for Artemus to put it in the monthly bulletin?"

Nick rolled his eyes at all the theatrical bullshit. "Give that to Warrick, then come sit down. We need to talk."

Sylum's Co-Leader took the leather handles he was gladly offered, and figured there were at least 3 books in the little luggage case. He smirked, shook his head, and trotted over to the hospital, hoping he would not be forced to pull Nick and Tony apart when he got back.

In the lab, Horatio settled himself with the discipline of science. It had always been his means of controlling the tendencies that came with having red hair and an Irish temper. It focused his mind, gave his hands something worthwhile to do, and let him find time to calm his Soul.

He therefore felt it, when Speed woke up an hour and a half later, just as he was standing over Greg, watching him scroll through lists of manufacturers currently producing high specification injector darts.

He hadn't been too sure what to make of the scruffy, wide eyed, crazy haired youngster who introduced himself as a DNA analysis expert from Las Vegas, but he'd liked his brazen audacity when he'd looked him straight in the eye as they shook hands.

Working with Abby on the gun from the day before, had proven to be a really interesting experience in efficiency, and she'd joked with him about needing some Heavy Metal, Garage, or Grunge playing in the lab so she could concentrate better and work a lot faster.

They were testing a second, as yet unidentified substance on the screws that held the shoulder plate to the stock. The fingerprints and partial smudges were still running through several databases, and Greg had been most eager to help them out with everything else in between.

In the space of less than five minutes online, he found a South African company producing projectiles designs for wild animal injection purposes, tagging, scaring, and taking biopsy samples, but none were of quite the same type in terms of color, gel barbs or flight shape.

"Maybe it's homemade?" Greg put that idea out to see if it was worth assessing. "I mean, folk make their own ammo. We've got all the gear for that here."

Horatio stood back, his hands on his hips. "Start looking into what that would involve."

Abby was dealing with the swabs from Speed that came over to them courtesy of a black man she called Gerald, who somehow, for all his physical size and obviously very serious attitude toward his job, managed to be both reassuringly kind and professional in the face of stress.

When Horatio heard the phone go off on the wall by the door, he actually surprised himself how fast he got to it, recognizing more frequently, the ways in which the Vampire served to enhance his reaction times and his purpose of movement.

"Lieutenant?" Ducky was nothing if not polite.

"Yes!"

"Please come back over now, and bring Gregory with you. Timothy is in need of Feeding from a Chosen One, and young Sanders has the necessary experience to handle a ravenous Vampire."

"On our way."

Greg checked his cell. "First evidence bags inbound from Ellislie in 45 minutes."

"Just enough time. Come with me." And before there could be even the slightest hint of argument, Horatio took the boy by the collar and yanked him out of there.

Abby glanced up from the microscope she'd just been peering into, suddenly realizing she was quite alone.

"No, no," she muttered with a frown, "I'm fine here. Don't worry about me, or anything. It's not like I don't work alone in my own lab anyway." She shrugged, and was contemplating her music choices and the potential for actually playing it loud enough, when the door slid open again.

"I'm not done here!" she said firmly. "This stuff takes time but feel free to grab a test tube and get stuck in…"

"Don't mind if I do."

She leapt out of her seat at the stranger's voice that answered her, having actually expected it to be Nick, or maybe his Mate coming in after Horatio and Greg slipped away. When she turned around however, she found someone entirely different standing there, a coffee mug in his left hand, a casual slant to his shoulder, a shy smile on his lips.

He was quite possibly, for all his lanky limbed, dark eyed, messy haired, black clad, distinctly Gothic appearance, the most handsome and striking man she had ever seen - and that included Leroy Jethro Gibbs who until that moment had been at the very top of her list of the most incredible men she'd had the joy of finding in her life.

"Hi!" she squeaked, feeling herself blush.

"Hi!" he smirked back.

Though for all the world he seemed entirely calm and at ease, Ichabod Crane was thrashing around on the inside like Captain Sparrow had taken up residence in his digestive system.

No one had told him there was somebody in the lab already.

"I'm Abby," she squeaked again.

When the wonderful girl with the jet black hair, the thumb rings and the elaborate tattoo on the back of her neck, actually spoke to him, all he got was a buzzing sound in his ears, and when she stood up to offer him her hand, he nearly fell over, so stunning was the vision before his eyes.

He gulped, nearly spilling the blood in his coffee mug.

"I was working. Working in my room downstairs. I never…" He had no idea he was looking her over with a lecherous mixture of horrified astonishment and badly disguised lust. "I mean, no one told me… It was an experiment. I had it running. There was a strange feeling, but my Sire was never a Vampire to much…" He laughed and hiccupped at the same time. "And here you are. My Mate! I should've known you'd come back to me like this!"

His smile was so charming, so sweetly youthful and innocent, that Abby very nearly threw herself at him and Claimed him there and then.

"I know," she purred, hips swaying as she walked toward him. "It's good to see you too, Ichy."

While Fate was drawing old Souls together again in the lab, those who had already faced the first hurdle in accepting their unified destiny, were coming to others as yet unclimbed. Although, for Horatio it was hardly the first time he'd seen Timothy so pale and unmoving while in medical care. And while he knew that there would be no lasting or lingering physical traumas from what had happened, it didn't make the moment any easier to handle, or assuage his concern for the psychological ramifications of Speed's abduction either.

His own was pretty questionable by then too.

"He has not yet reacquired the power of speech," Dr. Mallard began, leading him and Greg through the back door and around to the right, along a very typical hospital corridor to the last door on the right hand side.

"What? Why?" Not surprisingly, Horatio was confused, his anxiety perhaps not quite as controlled as he'd thought.

"Because the drug was exceptionally powerful," Ducky continued, one hand on the door knob, pausing before he opened it. "He has returning use of his hands and fingers. His feet and legs are stiff, but he is moving them, and is capable of sitting up. He can also drop his fangs, so your blood is very much required Mr. Sanders. Are you particularly caffeinated right now?"

Greg snorted. "I wish."

"Excellent! Timothy is naturally very hungry. You know how this can be," the doctor said sternly. "Horatio? This is your Mate, and as such, you have the power to control what is about to happen. Sit on the bed behind him. Be his physical support. As he Feeds, you will need to urge him to show restraint. Talking is known to help. You will basically be keeping your Mate from completely draining the Chosen One he is Feeding from, or doing him sufficient harm that the last possible recourse would be to Turn him. A ravenous Vampire can be very dangerous. Considering your own personal experience, having been so recently Turned yourself, I feel confidant you can recall the same hunger."

Horatio nodded quickly.

"Are you ready?" Ducky eyed the two of them carefully.

Greg also nodded. "If he takes too much, I'm just gonna crash here, okay?"

"We have a bed ready, just in case."

The Recovery Room was lit peacefully, the short, functional curtains neatly pulled, and there were no sounds from hideously beeping medical equipment. It was a relief in some ways, to counteract the frustration that was reaching Horatio most strongly through the Bond.

Speed lay on his left side, eyes closed, his body wrapped around a full length pillow. A white sheet covered him from the waist down, and allowed him some small comfort, though his face betrayed the pain he was trying to contend with.

Despite wanting to hold his Mate, the scars that were more than apparent - for all their various stages of healing - had the redhead nervous about touching him and causing more harm. For what felt like the weirdest, most disjointed moment of hesitation, as the Vampire took control of impulse and reaction, moving him forward, urging his response, he fumbled with both word and action until, in the end, he found himself in the chair by the bed, slowly stroking Speed's hair with the same repetitious motion one would normally use on the family dog. Somewhere inside him though, lay a desperately increasing urgency to Claim what was his, and he had no idea how long such a need could be contained.

Greg slipped his lab coat off, and tugged his sweater over his head, tossing them on the foot of the bed. "Hey, Speedie! Supper's here."

Ducky put himself firmly in the doorway, watching everything.

When Tim's eyes flickered open, the first person he saw was his Mate. A hundred million words washed over him, but none were quite what he wanted to say, and there was no way to even voice them, despite trying to and merely coughing.

"Hi," Horatio said gently. "You look a lot better than when we found you."

A wan smile was his answer, and Speed reached out for him, holding tightly to his other hand. He wanted to explain how his body was suffering with intense pins and needles as the ability to move gradually returned, and how he swore he could literally feel the blood moving through his veins.

Clan Doctors and medical specialists had yet to fully fathom in scientific, or even more traditional terms, just how it was possible for the circulatory system in Vampires to maintain itself, given that the heart no longer functioned as the pumping engine to keep it working. It had been recorded previous, that Vampire hearts would on rare occasions, beat once and then stop, as though shocked back to life by some random electrical impulse. But other than that, there were still so very many mysteries surrounding the Vampire species which had to be taken for what they were, and nothing more.

Speed couldn't help but think however, that a human being would have been screaming in endless agony by then.

Greg's heartbeat distracted him.

It was so loud.

Inviting.

Ducky's had been there, constantly in the background, but Greg's was far better.

More youthful.

Faster.

Stronger.

He swallowed, forcing himself to sit up slowly, his bones aching, every muscle creaking like he was truly remembering each of the six and a half centuries since his Turning.

Horatio's arms were a blessing around him, holding and supporting him, keeping him from collapsing. The pains that assailed him then, as his Mate sat behind him offering comfort and warmth, were as nothing. With a clean, solid Feed from a young and vital human being, he knew he would feel so much better, and his fangs dropped with the craving for blood, even as Greg perched beside him to his right hand side.

Horatio held him tighter. "Easy now," he murmured.

Greg smiled encouragingly too. "Take what you need. It's all good. No coffee right now, I swear."

Speed raised his right hand and touched the boy's cheek, wanting to thank him for what was being offered. Such acts were a privilege when given so freely.

Tugging on Greg's hair, he exposed his neck.

It made his mouth water.

Closing his eyes, Speed leaned in a little, and bit down.

Greg relaxed into the physical and emotion context of it all, breathing slow and steady to keep his pulse nice and even. He trusted the Vampires of Sylum, knowing one day he too would be Turned, and join their ranks. His Soul had known it, long before his reason fathomed it out.

Horatio, his words moving naturally into the language of his Soul, kept Speed from losing control. The need was strong, and it burned fiercely, the thirst a tautly held urgency that thrummed through the Bond with keen excitement. He could see how very easy it would be to keep Feeding until there was nothing left to take. It was a power, held between life and death, a rush of craving, an animalistic arousal. Talking kept him grounded too, but he suddenly felt a whole new appreciation for the meaning of 'blood lust'.

Greg was startled out of the sensation by the touch of Ducky's hand on his back.

Speed pulled away, sealing the bite marks, licking his lips.

Horatio watched in fascination as the healing process began in earnest, kicked into almost instant response by fresh sustenance. Raw scars melted into smooth and healthy skin, cuts began sealing, bruises all but evaporating away until only the darker, deeper ones remained.

"How do you feel?" Ducky asked, taking Greg by the wrist and measuring his pulse.

"Bit dizzy."

"We'll get you to Carol. He took a touch too much, so I don't want you leaving here for a couple of hours."

Greg took a deep breath. "Sure." He sounded a little vague.

Speed fell into Horatio's embrace, the tingling in his extremities starting to fade, allowing him to draw his legs up and curl into a ball. And it actually felt good, wiggling his toes as his Mate held him.

"Thank you," Horatio said most sincerely, as Greg stood so Ducky could escort him out.

In the silence that followed, there was only peace.

Horatio, his back to the pillows, sat running his fingers through Speed's hair. It pleased him that his Mate was comfortable enough not to squirm, yet feeling him move even just a tiny amount, made him happy. He wasn't sure exactly what he'd said while Tim drank from Greg, but somewhere in the recess of his memory, he struggled to recall where he'd said it all before.

Just having his Mate in his arms again, meant more than words.

Ducky returned to check on them, slipping discreetly into the room and nodding in approval.

"Can you sleep some more?" he asked, checking Speed's eyes for redness, and pupil response. "Try to sleep if you can." He looked at Horatio. "You doing okay there too?"

"I'm good. Can you pull the body pillow up so he can rest on it again if he needs too? I can't reach."

"Of course! I'm going to get some drops for Tim's eyes. The paralytic froze them to such a degree that he needs to keep them well lubricated for a while."

"I'll make sure he uses it. How's Greg?"

"Lying down. He'll be fine, don't worry. He's been a Chosen One from birth, and knows how to handle the after effects of Feeding." Dr. Mallard fussed over them busily. "Nick will come to see you shortly. He's waiting outside. How are you feeling, young Timothy? Need a painkiller?"

Speed shook his head gently, having had more than his fill of drugs for one day. What he wanted very badly, was to scream, to let loose every ounce of pain and anger that had been building relentlessly inside him. Coughing, frustrated with the inability to speak, he sipped from a glass of water that Horatio held for him, hating the helplessness that left him feeling truly like a baby.

He had actually been quite a restless child, eager to learn, never sleeping long, always reading, working, keen to experience every new opportunity that came his way, and taste every new moment he lived. He had never lost that desire in growing up, and accepted from his Sire how the boy he once had been in Rome - Antonius Maximus Meridius - had been just the same way.

Seeing his Papa again, filled him with assurance and anxiety in equal measure, taking him instantly to the life he knew as Antonius, when the General had been a huge and imposing figure who held him when he was sick, kept him safe when dreams became nightmares, and gave him answers to all his questions.

He wanted to explain it all.

Justify it all.

Ask forgiveness for it all.

His Papa stood in the doorway for a moment, before stepping into the room and approaching the bed…

My little boy.

My Antonius.

All I see is the child I raised and lost.

So small.

Hurt by the world.

By the monsters I could not keep at bay.

He hides his pain.

He always has.

He thinks I need to see him strong and brave.

But on his face I see his fear.

I see him plead with me to make it better.

All I can do is hold him a while, let him feel my strength and my love for him.

This is not our first time in such a place.

History has brought us to hard places before.

Both of us.

But we fight.

Always.

Horatio is reluctant to let go of him, staying watchful and alert.

I understand.

I have felt the same.

He nods as I let him take his Mate once more in his arms.

My boy is safe.

It fills me with relief.

And gratitude to the Gods.

"He should be able to get back to his own bed by tomorrow. I want to monitor his responses too, and ensure his voice returns. I admit I am concerned about his eyes. He will need to Feed again by the morning," Ducky explained, making certain everyone understood what he wanted to see happen next. "A Chosen One would be best. Rossi is eager to see him as well."

Nick nodded. "We've spoken. And I agree."

He'd left Tony talking to their Psychologist out by the pond. One too many memories had resurfaced from unexpected places, and one too many emotions came with them.

Warrick was lurking in the corridor outside, giving an ever steady reassurance through their own Bond, for which Nick felt huge relief.

Speed however, had absolutely no intention of sitting around being treated like a wilting flower of an invalid, and with growing strength he pulled himself free of Horatio's embrace, trying to scoot off the bed. It was annoying the crap out of him that he was being talked about like wasn't even in the room, though everyone was certainly quick enough to reach for him and stop him from going where he wanted most urgently to go.

He coughed, hoping words would come, rolling his eyes at the hands that held him back.

"What?" Nick demanded. "What the hell now? You can't do as you're told and get better? Must you always make it worse?"

Had he the voice he was desperate for, Speed would absolutely have told him to fuck off. He was done, completely and utterly beyond either tolerance or patience, with both himself, and anyone else for that matter.

"Do you want to go to your rooms?" Horatio asked, sensing the confusion and resentment his Mate was enduring. "Get in your own bed for the night?"

That resulted in fiercely assertive nodding.

"Seriously?" Nick frowned, but there was no way he could deny his boy whatever he needed to feel better.

Speed shoved him in the chest just to make sure his point was well understood.

Ducky sighed and shook his head, also getting shoved aside as their Clan Advisor once more made a break for freedom, wiggling his way off the bed, and losing the sheet he'd been under in the process.

Horatio growled possessively at the obvious nakedness that Speed was obviously impervious to.

While Nick absolutely swore blind he was going to start wrapping Vampires over the nose with a rolled up newspaper if they kept making such noises. He was 1000% done with that crap.

It was Dr. Mallard who quickly came to the rescue. "Timothy! If you can get your own pants on, right now, you can go up to your room." He gestured at the overnight bag that was down by the side table, and promptly folded his arms, standing his ground.

Warrick stuck his head in the room when he felt his Mate getting aggravated. "S'up?"

Speed flipped him off.

"That good, huh?" he snarked back.

Horatio slid off the bed and retrieved the sheet, offering his Mate the bag. As far as he was concerned, Tim looked entirely too pale, and seemed way too unsteady to be standing on his own two feet, let alone fighting to get out of there. But having seen the stubborn Irishman stay upright with a barely healed bullet wound to the chest, he knew there was no point arguing too greatly. In fact, there was a large part of him seriously expecting Speed to simply turn around and walk up to the Manor stark naked, just to make a point.

But he didn't.

Instead, Tim retrieved his pants - a pair of dark blue sweats - pulled them on with rather an agony of slow and cautious hand-eye coordination, and nearly fell over his own feet. But he was not one for ever being easily deterred by anything, and he looked decidedly pleased with himself when he was done.

"Very good, young man," Ducky said, smiling at him with serious intent. "I shall have Carol bring a wheelchair to take you to the house."

Speed tried to object, but ended up doubling over with a bout of harsh coughing, whereupon Horatio leapt forward to help him, holding onto him, lending him strength. The bag got forgotten on the floor, yet somehow, despite all the fuss, there were sufficiently rude gestures being made by their Clan Advisor, for even the blind to see precisely what he thought of Ducky's suggestion.

Warrick refused to budge from the doorway. "Tony's out here. He can fetch the chair!"

Speed rolled his eyes massively.

Nick pursed his lips, hoping not to laugh at the farcical nature of what was happening.

And finally, as Horatio scooped his Mate up in his arms, so the doctor relented. "Fetch a blanket instead, would you please?" he asked, pushing their Co-Leader out in the right direction. "Timothy! You are only marginally less stubborn than your Papa. And no, that was not a compliment!"

The two Vampires in question fist bumped in triumph, but Ducky judiciously ignored it, and opened the door more fully, letting Horatio leave just as Warrick came back with a standard grey hospital blanket, that he threw over Speed's shoulders and bare chest.

Nick sighed in exasperation. "Tony!" He followed everyone else out of the room. "Call for Thomas. Tell him fresh blood only. Find staff who can be Fed on. Make sure Tim's rooms are warm and…"

"Already on it!" Their Second-in-Command waved his cell, getting a nasty glare from the doctor, who did not believe that such devices should ever be switched on anywhere near his medical equipment.

Having spent most of that day in Speed's Great Room with the kids, every parent present in the Manor was more than a little peeved at the lack of freedom they were being forced to suffer, and by the time they got their children tucked into bed, it was fortunate they weren't about ready to mutiny.

Alexx and been adamant that something bad was happening, despite all the pleasant assertions from Tom and Huck. Catherine and Yelina had continued to find themselves in mutually companionable conversation, discovering ever more similarities with their experiences as single mothers, that both could draw comfort from. Suzie had been as rapt and fascinated as the kids, listening to their Vampire chaperones tell tales of the Old South, and Peter too had been drawn to the fireside with them as stories were spun of heroic deeds and great virtue. It rather reminded him of listening to his grandma as a boy.

Games were played later - Monopoly and Uno, then Scrabble and Chutes 'n' Ladders.

Food and drink came whenever they asked for it.

Then baths were had.

Showers taken.

Pillows arranged.

And lights turned low.

Suzie found herself becoming a babysitter while the other adults talked, and she took great pride in that responsibility. She had come a long way indeed with her life, since Horatio Caine began encouraging her to truly discover what living meant.

No one failed to notice the growing bond between Madison and Ray Junior; the two of them becoming virtually inseparable until bedtime. There was no challenging it.

And that was that.

By the time Horatio brought his Mate in - utterly determined and unwavering in his intent to get Speed somewhere safe and comfortable - everyone else was asleep, the guest rooms quiet and the doors closed. But Alexx and Catherine still sat in the Great Room, over near the fire, stroking the dogs who were filing the couch space between them. The two women had first met a while before, when working a case that brought Vegas into Miami, and though they hadn't had much time to talk back then, they suddenly discovered that there was a great deal they could share concerning their mutual experience of Vampires. Alexx, having had such knowledge for far longer than Catherine, felt momentarily superior in sharing what she understood. While Catherine filled in the blanks about Nick - or at least, the Nick she had come to know as a CSI.

They were equally startled then, when the main door to that wing of the house flew wide open, and Thomas strode briskly in, urging them back into their seats as they leapt up. He opened the door to Speed's personal rooms and stood back like some protective bodyguard as Horatio appeared and whisked Timothy inside.

It was Warrick who followed close behind, pausing when he realized there was an audience. Until then no one else had seen their rather hurried procession, and he knew he had to stop, at least for a moment, in order to explain what the hell was going on.

Horatio, grim of face, had not really seemed to notice either woman, though Alexx did gasp in surprise at what she saw, and naturally hurried forward to see if she could help.

Nick, distracted by a call from Riddick, stayed outside by the large ornate door to the library, lingering as he listened to his Hunter give a breakdown of events in the city.

"Diego walked right into the hotel, gave the concierge those big pleading eyes of his, and that was it! She spilled everything. I don't know how he does it. My luck, I would get some ugly doofus who'd want a blowjob in exchange for information."

"Thank you so much for loading me up with that particular image."

"You're welcome, General."

"Thank Diego you didn't have to beat the shit out of someone."

"Where's the fun in that?"

Nick snorted. "What d'you know as of right now?"

"Richelieu was here. Booked the best room they have. Been here 8 days. Flashed a lot of money around. Was seen with a man matching Stillson, who was seen with a woman matching Megan. Richelieu was seen with a redheaded woman best described as stunningly beautiful and angelic, with a delightful laugh and sweet smile. If you ask me, the concierge wants a date."

"Too late, she's dead." Nick had seen the feminine charms of Elise de la Serre up close and personal before. And an image of his old friend Clay, his pants around his ankles and his naked ass hammering away between her lewdly spread legs as he fucked her against a wall in a stinking Paris alleyway during the time of the French Revolution, floated inexorably before his eyes.

"The concierge?" Riddick demanded. "How the hell? We just talked…"

"The redhead, dumbass. She was torturing Speed."

Richard's growl was more than just a momentary expression of annoyance. "You kill her?"

"No. But it's done. Where's Richelieu now? Are you watching him?"

"He's not here. Got a description of him though."

Sylum's Clan Leader felt his stomach lurch. "Explain."

"He came in. He vanished. Probably out the back. We followed the chambermaid into his suite. The Bounty Hunter credentials are like an all access pass at Disneyland. He's in the wind, General."

For the moment, Nick was forced to swallow his anger, and with it he nearly choked on what could possibly have taken place had Diego and Riddick charged into that hotel room and found themselves facing off against the same number of Rogues as those camped up at Ellislie.

"Good news is, he left a credit card on file. We're trying to get it, and any phone records that might exist for this suite. Gonna need a Warrant."

Nick actually wanted to hug his Hunter by that point. "You know who to see?"

"Diego's on it."

"Great! Let me know as soon as you get it." Suddenly there was hope again. "Guard that room. I want forensics on it."

"I've not found much. Some clothes. Mostly women's stuff. Pairs of shoes. Nothing big or dangerous to human life."

"I want forensics. Stay there. I'm sending a team. If the hotel manager has a fit, give him my number. I have no problem waking the Mayor."

"Yes, General. Whoever this guy is, he's been mocking us."

"He used his own name for the room?"

"Like he wanted us to know he was here."

"Or he just didn't care if we found out."

"That's arrogant. Has he met us?"

Nick fully appreciated the sarcastic outrage. "Sadly, yes."

The very instant he hung up the call, the Roman was waking other old friends too, and warning them that their most discreet and most valuable services were about to be required.

The first was Hector, once upon a time the Prince of Troy, currently serving as banking and financial advisor to the Vampire Council. Based out of a remarkably humble little office in Geneva, the long dead hero of his day, had discovered many centuries before that he had a certain knack for making money from other people's money, and hiding it where few could ever find it again. He was also not averse to bypassing the law, and failing to inform Imenand of such matters. If anyone could trace a credit card to its owner, and do so without leaving a trace, it was him.

The second was Lucius Malfoy of Mod Clan. A forensic accountant of Viking Heritage, he cultivated a refined air of superiority that was the psychological equivalent of rape and pillage, rather than actual rape and pillage. He was brilliant to the point of being painful, but was little known in the United States, given his preference for European culture, and the desire to stay at least an ocean and a continental landmass away from Timothy Quinn, whom he feared might on some dark and stormy night, accidentally mistake his chiseled good looks for those of William Tavington. That he was in fact blonde haired, more pale of complexion, and very different of smell when compared to his descendant, seemed somehow utterly irrelevant. But he too was more than up for the challenge of discovering where a once long dead foe had gotten his funding. Discretion guaranteed.

That done, Nick turned his attention back to his son, and knew the very instant he set foot in Speed's Great Room, just whom he should send into New Orleans for the night.

Warrick had only marginally begun to feel like he'd calmed Catherine and Alexx, when his Mate's appearance swiftly threw the kibosh on his hopes.

"Nick! Finally!" Catherine was done with being placated.

And Alexx was half a second from going straight to Tim's side, regardless of the consequences.

Warrick tried to open his mouth, but he never so much as got another word out before he was cut off.

"Do I look like Grissom?" Hands on hips, Catherine Willows was both stern of face and stiff of spine, so there was at least something of Gil in her that Nick was almost instantly irked by. "You do not have to keep me stuck here like some helpless teenager needing parental permission to go to the damn Prom! I am more than capable of taking care of myself, and you know that! So what gives?" She kept her voice low enough to be cautious of those asleep in the rooms nearby, yet at the same time she had the kind of air about her that was most familiar to those who worked with her every day.

"It is my responsibility to keep you safe from…"

"Bull!" She cut Nick off too, without a blink. "It's my responsibility to keep Lindsey safe. Yours is to explain yourself."

Warrick stared at her in alarm, wondering if she'd lost her mind.

Alexx, on the other hand, being ever the diplomat, and seeing how the situation had gotten quite unexpectedly tense, attempted to intervene. "Excuse me! I'm sorry, but I think what Catherine is trying to say…"

"I know precisely what she's trying to say, Doctor Woods," Nick replied politely. "And absolutely the very last thing I have to do right now, is explain myself. There are issues at stake that go beyond whether anyone here is comfortable enough."

Catherine huffed. "This house of yours is very comfortable, Nicky. But some of us don't want to sit around being fed and pampered!"

"I don't care what you want. Your bloodline is descended from mine, and I will keep you safe unless you'd rather trust to your whore of a mother, and your mobster of a father."

Alexx felt her jaw drop open.

Catherine flushed, hearing in her colleague's tone the growl of a man who was certainly not the young CSI she'd mistakenly thought she was addressing. She wanted to slap his face for what he'd said, but the authority he radiated, and the command with which he spoke, reminded her that the Vampire - the Roman General of almost 1600 years - was neither a joke, nor a delusion. "Hello, Nicolaus," she said forcefully. "I've been hoping we'd get a proper chance to meet." Then the details of what he'd just told her, hit her square in the head. "Your bloodline?" she squeaked.

"Through your mother. It's distant, but it's there. Your blood is of the Meridii. That makes you closer than just being a friend, or a Chosen One. Lindsey too. Now, I will keep you safe, but that can only happen if you trust me. I can't explain everything. If I could, this would be a hell of a lot easier than it is. So, your choice, Cath."

She narrowed her eyes at him, seeing only an immovable force where her friend used to be. "Okay," she agreed at last. "Does my mother know about her ancestry?"

"No. And she doesn't need to," Warrick interjected. "There is less for her to fear if she remains unaware."

Catherine was not entirely sure that would remain a wise decision. She sighed. "What the hell is happening here?"

Alexx looked entirely flabbergasted, wondering if there were further surprises in store before all was said and done. "This is the strangest place I've ever been in," she muttered. "And I've been in some places!"

Warrick snorted. "You get used to it."

His Mate however, was not amused. "Call Riddick. Take Catherine. Go process a hotel suite he's in. There's no one else can do it right now."

"What's…?"

"Frog's fled the building. I need to know," Nick continued, "where the fucker is and who he's with."

"If this is Vampires, there won't be prints," Catherine asserted. "Right?" Her brain clicked instantly into the mode best utilized for work, rather than family.

"Right," Warrick growled.

"Then Mr. 'I Can Totally Lift a Print off Air' gets to go put his skills where his mouth is." Sylum's Clan Leader was absolutely not messing around.

"Let me change my shoes." Catherine caught the importance of cooperation at that moment, and turned to head for her room. "Someone will need to sit with Linds."

"I'll get Tom and Huck back up here," Warrick said decisively, rummaging in his pocket for his phone as he walked away. "I'll get gear too. See you downstairs."

And with that, it was done.

Alexx fixed Nick with a pointed stare. "You know my name, but I feel sure we have yet to be properly introduced." She thrust her hand out and he took it, squeezing tightly.

"Nicolaus Valerius Meridius." He smiled. "It's an honor, Doctor Woods. Thank you most kindly, for all you have done with regard to my son."

"I have the impression he attracts much concern," she replied. "Warrick started to tell us, but…" She tried pushing for more information despite knowing instantly that she wouldn't get it.

"Speed will be fine. He has every support here. And with Feeding…"

"I volunteer! If he needs blood, he can take it from me. I am healthy and not on medications. Neither is Peter, my husband. We will both volunteer! Just tell us what you need us to do, and when." She was not about to be dissuaded. "The boy needs a bodyguard!"

Nick chuckled darkly. "Tell me about it. Look, Doctor…"

"Please, call me Alexx," she said quickly, giving him her best motherly concerned face.

"Of course, Alexx. I appreciate the offer, but Tim will be put to bed any moment now. He needs rest. So you should really get some sleep too, and try not to worry. Things are being taken care of."

With that, he disappeared into Speed's private room, closing the door quietly behind himself, and leaving her there feeling really rather useless.

She sniffed.

Huffed.

Then bidding the dogs stay put by the fireplace, decided to shower off her frustrations and go to bed.

Catherine left the light on low, and the door to her room open just a crack, as she left.

Alexx squeezed her arm when they crossed paths with each other. "Good luck. Be safe, sugar," she whispered.

"God, I hate hotel rooms!"

"At least you got something to do."

Catherine sighed, but she had to admit it felt nice to have purpose after such a lazy day. "Keep an eye on Lindsey?"

"Of course. She'll be fine."

"Never fear, Katey! We got you covered!" Tom and Huck were beaming with confidence when they returned. "I'm thinking about Sylum Day Care. What d'you say?" Tom asked, jabbing his Mate with a playful elbow. "We could offer 24 hour service."

Huck poked him back. "That's more like adopting, doofus!"

Despite the hour and the job she had to go do, Catherine snorted in amusement at their antics as she walked away, and Alexx too, had a smile on her face as she bid the boys goodnight.


***


I don't like being fussed over.

On.

Or around.

I wasn't coddled as a boy.

And didn't do much to warrant it either.

Certain stuff served a purpose, keeping me healthy back then.

Like I could really ever forget that.

But, I don't know…its…

H is attentive.

It's weird.

I mean, Papa is Papa.

And it's okay.

I like that.

It's okay.

I remember him.

Looking up at him as a boy.

Being carried in his arms.

He's Papa.

Doctors are…

Well, they're all the same.

Due respect to the Duckman.

I'm a doctor too, so I get it.

I do the same stuff they do, that creeps me out.

I'm a contradiction.

Sue me.

But H…?

I'm not used to someone being that…?

What?

What's the damn word, Speed?

Sin an-ghar dom.

So very close to me.

I let him strip me.

Wash me down in the shower.

Hold me.

Touch me.

Remind me that I'm no one's Mate but his.

That I am his.

Now.

Just his.

And it was good.

Once I got past my own head, and let his hands say what words could not.

The steam stopped me coughing.

In Horatio's eyes there was serious concern, and it made them spark now and then, like lightning flashes over a volcanic eruption.

I pushed into his caresses, wanting more.

Needing more.

And with them came a new surge of strength.

The blood I'd had from Greg, was working its way through me, and I let Horatio trace the fading wounds across my skin, making it seem like his elegant fingers alone were responsible for wiping away that woman's violence against me.

With the water hitting us from all sides, as though we'd been caught out in a warm Louisiana rain, he kissed me.

Thoroughly.

Desperately.

His tongue touched every tiny space in my mouth.

Tasting me.

Leaving me not a single second for ever doubting his devotion.

And I clung to him.

Slippery.

But barely caring.

He was mine.

He is mine.

Mine.

And I am his.

Alone.

"Go raibh maith agat."

I whispered it in his ear a moment later, before I even realized I was able to speak again.

And his smile as he cupped my face in his hands, was worth every moment of that bitch's torture.

"You don't have to thank me, Tim," he murmured. "Just don't make me tie you to the damn bed to keep you safe."

His deeply possessive growl made me shiver.

God, I'm turning into a total sap!!

Thomas had mugs of warm blood waiting for the both of us outside, and he stood there in the bathroom doorway, refusing to let us out until we'd drunk them completely, whereupon he then refused to let either of us go upstairs until we were dry, and dressed in warm pajamas.

Really, who needs a Mate?

Or a mother?

And as per usual, no amount of glaring would get him to budge until he was satisfied.

Bastard.

I should've realized the chuckling I could hear wasn't my imagination, and Papa was actually outside in my living room.

Waiting.

The man has awesome timing.

Really.

I'm going to get spanked.

And I probably deserve it.

Fresh blood tasted good though.

Thomas promised me more later, if I didn't fall asleep first.

Feel better.

Stronger.

Made it up the stairs of my own volition.

Studiously ignored Nick.

Actually ignored everyone.

I want my bed.

For once.

Right now.

Climbed on it, before I got in it.

Old habit.

Use to do that as a kid in Rome too.

Apparently.

Nick told me once.

Yeah, I'm five.

No, I don't care.

Horatio helped me.

He sat beside me.

Is this the awkward conversation from hell moment now, or what?

The fire is great.

It's glowing good.

Just breathing in that smell is comfort alone.

It eases my chest too.

Not sure why I'm so anxious.

Again.

H just sits there as I squirm around.

God, but it feels wonderful to do that of my own free will, whenever I want, however I want.

As much as I want.

I absolutely promise never to take that kind of freedom for granted again.

Swear to God.

"You done?" Horatio smirked. "Want to sleep?"

He still looks damp from the shower.

Guess I am too.

A little.

I could jump him right now.

"Not just yet…" I still sound like a bullfrog with bronchitis.

He smiles at me and cups my face in his hands to hold me still and keep us eye to eye. "Am I going to have to get used to you scaring me to death on a regular basis?"

I was right about to answer that when Nick said, "Yes," as he came up the stairs.

Horatio kissed me on the forehead. "I love you," he whispered, before letting me go, and getting to his feet.

Leaving me to my Fate.

Papa towers over me.

Just like he always did.

Only this time, my Mate is there just behind him.

Pretty sure I swallowed loud enough to be heard in Kansas.

"How are you feeling, boy?"

I could close my eyes and be in Rome.

He sat beside me, holding my hands in his.

Horatio looks on with an expression best described as gentle fondness.

I'm safe here.

This is home.

I know it.

This is how it's meant to be.

"Been better," I croaked, cracking a timid smile.

He nods.

"His back has only bruises now," my Mate assured him. "I'll make sure he sleeps."

Papa's chuckle is all knowing. "I'm sure you will. But he won't cooperate without persuasion."

Wait.

What?

Hang on here!

"Contradict me at your peril, Timothy."

He's stern now, my Papa.

His hands on mine are somehow bigger and more solid than I recall.

"Do you hurt?" he asks.

I shake my head.

I ache, but nothing bad.

"Are you warm enough?"

I have pajamas on.

I hate them, but tonight it's okay.

For tonight.

The cotton is soft.

I nod.

"He's lying," Horatio mutters.

Bastard.

He can read me that well already?

"I'll have extra blankets brought up," Papa tells him.

Clearly, I'm not about to get a different word in here, am I?

"Okay, you will Feed whenever Thomas brings you blood. He has your eyedrops from Ducky."

I nod.

So does H.

"Excuse me, boy?"

Papa isn't messing around.

"Yes, sir," I mutter back sheepishly.

Like anyone messes with Thomas and lives long enough to brag about it.

Except Brass, obviously.

"Good!" Finally Papa stands up, having scrutinized me so intensely, I was reduced to being a quivering infant one more time.

Was he satisfied with that?

"You're talking again. You're washed and Fed. You're safe and sound. You have some color in your skin. You're well protected."

He was right.

On every count.

And I was about to relax in a moment of relief, sitting there with the bed clothes around my legs and the pillows behind me, when he turned away.

Maybe I wasn't about to…

The slap to the face that Nick delivered with open hand and deliberate force, was a stunningly loud crack that left Speed blinking away the surprise.

Horatio never so much as twitched, having wanted to do something similar for himself in the struggle to better understand his emotional upheavals of the last few hours.

"Ow!" Speed rubbed his left cheek and glared at Nick, a flush of deeper, much more humiliated color flooding his face. "Papa!" he whined pathetically, having been on the receiving end of the General's discipline far too many times not to comprehend its purpose.

"Don't you 'Papa!' me, boy! You're an idiot! You knew Stillson was into this and you left the Manor, unaccompanied!! He might just as well have been standing at the front gate, slapping his knees and teasing, 'Here puppy! There's a good puppy!' at you."

Speed's lips curled back in a snarl he never quite managed to issue.

"He played you, and you let him!" Nick continued, seeing his son's reaction.

"I'm sorry, Papa…"

It was a tiny whisper, but it hit Sylum's Clan Leader in the chest, and he clutched at his heart, grimacing and rolling his eyes. "You think I don't know that, boy?" He gestured at Horatio. "You have bigger issues now, than what happens to your kin. You have a Mate! He deserves better than this. D'you get that now?"

Timothy nodded mutely.

"And when were you going to tell me about Eric? Or did you think I wouldn't notice Bryon Hansen come walking back into my house?"

"Crap!"

"Yeah, boy. It could've been. Riddick was ready to Turn and Mate with him, right there on the floor at the foot of the stairs, in front of the whole household!"

Horatio had barely considered Delko's situation since then, and felt a little guilty in forgetting his other colleague. But Nick had been quite right when he said there were other priorities.

Speed sighed. "I should've said something sooner."

"Y'think?" Nick stood back from the bed a little, and ruffled his Childe's hair, wondering when his family might start better appreciating his capacity to know everything about their lives at all times, with such seemingly miraculous skill.

"Was it bad?" Speed had visions of Riddick's oftentimes none too stable personality, forcing a situation that no one could control.

"I think Horatio should explain. He was there. Then you can tell him about Megan Donner."

"Oh!" Sadly the Clan's Advisor had all but forgotten why he'd stormed from the Manor in such a fury to begin with. "That's just mean…"

Nick chuckled wickedly, and made for the stairs, sensing the redhead glare at him as he left.

"Hate you!" Speed growled, not really meaning the words, but experiencing something of the sentiment at that moment.

"Love you!" came the deeply assertive reply as Nick disappeared.

"Damn!" Horatio muttered, half in admiration, half in astonishment at hearing the name of an old friend spoken in such unexpected context. "He's good."

"Roman!" their Clan Leader reminded them firmly, shutting the door down below as he left.

The Great Room was empty, bar the dogs, who blinked at him lazily.

His sigh was heavy as he sat on the couch, and before he could move another muscle, he had Aragorn and Boromir in his lap.

"Really?" he asked, stroking them gently. "Just that desperate for hugs, huh?"

He spent some time fielding further calls from Van Helsing and the team at Ellislie, and McGee called to explain that he had pulled in a favor and was trying to get some footage from the airport in DC in order to try and identify what happened to Rochefort, and just who came for the body they'd left on the tarmac.

Those who weren't working at that point, were asleep.

And he was good with that.

Thomas interrupted later with a mug of blood, for which he was hugely grateful.

"I made certain Master Warrick was suitably Fed before he left."

"Thank you." Nick smiled generously at his faithful servant.

His friend.

"Master Hikock is currently patrolling the Estate on horseback, he's checking in on Marty, just in case. And the most recent news I can tell you of, is that Master West should be here by morning."

"Excellent."

"I do understand why you are not in bed, but would ask that you at least attempt a little rest."

"Are you nagging me?"

"Yes, sir."

Nick smirked, and it made for a tiny moment of relief at least. "Can you ensure Speed has more blankets?"

"Of course. Now, as you are insisting upon staying up, I shall give you the eyedrops that Doctor Mallard would like Master Timothy to use." Thomas produced a small plastic dropper bottle from his inside jacket pocket. "Are you anticipating an attack upon the Manor?"

"I honestly don't want to."

"I would like to suggest contacting Mistress Rose and Master Jack to evacuate the children."

Nick grunted in contemplation of that idea, but he knew there was no point in messing around on that kind of a decision. "Do it."

Thomas nodded, and walked away. "I already did."



Con't in Part 2