Blood Kiss

He lay on his back, the stone floor under him cold and hard, screams echoing through the chamber around him, the smells of blood and smoke wafting over him, fading away before the pain that spread through and licked at him fire-like. A sense of movement over him and then she was crouching over him, a curtain of ebony hair framing the delicate porcelain features twisted with anger and grief, the rage showing in glowing eyes. Fingers wrapped around the bolt that transfixed him and his back arched as she gave it a tug, the pain flowing like lava over him, black blood in his mouth. Making a sound of distress she released the bolt and laid a hand on his cheek, the rage melting away, tears sparkling in eyes now dark again, her other hand pressing against the wound in his chest as if she could reverse the flow of blood, seal the damage done.

"You are far more suited to this life than I..." He closed his eyes as she pressed her lips against his hand, feeling the pull of mortality at him, a mortality he had escaped for too long. Had followed her into this life but he had never found peace with it, had never been able to accept it--revel in it--as she had...and now he would have the ending he had craved so long. "Do...it..." he whispered, eyes going from the crossbow bolt to hers.

Michael awoke with a gasp, heart beating rapidly in his chest as he sat upright in bed, bare torso damp with sweat. He laid a trembling hand over his heart and sagged with relief at feeling the unmarred skin, other hand going to pull hair back from his face as he sank back on the bed. Hadn't had that dream in a long time and even then it had never been with that intensity, hadn't seen--felt--all the details with such clarity before, the smell of smoke and blood still lingering in his nostrils. Wasn't the first dream he'd had of the woman with the glowing eyes but the dreams hadn't come to him in...years.

Pushing himself up he swung his legs over the side of the bed and glanced over at the manilla folders that lay on the bedside table, still opened to the photos of the torn, bloodied bodies. No need to really see them, he had looked at them often enough that they were imprinted on his brain, flashing before closed eyes in all their lurid glory. But still he reached for them, to page through them, able to put names to a few of them--Baker, Ehrlich, and Aronsen--the ones that had been recognizable, at least.Others were less...identifiable, requiring the intricacies of DNA testing to confirm identity.

Seven in all, four of which gone missing from a mission, the other three seemingly random. And at the heart of it a shadowy group, a syndicate, spoken of only in hushed whispers by informants--if spoken of at all--and the details vague, unable to pinpoint who was behind it or their true purpose. If one of Michael's more paranoid contacts was to be believed, this group had their fingers in a wide range of activities, from pornography to arms dealing, and was gaining power steadily.

That accounted for the missing four: they had been on a fact-finding mission against this very group. For the other three...there was only the connection of the Section and their manner of their deaths. They had all been nearly torn apart.

Autopsies failed to give conclusive evidence to the cause of the wounds dealt, able to trace human saliva in some of the wounds but the attacks looked more like they had been made by animals than human. Death had not come easy to them...

Sighing Michael replaced the photos, wondering what connection they had to this nightmare that had plagued him intermittently over the years, and rose from the bed, tugging blankets back before going into the bathroom to take a shower and wash away the last vestiges of sleep.

He walked down the hallway, hands shoved in his pockets, absorbed in the puzzle of the dead operatives, not hearing Nikita call his name, aware of her prescence only when she caught his arm as she rounded him, blond hair swinging. For a moment her blond hair was replaced by black, a cloud around pale features, and he jerked back, blinking as she came into focus, frowning at him in concern.

Michael stared at her, frowning a little, but there was no subterfuge in Nikita, just a desire to know and honest sympathy. With her he could open himself as he hadn't since Simone... "I don't really know." he confessed with a slight shake of his head.

Nikita reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead, fingertips lingering on his skin, giving him a reassuring smile. "Well, at least it was just a dream." He gave her a tenative smile in return, the shadows receding a little, and Nikita gave him a parting pat on the shoulder. "See you later."

In answer Operations tossed a folder on the desk before him, watching him as he bent over to examine it. "Our people assigned to Juarez. Apparently they were in the midst of surveillance when communication was lost. Not only was the team killed, so was Juarez and his escort. All five of them."

Michael's eyes flicked from her to Operations and then back before he gave another nod, picking up the folder before leaving the office. Operations watched him go and removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose, feeling suddenly very tired. Not even the squeeze of Madeline's hand on his arm helped to alleviate it...

Two and a half hours later and they were at the given location, a warehouse outside of the city limits of Jacksonville, Florida. It was dark by the time they arrived, which suited the team's purposes, and Michael spent the time on the flight over familiarizing himelf and the other four members with the layout of the warehouse. Chances were that the missing operative was no longer alive and that the location they had might be empty but it was the first solid lead they had.

Linked by com units, they each took different points of entry, Michael taking the entrance back by the loading docks. With night vision goggles in place and gun in hand he moved carefully through the warehouse, constantly scanning his surroundings. Nothing to be seen but he felt as if eyes were watching him, tracking him as he moved, a chill going down his spine as he made his way slowly through stacks of boxes.

"Nothing." reported Davis promptly. An echo of the same from Kallas and Torres, but no response from Lake, who had taken the east entrance. Heading in the direction Lake would have taken, Michael was distracted by a glow of light off to his left and stepped in that direction, pulling the goggles off his head. The light issued from the partially opened slats of blinds covering an office window and he dropped down to a crouch as he rounded the office, extending a hand to ease the door open before he slipped inside, making a quick sweep of the room.

And found it empty, save for the limp figure tied to a chair, head slumped forward. Pushing the office door shut Michael walked over to the man and grasped his chin to lift it. Glassy eyes stared back at him, throat slick with blood and the flesh torn above the artery, and Michael released his chin, taking a step back and wiping gloved hand on his pants before removing it to touch his hand experimentally to the man's cheek. Flesh still warm, he hadn't been dead long, and that could very well mean they'd just walked into a trap...

And through the link came a scream, nearly defeaning him, Michael yanking the receiver out of his ear with a grimace. Gingerly easing the door open he glanced quickly from side to side before venturing out, whirling as he heard a faint skittering sound and bringing his gun up.

A dark blur of movement was all he saw before hands grasped him by the shoulders and slammed him against the wall, the gun falling from his hand as, released, he slid down the wall into a boneless heap, unconscious.

Laughter and the sound of hoarse cries brought Michael up out of unconsciousness, to find himself lying on his side, hands bound behind him. Lifting his head from the floor he winced at the stab of pain, feeling something warm and wet on his cheek, and for a moment he let his head fall back, closing his eyes and swallowing hard against nausea.

Davis was sprawled on the floor, two figures atop him, blond and red heads bent over him, hands and presumably teeth tearing at him. As he stared in horror, Davis' head was shoved back and a blond head nestled beneath his chin, biting hard and sending a sudden flow of blood down his chest. Davis' mouth opened and closed soundlessly, eyelids fluttering rapidly before closing, head slumping. The red head raised from Davis' stomach, the shirt torn open to show red of blood on his stomach, and slapped at the other.

"Children, children." A third emerged from the shadows, striding across carpeted floor, shaking dark head as he moved to give first one then the other a kick. "No playing with your food." His head lifted to see Michael watching them, wide-eyed, and he smiled unpleasantly, a hand brushing long brown hair back off his shoulders. "Well, look who's awake..." he drawled, voice with a distinctive British accent, walking slowly towards Michael.

Heart hammering in his chest, Michael scrambled back, coming up against the wall, eyes very wide as he watched the man approaching. The other two--redheaded woman and blond man--rose from the still figure of Davis to come closer, the woman using fingers to wipe away blood smeared across her white skin and licking her fingers clean, green eyes luminous as she stalked closer on high heels, white gown streaked with blood.

"He looks like he tastes good." she said, full red lips curving in a smile, squatting beside him, hand snaking out to run a finger through the trail of blood down his left cheek and sticking her finger in her mouth to suck it clean. "Umm...and he does." she added with a giggle.

Before he could react, she had a handful of his hair gripped tightly in one hand and the palm of her other hand placed against his chest to hold him still. Dragging his head back she lapped at the trail of blood on his cheek and he shuddered at the feel of her tongue, trying to bring knees up to kick on her. She sank down on his legs, holding him down with a strength she shouldn't have had, and continued to leisurely clean him of the blood, taking her time. Once done she let her mouth trail down his jaw, lightly nipping his skin, too sharp teeth pressing against his skin and skimming down his throat, going for the pulse.

Then she shuddered under a blow and released him to turn with a hiss, giving a yelp as she was dragged bodily off Michael and tossed aside. The brown-haired man caught one of Michael's arms and hauled him up, giving the red-head a glare as she snarled at him. "He's not for you."

The defiance drained from the woman, replaced by fear, and she gave a mute shake of her head, sinking back onto her haunches. Pulling Michael along with him, the man gave Davis' body a kick. "Finish with that and dispose of it." As he was led away, Michael tried not to hear the wet, tearing sounds that came from behind him, concentrating instead on trying to smother the fear that thrummed through him. Wouldn't have considered it or believed it if he hadn't seen it himself but given the condition of the bodies it made sense...vampires.

His hand closed bruisingly hard around Michael's arm and yanked him around, forcing him to meet his eyes. "There's no way out of here so don't even try." Gave him a light shove and went out the door, calling over his shoulder, "Knock when you're done." And shut the door behind him, locking it.

Michael sank down onto the toilet seat, putting his head between his knees and breathing deeply, trying to calm himself, to still the constant tremors running through him. And sat like that, striving to regain his control, knowing he would need it badly once he went out those doors.

After seeing Michael in the Section and sending him off to the meeting with Operations and Madeline, Nikita had gone off the job Madeline assigned to her, a simple courier assignment that required her to sit in a cafe for four hours waiting for the messenger. It was evening by the time she returned to the Section with packet in hand and passed it over to Madeline, who gave her a distracted and perfunctory "good job" before telling her to go home, not even so much as a glance at the packet that had hours ago seemed very important.

"...don't know about any survivors. Found four bodies in the warehouse but from the artwork you've sent us, only three of them are from the team. Last one was probably the survivor from the Juarez surveillance." Nikita moved up behind Birkhoff, who sat hunched in front of the monitor, chewing on a piece of beef jerky, and saw on the screen an operative dressed in black, gaze shifting back over his shoulder, light colored hair cut very close to his head.

"I'll notify him." said Birkhoff, nodding as the file was transferred. The operative gave a curt nod of his own and shut off the link. Turning slightly in his chair Birkhoff caught sight of Nikita behind him and froze for a moment then quickly returned back to his work, typing rapidly on the keyboard.

"Spill it, Birkhoff. You can always say I beat it out of you." she added with a nasty grin. Birkhoff studied her for a moment, as if wondering whether or not she was serious, then glanced around the computer bay before speaking in a low tone. "Been losing some people--more than usual..." he added at seeing Nikita's almost callous shrug. "It doesn't really show up until you do a more in depth analysis--you take the numbers, factor in missions, add in other factors, crime statistics and such--"

He nodded his head, waving off her obvious impatience. '"I was just trying to give you an idea of why it hasn't really been picked up on before now. The numbers have been small enough to not draw attention...until the ante was upped. It's being kept tightly under wraps--I don't even know the details. Just that they sent a team out...and no one's come back...alive at least." he added grimly.

Rubbing the back of his head as he watched her go, Birkhoff's eyes lifted to the second level and the figure of Operations standing there, looking down at him, and then shifted back to his monitor as he wondered if he'd done the right thing.

They had taken anything off him that might be considered a weapon, the search thorough enough to have found everything from the back-up gun in an ankle holster to the lock picks on the back of his belt. Com unit was gone as well, which meant he would not be tracked here--finding the missing operative had been part of their plan for ambush, finding him would not be. As he sat on the toilet seat, breathing deeply to recover some of his calm, the same thought raced frantically through his mind: why was he the one still alive? And the moment his mind touched on that thought, it skittered away, afraid of the answer.

Finally Michael pushed himself up to his feet, knowing that if he stayed in here too long someone would no doubt come to drag him out, and that he didn't want. Using cold water and a towel, with a little peroxide thrown in, he cleaned his cheek of the blood still remaining and his hair as well, wincing as he applied peroxide to the cut on his head and then held the towel against it, applying pressure to stop the bleeding. The ache in his head had subsided to a manageable level, just enough to provide him with a focus.

His eyes went to the clothes sitting on the counter and then away, placing hands against the counter and looking at his reflection in the mirror. Pale and tense, eyes a little wild, and he took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, pushing himself back up and turned his back on the offered clothes.

Even before he had withdrawn his hand the door opened, the brown-haired man standing there, eyes flicking over Michael in appraisal, one eyebrow arching as he looked from him to the clothes still sitting neatly folded on the counter. Michael returned his look impassively and the man gave a tiny shrug, unconcerned, gesturing with a courtly flourish for Michael to go ahead of him.

Though the skin of his back crawled at the idea of being exposed to this man, Michael went out first, walking down the hallway. His mind automatically took notice of his surroundings, red wallpaper with patterns of gilded flowers covering the walls, old-fashioned gas lamps mounted on the walls, and moving down the hallway was like journeying back in time, the furnishings speaking of another age, a gentler age but with a touch of wildness to it. At the end of the hallway was a set of double doors, done in dark oak, and it was there they went, the man going to open the doors and gesturing for Michael to go inside.

Cautiously, glancing around the dim interior, Michael went inside and as soon as he'd cleared the threshold the doors shut behind him with a resounding thud. Standing with his back against the door, he let his eyes adjust to the dim light, flicking around the interior, looking for signs of movement and seeing none. The room was large and haphazardly lit, a white crystal oil lamp sitting on a table beside the huge canopy bed, hung with heavy drapes tied back by cord, candles set on a table just a few feet from the bed, and against the wall to his right was a fireplace, cold and empty, an oil lamp set on it to illuminate the painting hung on the wall above the fireplace.

Slowly, glancing from side to side, Michael moved to the fireplace and the painting, frowning a little as he looked up at it. A young man seated in a chair, clad in the style of the late 18th century, brown hair down past his shoulders and with a hint of curl to it, the artist managing to capture an air of melancholy in the eyes, the expression, and Michael felt a chill go down his spine--it was as if the painting had been made of him, so close was the resemblance...

Michael held himself perfectly still, finding the voice suddenly, impossibly recognizable, a voice he had heard in his dreams, and fingers brushed across his shoulder, the woman moving around him to tilt head back and gaze at the painting.

Long ebony ringlets fell back from the delicate pale features, a white arm lifting to touch the painting, the sleeve of her gown sliding back, and she turned her head to look at him, a slight smile curving her lips, dark eyes luminous as they met his.

Cool fingers brushed across his cheek and Michael reflexively took a step back, to put distance between himself and what instinct perceived as the enemy, though there was nothing in appearance to indicate that this woman was dangerous. Just a few inches shorter than he, willowy in form, delicate features as pale and perfect as those of a china doll, lips a vivid red, her ebony hair cascaded down her back in a mass of curly ringlets, inky black against the ivory lace of her gown, dark eyes huge in white face. Eyes dark and deep, filled with a comforting warmth that drew in, enfolded, promised peace...

He dragged his eyes away from hers with an effort, digging fingernails into the palms of his hands, the pain giving him something to focus on. "Is that why I'm here?" So calm his voice, a calm he did not feel, with this woman before him right out of nightmares that had plagued him for years. He looked from the painting and then back to her, eyes sliding away as she smiled at him, the same smile that Madeline had perfected but with more power to it than Madeline could have ever dreamed of.

The woman's eyes went to the painting again and the quality of her smile changed, going sad and wistful, a glistening in her eyes. "He was my heart and soul." She turned her head to look at him, a single tear spilling out to slide down her cheek, smile tremulous, and he wanted to take her into his arms, to kiss her and stroke her hair, shield her from the pain that caused those tears...

The woman arched an elegant eyebrow, tilting her head a little. "Don't you know?" She took a step towards him and it took all he had to hold still, not retreat before her, not as much bravado as common sense. Running made the chase all the more exciting...and did not change the outcome in the least.

She extended a hand to touch his hair, letting fingers run through it, her other hand laying against his chest. "You have his hair, his eyes--" Her fingers trailed down his cheek to grip his chin, soft fingers that had the strength of steel, holding him effortlessly when he tried to jerk free. "But you have a darkness in you he didn't have...not until the end, that is." She trailed off, the smile gone, eyes turned inward as if she relived some old memory.

Her over him, weeping as she tried to give him aid, to prolong his life, a life he had long tired of...Michael shook those dream images from his mind and found himself looking again into her eyes, unable to pull away. Her eyes caught him, stripping away defenses, seeking the self hidden behind barrier upon barrier, a self few had been able to reach, and sheer panic gave him the strength to pull away, to break the connection, hand pushing away suddenly slack fingers, taking a step back.

She stood still, hand still outstretched, a small grudging smile curving her lips. "You're strong, too. Stronger than he was." She rubbed fingers together idly, the smile changing, hardening, a predator's smile. "I like that." The softness melted away, showing briefly what lay underneath, something old and hard and hungry, a creature that would crack him open with bare hands and drain him...

And then the mask was back in place, the woman smiling and winsome, all inhuman beauty and perfection once again, returning to the fireplace, hand trailing across the mantel. "We made a vow once to each other--that we would be together through all eternity, our souls forever linked. And then he died..." Her voice trailed off, head bowing briefly as fingers touched the painting, and then she straightened, her arm brushing his as she moved around him, her fingers running across the back of his shoulders. "All these years, I have waited, knowing that someday he would come back to me, searching for him in so many that I met...but all to no avail. Until now..." A hand swept hair from the side of his throat and he shivered as he felt her warm breath against his ear.

"My beloved...come back to me again. Philippe..." Her breath sighed against his ear and arms wound around his chest, her cheek rubbing against his shoulder. "How I've waited for this moment, to have you by my side again...and I will never let you go again."

Lips pressed against the base of his throat, nuzzling against his skin, and he clamped down hard on the urge to wriggle free, knowing that it wouldn't do any good. And a small treacherous part of him wanted to let go, to accept her embrace...

Her mouth left his throat, one arm sliding free of him while the other pulled him around, Michael not resisting. Not drawing back as she ran her fingers idly across his cheek. "Your people have proven to be a source of...irritation to me and mine. You were part of a raid that cost me dearly...in money and people. That old airfield in San Juan..."

Amusement glowed in her eyes as she gave a small shake of her head. "I wanted revenge for that, I spent a great deal of money to find those that had dared to hurt me. And that led me to you, lovely Michael." Her finger touched his lips, tracing the line of them. "The name suits you."

Angelique...the name reverberated through his mind, bringing back in great clarity an old dream, of her young and fresh and innocent, running through a field towards him, the sun bright around her. Before the beginning of the end, a voice whispered sorrowfully in his mind.

Her hand slid back into his hair, seizing a handful to hold his head still when he would have jerked free, lips parting to show fangs, small pink tongue extending from between lips. He brought his hands up to push her away, a gasp escaping him as her arm curled around his back and pulled him hard against, stumbling as she moved him back to the bed, pushing him down on it and crawling over him. Hands caught his wrists and held them down to the bed, her head tucking under his chin, mouth warm against his throat.

But slowly she withdrew, raising herself up, hands still gripping his wrists, long black hair falling across her shoulders, eyes empty as they met his, as if she were seeing not him but someone else. "I would prefer that you come to me of your own will..." she said softly, releasing one wrist to touch his cheek, features softening as she gazed down at him. In her eyes was all the love she had borne for her lost Philippe but with it, something darker, almost mad--the conviction that he belonged to her and would see the error of his ways.

"I think I can wait a little longer." she said with a smile, touching her lips to his, and released him, moving back and off the bed. "Rest...I will see you again. Soon." With a parting smile Angelique went to the door and slipped out, shutting it behind her.

Nikita had taken the report home with her and examined it again and again, looking for some kind of clues. Not a lot to be had in it, she realized with a sigh, the second team had apparently gone in when the first had failed to report back. An apparent attempt to retrieve a missing operative but from the tone of the report Michael's team had already known the man was dead...so why go in? The warehouse had been thoroughly swept and no trace at all of Davis and Michael.

She spent a restless night, torn by a nagging worry, and when she finally slept it was to uneasy dreams, dreams in which she roamed a house in search of Michael, knowing that if she didn't find him soon it would be too late. By the time she awoke from the last one it was just past dawn and she pushed herself out of bed, knowing it was a waste of time to try and get back to sleep. A shower first and then she would head into the Section, see if she could worm something out of either Madeline or Operations...a sour smile crossed her features at the thought and she shook her head as she got into the shower. She never got anything from either of them they hadn't already been prepared to let her have...

Still she dressed for battle, donning black trousers and a white dress shirt with blazer, going for a professional look, and tucked the disk into her jacket pocket before grabbing keys and purse, slipping on sunglasses. Downstairs and she was heading for her car when she heard a voice.

Slowly Nikita turned, hand automatically going to her purse and unsnapping it, a hand sliding inside, as if she were getting her keys but fingers closed on her gun instead. Standing before her, just outside of arm's reach, was a man in his late thirties, dark hair going gray at the temples, tall and lean, dressed casually in jeans and T-shirt with black leather jacket.

"I'm John Harper. I want to talk to you about a friend of yours...Michael." Behind him she could see parked against the curb a white van, the engine idling, and Nikita took a step back, her grip on the gun tightening. Harper raised his hands to show they were empty and said, "Just want to talk. I think we can help each other...if you're willing to listen."

Harper gave a shake of his head. "Not here, it's too public. If you want to help your friend...then come with me. If not--" He shrugged. "It's up to you. You can keep the gun..." he added with a brittle smile, nodding at her purse. Nikita stared hard at him, trying to discern his intentions, intuition telling her that for now she could trust him, and then gave a curt nod, gesturing for him to go to the van first. He opened the door to let her in and she entered, going to sit on a bench in the back, purse on her lap and fingers still clenched tightly around it, watching Harper as he pulled the door shut, calling for the driver to go. Breathing deeply he faced Nikita and said, "You're going to find this hard to believe..." he said with a sigh.

Michael had been sitting on the bed, waiting for dawn and the possibility of escape, relaxing bit by bit and finally allowing himself to lay his head down, rest a little while. And when he awoke it was to find that it was nearly noon and he had five, maybe six hours of daylight in which to not only escape but get a good head start on the inevitable pursuit. Knowing that this was his one and only chance to escape, if he didn't succeed...he'd face the consequences. He spent more than an hour prowling the bedroom, looking for something--anything-- to use on the door's locks. The wood was too heavy for him to kick it in, never mind that it would make too much noise, and he didn't know what kind of guards might be set for him. In the dresser he found at last some hairpins and it took nearly ten minutes to get the lock done, having to stop and repeatedly wipe sweating hands on his pants. At last a click was his reward and he pulled the door open slowly, sticking his head out to look up and down the hallway before he slipped out.

Around him the house was utterly silent, other than the occassional creak of a floorboard as Michael moved down the hallway, retracing his route, remembering being led here the night before. Found the bathroom and moved from there to the living room, hearing at last signs of life--voices carrying from beyond the doorway, not quite loud enough to discern words, a burst of laughter and stomp of feet, floorboard creaking with footsteps.

To his right a doorway leading out of the sitting room and he ducked through it, eyes flicking quickly around to see it was the kitchen. Michael stood still for a moment, torn between the need for immediate escape and the desire to find a weapon, gave up the weapon in favor of escape as footsteps could be heard approaching. A door lead out and he opened it carefully, casting a glance back over his shoulder as he slipped out and eased it closed behind him.

Stepping down from the porch he stared around him in dismay, seeing the forest that surrounded the mansion at all sides, and forced himself to head off into it, glancing once back at the gloomy mansion before he was swallowed by the forest.

By dark Michael was no closer to finding his way out of the forest than when he'd started. Wishing they'd allowed him to keep his watch--which had a compass in it--he stopped to sink down on a tree stump, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. Unable to mark his trail for fear of pursuit, he was still certain he hadn't been going in circles but there was no end to the woods that he could see. Sighing, he looked back over his shoulder and his heart hammered in his chest as he thought he saw something move.

Pushing himself up to his feet he made himself move, glancing back over his shoulder, and headed up a slight rise, slipping past a tree, looking back again. A blur of movement and then he was borne to the ground, the impact driving the breath from him, back of his head connecting hard enough with the ground to send sparks of light dancing across his field of vision. A dark figure straddled his waist, leaning forward over him with a mad giggle, hot breath in his ear as a voice whispered, "So glad I was the one that found you..." He recognized her from the night before, the redhead that had fed on Davis, and brought hands up to push her away, twisting legs to bring them to bear as well. One hand shoved his head back hard enough against the ground to dim vision, her palm pushing his chin back as she ran a long nail down his throat.

"I'm sure Angelique would be more than happy to...play with you as well." A pause to let the threat sink in, the speaker still unseen as he added, "Bring him." Sighing the woman Laurel dragged Michael up to his feet and gave him a shove, sending him down onto his knees. Making an impatient sound, the speaker came forward to grasp him by one arm and sling him over one shoulder before bearing him off.

"Vampires?" echoed Nikita, when she was finally able to form words. "As in Dracula? Creatures of the night? That sort of thing?" Harper gave a nod, mouth tight and arms folded over his chest, his posture defensive, as if saying he knew how ridiculous it sounded...and didn't care. "Oh, I guess about as much as any kid does, from all those late night B-movies--they don't like crosses, garlic, or sunlight, a wooden stake through the heart kills them. Why? Oh, no, don't tell me..." She lifted a hand to stop him. "We've got a pack of vampires on the loose." she added with a derisive snort.

"As a matter of fact, we do." said Harper stiffly, bending to retrieve a briefcase from the floor of the van. Popping open the latches, he lifted the lid and withdrew a thick manilla envelope, passing it to Nikita. "Look at these and tell me what you think can do this."

Opening the envelope Nikita withdrew a handful of black and white photographs and laid them on her lap, thumbing through them. The lack of color made them no less disturbing, showing pale, bloodless bodies with throats torn open, bearing gashes as well at wrists and thighs, the photos ranging from those taken at the scene to morgue shots. She forced herself to examine them more closely, to study the wounds, and swallowed hard against nausea at seeing one photo showing a corpse with its throat and stomach torn open.

Harper strode over to her and tapped the envelope with one finger. "There are autopsy reports as well. The language gets thick but the pertinent facts are there--traces of human saliva, the circumference of the wounds...and the loss of blood. Not to mention the lack of a significant amount of blood at the scene."

"One of your people, Barrett--he's assigned to what your group calls...Housekeeping. He's seen more than a few of these...and he was on the clean-up operation for the raid your friend Michael was in on. He passed your name on to us."

Harper let out his breath in a little sigh. "Nothing as sinister as you think. We're a small group, mostly made up of law enforcement types, everything from small town deputies to DEA agents, a doctor or two thrown in as well. We've become connected to each other simply because we're willing to accept the impossible--that vampires exist and they're responsible for these deaths. And so many more..."

"More than even we probably know of." said Harper somberly. "We've only been seriously active for about two years now--at first, it was just an information network, a way of comparing cases and evidence, establishing a pattern, and then when it started to get...bad, we thought about doing something to track down the killers. Some of us, we've been pushed out of our jobs because we won't let it go, won't write it off as unexplainable, unsolvable..."

"Why would you care about what happens to my...friend?" It was meant to be a challenge but it came out more plaintive than defiant, Nikita finding that she really did want to know, really did want to believe that she had found someone that could help her in turn to find Michael.

"There's this...syndicate, I guess you could say, that's at the heart of a lot of these killings. Mostly the victims are the types your average cop would love to see on a slab at the morgue--dealers, gangbangers, hitters--but there's been a few cops thrown in here and there...and more than a few of your people. What word we've been able to get indicates that someone's been looking for this friend of yours...and that someone is pretty highly placed in this little syndicate. Why he's so important to them, we don't know--all that matters is that he is...and that by finding him we might be able to find who's behind all this."

Harper grinned in sudden relief. "Then it's time you meet the rest of the team, get equipped." And moved to the front of the van, to speak to the driver, leaving Nikita to shove the pictures back in the envelope, closing her eyes briefly. Don't be dead, Michael, she thought, leaning back against the van with a sigh.

They brought Michael back to the house, taking him through the front door and to the sitting room, to be brought to Angelique. There had been no point in resisting, when faced with those whose strength far outmatched his, and so he hadn't, had offered no struggle at all. His strength he would save for the inevitable confrontation with Angelique...

With a shrug, Christian dropped him at the foot of Angelique's chair and faded back, the only one of the group that had dared to set foot in the room. Slowly Angelique rose from the chair, smoothing down the front of her burgundy velvet dress with one pale hand, delicate features utterly still, but eyes were very dark, burning with rage. One white hand flicked at Christian in an imperious gesture and he bowed, leaving the room and shutting the doors firmly behind him.

Though instinct screamed at him to put as much distance between himself and her as he could, crawl if he had to, pride gave him the strength to get to his feet and stay still as Angelique came to stand before him. Fingers wrapped around Michael's wrist, clamping down hard, biting into his skin, twisting and sending pain shooting up his arm.

"No." he responded with equal calm, ignoring the pain as her fingers squeezed his wrist, bone grinding together under the pressure. Even though his heart beat painfully hard and mouth was dry, he would no more give into the fear than he would her.

Seeing the defiance in his eyes, she released his wrist and backhanded him, the blow sending him sprawling to hands and knees, blood flowing from split lip. Gasping, head reeling, he tried to push himself up to his feet and her hands caught the front of his shirt, dragging him up and shoving him backward, stumbling, until his back came up against the wall.

Fingers clenching his shirt, she leaned forward to press her mouth against his, sucking at bloodied lip, tongue probing his mouth for any traces of blood. Giving his lips one last parting flick with her tongue, she let her mouth slide down his chin, lapping away the blood. He shivered as he felt her teeth scrape across the skin of his jaw and tried belatedly to duck his chin, to protect his throat, but she placed a hand beneath his chin, pressing back, tongue running down his throat.

"I would have waited for you to come around..." she murmured into his ear, nuzzling at his throat. "But you won't, will you?" A sigh of breath against his ear and she pressed her mouth against the pulse in his throat, lips skinning back and teeth sinking into his throat. He jerked at the pain, lifting hands to place them against her shoulders, pushing at her, but her arms wound round him, pulling him against her, mouth sealing over the wound teeth had made and sucking with the implacable insistence of a babe at the teat.

His fingers dug into the material of her dress and he moaned as her mouth pressed harder, knees giving way as loss of blood blurred vision and stole the strength from his limbs. One arm supported him as he slumped, her hand sliding around the back of his head to cradle it as she continued to drink, pain fading away and darkness claiming him.

Distantly Angelique could hear the frantic beat of his heart, turning erratic, and it brought her out of the blood lust, forcing herself to withdraw. Licking her lips she looked down at Michael lying limply in her arms and gently laid him out on the floor, brushing hair back from his eyes. She had come very close to draining him entirely, she realized as she took his wrist in hers and felt the fluttering pulse, and it was too soon for that. In two weeks it would be their anniversary...and on that day she would bring him over as her husband. Not a moment before...

Their destination was a small warehouse down by the docks, shabby and in disrepair, paint peeling and a few windows broken, a FOR LEASE sign hung askew on it--nothing at all to indicate it was occupied. The driver circled around to the back, where a door had already been opened for them, and drove inside, the door hauled shut behind them.

Nikita blinked as she turned a slow circle, more than a little surprised at what greeted her eyes. Despite the exterior and the musty smell of the interior, the warehouse was a hum of activity, perhaps a dozen people in all occupied in various tasks. Against the wall was a cluster of computers, all manned, and farther down the wall a table set up with weapons spread across it, everything from handguns to crossbows to an Uzi, along with a scattering of hand grenades. A tall thin young man with glasses and short cropped brown hair was demonstrating the use of a crossbow to a young woman and two men, lifting the crossbow to his shoulder and firing it at the wall.

"It hasn't been easy." admitted Harper, eyes roaming the interior, folding his arms over his chest, a little gleam of satisfaction and pride in his eyes. "It comes out of our own pockets--some of the equipment was brought in by our people, guns and the like, but the computer equipment...it was a donation of sorts. There are a few other... believers out there." He touched her lightly on the arm and gestured for her to follow him, leading the way over to the table that held the weapons.

"This is Jason." he said, nodding to the man standing behind the table. "He's our resident expert on vampires. If there's a way to kill one, he knows it. Jason, this is Nikita, she's going to be coming along with us on the raid." Jason reached across the table to take Nikita's hand, giving it a hearty shake, giving her an appreciative once-over. "So is she going in as the bait?"

"A thousand apologies..." said Jason, managing a sickly smile, and Nikita released him, laying the gun back down on the table. Slowly, tugging down his shirt, Jason straightened and stared hard at her, looking a little shaken, and Harper suppressed a smile.

Nodding, Jason turned his attention to his store of weapons. "Okay, some of the traditional stuff does work--sunlight, stake through the heart, fire. Crosses do not work-- we found that out real quick." His mouth twisted, eyes darkening with a painful memory, and he gave a small shake of his head. "Neither does holy water or garlic. Your best bet is decapitation or destroying the heart. Silver will work on the younger ones...and even the older ones will drop if you put a few silver bullets in their heart. Crossbow is a good weapon..." he added, patting the crossbow set on the table before him. "But if you miss the first shot by the time you reload you're dead."

"I was too...once." Jason unwound the scarf from his neck and tilted his head back, touching fingers to his throat, Nikita moving closer and frowning as she studied his throat. And felt a stab of unease go through her as she saw what looked to be healing bite marks on his throat. Her eyes lifted to Jason's and must of shown some of her shock for he gave a nod. "Seeing is believing...and I became a believer real quick. Nothing like losing a couple pints of blood to help you along." he added with a touch of bitterness.

Harper reached across the table to give him a pat on the arm. "Jason makes sure that we're as prepared as we can be before we head out." Jason nodded, not meeting Nikita's eyes as he wrapped the scarf around his neck again, returning his attention to his weapons.

Harper sighed, running a hand through his hair, shoulders slumping a little, and Nikita felt a pang of sympathy for him, seeing that he took leadership very seriously, every loss felt personally. Squaring his shoulders he led the way to the cluster of the computers, calling for the others to gather around him, every eye on him as he raised his hands for quiet.

"We don't know how many we're dealing with here...best quesstimate puts it at four. By the process of elimination we've managed to determine the location of their den." His eyes moved over each of his people as he spoke. "This is basic search and destroy, people. We go in, wipe them out, leave. Keep your heads and your guns at hand and you'll come out of it fine."

Spreading out a piece of paper he went over the plan of attack."Basement seems to be their daytime resting place...totally sealed off, no chance of light getting down inside. Primary team goes down to take care of them, backup keeps an eye on the exits in case any slip through. Everyone gets com units but use them as little as possible, only in emergency. Got that?" Nods around him.

The group broke up, heading off to retrieve weapons, and Nikita started to follow, only to stop as Harper laid a hand on her arm. "You'll be backup. No offense but I want someone down there that'll shoot first and ask questions later."

It was a two-hour drive to reach their destination and with another two hours of daylight to work with, they had to move quick. The location was an abandoned, run-down old hotel in the slums, a perfect location for the people that vanished from that area weren't often missed...except by a group looking for a pattern of disappearances.

Nikita was stationed at the front entrance, armed with a .45 automatic with silver shells, listening to the occassional murmur of voices over the comset. Harper had taken point and advised the backup team and the one manning the van that they had entered the basement. Silence over the comset and Nikita moved back, to get a better view of the corridor before her that led down to the basement, waiting for some kind of word that they'd found what they were looking for.

With his order came a sudden burst of gunfire from the rear of the hotel, accompanied by a yell ending in a gurgle, and Nikita took a hesitant step forward, gun raised and pointed, held in both hands to steady it. A figure came running down the hallway, all in white, and she jerked the gun up as it went off, seeing it was a little boy, no more than nine, short blond hair, clad in white pajamas with red trains on them.

"Come on, I'll take you out of here." said Nikita, extending a hand towards him, holding her gun down at her side. The boy moved slowly towards her, one little fist knuckling at his eyes, and as he was in arm's reach, she started to grab him, take him away from this terrible place.

A boom of gunfire and the boy's back arched with the impact of the bullet, the sweet little face twisting with a snarl as he whirled on his attacker with a hiss, fingers hooked claws as he flew at the man--Larry, Nikita remembered his name to be--behind him, Larry managing to get off another shot before he was borne to the ground.

"Shoot him!" shouted Larry and Nikita scrambled forward, hesitating, heard Larry gasp as the boy bit down on his arm and shook his head, worrying at it like a dog with a bone. Grimacing Nikita put a bullet through the back of the boy's head and hauled the body off Larry as it went limp, staring down in disbelief at what was left of the boy's face, teeth stained with Larry's blood.

Though a little pale from his close call, he managed a thin smile. "Don't be...being alive is what counts." Stared down at the corpse of the little boy and gave it a nudge with his boot. "The kids are the best...you never suspect them." he added softly, eyes a little haunted as he looked down at the boy. Giving a little shake of his head, he went to sit down on the nearby stairs, leaning against the wall.

"Let's go." said Nikita to Larry and took his arm to help him out. As they emerged back into the sunlight, she drew in a deep breath, tilting her head up to sun and offering up a prayer that they find Michael before he became one of those...things.

Michael awoke to find himself in a bed, blankets drawn up over him, stripped of clothing. Lifting his head from the pillow he closed his eyes as the room started to spin crazily around him, letting his head sink back onto the pillow, swallowing hard against nausea and grimacing at the pain in his throat. One trembling hand reached up to touch his throat, feeling the stickiness of blood there, and he shuddered, hand falling limply back to his side. Remembered in great detail what had happened, Angelique's taking of his blood as much a rape, a violation, as the physical, and lay there for a moment, battling nausea.

Breathing deeply helped to center him, to push back the nausea, and he didn't know how long he lay there, just breathing, before sense began to return. Carefully, he slid hands under him and pushed up, arms giving way beneath to send him sprawling back onto the bed, his rapid breath stirring hair that had fallen forward to cover his face. Setting his teeth and striving to set aside the dizziness, he tried again, the muscles in his arms trembling but not giving away.

Looking to his right, he saw the imprint of another body on the blankets and another shudder ran through him at the thought of Angelique lying next to him. Grasping the headboard he pulled himself up to a sitting position, fingers gripping the headboard till knuckles went white as he battled a fresh wave of dizziness. Shouldn't move, a practical part of his mind told him, but he couldn't bear the thought of her on the bed beside him, her arms around him, taking his blood as he slept...

Drawing his feet up, he shivered as he drew the blanket tightly around him and laid his head against the side of the small couch. Just a short rest, he told himself, and you can think of a way out of this, allowing eyes to drift closed.

Nikita straddled him, a wicked smile curving her lips, long blond hair hanging down to obscure her features, mouth coming down on his hungrily. He responded to her kiss, hands lifting to undo the fastenings of her dress, hands sliding inside to clasp her shoulders as he drew her down to him. Her mouth left his to nip at the skin on his chin and he sighed as her mouth moved down his throat, tongue cleaning him with all the single-mindedness of a cat, sharp teeth pressing against his throat...

Michael came awake with a jerk, to find Angelique over him, nuzzling at his throat, his hands clasping her shoulders. Weakly he pushed at her and she raised her head to regard him with dark eyes, eyes that threatened to drag him in and under, to enfold him in soft velvet, and he tore his eyes away with an effort.

"I won't last long...this way." he said hoarsely, forcing words past dry throat with an effort. "And you have something...in plan for me...don't you?" The words came from somewhere deep inside him, spilling out, and from the way she pulled back a little they hit a chord.

"You're right." she said with a languid sigh, one pale hand brushing hair back from his face, Michael fighting not to shudder at the touch. "I suppose I should let you rest a while. Anticipation...will make it all the more sweet."

There was not even so much as a clock in the bedroom to mark the passage of time and Michael's sleep patterns had become so disturbed his body didn't know day from night. For the first few days he spent most of his time sleeping, his body striving to recover from loss of blood, and when he would awake, there would invariably be food set out for him, left untouched those first few days and then inevitably he allowed himself to eat, knowing he'd need to build up his strength.

Other than that first night after, he had not seen Angelique again in the room but he had the uneasy feeling that she watched him while he slept. And she haunted his dreams, the old nightmares surging up again at her prescence, interwoven with his own dreams of Nikita, where one moment it would be Nikita beside him and the next Angelique. Once his body had begun to regain strength, he did not sleep as he had, would alternate between sitting and watching the door to pacing the room, forcing stiff, weary legs to do his bidding.

In one dresser he'd found somewhat decent clothing--a white open-necked dress shirt and soft brown trousers--but a thorough search of the rest of the bedroom failed to produce anything that might help him get out. Apparently the room had been stripped of any possible implement he might use to jimmy the lock...

He could taste the bitterness of frustration as he cast about the room, looking for something, anything, to help him escape. Now was the ideal time, when he was still strong enough to make it out under his own power, but there was nothing-- His eyes fell on the mirror and he walked slowly over to it, seeing the shadows under his eyes, an anxiety in his eyes that bordered on panic. He reached out to place his fingers against the glass, ran his fingers along the edge of the mirror and knocked against it experimentally. Good glass, strong, it would be sharp and perfect for cutting... He found himself nodding at the thought. If he couldn't leave this place alive, then at least he could choose the way he died.

Set on the small dining table was a heavy metal pitcher and he emptied the water on the floor, hefting the pitcher in one hand as he went back to the mirror. Two hard blows of it against the mirror and it shattered, dropping bits of glass onto the dresser, Michael able to extract from it a sufficient shard of glass. Ignoring the sting of cut fingers, he stepped away from the mirror and one handed tugged up first one sleeve then the other, switching the glass from hand to hand.

With the shard of glass held tightly in his right hand he drew in a deep breath and started to lower the glass to his left wrist, already starting to steel himself against the pain. Just a small pain, it'd be like nothing compared to what he'd suffered in the past, and then he could rest... *No.*

Angelique's voice echoed through his mind, soft in its utterance but hard and implacable, her will sweeping over him and through him with all the insidious force of a sandstorm. His hand froze with the glass just inches from his left wrist, as if it had met a barrier, and no matter how much effort he put into it, how much he strained, he could not bring the glass any closer to his wrist.

"Let...go!" he hissed through clenched teeth, hand shaking with the strain, all his concentration, his will, put to the simple task of closing the space between wrist and glass. An inch gained and the muscles in his arm trembled, a sharp pain in fingers as they closed convulsively around the shard of glass, resisting an unseen pressure that sought to pull them back one by one.

He could feel her anger and power flicked out, rocking him, sending him down to his knees, the glass falling from suddenly limp fingers. And as quickly as she had come she was gone, leaving him alone, staring blankly down at bloodied right hand, stomach knotting with an unwelcome fear. No escape for him then, if she knew his very thoughts...

Following the raid, all Nikita had wanted was to go home, take a hot shower and try to forget the horror she'd seen, try to erase from her mind that little boy's face as he'd run to her, but with that sudden dreadful knowledge that vampires did exist had come the absolute conviction that she did *not* want to see Michael became as they were.

So instead of going home she returned to the base with the others, shared dinner with them and listened as they used laughter and bravado to push back their own memories of the raid, of the two people they'd lost. Toasts were made in their memory and though she had not even known the names of either of them before, Nikita solemnly raised her glass with the others.

Nikita grimaced. "I screwed up, John. I could have got Larry killed." Or herself for that matter...she would have taken that boy right into her arms and he could have torn out her throat before she even knew what was happening...

"It's trial by fire, Nikita. Unfortunate but true. No matter how prepared you are...the first time is the kicker. That's when you know whether or not you have what it takes...and you do, Nikita. You're a part of the team now." Nikita managed a wan smile. "I hope the team can survive me."

"John!" The redheaded young woman came up to him, fairly dancing with excitement, green eyes glowing, and John raised his eyebrows at her. She glanced from John to Nikita and then back, clearing her throat before she spoke. "We think we have a locale on Angelique."

John gave the redheaded girl a hard look and then glanced distractedly back at Nikita. "We think she's one of the master vampires...we've been looking for her for as long as we've been active. Used to think she was just a dream...or a nightmare..." He rubbed the back of his neck and said brusquely to the girl, "Tell me."

She drew in a deep breath. "Clay's the one that found it. An old house, out in the middle of the woods, upstate New York--it matches all the criteria. Secluded, no neighbors, has been passed from cousin to cousin for the last hundred years. Rafe sent a report as well--says none of the locals will even go near it, people been disappearing around the area for years. Not enough so as it would go noticed outside..."

Nodding the redheaded girl hurried off and John let out his breath in a long sigh, rubbing his forehead, closing his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, Nikita stood before him, expression grim. "Is she the one that has Michael?"

As an afterthought, Michael had taken a cloth and wrapped it around cut hand before going to sit down on the settee. It shook him badly that she had been able to sense his intent, to reach into his mind and stop him from making that fatal cut, take from him his one means of escape. It did not occur to him how closely he had come to succeeding, how hard she'd had to strive to retain control of just his hand, unable to take control of his mind.

The sound of a key in the lock brought his head up and he watched the door as it opened, knowing that it would be Angelique and striving to school his expression into its usual inscrutable mask, though his heart started to thud in his chest. As was her wont, She wore her long ebony hair loose and it framed her face, amusement warming dark eyes, the black lace of her sleeve sliding back down from pale wrist as she extended a hand to take his, fingers closing painfully hard when he resisted.

"Did you think I would let you escape me so easily? After I have waited so long for you?" She brought his wrist up to her lips, pressing a kiss against his skin and feeling his pulse flutter wildly under her mouth. Could smell the fear he tried to hide, fear that sent his heart racing and sweat sliding down from his forehead, and she smiled, pressing teeth against his wrist just short of breaking the skin.

Even though he knew it was pointless, still he had to resist, to struggle as she dragged him inexorably to the bed. Ceased to struggle only when she drained enough from him to steal his strength, to leave him gasping and trembling as she pulled him against her, stroking his hair. "Soon...soon we will be together." she crooned into his ear. "For all eternity..."

In John's small office he'd gathered a half-dozen members of his group, to peruse the map Rafe had given him for Angelique's house. It was secluded indeed, with only a long, winding dirt road to provide access to the main road, a long enough drive to convince anyone that there was no house to be found at the end of it. Rafe had gotten just close enough to snap a few pictures before leaving and it was from these that the map had been drawn. A big rambling Gothic structure of a house, dark gray and black, resembling nothing so much as the Addams Family house and rather than that idle thought drawing amusement, it sent a chill down Nikita's spine. After her years in the Section and on the street, seeing the worst that humanity had to offer, there was nothing amusing at all about a family of psychopaths...

There were only so many bodies that could be squeezed into the van--along with the supplies they needed--and so John had chosen the best of his people, eight in all other than himself and a driver, a tight squeeze but he didn't dare bring any less. He was also the one to come up with the plan: simply walk up to the front door and knock.

It was the redheaded girl--Maggie--that spoke, green eyes lighting up. "Oh, but it makes perfect sense! See, most of the disappearances in the area, they occur around the forest. Hitchhikers, students, even tourists--people that are out of touch with relatives and friends, people whose last location no one really knows. So you have two girls out hiking, get lost in the woods, and just happen to stumble on this house..."

John regarded her levelly. "Of course we can hit the place with a rocket launcher...but that's going to draw a little more notice than we'd like. This way, we can get in the front door with a minimum amount of fuss, find your friend and torch any coffin we can find. And hopefully Angelique will be one of them."

"First thing in the morning." said John briskly, straightening and rubbing his hands together. "So everyone get some rest...we want to head out at dawn. We want to have as much daylight to work with as possible." Nodding the rest of the group filed out, leaving Nikita and John alone, Nikita still looking over the photographs.

"I don't know." But he wouldn't meet her eyes as he said it, turning his head a little to the side, ostensibly to study the map. "Look...you better get some sleep too. You're going to need to be very focused tomorrow." And with that John left the office.

Nikita was tempted to follow him, to try and force whatever he was holding back out of him, but remained where she was. If John had ulterior motives here...well, that was nothing she wasn't accustomed to, coming from where she did. And if he could help her rescue Michael, then she was willing to assist him in whatever agenda he had.

It was a beautiful autumn day, the sun bright in the sky, the air with a bit of a nip to it, leaves providing a carpet of red and gold. Perfect day for wandering in the woods, Nikita thought sourly as she and Maggie walked up to the house, feeling Goldilocks approaching the house of the three bears...only unlike those fairy tale bears these ones would eat her alive. She shook the thought from her head, comforted by the pressure of her gun against the small of her back, hidden by jean jacket, twin blond braids bouncing as she strode up to the porch. Both of them had dressed like college girls out for a nature hike--jean jackets, shorts, boots, a New York State University sweatshirt for Maggie and a plain yellow T-shirt for Nikita—with the obligatory backpack slung over a shoulder.

The plan was for them to go to the door and just knock--if anyone answered, then try to talk their way inside. Both of them were equipped with a comset so that once they entered, the rest of the team would come to back them up.

Maggie gave her a grateful smile and took a step back as Nikita went to knock on the door. Chewing on gum and idly wrapping her braid around her finger she waited for someone--anyone--to answer the door, eyes scanning the porch. A few minutes ticked by and she raised her hand to knock on the door again, halting in midmotion as she heard footsteps on the other side of the door. Drawing herself up she fixed a friendly smile on her face, facing the small glass window on the door as the curtain was drawn to the side and a face peered out.

The curtain fell back and there was the sound of the door unlocking, a chain being drawn back, the door opening to show a tall heavy-set man with shaved head, dressed in black jeans and black turtleneck, gold earrings in his ears.

"Hi." said Nikita, giving him a bright smile. "Sorry to bother you but my friend and I, well, we're lost..." She extended a foot to scuff at the wooden porch and the man's eyes were drawn to her long leg, a little gleam of interest coming into them.

"Sure." said the man, opening the door wider to let them in. Nikita went in first, flashing the man a flirtatious smile as she circled behind him, eyes flicking around the front hall even as she slid a hand under her jacket and pulled the gun free.

"Call him." Grabbing a handful of his sweater Nikita pulled him around, the gun still aimed at his head, Maggie fading back, and leaned forward to speak softly in the man's ear. "Don't think I won't shoot you."

"Got it." To the two men, Nikita said, "Anyone else in the house?" Nothing from the bald man, just stony silence, and Nikita shifted her gaze to the other man, already starting to sweat. Smiling she lifted the gun and lazily aimed it at his crotch, recognizing that he was the weak link of the two. "How bout you? Anyone else here?"

A moment later the door opened and the rest of the team came inside, immeaditely going over to bind and gag the two men. As John came up to her and gave her an approving nod, Nikita said, "I think he's upstairs. I'm going up."

"Vic will go with you." A tall, lean man with the weathered complexion of someone that had spent a lot of time outdoors, brown hair with streaks of white, came forward and followed Nikita as she took the stairs up to the second floor. Down at the end of the hallway was a set of double doors but along the way was other doors to be checked and Nikita gestured for Vic to take one as she went to the end of the hallway. The doorknob turned under her hand but didn't open--with a sigh, Nikita slipped the backpack off her shoulder and unzipped the front flap, withdrawing a set of lockpicks. The lock was an easy one, taking less than a minute to jimmy, and once she had it open she slipped inside, easing it shut behind her.

Directly in front of her was a huge canopy bed and she could discern a figure sprawled on it, covered by blankets. Looking quickly around her to see no other occupant in the room, she went to the bed, shoving her gun down the waistband of her shorts, and reached out to pull the blankets back.

It was Michael, lying on his back and the blankets pulled up to his shoulders, brown hair falling across his forehead. "Michael." she whispered, laying a hand on his cheek, but there was no response from him, not even so much as a twitch. She let her hand slide down his cheek and to his throat, feeling for his pulse and encountering something wet; drawing back her hand she stared at the blood on her fingertips and swallowed hard before pressing her fingers back against his throat. At last he stirred, a moan escaping him, hands coming up to weakly push at hers. "No...please..."

"Michael...shh...it's me." He opened his eyes to look at her, his own dark and dazed, blinking as he brought her into focus, and his hands fell back, eyes closing again. Brushing his hair back she could see bite marks on his throat and his pulse was sluggish under her fingers--they must have been bleeding him steadily over the last few days, she realized with horror. Grasping his arms she pulled him up and pushed him back against the headboard, slapping him gently on the cheek to rouse him.

Michael shook his head weakly, revulsion and fear in his eyes, and she grasped his hands to give them a squeeze, pulling him with her. "Then let's get out of here." Taking his arm she slung it over her shoulder and helped him to his feet, bracing herself as his weight came down on her shoulders and waiting for him to get his feet under him before she started to move to the bedroom door.

One-handed she hauled open the door and stared in shock at the man that stood there, long brown hair hanging down to his waist, wearing a black velvet robe over trousers and shirt. With the speed and power of a snake, he reached out to drag Michael from her, pulling him back against his chest and an arm going around his waist to pin arms.

"I don't have to kill you." said the man with a chuckle, tongue flicking out to touch his throat and taste the blood there. As Nikita watched, frozen with horror, the man's mouth pressed against Michael's throat and Michael jerked, stiffening briefly in the man's hold and then going suddenly limp, head lolling. Withdrawing the man cast Michael away from him with a contemptuous gesture, wiping away the blood on his mouth with long fingers.

"Silver bullets, asshole." She put the first bullet through his throat, watching in grim satisfaction as his eyes flew wide in surprise, hands clasping his throat as dark blood flowed between his fingers. Second bullet she put into his head and the man staggered back, blood running down his face, shaking his head incredulously, only falling when she put two more bullets in his chest. Shrugging off the backpack she pulled out a wooden stake and kneeled over the man, driving it into his chest and grimacing as it failed to go all the way in. It took several long moments to drive it all the way in, the man making mewing sounds as she went, and by the time it was done, she had to go off to the side and empty the contents of her stomach.

Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Nikita turned away from the corpse and went to Michael, tears running down her cheek as she turned him over. The door flew open and she turned at the waist, bringing her gun up in a two-handed grip, but it was John that stood there, three members of his group behind him. John glanced over at the dead vampire and then went to Nikita, touching her on the shoulder as he looked down at Michael's still form.

"Let me." John kneeled beside her, taking one of Michael's arms and pulling him up to sling him over one shoulder, grunting a little with the effort. "I know someone near by that can help him. Come on." Wiping at the tears on her cheeks, Nikita followed him out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

Nikita didn't even to think to ask if the rest of their mission was successful, her attention so focused on Michael, sitting on the floor of the van and holding him in her arms. Maggie had given her a blanket to wrap him in, to keep him warm, and she'd merely given her a nod of thanks. It wasn't until she had the blanket wrapped around Michael that she counted heads, noting that Vic was missing among them...and vaguely remembered seeing blood on the wallpaper of the hallway as she'd followed John out.

Finally the van came to a halt and Nikita lifted her head as the door was hauled open, John and another man coming to take Michael from her. "Doctor." said John succinctly as they carried him out of the van and up to a small white building, Nikita going ahead to knock on the door.

The door opened to reveal a young man with long curly blond hair, tugging on a white lab coat and adjusting wire-rimmed glasses, frowning as he looked from John to the burden he and the other man carried. "John, what--" He paled a little as he saw Michael and then pushed past them to cast a quick look around, pushing at John and gesturing sharply for Nikita to go inside. "For God's sake, have a little discretion--"

"Room 2." said Bruce tersely, gesturing down the hallway, and as they went, Nikita could hear him talking to the woman. Pushing open the door, Nikita held it as John and the other man brought Michael inside, lying him down on the examining table.

Bruce entered just a few minutes later, striding immeaditely to the table, winding blood pressure cuff around one of Michael's arms while he grasped his chin with the other hand and turned his head to examine his throat. Expression grim he looked down at the blood pressure cuff and then at the three of them clustered before him. "Blood type?"

For a moment it looked as if Bruce would argue but then he wearily shook his head, looking suddenly much older. "Wait out in the hallway." Nodding John and the other man went as ordered, Bruce turning his attention to Nikita. "You too."

"I'm staying." said Nikita firmly, walking to the table and taking one of Michael's hands, expression very calm as she met Bruce's eyes. He studied for a moment then gave a nod, leaving the room briefly to retrieve the unit of blood.

An hour later and Bruce reluctantly allowed them to take Michael, telling John to make sure he got a more intensive workup from the next doctor, cleaning and dressing the throat wound before he let them go. In the van again, John gave terse orders to the driver and as he pulled away from the clinic, John went into the back, Nikita sitting beside Michael, stretched out on the floor.

"You complete and utter bastard." Slowly she rose to her feet, hands hanging loose at her sides, but blue eyes flashed as she stared at John. "If he dies...I will hold you personally accountable. Do you understand that?"

He flinched a little at the rage in her eyes but his expression remained steadfast. "It has to be done. Wanting him makes her vulnerable...and if we have to use him to bring her down...then we will." And turned away to head for the front of the van.

On the West Coast and in a small town in Northern California was another base for the group, this one an old run-down hotel remodeled to provide living quarters and workspace. Unlike the haphazard appearance of the warehouse, this base was organized and better supplied, everything from an infirmary to a lab, and it was to the infirmary that Michael was taken, to be fully examined by the doctor in residence.

This time Nikita was made to wait out in the hall and she leaned back against the wall, ignoring John's prescence, still seething over his admitted intentions to use Michael as bait for this Angelique. Not that it was anything that hadn't been done to him in the past...but it was not something she wanted any part of. She had gone along with John in good faith, believing that he had no ulterior motives in wanting to rescue Michael, and as usual she had discovered that she was wearing blinders, unable to see anything but what lay before her. Time for her to cast them aside and take a good look around her...

She lifted her head at the sound of John's voice and fixed him with a cool look. Hands in his pockets, John let out a heavy sigh. "I know it's a s---y thing to do...but you have no idea how much evil this woman has done. How many lives she's taken--"

And turned her attention to the door as it opened, a tall, slim woman with long dark hair streaked with gray emerging, wearing a white lab coat over jeans and Tshirt. She gave John a peremptory nod and then turned her attention to Nikita, allowing a slight smile to curve her lips.

Automatically Nikita shook her hand and the older woman looked from her to John and then back, a small sigh escaping her. "I've given him a transfusion and a mild sedative-- physically he will recover quickly, I think. As for his mental state..." She trailed off, lifting her shoulders in a shrug.

"Michael." repeated Dianne with a nod. "I've been working with survivors of attacks like this. Depending on the...strength of the creature involved, the worst side effects you're likely to see are nightmares, which results in anxiety and insomnia. With the passage of time, whatever...bond has been formed fades. But with the older ones...the bond is stronger, more intense. It helps the victim if he or she has some kind of emotional connection with a friend or lover--that connection might be the only thing that allows them to resist."

Dianne folded her arms over her chest, expression grave. "If the vampire involved is strong enough, he/she can call their victim and have them return. Judging from what John has said..." She cast him a sideways glance and he flushed a little.

"The one that assaulted your friend is very old...and very strong. If she wants him badly enough, she will be using all her power to call him back. If it comes down to it, I will keep him sedated and restrained but I'd really rather not do that--it will not help him in his recovery. You can help him."

"Thank you." said Nikita softly to Dianne as she went into the room, letting the door shut behind her. In the center of the room was a bed and Michael lay on it, blankets pulled up to his chest, left hand lying limply at his side and an IV needle taped to the back of it, his other arm lying across his midsection. Brown hair was damp with sweat at the temples and he looked so pale and vulnerable lying there, a frightening thing to see when she accustomed to seeing him so strong, so in control.

As she stood watching him, he stirred in his sleep, brow furrowing as his head moved on the pillow. He muttered something under his breath and a sigh escaped him as he went still once more, whatever nightmare had gripped him seeming to fade. Silent for a long moment, only the sound of his breathing in the room, and then he gave an anguished moan, twisting on the bed and whispering the same word over and over: "Non..."

She laid her hand on his arm but he pulled away, muttering something in French, feet kicking at the blankets covering his legs as he moved restlessly on the bed, eyelids fluttering. Pulling back the blankets, Nikita managed to wriggle up onto the bed beside him and gathered him into her arms, a hand stroking his hair soothingly as he struggled weakly against her. "It's okay, it's okay, you're safe."

Bit by bit he relaxed in her arms, the trembling easing and his breathing slowing, and as she started to extricate herself from Michael, his arms went around her waist and his head laid against her breast. With a sigh, she settled back, her hand still stroking his hair, pressing a kiss against the top of his head. Despite the awkwardness of the position Nikita managed to doze off, awaking hours later from a light sleep as Michael shifted against her. Rubbing her eyes she lifted her head a little and smiled at seeing Michael still lying against her, arms wrapped around her waist. When she had thought about being in bed with him, somehow it had involved less clothes than this...

In his dream he was somewhere dark and cold, shivering and hugging arms to himself as he moved through the darkness, looking for some way out. And with the darkness was an anxiety, a knowledge that *she* was out there somewhere, taunting him with the promise of freedom, of release. As he walked the feeling of being watched grew so that he imagined he saw the red flash of her eyes every time he turned his head, his movements becoming slower and slower as the darkness enfolded him. Cold seeped into his bones, making him shiver spasmodically, and every step was like pushing through some unseen barrier.

All through it he could hear her voice calling his name, a soft, seductive whisper with the false promise of warmth and peace. He had only to surrender to her, let her in--he shook his head violently at the thought and felt her anger in his mind, cold and chilling, her will reaching out to drag him in. Struggle though he did against her, he could feel his strength draining away, the will to fight fading...

And just as he felt himself start to fall a hand caught his, a golden prescence providing light in the darkness, arms wrapping around him to shelter him from Angelique's siren call, exuding a warmth that drove the chill from him. A voice whispered nonsense words, drowning out Angelique's voice, drawing him up out of the nightmare and into consciousness.

"Here--" Gently she nudged him and he released his hold on her waist, Nikita slipping off the bed to find cup and water. In one drawer was a box of straws and she stuck that in the glass, taking it back over to Michael. "Drink."

A chill went through Nikita at seeing the fear in Michael's eyes, Michael who had never been afraid of anything--except perhaps his own feelings. "If she wants a man that bad, she's going to have to look somewhere else. I saw you first." she said, trying for a flippant tone and managing to succeed.

That drew a small smile from him, not quite banishing the shadows in his eyes but showing a little bit of the Michael she knew, some of his calm returning. "If worse comes to worst...you have to promise me that you won't let her have me. No matter what it takes."

"I...promise." His grip on her hand eased and he closed his eyes briefly, weariness dragging at him. Fought against its pull, not wanting to fall into that dream again, and felt her lips press against his forehead in a soothing kiss. "Rest...I'll be right here. I'm not going anywhere." With her hand clasping his, he let himself fall back into sleep, his slumber dreamless this time.

Sighing Nikita went to pull up a chair and sank down into it, taking Michael's hand again and holding it between hers. She prayed that the situation never became that desperate, that she would have to keep that promise she had made...because despite her word she was not all sure that she could kill him. Even if it would be a mercy killing...

Over the next few days, Nikita remained at Michael's side, a cot placed in his room so that she could nap, venturing from his side only long enough to eat and attend to personal business. He slept a great deal, aided by sedatives Dianne administered through the IV, decreasing the dosage as time passed, and Nikita sat with him, watching him for any signs of dreaming. With the sedatives he didn't seem to dream but once Dianne lowered the dosage, the nightmares returned, seeming only to ease when she held his hand and talked to him. Physically his recovery was slow, only venturing briefly out of the bed on the third day, Nikita supporting him as he walked around the room. Not like the Michael she was accustomed to and it worried her to see him so listless...

She was the one to call a halt, to suggest a return to his room, and settled him into the bed, relieved that he was beginning to act more like his old self. She sat with him till late evening, when he finally fell asleep, and then ventured out in search of something to eat.

Dianne must have spoken to John for Nikita hadn't seen him once in the last few days and didn't see him as she went to the main kitchen. Putting together a sandwich, she stayed in the empty kitchen long enough to finish it before going back to Michael's room, taking with her a snack for later. Opening the door, she stared for a long moment at the now empty bed, the covers pushed back, and then set her burden down before checking the bathroom, finding it empty as well.

A small flutter of panic ran through her as she went back out into the hallway to look for Michael, following the corridor to the main lobby and at last seeing him, walking slowly towards the door. Shoulders sagging in relief she went to him, calling, "What are you doing out here?"

No response from him and she frowned as she moved around him, blocking him from the door, a hand going up to lay against his chest. Looking into his eyes she felt a chill go through her as she saw they were utterly blank, no sign at all that he heard or saw her. Almost as if he were sleepwalking...she caught his arms and gave him a hard shake. "Michael!"

He blinked as she said his name, a shiver going through him, and gave a little shake of his head as if to clear it, sense returning to his eyes. A hand went to his forehead and he weaved, Nikita gripping his arms to support him. "Where were you going?"

Nikita took his hands and tugged on them, forcing Michael to look at her and trying not to let her own unease show. Hard not to react to the panic and fear she saw lurking in his eyes, despite his efforts to conceal it. "I won't let you go, Michael. I promise. Come on..." she added coaxingly, pulling him around. Numbly he let her lead him back to the room and sank down onto the bed. Kissing him on the forehead, she said softly, "Stay here...I'll be right back." She left him still sitting on the edge of the bed, staring down at the floor, and went in search of Dianne.

After ten minutes of searching, she finally found Dianne in her own quarters, told the location by Maggie, and after just a brief explanation, Dianne dragged on clothes and took Nikita by her office so that she could pick up supplies. It was a relief to find Michael still sitting on the bed but it hurt to see the dullness in his eyes, no interest at all in Dianne as she entered the room.

He nodded slowly, extending his arm, and Nikita looked away as Dianne gave him a sedative, forcing a reassuring smile as she went to help Michael lay down. Whatever Dianne had given him must have been especially strong for his eyelids were already starting to flutter and Nikita took his hand in hers, holding it as he slowly sank into sleep, fighting it all the way.

Breathing deeply, Nikita reached out to brush a lock of hair from his eyes, her fingers trailing down his cheek, and felt a prick of tears in her eyes. It had taken her a long time to come to terms with it, to accept that she loved him, and now that she thought he might actually be able to return it, here was another obstacle to be overcome. Fury swept through her at the thought and she vowed that she would do everything in her power to see to it that this...woman didn't take Michael from her.

Nodding Nikita went out first, waiting for Dianne to join her; Dianne closed the door softly behind her and let her head bow briefly, rubbing the back of her neck wearily. No matter how many times she saw this, it was always hard to witness, harder still given that she had lost half of her patients to either their attackers or their own depression.

Raising her head, she drew in a deep breath as she faced Nikita. "Night is when she's strongest--she'll keep trying to summon him. The only way we'll be able to keep him from going to her is to sedate and restrain him at night." Her mouth twisted as she said it, a sigh escaping her. She wouldn't tell Nikita of her past failures, of patients that had dislocated limbs to free themselves of the restraints, so driven by the call that they would walk until they dropped from exhaustion.

Dianne rubbed her forehead. "I'm of two minds about that, I'll admit--destroying her is very important...but taking that kind of chance with your friend...it goes against everything I've been taught and believe in. I don't know if having him confront her is a good idea, in his present condition. I think it's something that Michael needs to agree to...and believe me, I *will* tell John as much." she added grimly.

"Being there for him...it's the best thing that you can do for him right now. Whatever improvement he's made--you've been a big part of." Dianne hesitated briefly and then gave her a quick hug. "I know it's hard...but he'll come through it." Nikita wiped away a tear as she drew back. "You've gone through this, too, haven't you?"

The first night the sedatives kept Michael asleep and restraints weren't required but on the second night, he was coming out of the sedatives faster than he should have and rather than give him a dangerously high dose, Dianne had him moved to another room and restrained to the bed. Nikita had sat and watched him as he twisted in his sleep, the nightmares stronger now, struggling against his restraints and stopping only when she soothed him. It was exacting a heavy toll on her as well, sleeping sporadically, waking with even the smallest sound, an effort to force herself to eat.

But at last, after the third night, the nightmares seemed to fade; whether or not that was a good thing Nikita was not sure, it was enough that at last Michael seemed to be pulling a little out of the depression he had sunk into. Apathetic and uncommunicative in the daytime, a listlessness in him she had never seen before, and with Dianne's comment about her husband killing himself, Nikita had made certain there was nothing sharp in the room that Michael could use to hurt himself.

On the third night she had curled up next to him on the bed in the hope that physical contact might calm him, as it had before, and she awoke the next morning to the feel of his cheek pressed against her head. Sighed and wanted to just snuggle up against him, forget about the world, but his soft voice brought her head up. "Nikita..."

"Better." His eyes went from her to the restraints on wrists and then back to her, a mute plea. Raising herself she undid the restraints, sliding off the bed to attend to the ankle restraints as well, extending a hand to help him up to a sitting position. He closed his eyes briefly, drawing in a deep breath, and wrinkled his nose. "I need a shower."

"I think I know what you meant." He took her hand and raised it to his lips, pressing a kiss against her knuckles, eyes somber as he regarded her. "If it wasn't for you...I would have been lost. After everything that's happened between us...I don't know why you did this--"

"Yes, you do." Nikita took a step closer to the bed, reaching out a hand to place it against his cheek, her thumb rubbing against his cheek. "For the same reason that you risked so much for me, to keep me alive...even when I didn't care anymore. Love."

"I asked Madeline once if you even had a heart. She said that you loved deeply once...and that she didn't know if you could again." She let her hand trail down his cheek and to his mouth, finger tracing his lips. "For a while, I didn't think you could... but somewhere deep inside me I always knew you had the capacity to love again. Just as I knew someday we would be together..."

Just her touch was enough to warm him, to drive away the lingering shadows of Angelique's prescence, and he surrendered to the impulse to draw her closer, to press his mouth against hers. Drew her down onto the bed atop him, the two of them setting aside all worries and concerns, letting the heat of the moment take them away.

Nikita awoke to find Michael gone from her side and rubbed her eyes as she sat up in bed, looking at her watch. Just past noon--slipping out of bed she recovered her clothing and pulled it on, tugging fingers through her hair to rid it of the tangles before leaving the room. It took her a few moments of searching but she finally spotted someone sitting out on the patio--visible through the glass doors of the lobby--and she went out through the doors, recognizing Michael's brown head, hair damp as if he'd come out of the shower not long ago.

"It might be the only way to destroy her." He shivered, straightening to rub his arms, but that was all the reaction he would give, nothing to be read at all in his eyes. Drawing in a deep breath, he rose from the bench and extended a hand to help her to her feet, eyes calm as they met hers. "Who is in charge here?"

Michael sounded almost preternaturally calm as he said the words to John, John sitting behind the desk that had once belonged to the hotel manager, Nikita and Michael seated across from him. Nikita stiffened at the bald statement, managing to overcome the instinct to shoot a glare at John, cursing herself for letting Michael pull her into this.

Slowly Nikita pushed herself up from the chair and walked out of the room, going out to stand in the hallway. Leaning back against the wall, she closed her eyes, trying not to give in to the tears of anger and helplessness. If he could be strong enough to face his fears, to allow himself to used as bait, then the least she could do was support her...but she hated the thought of him being placed in harm's way, of being vulnerable again to that...creature.

She straightened as the door opened and wiped surreptiously at her eyes as Michael came to stand before her. His hand cupped her chin and lifted it, his other hand going to wipe away the marks of tears on her cheek, leaning forward to kiss her on the forehead.

Michael drew her into his arms, pressing his cheek against her hair. "If it wasn't for you...I wouldn't have come through this. It's because of you that I'll have the strength to do this." He drew back, stroking her hair back from her face, and smiled, looking deeply into her eyes, as if drinking her in. "You make me believe in myself..."

It had been a long time since she had such an idyllic day, spent entirely with Michael, doing whatever caught their fancy. They even had dinner in his room and afterwards went for a walk, returning to the room and spending the rest of the evening in each other's arms, exploring their newfound intimacy. Nikita fell asleep in Michael's arms, feeling at peace and content for the first time in a long time.

"In my room--" Wouldn't say that she hadn't trusted bringing a gun into the room with him, not in his previous emotional state...finding her jeans under the chair she pulled them on and approached the door slowly. Michael opened it to stick his head out, scanning the hallway, and then took her hand to pull her out with him. A man lay on his back not far from the door, hand still clutching his gun, his throat a red ruin, and Michael moved over to take the gun from his hand, ejecting the clip to check for the amount of rounds and then slapping it back in. "Exits?" he whispered to Nikita.

"This way." She tugged at his hand, indicating the way behind them, and he let her lead him, looking back over his shoulder as they went. Down the hall and to a bend, there were exits through the back, she was fairly sure... She came around the corner and lunged back as something moved in front of her, Michael dragging her back behind him and placing himself between her and the danger.

Hands caught him and threw him into the wall, Michael hitting it hard and sliding down it, still managing to hold onto the gun. Nikita stood frozen, torn between wanting to go to Michael and attack, took a step back as the figure moved closer, chuckling as it reached for her.

A boom and the figure staggered back, hissing and spinning to face Michael; using the wall Michael pushed himself up, extending his arm to fire again, the bullet tearing through the figure's throat and sending it down, writhing. He took two steps and put two more bullets in its head, Nikita venturing closer to see it was a young red-headed woman.

"Laurel." said Michael softly as he stared down at the body and shook his head, reaching for Nikita's arm. "Let's get out of here..." He trailed off, head lifting to look back down the hallway, suddenly rigid, and Nikita grasped his arm to pull him along.

"What's wrong?" She looked back down the hallway and saw a woman slowly approaching, long skirts swishing around her legs as she came towards them at a leisurely pace. Michael's gun hand shook as he brought the gun up to aim it at her, taking a step back, and from behind her arms wrapped around Nikita, squeezing tight enough to drive the breath from her. A hand caught in her hair and dragged her head to the side, hot breath against her throat.

Michael moved the gun from Nikita's captor to the woman, eyes flicking rapidly back and forth. "Drop the gun or the woman dies." said the man that held Nikita, his tongue flicking out to touch her throat and sending a shiver of disgust through her.

"Agreed!" With a sharp gesture the woman nodded for Nikita to be released and she staggered away, starting to reach for Michael, but the woman had already come to him, taking the gun from his hand, fingers closing around his wrist. She turned to face Nikita, eyes glowing with triumph, and lashed out with one hand, the blow sending her into darkness.

The lair was an old abandoned church, crumbling and in disrepair, wooden pews covered with dust and cobwebs, candles set around the interior to provide light. Michael was dragged up to the altar and dropped on the stairs, left to sit there as the half-dozen of Angelique's followers spread through the church, lighting candles.

Breathing deeply to control his racing heart, Michael slid fingers surreptiously under the collar of his shirt, relief washing over him as he felt the small tracker placed there. As he'd outlined his plan, John had given Michael the tracker, telling him that if he was taken, the tracker would lead them to him. He pressed it with one finger to activate it and let himself relax...he only had to hold out until they found the lair. Surely he could survive that long...

A shadow fell over him and he lifted his head to regard Angelique, his heart skipping a beat. She stood over him, utterly still, white features blank but with a darkness lurking in her eyes, hands smoothing down the skirt of her burgundy lace dress.

"You're strong." she said, almost grudgingly. "Anyone else would have come to me... but you did not. Why is that, I wonder?" For all the playful tone of her voice, there was an undercurrent of anger and perhaps even jealousy, a small, hard smile curving her lips.

Without Nikita's prescence he would have succumbed to the call, he knew that--for the first time he could admit to himself that something more than mere circumstance tied them together. She provided him with a part of himself he'd lost a long time ago...

With a snarl she struck him openhanded across the mouth, sending him sprawling against the stairs, gasping and tasting blood in his mouth. Hands reached for him, fingers touching his collar preparatory to seizing it, just inches from the tracker, and he shifted position so that she grabbed the front of his shirt instead, drawing him up so that they were face to face.

"You *will* be mine. You *will* submit to me." Despite himself he shivered as her power flowed over him, battering at fortified defenses no one had been able to breach...except for Nikita, and concentrated on the image of Nikita, using it as a shield. "I will bring you over and I will be your master...for all eternity. And you will never leave me again." Her tongue flicked at the corner of his mouth, tasting the blood there, and her mouth closed over his, fingers winding through his hair. He responded not all, allowing the kiss but setting teeth so that her tongue could not slip inside, not even reacting as fingers tugged hard at his hair.

Angelique drew back and Michael met her stare, his own eyes cold and expression blank. She shoved him from her, the fury flaring and then dying in her eyes, replaced by a grim pleasure. "Luke." She turned sideways, revealing a young man that looked to be barely out of his teens, long blond hair framing a grinning face with mad blue eyes. "He's yours." Luke licked his lips, a hunger coming into his eyes, and as he took a step forward Angelique caught his arm, effortlessly holding him back. "Kill him...and I will have your head. Anything short of that...do what you wish."

It was a dark and cold place and somewhere Michael was in danger but no matter how she searched she couldn't find him. And echoing in her ears, till she thought it would drive her mad, was a woman's laughter...

Nikita opened bleary eyes as the sharp voice pulled her up out of unconsciousness, blinking and seeing John leaning over her. Behind him was Dianne, slipping around him to lay a hand on Nikita's shoulder to press her back down.

"Michael..." In a rush it all came back to her, the fight and the appearance of Angelique, Michael's bargaining for Nikita's life, surrendering himself to Angelique so that Nikita could live...tears sprang to her eyes and this time when she sat up Dianne let her, sighing. "They've taken him." she whispered, throat tight with her tears.

"Nikita, he's wearing a tracker. It's been activated...which means he's still alive." Numbly she lifted her head to look at John and he grasped her shoulders to give them a reassuring squeeze. "We will find him, Nikita. It's just a matter of time."

"Time's something we don't have." she said flatly, swallowing hard against the lump in her throat and laying a hand over her heart. Somehow she did know Michael was alive, it was like some kind of...connection had been formed between them and though it was weak now, she could still feel that calm prescence that was Michael. Faded and worn but still there...

Resolutely she pushed the blanket off herself and gripping the head of the bed to pull herself to her feet, standing still for a moment as her head spun and waiting for it to pass before forcing herself to move. "Let's get started." she said brusquely to John and he studied her for a long moment before finally giving a nod and leading the way out of the room.

John asked the question as they entered what had once been a conference room, converted into the main computer room for the hotel base, and behind one of the monitors sat a young man with curly light brown hair hanging down to his collar, wearing jeans and a white Tshirt. As he spun his chair to face John and Nikita her mouth twisted in a small smile, seeing that on the front of his shirt was a yellow smiley face with a bullet hole in its forehead and a line of blood running down its face.

"Not yet, Captain." responded the young man in a thick Highland burr, flashing a brief smile at Nikita, the accent disappearing as he continued. "It's active and sending...but I'm having a hard time locking it down. Our equipment here isn't exactly up to speed, y'know." he said, giving the monitor in front of him a commiserating pat, as if in apology.

"Well, you can keep telling me that and telling me that...it's just not going to make an impression on Matilda here. She can only do so much." responded Scotty with a rueful shake of his head, touching the tower case lightly. "If I had a couple of days, I could lock it down...but you say I don't have it. So...it's not going to happen, John. Not with this equipment."

Nikita stared at the bank of computers, seeing not them but the more familiar ones of the Section, a young man with only a thin layer of stubble covering his head. "I think I know how we can find him." She turned to face John, drawing in a deep breath. "I need a phone."

A slap to the cheek roused Michael from the doze he had fallen into and he blinked dazedly as he tried to bring the face over him into focus. Luke grinned at him as he pulled him up to a sitting position, an arm slipping around his shoulders to keep him upright, a young woman coming into his line of sight, tugging his shirt closed and buttoning it, dark brown hair falling over her face as she worked. She raised her head as if sensing his regard and a sweet smile lit her angel's face, marred only by the ever-present hunger in soft brown eyes...Delia, his weary mind supplied, and with the name came the memory of her over him, blood on her mouth, grinning down at him...

Buttoning the cuffs on one wrist, she took his other wrist in her hand and turned it up, sighing as her eyes fell on the inside of his wrist, tongue extruding from between her lips as she lifted his wrist to her mouth. Weakly he tugged at his wrist but her fingers held it in an iron grip, lips drawing back from her fangs as she pressed her mouth to his wrist.

Glaring at him, Delia flounced out of the room and Luke pulled Michael up to his feet, supporting him when he swayed. "The big day is here...we're going to the chapel and we're gonna get married..." he sang as he led Michael out of the room.

The words sank into his dazed mind and yet had no meaning, not until they emerged from the corridor and into the main hall of the church. As they entered, organ music started up, playing a somber version of the Wedding March, and gathered around the altar were more than a dozen figures, all dressed in wedding finery.

"My love..." she breathed, a hand caressing his cheek, and took his arms, forcing him back against the altar. Bending him painfully over the altar she placed a palm against his chair and pushed his head back, placing gentle kisses on his throat before sinking teeth into his throat.

But this time she did not stop as he went limp, mouth continuing to suck at his throat. Vision dimmed and a roaring in his ears eclipsed all other sound, he could feel his heartbeat slow, struggling painfully to maintain the beat, darkness slowly, inexorably drawing him into its folds.

Angelique withdrew, timing the moment perfectly, so attuned to him that she knew when he started to fade. Holding him in one arm, she stroked hair tenderly back from pale features as she watched him struggle still to live, heart beat slowing and then finally stopping. Luke came forward, dagger extended, and took Michael's limp figure from her, holding him upright as she drew the dagger across her wrist with a hiss of pain.

Turning her wrist she pressed it against Michael's lips, some of the blood seeping in past parted lips, forced his head back and pried open mouth, squeezing her fist to send a stream of blood into his mouth and stroking his throat with the other that he swallowed. For a long moment she feared she had judged amiss, that she had waited too long, but then he started to stir, mouth working instinctively at her wrist. She sighed and let her eyes close, a delicious warmth spreading through her, breath coming a little faster as his hands came up to clasp her wrist, sucking harder at the wound in her wrist.

"Enough." she said and pulled her wrist free, Luke allowing Michael to slump to hands and knees. Slowly he brought his hand up to his mouth, shaking fingers touching his lips and lifting fingers before his eyes, staring in horror at the blood there. And then curled in on himself, shaking violently as the change started to come over him.

Angelique kneeled beside him and drew him into her arms, stroking his hair and holding him. "Soon it will be over...and you will be one of us." And pressed her cheek against his hair, a triumphant smile curving her lips.

Dressed casually in jeans and T-shirt with denim jacket, dark sunglasses to hide her eyes, Nikita sat at an outdoor table of a small bistro in the downtown district, John seated across from her. A phone call to Birkhoff--a mixture of pleas and threats--had secured a meeting with the young man here and a promise of assistance in helping them to track Michael. If anyone could find Michael then Birkhoff could...or so Nikita fervently hoped.

Sipping at a capuccino Nikita scanned the sidewalk and let out a little sigh of relief at seeing Birkhoff's familiar head. She hadn't been entirely certain that he would come but apparently loyalty to Michael must have convinced him--he carried with a black briefcase and sat down at the table with a quick nod of greeting to Nikita before he flipped open the case.

"Receiver." he said shortly, holding his hand out, and John leaned across the table to place the receiver in his hand, both he and Nikita watching as Birkhoff expertly hooked it up to his laptop. "It'll take a few minutes..." said Birkhoff, gaze intent on his screen.

Grids flashed across the screen as the program cycled through, searching for the signal transmitted by Michael's tracker, and Nikita sat back with a sigh, turning her attention back to the people moving down the sidewalk around her. Hard to resist the urge to shake Birkhoff, make him work quicker, but she knew as well as John that time was running short. The longer they left Michael with Angelique, the less his chances of being still alive when they reached him...

Both John and Nikita rose from their chairs to stand behind Birkhoff as he brought the location up on the screen. "It looks like an old church, on Fleet Street in St. Louis. Used to be called St. Vincent's...it's abandoned now."

"Of course." And then she strode off, heading with John to the waiting van. Once she had gone, Birkhoff slipped a hand into his coat pocket and withdrew a cell phone, flipping it open and dialing a number. "It's me. I have a location." At the acknowledgement from the other end he deactivated the phone and slipped it back into his pocket, hunching his shoulders as he headed back to the Section, feeling a rare stab of guilt at his part in this deception.

Michael had thought he knew pain before but it was nothing compared to this; Angelique's blood flowed through him, a rush of searing heat that swept through him as quickly and voraciously as a wildfire, changing him at the most basic cellular level. He lay curled up on the floor for what seemed an eternity, every nerve ending in his body afire, the pain so great it made him retch, though there was nothing in him to bring up.

Through it all he was aware of Angelique beside him, soothing him through the worst of it while she used her power to weave a link to bind him to her, strengthening the tie that already existed between maker and child. Even in his extremity he resisted her, callling on that same strength of will that had seen him through years with the Section, had helped him to resist torture again and again, managing to hold to his sense of self and not let her sweep him away.

Bit by bit it started to ease and he fell at last into sleep, a heavy sleep filled with disturbing dreams in which he bathed in a pool of blood, and when he awoke again it was to the sound of Angelique's voice, her hands stroking damp lank hair back from his face.

"Time to feed, love." she whispered in his ear and raised him up, gripping his shoulders to steady him as he weaved. Senses had sharpened to an unbearable pitch and he put hands over his ears in an attempt to stifle the sounds that overloaded him-- the frantic beating of a heart, voices drifting to him throughout all of the church, even the lightest of footballs like a drumming of thunder in his head. Angelique placed a gentle kiss on his forehead, fingers stroking his temples, and the din seemed a little more quiet, a little more bearable. "Newborn as you are, your senses will be very acute--but it'll fade. Now...you need...nourishment."

Even before he saw her Michael could smell her blood, a tantalizing scent that made his mouth water, and her fear gave it an exotic spice; she was maybe sixteen, dressed in a black leather mini-skirt and hot pink halter, heavily made up and her hair pulled back to be piled at the top of her head, dyed blond. A prostitute, lured her by the promise of money, but she'd soon seen what these people really wanted from her. For them the taking of her blood was far more erotic than any sex she could offer them...

Tears were streaming down pale features, mascara running and leaving streaks of black around her eyes, the frantic beat of her heart calling to him just as did the blood running through her veins. A shiver ran through him and he licked his lips, feeling stomach cramp with sudden hunger. Gripping her by the arms, Luke brought her closer and Michael reached out a shaking hand to touch her on the throat, to feel her pulse beat under his fingers, the girl giving a whimper as his hand slid back to grasp hair and yank her head back.

Her skin tasted of soap and salt from tears and sweat, a tremble going through her as his mouth pressed against her throat. He imagined he could feel the blood flowing through her veins and lips skinned back from suddenly sharp teeth, pressing into her throat. "Please..." she whimpered, closing eyes tightly.

The soft plea was a dash of cold water in his face and he drew back, horror washing through him at the thought of what he'd nearly done. No matter that his body screamed with the need for her blood he would not take it from her, not rob her of her life...as his had been taken from him...

Oh, he did want her, wanted her in a way he had never wanted a woman before, to sink his teeth in her throat and taste her blood as it flowed over his tongue and down his throat. To drink her blood and feel the release from this hunger that gnawed at him...but he had not lived as long as he had without schooling himself, without denying himself.

"No." he said firmly, tugging free of the constraining arms around him and crawling away, to put his back against the wall and distance between himself and the girl. His control now was not as it had been--better to not place himself so closely to temptation...

Angelique moved to kneel before him, reaching out to grasp him by the chin and hold him still, delicate fingers with the grip of iron. "You *will* feed. If not on her...then another. It's in your nature now, you cannot deny it." Her eyes smoldered and power washed over him, battering at his will and threatening to sweep him away, her hunger speaking to his, stoking it.

Before he had been successful in resisting her because of the bond with Nikita and now he could resist her because somehow his strength of will had increased with the change, enabling him to shield himself against her attack. Her surprise showed in a sudden widening of her eyes, narrowing to slits as she tested the shields he erected, and a slight smile curved her lips. "I do so love a challenge--you will not bore me, Michael, that is for certain." And looked back over her shoulder at where the girl still knelt, held by Luke.

The girl cried out, a single harsh cry quickly choked off, but Angelique's form shielded him from the sight of her fate, her hand stroking his hair as mouth descended on his, sliding down his chin and to his throat. She nibbled at his flesh teasingly, drawing a moan from him, and raised her wrist to his mouth. "Drink..." A gasp escaped her as he bit deeply into her wrist and she sighed as his mouth sealed over the wound, drawing out her blood, idly stroking the head bent over her wrist. For now she would sustain him...but soon she would make certain he took that final step.

Arriving in St. Louis with a half-dozen members of his team, Nikita an addition, John was met at the airport by another member of his group, a police detective named Samuel Clement. A tall lanky dark-skinned man dressed in brown corduroys and a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his suitcoat carried over one arm as a concession to the heat and the top two buttons of his shirt undone, tie hanging askew, he brought the group quickly from the airport to what was obviously his own house. A Victorian that showed a genteel shabbiness, needing paint and a fixing of the roof tiles, through which Clement led them down to the basement.

The basement was equipped with a state-of-the-art computer system and surveillance equipment, from police band radios to video cameras. It was to the computer that Clement went, pointing out the schematics he'd pulled up of the old St. Vincent church.

"Got shut down cause it failed to pass a building inspection about twelve years ago... and hasn't been used since. Technically the local diocese still holds title to it but they haven't done anything with it. For a while it was a place for some of the local street people to crash...until some of them stopped waking up in the morning. They cleared out quick." added Clement grimly. "Makes sense for them to stay there though....a church is the last place you'd expect a vamp to hole up in."

"Tomorrow. We could use some time to prepare." he added at seeing the angry look come over Nikita's features. "We go in without some prep time, we could all die...and that wouldn't do Michael any good, now, would it?"

Reluctantly Nikita shook her head, wrapping arms around herself, and John touched her briefly on the shoulder before moving among his people, giving orders. She drifted away and to the window that looked out on the back lawn, seeing the warm glow of the sun and hoping that Michael would hold out till they reached him. But even as that mental wish was uttered a chill certainity came to her that it was already too late and she shivered, hugging herself tighter.

At noon the group set off for the old church, arriving a half-hour later. It had been decided that entrance would be made from the back, to ensure that their entry wouldn't be witnessed, and so the van was parked behind the church. Leaving Detective Clement in the van to keep an eye out for a passing patrol car, the other eight entered the church, using a crowbar to force the door.

"Most likely they'll be down in the basement." said John as they moved inside, flicking on a flashlight to provide illumination, and glanced briefly at Nikita. "We go in, get her friend Michael out, then we come back to take the rest of them out." Before they'd headed out, Nikita had shown each member of the team a picture of Michael so that they could identify him.

Slowly they spread out through the church, taking time to examine each nook and cranny as a potential hiding place, and as the rest of the group spread across the main floor of the church, John took another two members down into the basement with him and Nikita. Despite the amount of time since the church had been abandoned, the basement was amazingly cluttered, rotting wooden boxes spread across the floor covered with a thick layer of dust. It ran the entire area of the large church, a series of rooms connected by narrow corridors, and it was slow going as they checked for hiding places.

Straightening from examining the interior of a closet, Nikita took a step forward and flinched as she ran into a filmy cobweb, pawing frantically at it to get it free of her face and hair. Shivering with disgust, she ran fingers through her hair, skin crawling with the imagined sensation of spiders running through her hair, and forced herself to move on, catch up with John. As she walked she kept the flashlight down towards her feet, on the lookout for the only other thing she hated more than spiders: rats.

John glanced back at her, waiting for her to meet him before leading the way through a narrow corridor, the other two team members behind her. At last it opened out onto a large room...and the daytime resting place of Angelique and her brood.

"God..." whispered one of the team members and Nikita found herself nodding in agreement. There were a dozen coffins in all spread across the room, nothing to distinguish any one from the other, the placement seemingly random. And a moment later the smell struck her, making her gag as she covered her mouth with her hand, seeing out of a corner of her eye the reason for the smell. Strewn around the coffins were a half-dozen bodies in varying states of decay, a few of them little more than a scattering of limbs.

Swallowing hard Nikita moved the beam of her flashlight around the room and stopped as the light passed over a figure sprawled on a mattress, moved the beam back even as she took a step forward. It was Michael, lying on his side, back pressed against the wall, and Nikita hurried forward to kneel beside him, gripping his shoulder with one hand to shake him. "Michael!" she hissed as she shook him, his head lolling limply with the motion and body completely slack. Sliding her fingers up to his throat, she felt for a pulse, a chill going through her as her fingers failed to find one, and raised her hand to place her palm over his lips.

Something flickered briefly in John's eyes as he put fingers to Michael's throat, features grim as he too failed to find a pulse. Taking a step back, he regarded Michael's still form for a long moment before he finally said, "Let's get him upstairs so we can check him better. I don't like being down here any longer than I have to." Stooping he grasped one of Michael's arms and hauled him up with a grunt, Nikita sliding Michael's other arm over her shoulders to help bear the brunt of his limp weight.

"You, take point." said John to the older of the two men and shifted his attention to the other. "You have the rear." Nodding they fell into position and the four of them began to retrace their path, moving cautiously around the coffins. As they re-entered the corridor Nikita heard something scuttling above them and shifted position so that she could lift her flashlight and shine it above her heads.

And illuminated the snarling white face of a blond-haired boy as he dropped down from his perch atop the pipes that lined the roof of the basement. Stumbling frantically back and trying to pull Michael with her, the flashlight jigged wildly in her hands, giving her nightmare flashes of the boy falling on the lead man, a spurt of blood as hands tore into his throat and then the boy's head pressed to his throat. The man's choked cry echoed off the walls, body convulsing as he was dragged down and managing to emit small mewling cries before he finally died.

With a cry of horror, the rear man turned to run back into the room and John twisted around to shout at him. "Gene, no--!" As he passed one coffin the lid of it rose and a figure flowed from it to give pursuit, toppling Gene with arms wrapped around his legs.

"Don't leave so soon, babe." said the blond-haired boy to Nikita as he tossed the point man aside, blood dark on his teeth as he stepped forward. "I'm sure Mikey would like to have a snack when he wakes up."

Fumbling Nikita dragged her gun out and pointed it at the boy's face, pulling the trigger twice and sending him falling back. Releasing Michael's arm and trusting to John to hold him, she grabbed a stake from the bag slung over her shoulder and kneeled by the boy to drive it through his heart.

"No! I don't accept that!" Michael was strong, stronger than anyone she had ever known, and if anyone could survive this, Michael could--yanking free of John's grip she kneeled beside Michael's limp form and grasped his shoulders to wrestle him up to a sitting position, shoving him back against the wall.

"Michael, it's me...you have to wake up. Michael!" Drawing back her hand she hit him across the cheek, once, twice, but his head only lolled sickeningly, no response at all from him. "Michael, please, you have to wake up--you can't leave me now!" And hit him again harder, tears streaming down her cheeks. At last his eyelids fluttered open, hands coming up to push at hers, and a sob of relief escaped her as she put arms around him to hug him tightly. "C'mon, get up..."

Moving back she grasped his arm to pull him weaving up to his feet, supporting him as he blinked dazedly. She staggered under his weight, shooting a glare at John when he failed to help her, and managed to keep Michael on his feet. "Let's get out of here."

Leaning on her he took one stumbling step before he stopped, body drawing erect as he turned to look back into the room of coffins. Weaving languidly between them Angelique came forward, ebony hair a wild tangle about pale features, trailing down the shoulders of her white gown. "Michael...cher..." A shudder went through him and he took an involuntary step forward. "Come to me, my love."

"Michael--" Nikita grabbed his arm to pull him back and he turned to look at her, eyes blind, no indication at all that he saw her--heard her--and she tugged on his arm, reaching up to place a hand on his cheek. "Come with me." He blinked rapidly, giving a little shake of his head to clear it, and one hand came up to touch her on the cheek.

"Nikita..." His features spasmed in pain and he closed his eyes tightly before pulling back from her touch, away from her and towards Angelique; staring at him, stunned, she saw that he held in one hand a stake he'd taken from her bag, and as she took a step forward he shook his head. "Go..." he whispered and turned away from her, hand that held the stake behind his back as he went to Angelique.

Slowly Michael walked forward and Angelique smiled in triumph, opening arms wide to draw him in. With one hand he touched her hair, lowering his head to press his lips against hers, hand stroking her hair even as he brought his other hand from behind his back and drove the stake into her heart, his arm winding around her as she screamed.

Back arching she tore at him with clawed hands, another scream ripping out of her, and Michael sank to his knees, laying her out on the floor as she convulsed around the center of her pain, pressing his hand against the stake and pushing it farther in.

Blood bubbled out of her mouth and with one last convulsion she went still, body starting to decay before his eyes. Even as he rose a body struck him with a hard impact, driving him back against the wall, and he stared into the rage-distorted features of Delia. "You killed her!" snarled Delia and struck out at him with one clawed hand, opening his cheek and sending blood streaming down his chin and throat.

"Get out of here!" he shouted, grasping Delia's wrists to thrust her away from him even as her teeth snapped wildly together, going for his throat. From his right another came and he fell under the impact of its body, writhing to get out from under. John dragged Nikita back with him, ignoring her curses and blows as best he could, and as they were halfway up the corridor, the ground shuddered underneath their feet as a distant boom was heard. Staggering, he managed to keep hold of Nikita's arm, prevent her from going back. "What was that?"

"Explosion." said Nikita slowly and nearly lost her footing as another, closer explosion ripped through the structure, seeing behind her part of the roof collapse, a long rolling line that came inexorably closer to them. "Go!" shouted John and pushed her as he started to run for the stairs. Scrambling up the stairs even as they rocked under their feet, they emerged into the main floor of the church to a scene of chaos.

"Out!" John shoved him towards the nearest exit and then turned to Nikita, eyes tearing from the smoke and coughing. She was focused on the door they had come through, tears borne not just of the smoke streaming down her cheeks, and John laid a hand on her arm. "Nothing you can do, Nikita. He's gone..."

The men in black moved gingerly through the rubble, one keeping an eye on the roof above them, and checked each body they encountered. The leader could not help a grimace of disgust as he examined some of the bodies, nausea rising in him at the stench of decay and sight of rotting flesh, but went resolutely on, searching for one in particular.

"Here!" called another member of the team and the leader went to his side, dropping down to his haunches to examine the body. A beam had fallen across him, trapping him to the floor, blood on slashed cheek and darkening brown hair, so still that there was no need to check for life signs. All the same the leader did, a perfunctory gesture, and said into his comunit, "Got him. He's dead."

Nikita looked up as John spoke, to see him standing in the doorway of the room she'd been given, and she gave a shake of her head as she continued to shove clothing into her bag. "They'll find me." That she had managed to go this long without the Section tracking her down surprised her...and on a deeper level disturbed her as well. There was a motive in everything that the Section did, in every word and action, and right now, with the loss of Michael still so raw, she couldn't explore that thought, couldn't allow herself to consider that the Section had let her go because they knew she would lead them to Michael.

Nikita zipped the bag closed and slung it over her shoulder. "They don't let anyone go, John. And right now I need something...solid to hold onto. A purpose..." As warped as it might be, the Section could still provide her with a purpose, a meaning to a life that was now empty without Michael. Tears filled her eyes and she blinked them back--she'd already wept for him and now was time to move on...

Nikita stood for a long moment, staring expressionlessly at him, and John met her gaze unflinchingly, remorse in his eyes. How she wanted to hate him, to blame him for putting Michael in danger, to blame him for Michael's death...but all emotion had been wiped away. All she felt was numb...

Forcing a smile, Nikita extended her hand and John shook it. "Keep fighting the good fight, John." Releasing his hand, she walked out of the house and back into the sunlight, standing for a moment on the sidewalk, head lifted up to the sun, thinking of fantasies she'd held all these years, of her and Michael with a child, playing in the sun. From her coat pocket she withdrew a pair of sunglasses and set them firmly in place, shoving hands into her pockets and bowing her head as she walked away from the house...and back to the Section.

Madeline stood with arms folded before the screen with its image of the Med Lab room and the still form that lay on a bed, hands and feet restrained. Behind her she could hear Operations pacing restlessly but remained silent, her gaze completely focused on the bed and its occupant.

At last Madeline turned to face him, letting him see her confidence and certainity. "He has survived every trial--every obstacle--we have placed in his path. He has lost nearly everyone he has cared for, has sacrificed the one man he called friend for us. I have no doubt at all that he will emerge from this...stronger than he has ever been."

Darkness surrounded him but there was no comfort, no ease, in it. Surrounded him and penetrated him, filling him with its chill, not the oblivion he had hoped and prayed for, but rather a void that swirled around him. He wanted to surrender to it, to let it swallow him whole and strip him, but...something called him, pulled him from the darkness. Inexorable, dragging him through the void, pushing him from the now welcome darkness and to awareness, ignoring his clawing attempts to remain where he was. Pain struck him as he was pushed from the dark and into light, almost like being born again, and he lay for a long moment gasping, drawing air into flaccid lungs, feeling the thundering beat of his heart in chest and hearing it roar in his ears.

Mattress under him and all around him blindingly white walls--blinking, eyes tearing from the brightness, he tried to bring hands up to shield his eyes but they wouldn't move. Rolling his head he saw that they were bound to the bed by restraints and a memory flashed through his head--himself lying on the bed, clad in white tank top and trousers, an auburn haired woman in a severe black suit standing beside the bed and smiling down at him. Moaning he gave a sharp jerk of his wrists, feeling the leather restraints cut into his flesh but continuing to jerk at wrists until the restraints tore loose.

Sitting up he stripped the cuffs from his wrists and bent over to tear ankles free as well. And doubled over as the movement awoke a sharp cramping pain in his stomach, arms wrapping tightly around his midsection as he closed eyes tightly, trying to ride out the pain. It rolled over him, through him, not easing in the least, and he rolled off the bed, falling hard to the floor, that pain barely felt next to the other greater pain that ate at him. Gasping, he crawled from the bed and to the wall, pressing himself against it as he curled in on himself, biting his lip hard to prevent the groans of pain from spilling out.

Blood streamed from bitten lip, flowing into mouth, and he licked his lip, swallowing convulsively. The thin stream was enough to ease the pain that swept through him, just enough for him to be able to think again, to lift head from the shelter of his arms and look around him.

Section. Med Lab. Even as the thought came to him, he could not place any significance to those words, could not puzzle out why this place seemed familiar. Could not remember his name or how he came here...all that existed was the hunger that consumed him, the hunger that had barely satisfied with his blood. The hunger that threatened to drive him to his feet, to send him to tear and batter at the door until it fell open, to go in search of that which his body needed, craved...blood...

Shuddering he brought knees up against his chest and buried his head against them, seeking to overcome the obsessive need. Control...he had to keep control...for if he let it slip just a little the beast would burst free of its bonds and he would never be able to subdue it.

The harsh clank of the door opening brought his head around and even before it opened he could smell perfume and another scent underlying it, a scent that sent his heart racing in anticipation, mouth watering...

A woman entered the room, the same woman from that brief flash of memory, auburn hair falling down to the shoulders of her black suit, heels clicking on the floor as she entered the room, the door swinging shut behind her. "Hello, Michael."

With those soft words it came rushing back to him, who he was, who he had been... and what he was now. Michael turned his head away from her, pressing his cheek against the cool wall, trying desperately to ignore her as she came closer, to ignore the container that she carried in her hands and the tantalizing smell that wafted from it.

He wanted to seize her, to pull her down and sink his teeth into her throat, taste her blood, feel it slide down his throat...he caught himself with muscles tensed for the leap and bit by bit, sweating from the effort, forced himself to relax.

And then she was beside him, extending a container, the smell of the blood overwhelming him, promising peace and an ease to the torment. Slowly hands shaking he reached for the container and paid no attention as Madeline took a quick step back, focused entirely on not spilling a drop of that precious liquid. Brought it up to his lips, inhaling deeply, and gulped it down, not caring that some of it spilled down his chin, swallowing rapidly, draining it greedily.

All too soon it was empty and he sighed, closing his eyes, using fingers to wipe his chin clean and licking the blood from his fingers. Satisifed the beast of hunger, curling up and settling into sleep, and he raised his head to regard Madeline as she stood before him, managing to look composed only with the greatest of efforts.

"Are you satisfied with what you've achieved here?" he asked her softly, feeling rage deep inside him, the beast threatening to rise again. He could see it now, that all of it had been a set-up from the beginning, so that Section could have an even more perfect killing machine.

"You are better, stronger, than you have ever been, Michael. The things you will be able to accomplish now will far surpass any previous promise you showed." said Madeline evenly, expressionless, but her heart was still beating fast, her fear still leaking out to him.

Michael laughed, a harsh sound devoid of mirth, and once he had started it took him several long moments to stop, clutching knees to his chest. "You think that I'm going to provide you with more pet monsters to keep under your control, don't you? That you can control me?" A note of anger crept into his voice, anger and hatred, so thick and virulent that he nearly choked on it. "How do you think you can control me...when I can't even control myself?"

He uncurled, moving away from the wall and to Madeline, catching her by the arms even as she started to move back. Faster than she could react and while he laughed at seeing the fear in her eyes, another smaller part of himself wept. "Do you know what I am now, Madeline? Have you any idea?" Her fear was delicious to him, the ultimate in an aphrodisiac, and how he wanted to take her, to force her to submit to him...disgusted at himself, he thrust her from him and sank back down, shaking with the effort of overcoming the desire to sink teeth into her fragile throat.

Slowly, swallowing hard, Madeline rose to her feet and made her way to the door, taking all the nerve she possessed to not run, to not look back to see if Michael followed her. Only when the door was shut behind her did she felt the least bit safe...and even that was fleeting before the memory of the fury and lust in Michael's eyes.

The two of them stood before the door leading to the room, one--Hayes--with a container in hand and thrust at the other--Carson--as he spoke but Carson would not take it from him. They stood glaring at each other, neither wanting to go into the room and neither prepared to give an inch.

"Shit!" cursed Hayes as he dug in his pocket for the keys, shooting Carson a dirty look. "It *was* your turn, wasn't it?" Carson shrugged, the smirk not vanishing from his narrow features, and Hayes muttered a steady stream of curses as he inserted the key with fingers that shook just a little. Michael had always spooked him, those cold gray eyes staring at him, sizing him up, but now he was...frightening, a coiled violence in him that looked ready to erupt at any moment.

As the lock clicked, Hayes looked over his shoulder at Carson. "Ready?" Carson nodded, jacking the slide of his gun and holding it at his side, and Hayes eased the door open, calling in a half-hearted attempt at humor, "Lunchtime!" His eyes scanned the room, passing over bed and skittering around, heart starting to pound painfully hard in his chest when he failed to see Michael.

A hand grasped his collar and with a flick of his hand Michael sent Hayes flying to crash into the wall with sickening crack, Carson quickly backing up and firing a round into him. Hitting him in the chest, as he had been told, trying for the debilitating wound rather than the mortal one, and the impact drove Michael back two steps; snarling he started forward and Carson shot him again, this time in the stomach, part of his mind reeling in horror at seeing Michael still on his feet even as blood flowed steadily from the two wounds, soaking the white tank top.

Still Michael came, as inexorable as the Terminator, and Carson shifted his aim, going for a head shot and Madeline be damned. And screamed as his hand was caught in an iron grip, wrist snapping with a twist of Michael's hand, mewing in horror as he was dragged forward to stare into eyes gone red with fury and bloodlust. Then he too was airborne, slamming into the wall with a bone-breaking impact and sliding down it in a heap.

Fighting against the impulse to go to the fallen operative and drain him, Michael strode down the hallway, the pain of his injuries distant, removed. Went right up to the guard's booth that led to the exit and stood before it, aware of the guard staring in horror at the blood-splattered apparition that stood before him.

The guard gave a tiny shake of his head, eyes wide with horror and fear, and Michael took a step forward, smashing fists into the bullet-proof glass surrounding the booth and sending a spider's web of cracks through it. "Open it!"

Swallowing convulsively the guard threw a switch and the door eased open, Michael casting a last look at the guard before he slipped through it and was gone. For several seconds the guard sat there, trembling, and then finally set off the alarm.

She could see ghost like images of herself and Michael walking down the hall, side-by-side, memories with an equal measure of pain and joy. Memories of betrayal and anger...and beside them the rare moments of companionship that had increased over time, as Michael had opened oh so slowly to her, like petal buds opening to the sun, stretching out to touch its warmth and light.

She didn't know what she expected, when she had come through the doors after all the time she had spent away...but it was as if she had never been gone...or her absence had been approved. There were no odd looks from fellow operatives, a nod here and there, a grin of greeting from Walter as he lifted his head from one of his latest gadgets...only Birkhoff's refusal to meet her eyes was a reminder of what had transpired.

And so she went to Madeline's office, not even bothering to knock, simply entering and shutting the door behind her. Madeline stood with shears in hands, trimming her bonsai trees, her back to Nikita, looking as always elegant in a navy suit, head bent over one tree and all her attention seemingly focused on it.

"I've been waiting for you. Have a seat." A tiny snip-snip sound accompanied the words and Nikita moved forward, dropping into the chair before Madeline's desk and crossing her legs as she waited for the older woman to finish her task. She had learned to play the waiting game--not as good at it as Madeline was, of course, but she was learning...

No indication at all of anger or impatience in her body language, seemingly relaxed, only a tension in her shoulders betraying her--she was coming along nicely. The smile faded as she rounded her desk and sat down across from Nikita, folding her hands atop the desk. Nikita lifted her eyes to meet Madeline's, expression very calm. "You sent Michael in, knowing what would happen to him--I know why you did it...because you wanted to...create a new breed of operatives. What I want to know is...how could you do it to him? Put him through that?"

Madeline smiled thinly. "Michael had always been an exceptional operative, with a phenomenal sense of self-control. If there was anyone that could survive the experience, maintain control of his...nature, then it would have been Michael. An operative of his potential, with the abilities of those creatures...there would have been nothing he couldn't do."

"But you lost control of the situation...was unable to keep track of him. So you allowed me to go out...knowing that I would do everything in my power to find him. You feed the information to John Harper, knowing he would contact me, and that I would follow him."

Nikita gave a slight shake of her, an admiring smile curving her lips even as blue eyes glittered with anger. "God, Madeline, you are good, aren't you? A little tug of the strings and I'm dancing to your tune. You even had Birkhoff help me...because you knew that would lead me to...her...and Michael. And then you sweep in and take him."

Nikita drew in a deep breath, attempting to damp down the wave of fury in her, the effort not helped in the least by Madeline's steady gaze and the glint of satisfaction in dark eyes. Placing hands on the edge of the desk, she leaned forward a little. "All I want to know is this: is Michael still alive?"

Slowly, the terrible weight of grief and anger bowing down her shoulders, Nikita pushed up from the chair and turned to leave. As she stood with hand on the door, Madeline said, "You have five days leave. Six days from now I expect you to be here promptly at 7:00 AM. There's a debriefing."

The break had been clean--Michael was certain that as far as Nikita was concerned, he was dead. No one outside of that small medical complex would have known that he still lived--if the creature he was now could be considered to actually be living. He was dead to her...and should have remained that way.

And yet here he was, standing at the foot of her bed and watching her as she slept. She lay on her side, blankets tangled around her, sliding up to expose long tanned leg, golden hair spilling across her lovely features and down the arm curled up by her head.

How he wanted to tug that blanket down, to expose her to his gaze, to feel--to drink in-- the warmth of her skin against his, his mouth against the delicate curve of her throat and teeth sinking into her flesh...

Michael shuddered at the thought and turned to go but as if sensing his prescence, Nikita stirred on the bed, one hand lifting to rake blond hair back from her eyes as she levered herself up one elbow, peering blearily at the dark figure that stood at the foot of her bed. "Michael?" she whispered groggily.

He stood still for a moment, shoulders stiff, and then walked out of the bedroom. Kicking legs free of the blanket, Nikita grabbed a flowered silk robe and wrapped it hastily around herself as she rose, all but running through her apartment in search of the dark figure. She had been dreaming about him, dreaming of the scant few times they had lain in each other's arms, and it was as if her dream had summoned him...

Barefooted she padded across the living room floor and saw at last a figure standing out on the balcony, the doors ajar. Shivering a little at the cool air, she pulled the robe tighter around herself as she went out onto the patio, reaching a trembling hand to touch the figure on the shoulder. Slowly Michael turned to face her and a sound--half-laugh, half-sob escaped her--as she lifted a trembling hand to touch him on the cheek.

"I thought--I thought you were...dead." she said huskily and wrapped her arms tightly around him, giving him a fierce hug. He stood stiffly in her embrace and slowly Nikita drew back, wiping away the tears that tracked down her cheeks.

"I am dead." said Michael softly, taking her hand to lay it over his heart. It beat...but in a sluggish rhythm, far too slow. Her own heart contracted painfully hard with the irrevocable evidence that he was...changed.

"Oh, Michael..." she whispered, laying her hand on his cheek. He closed his eyes at the touch and she moved forward, running fingers through the softness of his hair, kissing him gently on the mouth. No response from him and she pressed her mouth harder against his, tongue swirling against his lips as she curled fingers in his hair to pull him closer, determined to draw some response, some emotion from him.

A shudder went through him and then one arm snaked slowly around her waist, pulling her against the hard length of his body. His mouth ground against hers, hard and insistent, and as she pulled back, gasping for air, one hand knotted in her hair to pull her head back, exposing her throat to him. He trailed kisses down her throat, the excitement building in him at the taste of her skin, the throbbing pulse of blood under its delicate layer, and his mouth fastened over the pulse in her throat.

Nikita moaned as his mouth moved down her throat, his grip on her hair just this side of painful, and could feel against her body the sign of his excitement. A tiny pain and her eyes flew open as she felt warmth go down her throat then Michael's tongue lapping away the blood before his arm tightened around her as teeth pressed againt her throat.

"Michael, stop--" Wriggling to get her arm between them she pressed the palm of her hand against his chin in an attempt to push him away from her but his hand caught hers in a grip hard enough to grate bone together.

Gripping both her wrists, he held her from him, gray eyes gone red, a snarl distorting his features and showing too-sharp teeth. "This is what I am now." he growled and thrust her away, sending her tumbling to the floor.

Gasping, a hand going to her bleeding throat, all she got was a glimpse of the flare of his coat as he whirled away and scrambled to her feet, reaching the balcony just in time to see him sink down into the dark night. "Michael..." she whispered and sank down to a sitting position, burying her head in her arms as she wept. Tears for him, for the life now gone, and tears for herself...for the loss of the only true love she'd known.

Carrying her cup of tea into the living room, Madeline sat down on the couch, curling her legs up under her, and took a sip of tea before reaching for her book. As her hand encountered it, another hand laid over hers and she jerked her hand back, head lifting to stare at Michael as he stood before her.

"Madeline." A small smile curved his lips, eyes darkening as he stared down at her, and she swallowed hard, setting her tea cup down with hands that shook just a little. Her eyes flicked briefly to the cushion at the other end of the couch, underneath which was tucked a gun, and Michael shook his head, reaching into his pocket to remove the gun, letting it dangle from one finger.

"And he is yours." The smile faded from Madeline's features and Michael walked slowly around the couch, hand trailing across the back of it. "What I have to offer you is a bargain, pure and simple--Nikita for Operations. If she dies...then so will he." Moving to the side of the couch he flashed her a quick, feral smile. "There is nowhere that I cannot reach him--no matter how long it takes, I will find him."

Before she was even aware of his movement, Michael was over her, both hands placed on the couch behind her, leaning in close enough for her to see the brief flash of red in his eyes. "Then you had better see to it that she remains healthy...for Operations' sake." He drew back, one hand trailing down her cheek and drawing a shudder from her despite herself, and stepped away, heading for the sliding glass door that led out to her balcony.

Once there Michael turned back to look at Madeline and said softly, "Don't send anyone after me, Madeline. You can't afford the losses." Tugging the door open, he slipped out onto the balcony and was gone from sight.

Slowly, when she was certain that her legs would hold her, Madeline rose to go to the glass door, closing it and locking it with hands that only shook a little. And bowed her head, a brief flow of tears slipping from her eyes to fall down her cheeks. This was what she had wrought with her schemes...and now she would have to live with the consequences. Feeling the weight of the years she moved slowly back over to the couch to sink down on it, curling against the arm, like she hadn't done since she was a little girl. And remained there for the rest of the night, all the lights in her apartment on in an attempt to drive back the darkness.