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Embodiment of Faith

By Scarlett Burns

Forever Knight Fan Fiction

Rated: PG-13

Disclaimer: Not mine!


Spoilers: Episode 1.3 - "For I Have Sinned"


Summary: Father Rochefort makes a startling discovery that threatens his
idea of faith. It isn't every day that your past comes back to haunt
you, unless you happen to be Nick Knight.



Author's Notes: This takes place after the series and neither assumes
nor denies "Last Knight". I leave it to you to fill in the
blanks however you may! Feedback is always welcome... enjoy!





A mere year after taking her vows, Sister Helena decided to become an
exotic dancer.



It was the story of his priesthood, it seemed. Having sat in the
confessional hundreds of times, offering a listening ear to those in
need of one, Father Rochefort had a true knack for unburdening people
and absolving them of their sins.



Sister Helena was only the latest example. She'd come to him for
guidance before making her decision.



Now, here he sat at home in the small library adjoining his den,
contemplating – not for the first time – how much he and his
life had changed since the parishioner murders.



He never truly doubted his faith – at least that is what he told
himself every time he donned his vestments – but he often doubted
his ability to offer guidance to those in need of it.



"You absolve man of his sins and he walks away smiling…"



A man, a murderer, had once told him that in confession. He couldn't
deny the ring of truth the statement held. The man's words still haunted
him, years later. He'd thought he'd put the past behind him…
had tried to move on. Yet all those questions and doubts remained
unanswered, corrupting his Faith and eating away at his soul a little
more every day.



It was the need to stop the corruption of his own soul that set him on a
quest to find what answers he could. He'd started to write a book on
the subject of faith. He never intended to publish it; the process of
writing it was all he really needed, and in the course of doing so
he'd done vast amounts of research on people who'd famously
shown or lacked faith.



Inevitably his research had led him to Joan of Arc. Over several months
he'd gone through everything he could find about her; from
historical records and accounts, to the letters she'd received and
dictated. It was in one of the letters addressed to her that he'd
stumbled across something that had quickly become a personal obsession.



It was an obscure letter, dated 10th of March, 1430.



Nicolas, Knight of Brabant, to Courage, trusted confidant, greetings.



It is my understanding that you prefer to be called Joan the Maiden. I
daresay that with a woman such as you, I have my doubts of the validity
of the title. It would be a shame if it were true, for your current
situation will beget only death.



Has St. Michael imparted any further wisdom to you, Joan? Have you not
proven your Faith to him? Shall he request of you your life to save His
Church? Your mission against the heretics is established in your faith
that the Church itself is not corrupted by the very heretics you vow to
conquer.



Presume not that you know me. It would be wise of you to remember that
truth spoken across the generations becomes naught but legend – a
mere shadow of reality hidden within falsehood.



While you read this letter, you must ask what madness and rage consumes
my belief for I corrupt your true Faith with my very existence. I tell
you honestly – though I know that your beliefs will not allow you to
accept this as fact –  as a man I believed in the true Faith, fought
as I thought God willed to reclaim the Holy Lands, and served our Lord
as a Templar Knight with honor.



For the final time I beseech you to consider most carefully that which I
offer, for make no mistake, each day you come closer to death. With your
answer, I shall not inquire or speak of the matter again.



Sir Nicolas de Brabant



Father Rochefort found the letter fascinating. He'd read the
translation a hundred times since, grasping for any clues as to how this
man knew Joan of Arc. He'd read nothing about Nicholas de Brabant in
history books, or any of his Catholic teachings. Not in association with
Joan of Arc, or elsewhere. Yet to speak so frankly to her of faith, this
man must have been more than a mere acquaintance.



He also couldn't help but wonder what Nicholas had offered Joan a
mere year before her death, and if she'd taken him up on the offer.
From the sound of it, she'd declined.



Naturally, since such a contrast in faith was exactly what he was
interested in, the two historical figures seemed the perfect pair to
research further. Since Nicholas had signed the letter with his full
name, he thought it might be possible to trace the man.



As it turned out, Father Rochefort's hunch had been right; Nicholas
de Brabant was of noble blood, and the Duchy from where he hailed was
well known, but the more he researched the man the more confusing things
became. What he found didn't make any sense at all.



Indeed, he was able to trace the Brabant family back hundreds of years.
He'd found a man by the same name, yet he was born over two hundred
years earlier. There was no record of a man by the name of Nicholas in
the Brabant family during the fifteenth century – at least none that
he could find – and the family was well documented.



This in itself was not too surprising. Perhaps the man was not of the
noble blood line. He could have hailed from England rather than the
Duchy of Brabant. Perhaps he'd died young, and not been important
enough to write into the family history. He could have been disowned by
the family; a black sheep. Or maybe he only called himself Nicholas of
Brabant, not using de Brabant as a last name but as a place of origin.



He was about to chalk it all up to lack of proper documentation in the
fifteenth century when he discovered that the Musées royaux des
Beaux-Arts de Belgique – the Belgian Museum of Ancient Art in
Brussels – had a portrait of the man. Or at least, they had a
portrait of Nicholas de Brabant.



Having already spent months researching the family, he felt that it
couldn't hurt to contact the museum that owned the portrait, ask for
more information, and possibly get a picture of it emailed to him.



What information he'd obtained from the museum was both interesting
and disappointing. The portrait was painted in 1226, by P. Gravois. The
subject was Nicholas de Brabant; knight of the Temple mounted on a black
horse. Unfortunately, the museum was unwilling to send him a picture of
the portrait, even after he'd talked to the curator of the museum.
If he wanted to see the portrait, he'd have to fly to Belgium, or
order their art book from the museum gift shop for thirty-five euros,
plus shipping and handling.



Needless to say, he ordered the book. Even now, he didn't quite know
what possessed him to; it was just a feeling that this was somehow
important. That in some way seeing the painting would help him find
answers to Joan of Arc's mysterious confidant, and even answers to
his own doubts.



So here he sat, holding the recently arrived book of art from the
Belgian museum, anxious to look at a painting of a man who couldn't
possibly be the same one who'd corresponded with Joan of Arc.



Setting the book on his lap, he took a sip of his hot peppermint tea
before setting the cup down on the table beside him.



Flipping straight to the chapter appropriate for the time period of the
portrait, he began thumbing through the pages. Whatever intuition he
had, whatever feelings he felt…none of them prepared him for the
picture on page thirty-four.



The scene itself was exactly as described; a knight sitting atop a dark
steed. The knight looked to be about thirty, though it was hard to tell
with the painting's style and the size of the picture in the book.
Posed proudly, Nicholas de Brabant wore a white tunic and cape, with a
large red cross on his chest signature to the Knights Templar. He had
wavy blonde hair, and an eerily familiar face. It was hard to tell his
eye color from the picture, but he could guess that they were blue.



He was crazy. He had to be for entertaining such ridiculous thoughts as
the ones running through his mind right now. Nick Knight couldn't be
Nicholas de Brabant, no matter how similar they looked; logically it had
to be a coincidence.



He remembered to breathe, then took another sip of his tea. Getting up,
he walked over to his desk. Opening up the top drawer, he sifted through
the papers until he found a printout of the letter to Joan of Arc.



Logically, Nicholas de Brabant shouldn't have been able to write a
letter to Joan of Arc either, because he should have been long dead by
the time of the heroine.



He shook his head, sitting back down. He had explanations for the
Nicholas de Brabant who wrote the letter… logical ones, and lots of
them. But…



It was quite a coincidence that both men had been Templar Knights, both
had fought in the crusades, and both bore the same name.



Then there was the amazing resemblance to Nicholas Knight. Nicholas
Knight; who shared the same first name as De Brabant, and whose last
name also just happened to be spelled with a `K'.



He had no idea where all of this led. He wasn't even sure he wanted
to know.



Looking at the printout, he reread the opening salutation.



Nicholas, Knight of Brabant, to Courage, trusted confidant, greetings.



Then he just reread the first two words.



Nicholas, Knight



He couldn't help but laugh. It was all so incredibly insane.



Could it be possible? Would he even be capable of believing all this if
it were true?



He took another sip of his tea, forcing a steady hand as he placed the
cup down on its saucer.



The question had to be asked, no matter how insane it seemed.



Could all three men be one and the same?



If this was – by something not short of a miracle – the same
man, he had a strange sense of humor and a seemingly immortal lifespan.
If he wasn't the same man, then this had to rank as the most
bewildering and outrageous string of coincidences he'd ever
experienced in his life.



His quest had led him full circle, straight back to where he'd
started. The murder investigation that had lit a fire adding to the
doubts already rooted in his mind.



He hadn't expected his doubts to lead back to the investigation, or
Detective Knight. In a way, it was odd that he hadn't, since it all
began with the case. The killer's words in the confessional had
struck a chord, as did Knight's hours later.



"All right, Father. Tell you what. Next girl who dies, you come
along with me when I notify the family. Better yet, notify the family
yourself!"



Truth be told, it wasn't the killer who'd rattled him the most
these past thirty years; it was Knight.



In all reality, it was ridiculous. The man clearly lacked faith, but he
suspected that it wasn't necessarily faith in God that was missing,
but faith in the Church.



He had to admit, though, that there had been something troubling about
Knight and about his beliefs that went deeper than lack of faith. He
hadn't had enough interaction with the man to figure out exactly
what that might be.



Again, Father Rochefort looked at the portrait of Nicholas de Brabant,
then remembered what he told Detective Knight the last time he saw him.



"Confession is good for the soul."



A small smile creeping across his lips, he tucked the letter into the
art book before closing it firmly.



Perhaps it was, at that.





Wiping his sweaty palm on the outside of his coat, he took a steadying
breath before knocking briskly on the door.



After a minute without an answer, he knocked again, just a bit louder
and feeling more foolish by the minute.



Just as he was about to give up and leave, he heard someone inside the
small cottage-style home. After a short wait, the door opened a foot and
a familiar looking head popped into the doorway, eyes squinting against
the afternoon light.



He thought he was prepared to see Nick Knight as he stood before him
now; that he'd convinced himself of the possibility. Now he realized
that perhaps, deep down, he hadn't truly believed all his wild
theories concocted from five-hundred year old letters, coincidence and
decades-old occurrences remembered by an aging mind.



Well, he was a little closer to believing now as he looked into the
ageless face of a man he knew only in passing. Now, he knew his best
kept secret… or at least a miniscule piece of it.



"Yeah?" Nick asked after a moment, sounding and looking as if
he'd just woken up. Father Rochefort realized belatedly that could
be the case; in Toronto the homicide detective had worked the
night-shift.



Pierre opened his mouth to answer, but not having a clue what to say,
closed it again.



Perhaps he should have thought this part through.



Nick appeared to take in his appearance and priestly attire, and quickly
came to his own conclusion. "Sorry, I'm not interested," he
said, starting to close the door.



"It's not what you think!" Pierre blurted out, anxious to
say something before Nick dismissed him completely.



Nick paused, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "It's not? Well then,
I'm waiting to be surprised."



He could have said a thousand things, but instead of the dramatic, he
opted for the most traditional; a simple introduction. "I'm
Father Rochefort. I… don't suppose you remember me…"



Nick's hand dropped to his side and his eyes widened as all signs of
drowsiness vanished from his features. He mouthed `Father
Rochefort", but the name never audibly crossed his lips. The
reaction clearly indicated that Nick remembered him well.



Was that even a touch of fear in Nick's eyes?



Regaining his composure, if still looking shell-shocked, Nick gave him a
funny little smile and stepped aside to let him in. "Well, you
didn't disappoint. I am surprised."



As he stepped into Nick's entry hall the first thing he noticed was
the darkness. No lights were on, and thick blinds were drawn in every
window.



Nick immediately flipped a light switch as he walked into the living
room, apologizing for the lack of light as he did so.



Gesturing for him to sit down, Nick also did the same.



Nervous and unsure of how to start an already awkward conversation, the
burden of doing so was lifted after an uncomfortable minute of silence.



"How did you find me?" Nick asked.



Father Rochefort could tell that he was genuinely curious about the
answer, and maybe a bit worried as well. However, he wasn't ready to
tell Nick his secrets yet. "A mutual friend," was all he was
willing to give up.



Nick nodded once, accepting the answer for the time being, and giving
him a look that clearly told him to get to his point, whatever it might
be.



Father Rochefort grasped the forgotten art book tucked snuggly under his
arm. He thought that asking `How can you still be alive?' might
not be the most tactful or preferred opening remark.



But Pierre had something else in mind entirely, and he was sure it was
something Nick would not be prepared for.



"I came to confess to a man who served God with honor.



There was a sharp intake of breath. "What?" Nick asked with
disbelief, his voice nearly a whisper.



Pierre smiled a little. "You heard me fine, detective. I've come
to confess. It's good for the soul. Haven't you heard?"



"This must be a bad dream," Nick muttered, shaking his head.
"I am no man of God, and I certainly don't serve him."



"You did," Pierre said with a certainty that gave Nick pause.



Nick seemed to wrestle with his next words, unsure what he should give
away. "That was a long time ago," Nick finally acknowledged; a
stricken look crossing his features as his hands began to fidget
uneasily.



Pierre looked down as he pulled out the book tucked beneath his arm and
set it on his lap. "I know."



Suspicion quickly replaced Nick's startled expression. "Do
you?"



Pierre nodded before lowering his gaze to his lap; hands clasped tightly
together as he began. "Forgive me, for I have sinned…"



"Father, I…" Nick began to protest, jumping up from his seat as
if he'd been set aflame. He looked extremely uncomfortable, and more
than a little unnerved.



"Please, let me do this. I came all this way. I need this,"
Pierre interrupted quietly, before Nick could protest too much.



Nick looked as if he wanted to object, looking hard done by at
Pierre's request. After a moment, he smiled sadly and slowly shook
his head, sitting back down on the chair next to the sofa Father
Rochefort was currently occupying.



"If you allow me this fiction, I'll allow you yours," Nick
said at last, nodding once to let Father Rochefort know he could
continue.



"Forgive me, for I have sinned. My belief has been tested many
times, and now I am unsure not of God, but of my ability to serve him in
the way he requires." He paused, making it clear that he expected
Nick to not only listen, but act as a Priest.



"Why have you lost faith in your ability to serve Him?" Nick
asked, his voice barely above a whisper.



"I unburden people of their sins, so they go on to commit even
bigger ones. I cannot stop sin or evil, or even so much as make them see
the error of their ways."



"It's not your job."



"Even if that were so, if I cannot bring God into the hearts of
others, then what is the point?"



Nick smiled and clasped his hands together. Pierre thought he looked
both boyish and incredibly old at the same time; an impossible
combination Nick somehow accomplished.



"When your parishioners confess to you Father, what do they
believe?"



"That they are being forgiven."



"By whom? You, or God?" Nick asked.



"By God, of course."



"Then perhaps it is your job to make sure this forgiveness reaches
God's ears. It's the belief that you're there to feed; their
belief in you and God. Whether or not those people sin again is of no
consequence to you. It's the Faith that you support, and by that
service you allow them to talk to God."



"They could do this on their own."



Nick cocked his head to the side. "God is an intangible figure. He
doesn't speak to most mere mortals directly, does he? They cannot
see or hear him. You offer them that solid, material figure to confess
to."



"Have you ever confessed?"



"No," Nick answered, perhaps a bit too hastily. "Not to a
Priest."



"Why not?"



"I don't believe in it." Nick stood and walked over to the
window, cracking the blinds and allowing some sunlight to filter into
the living room. "I could just as well ask forgiveness right here if
I wished to do so. There is no need to go to a mortal man in the belief
that he will somehow make your voice louder in God's ears."



"Then why should others confess?" Pierre asked. Of course,
he'd heard all this before, albeit in a different way… and he
knew logically what a priest's duty and purpose was and to whom. It
didn't make his incompetence in guidance any easier, but he
understood some of the psychology behind the confessional. Yet, he was
incredibly curious as to what this man before him thought; this man that
may have seen and experienced countless lifetimes… that may indeed
be a miracle of God himself.



"Because they believe," Nick answered with a heavy sigh. He
turned back to Pierre, his face hidden in the shadows surrounding him.
"But that is only my opinion, and my opinion counts for little,
especially in the eyes of God."



Nick's last comment left Father Rochefort more than a little
bewildered, and he found himself searching Nick's expression for a
little more insight into what he was thinking.



At Pierre's inquiring look, Nick turned back around to look out the
window. "I have only one real question for you… why me?"



"I thought that I should practice what I preach."



Nick smiled slightly, his head half-turned towards Pierre. "But that
doesn't answer my question. Why me? Why not another priest? Or a
friend or family member? Why would you track down a homicide detective
you barely knew thirty years ago to confess your fears to?"



"Because I believe that you understand loss of Faith better than
anyone; better than me, even."





Église Saint-Maurice

Chinon, France

April, 1430



He stood with his back to the cross, as he did each evening he waited
for her. They did not meet often, and had seen each other only twice
before, yet here he waited in the place she desired to meet.



Joan always requested to meet in the Church of St. Maurice, and for
reasons even he did not want to fully understand, he always acquiesced.



The sun had set a few hours previously, and at this time the church was
quiet and empty, save for one human heartbeat belonging to the woman
standing before him.



A smile graced his lips and for once it was not tainted with sarcasm or
iron or bitterness. This time he smiled with acceptance, for he
needn't ask Joan what path she'd chosen; it was clear to him
from the moment he'd seen her enter the church.



For all his talk and cajoling to the contrary, a part of him would have
been disappointed if her answer had been `Oui'.



She had not chosen his path. She'd not be tempted by Lucifer, and
least of all he – Nicholas de Brabant – whom she saw as nothing
more than a creature to be pitied.



Pitied.



Why should she think him such an unfortunate creature? He had what he
desired; life without death and age, power, eternity.



However, it didn't seem like much when he stood in her presence,
though he'd never admit it.



He took a step closer to her stone-still form, and seeing she was about
to protest, signaled for her to silence herself with a cold, solitary
finger pressed against her lips.



Those fingers found their way to her cheek, and gently traced the
outline of her jaw.



"Then God be with you in your quest, Courage."



Joan, whose stern composure could leave much to doubt, gave him a look
that could be nothing but disbelief. She regained her composure quickly,
and then said both softly and confidently, "He shall be, as He shall
be in yours."



"As I compel Him to be," Nick answered gently, and without his
usual ire, before leaving Joan to her beloved church once and for all.





"Your loss of Faith is not in God, but in yourself. That is not a
sin," Nick said, observing the miserable figure of Father Rochefort.
If only he could tell him that his supposed `sin' was nothing in
comparison to his own.



"Does that not make me a coward? Faithless? Those are mortal
sins," Pierre said desperately, leaning forward as if pleading his
point. "Where does that leave me in the eyes of God?"



Nick laughed unpleasantly. "You have nothing to worry about, Father.
You've served Him all your life. A short crisis in faith is hardly
enough to damn you, and I shouldn't like to meet the God that would
do so."



"But isn't that how the path to wickedness starts?" Pierre
asked, with a tone that suggested Nick should know.



`Just how much does he know?' Nick wondered, not for the first
time. "What makes you think that I know?" he asked with an edge
to his tone that said he would not be put-off again.



It came through. Pierre grasped the book tightly as he looked down,
almost as if it rooted him to reality. "You can't deny that you
don't look a day older then when I last met you. I don't pretend
to know how, or why, but I believe that you are far older than a man can
naturally live."



Nick was silent, but he stepped out of the shadows and returned to his
chair as the sun began to set.



"You can't deny it… can you?"



"Perhaps I just have good genes," Nick answered flippantly.



Pierre looked down at the book in his hands, and Nick truly noticed it
for the first time. He'd been aware of Pierre carrying it of course,
but hadn't notice what it was, and it made his stomach feel heavy
when he saw that it was an art history book from Belgium.



Opening the book, Pierre turned to the page that had the portrait, and
then held it up for Nick to see. Even with a slight glare on the glossy
page and the small size of the image it was clear to Nick that it was a
portrait of him in all this knightly glory. It had been painted after
his return from Jerusalem; his naivety gone, and nearly his life.
He'd returned a knight of the Temple, a great honor and a far cry
from his boyish days as an attaché for Lord De Lebarre. The
homecoming had been a brief one, for on his next crusade he would not
return alive – in the human sense at least.



Pierre's soft, shaky voice pulled him out of his own head. "Is
this you?"



Nick couldn't quite tear himself away from the portrait to answer,
and after a moment of bitter-sweet reminiscing he realized that he'd
just given himself away.



With Nick's silence, Pierre lowered the book, unsure of how to
continue. Perhaps he expected denial, or outrage, or drama at the
discovery and didn't know what to do when he received none of the
above.



Nick didn't know what to do either. Sure, there had been people who
knew what he was and kept his dark secret, but no one had discovered the
man he'd been before he stepped into eternal darkness; no one had
made the connection.



Truly, what were the odds of Father Rochefort finding this portrait?
Despite his discomfort at the subject he shook his head, and with a
small grin asked, "How did you find that?"



Pierre's brow furrowed in frustration as he looked down at the book
in his lap. Standing, he walked over to Nick and showed him the portrait
up close, repeating his question more firmly. "Is this you?"



Self preservation seemed to prevent Nick from coming right out and
confirming Pierre's claim, no matter how obvious it was that the
priest had already put everything together.



The house seemed impossibly silent as Pierre waited for his answer.



Nick took the book from Pierre's hands and took a good long look. It
was incredible; he'd had no idea the portrait had survived the
ages... "How could this be me, and why would you think it is?"



"I know it sounds crazy," Pierre blurted immediately.
"Believe me, I know. But… just too many things added up, and it
all made a warped sort of sense. Please, I won't ask how, and
I'll take your secret to the grave, if you'll only admit that
this portrait is of you. I have to know that I'm not completely
insane!"



Nick stood, book still in hand, and walked over to the fireplace in the
corner. The image of a man swinging from a rafter in a drafty barn made
his decision much easier. "It's funny; when this was painted I
thought it would pass my image down through generations of my family,
long after I was dead and gone. Now, I marvel that it has survived as
long as I. Amazing."



He paused in reflection, and then remembering a poem, recited it quietly
from memory.



"And though he was valorous, he was prudent and as meek as a maid of
his bearing. In all his life he never yet spoke discourteously but was
truly a perfect gentle knight," Nick quoted, turning to Pierre.



Pierre sat down heavily on the arm of the chair and asked for his own
confirmation, "You're Nicholas de Brabant?"



Nick closed the book, and tossed it onto the sofa. He seemed to pull
himself up, holding his head high before answering, "At your
service," and finishing it off with a little bow.



Pierre wanted to ask so many questions – it was written all over his
face – yet what he wanted to know the most he'd just promised
not to ask. "What year were you born?"



"In the year of our Lord, eleven hundred and ninety-six," Nick
answered, with some amusement at his phrasing. If only LaCroix could
hear him now!



Pierre inhaled sharply. "That makes you…"



"Eight hundred and twenty-six," Nick answered after a moment of
thought. "Now that I've answered your questions, I want you to
answer mine. How did you figure it out? How could you believe that
portrait to be me when all reason says otherwise? There had to have been
something else."



Pierre took a deep breath, still reeling from the reality of Nick's
admission. "There was, I…" He looked down, digging into his
coat pocket and pulling out the printout of Nick's letter to Joan of
Arc. "…found this first," he finished, handing it to Nick.



Nick looked over it with curiosity, then understanding. "Ah, so you
researched Nicholas de Brabant and found out that it didn't quite
match the date that it should."



"Yes, and then… well, this is incredibly stupid but the
salutation had your name in it; or at least the one you went by when I
met you," Pierre amended.



Nick glanced at the letter again, and realizing it was true,
couldn't help but laugh. What were the chances of Pierre Rochefort
– a priest he'd barely known decades ago – finding all this?
The chances were as insane as the situation.



Still, it could be worse. The good Father could have found out how
he'd survived this long… and he wasn't quite sure he was
ready for that confession.





Lyon, France

March 10th, 1430



Nicholas dipped the quill once more, signing his true name with a
flourish.



He had been startled when Joan had called him by his birth name. Was he
truly such a nightmarish legend in France that his name had been passed
down from mother to daughter like some macabre bedtime story?



It made him stop – not for the first time – and wonder at how
he'd come to be the creature he was now. Looking back at the letter,
realization dawned that he'd tried ever so hard to assure her that
he too had been a man of God once, a long, long time ago.



Why?



Doubt?



LaCroix said it made him weak, and even though he tried desperately to
accept his life now, there was still a part of him that refused to do
so.



But why? Did he not get everything he'd desired when he made his
choice?



Choice.



Nicholas scoffed at the word. It had hardly been a choice; he'd been
played for a fool, tricked and dazzled by pretty words uttered on even
prettier lips.



Now, he wrote this letter to Joan offering her the choice… she
wouldn't accept. He was not dim-witted or naïve enough to think
otherwise. Yet he still felt he needed to offer her this, because it was
the only thing he could offer.



Cursing himself for a fool, he rolled and tied the message.



This would truly be her choice.





"What was she like?"



Nick shook himself out of his memory and looked at Father Rochefort.
Pierre had a million questions in his brain, eager to be asked, and that
fact was clear in his expression.



Closing his eyes, Nick allowed himself to drift back to his encounters
with the legendary Joan of Arc. "She was beautiful, courageous, with
a Faith in God so strong that it could not be dissuaded, even if it
brought about her death. I'm not surprised that she's remembered
almost five hundred years later. She told me that she would live forever
…and she was right."



"Is that what you offered her? Immortality?"



Nick looked down, and picked up a remote from his coffee table. "It
was such a tragedy. To die that way." He clicked a button, and the
fireplace roared to life. "It's not a death I would wish on
anyone." He placed the remote on the mantle. "She was courageous
to the end, God rest her soul, but her screams of agony will haunt me to
my grave," Nick said quietly, his eyes fixated on the fire.



"You were there?" Pierre asked, breathless. He could tell that
Nick was no longer `with him' but remembering a horror that
happened in a time long gone. "I still can't fathom it; the
things you must have seen and done… to experience over eight-hundred
years of change? I can't comprehend what it must be like for
you."



`Lonely,' Nick thought as he pulled his eyes away from the fire
and back to Pierre. Father Rochefort might be ready to confess, but he
was not. "To answer your previous question, I think wickedness can
start in many forms. There have been plenty of evil people who've
had faith, misplaced as it may have been," Nick said in an attempt
to reassure the priest that he wasn't on the road to damnation.



Pierre was silent for a long time, before finally adding, "What I
told you… wasn't all of it."



By the expression on Father Rochefort's face, Nick could tell that
whatever he had to say would be difficult for him. "Would you like a
glass of wine?" he asked, thinking he could certainly use a drink
himself, even if it was of a slightly different variety.



"Yes, thank you."



Nick walked into the kitchen and took two wine glasses out of the
cupboard. He filled Pierre's with some rather expensive red wine and
his own with half wine, half blood.



Walking back into the living room, he saw Father Rochefort looking at a
large canvas of his still propped up on the easel. The subject was one
he hadn't painted in a long time; his more recent work in the last
few decades being abstracts. This was different; it was a landscape of
the Brabant countryside in full daylight… only, he couldn't get
the sunlight right.



He could never get the sunlight right.



"Did you paint this?" Pierre asked, taking the glass of wine
Nick offered.



"Yeah. Eight hundred years of practice and this is the best I can
do. Guess talent really can't be learned, huh?"



"It's fantastic, Nick," Pierre protested, looking back at
the painting in confusion.



Nick shook his head. "It's all wrong," he muttered, before
turning away from the painting and walking back to the sofa, taking a
sip from his glass as he did so. "So, tell me what it was that you
left out."



"I confess that I lied to you."



Nick smiled, then sat down on the couch and took another sip from his
glass. "You didn't come here to confess to me, then? Lying about
wanting to confess… I think that is a new one, even for me… and
that's saying something."



"I mean before today. When you asked if I knew who the killer
was… I did know," he admitted, having turned back to the
painting, unable to look Nick in the eye. He was still ashamed of his
decision to keep quiet… and thirty years of guilt hadn't made
the confession any easier.



There was a short pause as Nick thought back to the investigation.
"Ah, but your Faith wouldn't allow you to speak. How does that
make you feel?"



"I've regretted the decision every day since," he answered
sincerely, noticing the odd portrayal of light in Nick's painting
for the first time. It was beautiful, stylized, yet almost sinister at
the same time. He turned towards Nick, and for a split second thought he
saw the same golden, stylized light reflected in Nick's eyes... but
it vanished so quickly that he wasn't sure he'd even seen it at
all.



Nick swirled his wineglass, watching the light from the lamp beside him
hit the liquid.



"You don't seem very surprised at my confession."



"I'm not," Nick answered matter-of-factly. "I thought
you knew… why do you think I was so upset when we brought you
in?"



"I never felt right about it, but as a priest I was bound to
silence. I… never did make peace with that decision, and it's
haunted me ever since. I truly understand where you were coming from
now."



Cocking an eyebrow, Nick set down his wineglass. "Do you?" he
asked, standing up.



His entire demeanor changed as he walked towards Pierre. This man,
who'd seen nothing of the crusades, the inquisitions, Joan of Arc,
and countless other holy horrors, had no hope of ever seeing things the
way he saw them… and Pierre should pray to his God that he's
that lucky.



Nick said nothing at first. He was quite adept at being menacing; he
had, after all, had hundreds of years of practice. Silent and imposing,
he unnerved Pierre as he circled him. After a full three-sixty around
the priest he came to stand in front of him. All the amusement and
warmth that he'd exhibited earlier had vanished. In its place was a
cold, calculating look that made Pierre's heart jump out of its
rhythm.



"You have no idea who you're talking to, Father. You know
nothing about me, or the things I've done or seen. How could you
possibly say that you understand how I feel about the Church, or
Faith?" Nick asked, his voice ice cold.



Father Rochefort looked away, taking a deep swallow of wine. It was damn
good wine; exceptional really. No doubt it was exceptional too;
exceptionally old, just like its owner. He bit his lower lip in thought.
It had been a stupid thing to say, in hindsight, and he lowered his
head, muttering a quiet apology.



Nick backed off, heading back into the kitchen and pouring himself
another glass of `wine'.



Pierre watched him, and then noticed a brass sun hanging on the wall
above a cupboard as Nick passed by it. It got him to looking at the rest
of the décor in the home, and he realized how eclectic it all was.
There was everything from modern furniture, to what looked like –
and probably were – priceless antiques. But there seemed to be a
running theme throughout, tucked away here and hung there, and that was
the sun.



The suns were in many styles, from many cultures all over the world, but
there they were, spread throughout every room visible from where he
stood. He couldn't help but wonder why, but dare not ask for the
moment. He seemed to be walking a thin line as it was.



Nick returned with his wineglass full, and carrying the bottle of wine
for Pierre. "Like another?" he inquired, his anger gone as
quickly as it had come.



Pierre held out his glass, now nearly empty, and nodded. Nick topped it
off, filling it nearly to the brim, and then set the bottle down on the
coffee table. Nick took a deep swallow out of his own glass before
saying anything more.



"I know what its like to be haunted by decisions made in the
past," Nick said pensively, looking into the dregs of his glass.



Silence drifted between them, and Pierre saw that Nick had a far-away
look in his eyes again. Allowing Nick his short trip down memory lane,
Pierre turned back to the landscape. It really was quite beautiful.



Sensing that they desperately needed a change of subject, Pierre asked,
"Where is this?" gesturing to the painting. He had the
impression it was not a fictional place, but one Nick had seen at some
point in his life.



Nick blinked a couple of times, having been completely zoned out, before
turning to Pierre and answering. "It's the Brabant countryside.
It's a view from our land that I remember as a child."



Nick moved closer to the painting and gestured toward it. "I must
have been six years old, nearing my seventh birthday. Once I turned
seven, I began my training as a knight and served under Lord de Lebarre
as a page, then a squire. I did not see my home again until I was
knighted."



"That must have been hard."



Nick shrugged. "That was how it was. It was not a bad life. It was
an honor to serve your Lord… if you had a noble one."



"Did you?"



"When I was young and naïve, I believed him to be so." Nick
took another sip from his glass and gestured toward the canvas.
"I'm afraid this is my ideal, not an accurate depiction. I was
looking through young, naïve, curious eyes when I saw this, and now
I'm trying to recreate the scene with… well, let's just say,
not so young or naïve eyes. It's tainted by too many years
passing, but at least once a century, I always try…"



"You've painted this before?"



"Seven times." He leaned in close and ran a hand across a
portion of the painting where light filtered through the treetops.
"I can never get the sunlight right. Not anymore."



"What did you offer Joan of Arc?" Pierre asked curiously,
changing the subject again. "I'm writing a book you know."



Taken aback by the sudden change of topic, Nick looked at Pierre
nonplussed for a moment before bursting into laughter.



Once Nick regained some of his composure, he added for Father
Rochefort's benefit, "You could hardly put what I have to say
down in a book and be taken seriously."



Pierre chuckled too. "It's not for publication."



"Then why write it?" Nick asked, moving over to the blinds and
opening them wide. The sun had set, and he felt like he couldn't
bear to be shut in any longer.



"I thought that perhaps it would help me better understand
faith."



"The problem with faith, Father," Nick said, opening the second
set of blinds, letting the soft moonlight filter into the living room,
"Is that facts and history will never help you understand it."



No longer wanting to skirt around the subject, Pierre asked, "When
did you lose yours?"



Nick became melancholy in a matter of seconds, moving back to the couch
and taking a seat. He didn't answer until he took a good, long
swallow from his glass. "I have faith, Father," he said
seriously, trying his best to convince Pierre that it was the truth.
Perhaps he was trying to convince himself.



"But your letter…"



"Not one of the finer moments in my life, I admit. But I never said,
even in those letters, that I didn't have faith in God; I'll
concede that at the time it wasn't strong, but it was there all the
same. It was the Church and papacy that I thought the great lie; I still
believe that at that time it was so."



Remembering his previous question, he asked it again. "What did you
offer her?"



"Joan? I'm sure you've guessed it by now: immortality.
I'd lived long enough to know the cost of the path she'd chosen,
but in the end I came to realize that so did she. Courage had amazing
faith, but she had more than that; she had deep insight for the future,
and what actions would beget what consequences."



"Selfless," Pierre added.



"Yes." Nick held up a finger as if just remembering something,
set down his glass, then went over to a corner of the room and picked up
a small box that sat on a shelf. Bringing it over, he sat down on the
couch and opened it. A slightly pained look crossed his features before
he set down the open box and slid it across the table to where Pierre
sat.



Taking the box, Pierre saw that what nestled inside it was an impossibly
old looking cross, made from wood and tightly bound together by strips
of leather. Pierre moved to take it from the box, but then it occurred
to him that it might be quite fragile. "May I?" he inquired.



Nick made a sweeping gesture with his free hand, as if to say `be my
guest' and took another sip of wine.



He took it into his hands, handling it with extreme care. "How old
is it?" he asked.



"Over five-hundred years. It was Joan's," Nick answered, no
longer looking at him or the cross.



"My Lord," he whispered, turning it in his hand. "This is
remarkable. How did you get it?"



"She gave it to me. You see, she thought that courage would give me
faith because it takes a courageous man – or woman – to trust in
God without question."



"Did you believe it?" he asked, still staring at the cross in
awe.



"Not at the time," Nick said, regarding Pierre curiously. "I
do now."



"So, that makes me a coward?" Pierre asked after a moment of
reflection. He set the cross gently back in its box.



"Maybe." Nick finished his wine, set the glass on the coffee
table, and clasped his hands together. "Or maybe you just need to
hear that it's happened to someone else and not destroyed their
faith. Or maybe you need to separate your faith in yourself and your
faith in God. Or maybe you thought that I had the answer."



"I think you just gave it to me."



"If you have faith in me, perhaps I did," Nick said, standing
and walking back over to his painting. "I have faith that one day
I'll be able to get the sunlight right in my painting," he
continued, "Even if it takes another eight hundred years."



"Do you have faith that one day you will be in the kingdom of
heaven?" Pierre asked.



Nick looked down at his hands, and did not turn to face Pierre. He
thought of what a guide had once told him at the door to judgment. He
remembered his mother's belief that he was a chivalrous and holy
knight of the Temple on that last visit to home, and Joan of Arc's
words of wisdom, and the day he entered knighthood, and when he was
sworn into the Knights Templar… countless memories and events
bombarded his mind and they ranged from his most virtuous to his most
monstrous. How could such a life be judged? He still didn't know.



After what seemed like forever, he finally answered Pierre. "I have
faith that God will do the right thing, and I've long since
endeavored to do the same. The rest I leave in his hands." He turned
to Pierre at last and let him see the man behind the mask for the first
time. "I don't pretend to know what He may think of me… I
don't even know what I think of me."



"So you do understand," Pierre said, realizing that Nick was a
man much like himself, living under impossible circumstances.



"I might presume to know what you're going through." Nick
smiled a little, but it was tainted with a sweet irony. "Who's
doing the confessing here, Father?"



Pierre finished off his glass of wine, beginning to feel its soothing
effects. "Maybe both of us. Thank you, Nick."



Nick looked at him slightly bewildered. "For what?"



"For listening. For telling me the truth. For understanding. I think
I just needed to talk to someone who understood."



Father Rochefort smiled genuinely, said his goodbyes, and left as
quickly as he'd come.



Nick stood in the living room beside his painting while Father Rochefort
saw himself out. He heard the door close after a moment, and he was
alone again.



"Thank you for allowing me to act the knight one more time,"
Nick said to himself out loud. He went over to his piano, and sitting on
the bench he began pecking at the keys idly. "I guess there really
is a first time for everything," he said with a small chuckle,
thinking that he might be the first vampire who'd ever confessed to
a priest. But then, what had he truly confessed? That he was immortal,
yes… but he'd neglected to tell the Priest the most important
and damning fact of them all.



Another day, perhaps.



His eyes passed over the small box on the coffee table, and he smiled as
an idea struck him, and his idle pecking easily transformed into a
passionate melody.



Maybe I will, at that.





Father Rochefort walked into his office, having just finished delivering
his sermon.



He spotted it immediately, and stopped dead in his tracks.



On his desk was Nick's antique wooden box, with an envelope propped
up against it addressed to him.



He let out the breath he'd been holding, and then forced himself to
move, picking up the envelope with an unsteady hand.



No, it couldn't be… could it?



He opened the envelope first, and took out a piece of paper. It was a
letter addressed to him, with old fashioned writing that belonged to a
man from the sixteenth century.



Pierre,



Remember, the faith you've lost is always there to regain.



A woman wise beyond her years once told me that, and gave this to me as
a reminder of her words. I think now, after so many years, it's my
turn.



Sincerely,

Nicholas de Brabant



His hand shook a little as he finished the short note, and he set it
down so he didn't crumple it beyond repair. Taking a deep breath to
steady his hand, he flipped open the box and nearly collapsed.



There it was. St. Joan of Arc's cross.



A priceless relic.



Yet Nick had just given it to him, nary a stipulation or care or word of
warning for disclosing where he might have gotten such an artifact.



Nick, someone he knew only in passing, had faith that he would look
after it well.



Father Rochefort knew that he would do just that.



The End



[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

Forever Knight and its characters were created by James Parriott, et
al., and are owned by Sony/TriStar. I wanted to wish everyone a
joyous New Years. I am sorry I posted this after the contest but here
is my unedited version of my fanfiction.  All the rest of my fanfics
are located at
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Forever_Knight_Romance/

The Christmas to Remember

The Christmas Song
Lyrics by Mel Torme
           Chestnuts roasting on an open fire
           Jack Frost nipping at your nose
           Yuletide carols being sung by a choir
           And folks dressed up like Eskimos
           At the loft the day before Christmas Eve:

        "Nat look," Natalie heard Nick say with the excitement of a
youthful child. Natalie came over to stand by Nick and looked out the
window. There standing in the snow was six little boys and girls
singing Christmas carols. They looked like pure angles with the snow
fluttering down around them and sticking lightly to their hair. She
used to fervently hope that one day she would have a whole brood of
little angles. She had even gone as far as picking out their names.
However, that dream had withered long ago as it slowly became clear
to her that she wanted to be immortal with Nick. She wanted to be
able to have more than those seemingly innocent pecks on the
forehead. She wanted to feel Nick Knight in all his glory. She wanted
……. 'Natalie control yourself Nick would never allow you to be
brought over.' During the whole ten years that Nick and her had
been "friends" she had never let it be known to Nick her feelings
towards becoming a vampire. Natalie's heart began to beat faster as
Nick slid close to her and put one of his big strong arms around her.
       Nick sneakily glanced towards Natalie and almost failed to stop
the sigh of contentment before it escaped. He was very content with
Natalie...'too content you fool.' Yes, he admitted it he had allowed
himself to get too close to Natalie. On top of that he had overstayed
his allotted time for the incarnation of Nick Knight. Lucien had told
him last week that, ""You do not have much more time left maybe a
week or two. If you continue on past that then the enforcers will
come and forcibly remove you, which would undoubtedly put Natalie in
grave danger.'" It is not that he had not tried to leave before; in
fact he had attempted it many times. However, each time his heart had
begun to ache so badly that he was forced to stop and rethink his
plans. What was he to do? He knew that it was impossible for him to
stay, but equally as impossible to leave.  He leaned over and kissed
Natalie's temple softly. Then let his eyes wondered over Natalie's
body that had gotten only better with age.
        She was getting older and this was probably her last year
before her maternal clock ran out. It was definitely time to leave.
He wanted her to have a family a human husband… "You're lying to
yourself." Yes, he knew it too there was no way on earth another man
would ever touch Natalie the beast would not allow it. Most
importantly the human side of Nick would not allow it. She was his
and his alone. This was the precise thing that had motivated him to
leave time and time again. She could not be his or the beasts. She
deserved better than him, and the only way she would ever be his is
if she crossed over. This was especially true now that the time had
come to move on he had to either bring her over or move on and never
contact her again. This is not a dilemma he wanted to be dealing
with, especially not at Christmas.
       "Nick you all right?" she asked a couple of time even having to
rub his shoulder to awaken him.
       "Yes, I was just thinking about how lovely you looked tonight
at the policemen's' ball," He said as he pulled her tighter. She
looked so breathtaking in that red slim cut dress that accentuated
her lovely curves. Her hair was brushed back away from her face
exposing her attractive neck. It had been and continued to be hard
for him to resist her.
       "You didn't look that bad yourself Mr. Knight," she smiled as
she let her eyes once again trace over his knightly body that was
clad in a black suit and sported a red tie for a hint of color. She
was growing concerned though as he seemed to be increasingly spacing
out as it drew closer to Christmas. He had never been this hard to
awaken or drifted off as much, which was making it all the more
anxiety provoking for her. What was troubling him so much that he was
continuously escaping from reality? He had been doing this all
throughout the policemen's ball earlier in the night. He had spaced
out when they started serving dinner and the waiter had had to ask
three times what he had wanted for dinner. She had been happily
surprised though when he had asked for plum pudding and had even
attempted a bite. Tracey and her husband, Fred, had ordered the
chicken parm. like her. It was a very lovely night, especially since
Nick had been so attentive when he wasn't spacing out. He had also
been a lovely dancing partner refusing to let her sit out even one
slow dance. She smiled and glanced out again towards the carolers.
They stood there embracing each other and listened as the carolers
started to sing Mariah Carey's - All I Want For Christmas Is You:
I don't want a lot for Christmas
There is just one thing I need
I don't care about the presents
Underneath the Christmas tree
I just want you for my own
More than you could ever know
Make my wish come true
All I want for Christmas is you

I don't want a lot for Christmas
There is just one thing I need, and I
Don't care about the presents
Underneath the Christmas tree
I don't need to hang my stocking
There upon the fireplace
Santa Claus won't make me happy
With a toy on Christmas day

I just want you for my own
More than you could ever know
Make my wish come true
All I want for Christmas is you, youuuuu, ooh ooh baby, oh oh

I won't ask
for much this Christmas
I won't even wish for snow, and I
I just want to keep on waiting
Underneath the mistletoe

I won't make a list and send it
To the North Pole for Saint Nick
I won't even stay up late
To hear those magic reindeer click

'Cuz I just want you here tonight
Holding on to me so tight
What more can I do
Oh, Baby all I want for
Christmas is you, youuuu, ooh baby

All the lights are shining
So brightly everywhere
And the sound of childrens'
Laughter fills the air

And everyone is singing
I hear those sleigh bells ringing
Santa won't you bring me
The one I really need
Won't you please bring my baby to me quickly, yeah

Ohh ohh, I don't want a lot for Christmas
This is all I'm asking for
I just want to see my baby
Standing right outside my door

Ohh ohh, I just want
you for my own
More than you could ever know
Make my wish come true
Oh, Baby all I want for Christmas is you, you ooh, baby

All I want for Christmas is you, ooh baby
       After the song had ended Nick could feel Natalie's heartbeat
strumming though his ears. God how that song had wished he could take
her where she stood. `Do it Just Once' he couldn't tell if that was
his own voice or if Natalie had actually just ordered him to kiss
her. However, he didn't care as he quickly placed both arms around
Natalie and pulled her warm supple body against his and passionately
began to kiss her. He heard Natalie moan and press her adorable
breasts against his cheats, which increased his desire. He ran his
hand up her back and threaded his fingers through her brown silky
hair. He felt her tongue begin to trace his lips lightly asking for
permission to touch her tongue to his. He ran his other hand down her
slim waist and curved his palm around her ample butt in return. He
heard her heart begin to race faster in response. He let his lips
part just and hair and Natalie excitedly advanced their kissing. `How
did you become such a good kisser Natalie' he silently cursed to
himself. Never had he allowed himself a kiss of this magnitude with
her, and she was showing him just why he shouldn't have. Natalie was
making all the right moves and kissing just the right spots that
would erg him on. He drew away quickly from her and put a foot
between them. "I am sorry Nat….."
        "You are still going to see Santa with me with my niece
tomorrow, right?" she saw him nod his head and with that she turned
and left.
        Everybody knows a turkey and some
        Mistletoe help to make the season bright
        Tiny tots with their eyes all aglow
        Will find it hard to sleep tonight
Christmas Eve:
	 "Hey sweaty you ready your turns next?" she asked her cute
little five year old nice. Her niece and she had worn matching
dresses for their photo with Santa. Natalie smiled as her niece
brushed at her velvet green dress so that should could look
presentable for Santa.
	 "Okay Natalie I am ready" Her niece said with a beaming smile.
	 "You both look so pretty" Nick said as he squeezed the little
girl's hand. The little angel had asked to hold his hand when they
first entered the mall and had not dared to let go since. He had
known her from the time she was born. Natalie's sister in-law had
remarried and moved to Toronto six years ago. Only to lose her new
husband a few days before the baby was due. Nick upon Natalie's
request had stepped up and acted like a father to the child. Natalie
and Nick often would baby sit young Emily. When they got together
like this, sometimes he would get caught up with the notion that one
day him and Natalie could have a family. He and Natalie had been
doing a lot more babysitting since Emily's mother had gotten sick
with cancer two years ago. If he wasn't being forced to leave he
could imagine Natalie and him raising Emily as their daughter.

Flashback:
 	 Nick watched as the little baby girl was christened in the
tiny white dressed her father had picked out before he died.  "Can we
have the godmother and godfather take a step forward?" said the
priest who cradled the baby. Sarah beamed at Nick as he stepped
forward and took the baby from the priest. Natalie placed her hands
on the tiny girl as the priest bestowed them both with the honor of
godparents. Nick had almost cried that day for it was the closest he
figured he would ever get to holding a daughter of his own. That day
he had formed a special bond with both Emily and Natalie.

End of Flashback:
	 "Thanks Daddy" Said little Emily.
	 "Your up angel" said the little elf that stood their taking
the pictures.
	 Emily bounded toward Santa gleefully pulling on Nick's hand
to keep up. Nick could not help but to smile. He watched as Santa
gently placed the little girl upon his lap. Emily was definitely
enjoying the authentic looking Santa. She lightly ran her fingers
over his snowy white beard, which caused Santa to crinkle his ruby
red nose and make his stomach giggle as he said "ho ho." Nick instead
of getting happier at his "daughters" excitement retreated into
sadness, as tomorrow was his last day in Toronto.
 	 "Now sweet Emily, I know you been a good little girl this
year…you see I been keeping special attention on you…" He said the
last bit then trailed off to a small stop and looked directly at
Nick, "your such a precious little girl that I wanted to make sure
that you were safe. Now I read your Christmas list already, but I am
undecided about the request you made. I was wondering if you could
tell me more about why you want such a `special' present."
	 Nick looked on in bewilderment at why this mall Santa was
acting in such a weird fashion. Especially, glaring at him and
talking about keeping Emily safe, as if he knew that Nick was a
danger to her or something. He did not think that he gave off a weird
vibe, but perhaps his retreat out of reality had stricken this
stranger as a danger sign. Nick stared on as Emily talked.
	 "I just think that Daddy Nick should be with Aunt Natalie,
because they love each other. Shouldn't we be with the ones we love,
if we can?" she said to Santa.
         Natalie and Nick looked at each other and then at Emily. She
had always seemed so mature for her age. It was mostly due to the
complicated life she had led so far. Her father's death and currently
her mother's illness had aged her beyond her years. They both read
the sadness in each others eyes before they looked back at Santa.
         "Hmm…I might be able to pull a couple strings…but I will not
promise anything, okay?" Santa said looking at Emily.
          Emily looked at her daddy and aunt and then finally back at
Santa before responding. "Okay" Emily said a bit disappointed that
Santa had not fully agreed.
          "Say Cheese," said the camera man a little annoyed. He was
mad at how long Santa had taken with this couple considering how long
the line was. `It is good he makes such good Santa by pretending to
know their names out of thin air and guessing what is on their
Christmas list before being told.' "Happy Holidays" He said to the
couple as he handed them their picture as they were leaving. "Next,"
He said as he readied the camera for the next little boy or girl.

               They know that Santa's on his way
               He's loaded lots of toys and goodies
               On his sleigh
               And ev'ry mother's
               Child is gonna spy to see if
               Reindeer really know how to fly
Christmas Eve Night:
	 "This is ridiculous they should be back with news by now,"
Natalie whispered below her breath, as to not stir Emily. She had
received the terrible phone call from the hospital a little less than
ten minutes after their visit with Santa. Nick had so graciously
offered to drive them to the hospital. They had now been sitting here
for four hours without any news on the condition of Sarah. She had
had to stay calm for Emily's sake but now that she was asleep she was
able to more aptly express her emotions. Emily had taken the news
with some crying but for the most part she had remained relatively
calm. Natalie realized that it must be because from day one Sarah had
been preparing her daughter for a night like this.  Emily also knew
she had two loving adults that would do anything for her.
         Nick had cradled Emily for most of the time at the hospital,
until Emily had fallen asleep. He began to feel a bit uncomfortable
as the feeling of fatherhood swept over him. He got up and laid the
sleeping child delicately on Natalie's lap. As soon as he had sat
back down he had retreated into his own thoughts. How was he supposed
to leave tomorrow with both Emily and Natalie suffering and needed
him? It all seemed so impossible to both stay and to leave. He
realized the only way he was going to be able to solve this was to
have a talk with Natalie.
         "You here for Mrs. Miller" said a tall blonde man all dressed
in scrubs. Nick instantly recognized him as Lucien. "I regretfully
have to inform you that the young woman has passed away. I am very
sorry for you loss doctor and yours young Emily." Lucien looked into
the little girls young beautiful blue eyes "You will be
okay….tomorrow you will awaken and realize that Natalie and Nicholas
De Brabant are going to be your new mommy and daddy. You will have
some sadness but you will become a healthy happy child quickly"
Lucien said softly making sure the young child's malleable mind was
melding to his desire.  "Now sleep," Lucien said as he picked the
child up into his big strong arms.
          "Nick, I have prepared the papers already for you and your
vampire bride Natalie and your daughter. Consider this my Christmas
present. I love you son." With that Lucien flew away with a sleeping
Emily in his arms.
           Nick was flabbergasted had that really just happened, had
his father just came and told him that he, "his vampire bride"
Natalie and "your" daughter could stay together. He had even used the
term "vampire bride" and "your" daughter. To top that he had even
said he loved him. He ran to the window and looked out to see if the
Earth had just frozen over. Instead of seeing an ice covered earth he
saw Santa's sleigh amongst what looked and felt like at lest five
enforcers. He blinked and looked again and they were still
there. `WOW!' what power young Emily had to convince Santa to speak
to the enforcers. Nick began to cry as the concept of the miracle
that had just taken place.  In his whole 800 years of existence he
had never been giving something so incredible. He had just been
awarded a blessing from Santa to turn his true love Natalie into a
vampire. Natalie would always be there for him throughout eternity.
He may not have found the cure to his vampirism, but he had been
given the best gift of all the love and trust of a child. But not any
child a child that regarded him as her dad.
            "Oh God Nick," Natalie said as she felt herself being
swept off her feet and into the arms of the man that she loved.
LaCroix had just accepted her as a partner for his precious son. Not
only that he had just convinced Nick to bring her across, now she
could have all those lovely kisses that she had dreamed about and
more. She would even be able to take Emily with them, so that they
could be a family. `A family….oh how could this be happening?' She
soon heard the answer as a "ho ho" echoed through the night sky. She
began to cry in joy and happiness.   "We are going to be a family,"
she squealed.
                      And so, I'm offering this
                      Simple phrase to kids from
                      One to ninety-two
                      Altho' it's been said many times
                      Many ways; "Merry Christmas
80 years later on Christmas Day:
	 "I love you my dear" said Natalie to her beloved husband
Nick.
	 "I love you too my dear" said Nicholas as he nibbled on
Natalie's earlobe. It was amazing sometimes that he and Natalie
seemed to only grow more and more in love. She was the beacon of
light in his stormy shadows. They had accomplished so much together
over their eight years. Among them was that they had successfully
managed to raise their daughter, who had turned out to be smart,
intelligent, and successful. Although she had lost her husband
quickly after the marriage, her new husband loved and adored her more
than the first. Another one of their accomplishments had been to
resist the urge to ever kill. Natalie still had not made her first
kill and Lucien had accepted it for now. They had also managed to
further restore the De Brabant estate and house to its former glory.
He looked around and marveled at how much better the De Brabant house
looked with love, laughter, and music filling the air.
            "I want to make a toast" said Emily as she stood up with a
glass full of blood red wine. "I want to thank Santa for the love of
my wonderful parents and the love of my husband and daughter Flower…"
she trailed off as she glanced towards Lucien who was smiling like a
little boy in love "Merry Christmas you all, I love you all very
much."

Hmm, well this is bizarre. I don't normally have a problem w/
formatting. Sorry about the double post.

If the funky formatting is making it hard to read, you can find this
chapter posted here: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/2735296/3/

Sorry about that!

-Scarlett


--- In foreverknightwritersclub@yahoogroups.com, "Scarlett Burns"
<scarlet8@...> wrote:
>
> Oh, crud. That last one didn't seem to format correctly. Sorry
about that...
> let's try this once more! *crosses fingers*
>
> ~*~
>
> Title: Unnatural Predators
> Author: Scarlett Burns
> Feedback E-mail: scarlet8@ (Mmm, the monkey loves feedback!)
>
> Rated: T (15+)
> Warnings: Violence, Graphic Imagery, Mild Adult Language
> Xover: Forever Knight/Dark Shadows
>
> Summary: Brutal killings and mysterious symbols left at the crime
scenes
> cause Detectives Nick Knight and Don Schanke to track down a
preternatural
> predator.
>
> Many thanks to those who've read and reviewed thus far! :)
>
> ~*~
>
> Chapter 3
>
>
>
> Eric laughed at his own words, shaking his head. "It sounds so
insane, I
> know. If. if I wasn't so upset about everything that's been
happening I'm
> sure I wouldn't be telling you this."
>
>
>
> Nick offered the man a reassuring smile, contemplating on the best
way to
> proceed. "Not as insane as you think," he said, studying the man
seated
> across from him. "Please continue. You said you moved here to get
away from
> your wife's stalker. Where are the two of you from?"
>
>
>
> "Originally? Collinsport - it's a small town in Maine."
>
>
>
> "Any particular reason why you're here in Toronto?" Nick asked,
writing down
> the name of the town. At this point, anything Vanson gave him
could be
> important.
>
>
>
> "Yeah. Amy was looking for a cousin of hers. She said that he was
the only
> one who could help us. he's really the only family she has left."
>
>
>
> "Her cousin lives here?"
>
>
>
> Eric shrugged helplessly. "We - I don't know. I've never met him,
and Amy
> hadn't seen or heard from him in years; since before we got
married eleven
> years ago."
>
>
>
> "His name?"
>
>
>
> "Amy told me that he goes by the name of Carl Grant."
>
>
>
> Nick jotted down the name. "He goes by?"
>
>
>
> "He's a writer, apparently. It's his pseudonym."
>
>
>
> "Oh, I see. What's his real name?"
>
>
>
> Eric frowned, wrenching his hands together nervously. "Amy never
told me."
>
>
>
> 'That's suspicious.' He wondered how much this mysterious cousin
really
> knew, and why he'd hidden himself from the family so well. "You
think he's
> in Toronto?" Nick asked after a moment.
>
>
>
> "Even after hiring a private investigator we couldn't find out
where Mr.
> Grant lived. All we know is that his publishing company and agent
are here
> in Toronto; it's a long shot, I know, but it was all we had."
>
>
>
> "What do you know about the. myth?"
>
>
>
> "Only what everyone knows," Eric said, rubbing his face
tiredly. "Detective,
> I'm not sure how much help I can be. I think you'll find your
answers when
> you find Carl Grant."
>
>
>
> "I hope so." Nick stood, seeing that Eric had been through enough
> questioning for one night. He tucked his pad of paper and pen
away, and made
> his way to the door. "Thank you for talking to me tonight, Mr.
Vanson. It
> really wasn't necessary, but I do appreciate it."
>
>
>
> Eric took a deep breath, standing to see him out. He forced a
pained smile
> as he opened the door to see Nick out. "I needed to tell someone."
>
>
>
> Nick nodded, stepping out into the hall. He turned to face Vanson
once more.
> "I'm very sorry about your wife." At Vanson's nod, Nick
added, "I'll keep in
> touch."
>
>
>
> As he walked out of the building, he realized that he had far more
questions
> than he had answers. Still, he had a place to start.
>
>
>
> Carl Grant.
>
>
>
> Nick flipped open his cell phone and speed dialed Schanke's number
as he
> walked back to the caddy.
>
>
>
> "Hi-ya," Schanke answered after a couple rings.
>
>
>
> "Hey Schanke. I need you to do a little leg work."
>
>
>
> "This is new?" he balked. "You notify the deceased's husband?"
>
>
>
> "Yeah, and he already gave us a lead. Carl Grant."
>
>
>
> "The writer?"
>
>
>
> "Yeah. You've heard of him?" Nick asked, but didn't wait for an
answer as he
> opened his caddy's driver side door. "Get as much information as
possible on
> him. Where he lives, his real name."
>
>
>
> "The whole shebang, eh?" Schanke interrupted. "So this is
officially not an
> animal attack?"
>
>
>
> "I don't know, Skank. It seems that Amy Vanson had a not-so-
welcome secret
> admirer, and was currently in search of her long lost cousin..."
>
>
>
> "Carl Grant," Schanke guessed.
>
>
>
> "You got it."
>
>
>
>
>
> Portland, Oregon
>
>
>
> "Ah, Carl. How are you today?"
>
>
>
> Carl Grant flashed his literary agent - Audrey - a charming smile,
dropping
> a hefty manila envelope onto her cluttered desk. "Much better, now
that I've
> got this damn thing written."
>
>
>
> "Congrats," Audrey said, peeling her eyes away from the envelope
long enough
> to give him a quick wink. She reminded him of a less glamorous
Lucille Ball;
> her exaggerated facial expressions and flame red hair did nothing
to dispel
> the thought.
>
>
>
> Audrey placed a finger on the envelope, then slid it towards her
on the
> desk, giving him a calculating look. "A detective gave me a jingle
today.
> Get into any trouble lately?"
>
>
>
> Carl made himself comfortable in the chair opposite Audrey,
surprised by the
> news. He avoided the police as often as possible; they tended to
be more
> hindrance than help when it came to the kind of mess he usually
found
> himself in. Still, things had been quiet lately, so the phone call
seemed
> rather out of the blue. "You know I've been good. lately."
>
>
>
> She laughed lightly, picking up the manila envelope. "They called
my Toronto
> office. They wanted your address."
>
>
>
> "I trust you didn't give it?"
>
>
>
> "You know the policy. Now, they do too."
>
>
>
> Carl smiled, sinking further into his chair. "That's why I love
you."
>
>
>
> "I know," she said with a grin, flipping open the envelope's flap
and
> pulling out the contents. "I gave them your cell number."
>
>
>
> He nodded. "I suppose you had to throw the dogs a bone. Did they
say what
> all this is about?"
>
>
>
> "Naturally, they didn't say anything to me. Seemed anxious to talk
to you
> though. You probably have a message waiting on your cell."
>
>
>
> "Oh, aren't I lucky," he said, almost as if to himself. He had
that gut
> feeling again; the feeling reserved for when all hell was just
about to
> break loose.
>
>
>
> But then, why should he be surprised? Things had been quiet
lately.
> unnaturally quiet for him. He knew that it wouldn't last. It never
did.
>
>
>
> He stood as his agent happily flipped through the pages of his
latest novel.
> His books were hot right now, and she knew that this meant a good
commission
> for her.
>
>
>
> "See you later, Carl," she said, seeing him stand to leave.
>
>
>
> He turned to face her once he reached the door. "If you're lucky,"
he said
> with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows. He turned and closed the
door
> behind him, leaving her office to deal with what was sure to be
another
> Collins crisis.
>
>
>
> He walked all the way to his car without turning on his cell. He
was
> reluctant to spoil his good mood so early in what had started out
as a
> promising day.
>
>
>
> Sliding behind the wheel and closing the door after him, he sat
there for a
> moment in silence before pulling the cell phone out of his pocket.
He stared
> at it for a moment as a thousand possible scenarios of doom and
destruction
> raced through his mind.
>
>
>
> Damn it, would he never be free?
>
>
>
> He feared that he knew the answer to that, but couldn't quite
admit it.
>
>
>
> Making up his mind, he tossed the cell onto the passenger seat,
not even
> turning it on. He started up his car and popped in one of his
favorite
> cassette tapes, feeling a bit nostalgic as he recalled a
particular melody
> from an era gone by. He turned up the current music, determined to
drown out
> the haunting strains that played in his mind, tugging at memories
that were
> best left alone.
>
>
>
> As he pulled out of the parking lot, he cast a quick glance at his
cell, and
> then smiled wistfully as he returned his gaze to the road. "Yes.
You can do
> without Quentin Collins for one more day, whoever you are."
>
>
>
>
>
> Toronto
>
> Nick arrived at his loft just before sunrise. Another day and
night, and
> they'd gotten virtually nowhere in the case. Schanke was convinced
that it
> wasn't even a case for the police department, and it would be
closed by
> tomorrow. Nick hoped that would happen. However, things were
seldom that
> simple.
>
>
>
> He was still stewing about the werewolf murder as he sat on the
couch with a
> glass of his preferred vintage.
>
>
>
> Honestly, he wasn't sure how he was going to go about this. It was
> possible - and even likely - that the attack would only warrant a
brief
> investigation as Schanke had suggested. After a couple days, if
there were
> no more killings, it would be chalked up to another animal attack,
end of
> story. If that was the case, he may actually be lucky. He didn't
want to
> investigate this on an official level. or even an unofficial one
for that
> matter. The last thing he wanted to do was track down, or cover
for, a rogue
> werewolf prowling the streets of Toronto.
>
>
>
> Grabbing one of his many remotes, he hit a button and watched the
metal
> blinds shut out the first rays of sunlight appearing over the
horizon.
>
>
>
> "So, you're here to hunt, are you?"
>
>
>
> "I am," Nicolas said, taking a swallow out of his tankard.
>
>
>
> The man took a seat across from him, sizing Nicolas up. "Young
Basil - he's
> the son of a farmer down the road - made a most disturbing
discovery today.
> A child lay dead in their field; at least, what was left of the
child."
>
>
>
> "Most disturbing. Does this sort of thing happen often?" Nick
asked, trying
> to hide his unease. He was a predator, it was true, but he drew
the line
> when it came to children.
>
>
>
> "Eleven children are dead, all within the year."
>
>
>
> "Eleven!" Nicolas exclaimed, setting his tankard down with a thud.
>
>
>
> "All torn asunder, all taken from their homes. How do you explain
that,
>  Mr.?"
>
>
>
> "Norwood. Nicolas Norwood," he supplied. "Am I supposed to be able
to
> explain such dreadful happenings?"
>
>
>
> "The town is most distraught. Something must be done about this
vicious
> beast."
>
>
>
> "I should say. I agree that the abduction and murder of the
children is most
> alarming. I have not heard of such in all my travels abroad."
>
>
>
> Nick sat up with a start, realizing that he'd fallen asleep on the
couch.
> Instantly, he knew that he was no longer alone in his loft.
Turning to the
> left, he froze when he saw a woman standing by his stereo.
>
>
>
> She was no ordinary woman, either. You could see right through her.
>
>
>
> Now, he normally wouldn't be surprised by a ghost. He'd been
tormented by
> enough of them in his long life, though he could never say with
complete
> certainty that they weren't just creations of his own mind;
delusions
> brought on by his own guilt.
>
>
>
> What truly caught him off guard was not that she was a ghost, but
that he
> didn't recognize her. If she had been a victim of his, conjured up
by his
> own troubled mind, he would surely recognize the lady. But he was
positive
> that he'd never seen her before.
>
>
>
> The woman was clearly not from this century, wearing a purple and
white
> ankle-length dress in the style of the Victorian period. Her long
auburn
> hair was pulled up into a loose ponytail, unusual for the era she
must have
> come from. She was of medium height and build, with large brown
eyes and a
> fidgety demeanor.
>
>
>
> She wasn't looking at him, preoccupied with one of his many
artifacts and
> relics on display throughout the loft. The particular object of
interest was
> an old gypsy knife with intricate carvings on the handle. The
small knife
> sat on a shelf beside his stereo, in front of some tapes and CDs.
>
>
>
> Nick sat quiet and motionless, watch with some trepidation as the
woman
> picked up the knife and turned it over in her hands. "Bawari," she
said with
> a hint of fear in her tone. She put the knife down quickly.
>
>
>
> Downing the rest of his dinner in one gulp, he watched her
carefully. He set
> the glass on the table beside him, unsure if he should rush his
unique house
> guest into introducing herself. It just didn't seem like a good
idea.
>
>
>
> Finally, she turned and met his gaze with her own.
>
>
>
> She giggled softly, pointing at him in a childlike way. "You're
not afraid
> of me," she stated happily, making her way closer to him as her
attention
> flitted about the room. It reminded Nick of a curious two-year old
who was
> interested in everything, like only a child could be.
>
>
>
> Eventually she'd managed to meander her way to him, but her gaze
was fixed
> on something behind him. He turned to see what had captured her
attention
> so, and realized it was one of his paintings; a blood red sun,
with fiery
> yellow rays bursting forth. One of his favorites. Returning his
attention to
> the lady in front of him, he couldn't help but feel that she was a
little
> 'off'. Nick wondered if it was possible for a ghost to be mentally
> challenged.
>
>
>
> "Red," she whispered vehemently, the color disturbing her. She
tore her
> stare away from the painting, looking at him with a glint of anger
in her
> eyes. "Your painting is a lie."
>
>
>
> Nick inhaled sharply, but said nothing. He had no idea how to
answer such a
> statement, and decided not to try.
>
>
>
> Her anger vanished as quickly as it had come. She shrugged as if
nothing
> mattered, and her whole mood changed with it. No longer upset, she
moved a
> bit closer to him.
>
>
>
> "You have to find him," she said.
>
>
>
> "Find who?" Nick asked, finally finding his voice.
>
>
>
> She laughed, and fiddled with a stray strand of hair. "What a
silly
> question. Why, the man you're looking for, of course."
>
>
>
> Nick thought for a moment, and he couldn't help but wonder if this
had
> anything to do with the werewolf murder. It seemed unlikely, but
he asked
> anyway. "Carl Grant?"
>
>
>
> She laughed again. "No, no silly. You can't find him if you don't
have the
> right name!"
>
>
>
> The woman walked slowly around his living room table, her head
tilted up as
> if she found something interesting in the rafters. "Funny how he
should use
> his brother's name. He must be feeling sad. So much to haunt one
man."
>
>
>
> She stopped her rambling and turned to Nick. "But you understand
that far
> too well, don't you?"
>
>
>
> Nick nodded once, swallowing hard. There was a hint of madness
behind her
> eyes, but she was incredibly perceptive none-the-less. Perhaps
knowledge
> came with being a ghost?
>
>
>
> "If I'm not looking for Carl Grant, than who am I looking for? Who
are you?"
>
>
>
> "He's been so many people. So many. But he can't escape himself,
just like I
> couldn't escape myself," she said, toying with the end of a ribbon
on her
> dress. "You want to know my name? You're very sweet. But I mustn't
give it
> to you!"
>
>
>
> The lady was deranged, he was sure, but it was apparent she was
trying to
> tell him something important.
>
>
>
> "I'm a Collins, you know. My sister laughed at me when I told her.
She did
> not believe a Collins would marry a gypsy." She shook her
head. "But he did.
> Too bad. He knew and married me anyway. At least, I think he knew.
Oh, I'll
> have to ask him."
>
>
>
> Sensing her fragile mind was getting sidetracked he cut in
gently, "Who am I
> supposed to find?"
>
>
>
> She brought a hand to her breast, as if shocked. "Oh! Didn't I
tell you? Oh
> dear, I'm always forgetting things. Did I ever introduce myself?"
>
>
>
> Nick raised his eyebrows, then attempted to give her a kind smile,
only half
> succeeding in the attempt. "No, I don't believe you have."
>
>
>
> "Well, where are my manners? I am Jenny Collins," she said with a
hint of
> arrogance in her voice, standing up a bit straighter as she spoke.
>
>
>
> "A pleasure, Jenny. I'm Nick. Tell me, who am I supposed to find?"
>
>
>
> "My husband. He'll help you! You'll need help. It won't go away."
>
>
>
> "The attacks?"
>
>
>
> "He's already seen you. He already has designs for vengeance.
You'll need
> help." Jenny stopped, and then tilted her head as if she were
listening to
> someone standing beside her. "I've already told him the name!" she
declared
> hotly. Then, suddenly, she became frightened, as if the voice had
told her
> something bad. She turned her attention back to Nick. "You must go
to
> Collinsport!"
>
>
>
> "Maine?" It was a stupid question, but he'd been thrown off by her
behavior
> and wasn't quite sure what to say.
>
>
>
> "Go now! He is there!" Jenny urgently, beginning to fade away. "Be
careful
> of him. He's most dangerous."
>
>
>
> "Be careful of who? Your husband? Or someone else? Wait!" Nick
stood up, as
> if to stop her from leaving, but just as he did so Jenny faded
away
> completely.
>
>
>
> Nick collapsed back onto the sofa. His ghostly visitor had left
him feeling
> completely bewildered. Clearly, she wanted him to go to
Collinsport and find
> her husband. The thought left a heavy feeling in his stomach.
>
>
>
> Jenny clearly died in the Victorian era; her husband couldn't
possibly be
> alive. naturally anyway. The only conclusion Nick could come to
was that she
> wanted him to find a ghost. or a fellow vampire.
>
>
>
> For once he thought that a vampire just might be easier to deal
with.
>
>
>
> TBC...
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
> --
> No virus found in this outgoing message.
> Checked by AVG Free Edition.
> Version: 7.1.392 / Virus Database: 268.6.0/342 - Release Date:
5/17/2006
>

Oh, crud. That last one didn't seem to format correctly. Sorry about that...
let's try this once more! *crosses fingers*

~*~

Title: Unnatural Predators
Author: Scarlett Burns
Feedback E-mail: scarlet8@... (Mmm, the monkey loves feedback!)

Rated: T (15+)
Warnings: Violence, Graphic Imagery, Mild Adult Language
Xover: Forever Knight/Dark Shadows

Summary: Brutal killings and mysterious symbols left at the crime scenes
cause Detectives Nick Knight and Don Schanke to track down a preternatural
predator.

Many thanks to those who've read and reviewed thus far! :)

~*~

Chapter 3



Eric laughed at his own words, shaking his head. "It sounds so insane, I
know. If. if I wasn't so upset about everything that's been happening I'm
sure I wouldn't be telling you this."



Nick offered the man a reassuring smile, contemplating on the best way to
proceed. "Not as insane as you think," he said, studying the man seated
across from him. "Please continue. You said you moved here to get away from
your wife's stalker. Where are the two of you from?"



"Originally? Collinsport - it's a small town in Maine."



"Any particular reason why you're here in Toronto?" Nick asked, writing down
the name of the town. At this point, anything Vanson gave him could be
important.



"Yeah. Amy was looking for a cousin of hers. She said that he was the only
one who could help us. he's really the only family she has left."



"Her cousin lives here?"



Eric shrugged helplessly. "We - I don't know. I've never met him, and Amy
hadn't seen or heard from him in years; since before we got married eleven
years ago."



"His name?"



"Amy told me that he goes by the name of Carl Grant."



Nick jotted down the name. "He goes by?"



"He's a writer, apparently. It's his pseudonym."



"Oh, I see. What's his real name?"



Eric frowned, wrenching his hands together nervously. "Amy never told me."



'That's suspicious.' He wondered how much this mysterious cousin really
knew, and why he'd hidden himself from the family so well. "You think he's
in Toronto?" Nick asked after a moment.



"Even after hiring a private investigator we couldn't find out where Mr.
Grant lived. All we know is that his publishing company and agent are here
in Toronto; it's a long shot, I know, but it was all we had."



"What do you know about the. myth?"



"Only what everyone knows," Eric said, rubbing his face tiredly. "Detective,
I'm not sure how much help I can be. I think you'll find your answers when
you find Carl Grant."



"I hope so." Nick stood, seeing that Eric had been through enough
questioning for one night. He tucked his pad of paper and pen away, and made
his way to the door. "Thank you for talking to me tonight, Mr. Vanson. It
really wasn't necessary, but I do appreciate it."



Eric took a deep breath, standing to see him out. He forced a pained smile
as he opened the door to see Nick out. "I needed to tell someone."



Nick nodded, stepping out into the hall. He turned to face Vanson once more.
"I'm very sorry about your wife." At Vanson's nod, Nick added, "I'll keep in
touch."



As he walked out of the building, he realized that he had far more questions
than he had answers. Still, he had a place to start.



Carl Grant.



Nick flipped open his cell phone and speed dialed Schanke's number as he
walked back to the caddy.



"Hi-ya," Schanke answered after a couple rings.



"Hey Schanke. I need you to do a little leg work."



"This is new?" he balked. "You notify the deceased's husband?"



"Yeah, and he already gave us a lead. Carl Grant."



"The writer?"



"Yeah. You've heard of him?" Nick asked, but didn't wait for an answer as he
opened his caddy's driver side door. "Get as much information as possible on
him. Where he lives, his real name."



"The whole shebang, eh?" Schanke interrupted. "So this is officially not an
animal attack?"



"I don't know, Skank. It seems that Amy Vanson had a not-so-welcome secret
admirer, and was currently in search of her long lost cousin..."



"Carl Grant," Schanke guessed.



"You got it."





Portland, Oregon



"Ah, Carl. How are you today?"



Carl Grant flashed his literary agent - Audrey - a charming smile, dropping
a hefty manila envelope onto her cluttered desk. "Much better, now that I've
got this damn thing written."



"Congrats," Audrey said, peeling her eyes away from the envelope long enough
to give him a quick wink. She reminded him of a less glamorous Lucille Ball;
her exaggerated facial expressions and flame red hair did nothing to dispel
the thought.



Audrey placed a finger on the envelope, then slid it towards her on the
desk, giving him a calculating look. "A detective gave me a jingle today.
Get into any trouble lately?"



Carl made himself comfortable in the chair opposite Audrey, surprised by the
news. He avoided the police as often as possible; they tended to be more
hindrance than help when it came to the kind of mess he usually found
himself in. Still, things had been quiet lately, so the phone call seemed
rather out of the blue. "You know I've been good. lately."



She laughed lightly, picking up the manila envelope. "They called my Toronto
office. They wanted your address."



"I trust you didn't give it?"



"You know the policy. Now, they do too."



Carl smiled, sinking further into his chair. "That's why I love you."



"I know," she said with a grin, flipping open the envelope's flap and
pulling out the contents. "I gave them your cell number."



He nodded. "I suppose you had to throw the dogs a bone. Did they say what
all this is about?"



"Naturally, they didn't say anything to me. Seemed anxious to talk to you
though. You probably have a message waiting on your cell."



"Oh, aren't I lucky," he said, almost as if to himself. He had that gut
feeling again; the feeling reserved for when all hell was just about to
break loose.



But then, why should he be surprised? Things had been quiet lately.
unnaturally quiet for him. He knew that it wouldn't last. It never did.



He stood as his agent happily flipped through the pages of his latest novel.
His books were hot right now, and she knew that this meant a good commission
for her.



"See you later, Carl," she said, seeing him stand to leave.



He turned to face her once he reached the door. "If you're lucky," he said
with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows. He turned and closed the door
behind him, leaving her office to deal with what was sure to be another
Collins crisis.



He walked all the way to his car without turning on his cell. He was
reluctant to spoil his good mood so early in what had started out as a
promising day.



Sliding behind the wheel and closing the door after him, he sat there for a
moment in silence before pulling the cell phone out of his pocket. He stared
at it for a moment as a thousand possible scenarios of doom and destruction
raced through his mind.



Damn it, would he never be free?



He feared that he knew the answer to that, but couldn't quite admit it.



Making up his mind, he tossed the cell onto the passenger seat, not even
turning it on. He started up his car and popped in one of his favorite
cassette tapes, feeling a bit nostalgic as he recalled a particular melody
from an era gone by. He turned up the current music, determined to drown out
the haunting strains that played in his mind, tugging at memories that were
best left alone.



As he pulled out of the parking lot, he cast a quick glance at his cell, and
then smiled wistfully as he returned his gaze to the road. "Yes. You can do
without Quentin Collins for one more day, whoever you are."





Toronto

Nick arrived at his loft just before sunrise. Another day and night, and
they'd gotten virtually nowhere in the case. Schanke was convinced that it
wasn't even a case for the police department, and it would be closed by
tomorrow. Nick hoped that would happen. However, things were seldom that
simple.



He was still stewing about the werewolf murder as he sat on the couch with a
glass of his preferred vintage.



Honestly, he wasn't sure how he was going to go about this. It was
possible - and even likely - that the attack would only warrant a brief
investigation as Schanke had suggested. After a couple days, if there were
no more killings, it would be chalked up to another animal attack, end of
story. If that was the case, he may actually be lucky. He didn't want to
investigate this on an official level. or even an unofficial one for that
matter. The last thing he wanted to do was track down, or cover for, a rogue
werewolf prowling the streets of Toronto.



Grabbing one of his many remotes, he hit a button and watched the metal
blinds shut out the first rays of sunlight appearing over the horizon.



"So, you're here to hunt, are you?"



"I am," Nicolas said, taking a swallow out of his tankard.



The man took a seat across from him, sizing Nicolas up. "Young Basil - he's
the son of a farmer down the road - made a most disturbing discovery today.
A child lay dead in their field; at least, what was left of the child."



"Most disturbing. Does this sort of thing happen often?" Nick asked, trying
to hide his unease. He was a predator, it was true, but he drew the line
when it came to children.



"Eleven children are dead, all within the year."



"Eleven!" Nicolas exclaimed, setting his tankard down with a thud.



"All torn asunder, all taken from their homes. How do you explain that,
  Mr.?"



"Norwood. Nicolas Norwood," he supplied. "Am I supposed to be able to
explain such dreadful happenings?"



"The town is most distraught. Something must be done about this vicious
beast."



"I should say. I agree that the abduction and murder of the children is most
alarming. I have not heard of such in all my travels abroad."



Nick sat up with a start, realizing that he'd fallen asleep on the couch.
Instantly, he knew that he was no longer alone in his loft. Turning to the
left, he froze when he saw a woman standing by his stereo.



She was no ordinary woman, either. You could see right through her.



Now, he normally wouldn't be surprised by a ghost. He'd been tormented by
enough of them in his long life, though he could never say with complete
certainty that they weren't just creations of his own mind; delusions
brought on by his own guilt.



What truly caught him off guard was not that she was a ghost, but that he
didn't recognize her. If she had been a victim of his, conjured up by his
own troubled mind, he would surely recognize the lady. But he was positive
that he'd never seen her before.



The woman was clearly not from this century, wearing a purple and white
ankle-length dress in the style of the Victorian period. Her long auburn
hair was pulled up into a loose ponytail, unusual for the era she must have
come from. She was of medium height and build, with large brown eyes and a
fidgety demeanor.



She wasn't looking at him, preoccupied with one of his many artifacts and
relics on display throughout the loft. The particular object of interest was
an old gypsy knife with intricate carvings on the handle. The small knife
sat on a shelf beside his stereo, in front of some tapes and CDs.



Nick sat quiet and motionless, watch with some trepidation as the woman
picked up the knife and turned it over in her hands. "Bawari," she said with
a hint of fear in her tone. She put the knife down quickly.



Downing the rest of his dinner in one gulp, he watched her carefully. He set
the glass on the table beside him, unsure if he should rush his unique house
guest into introducing herself. It just didn't seem like a good idea.



Finally, she turned and met his gaze with her own.



She giggled softly, pointing at him in a childlike way. "You're not afraid
of me," she stated happily, making her way closer to him as her attention
flitted about the room. It reminded Nick of a curious two-year old who was
interested in everything, like only a child could be.



Eventually she'd managed to meander her way to him, but her gaze was fixed
on something behind him. He turned to see what had captured her attention
so, and realized it was one of his paintings; a blood red sun, with fiery
yellow rays bursting forth. One of his favorites. Returning his attention to
the lady in front of him, he couldn't help but feel that she was a little
'off'. Nick wondered if it was possible for a ghost to be mentally
challenged.



"Red," she whispered vehemently, the color disturbing her. She tore her
stare away from the painting, looking at him with a glint of anger in her
eyes. "Your painting is a lie."



Nick inhaled sharply, but said nothing. He had no idea how to answer such a
statement, and decided not to try.



Her anger vanished as quickly as it had come. She shrugged as if nothing
mattered, and her whole mood changed with it. No longer upset, she moved a
bit closer to him.



"You have to find him," she said.



"Find who?" Nick asked, finally finding his voice.



She laughed, and fiddled with a stray strand of hair. "What a silly
question. Why, the man you're looking for, of course."



Nick thought for a moment, and he couldn't help but wonder if this had
anything to do with the werewolf murder. It seemed unlikely, but he asked
anyway. "Carl Grant?"



She laughed again. "No, no silly. You can't find him if you don't have the
right name!"



The woman walked slowly around his living room table, her head tilted up as
if she found something interesting in the rafters. "Funny how he should use
his brother's name. He must be feeling sad. So much to haunt one man."



She stopped her rambling and turned to Nick. "But you understand that far
too well, don't you?"



Nick nodded once, swallowing hard. There was a hint of madness behind her
eyes, but she was incredibly perceptive none-the-less. Perhaps knowledge
came with being a ghost?



"If I'm not looking for Carl Grant, than who am I looking for? Who are you?"



"He's been so many people. So many. But he can't escape himself, just like I
couldn't escape myself," she said, toying with the end of a ribbon on her
dress. "You want to know my name? You're very sweet. But I mustn't give it
to you!"



The lady was deranged, he was sure, but it was apparent she was trying to
tell him something important.



"I'm a Collins, you know. My sister laughed at me when I told her. She did
not believe a Collins would marry a gypsy." She shook her head. "But he did.
Too bad. He knew and married me anyway. At least, I think he knew. Oh, I'll
have to ask him."



Sensing her fragile mind was getting sidetracked he cut in gently, "Who am I
supposed to find?"



She brought a hand to her breast, as if shocked. "Oh! Didn't I tell you? Oh
dear, I'm always forgetting things. Did I ever introduce myself?"



Nick raised his eyebrows, then attempted to give her a kind smile, only half
succeeding in the attempt. "No, I don't believe you have."



"Well, where are my manners? I am Jenny Collins," she said with a hint of
arrogance in her voice, standing up a bit straighter as she spoke.



"A pleasure, Jenny. I'm Nick. Tell me, who am I supposed to find?"



"My husband. He'll help you! You'll need help. It won't go away."



"The attacks?"



"He's already seen you. He already has designs for vengeance. You'll need
help." Jenny stopped, and then tilted her head as if she were listening to
someone standing beside her. "I've already told him the name!" she declared
hotly. Then, suddenly, she became frightened, as if the voice had told her
something bad. She turned her attention back to Nick. "You must go to
Collinsport!"



"Maine?" It was a stupid question, but he'd been thrown off by her behavior
and wasn't quite sure what to say.



"Go now! He is there!" Jenny urgently, beginning to fade away. "Be careful
of him. He's most dangerous."



"Be careful of who? Your husband? Or someone else? Wait!" Nick stood up, as
if to stop her from leaving, but just as he did so Jenny faded away
completely.



Nick collapsed back onto the sofa. His ghostly visitor had left him feeling
completely bewildered. Clearly, she wanted him to go to Collinsport and find
her husband. The thought left a heavy feeling in his stomach.



Jenny clearly died in the Victorian era; her husband couldn't possibly be
alive. naturally anyway. The only conclusion Nick could come to was that she
wanted him to find a ghost. or a fellow vampire.



For once he thought that a vampire just might be easier to deal with.



TBC...







--
No virus found in this outgoing message.
Checked by AVG Free Edition.
Version: 7.1.392 / Virus Database: 268.6.0/342 - Release Date: 5/17/2006

Title: Unnatural Predators
Author: Scarlett Burns
Feedback E-mail: scarlet8@... (Mmm, the monkey loves feedback!)

Rated: T (17+)
Warnings: Violence, Graphic Imagery, Mild Adult Language
Xover: Forever Knight/Dark Shadows

Summary: Brutal killings and mysterious symbols left at the crime scenes cause
Detectives Nick Knight and Don Schanke to track down a preternatural predator.

Many thanks to those who've read and reviewed thus far! :)

~*~

Chapter 3



Eric laughed at his own words, shaking his head. "It sounds so insane, I know.
If. if I wasn't so upset about everything that's been happening I'm sure I
wouldn't be telling you this."



Nick offered the man a reassuring smile, contemplating on the best way to
proceed. "Not as insane as you think," he said, studying the man seated across
from him. "Please continue. You said you moved here to get away from your wife's
stalker. Where are the two of you from?"



"Originally? Collinsport - it's a small town in Maine."



"Any particular reason why you're here in Toronto?" Nick asked, writing down the
name of the town. At this point, anything Vanson gave him could be important.



"Yeah. Amy was looking for a cousin of hers. She said that he was the only one
who could help us. he's really the only family she has left."



"Her cousin lives here?"



Eric shrugged helplessly. "We - I don't know. I've never met him, and Amy hadn't
seen or heard from him in years; since before we got married eleven years ago."



"His name?"



"Amy told me that he goes by the name of Carl Grant."



Nick jotted down the name. "He goes by?"



"He's a writer, apparently. It's his pseudonym."



"Oh, I see. What's his real name?"



Eric frowned, wrenching his hands together nervously. "Amy never told me."



'That's suspicious.' He wondered how much this mysterious cousin really knew,
and why he'd hidden himself from the family so well. "You think he's in
Toronto?" Nick asked after a moment.



"Even after hiring a private investigator we couldn't find out where Mr. Grant
lived. All we know is that his publishing company and agent are here in Toronto;
it's a long shot, I know, but it was all we had."



"What do you know about the. myth?"



"Only what everyone knows," Eric said, rubbing his face tiredly. "Detective, I'm
not sure how much help I can be. I think you'll find your answers when you find
Carl Grant."



"I hope so." Nick stood, seeing that Eric had been through enough questioning
for one night. He tucked his pad of paper and pen away, and made his way to the
door. "Thank you for talking to me tonight, Mr. Vanson. It really wasn't
necessary, but I do appreciate it."



Eric took a deep breath, standing to see him out. He forced a pained smile as he
opened the door to see Nick out. "I needed to tell someone."



Nick nodded, stepping out into the hall. He turned to face Vanson once more.
"I'm very sorry about your wife." At Vanson's nod, Nick added, "I'll keep in
touch."



As he walked out of the building, he realized that he had far more questions
than he had answers. Still, he had a place to start.



Carl Grant.



Nick flipped open his cell phone and speed dialed Schanke's number as he walked
back to the caddy.



"Hi-ya," Schanke answered after a couple rings.



"Hey Schanke. I need you to do a little leg work."



"This is new?" he balked. "You notify the deceased's husband?"



"Yeah, and he already gave us a lead. Carl Grant."



"The writer?"



"Yeah. You've heard of him?" Nick asked, but didn't wait for an answer as he
opened his caddy's driver side door. "Get as much information as possible on
him. Where he lives, his real name."



"The whole shebang, eh?" Schanke interrupted. "So this is officially not an
animal attack?"



"I don't know, Skank. It seems that Amy Vanson had a not-so-welcome secret
admirer, and was currently in search of her long lost cousin..."



"Carl Grant," Schanke guessed.



"You got it."





Portland, Oregon



"Ah, Carl. How are you today?"



Carl Grant flashed his literary agent - Audrey - a charming smile, dropping a
hefty manila envelope onto her cluttered desk. "Much better, now that I've got
this damn thing written."



"Congrats," Audrey said, peeling her eyes away from the envelope long enough to
give him a quick wink. She reminded him of a less glamorous Lucille Ball; her
exaggerated facial expressions and flame red hair did nothing to dispel the
thought.



Audrey placed a finger on the envelope, then slid it towards her on the desk,
giving him a calculating look. "A detective gave me a jingle today. Get into any
trouble lately?"



Carl made himself comfortable in the chair opposite Audrey, surprised by the
news. He avoided the police as often as possible; they tended to be more
hindrance than help when it came to the kind of mess he usually found himself
in. Still, things had been quiet lately, so the phone call seemed rather out of
the blue. "You know I've been good. lately."



She laughed lightly, picking up the manila envelope. "They called my Toronto
office. They wanted your address."



"I trust you didn't give it?"



"You know the policy. Now, they do too."



Carl smiled, sinking further into his chair. "That's why I love you."



"I know," she said with a grin, flipping open the envelope's flap and pulling
out the contents. "I gave them your cell number."



He nodded. "I suppose you had to throw the dogs a bone. Did they say what all
this is about?"



"Naturally, they didn't say anything to me. Seemed anxious to talk to you
though. You probably have a message waiting on your cell."



"Oh, aren't I lucky," he said, almost as if to himself. He had that gut feeling
again; the feeling reserved for when all hell was just about to break loose.



But then, why should he be surprised? Things had been quiet lately. unnaturally
quiet for him. He knew that it wouldn't last. It never did.



He stood as his agent happily flipped through the pages of his latest novel. His
books were hot right now, and she knew that this meant a good commission for
her.



"See you later, Carl," she said, seeing him stand to leave.



He turned to face her once he reached the door. "If you're lucky," he said with
a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows. He turned and closed the door behind him,
leaving her office to deal with what was sure to be another Collins crisis.



He walked all the way to his car without turning on his cell. He was reluctant
to spoil his good mood so early in what had started out as a promising day.



Sliding behind the wheel and closing the door after him, he sat there for a
moment in silence before pulling the cell phone out of his pocket. He stared at
it for a moment as a thousand possible scenarios of doom and destruction raced
through his mind.



Damn it, would he never be free?



He feared that he knew the answer to that, but couldn't quite admit it.



Making up his mind, he tossed the cell onto the passenger seat, not even turning
it on. He started up his car and popped in one of his favorite cassette tapes,
feeling a bit nostalgic as he recalled a particular melody from an era gone by.
He turned up the current music, determined to drown out the haunting strains
that played in his mind, tugging at memories that were best left alone.



As he pulled out of the parking lot, he cast a quick glance at his cell, and
then smiled wistfully as he returned his gaze to the road. "Yes. You can do
without Quentin Collins for one more day, whoever you are."





Toronto

Nick arrived at his loft just before sunrise. Another day and night, and they'd
gotten virtually nowhere in the case. Schanke was convinced that it wasn't even
a case for the police department, and it would be closed by tomorrow. Nick hoped
that would happen. However, things were seldom that simple.



He was still stewing about the werewolf murder as he sat on the couch with a
glass of his preferred vintage.



Honestly, he wasn't sure how he was going to go about this. It was possible -
and even likely - that the attack would only warrant a brief investigation as
Schanke had suggested. After a couple days, if there were no more killings, it
would be chalked up to another animal attack, end of story. If that was the
case, he may actually be lucky. He didn't want to investigate this on an
official level. or even an unofficial one for that matter. The last thing he
wanted to do was track down, or cover for, a rogue werewolf prowling the streets
of Toronto.



Grabbing one of his many remotes, he hit a button and watched the metal blinds
shut out the first rays of sunlight appearing over the horizon.



"So, you're here to hunt, are you?"



"I am," Nicolas said, taking a swallow out of his tankard.



The man took a seat across from him, sizing Nicolas up. "Young Basil - he's the
son of a farmer down the road - made a most disturbing discovery today. A child
lay dead in their field; at least, what was left of the child."



"Most disturbing. Does this sort of thing happen often?" Nick asked, trying to
hide his unease. He was a predator, it was true, but he drew the line when it
came to children.



"Eleven children are dead, all within the year."



"Eleven!" Nicolas exclaimed, setting his tankard down with a thud.



"All torn asunder, all taken from their homes. How do you explain that, Mr.?"



"Norwood. Nicolas Norwood," he supplied. "Am I supposed to be able to explain
such dreadful happenings?"



"The town is most distraught. Something must be done about this vicious beast."



"I should say. I agree that the abduction and murder of the children is most
alarming. I have not heard of such in all my travels abroad."



Nick sat up with a start, realizing that he'd fallen asleep on the couch.
Instantly, he knew that he was no longer alone in his loft. Turning to the left,
he froze when he saw a woman standing by his stereo.



She was no ordinary woman, either. You could see right through her.



Now, he normally wouldn't be surprised by a ghost. He'd been tormented by enough
of them in his long life, though he could never say with complete certainty that
they weren't just creations of his own mind; delusions brought on by his own
guilt.



What truly caught him off guard was not that she was a ghost, but that he didn't
recognize her. If she had been a victim of his, conjured up by his own troubled
mind, he would surely recognize the lady. But he was positive that he'd never
seen her before.



The woman was clearly not from this century, wearing a purple and white
ankle-length dress in the style of the Victorian period. Her long auburn hair
was pulled up into a loose ponytail, unusual for the era she must have come
from. She was of medium height and build, with large brown eyes and a fidgety
demeanor.



She wasn't looking at him, preoccupied with one of his many artifacts and relics
on display throughout the loft. The particular object of interest was an old
gypsy knife with intricate carvings on the handle. The small knife sat on a
shelf beside his stereo, in front of some tapes and CDs.



Nick sat quiet and motionless, watch with some trepidation as the woman picked
up the knife and turned it over in her hands. "Bawari," she said with a hint of
fear in her tone. She put the knife down quickly.



Downing the rest of his dinner in one gulp, he watched her carefully. He set the
glass on the table beside him, unsure if he should rush his unique house guest
into introducing herself. It just didn't seem like a good idea.



Finally, she turned and met his gaze with her own.



She giggled softly, pointing at him in a childlike way. "You're not afraid of
me," she stated happily, making her way closer to him as her attention flitted
about the room. It reminded Nick of a curious two-year old who was interested in
everything, like only a child could be.



Eventually she'd managed to meander her way to him, but her gaze was fixed on
something behind him. He turned to see what had captured her attention so, and
realized it was one of his paintings; a blood red sun, with fiery yellow rays
bursting forth. One of his favorites. Returning his attention to the lady in
front of him, he couldn't help but feel that she was a little 'off'. Nick
wondered if it was possible for a ghost to be mentally challenged.



"Red," she whispered vehemently, the color disturbing her. She tore her stare
away from the painting, looking at him with a glint of anger in her eyes. "Your
painting is a lie."



Nick inhaled sharply, but said nothing. He had no idea how to answer such a
statement, and decided not to try.



Her anger vanished as quickly as it had come. She shrugged as if nothing
mattered, and her whole mood changed with it. No longer upset, she moved a bit
closer to him.



"You have to find him," she said.



"Find who?" Nick asked, finally finding his voice.



She laughed, and fiddled with a stray strand of hair. "What a silly question.
Why, the man you're looking for, of course."



Nick thought for a moment, and he couldn't help but wonder if this had anything
to do with the werewolf murder. It seemed unlikely, but he asked anyway. "Carl
Grant?"



She laughed again. "No, no silly. You can't find him if you don't have the right
name!"



The woman walked slowly around his living room table, her head tilted up as if
she found something interesting in the rafters. "Funny how he should use his
brother's name. He must be feeling sad. So much to haunt one man."



She stopped her rambling and turned to Nick. "But you understand that far too
well, don't you?"



Nick nodded once, swallowing hard. There was a hint of madness behind her eyes,
but she was incredibly perceptive none-the-less. Perhaps knowledge came with
being a ghost?



"If I'm not looking for Carl Grant, than who am I looking for? Who are you?"



"He's been so many people. So many. But he can't escape himself, just like I
couldn't escape myself," she said, toying with the end of a ribbon on her dress.
"You want to know my name? You're very sweet. But I mustn't give it to you!"



The lady was deranged, he was sure, but it was apparent she was trying to tell
him something important.



"I'm a Collins, you know. My sister laughed at me when I told her. She did not
believe a Collins would marry a gypsy." She shook her head. "But he did. Too
bad. He knew and married me anyway. At least, I think he knew. Oh, I'll have to
ask him."



Sensing her fragile mind was getting sidetracked he cut in gently, "Who am I
supposed to find?"



She brought a hand to her breast, as if shocked. "Oh! Didn't I tell you? Oh
dear, I'm always forgetting things. Did I ever introduce myself?"



Nick raised his eyebrows, then attempted to give her a kind smile, only half
succeeding in the attempt. "No, I don't believe you have."



"Well, where are my manners? I am Jenny Collins," she said with a hint of
arrogance in her voice, standing up a bit straighter as she spoke.



"A pleasure, Jenny. I'm Nick. Tell me, who am I supposed to find?"



"My husband. He'll help you! You'll need help. It won't go away."



"The attacks?"



"He's already seen you. He already has designs for vengeance. You'll need help."
Jenny stopped, and then tilted her head as if she were listening to someone
standing beside her. "I've already told him the name!" she declared hotly. Then,
suddenly, she became frightened, as if the voice had told her something bad. She
turned her attention back to Nick. "You must go to Collinsport!"



"Maine?" It was a stupid question, but he'd been thrown off by her behavior and
wasn't quite sure what to say.



"Go now! He is there!" Jenny urgently, beginning to fade away. "Be careful of
him. He's most dangerous."



"Be careful of who? Your husband? Or someone else? Wait!" Nick stood up, as if
to stop her from leaving, but just as he did so Jenny faded away completely.



Nick collapsed back onto the sofa. His ghostly visitor had left him feeling
completely bewildered. Clearly, she wanted him to go to Collinsport and find her
husband. The thought left a heavy feeling in his stomach.



Jenny clearly died in the Victorian era; her husband couldn't possibly be alive.
naturally anyway. The only conclusion Nick could come to was that she wanted him
to find a ghost. or a fellow vampire.



For once he thought that a vampire just might be easier to deal with.



TBC...





   ----------

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Part Two

"You know I won't do that, LaCroix. I love her too much to abandon
her now."
"You brought her across because you couldn't bare to let her die. She
accepted you as you were and returned to you. Why can't you accept
what you are?"
"I have made her into what I am. A murder of innocent people. I have
damned her soul along with my own. For that, I'll never forgive
myself."
"Nicholas, there is nothing for you to forgive. You did what you did
in order to survive."
"No, I did what I did because at first I buried my true feelings and
tried to be the creature you wanted me to be. I took what I thought I
wanted. I killed because I enjoyed the killing. I enjoyed the
hunting, the chase and the draining of my victim. And now I must
teach her to do the same."
"Then teach her well, Nicholas. Teach her everything she will need to
survive. Do not let her turn out like so many other of your
fledglings."
"No, she will not turn out like them. I won't have to destroy her nor
will she hate me. She loves me too much. That much I saw in her
blood."
"Can you handle that much love?"
"Yes, for I love her just as much. I just wished it could have been
under different circumstances."
"Then you must get back to her now for she will awaken soon. You must
be there for her at all times."
"Yes, LaCroix. I must get back to her. Even now her blood calls to
me. It burns within me. I've never felt this way before about any of
my fledglings. I never felt this way about Janette."
"She is special, Nicholas. Even I can recognize that. She completes
you and together you are one. I am sorry I kept you away from her for
so long."
"It wasn't just you, LaCroix, it was me. I never wanted this for her.
Had I left, she still would be walking in the sun. She'd have
children and a husband that loves her."
"She never would have accepted you leaving, Nicholas. She loves you
too much. My love for Fleur was that kind of love, only I choose to
leave her. You decided to love her and stay with her one way or the
other. You had more courage than I. I was afraid of Fleur's love for
me."
"Afraid LaCroix?"
"Yes afraid. I was afraid she'd change me. Do you really think that
you could have stopped me from taking her at any time? Do you think
that agreement would have kept me from her even after we left? How
many times did we separate, Nicholas? How many times could I have
returned to her and brought her across without your knowledge until
it was too late?"
"I must go, LaCroix, she is stirring."
"Very well, Nicholas, go to her and teach her well. Let her be with
you and become one with her."

Nicholas flew off to the dwelling they had brought her to after that
night. As he opened the door, she sat up from her slumber. Opening
her eyes, they were already golden with want. She smiled and her
newly formed fangs showed just below her lip. All regret left him as
he melted into her arms. As they drank from each other, the love they
shared flowed from one to the other. They were one.

Part One


The Sea

Standing on the beach just after sunset, Nick smelled the sea breeze.
Looking up, he stared at the stars at night. He loved life, but what
he was living wasn't life, it was existing. He had regretted becoming
a vampire immediately after he had been brought across. As hard as he
tried, he just couldn't fully accept this life. No matter how many
times LaCroix told him to let go of his mortal bonds, he couldn't.
They were what kept his sanity in tact, in spite of the guilt he
felt. LaCroix landed a few feet away from his `son'. Nicholas was in
one of his moods again.

"Nicholas, what has gotten you in this melancholy state again?"
"You wouldn't understand, LaCroix," he whispered.
"I understand more than you think, Nicholas."
"No, you've never understood me at all."
"Nicholas, I know you love life. If you didn't love it so, you would
have ended it centuries ago."
"No, I was too much a coward to end it. I feared death and besides,
you would have never let me walk into the sun."
"But you no longer have to fear death. You are the master of it. I
gave you the greatest gift of all."
"You gave me a curse. If I had know all the true facts, if I had not
let Janette into my head those nights I thought I was chasing her, I
wouldn't be in this condition now."
"But you love Janette."
"Not at first, it was nothing but lust on my part. All I wanted was
to have sex with a woman. The fact that Janette was beautiful was
just an added bonus. When I saw her, I wanted her. She led me on a
merry chase for three nights as she talked to me about the night and
how powerful the night could be. I thought at the time, she meant
while I was there, before I moved on to home.  I was drunk, LaCroix
and I think I had been subtly hypnotized to say yes. She wanted me to
join her in her darkness, to give up the light and the sun.  Had I
not been drunk or under her spell when I met you, I would have said
no and run."
"Really Nicholas? I think you are fooling yourself. You were
disillusioned with the church. You hated what you and your comrades
had done on your crusade to the Holy Land. You had been injured, had
been sick and you almost died in that god forsaken land. You wanted
power and revenge on what was done to you. You wanted to live the
thousand lifetimes I offered you. Had you not, you would have walked
into the light and never returned to me."
"You left out a few details of this life, LaCroix. You never
mentioned the eternal killing, followed by eternal hunger. The hunger
that never goes away. The hunger that once one has drunk and drained,
demands you go forth and drink more. It is never satisfied."
"It is eternal hunger followed by eternal pleasure. We are what we
are Nicholas, you must accept it."
"No, I can't accept it, LaCroix. I will never accept it."
"Then what will you do about you new daughter, Nicholas? Abandon her?
Leave her to suffer and fend for herself?"

Hi all,
I'm about to post a short story.
I've posted it on one of my groups and other ones as well.
So you may get this more than once.

This story has not been beta read. Please forgive the grammar mistakes.
I do not own Forever Knight or the characters. If I did, I would have
treated them much better than Sony ever will.

NdB1228

Title: Unnatural Predators
Author: Scarlett Burns
Feedback E-mail: scarlet8@... (Mmm, the monkey loves feedback!)

Rated: T (17+)
Warnings: Violence, Graphic Imagery, Adult Language
Xover: Dark Shadows

Summary: Brutal killings and mysterious symbols left at the crime scenes cause
Detectives Nick Knight and Don Schanke to track down a preternatural predator.

Author's Notes:
In the "Forever Knight" timeline this story takes place towards the end of
season 2, sometime after Bad Blood. Flashbacks take place in 1589. Although this
is a crossover with the original TV series "Dark Shadows", it's not necessary to
have seen Dark Shadows to understand this story. Any knowledge you'll need about
the DS characters that appear will be explained within the story.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Chapter 2

The possible implications of a werewolf in Toronto weighed heavily on Nick's
mind as he slid into the seat of his '62 Cadillac. His partner was huddled up in
the seat next to him, not-so-patiently waiting for Nick to start up the car and
its antiquated heater.

Nick inserted the key into the ignition and was about to start up the Caddy when
he felt a prickle on the back of his neck, as if they were being watched. He
looked back at the crime scene, the sight dissolving into a night scope red.

"Hey, Nicky boy! Do you mind cranking up your ancient heater before you take
that trip to the ozone?"

Nick started up the Caddy and shook his head slightly, returning to his normal,
albeit enhanced, vision.

He didn't see anyone suspicious. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that they
were the target of someone's gaze; a feeling that had never led him wrong
before.

Checking for traffic in his rear view mirror, Nick pulled away from the curb,
making a sharp u-turn before heading back towards the precinct.

Schanke fiddled with the heater, trying every possible setting and testing its
effectiveness by holding his hands near the passenger side heater vent. "Well,
at least this one ain't our problem."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Nick said, turning a knob on his dash all the
way to the left.

"Whoa, wait a minute Sherlock. You said the deed was done with claws," Schanke
reminded.

"Yeah."

"What do you mean, yeah?" Schanke asked, tightening his coat around him. "Is
this the Caddy's original heater?"

Nick glanced at the heater/AC before returning his eyes to the road. "Yeah."

Schanke rolled his eyes and fell back against the seat, cursing Nick's thirty
year old heater. "Do you mind explaining?"

"I don't have a problem with the cold," Nick said, smiling slightly.

Schanke ignored Nick's last remark. "Please tell me this is more than your
famous intuition."

"This is more than your famous intuition." Nick was fully aware that he was
pushing his partner's buttons, but ribbing Schanke was a welcome intrusion to
his other thoughts.

"You do know your sense of humor is stuck in the eighties, don't you?"

'The 1280s.' Nick chuckled. "There was a symbol carved into one of the trees
near the body. What does that tell you?"

"That we're looking for two teenage lovebirds. Come on, Nick. Just because there
was some chicken scratch on a tree near the body, doesn't mean that the killer
was a person. That carving could have been done by anyone."

"I just-"

"And don't tell me you 'just have a feeling'. Unless your feeling can become
tangible proof or fix this darn heater of yours, I don't care."


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Bedbur
1589

Nicholas had intended to leave Bedbur the following evening. Small towns were
dangerous for creatures such as him. Naturally suspicious of travelers, a small
town 'disturbance' would instantly garner him unwanted attention. He needed to
find some sort of sustenance before he went on his way, but would have to be
particularly careful in the way he went about it.

Exiting the inn he'd stayed at during the day, he took in a deep breath of humid
night air. Re-energized by the darkness around him, he set out to find a little
entertainment.

It quickly became apparent that the streets were nearly deserted. Other than the
occasional duffer, the whole town seemed to be indoors this evening. He made his
way towards a pub he'd passed when he first arrived in early morning.

When he arrived at the small pub, he was once again surprised. Even the local
watering hole was empty this night; almost that is. A few diehards lingered at
the tables, and no sooner had he stepped foot into the pub did every eye turn to
inspect their newest out of town visitor.

Ignoring their stares, Nicolas walked over to the barkeep and asked for a red
wine. The man gave him a once over before nodding in acknowledgment.

Nicolas took a seat at an empty table in the back, and awaited his drink. One
with his exceptional hearing didn't need to be sitting near a table to hear what
the locals were saying.

Was it his fault that he couldn't help but eavesdrop?

Settling back in his chair, he listened as many locals' conversations switched
to the topic of his arrival.

"Do you think he's here for the hunt?" one man quietly asked his companion.

His companion glanced Nick's way, trying his best to be subtle. "Doesn't look
like an adventurous lad," the second replied. "More like a constable."

Nicolas smirked slightly at the comment, quickly covering his reaction by
bringing a finger to his lips. His attention was drawn away from the
conversation as a waitress brought over his wine.

He looked up at her, a slight smirk still gracing his lips. She set the wine
down on the table, and Nick caught her hand in his as she began to move away.
"My dear, I cannot help but notice the lack of patrons in this fine
establishment."

She met his eyes briefly, gently withdrawing her hand from his grasp. "Beg
pardon, Sir. Have you not heard?"

Nicolas raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Heard?" he asked after a moment, idly
sliding a finger around the rim of his goblet.

"The killings," she answered, not quite meeting his eyes. "They have been going
on for quite some time. The only outsiders who come to Bedbur now are the
hunters."

'Hunters. This could be a potentially dangerous situation.'

"What manner of beast do they hunt?" Nicolas asked. His travels as of late had
not afforded him the luxury of hearing the latest scuttlebutt. However, he was
curious as to what caused the locals such obvious fear.

"A monster of a wolf, Sir. Over thirty are dead because of it, last time I
heard." At Nicolas' look of surprise, she continued. "It comes in the night, and
is near impossible to find in the daylight."

The last piece of information caused Nicolas' attention to increase ten-fold. He
stilled his hand, and leaned forward. "How are these people being killed?"

"Bodies are torn asunder. This wolf does not kill for food. 'Tis not natural, if
you ask me." She looked back over at the barkeep, who was watching her with a
hawk's gaze. "If you will excuse me."

Giving her a pleasant smile, Nick bowed his head. "Of course."

These kills did not sound like the work of a vampire. Still, they didn't sound
like the work of a wolf or human either.

It seemed that his time in Bedbur would not be uneventful after all.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Nick, not realizing it, had been staring at his partner Schanke for a full five
minutes. Once they'd returned to the precinct, and brought Captain Cohen up to
date, only paperwork awaited them for the night. That is, unless Natalie had a
chance to begin her examination on the woman found in the park.

Looking down at the report in front of him, Nick scribbled in his ID number, and
then let his eyes travel down the rest of the form. Sighing, he tapped the
eraser end of his pencil on the desk and looked back up at his partner.

"Can I see those witness statements again?"

Schanke shrugged and plopped the small stack of papers in front of Nick. "Sure.
Have at it."

Flipping through the statements, he came to the same conclusion as Schanke.
There was simply nothing there for them to work with. The only thing the witness
statements confirmed was the time of death, and that her body wasn't dumped; the
latter was already obvious and the former didn't help them a lot.

Nick picked up the phone and dialed Natalie's number. The only way they were
going to be able to move on the case was to get her report.

"Hi Nat. You have anything for us on the animal attack victim?"

"Hey Nick. Will a positive ID do for now?" she asked. "The victim's name is Amy
Vanson. I've already sent several samples to the lab for analyses but I gotta
tell ya. this is no ordinary animal attack."

"Isn't that obvious?"

"I need to talk to you."

"That bad, eh?" Nick asked, only half-joking.

"It's about an eight on my weird scale. I figure you can bump it up a couple
notches."

"You can count on it."

There was a pause. "Are you trying to tell me this will surpass my ten? Because
my ten includes you."

"How flattering," Nick said with a chuckle. "When can we expect the lab
results?"

"They won't be back until tomorrow. Is this something that merits overtime?"

Nick shuffled the eye witness reports into a neat stack, secured them with a
paperclip, and slidding them back onto Schanke's desk. "Sure does."

"I'll see you after my shift then. I better get back to work. The dead wait for
no one."

"Tell me about it. Thanks, Nat." Nick hung up the phone and leaned back in his
chair.

Schanke looked up from his paperwork. "So, what's the story?"

"Nothing conclusive on the cause of death, but we did get a positive ID. Her
name was Amy Vanson. Nat should have something more for us tomorrow."

"Well, at least that's a place to start."

"Great! You get on that. I'm going to go take a look at the crime scene one more
time to see if I can find anything we missed," Nick said, practically leaping
off his chair.

"And leave me here to do all the paper pushing? Oh no." Schanke trailed off as
Nick slipped on his coat and made for the exit. "Nick!" Schanke got up as Nick
headed out of the bullpen, about to protest further, but some raised eyebrows
from the other officers caused him to bite back his retort, and plop back down
in his chair.

Looking over at his computer screen in resignation, he sighed and typed in his
badge number and password. "Fine, Nick. Next dinner, I'm ordering extra garlic
with it," Schanke grumbled to himself, logging in to his account. "And I'm
eating it in your car."


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Today, gentle listeners, we talk about instinct."

The voice flowed over the radio waves in cool detachment. The slight crackle, no
doubt a product of his old radio, did nothing to distract from the crispness of
his sire's tone as he began one of his monologues.

"Instinct is what drives us. It's that nagging voice in the back of your mind,
begging to be heard. It's that gut feeling; the unexplainable surge of distrust
that settles upon you when you look at that genteel old man standing on the
street corner. He's the murderer who looks, by all outward appearances, as sane
as you or I.

"But have you ever stopped to ask yourself what that murderer's instincts are?
Are his instincts the result of his repressive, over dominating mother, or are
they strictly. predatory in nature? It is natural to be either predator, or
prey. Tonight I ask you, my child, to choose which one you are. Whatever you
choose to be, your enemy will surely be the other."

There was a long contemplative pause, before LaCroix's voice asked, "Are you a
predator?"

Nick tore his eyes off the road and looked down at the radio, as if expecting
his sire's face to be there in its place. Turning off the radio with a click,
Nick returned his attention to the road, running nervous fingers through his
hair.

"What brings you here, lad?"

Nicolas met the beefy man's eyes, and allowed a bit of the vampire's arrogance
to touch his lips. "I do so enjoy a good hunt."

Nick inhaled deeply though his nose as his grip tightened around the wheel. He
was extremely thankful that his cell phone rang, and broke him out of his
depressing reverie.

Keeping one hand on the wheel, Nick reached into his coat and pulled out his
cell. "Knight."

"Hey, Nick," Schanke greeted quickly. "Turns out our victim lived here in
Toronto with her husband. Guess what the Captain wants you to do?"

"Notify the husband?" Nick queried.

"Chalk another one up for the man with the paperwork allergy! Is that karma or
what?"

"Pure kismet. What's the address?"


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Nick approached the small apartment building slowly, in no hurry to notify the
soon to be grieving husband. It was funny, having done it several times and
being centuries old, how he still found it difficult to tell someone their loved
one was dead.

Hell, he'd been the cause of enough grief more times than he cared to count.

She held Nicolas as if he would dissipate into a puff of smoke, her eyes
pleading. "Please," her voice begged him, as her small frame fell against his
chest. "Take me."

Nicolas toyed with a stray strand of her brunette hair. His eyes searched the
surrounding garden, before meeting Michele's gaze.

Taking her in his arms, he leaned down and spoke into her ear softly. "What does
this life mean to you?" He felt his eyes change, dissolving into a reptilian
green. Still, he held her softly, waiting for her reply.

She pressed her face into his coat, clinging to it tighter, if possible.
"Nothing. I could live and die like everyone here; normal, unfulfilled, unloved.
You offer me a chance to die in bliss... in ecstasy." She took a deep breath,
and then looked up at him again. To her credit, she didn't show any fear at the
change in his eyes. "I could live a lifetime, and not truly live as I shall with
you, if even for only a moment."

Nick found himself standing in front of Mr. Vanson's door before he even
realized that he'd entered the building. He took a moment to reorient himself to
the current century, and double checked the apartment number prior to knocking
on the door.

It was late, so Nick was patient after he knocked, waiting for a minute as he
listened to the man inside, and the sound of a TV on low.

Mr. Vanson opened the door, and it was clear that he'd been worrying about his
wife for some time.

"Mr. Vanson?"

The man nodded warily. Nick displayed his badge and introduced himself.

"Hello, I'm Nick Knight, Metro Homicide. I apologize for disturbing you at this
late hour, but I'm afraid I have some bad news. Can I come in?"

Nick didn't want to officially tell the man of his wife's death in the apartment
doorway; somehow it just seemed too cold.

Vanson nodded slowly, clearly aware of what was coming. He stepped aside, and
ushered Nick in.

By the time they sat down in the small living room Vanson was a wreck,
threatening to break down any second.

"This is about Amy, isn't it?" he asked quietly, sitting down heavily.

Nick sat down on the couch opposite Vanson, and nodded in confirmation. He was
about to say more, but it was apparent that there was no need. He knew his wife
was dead. Vanson put his head in his hands and choked back a couple sobs.

Waiting in silence, Nick observed the man's reaction. It would be important,
later, if it was found that Amy had been murdered.

It took a couple minutes for Vanson to get himself together enough to speak, but
when he did he met Nick's stare. "How?" he asked, a hint of anger in his voice.

'Odd.'

"We're not sure, but it appears to have been an animal attack."

"And you need information?"

Nick shook his head and stood. "Not tonight. But tomorrow, we'd like you to come
into the station for some questions."

"Am I a suspect?"

Nick furrowed his brow at the misplaced question. "As I said, we believe this to
be an animal attack."

"It's not," Vanson stated quickly, then almost seemed to regret the words a
instant later. He sighed, and then appeared to come to some sort of decision. "I
need to get this out, Detective Knight."

"Alright," Nick answered calmly, returning to his seat. He was curious as to
what Vanson had to say, but his instinct told him that Vanson knew a werewolf
was responsible.

"You're going to think I'm nuts," he began, twisting his wedding band nervously.
"I. sometimes think I am."

Nick offered the man what he hoped was an encouraging smile. "Don't be afraid to
tell me. I may surprise you."

Vanson gulped, and covered his face with one hand. "We'd moved to Toronto to get
away from someone who was stalking my wife. We'd thought. we thought that we'd
lost him."

"Any idea who the stalker might have been?" Nick asked, taking out a small
notepad and jotting down the stalker angle.

"Not really. But Amy, she suspected that the man was connected with her
brother's murder."

Nick quirked an eyebrow. "Her brother was murdered? Did it appear to be an
animal attack as well?"

Vanson swallowed thickly. "Yes."

"What was his name?"

"Chris Jennings."

Nick scribbled down the name and shook his head, as if to himself. Why would a
werewolf stalk and kill a family?

"Detective. I don't know how to say this next part. If. if you don't believe me
then you can just chalk it up to a grieving mind but. my wife believed that - I
mean, her brother had told her -" He stopped, embarrassed.

"You can tell me, Mr. Vanson."

"Eric," he said, taking a deep breath to steady his shaking hands.

"Eric."

"You have to understand. We come from a small town in Maine. There's been a long
history of vicious animal attacks in the area. These animal attacks have never
been explained by the local authorities. So perhaps it's not surprising that we
came up with our own theories. and myths."

Nick was silent as the man seemed to struggle with the words. "This sounds so
stupid but... the myth is that werewolves are responsible."


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Author's Notes

Thanks to all of you who left feedback on the first chapter. Very much
appreciated, thanks!

-Scarlett

   ----------

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Checked by AVG Free Edition.
Version: 7.1.375 / Virus Database: 267.14.23/243 - Release Date: 1/27/2006


[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

Unnatural Predators (1/?)
Forever Knight/Dark Shadows Crossover
By Scarlett Burns (scarlet8@...)

Rated: T (17+) for some violence, graphic imagery and adult language.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the recognizable characters which appear in this
story, nor do I own Forever Knight or Dark Shadows. No copyright infringement
intended.

Author's Notes:
In the "Forever Knight" timeline this story takes place towards the end of
season 2, sometime after Bad Blood. Flashbacks take place in 1589. Although this
is a crossover with the original TV series "Dark Shadows", it's not necessary to
have seen Dark Shadows to understand this story. Any knowledge you'll need about
the DS characters that appear will be explained within the story.

Chapter 1



A heavy gust of wind whipped through the small cluster of trees to his left. The
dim light of the streetlamp a few yards away lightly touched the trees with a
diffused yellow light as the leaves and branches swayed in the wind. A
suspiciously crimson substance clung to the base of the nearest tree trunk, and
grass surrounding the victim, catching the light like some morbid morning dew.

`Leu garoul.' Nick Knight heaved a long suffering sigh at the heavy feeling of
dread.

He hated werewolves.

Sure, he could sympathize with their situation, but it was hard to reason with a
preternatural wolf.

It was possible that, as an eight hundred year old bloodsucking creature of the
night, he wasn't really one to talk, but he'd had enough encounters with the
beasts in the past to know how brutally lethal they could be. The proof of such
primal force was lying before him… in pieces.

Nick closed his eyes, momentarily shutting out the gory sight. He drew in a deep
breath, fighting down his own preternatural urges. `Am I any better?' The
thought entered his mind, unbidden, and with it came the hunger.

Blood.

The first scent that registered in Nick's mind. With a tight clench of his jaw
he ignored his instinctual desires and confirm his initial suspicion. The faint
odor of a werewolf still lingered on the corpse, and hung heavy in the air that
surrounded them.

"Man oh man, get a load of that!" Schanke said, pushing past Nick. "Reminds me
of the sicko who tore up that football player."

Nick opened his eyes, once again taking in the carnage. He'd seen werewolf
victims before, but had hoped to never see another. In this day in age,
werewolves were few and far between. The supernatural paranoia during the 1500s
that spawned mass witch hunts not only killed countless innocents, but a great
deal of the unnatural creatures who wore the guise of humans as well. Werewolves
were not spared from the hunts. Indeed, in Europe the pursuit of the feral
beasts outnumbered that of witch hunts for a time.

"You don't think we have some sort of copycat, do ya?" Schanke asked, referring
to their last eerily familiar case. That time a vampire had been the culprit.
Little did Schanke know that he'd helped stop non other than Jack the Ripper.

"I don't think so, Schank. Looks more like…" Pausing, he belatedly wondered if
he should tell Schanke what he knew or let Natalie explain it once she arrived
and had a good look at the body. At Schanke's impatient glare, Nick decided that
it really couldn't hurt to tell him, since his partner was bound to hear it
sooner or later. "Seems more like an animal attack. Maybe some sort of wild dog
or wolf."

Nick slowly circled the crime scene, and then stopped when he got a clear view
of the neck wound. Motioning Schanke over, he pointed to the deep gashes across
the neck. "Unless you know a guy who can nearly decapitate someone with his
fingernails, I'd say our suspect has large sharp claws."

Schanke grunted appreciatively at the observation. "Maybe someone forgot to feed
their cat."

Nick quirked an eyebrow at his partner, but didn't bother to comment. If the
werewolf was just passing through, then there may not be much problem. Everyone
would just chalk it up to another mysterious animal attack and be done with it.

On the other hand, if a werewolf who was unable to control his transformations
or urges had picked Toronto as a place of residence then they were in for a hell
of a case.

Outside of Bedbur, Germany
1589



The sound of something in the nearby foliage caused Nicolas to halt his horse so
that he could listen more closely and his keen senses picked up a heartbeat
ahead. His Arabian snorted in distaste and shifted its weight anxiously. Whether
this was caused by the nearby visitor or from the unwanted break in its stride,
he could not be sure.

Deciding that the sounds were distinctly animal in nature, Nicolas spurred his
horse onward, both toward the mysterious animal and his destination. He did not
have the luxury of time, and a wild animal was hardly a concern to one of his
special constitution.

Although the thick clouds and morning mist that normally hung low in the air
around the Rhine river and nearby villages of Collin and Bedbur would provide
him some protection to the morning light he didn't wish to stretch his luck, or
cause himself unwanted attention at his arrival in Bedbur.

The sounds of the animal only accompanied his travels for a short time before it
disappeared into the dense forest. The animal did not leave, however, without a
lengthy bay of adieu, and Nicolas' question of what had been in the dense
foliage was efficiently answered.

At least, that is what he believed at the time. He didn't give the unremarkable
event much thought until the next evening.

Nick shook himself out of his reverie when he heard Natalie approaching behind
him. "Hey Nat," Nick greeted without turning around, still preoccupied with the
thought of having to track down a werewolf in Toronto. He was going to have to
fill Natalie in once she got the body back to the morgue.



"A little late, aren't we Dr. Lambert?" Schanke chided playfully.

"Sorry guys. It's been a busy night," she said by way of explanation as she took
her first look at the body. After a moment, she shook her head and muttered,
"What is it about a full moon that makes the world go crazy?"

Pulling on a pair of latex gloves, Natalie quickly got down to the grisly task
of examining the body. Leaving her to her task as he felt the vampire stir
within him, he moved away from the body and toward the patch of trees nearby.

He really hated the bloody ones. It wasn't the sight that bothered him. He'd
witnessed far too much death, murder and war in his long life to be squeamish
about the harsh realities of life. What truly bothered him was his reaction to
such scenes. The most powerful reminder of his lost humanity was the hunger that
gnawed at him now. Hunger, and the urge to prey on the humans bustling hurriedly
around him, oblivious of his true nature, surfacing forcefully. It always did
when there was the heavy scent of blood in the air.

Heaven help his miserably damned soul, he missed the hunt. Even now, as he
fought to regain his humanity in whatever way he could, part of him longed for
the hunter's challenge… and worst of all, the kill. He loathed the thoughts that
stirred in his mind, and after a moment, was able to regain his control by
focusing on what was before him.

Studying the blood spattered trees, Nick looked for any evidence the leu garoul
may have left behind. It didn't take long. About four feet up from the ground,
scratched into the bark of the center tree, was a oddly familiar looking symbol.

As Nick leaned in for a closer look, he was able to decipher what was roughly
drawn into the bark. It had been so long since he'd seen it, it had taken a
moment for it to register.

It was an inverted labrys. An ancient symbol that he'd been familiar with even
before he was brought across, as a knight in the crusades.

Things had just gotten a whole lot stranger.

Frowning, Nick looked up from the symbol as Schanke called him over to hear
Natalie's preliminary report. Nick walked back over to joining his partner and
waiting M.E., stopping only to point out the newly discovered symbol to the
crime scene photographer. It was against his better judgement, but it was going
to be found either way, and he didn't want to explain why he hadn't told anyone
about a symbol he'd been standing in front of for several minutes.

"I'd say the time of death was between 10 and 11pm. At first glance, it looks
like a pretty brutal animal attack. I'll have to take her back to the lab to
pinpoint an exact cause of death, although I'd say blood loss would be a fairly
accurate guess at this point." Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that they
were beginning to bag the body. "Do we a positive ID?" she asked after a moment,
turning back towards Nick and Schanke.

"Not yet," Nick answered. "No ID found on the body. Looks like she was out for a
late night jog. No one saw what happened, although several people did hear her
screams."

"Yup, nothing much to go on there either. No one saw anyone or anything other
than the victim," Schanke finished, rubbing his palms together in a futile
attempt to thaw his frozen hands.

Natalie nodded. "Guess I better get started then. I'll let you two know as soon
as I have something."

"Let's roll, partner!" Schanke announced as Natalie walked away. "Nothing more
we can do here," he added, hurrying back towards Nick's caddy before Nick even
acknowledged his words.

"Yeah," Nick agreed distractedly as he watched forensics poor over every inch of
the crime scene. He slowly made his way back to the caddy, and a rather frozen
looking partner, with the image of the inverted labrys still fresh in his mind.

Terminology



Labrys – A double headed axe. Although it had meanings to different cultures, to
the Romans it was the symbol of Justice. Inverted, it was the sign of
anti-justice.

Leu garoul – Old French for werewolf.



[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

Hi, Just wanted to wish everyone a happy season and a happy new year. Also
wanted to post my fanfiction. Please write comments back, I love to hear what
people think of my fanfiction.   Christmas Baby>>By fkval2002>>> >Forever Knight
and its characters were created by James Parriott, et al., and are owned by
Sony/Tri-Star. This song is Artists > U2 > Christmas (baby Please Come Home

>>> >(It's Christmas ... baby, please come home) >>Natalie awoke to the sound of
Christmas music coming from downstairs in the loft. Jumping out of bed she
rushed to put her silky red robe on. Since she was now eight months pregnant
(from when nick had amnesia) she could only have run down the hall to see who
had started the noise. For one brief moment she allowed herself to believe that
Nick, the father of her baby, had returned after he had abandoned her to die on
that fateful night (the last episode).  She poked her head over the banister to
see standing there, her savior, Derek. `Not Nick, It never will be Nick.' She
always had to remind herself that Nick would never return for her. She was just
one of a hundred girls that had fluttered through his eight hundred years of
existence.  >>She had Derek now, her husband. `You love Derek.' Why did she have
to keep telling herself this? Why could she not just let herself be happy? Maybe
it was because it was hard to force yourself to love someone when your belly was
swelling with the child of the one you truly loved.  There were times when she
believed that she truly was capable of loving Derek; after all he was a hot six
foot six muscular neurosurgeon. She enjoyed the fact that he loved to surprise
her and make her smile. Which was what he was doing just now coming home a day
early from his lecture in France, just so he could spend Christmas with her. It
was times like these that she knew that some part of her did love him. >>She
also loved him because they both shared the same taste in books, movies, food,
and especially in the bedroom.  One thing that she especially loved about Derek
was that he had the same ability that Nick had at making her excited with just a
look from his deep green eyes. He had a masculine quality that drove her wild.
It was hard to believe that a man like him would fall in love with a girl that
was pregnant with another mans child, and still harbored unresolved feelings for
the baby's father. She knew in her heart that she didn't deserve him.  >>
The snow's comin' down (Christmas)
I'm watchin' it fall (Christmas)
Lots of people around (Christmas)
Baby, please come home >>> >"Merry Christmas Natalie" said Derek with a warm
smile, the one he usually sported whenever he got in close proximity of his
lovely wife. He could not thank God more for bring such a wonderful woman into
his life. He recognized that she did care a lot for her ex, but it was he that
she loved and was married too. He still could not figure out why such a loving
kind woman could still harbor deep feelings for a guy that left her with his
child on the way. `Nick was a fool' he said to himself as he leaned down to kiss
his wife. >>As usual the kiss was passionate and sweet, just like his wife. It
was just his luck that he would meet the girl he wanted to spend the rest of his
life with solving a very sick murder. The man apparently enjoyed cutting brains
out of small innocent children. A real pervert. Natalie had been so shaken up by
the killing spree that she had broken down on his shoulder during an autopsy;
from the moment she cried on his shoulder he knew he wanted her more than a
friend.>>> >The church bells in town (Christmas)
They're ringin' a song (Christmas)
What a happy sound (Christmas)
Baby, please come home >>> >Natalie and Derek were just able to grab the last
pew in the local church. Natalie looked over at her handsome husband and watched
as his eyes caressed her swollen belly. Most men would find the state of her
belly disgusting, but Derek seemed to think it was sexy. They had decided that
immediately following the birth of this child that they would start working on a
family of their own. Derek being Irish wanted a large family of about four kids
and valued having a family. This was another thing that Natalie loved and shared
in common with Derek, she too wanted a large family. But, unlike Derek she could
not resist the nagging feeling that she was going to hold Nick's child above any
that she has with Derek.>>Natalie looked at the people that filled the church;
they all looked so peaceful and happy. She wished that she was truly as happy as
she was pretending to be.  Knowing that the only thing that would make her happy
was Nick coming home and claiming her as his , was just making her more
agitated. `It is a fantasy. It will never happen. Embrace Derek he is a good
man.' After thoroughly lecturing herself she placed her hand on top of Derek's
and gave it a small squeeze. Watching Derek smile cheered her up, but not enough
as her mind once again drifted away to thoughts of Nick.
CHORUS:

They're singin' 'Deck the Halls'
But it's not like Christmas at all
I remember when you were here
And all the fun we had last year>>>
>************************************************************>>FLASHBACK:>>"Nat,
I know you love Christmas and I wanted to embrace the holiday, so I…." The
elevator door opened and Nick watched excitedly as Natalie's eyes opened wide.>>
Natalie was too shocked to find the right words or move out of the elevator,
where the last remains of normalcy had been. Nick's apartment was now home to a
seven foot Christmas tree that was decorated with everything from fake snow to
candy canes. There was a miniature Christmas town houses. The apartment had
totally embraced the Christmas spirit. >>Nick moved in close to Natalie and
kissed her softly on the forehead. "Merry Christmas, Nat." She was surprised
when she felt a soft kiss on her lips with the words "I love you" whispered. But
that could have been her desperation to hear the words, which should never be
spoken.>>Back to present: >>        "Natalie wake up you been sleeping through
out the sermon." She heard Derek quietly speak.  She was totally embarrassed she
had been daydreaming about Nick next to Derek and in church no less on a
Christmas sermon. Then to make matters worse her water must have broken during
the daydream. >>
Pretty lights on the tree (Christmas)
I'm watchin' 'em shine (Christmas)
You should be here with me (Christmas)
Baby, please come home
Baby, please come home
Baby, please come home >>> >"Derek, my water just broke" Natalie said as she
leaned over and whispered into her husband's ear. >>Derek jumped up like a bolt
of lightening, which cuased everyone to stare at them in utter shock at their
behavior. "My wife's going into labor," Derek announced as he hurriedly got
Natalie all bundled up. People around them began to whisper and a few kind soles
called for the ambulance. As soon as the ambulance was there Derek swooped up
his wife and carried her out of the church. Many people wished them well on
their way out and they began to sing "We Wish You a Merry Christmas. " >>Out of
the back of the Ambulance Natalie watched as all they passed all the lovely snow
covered houses. Natalie turned her gaze to her husband who was holding her hand
and softly whispering words of love and comfort. She still could not help but
wish that the man beside her, holding her hand was Nick. She smiled at Derek and
kissed his lips. "I love you Derek. Thanks for being there for me." >>As soon as
she reached the hospital she was carried immediately into the birthing room.

If there was a way (Christmas)
I'd hold back these tears (Christmas)
But it's Christmas day (Christmas)
Baby, please come home
Baby, please come home
Baby, please come home>>> >Natalie awoke in a hospital bed ten hours later to
the sound of a male voice coming from outside of her hospital bedroom.  Through
the distorted glass it looked like Nick, but she knew that it could not possible
be him. Derek must have been waiting anxiously for me to awaken. "Derek I am
awake," Natalie mumbled groggily. >>However, she fell back to sleep, but when
she awoke she was greeted to a familiar voice asking, "You ready to meet our
son?" Natalie began to sob for the first time since she found out that she was
pregnant. >>


[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

Sometime ago, I received requests for my fanzine "Season of Change", a Dark
N&N Christmas story, to be offered in pdf format.  I can't remember who the
people were that wanted it, but it's now available. I'll be happy to email
it to anyone who would like a copy. If you're not familiar with pdf, it's
the format that a lot of the e-books (electronic books) use. The pdf version
of this story comes complete with cover art.

***PLEASE DO NOT POST YOUR REQUEST ON THIS GROUP!!!!

If you would like a copy, send me an email with "Season of Change" in the
email's subject header at:

debh@...

***Due to requests, I'm also considering turning "Another Life", another N&N
Christmas story, into a published fanzine. Please email me off this group if
you're interested. The fanzine will be offered at printing cost with no
profit, but I need to have enough orders to keep the printing cost down; the
more ordered the cheaper the cost.

Thanks,
Deborah
DeborahAHymon.com






[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

For those interested, I just posted another chapter to the Second Chance
series. This chapter is Chapter Six, Tortured Hearts. The music is 'Frozen'
by Madonna. As usual, there's a button at the top of the chapter to turn the
music off.

My fan fiction can be accessed at:

DeborahAHymon.com

Click on the 'Fan Fiction' button on the left margin, which will take you to
my FK fan fiction site.

Update: I've started writing Chapter Seven; Dimitri and Flame's chapter.

Thanks for the emails and continued interest in my fan fiction; it's greatly
appreciated.

Deborah


[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

Another chapter has been added to the Second Chance series; Chapter
5‹Betrayal can be accessed at:

DeborahAHymon.com

Click on the ŒFan Fiction¹ button and it¹ll take you to my Forever Knight
site.

I¹m working on chapter six now, and will get it posted in the near future.

Thanks for your continued interest.


Deborah A. Hymon
--DeborahAHymon.com

http://homepage.mac.com/hymonb/MidnightPassions/
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/the_midnight_passions/
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/historical_passions/
http://homepage.mac.com/hymonb/ForeverKnight/
Merchandise:  http://www.cafeshops.com/hymooncreations





[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

Sorry for the delay, but Commitments, Chapter 10 of Emotional Concert is now
posted on my site. The song, "Everything I Do, I Do For You" is the
chapter's theme

This is the final chapter of the Emotional Concert Series.

The FK stories can be accessed by going to:

DeborahAHymon.com

Click on the button in the left margin ³Fan Fiction²

Scroll Down the Forever Knight page, and click on ³Emotional Concert².

I hope you¹ll also take time to check out my new web sites for my original
Paranormal and Historical Romances. My husband, Bruce, is still working on
the web pages, but we hope to have more posted soon.

Thanks, and remember, feedback is very important. I would love to hear from
you guys.

Fondly,
Deborah

DeborahAHymon.com




[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

Hey,

I'm coming off of the sidelines for a moment.  I'm looking for a fan fic of
where we learn that Nick is captured in the Crusades and tortured horribly.  I'm
not sure if this is where he first met LaCroix or not, but because of his
*treatment* is why he actually decided to become a vampire.  Also any fic where
Nick is tortured in the Crusades as a prisoner would be helpful.

Cassie




---------------------------------
  Start your day with Yahoo! - make it your home page

[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

Hi, Everyone!

As many of you know I¹ve been writing for some time now, mostly Forever
Knight fan fiction.  Jewel, Adams, multiple published author, and host of
Romance Author¹s Radio Show, asked me to be a guest on her show.  This is an
international broadcast on Artist First Online Radio Station.  Originally,
my interview was for an hour, but today she asked if I could do a two hour
show on Forever Knight and the fan-fiction genre.  I¹m very excited to
appear, and share my knowledge of this genre, that has exploded on the
Internet.

I would love to invite you to listen in.  I can¹t promise to know everything
about the genre, but I have done considerable research of why people read
and write fan fiction, the legal aspects, and the history of how and when it
began.  You might be surprised at how long it¹s been around!  We¹ll talk
about how aspiring writers can benefit from writing fan fiction.

I¹ll also briefly discuss original manuscripts that I¹m working on:

Discovered Desires--A Paranormal/vampire romance
Betrayed Love--A Scottish Historical Romance, and
Endless Love--A Paranormal/Time Travel/Reincarnation Romance.

Please join us, this Wednesday, January 19th, at 10:00 P.M. (EST)

If you have any questions you would like to personally ask me, please email
them to:

Jewel@...

To listen in:

Go to:  http://www.jewelsway.com/

Scroll down until you see a picture of an old-fashioned radio on the left,
ŒArtist First, Online Radio Station¹.  Click on the microphone.

You must have a media player to listen.

This is the radio program¹s home page.  At the moment, Jewel has a banner
running across the page announcing my appearance on her talk show.

Also, go to the ³Author² button at the top of the page and click.  You¹ll
see a list of authors appearing on the show.  Read more about the author and
their books or stories by clicking on the author¹s name.

I hope you¹ll join us!

Thanks,
Deborah
DeborahAHymon.com
--
http://homepage.mac.com/hymonb/MidnightPassions/
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/the_midnight_passions/
http://homepage.mac.com/hymonb/ForeverKnight/
http://www.cafeshops.com/hymooncreations








[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

Deborah A. Hymon's Forever Knight Fan Fiction & Romance Authors' Radio Show

Hi,

I wanted to share some exciting news about my writing.  As many of you know,
I¹m pursuing a professional writing career as a romance author.  Writing my
Forever Knight fan fiction has been a wonderful experience.  I¹ve grown as a
writer, and made wonderful friends and contacts in the writing world, and
the the Forever Knight fandom.

Recently, Jewel Adams, a multiple published author, was asked to host a
weekly show, on the internet Artist First World Radio Network.  The show is
Jewel¹s Way‹Romance Authors' Radio Show.  Jewel asked me to be a guest, to
discuss the world of fan fiction, and how it can open the doors for aspiring
writers.  We will be discussing Forever Knight, how I accidentally
discovered fan fiction, and the many aspects of the fan fiction genre,
including bringing new fans into the fandom.

You can access the network by going to:

http://www.jewelsway.com

To listen to the ROMANCE AUTHORS' RADIO SHOW you will need a media player.
Most likely, when you click on the radio or microphone the player should pop
up and you can start listening. To test it before hand just click the radio
to the left and see if the player comes up for you, you will just come in
and hear any show that is airing at the time. If you don't already have one
on your computer, it comes with the windows system, you may need an upgrade
or just want to check out what they have:

http://www.microsoft.com/windows/windowsmedia/download/default.asp?displang=
en

This is download page, be sure to check for the right version.

My guest date is: Wednesday--January 19, 2005‹10:00 p.m. (EST)

I hope you can listen in.

Thanks,
Deborah

Deborah A. Hymon

DeborahAHymon.com




[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

Another Life, this year¹s Yuletide Award submission, is now posted on my web
site.

Synopsis: Another Forever Knight, Christmas Story. Nick is scared of a
relationship with Natalie. When he refuses to commit, she leaves town to
pursue another life, without Nick, and flees to another man's arms (A Dark
Nick and Nat story). This story takes place at the end of third season,
after Night in Question and Ashes to Ashes episode.

More Updates: I¹ve completed the rough draft of Emotional Concert¹s Chapter
Ten, the final chapter.  It should be posted by the end of the month.

I¹m sorry for the long delay in updating, but hope you enjoy what I¹ve
posted.

I would like to thank everyone for the emails requesting that I continue
writing the FK fan fiction.  Even though I¹m now pursuing a professional
writing career, I plan to continue writing for the Forever Knight fandom.  I
will finish the Second Chance series, but it may be a slow process.

Thanks for your continued support.

Deborah A. Hymon

DeborahAHymon.com


[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

FOREVER KNIGHT TRILOGY SEASON 2
RELEASE DATE JANUARY 4, 2005
MSRP $59.99

Forever Knight and its characters were created by James Parriott, et
al., and are owned by Sony/TriStar. I wanted to wish everyone a
joyous Halloween. Since the common saying is, "trick or treat" here
is a treat for you all. All the rest of my fanfics are located at
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Forever_Knight_Romance/

The infamous book

(1/5)
	 Natalie emerged from the bathroom after her shower in her
favorite bathrobe, of burgundy silk. Walking half ran over to the
couch she plopped down on the couch and grabbed her book.  Flipping
to the spot she left of off she was desperate to finish reading the
newly bought romance book.

(2/5)
	 Screed had just set eyes on the loveliest rat when out of
nowhere a cat had appeared and made off with his dinner. `No way was
that cat going to make off with his meal,' so here he was chasing a
feline. Screed had chased the black cat up a set of stairs and round
a turn and now was pursuing the cat down a long hallway, all in the
name of love.
	 He watched as the cat, nudged open a door and slinked inside.
Not to be hindered, he followed the cat into the apartment. Upon
entering the room he was greeted with the delicious aroma of a woman
wet with lust.

(3/5)
	 Natalie was in the middle of an erotic love scene when her
cat chose that moment to lay down on her chest with a rat dangling
between his teeth. She took the rat in hand and pushed Sydney gently
to the floor. She noticed a louder sound of footsteps in her room as
Sydney's paws touched down on the soft carpet.
	 She turned and saw Screed licking his lips with gold tinted
eyes. Natalie tossed him the rat she held by its tail. She watched
silently as his eyes grew darker as he moved to ketch the rat.
	 "T'anks," Screed said as he stuck the rat into his pocket. He
knew better to eat in front of a lady. He walked around the couch and
noticed a book on the floor. "W'at ye read'n?"

(4/5)
	 Nick arrived at Natalie's apartment to present Natalie with a
gift, a chocolate rose, in hopes that she would forgive him for
standing her up. As he approached her building her heard her voice
and another's, a male's.
	 "Oh, God," Natalie said in total embarrassment. She placed
her foot on the book hoping to hide the title from screed.
	 "Yes…" He said softly persuading her to give up the name. He
never figured Dr. Lambert to be reading a trashy romance novel.
	 She realized that Screed would not be leaving until she told
him the name of her book.  "It's…It's 9 ½ Inches," Natalie said
stuttering in a low voice.

(5/5)
	 That was all Nick needed to hear to behave like a raving
jealous boyfriend. He Flew up to her window and walked into her
candle lit room with red tinted eyes. He was shocked to see Natalie
standing in the middle of the room donning a revealing bathrobe. His
eyes flicked over her half revealed breasts and down her shapely
legs. He noticed that she was aroused the smell penetrated his senses
making him groan with want.
	 Screed cleared his throat and looked at Natalie, "T'anks de
rat." He then sprinted half flew to the door knowing that he was
neither wanted there nor needed.
  He sighed as he exited the door; Dr. Lambert sure was a spectacular
sight to behold when she was aroused. He began to wonder what she
would look like fully aroused by a night of erotic lovemaking. How
she would sound moaning as he pumped himself into her over and over
again. As he continued to walk he heard the sound of lovemaking,
Nicholas has finally taken his beloved pet. Screed knew it was as it
should be, but he could still dream.

Hello,

This email message is a notification to let you know that
a file has been uploaded to the Files area of the foreverknightwritersclub
group.

   File        : /Impressions.htm
   Uploaded by : fknight12281992 <fknight12281992@...>
   Description : Nick's first love and first experience in love.  Can LaCroix
help and guide him?

You can access this file at the URL:
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/foreverknightwritersclub/files/Impressions.htm

To learn more about file sharing for your group, please visit:
http://help.yahoo.com/help/us/groups/files

Regards,

fknight12281992 <fknight12281992@...>

Hello,

This email message is a notification to let you know that
a file has been uploaded to the Files area of the foreverknightwritersclub
group.

   File        : /Jewel Ties.htm
   Uploaded by : fknight12281992 <fknight12281992@...>
   Description : Nick's first case as a human also a new partner.

You can access this file at the URL:
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/foreverknightwritersclub/files/Jewel%20Ties.htm

To learn more about file sharing for your group, please visit:
http://help.yahoo.com/help/us/groups/files

Regards,

fknight12281992 <fknight12281992@...>

Hi, Everyone.

Just a quick note to let you know the books arrived this morning!

I returned from vacation to a stack of money orders, and spent the weekend
processing the orders. Your books should be mailed out sometime this week.
Please be patient, as I have over 100 books to sign, and some to
personalize.

I haven't received payment from many, so please get the payment in the mail
immediately. I took pre-orders on blind-trust, and have to pay for the books
regardless if you send payment or not.

Thank you for the support on this project. I would love to hear from you
when you receive your book.

Please email any question or comment to me off group at:

debh@...

Thanks,
Deborah A. Hymon

DeborahAHymon.com

***PLEASE CONTACE ME OFF LIST WITH REQUEST AND QUESTIONS AT:

debh@...

Today is the last day to place your pre-orders for the fanzine, Season of
Change.

The deadline is Today, Wednesday, August 4th, 5:00 P.M. (EST)  I¹m placing
the order at that time.  I¹m only ordering the specified requested copies,
and this will probably be a one time deal. For that reason, I can¹t promise
to have extra copies available at a later date.   I can print another book,
but the cost will increase because of quantity of books. The more books
printed, the cheaper the cost.

If you have any questions, please feel free to email me off list.


***Please do not request a book unless you intend to pay.  I have to pay for
all books not sold.

***These books are for personal purchase only, and not for resell or
auction!

Season of Change is an Adult, Christmas story about Nick and Natalie--¹Last
Knight¹ never occurred in my FK universe. This story is one of the many
possibilities that could have happened to Nick and Nat¹s relationship.

Season of Change‹212 pages

Format‹standard size paperback

Cover‹Color, slick, picture of Nick and Nat

Cost--$13.00 includes shipping cost for US, more for other countries which
will be calculated.

Payment‹Money Order only

All pre-order customers will receive a private email with details for
payment and info where to send it.  Please don¹t contact me, unless you
haven¹t heard from me by Monday, August 9th.

Thanks for your support and interest in this project.

Deborah A Hymon

DeborahAHymon.com



[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

Does anyone know what happened to Christine Hantzopulos Hunt?  Christine, if
you're out there, please email me off list.

I've recently discovered her stories, and I really want to get in touch with
her. She's a very talented writer!

Any help would be appreciated.

If you have any info on how to contact her, please email me off list at:

debh@...

Thanks,
Deborah

DeborahAHymon.com



[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

Hi!

I'm so excited because the sample book came in today, and it's absolutely
perfect!  Tonight, I bought the mailing envelopes, so that I can now get the
shipping cost calculated and posted.

Now is the time to email me your pre-order for the Forever Knight, Season of
Change book. The book is $13.00 plus shipping.

This is probably a one time offer, and will never to be offered on my web
sites!

The deadline to pre-order is Wednesday, August 4th, 5:00 p.m. (EST).  Yes,
this Wednesday.

Specs:

Season of Change--paperback format--212 pages--color cover with Nick and Nat

Book Cost $13.00‹This is my cost, NO PROFIT!!!!

To be paid by Money Order.

PLEASE DO NOT pre-order a book unless you plan to pay for it.  I have to pay
for any books not sold.

Shipping for the US and Canada and any other countries will be posted soon.

Please decide and let me know if you want a copy.   I can¹t promise to have
extra copies once this offer has ended, because I¹m only ordering the books
requested.

Thanks again for all your support.

Deborah

DeborahAHymon.com




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