He lay on his back, the stone floor under him cold and hard, screams echoing through the chamber around him, the smells of blood and smoke wafting over him, fading away before the pain that spread through and licked at him fire-like. A sense of movement over him and then she was crouching over him, a curtain of ebony hair framing the delicate porcelain features twisted with anger and grief, the rage showing in glowing eyes. Fingers wrapped around the bolt that transfixed him and his back arched as she gave it a tug, the pain flowing like lava over him, tasting black blood in his mouth.

Making a sound of distress she released the bolt and laid a hand on his cheek, the rage melting away, tears sparkling in eyes now dark again, her other hand pressing against the wound in his chest as if she could reverse the flow of blood, seal the damage done.

"Too late..." he whispered, managing a smile, lifting a shaky hand to touch her on the cheek, she covering his hand with hers.

"Why?" she demanded, voice choked with grief, anger sparking in her eyes again.

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

Weeping she pressed her lips against his, tongue lapping away the blood, and hand grasped the bolt to shove it all the way into his heart...

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Michael."

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

"You okay?" she asked, giving his arm a brief touch.

"Yes." He gave himself a mental shake and looked at her inquiringly. "You wanted something?"

"Operations wants to see you." Michael gave a nod of acknowledgement and Nikita remained in front of him, still concerned. "You sure you're okay? You look...tired."

"I had a dream last night..." Michael trailed off, grimacing at himself for passing that information along. Had to be tired to be so loose tongued...

"Bad dream, huh? What was it about?"

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

"Just...that I was dying--" Unconsciously he placed fingers against his heart, remembering that pain, unaware that some of his distress and anxiety showed in his eyes, his expression.

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

"See you." he echoed, watching her as she went down the hallway, forcing himself him to move along down the corridor and to Madeline's office, a feeling of foreboding gripping him.

The both of them were waiting for him in Madeline's office, Operations in his usual position behind her chair, both with grave expressions.

"Again?" he asked.

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

"Same manner of death?"

"Yes." said Operations in a clipped tone. "But this time we have a possible location."

"One of the team was apparently taken alive--his subsection was able to track his com unit to a warehouse." continued Madeline, allowing a thin smile of satisfaction to curve her lips.

"We want you to assemble a team and be ready to leave in an hour."

An hour, not that much time--Michael swallowed a sigh and gave a nod. "Who do I have available?"

"Anyone but Nikita...I have a job for her here." said Madeline calmly.

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

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

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

Tapping the link he said softly, "Davis--anything?"

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

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

Laying a hand against his link, he said into it, "Abort. Everyone out."

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

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

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

"Don't--please--" Davis' voice, followed by a choked cry, and Michael struggled up to a sitting position, blinking eyes to focus on the scene before him and wishing suddenly that he hadn't bothered.

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

"You're wasting it!" A woman's voice, sounding petulant, arm shoving the other and being shoved in turn, the two engaging in a wrestling match over Davis' body.

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

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

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

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

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

"I just wanted a taste." she whined, staring hungrily at Michael.

"She's expecting him untouched. Do you want to explain to her how he came to be... damaged?"

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

Hauling open a door, the man pushed Michael into a bathroom and with one hand casually tore in half the rope binding his wrists. "Clean yourself--there's clothes as well."

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

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

************

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

Passing through the Section on her way out, she passed by Birkhoff's workstation and came to a halt, hearing a staticky voice, a little loud, carrying slightly back to her.

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

"Who's missing?" asked Birkhoff.

"Davis...and Michael." The operative's gaze lowered, hand coming up to punch a key.

"I'm uploading a copy of the report--Operations wanted it ASAP."

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

"What's this about a mission? Michael missing?" asked Nikita with a frown.

"I don't know." Birkhoff lifted his hands helplessly at the hard look she gave him. "I don't! Whatever they sent him out on...it's been kept very quiet."

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

"Birkhoff." Nikita cut him off, seeing that familiar gleam in his eyes as he got into a topic he was comfortable with, one he could discourse on for hours. "The mission?" she prompted.

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

"Can I get a copy of that report?" she asked, nodding at the computer before him.

Birkhoff looked very uneasy and started to give a shake of his head, halting in mid-motion when she laid a hand on his shoulder, light blue eyes very serious.

"For Michael's sake?"

"Only if you promise not to go off on your own." said Birkhoff flatly and grimaced at the surprised look she gave him. "Having you around...the place is never boring."

"I love you too, Birkhoff." she said, bestowing a kiss on his cheek, Birkhoff reddening a little and brushing her off.

"Okay, okay..." Inserting a disk into his drive, he quickly copied the file and passed the disk to her. "Don't let anyone else see you have it, okay?"

"I'll destroy it the moment I'm finished, I swear." said Nikita with exaggerated seriousness and laid a hand on Birkhoff's shoulder. "Thanks."

Tucking the disk into her pocket, Nikita quickly left the computer bay.

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

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

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

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

Taking a single step to the door, he breathed slowly, in and out, and raised a hand to knock on the door.

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

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

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

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

"It is amazing, isn't it?" Not even a footfall to indicate another person's prescence in the room, just the voice behind his shoulder and a delicate, elusive scent. "How much you look alike..."

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

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

"I've waited a long time for you." she said, hand extending to touch him on the cheek.

And he could only stand there, staring in disbelief at the woman from his dreams.

************

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

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

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

It's a trick, said a small voice in his head, brutally scathing. Let her pull you in and you're lost.

"Why am I here?" asked Michael softly.

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

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

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

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

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

"Who...who do you think I am?" He managed to force the words out of a suddenly dry throat.

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

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

"How did you find me?" Play along with her, distract her...anything to buy him time.

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

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

"Who are you?" he whispered.

She drew back with a frown. "You know me...I saw it in your eyes. You recognized me--" Eyes skewered him, held him, searching for any hint of a lie, narrowing a little.

Suspicion faded a little at a time, the woman relaxing. "It is possible that you do not know, do not remember...I am Angelique."

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

"And now that we are together again...we will never be parted. We will have forever..."

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

"If you...if you force me, I will hate you for all eternity." He swallowed hard as he spoke, closing his eyes as he felt the pressure of her teeth against his throat, steeling himself.

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

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

Sliding back against the headboard, Michael drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, trying to think of a way out of this.

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

What she found odd--and disquieting about it--was that the report was marked especially for Operations, presumbably made by his command. As if he had known what they would find, had prepared for it...

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

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

"Nikita?"

Slowly Nikita turned, hand automatically going to her purse and unsnapping it, a hand sliding inside, as if she were getting her keys but fingers closed on her gun instead. Standing before her, just outside of arm's reach, was a man in his late thirties, dark hair going gray at the temples, tall and lean, dressed casually in jeans and Tshirt with black leather jacket.

"Yes?" she asked politely, a finger sliding down her gun to flick off the safety.

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

"We can talk here." said Nikita flatly.

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

"I'm all ears." she said sarcastically, sitting back against the van, apparently at ease but ready to spring to action if necessary.

"What do you know about vampires?" asked Harper conversationally, shoving hands into his jacket pocket.

Realizing that her mouth was hanging open in disbelief, Nikita shut it with an audible snap.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Laurel."

The woman released Michael with a sigh, sitting back on her heels, the pout evident in her voice. "I was only playing with him, Christian."

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

************

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

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

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

"These...don't prove anything." she said slowly.

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

Nikita lifted her head to regard him, brows knit. "Who are you? How did you know to contact me?"

"I'm a cop--used to be a cop." admitted Harper with a wry twist of his mouth.

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

"Who's us?" asked Nikita suspiciously.

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

"How many?" She found herself looking down at the photos again as she asked the question.

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

"Like you, for instance." she stated.

Harper smiled slightly. "Like me."

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

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

"I don't understand what you think I can do to help you. I'm not exactly highly placed in my...group." admitted Nikita reluctantly.

"Right now...just having another body is help enough." said Harper ruefully.

"And we can use someone with your background."

Glancing down at the photos, Nikita gave a helpless shrug. "I don't even know if I believe all this...it's so hard to swallow. Vampires?"

"We've got a locale on a nest, planning a raid. You come with us...and you *will* believe." responded Harper grimly.

All she had to do was think of Michael laid out like one of the bodies in the photos and she found herself nodding. "I'll come."

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

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

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

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

"On your knees." she said calmly, dark eyes smoldering as she stared at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And then we will be together forever." she whispered as she stroked his cheek, pressing her lips to his briefly before she lifted him and took him back to the bedroom.

************

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

Once the van had come to a halt, Harper opened the door and motioned for Nikita to proceed him out, hopping out after her and shutting the door.

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

"How did you manage all...this?" asked Nikita, turning to Harper and waving an arm around her.

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

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

Smiling sweetly, Nikita gave his hand a hard twist and yanked, half-dragging him over the table and scooping up a handgun to press it against the side of his head. "What do you think?" she asked.

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

"If you're done playing, Jason, maybe you can give the lady the lowdown."

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

"Right." said Nikita dubiously. Hard to believe that they took this all so seriously...

"Nikita is a skeptic." said Harper to Jason.

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

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

"John--" From behind Harper came a small redheaded woman that looked no more than twenty, clad in black, long curly hair pulled back in a severe bun, nodding to Nikita.

"We're about ready to head out--wanna give the pep talk?"

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

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

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

"Okay, let's roll."

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

Nikita nodded and followed Harper to claim a weapon.

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

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

And then Harper's voice came quickly over the link. "Nothing down here--everyone upstairs. Watch your exits!"

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

Trembling, eyes filled with tears, he took a step forward and said haltingly,

"Please... please don't hurt me..."

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

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

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

"I'm sorry." said Nikita awkwardly, reaching down to pull him up to his feet, examining the ragged wound on his arm.

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

"Your partner...?" Nikita trailed off, a little ashamed that she didn't know the woman's name.

"Dead." said Larry tonelessly.

"Nikita?" came Harper's voice over the link.

"Got one up here--we also got someone down."

"Ellen's dead." That from Larry, forcing himself back up to his feet.

Silence and then Harper said, almost brusquely, "We found another one. No point in searching anymore...let's torch the place. That'll take out any stragglers."

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

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

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

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

Without realizing it he was on his feet, pulling off the top blanket to wrap it around himself, and stumbled over to the settee, sinking down onto it.

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

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

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

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

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

She pressed a kiss against his forehead and carressed his cheek. "Sleep, my love. I will return." And she rose from her position over him, departing in a whisper of silk.

Wrapping arms around himself as he started to tremble in reaction, he lay there, unable to sleep, for the longest time.

************

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Clenching his hand, Michael let his shoulders slump, head bowed, and sat like that till she came for him.

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

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

As dinner broke up and the group broke apart, Nikita was met by John, still sipping at the can of beer he'd nursed throughout dinner. "So...you a believer now?" he asked lightly.

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

"But you didn't. You saved his life...and that's what he's telling everyone."

At her unhappy look, John laid a hand on her shoulder, Nikita lifting her head to meet his eyes.

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

John gave her shoulder a squeeze. "You did good. I knew you would."

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

"Angelique?" repeated Nikita with a frown.

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

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

"Get me the report."

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

Slowly, reluctantly, John nodded. "We think so."

"Then when do we go?" asked Nikita flatly.

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

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

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

Lifting her mouth from his wrist she pulled him to his feet. "I can see that lack of my attentions has made you too...adventurous. Let us remedy that."

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

And he could only close his eyes as a single tear slid down his cheek.

***********

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

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

"Knock?" echoed Nikita, unable to keep a derisive tone from her voice as she looked up from the map.

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

Nikita took a slow look around the group in John's office, counting how many of them were female and coming up with two: herself and Maggie. So she was going to play bait after all... "This is the plan."

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

Wearily Nikita rubbed her forehead. "So when do we go?"

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

"You're sure he's here." Nikita turned her attention to John, light blue eyes piercing as she watched him.

Slowly John nodded. "If it's Angelique's lair, then your friend Michael will be there."

Nikita gave a helpless shake of her head. "Why? Why does she want him so bad?"

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

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

With one last glance at the photos of the house, she went to find a place to sleep.