LaCroix had done it. He'd really done it. At first Nick was so shocked that he didn't feel the pain of the stake, though he could clearly see it protruding grotesquely through his chest. His hands mechanically moved up to wrap themselves around this obscene foreign object, nothing that it was slick with his own blood. Yes, he wanted to die, and yes, he'd asked LaCroix, though not in so many words. But there'd been a part of Nick's mind that hadn't really expected him to do it, and the fact that he actually had carried out his request stunned him into incomprehension.

Until he was slumping forward and across Natalie's body, that is. And as the pain was beginning to register in his senses, exploding in his chest when he reflexively gasped from shock.

He fell in slow motion. To his horror, he saw the tip of the stake press against Natalie's abdomen. At first, he was afraid his weight would push it into her body as well. Instead, it caused him to topple to the side. so that he lay across her bent knees looking up at her face.

Blinking, he spotted a small pool of blood on the floor near her head. It was pooling around her neck, staining her sweater and cheek as it oozed out of the two small wounds. The smell of it called out to him, demanded that he use what strength he could muster to take what little remained to help heal his terrible wounds.

But when he moved it hurt, causing him to whimper. Each whimper caused him more pain, which, in turn, caused him to whimper. Why was it taking so long to end, he asked himself. He tried to ask LaCroix, who had shifted his position so that he stood at Natalie's head, but he found he had no words. LaCroix was looking down at him piteously, shaking his head.

As he watched, LaCroix abruptly knelt beside Natalie, and lifted her head, supporting her shoulders with one arm. For one long moment Nick was grateful beyond belief. LaCroix was going to bring the blood to him, just as he always had in times of pain and suffering. LaCroix was going to help him, just as he had done all these long centuries. Nick wanted to weep with relief, but the heavy demands the wound was placing on his body would not allow it.

It was then that he remembered <whose> blood he now craved, the same blood he could still taste upon his lips. And as the room began to dim he remembered the promise he had made to her, the one he had asked LaCroix to help him keep.

Then there wasn't time to think anymore, as he was brutally jostled aside, shifting so that he lay partially propped up by the stake as LaCroix lifted Natalie in his arms. Again, he opened his mouth to speak, to demand that LaCroix leave her alone. All he managed was another whimper.

LaCroix stood over him, Natalie's limp body in his arms. "She still lives, Nicholas," LaCroix said. "One way or the other she will survive this night, I promise."

But what of me, a voice in his mind demanded. Why would LaCroix save Natalie after taking <his> life? Nick didn't understand. Why had LaCroix killed him, then?

"Listen to me carefully, Nicholas," LaCroix said, nudging him lightly with his foot, renewing the agony as the wood shifted slightly from the motion. "There isn't much time. I missed your heart. You will not die from this wound, though it will cause you much pain. For that, I am sorry, but it was necessary." He paused and Nick saw him shift Natalie's weight in his arms ever so slightly. "She will live. And I daresay by the time you catch up with us, you'll have forgotten all about your ridiculous notions of dying." Then LaCroix' voice became brittle and cold, his meaning clear. "But rest assured, Nicholas. I will take <good> care of her, in your absence. Do hurry, though."

And then they were gone, only the faintest stirrings of air to mark their passage. His eyes closed, LaCroix's last words echoing in his mind as he was tempted to give into oblivion.

But he couldn't. Not now.

Blood, he needed blood. He could smell it. He vaguely remembered that there was some nearby, but it was getting hard to think. Where was it? Slowly, he eased his body over so that most of his weight rested on his shoulder, the stake parallel to the floor, and looked around. There. But this time he didn't think about it. He only allowed himself to be grateful that that small amount was there as he began pulling himself toward the pool on the floor where she had lain only moments before.

It was a start. No matter how small, it was a start.