Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from Forever Knight (though if I did, things would have turned out differently!), they are property of Sony/Tri-Star and I am merely borrowing them and promise to put them back relatively unscathed when finished with them. No copyright infringement is meant and I incur no financial gain by the posting of this story. It is merely for entertainment purposes only.

Detective Kayla MacInnis (amid other characters introduced herein), and The Wyvern, however ARE mine and I will personally tear the throat out of anyone who dares steal them.

This takes place several years after 'Last Knight'

That said, and with upfront apologies to all Nick-and-Nat-packers (just wait till the end of the story till you flame me, please), enjoy the story.

Das Vampyre

Under the Wyvern's Wing

Present day, San Francisco

Nick couldn't believe the luck, or was it lack thereof, that placed him in his current situation. He could almost hear LaCroix laughing at him, and the condescending tone telling him 'I told you so, Nicholas.' It was enough to make him ill.

Water dripped with a hollow, metallic echo in the old, abandon warehouse and distant chains clanked with the slow evening breeze that filtered through shattered windows. Outside of that the silence was deep, penetrating and nigh on tangible in its intensity. Suddenly he heard the scream. It was that more than anything that forced him to pause and take stock of the moment and recall, with unnerving clarity, what had brought him to this point.....

Chapter One

Reawakening

Five years previous, Toronto

He was in the Toronto loft again. He could still taste Natalie's blood in his mouth as he knelt by her side – agonizing over what had to be done. Over what he would now have to ask LaCroix to do.

"No, not the Devil," he could hear himself muttering to his master. "You are my closest friend."

"Damn you, Nicholas!" LaCroix had snarled as the sharpened end of the ceremonial walking staff descended toward his unprotected back.

It was a blow that the ancient vampire could not bare to strike.

He felt the wooden staff in his hands, heard the words he growled at his son. As the dark wood shaft descended, a part of him wanted to strike that fatal blow. To end it all there. But he could not. He could not kill the one other vampire in the world that actually meant something to him. Divia had seen to the others: Vachon, Urs.....both gone thanks to his blood-thirsty daughter/mother, them and how many others? And now, Nicholas. His own beloved, if wayward, son. Begging him to strike the blow that would end his sons' immortal life.

He felt the staff make its unerring downward descent, when the reality of what he was about to do struck home. He couldn't do it. Nor would he.

The downward arc of the projectile was adjusted ever so slightly. It would not be a killing blow. No. Nicholas must be taught a lesson.

Yes....that was the answer. A lesson he would not soon forget.

And with that thought – the blow was struck.

The pain was agonizing. Worse than anything Nick could yet recall experiencing.

The world swirled in a haze of multi-hued color at first, then deepening to shades of oh, so familiar crimson, and finally darkness.

But hopes for a blissful, dark eternity were shattered when he became dully aware of his surroundings - to the incessant ringing of his phone and the familiar message of his answering machine. But no message was left....only silence.

There was still a pain in his chest from where the wooden staff had made its entry, but now, through bleary eyes, he could see the shattered remains of that ancient timber. So this would be his punishment for his 'betrayal'. A further life of servitude to his master, more agony, more angst.....more pain.

His eyes cleared slightly and lit on the sight of a wilted crimson rose. Right were Nat had lain. A sob rose to his throat as his hand reached out blindly to touch.....a bottle? That gained his full attention. With an effort he raised his head and regarded, with a perplexed gaze, the row of bottles of the "Raven, Special Reserve" that both LaCroix and so many other patrons of the community were so fond of.

Without thinking, or perhaps fully realizing it, Nick grabbed hungrily at the bottle and pressed its opening to his lips. The full flavor and satisfying rush that filled his veins, even as the blood he swallowed took their hold on his vampiric senses. That first bottle was drained swiftly, then several more in rapid succession. Before he realized it, he had drained four of the Special Reserve bottles and laid their empty hulls at his feet. With a groan of muted pain, he sat up and took stock of his situation. Nat, or rather her body, was gone. In its place, the withered rose and a sheet of folded paper bearing LaCroix's characteristic scrawl, bearing on its visible portion his name, 'Nicholas'.

With a heavy sigh, he reached over and took both the wilted rose and note card in his hand and drew them to him. Absently taking a long pull from yet another bottle, he flipped open the slip of paper and read:

'Did you really think I would let you go so easily, Nicholas? You, of all people, should know better.

I have taken care of Dr. Lambert's...arrangements, and put your affairs here in order.

Aristotle is expecting you, and will pass on your new identity and all pertinent information when you feel ready.

You know we will meet again, Nicholas. We always do.

I await your return to me,

Lucien'

That was, in a manner of speaking, the final nail in the coffin. It made him cold to think that he had betrayed Nat like that. How many through the ages had he done that to? Too many to keep count of, for sure. But he remembered every one of them, with crystalline clarity. He was disgusted - with LaCroix, with himself, with the community as a whole.

The thought, briefly, to starve himself to death. But the proximity of the blood and his own weakness saw fit not to let that happen.

Two days more he lingered in the loft. Setting up his inevitable meeting with Aristotle and seeing to it that his affairs were well and truly set in order to his satisfaction.

'Running away again.' He thought with a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach as he turned over the engine of the Caddy. Would it ever end? Most likely not. Not if he continued to make alliances and friends that he always lost.

Schanke. Cohen. His beloved Janette. Tracy. Natalie. Even Vachon and Urs. All were gone. All because of him, or at least he blamed himself for their loss. A new city would only invite new losses, but it couldn't be helped – this was the life that he had. The only life he was granted. His curse would follow him wherever he went, and he was, begrudgingly, resigned to that fate.

So it was away from Toronto, away from Canada as a whole. It was arranged that his new home and identity take up residence in the States. The 'sunny' shores of California, and the dark underworld that dwelt in "the City by the Bay", San Francisco.

It wasn't difficult to get acclimated to San Francisco on the whole. The living arrangements that had been set up for him were not entirely different than the loft he'd left behind in Toronto, only here it didn't seem to raise nearly as many eyebrows. It was with more than amusement that he seemed to be able to meld in with the emerging 'Goth' community. And he couldn't help but find amusement how many of the real vampire community found their niche therein

But being sedentary was never something that suited Nick's needs. He needed to keep his mind active, and still questing for his elusive 'cure'. He tried a variety of jobs within the city through the years, but never settled on anything in particular. Then, and it just seemed to 'happen', he was drawn again to police work.

Arrangements were made, and then, the one evening all fell into place, and he joined up with some of San Francisco's finest.

Office of Captain Lanna Kenyan

The wan looking woman regarded the new officer to her force over the file provided by personnel. "You've got an impressive background, that's for sure, Mister DeBrabant." She muttered tossing the file on her desk to face the regard the blonde haired, blue eyed dream-boat that had just sailed into her office and fixed him with what could have possibly been construed as a predatory gaze. Not in a threatening manner, but certainly intense. One thing, for sure, Lanna mused to herself with an enigmatic smile, the new recruits coming in were definitely easier on the eye than most of the old hats in the station.

"Thank you." Nick chose to demure that statement to the police Captain as he made himself as comfortable as possible in the generic faux-leather chair in her office. "I've had my eye on joining up with San Francisco's elite for a while. I just figured it was time to actually do something about it."

The Captain's smile broadened. "I'm so very glad you did." She managed to tear her eyes away from him to regard his file once again. "The remarks from your former employers certainly put a nice shine on your record."

'Thanks to Aristotle.' Nick thought with a slight, well concealed smirk, and again muttered demure thanks.

"You say you want to stick to a night shift, which is fine, we've just got one opening." She shuffled some papers around on her desk to regard her current roster. "Actually one slot just opened up." At this comment though, she looked somewhat uneasy. "And I can't have any lone guns wandering the streets of the city. Not now. Too dangerous out there now. We're going to have to stick you with a partner – like it or not." Dark mahogany eyes trailed over the roster and settled on one name. A smile accompanied by a wicked glitter in her eyes lit her face. "And I know just the person."

Nick shifted uncomfortably in the chair under that sudden look of gleeful maliciousness that lit the brunette Captain's eyes. He was thinking of when he had initially been teamed with Schanke and couldn't keep from rolling his eyes somewhat, though he managed to fully stifle the groan that threatened.

Lanna, however, didn't miss that look. "Don't worry; Mac is a total professional and a delight to work with." She grinned like a death's head, or a child just awarded a coveted prize. With that delighted grin she rose and hauled Nick to his feet. "Come on, you two simply must meet!" She hauled him down a hallway and to a row of offices then stopped before a particular one. She tapped on the door briefly, and, receiving no reply mused, "Must be getting coffee." Then shrugged dismissively. "I'm sure you two will get along famously!" She practically gushed as she opened the office door and unceremoniously shoved him into the florescent lit alcove. "Welcome to the force!" She muttered, ill concealing a snicker and shut the door behind him. There were sure to be fireworks a-plenty soon enough.

Casting off his inhibitions, or at least initial ones, Nick turned with haste to regard an empty office. Well, empty of humans anyway. The only thing therein was a massive desk and three chairs. The wall facing him was adorned with several pictures – not the least of which was a black and white print of a knight-errant leaning down from the back of his coal-black charger to accept a favor from a fair maid. It struck more than a mild cord within him. The other two images were of officers from, he assumed, this force. Each with a black band at the corner of the frame, no one needed to tell him what that signified. He knew all too well.

Casting his eyes over the rest of the office then letting them settle on the engraved brass nameplate on the desk. Det. K. MacInnis. Briefly he wondered what the 'K' could stand for.

Then he met Kayla....