A/N This is the last chapter I'll post for now, as I'm going away from a few days tomorrow. I'll post more when I get back. Any italics denote flashbacks.

Dane

Chapter 4

Outside Julia found no sign of Barnabas. It didn't entirely surprise her. He could shape-shift into a bat after all. Though he didn't usually take advantage of his shape shifting abilities often, preferring to lead as normal a life as was possible for him. Only when the urge for blood was too powerful for him to control, would he then use his powers the curse had given him.

Unaware of her actions, she lifted her head to the night sky, searching for even a small sign that he might still be around. Over the years, she had learned to identify Barnabas from the more normal bat population of Collinwood. She'd discovered; that apart from his larger size to the other bats, his sense of direction was more developed.

Sighing, she turned back to the front door, her hand pausing on the doorknob. She didn't really want to go back and join Dane and Roger. Though she was genuinely pleased to see Dane after so many years, her concern for Barnabas was too great. His reaction to the return to the curse had been heartbreaking and frightening. She closed her eyes at the memory.

They had returned from the past a little over three weeks, when Barnabas began to feel strangely. It had begun slowly at first; bright light began hurting his eyes. Then he complained of feeling cold, even when he could stand being in the sun. Blood tests had revealed nothing wrong. Then, less than three nights after the first symptoms had begun, Julia had found he leaning against his chair, clutching his chest, his face ghostly white, and his eyes filled with both pain and fear. Heart attack had been the first thought to rush through her mind.

She'd rushed to his side, her doctor's training taking over immediately. The hand that was clutching his chest trembled violently. There were beads of sweat on his upper lip, and on his forehead, but when she touched the hand that clutched the chair, in a death grip, was stone cold. He closed his eyes, and winced, a groan escaping his clenched teeth.

He sagged against the chair, as his knees buckled. Supporting him as best she could, she tried to bring him to the front of the chair, so he could sit. He never made it. With a croak, he collapsed at her feet, unmoving, his face paler than she'd ever seen it.

All attempts to revive him failed. She could find no pulse, no sign of life. It was then, that she realised the truth. He had reverted again. Her own despair at the impact of the truth was forgotten in her desire to protect him, and prepare for the coming dawn. With Willie's help, they carried him to the basement, and the coffin that they had hidden, hoping never to see it's like again.

He had remained in the coffin, the next night, and Julia feared that he really was dead. But the second night, he had finally risen. At the knowledge of his reversion, he uttered a howl of rage and despair, before vanishing in front of her and Willie's eyes.

It had been a further week, before he had been 'sane' enough for her to begin working on a treatment.

She opened her eyes, coming back to the present. It had been months since that terrifying night, and they had made no further progress. She wished she could help him but the truth was, she no longer knew how. All her attempts had met with failure, and she didn't know where to begin next. She hated failure. It had never sat well with her. She had overcome male prejudice to become a doctor, and she wasn't about to let the problem over Barnabas' cure defeat her now. Turning away from Collinwood, she headed towards the Old House; she had work to do.

Barnabas lurked in the shadows of the waterfront. Up a head, a young woman was walking alone after an argument with her boyfriend. He'd flown overhead, already targeting her as his victim. If the young man had not left, when he had, Barnabas would have found a way to deal with him.

For now, the vampire was in control; the veneer of the polished, sophisticated gentleman he once had been, was gone, replaced by a viscous predator.

His fangs descended, in anticipation, as the young woman drew closer. Under more normal conditions, he would have felt pity and horror for what he was about to do. But now, all he could think about was what she would unwillingly give him, to continue his parasitic existence. The bloodlust overwhelmed him, driving him on; feed or perish.

He waited until she had passed his hiding place, and then stealthy slipped from out of the shadows. He paced after her, stalking her as a lion would its prey, choosing his moment.

Then, with lightning speed, he grabbed her behind, his hand clamping on her mouth to stifle any cries, titling her head as he did so, to reveal her throat. Opening his mouth, revealing his fangs, and then plunged them into the soft flesh of her exposed throat. Instantly her struggles ceased, leaving him free to feed.