He returned her gaze, eyes dark, then nodded.

"Of course."

She slid from the saddle, moving closer...trembling, but stepping firmly. "Take me then," she said softly. "Take me now, because I intend to follow you, and if not with you, I do not want to go back through that wood to be raped and killed, nor do I have anything, or anyone waiting in Gren.o.ble. I would sit alone and dream of you, and the shadows."

He watched her, shaking his head and backing up a step, but she was quick, and as she approached she tilted her head to one side, tossing her hair back with a quick shrug.

Despite her bravado, she was trembling weakly.

"I will not," he said, though he stood very still.

Her heart was hammering wildly, and the scent of her warm blood mixed with the perfume of her hair, the fear and strength in her eyes.

He had seen nothing like it since his Embrace. He'd seen fear, and loathing, and hatred, but not this. She was offering him what he needed to sustain his life, offering her own as forfeit, and though it terrified her, she stood fast.

"I..." He lunged. It was too much. He knew then that he should have taken Raul, or another from the tavern, left their husk in the alley beyond and been gone. He had waited too long. Fleurette cried out softly as he fell on her, driving her back, catching her before she could fall away and latching to her soft throat. She struggled, but that struggle twisted until she was pressing into him. He held her, he fed, and as he drained her she weakened...fluttering against him, eyes closing in the sudden ecstasy of the moment. He watched those eyes close, and something inside him snapped. He fought the hunger, drawing back with a snarl at just the last moment, while life yet flickered in her heart. Laying her back quickly, he ran a nail across his wrist sharply, opening his reddening skin, starting a trickle of her blood flowing back out of his veins, and he brought that wrist to her lips with a snarl of frustration at his own weakness.

Her eyes flickered open, and she realized in that second what he intended, but if she'd meant to fight him, she could not. The blood slid over her sweet lips, touched her tongue, and she was lost, and found- born again to him. He held her as she locked to his wrist, sucking the blood back through the rip in his skin, ravaging his flesh hungrily. He gritted his teeth against the pain, closed his eyes, and waited. He wasn't certain how long it would take, how much of his blood he would need to return to her. He'd never Embraced another, had intended never to pa.s.s on that curse.

Then he had held this girl in his arms, and watched her eyes close, and in that instant knew that she was the one human who'd looked upon him in anything resembling friendship in longer than he cared to remember. She had been unwilling to leave him to his fate, and in her attempts to aid him, had sealed her own. She might hate him now, most certainly would come to eventually as the truth of her Embrace hit her. These were facts he would have to come to terms with. The simple fact was, he did not wish to be alone, and it was not her choice, but his.

He felt a small throb of hunger still, but it had not been so long since he'd fed on Pierre in the alley. He would survive, and so would she.

The extra responsibility of teaching her, and of keeping her alive on the road, were something he could ill afford, but he cast these thoughts from himself angrily. He would catch Montrovant, or he would not, and very likely he would be destroyed if he did. Nothing said he should not enjoy his last few days in the company of another. Poor logic, but he was not of a mind to contest it.

He withdrew his wrist with a quick snarl, watching the pain in her gaze and pushing her back easily as she scrabbled after him, trying to re-attach herself to his vein, to drain more of his strength. As he denied her, the questions flooded endlessly from the depths of her eyes. He lifted her before him, slipping into the saddle, and turned toward the mountains.

They had to find a place they could rest safely, where he could feed her at least once more and build her strength. The mountains beckoned, but somehow they seemed worlds away, and even Montrovant's mocking laughter was fading to a dull echo.

TWELVE.

Lacroix followed Noirceuil's lead as he left the city behind. They did not head into the woods, despite what they'd heard.

"They have been there and gone," Noirceuil explained tersely. "We should have been on the road hours ago. I will catch the trail beyond the wood.

They will be heading to the mountains."

"How do you know that?" Lacroix had argued for just a moment.

"And don't tell me it is just what your mind tells you, because this is far too important to be trusting little voices in our heads."

Noirceuil had stopped short of his mount, turned to his partner, eyes very cold. "I know because the one I questioned at the tavern told me that they would go to the woods. While you sat and sipped the cardinal's wine, perhaps running over old stories of life in Rome, I left the city and scouted those woods. Beyond the woods they could have gone two ways. One road leads straight inland, cities, people, even an army to contend with. The other road leads to the mountains.

"If you were leading a band of undead demons with the very treasure of G.o.d in your wagons, would you head for civilization, or would you hide it away?"

Lacroix did not speak for a long moment. He saw more in the depths of Noirceuil's eyes than he cared to. Things he wondered at not seeing before. For the first time he began to doubt the wisdom of being on the road alone with the man.

He nodded at last, and Noirceuil turned away without a word, mounting his horse and guiding its head away from the cathedral brusquely. Lacroix mounted as well, turning to gaze back at the cardinal for a moment. The priest was standing on a balcony outside his quarters, staring down at them, his hand raised in farewell.

Once beyond the city the two made good time.

Noirceuil led them at an angle that cut next to the far side of the trees, but avoided the stand of forest entirely. He was intent on the road beyond, and the mountains that stretched above them, brooding and cold. Lacroix knew Noirceuil was probably right, but the further they turned from the confines of the city, and the church, the less comfortable he became.

It was time, he knew, to trade in his saddle and his sword for a parish of his own, or a chamber in Rome where he could oversee the questing of others.

His brand of service had been unique, and there were few as qualified as he in such matters. As long as the d.a.m.ned walked among them, Lacroix would be needed.

Noirceuil now, that was a different story. It was true to a point that one needed a madman to hunt madmen, but there were limits to everything. If he could arrange it, he knew that Noirceuil should not return from this journey. If not, soon after their return he would have to give the word. It would not be an easy thing. Noirceuil might be mad, but he was not a foolish man. He would feel the growing tension between them, and he would be on his guard.

Lacroix shivered. Perhaps it would not be the dark hunter who did not return. He leaned in close over his mount and gazed into the wind whipping his long hair about his shoulders. Noirceuil rode easily, head up as though the battering of the weather did not affect him. Perhaps it did not. His mind was sealed. Perhaps he saw only his own goal, ignoring the rest of the world. Perhaps he was not what he seemed at all.

They skirted the trees and turned down the road.

Noirceuil did not remain long on that main track, but cut off first to one side, then to the other, seeking.

He found what he was after far to the right of the road and gave a soft cry for Lacroix to follow, spurring his mount forward. Lacroix saw it then, as he came up behind his partner. Tracks...the tracks of a single horse, heading toward the mountains.

They remained to one side of the road, but there was no waver in the direction. Moments later, Noirceuil reined in suddenly, sliding from his saddle so quickly that for a moment Lacroix believed he had fallen.

Slowing his own mount and wheeling back, he gazed down at where Noirceuil was kneeling in the dirt, eyes blazing. Turning his face up to meet Lacroix's gaze, he spoke softly.

"He has bred another," he said softly. "A female, young. He fed here,"

Noirceuil's boot traced the impression of boots, and a knee, in the soft soil.

"He allowed her to feed from himself here." Another quick gesture.

Lacroix could see that there had been activity, but he scanned the impressions blankly in search of whatever clues gave Noirceuil his information.

"Montrovant?" Lacroix asked, uncertain.

"No," Noirceuil replied with a smile. "The dark one would have killed her and left her sh.e.l.l here to rot.

It is the other, the hunter that fool Santorini sent out without consulting us. Sending a vampire alone to hunt a vampire seems a fool's game to me. We must see to his destruction as well, and this new one."

Lacroix watched Noirceuil's eyes. The words jumbled for a moment in his mind. 'Sending a vampire out to hunt a vampire, alone.' That last word would not release him as he shivered and fought to keep his breath steady.

"It is not our task," he said at last. "We can't divert ourselves from Montrovant for even a moment, or we may lose him."

Noirceuil laughed then. "You forget, my friend," he said softly, "that this young one hunts Montrovant as well. He is leading us straight to our goal, and I will leave no windows open this time.

They will all perish, returning to Satan's shadows."

Lacroix nodded, turning away. Noirceuil knelt in the dirt for another moment, then rose, leaping back to his own saddle. "They have pa.s.sed here very early. She will slow him down, but we will not catch up with them this night, I think."

He turned back toward the mountain, keeping the road in sight off to their left, riding through the chiaroscuro wash of the midnight moon. Lacroix followed, a dark shadow of a dark shadow, flying over the lower hills. It would be two nights before they reached the mountains, and though they might expect to find Abraham, or even Montrovant, before the mountains were actually reached, it was still a long ride.

Lacroix maintained his silence, watching first the road, then Noirceuil, then the road again, mind whirling. Definitely too old for this.

_.

Abraham knew they would be followed. He also knew that with Fleurette in his care, he could not expect to withstand an attack from Lacroix and Noirceuil. It was uncertain if he could do so even if he had full advantage. He decided to go with his instincts, and just before daylight, he stopped his horse, removed what belongings he had, and sent the animal on its way. He moved off at an angle from the road, carefully erasing his tracks as he went, carrying Fleurette's p.r.o.ne form easily over one shoulder and cursing himself as a fool as he went. Montrovant was right. He was weak. Somehow, though, the limp weight of his companion comforted him.

Things were growing more and more complex.

He would need to acquire another horse, and they would both need to feed. He had to do all of this without creating a scene, or costing himself too many days on the road. He frowned, then burst into a quick laugh. It was no more ludicrous than chasing a centuries-old vampire by himself with no aid, followed himself by Christian vampire hunters.

The mountains were not so many nights in the distance. He knew that whatever happened there, Montrovant would not leave until he perished, or found the answers he sought. The Order, if they'd moved there, would be expecting to remain for a good many years. It would be better to have Rome's "hunter" before him than behind him. All of these things he told himself as he rode further and fur- ther from the road, catching sight of smoke rising in the distance. He found a cave in one of the larger outcroppings, deep enough to hold them both, and a bit more searching brought him a stone large enough to seal the opening. It would not be perfect, but with the girl helpless his options had thinned.

As dawn approached, he dragged Fleurette into the small alcove, drew the stone seal in behind them, pulling it as snug as possible, and lay on the cool earth, drawing her close against his body. The weight of the sun rose, pressing him downward, pinning him and stealing thought. He drifted to the darkness, and for the first time in many years, he was not alone.

PART TWO.

THIRTEEN.

It was early evening when Gustav was summoned to the great hall of the keep. He had not been up long, the sun releasing him reluctantly to motion and what pa.s.sed for life. They had a visitor, but not just any visitor. As he entered the hall, his gaze fixed immediately on the thin, ancient figure standing just inside the great doors. Fine wisps of white hair flowed back over thin shoulders, and the eyes were just as Gustav remembered, wild, with a hint of things so ancient they could scarcely be believed."Kli Kodesh," Gustav breathed. His master/mentor smiled at him, moving slowly across the room to meet the aged Nosferatu midway.

"It has been too long, Gustav," Kodesh said quietly.

"Far too long."

Gustav only nodded. He had known that things would change once they'd moved to the mountains; that went without saying. They had broken the ancient bond with the Church, and this had set Montrovant in motion once more, generally stirring any force interested in the ancient treasures.

He had not expected to see the old one at his doorstep in the midst of it all. It had been a long time.

"You are surprised to see me," Kodesh cackled.

"Good. I have entertained you. But wait, I have brought something to add to your responsibilities.

The artifacts you hold have been too long without their guardian, and I have decided the time has come to reunite the two."

Gustav's gaze flickered around the room suspiciously, and the ancient burst into cackling laughter.

"Oh, calm yourself my friend. Santos is here, but not as you suspect."

Reaching into his cloak, Kodesh pulled free a small vial. It was corked, and inside, something moved about slowly. Gustav looked more closely.

A maggot. The vial contained a single maggot. The old Nosferatu's eyes flickered up to catch Kodesh's grinning visage.

"He did not die in de Molay's keep," Kodesh explained, "though it was very close. He was able to reach out and grasp the true name of the only life form nearby at the time. When I went back in search of the head, I found him." Grinning, Kodesh shook the bottle violently, sending the larval form inside spinning and squirming. "I decided it was best to imprison him before he managed to regain his true form."

Gustav's features were slowly creased by a smile.

"The head?" he asked softly. "Have you brought us that to watch as well?"

"No," Kodesh grinned, nearly prancing in circles with delight at his treasure, "I left that in another place. It is of little use to any without knowledge of the spells that bind and animate it, but the attempts to find and recreate those spells have been most amusing."

Gustav shook his head slowly. The things that amused Kli Kodesh would not strike the world at large as amusing, or entertaining. That head had nearly cost each of them their existence at one point or another, by the power of its prophecy and the dark intent of its holder.

Gustav glanced once more at the maggot, squirming in the vial.

"We have done as you instructed," Gustav said at last. "Everything has been brought here with as much secrecy as possible. I am certain that Montrovant follows, and at least one other."

Kli Kodesh grinned. "It will be good to see the dark one again," he said softly. "He has never failed to entertain me. No matter how many walls you erect in his path, he is incorrigible in his quest.

Men could learn from his perseverance, if not from his success."

Gustav shook his head again, turning and leading the way deeper into the keep. He moved down a dimly lit hall lined with old paintings, hung with tapestries, carpeted in rich oriental rugs. The keep had been many years in the building, even more in the outfitting and design of the interior. It was a place to spend lifetimes, a refuge from the world.

Tucked away as it was in a forbidding range of mountains, joined to the world by only a single, well-guarded road, it was a perfect place to preserve holy relics, or to stand off a siege.

They moved into a smaller, darker s.p.a.ce. It was lined with couches and chairs, a large mahogany table running nearly the length of the chamber.

Gustav pa.s.sed by this and moved to the far corner where a large, dark desk sat. There were scrolls and books piled high on the desktop.

Gustav sat behind this desk, gesturing to a comfortable chair just opposite him.

Kli Kodesh sat, looking about with an approving smile. "I see that things have gone well with this place. It is so much a thing of chance, putting anything worthwhile together in secrecy, and in such a secluded spot."

"We had plenty of time," Gustav replied. "With money and time we could rebuild Jacob's ladder."

Kodesh grinned, nodding. "That is true, and what an entertaining prospect that would be. A stairway to heaven. So obviously destined to failure, but such a lofty goal. You know what they say, Gustav, old friend. If you set your sights too high, your failures will be more presentable."

Gustav's eyes twinkled. "Someone will always be under that stairway when it falls. Best to leave G.o.d to His own devices and build our stairways to guard towers."

Kodesh threw his head back and laughed madly.

"Always the practical one, eh Gustav? If G.o.d had you on his side, he would have guard towers lining the road to Heaven and a search at the border, just to be certain no demons slipped through."

Gustav nodded. "Are you certain that none of our own demons will slip through this time?" he asked. "Montrovant is no fool, and there are others.

I doubt that the Church has entrusted the entire chase to the dark one. There is no telling who will end up in our courtyard."

"That is the beauty of it all, is it not?" Kodesh said brightly. "The not knowing. There are so few things in life that I do not know, so few events I cannot predict. I even have a good idea how all of this will end up, though I have high hopes of being disappointed."

Gustav decided to ignore this. "The vaults are sealed tightly," he went on. "The towers are fortified, and the men armed. This keep is more a fortress than anything else. The framework was built by one of the local lords down below. He wanted to have a commanding view of his holdings.