"Mon fils.."
 

LaCroix was already well on the way to having healed himself yet again, Nick
noted with some envy, though his eyes were amber from hunger at having had
to repair so much damage without fresh blood to pay the extra bills.  Well,
his sire had already proven to his son that he was 'too old and powerful' to
kill off easily.  For that Nick was glad, for though he yearned for his
independence, neither did he want to be fatherless.  And whereas the ancient
might not be the easiest of parents to get along with, he *was* the only
father Nick had left.  He'd even shown more devotion to his son than Sir
Henry had.  Besides, he was getting to rather like the old bastard.  On
LaCroix's better decades, at any rate.
 

Change the relationship to something better...
 

"Don't worry, Father, I won't be leaving here yet," he informed LaCroix,
before throwing down the stake.  It hadn't even fully touched ground before
the griffin was rearing up before him, victory in its eyes.
 

[Mine!]
 

Change the relationship..
 

"No," Nick said calmly taking a firm step back, yet reaching out to touch
the feather that had grown out to replace the discarded leaden one.  "I
cannot fight you," he softly added, "but I won't allow you to take from me
anymore."
 

[Trick!]
 

The orangish eyes flashed a dire warning if this was so, despite the
pleasant purring that had started as nimble fingers gently ruffled the
feathers, carefully massaging where the silken quills met the skin.
 

Nick was reminded again of how similar the relationship he had had with his
dog, Raleigh, was to the one he had with the griffin 400-years ago.  Only in
that situation, *he*  had played the subordinate position.
 

Change...
 

I am not its master, Nicholas thought.  But neither will I let the fear of
it master me.
 

..the relationship.
 

He stepped closer, felt the griffin hurriedly encase him in a caged hug of
scaled forearms and feathered wings, expecting to be fed.  Thinking he had
capitulated to its demands.
 

Behind him, a saddened Aristotle had come to the same conclusion, but he
rushed to intercept LaCroix before the other could struggle onto his feet to
attack it again.  Fortunately, the ancient was far from recovered yet, so
Aristotle was able to stop him.
 

"Let me go, Aristotle!" the Elder angrily declared as he glared him.  "I
must help my son!"
 

"It is his decision, LaCroix!"  the Greek dared to shoot back.  "For once,
let him make *his* own choice."
 

Nick saw the tip of a tongue slip from between the parted beak to flick over
his lips, demanding he open up for it.  Keeping up the neck massage, he
obliged, whispering quietly yet firmly:
 

"You cannot take from me...because I am freely giving this to you."
 

And before the griffin could react to that, he started to sing.
 

During his eight-hundred years, Nicholas de Brabant had acquired quite an
archive of songs in his memory.  Many were sad, lots were of amorous
love---some downright bawdy, and others were religious in nature.  But there
were those whose words were simply meant to convey the song writer's
apprecation for what he had lived during his lifespan, and it was those that
Nicholas offered to the griffin, one after another.
 

The griffin was in shock.  It understood fear and anger,---and to a lesser
degree, what its past victims fantasized was 'love', but it didn't know how
to react to this.  That a victim would freely offer what it wanted was an
entirely new concept to it; an act so alien to anything that it had ever
experienced before.  In an attempt to get things back on more familiar
ground, it tried to force the sounds from its food's throat; however, to its
consternation it found that the flow could neither be hurried nor slowed to
its will.  Or stopped!  Yet did it want it to?  Now that the first shock was
past, the griffin found that it rather liked the taste of it.  At last it
simply gave
in and let itself receive this...wonderous new thing.  This... 'gift'.
 

Nicholas was nearing the end of his repretoire when he realized that
something was different.  Despite having previously given up 'the Hoard',
despite that he had been offering himself for what must have been hours---he
did not feel changed.  Even though the vampire still existed within him, it
was not all consuming; his Hunger was under control.
 

Nicholas de Brabant had not become synomynous with his Beast.
 

More... The Emptiness  that had existed from his first meeting with the
griffin, to its 'death' at his hands had not returned.  Somehow, he had
given his self away without being turned into the souless predator which
LaCroix had predicted would happen.
 

Hearing the soft croon surounding him, Nicholas opened his eyes and was
surprised to find his view wasn't completely obscured by a gaping mouth, but
by feathers.  He stared at his fingers, still thrust within the soft bedding
of neck quills--but ones that had become mixed with others:  snowy white
feathers with silver highlights amongst the previously solid chocolate
brown.
 

What had happened to the griffin?  What had happened to them *both*?
 

Sensing that Nicholas was wanting to separate a bit from its enclosing hug,
the griffin let him go wihout protest, and Nicholas saw that the neck
feathers were not a trick of the eye----though the fur was still golden, the
eagle features were, indeed, liberally splashed with whiteness, complemented
by shiny silver.  The coloring reminded Nicholas of the Martial eagles
native to
the African continent.  If the creature had been a dark beauty before, it
was absolutely glorious now.
 

Even, Nick couldn't help but grin at the phrase, downright breathtakingly
so.
 

The raptor eyes smiled up at him, no longer bright with hunger, but with
something else.  It hooted.
 

[Fullness/Satisfaction/Understanding!]
 

Pausing, it cocked its head slightly as if musing on a new concept.
 

[..Gratitude.  Food--not!  ...Friend?]
 

Nicholas was nonplussed.  When he had sought to 'change the relationship',
he had not expected *this*!  Could he accept friendship from a former enemy?
His eyes wandered to where Aristotle and LaCroix were frozen like statues as
they waited for some sign from the two to tell them what was what.
 

LaCroix had been his enemy for centuries ever since he had stopped bemoaning
the inundation of mortal emotions in his life and started embracing them.
In some ways, they were still opponents sitting on opposite sides of the
bench, yet he already was willing to reconcile himself to the ancient.  To
*change* their relationship---if LaCroix would accept that.
 

And what of himself? Nick ruefully pondered.  Had he not made himself an
enemy of countless humans through his own greed?  If he could not embrace a
changed incubus, how could he expect humans to embrace a repentant, former
bloodsucker?
 

It would be rather hypocritical, wouldn't it?
 

"I would be honored to be your friend, Sir Griffin," Nick replied in all
seriousness.  "And I am willing to continue in *giving* you food whenever
you need it.  But please, my name is 'Nick."  He paused.  "Nicholas.  Not
'Food'."  He gave the griffin a lop-sided smile, making a show of swishing
his tongue within his mouth.  "And if you wouldn't mind----in the
future---no more open-mouth kissing?"
 

The griffin blinked at him, then seemed to laugh in understanding as it
lowered itself to stand before him on all fours.  Bowing, it straightened up
into a regal pose.
 

[Satisfaction.  Farewell.]
 

The mist and phantom oak trees withdrew in a rush, leaving the humanoid
occupants standing in Nick's loft, a broken shippng crate and a large statue
standing out amidst the usual furnishings.
 

Aristotle warily came over to feel a shiny wing , peering closely at the new
addition of white marble interposing with the bronze, then studying the
lustrous gold of a muscled flank.
 

"What happened?"
 

Smiling, Nicholas said, "I followed Schanke's advice and changed the rules:
remade our relationship to that of equals.  It seems to have gained me a new
friend.." he looked about the immaculate Loft, no longer sporting grotesque
blood stains or broken furniture, "..and a rather fastidious one at that,"
he drily added.
 

The smile faded when he saw that LaCroix still looked like he had seen
better
centuries.  For some reason, the ancient had not had his body or clothing
regenerated as Nick's had been in 1591.
 

Going first to his refrigerator in order to procure several bags of human
blood---thankful that he had LaCroix's favorite beverage in stock---he
stepped over some of the crate's wreckage in order to kneel before his sire,
offering him the food.
 

"LaCroix..." he began tentatively while the elder fed, "LaCroix...about what
happened between myself and the griffin...would you be willing to accept
that same change in *our* relationship?"
 

He nervously waited while the elder regarded his torn skin through the
remnants of his shirt, seemingly engrossed in watching the last of his
wounds seal up.  Nicholas was afraid that his sire would take exception to
his proposal and express it by reaching out and throttling his upstart
offspring.
 

"And if I refuse?"  LaCroix's eyes finally lifted to stare at Nick's darker
ones, icy blue orbs sharp with challenge.
 

Nicholas swallowed back the shap retort that rose instantly to mind.
 

Change the rules; change the relationship.
 

"Then I will accept your judgement of my status, Father, if you still think
so poorly of me and my ideals.  Just know that either way, I do accept you
*as* my Father."
 

Damn, Nicholas berated himself as bloody streams began flowing down his
face.  Now he was crying.  He knew that LaCroix hated shows of tears, but he
couldn't help it---they were honest expressions of how he felt, how much his
sire's agreement with this proposal meant to him.
 

>From behind him there came a coughing sound, reminding Nicholas that
Aristotle was still there, and that Schanke was very probably down in his
garage with Natalie, waiting for some word from him.
 

"Well," Aristotle said, "I, for one, am 'dead on my feet' in more ways than
one and anxious for a week's worth of sleep.  So if you two will excuse
me..?"
 

"Of course."  Nicholas got up to clasp his friend's hands in his own.
"Thank you, my friend," he earnestly told the other.    "Thank you for
everything.  Your aid on my behalf may well have saved my life."
 

"About time I got that debt paid," Aristotle smled good-naturedly.
"Good---what ever the current hour is."  He nodded respectfully in the
elder's direction.  "LaCroix."
 

"Aristotle," LaCroix nodded back.  He still needed to talk to that one about
certain things, but it could wait till both were feeling back up to par.
 

As the Greek flew up out of the loft, LaCroix gazed upon his son.  Aristotle
was not the only one in need of a bed.  Unfortunately, there was the little
matter of the two mortals downstairs.
 

"Mon fils, do you plan on doing something about your mortal partner before
he sells this story to the local papers, or shall I?"
 

Nicholas' shoulder's slumped in defeat.  LaCroix was going to ignore his
entreaty altogether then?
 

"I honestly don't know if I'm up to it just now," he ruefully admitted,
afraid of what his sire might decide to do with the his friend, "hypnotising
him, I mean.  But, you know, LaCroix, if it hadn't been for Schanke..."
 

"Yes.  I am well aware of the portly man's role in this night's little
play."  He stood up.  "Never fear, I will do all the necessary 'whammying'
for you, mon fils.  What else is a father for?"  He saw that his son was
eyeing him with a crooked frown on his face.  "What is it now?"
 

"Um.. You're not thinking of talking to him looking like *that* are you?"
 

LaCroix looked down at his ruined suit, torn to near shreds and splattered
with his blood.  That he had not been miraculously restored like everything
else was hardly a coincidence, he decided.  More than likely, it was the
griffin's final blow at his opponent.
 

"After what the good Mr. Schanke has already seen in this place, I doubt
that the current state of my attire will surprise him."  He smiled rather
wickedly at his protege.  "Unless, you'd prefer I went down there in the
nude?"
 

Nicholas nearly choked.  He wouldn't put it past the old Roman to do just
that just to embarrass him!  "Er...why don't you follow me upstairs first
and we'll see what we can do?"

==============
End of Part 5
 

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