They are not mine---save the griffin.
                   Mel, Lisa, and the Ftp can archive anything of write.  Others, please ask.

                   This is a sequel to my Full Moon Challenge response:  'Something Was
                   Missing' which was written and sent out awfully fast (and I do mean awfully.
                   Oy---the typos!)  I figured I'd better fix that dangling end just in case
                   someone actually got interested in the plot!

                   Many thanks to Mary Comb for beta'ing this part for me!  Man, did she catch
                   a lot of stuff...<sigh>

                   WARNING!  This story contains more violent imagery than I usually write.
                   There are no gory details, and it doesn't warrant an Adult header (despite
                   what some of you may be thinking from the title), but you might want to keep
                   that in mind.  This is a mild horror story.  Nothing silly in sight I'm
                   afraid.
 

                   *************************************************************
                   In-cu-bus,  2. something that weighs upon or oppresses one like a nightmare.
                   3. a nightmare

                    ~~from Webster's Encylopedic Unabridged Dictionary of the English Language
                   *************************************************************
 

                   "Oh, don't be ridiculous, mon fils.  This is a fine night for hunting.  Your
                   misgivings make no sense."

                   Ashamed, Nicholas bowed his head.  How could he explain to LaCroix what he
                   was feeling without looking even more like a coward in his sire's eyes?
                   That although he was just as hungry as his master, he didn't care to leave
                   the house?  And why was this?  Because of an odd tingle that he could not
                   place other than it sang from that area within him that he had come to think
                   of as The Emptiness.  No... his father would *definitely* not understand.

                   LaCroix frowned at him, clearly not pleased with his protege.
                   "You're not still feeling guilt, are you?"

                   Nicholas flinched at the unexpected question, knowing what his master was
                   referring to.  He had tried so hard over the past centuries to purge himself
                   of the last remnant of guilt from his mortal lifetime, and recently had done
                   an admirable job of supressing it.  Killing now was not murder, it was but a
                   vital part of his nature.  Yet every now and then the unwanted emotion came
                   back to tweak him.  The unwanted *human* emotion.
                   "Not lately," Nicholas reluctantly admitted.  His sire would be
                   disapppointed at this confession that his failing had not been totally
                   eradicated, and Nicholas so yearned for his father's approval.

                   Face thoughtful, the ancient vampire studied his son.   He was sure Nicholas
                   had spoken the truth---he had felt the rare jabs of conscience that Nicholas
                   had tried to keep from him.  And though he did not say so, he was proud of
                   the way his once overly hesitant fledgling had blossomed into an admirable
                   vampire.   Yet something was troubling the boy.  What was coming through
                   their bond was not guilt, but another emotion.  One as unworthy of a
                   predator as the other:  unfounded fear.

                   He held out his hand in a silent gesture that brooked no argument.  A flash
                   of panic crossed the cobalt eyes, quickly squelched.  Looking slightly
                   mutinous, Nicholas nethertheless pushed up the fabric of one sleeve before
                   stepping forward to offer his wrist to his maker.  LaCroix slid his fangs
                   into the exposed flesh and began to drink slowly, sifting through the images
                   of his son's blood until he found what he was looking for.  Retracting his
                   fangs, he stepped back and allowed his protege to lick the injured wrist
                   whole once more.  It was a courtesy he normally did for his offspring after
                   drinking from him---his saliva healed it so much faster---but he was angry
                   just now.

                   "I am disappointed in you, Nicholas."
                   "Father?" the former knight asked, though he knew full well what the other
                   had found.  It bothered him no end that the anniversary of a simple dream
                   could so unnerve him.  That his master should know of the reason for his
                   distress was mortifying to say the least.
                   "You have allowed a simple human nightmare to continue to trouble you.  A
                   reaction that should have been vanquished long ago.  Indeed, well before we
                   even met."
                   "I'm sorry."
                   "Being *sorry* is not enough, Nicholas.  It is high time you banished this
                   childhood phantom terror of yours---and hiding in this structure will avail
                   you nothing."
                   Nicholas noticeably slumped.  "Yes, LaCroix."
                   "Stand up straight!" his sire curtly admonished him.  "Now get dressed for
                   the reception---the passage of this night has not slowed simply because you
                   dally.  And neither has my thirst."
                   ~~~~~~~~~~~

                   Despite LaCroix's prediction, the evening hunt did not fare well.  This was
                   more due to his son's lackluster attempts to charm their potential meals
                   than to there being a lack of possible fodder, however.  A fact that was not
                   lost on the elder.

                   "By the gods, Nicholas, *do* try to act more cheery," LaCroix chastised him
                   for the third time.  "Your dour expression and distracted air are giving the
                   ladies the feeling that their company is not wanted.  And I do so much want
                   to make their acquaintence." He added sourly, "*One* of theirs, at any
                   rate."  Oh, he *could* just grab a secluded victim and guzzle her down, but
                   the thrill of the hunt itself was half the fun!  A fun that his offspring
                   seemed intent on ruining for both of them this evening by being a wet
                   blanket.
                   "I suppose I'm just not hungry tonight," Nicholas mumbled in an attempt to
                   apologize.
                   "I find that hard to believe," LaCroix sniffed.  "Your appetite has been
                   nothing if not surpassing my own all week."
                   That was true enough, Nicholas thought to himself.  Despite the fact that
                   food was plentiful, the last several nights he'd felt like a bear stocking
                   up for the winter.  He had not felt such hunger since being brought across
                   almost 400 years ago.  It was as if some part of him knew that the good
                   times were about to come to an abrupt end.  Well, that 'end' seemed to be
                   tonight.  Sighing, Nicholas wearily massaged his temple where a dull ache
                   had started.  His father was making no attempt to keep his annoyance from
                   leaking through their bond.  That meant that behind that cool mask of his
                   the elder vampire was seething.  "I'm sorry LaCroix.  There's no help for it
                   though, I just can't seem to concentrate on them"---he waved a hand at the
                   partying human females---"tonight.  But no sense in both of us fasting.
                   With your permission, I think it would be best if I retired to my room."
                   LaCriox was half inclined to agree-- Nicholas looked tired and exhausted
                   even though they had done little more than sit and watch the mortals for the
                   past few hours.  On the other hand, giving in after he had forced his son to
                   come to this party would be like admitting defeat.  Surrender was not
                   something he was willing to embrace.
                   "Nonsense.  What you need is to be outside, not in."  He saw Nicholas' mouth
                   open to protest, but forestalled it.  "Go for a walk, mon fils.  Discuss
                   your troubles with Lady Moon, perhaps her fullness of figure will charm a
                   better mood into you.  When you're feeling more yourself, return to me.
                   There may still be time for a last attempt for us to hunt together before
                   dawn breaks."
                   Nicholas felt like sagging down into his chair.  If he couldn't escape to
                   the 'safety' of their current abode, then he would have preferred staying
                   where there was plenty of activity.  The last thing he wanted just now was
                   to be alone.  Instead, he nodded and got up to leave, unwilling to provoke
                   his sire further.
                   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 

                   The gardens of their host were extensive, filled with orderly ranks of
                   exquisite flowers both native and exotic.  In the center of these was a
                   small labyrinth composed of dense hedges.  It was hardly worthy of the name.
                   The owner was not overly found of mazes, he had had this modest one erected
                   mainly to hide some of his more favored statuary and fountains, so that he
                   could enjoy the gasps of delight from his guests as they unsuspectingly
                   rounded a corner.  Nicholas entered in, smiling half-heartedly at the few
                   mortals he brushed past.  Not very many heartbeats here---but enough to
                   reassure him that he would not be isolated tonight.  Most were inside, but
                   there were always a few humans in the gardens.  Lovers hoping for a more
                   private tryst.  Within the labryinth was a fountain that he liked more than
                   the others, its structured waterways producing a calming effect like that of
                   soft rain.  It was there he made his destination, for that he hoped some
                   meditation by the soothing fountain would erase these annoying feelings of
                   unease.

                   It was after passing the third fountain and seventh statue that his
                   distracted mind began to realize that something was wrong.  What should have
                   been basic turns in the man-made passageway were becoming twisted, the
                   elegant statuary more bizarre---bordering on the grotesque.  Where were the
                   leaping deer and playing children---their stone faces filled with mirth?
                   Surely the owner hadn't replaced them with these dragons and harpies just
                   for the party?  And he should have come to the last fountain by now,
                   shouldn't he?  Nicholas spun around on his heel, noticing for the first time
                   that where there should have been only one bend in the maze as it neared the
                   exit, there were six dark offshoots.  Where there had been the background
                   noise of multiple mortal heartbeats, there was but the slow, steady thump of
                   one.  Nicholas swallowed.  Hard.  The heart was beating too slowly for even
                   a resting human, and yet faster than a vampire's---faster than even his own
                   organ, which had just pulsed a second time within the last three minutes.
                   He felt himself break out into a mild bloodsweat.

                   What was going on?

                   Grey mist began to swirl up from the damp grass, rising to obscure first the
                   lowest parts of the hedges, then steadily reaching higher.  What had been
                   sharp to his vampiric eyes was becoming murky.  It was like a watching a
                   veil being raised up.

                   Or a net to trap him.

                   That did it!  He'd had enough of this!

                   Looking up into the face of the full moon, Nicholas prepared to launch
                   himself out of the maze and fly straight back to his master.  So what if
                   LaCroix would be less than happy to see him in such a state?  Better the
                   reality of an angry father than this....creeping unknown.

                   Nicholas had barely lifted past the tops of the leafy fences when he felt
                   something strike him on the back so hard he fell tumbling down to the
                   ground.  Luckily his fall missed the thorny bushes, and he landed instead
                   sprawled on the grass of an open section of the maze.  Whirling back onto
                   his feet, eyes blazing red and fangs bared, Nicholas prepared to face his
                   assailant..

                   And found himself alone.

                   Unless you counted the bronze and gold metal statue sitting a few feet away.

                   It was a masterful piece of craftsmanship.  Every rich detail was
                   painstakingly worked into the form---from the soft tufts of fur over the
                   back claws, to the scales covering the forelegs.  It looked more like a
                   living beast had been delicately coated with layers of the ores than like
                   anything human hands had manipulated.  The owner had undoubtedly paid a
                   fortune for it.

                   Just why did the damn artist have to choose *that* subject for his work?

                   The metallic griffin offered no comment on his intense scrutinizing of it;
                   content to stand there, wings held aloft, glass-made eyes of tangerine
                   seemingly doing their own contemplating of the night predator standing there
                   in shrinking awe of it.

                   Feeling a bit unnerved by the statue's artificial stare, Nicholas turned to
                   resume his flight--
                   And was stopped by a soft growl and the sound of a single, strong
                   'tha-thump'.
                   Instantly he fell into a crouch, his Beast ready to defend itself.  But
                   there was nothing.  No antagonistic vampire.  No human hunter.  No rabid
                   animal too out of its mind with disease to know better than to attack one of
                   his kind.
                   Just the griffin.

                   The griffin!  Nicholas felt his chest muscles tighten around his heart.

                   The statue had changed position.  No longer standing proud, the mythical
                   monster was now crouched in an attack position:  wings half folded, lion's
                   tail curving upward.

                   But that wasn't possible!  Was it?  No!  Statues did not change their pose
                   any more than a vampire could age.  They definitely. Could. Not. Move!  He
                   was mistaken, that was all...

                   Oh, sweet Life, Nicholas mentally sobbed, ---LET IT NOT MOVE!
                   ==================================================

                   The ashen mist had returned---thicker than ever---but Nicholas could not
                   tear his eyes away from the metallurgic nightmare before him.  His sense of
                   'danger' was off the scale.  Even his normally cocky Beast nature was unsure
                   of what to do with this situation.  Confused, angry, and not a little
                   scared, he growled and bared his fangs at the statue in warning.  Dream or
                   reality, he was no longer a simple mortal child to be easily subdued.
                   Vampires, too, were a human 'myth' to be reckoned with!

                   If it was against natural law for a raptor's beak---organic or metallic---to
                   twist into a smile,  than the statue's armoured mouth was doing an admirable
                   job of circumventing a direct order from Mother Nature.  Before Nicholas'
                   stunned eyes, the statue's form seemed  to soften---there was no other way
                   to describe it----and flow.  Gold turned into wheaten hide,  bronze to
                   chocolate-toned feathers and raptor's legs.  Glass morphed into fiery orbs:
                   the eyes of an eagle's if birthed from fiery lava.  The slow rthym of a
                   hearbeat filled the vampire's ears.

                   Stuck in the limbo between shock and panic, Nicholas took one step
                   backwards.  Then another.  And another.  Until his back was against the
                   hedge.  The griffin looked amused.  It lazily flexed its leonine muscles and
                   stretched out its wings.

                   A display of its power, Nicholas decided, snapping out of the debilitating
                   stupor that was threatening to overtake him.  He growled back  in challenge.
                   Here was something Nicholas, son of LaCroix, understood:  a battle for
                   supremacy.  He shot  into the night sky--away from the clingy
                   mist---instinct telling him that to fight in the greyness was to fight in
                   his advesary's own territory.  Well, the night sky was the vampires'!  Let
                   this thing try to conquer him there!

                   With a speed that matched his own, the griffin sprang up to follow, wings
                   beating so fast that they reminded Nicholas of the hummingbirds of the New
                   World.  Any hope he had harbored of flying to his master's side for
                   reinforcements was shattered when he risked a glance at the ground below.
                   Neither garden, nor castle, nor neighboring town was to be seen.  Just grey
                   mist and the tops of an ancient forest of oak trees.  Again, Nicholas felt
                   the panic start to take him over.  He sent a desperate plea to LaCroix, but
                   their bond had gone as silent as everything else.  There was just the sound
                   of the griffin's wings, his own, harried, breathing, and the off-beat throbs
                   of their hearts as they circled and dived repeatedly at each other under the
                   bright moonlight

                   Hell take it---the thing was *playing* with him!

                   Nicholas' mind worked frantically to find a way of attack.  He was getting
                   tired.  Never mind that he had fed heavily all week---he hadn't taken in any
                   sustenance tonight, and the emotional and physical stresses he'd been
                   experiancing since waking up were taking their toll.  Soon, he'd be too weak
                   to keep himself aloft.  He had to score a hit against the hybrid monster
                   *now*.  Problem was, with its complement of beak, talons, and claws, the
                   mishappen monster was well armored:  front, bottom, and...

                   Momentarily tucking himself into a ball, Nicholas dropped down for a half
                   second, swiftly changed direction and managed to grab the griffin's tail
                   before it could counter the move.  He then used the cat-like appendage to
                   swing over and landed on the its back, narrowly avoiding the beating wings.
                   Grinning triumphantly as the griffin screeched in suprise, Nicholas
                   proceeded to sink his fangs and fingers into the golden hide as prelude to
                   ripping out huge chunks of the flesh beneath.  Maybe, the vampire thought as
                   he readied to suck his enemy dry, he would present the carcass to LaCroix as
                   a gift!  Maybe *then* his sire would stop ridiculing his dreams!

                   But in the next instant, Nicholas discovered his victory was premature as,
                   to his horror, the taste of hair against his tongue changed to that of pure
                   gold.  What had been soft fur, melted and flowed around his grasping hands
                   and teeth, molding itself around fangs and fingers to hold them immobile.
                   Helplessly fastened to what was once again a bronze and gold statue,
                   Nicholas could only scream in terror as they both plummeted downwards for
                   what seemed to him like a small eternity, into the grey mist.  He felt his
                   body brush against several tree branches before finally impacting heavily
                   with the ground.  Blackness took his thoughts, escorted him into oblivion.
                   ~~~~~~~~~~~~

                   Damn, but he felt exhausted. Nicholas mused sleepily, eyes closed.
                   LaCroix must have been really upset with him last night to have beaten him
                   into unconsiousness.  But at least his sire had been kind enough to put him
                   to bed.  However, between the soft mattress under him and the warm comforter
                   above, he felt in no hurry to go and apologize to his elder just yet.  Soon.
                   He'd just rest a little longer and then go seek his master.  It was just too
                   pleasant lying here to get up.  So soothingly warm, with the wafting perfume
                   of the..

                   Oak leaves?

                   Gasping aloud, Nicholas opened his eyes to a scene that was much too
                   familiar to him:  lying back on a bed of autumn leaves in an oak forest
                   partially obscured by an ashen veil of mist.  And, as in that dream, a
                   purring monster lay prone on top of him, lapping the air above his mouth.

                   What?  No!

                   Panicking, Nicholas grabbed whatever parts of the griffin his hands could
                   latch onto first---and gave a powerful heave.  But his shoving at the
                   jigsawed incubus met with no more success than before--despite his enhanced
                   stength gained from the Vampire.  It was like trying to move a granite
                   boulder.

                   Or a solid gold/bronze statue that was not inclined to budge from its
                   unwilling mattress.

                   The griffin cocked its head to smirk at him, hooked beak carefully nudging
                   his peach-fuzzed chin, sheathed claws pressing against his legs as its
                   haunches shifted a bit.  It dawned on Nicholas then that this...this living
                   nightmare of his... was just as capable of tearing a vampire to shreds today
                   as it had been able to rend a mere mortal boy some four centuries earlier.
                   Yet it was taking considerable pains not to injure him.  Falling from the
                   height they had been at, shooting down into a dense forest to hit smack onto
                   the ground, should have left him feeling a bit sore---garnered him a few
                   wood splinters at least.  He could see a dozen or so broken branches strewn
                   haphazardly about, undoubtedly sheared off by their combined weight.  But he
                   was unharmed.  A captive, but unharmed.  The griffin must have shielded him
                   from the worst of their fall.

                   Why?  What did it want from him?

                   The beak nudged him again, tickling his chin with the sharp hook, but not
                   piercing the stubbled skin.  And  it occured to Nicholas that maybe...

                   It wanted him to scream.

                   Just as he had enjoyed the sound of little Fleur's squeals of fright at his
                   'ghost' stories, this creature reveled in *his* screams.  A thousand
                   questions ran through his brain.

                   Where had it come from?
                   Was it just him or did it feed off of anybody?  (for he'd never heard tell
                   of this sort of incubus from either vampire or mortal storyteller.)
                   When would it let him go?
                   *Would*  it let him go?

                   That last thought made him groan aloud and the griffin responded by
                   breathing in a bit more than before.  A suspicion awoke in Nicholas.  He
                   decided  to try something.  It might gain him more information, and  it was
                   all he could think of to do at the moment.

                   "Hello--"

                   This time the griffin opened its mouth part way as it breathed in more
                   deeply.  Suspicion confirmed, Nicholas thought.  The griffin didn't just
                   like his screams---it *ate* sound.  He could feel it, feel the pull within
                   him as something disappeared, feel The Emptiness inside grow just a bit
                   larger.  He pushed the worry of that to the back of his mind for later
                   consideration.  For some reason, it particularly liked *his* voice---the
                   louder the better.  So, what if he stopped breathing altogether?  It was an
                   old habit anyway.  Vampires didn't need to breathe air, save for talking.
                   Ha!  Let's see what the brute did when the candy was sealed tight inside a
                   tin!

                   He fervently hoped that the griffin wouldn't decide that *ripping into the
                   tin* was the best way to reach its treat.

                   Somewhere, Time went by or stood still---there was no way for Nicholas to
                   tell since the scenery didn't change.  Not even the moon seemed to be
                   traveling across its path in the sky; there was only the lazy swirling of
                   the mist.

                   Correction.  There *were* the random---and annoying!---nudges from the beak
                   against his face to break the monotony.  Eventually this was augmented by
                   soft hootings that sounded both puzzled and insistant.  Its proddings turned
                   into mild pecks as the contentedness in the orange eyes changed to something
                   lessfriendly.

                   Feed me!  they silently demanded.
                   No!  the golden eyes shot back.

                   Rising up on all fours, the griffin shook itself in agitation.  Quickly,
                   Nicholas used the opportunity to levitate himself a couple of inches and
                   shoot horizontally out from under it.  He flipped head over heels to land on
                   his feet several yards away.  The griffin was not pleased.  It growled and
                   snapped its beak, then came charging at him.  Flinging himself out of the
                   way at the last second, Nicholas searched frantically for a weapon to use
                   against this enemy.  What would hurt something that could turn metallic at
                   will?  Not water, not air, not fire---at least not anything less than a huge
                   one, and he dismally noted that there didn't seem to be a handy furnace or
                   volcano about.   Still, there had to be *something*.  But what?!

                   The griffin attacked again, obviously not inclined to let him mull the
                   problem over in peace.  This time, half-bronze, half- living wingtips
                   scratched a bloody gouge along his cheek as he failed to completely dodge
                   the blow.   Nicholas used his fingers to wipe the flowing blood away before
                   it could drip down his face, surprised at just how much pain he was feeling
                   from the gash.  At least his body was already sealing the wound.  But so
                   much for its not wanting to hurt him!

                   Think!  Think!  Think!  It fed from his vocalizations.  Taking something
                   from him as it did so.  How did it do this?

                   ...Soft feathers, silky fur between his fingers as it breathed him in...
                   Falling, screaming around a half-mouthful of gold as he was trapped by the
                   metal, unable to slow their fall...

                   Screaming.

                   Hell--He had been *shrieking* bloody murder as they had fallen from the sky,
                   yet the griffin had not tried to seize any of his cries.  Why?

                   ...Metal flowing over his fingers...

                   Maybe...  Maybe it didn't feed because it couldn't.  It had to stop his
                   attack on its soft flesh by hardening itself.   It could only feed when it
                   wore flesh for a body!

                   And the flesh was vulnerable.

                   Hurriedly, Nicholas dodged another attack and reached for one of the oaken
                   branches.  His fingers had just about grasped the wood when he was knocked
                   off of his feet.  In microseconds, the griffin was towering above him on its
                   hind legs, eyes glaring, both taloned forelegs poised to slash downwards.
                   Its anger was palpable.  Nicholas' heart thumped in his chest as their eyes
                   locked.

                   If it could not make him scream willingly, it would tear at him until he did
                   so unwillingly.  Did it now realize that the Vampire could heal itself,
                   unlike the mortal child?  Had it been gentle before because it was afraid of
                   fatally harming its food source?  But now it had seen him heal himself.
                   Nicholas shuddered at the picture of the beast flaying him just enough to
                   get what it wanted, then waiting for him to heal so it could start the
                   process all over again.  And it would get what it wanted too, Nicholas
                   realized with a sick feeling in his stomach.  That gash had been like being
                   cut with a wooden knife.  He had to delay its attack!  Defend himself!

                   "Wait."

                   Freezing in place, the griffin cocked its head as if listening, waiting for
                   more before deciding how to react.  Nicholas got on his knees slowly, never
                   taking his eyes off of the other's.  "Wait," he said again---but softly,
                   very softly---using only the barest amount of air needed  to speak aloud.
                   The griffin hooted at him, still on its hind legs, wings held outstretched
                   off its back. It was wary of him now, Nicholas realized; yet it was also
                   very hungry and eager for his compliance.  Keeping his voice at a bare
                   minimum, Nicholas began to crawl over to it like a whipped dog anxious to
                   please its master.  He stopped when his head was just below the griffin's,
                   one hand casually brushing against an oaken branch.

                   "Don't hurt me, please...I'll feed you...don't hurt me."

                   The orange eyes flared brightly in triumph.  It bent its head downward,
                   mouth open to receive its tribute.

                   Feed me!  Feed me NOW!

                   Taking a deep breath, Nicholas rose up on his knees with an ear-splitting
                   scream.  In a flash the beak was over his mouth, so close Nicholas could
                   feel the tongue flicking against his own as it lapped---pulled.  Purrs of
                   ectasy filled his ears.  As Nicholas had hoped, the griffin was so fixated
                   on its feeding that it hadn't noticed anything beyond the vampire's mouth.
                   Tightening his grip on the branch that he had lifted it up from the
                   leaves... he plunged it full force into the leonine chest!
 

                   Screeches that would have rivalled a banshee's filled the air!  The griffin
                   tried to pull away from him, but Nicholas held on, one arm bracing the
                   branch, one fist grabbing the feathered neck as it twisted and strained to
                   free itself.  Talons became red with his blood as they slashed into him,
                   sending waves of fiery pain that threatened to black out his vision.  He
                   could not help mixing his own screams of agony with his foe's, but Nicholas
                   dared not let go.  Better to risk the True Death than to let this thing live
                   and attack him again.  He thought of his nightmare vision of this incubus
                   feeding from him for all eternity, and held on grimly as it struggled in its
                   death throes.  Finally, with a last shudder, it went limp.

                   Nicholas let out a sigh of relief.  It had worked!  Then he noticed that the
                   corpse was disintegrating.  But not as a vampire into fire and ash.  It was
                   turning into grey mist.  As Nicholas watched the surrounding mist was sucked
                   into the new.  Then the whole separated into lighter and darker particles;
                   the darker sinking into the ground, the lighter...

                   Nicholas gasped as the lighter mist coalesced around him.  It rushed down
                   his throat and nose--invading him with a vengeance!  Feelings alien to the
                   Vampire---yet perfectly harmonious to that tiny remnant of his old
                   self ---flooded into the Emptiness, filling it.  But there was more than
                   there had ever been before---too much!---they spilled out of that boundary.
                   Feelings and desires of love, faith, honor, hope, charity, compassion,
                   unselfishness!  They mixed with his newer memories and created other
                   emotions:  guilt, unworthiness, despair, hopelessness, a desperate longing
                   to be clean again!

                   Nooooo!

                   Enraged at this turn of events, the Beast within him rallied against the
                   feelings---these horrible human emotions and needs that it had finally
                   managed to almost crush out of existence!  And now they were
                   back---unscathed?!  From where?  How?  Ruthlessly it rammed them down.  No!
                   No!  No!  He was a vampire!  Vampires could not have this!  Could not
                   *afford* to have this!  Such things had died with the mortal body---damn
                   them all to hell!!!

                   But the Unwanted was there again; a part of him despite all the ravings of
                   his vampiric nature.
                   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                   Nicholas realized that he was sitting once again in the simple maze of his
                   host, but he was too busy sobbing with frustration to enjoy that fact.  Nor
                   did he care that a few of his hosts other---mortal---guests were still
                   within the garden and might just discover one bloody vampire in their midst.

                   What was he to do?  God!---what would *father* say?  Would LaCroix reject
                   him if he found out that his favored son was... was infected with... with
                   *humanity*!

                   He mustn't find out.

                   Nicholas wouldn't *let* him find out.  He'd start pushing for his
                   independence in order to avoid the bloodkiss.  Just until he could get
                   himself back to normal.  Damn--just the thought of lying to his master was
                   aiding the cursed guilt within him!

                   "Nicholas?"

                   His father?  His father was coming!

                   Rushing to one of the fountains, Nicholas hurriedly washed his face,
                   schooling his features to reflect calm.  He glanced around, not really
                   surpised to find that all evidence of his fight with the griffin was gone.
                   Even his clothing was whole--as was he, himself.  That cinched any hope of
                   telling his sire the truth and seeking his help.  LaCroix would never
                   believe him.

                   "In here, father!"

                   Resplendant in his black evening wear, LaCroix met him at the maze entrance.

                   "Ah, Nicholas... feeling better?"

                   "Yes, father." his son agreed with false confidence.  "I've put that
                   nightmare behind me."  Only to gain a new one, he bitterly sighed to
                   himself.

                   "Good, mon fils," LaCroix placed a companionable hand over his son's
                   shoulder, glad that *that* was over with.  Now his special child could
                   concentrate on developing himself to the fullest.  He would be the envy of
                   all their kind one century---having such a one for his close companion for
                   all eternity.

                   "A pity you had need to leave the party so soon, Nicholas.  You missed the
                   Duke's rather melodramatic recounting of the local legend.  A bit of
                   rubbish; however, you might find it amusing."

                   Gesturing at the surrounding grounds, LaCroix gave his son the basics of the
                   story.

                   "Apparently there once existed in this garden nothing but an intricate maze,
                   the prized centerpiece within being a gold and bronze cast griffin done in
                   exquisite detail.  The griffin was believed to actually be some kind of
                   specialized demon that fed off of men's souls.  But not just any souls,
                   mind, mon fils, they had to be highly sensitive ones.  Since these, it
                   seems, were hard to come by, it spent most of the time as a metal statue,
                   but when it found a victim to its liking, it came to organic life and was
                   quite tenacious in tracking its prey.  Held quite a haul of human emotions,
                   they say.  Kept it all trapped in mist."

                   "Really?"  Nicholas managed to remark with a fair degree of nonchalance,
                   having moved away from his father to hide the slight tremble that had come
                   at the mention of  'griffin'.

                   It had been eating his *soul*!  But vampires weren't supposed to have
                   souls---they died when the vampire was born.

                   "Absurd isn't it?" LaCroix chuckled, "The follies these mortals will think
                   up to frighten each other."  Nicholas could only nod mutely in reply.  "Well
                   then, Nicholas, what do you say?  We *do* have enough time for you to join
                   me in a last hunt before dawn.  And I must say that you are still exhibiting
                   some signs of distress.  Perhaps some fresh..sustenance.. is just what you
                   need to feel better."  He pointed at a lady and her escort entering an open
                   carriage to depart for home.  "Join me for a last drink?  If we fly, we can
                   catch them on that secluded stretch of road."

                   Killing.  Guilt.  Supress it!

                   "Yes...all right."  Nicholas agreed, feeling his Hunger turn more demanding
                   than ever.  His Beast, he realized, warring with the human infection.

                   He could lick this!  Mortals by and large were but fodder, with rare
                   exceptions... like that Joan woman from France.  And maybe that little nun.
                   And of course Fleur and his dear Maman.  But nobody else!

                   Surely?

                   Shaking his head to will the confusion away, Nicholas flew to join his sire
                   on their hunt, the full moon's light reflecting in his hair.

                   While in the middle of the maze, a dark patch of shadow bewailed its loss.
                   =====================
                   Finis

                   I didn't originally plan on the griffin to become a sort of Dark LaCroix
                   with wings---I like griffins!---but you know how the fanfic muses are.

                   Please let me know what you think of my first 'serious thriller'.