Chapter One

August 2001

Baby looked at her doctor in disbelief. "There ain't no way in hell I'm pregnant!" She couldn't blink; she couldn't breathe. Her face was red and she was very obviously upset. It was as if she had been hit by an eighteen-wheeler speeding down the freeway. She was gobsmacked.

"I had hoped this would be good news." The doctor paused, Baby looking at her with a 'You're shitting me' kind of expression. "Well, perhaps not. Either way, all tests are positive, so congratulations are in order."

Baby still hadn't breathed, but the doctor continued in her business-like manner, "Here is a prescription for prenatal vitamins and I want you to make a return appointment in six weeks. We'll schedule other prenatal tests at that time and arrange for you to have a specialist since you are...," she checked the chart, an eyebrow lifted in surprise, "um, substantially over 35." She held out the prescription to Baby, feeling awkward with how long it dangled in the air like so much unwanted rubbish. Feeling rushed, Dr. Elizabeth Childers set the prescription on the counter and left quietly, leaving Baby staring off into space.

Baby finally began to breathe and mechanically got dressed, picking up the prescription and shoving it into the pocket of her jeans before exiting the office. She stopped at the counter, made the appointment, then passed out cold in the waiting room.

***************

Baby awoke to Claudia's concerned expression, her lover's childe holding a cool cloth to her head while a nurse checked her vital signs. She shoved everyone away with surprising strength and sat up.

"I'm fine." She stood up solidly. "Will you stop with the hovering?"

Claudia waved the others away and stood nearby just in case. She didn't know what was wrong with Baby, but she knew that her mother did not want to give even the slightest impression of weakness.

"Let's get out of here," Baby spat. She almost ran from the clinic.

Neither woman spoke as they drove back to the warehouse that was their temporary home; they didn't even listen to music. Claudia waited for Baby to make the first move, not wanting to intrude on whatever she was dealing with. About four blocks from home, Baby asked her to stop the car. "I need to walk."

"Are you sure you're okay? Do you want me to come with..."

Baby cut her off. "No! Really, I'm fine. I just need to walk."

When Claudia arrived alone at the warehouse, Spike was standing just inside the front door. He had obviously been pacing. Before he could jump to conclusions, she explained that Baby wanted to take a walk, then she tried to settle him down some. They went into the makeshift kitchen for tea. It amused her that the Big Bad was always up for a cuppa tea when he was stressed and worried. He quizzed her on what was wrong. Claudia replied truthfully that she didn't know, but explained that Baby seemed okay and just needed some alone time. In the busy household, that was understandable; humans could feel claustrophobic sometimes, even around those they loved.

Spike accepted everything she said, but still glanced toward the entryway every five minutes just to see if his love had returned, as if he couldn't hear or feel her walking up the sidewalk. He wanted to go find her, he didn't like her being out alone after dark and he was a bit miffed at his daughter for letting Baby talk her into this. No matter what Claudia had said, he knew something was wrong.

****************

She was absolutely baffled. It just wasn't possible that at 44 she could be pregnant, particularly considering her husband was a vampire. Vampires couldn't have children; their seed was dead.

She walked for close to an hour before she realized she had gotten herself into the cemetery. Alone. At night. "Shit, girl, what are you thinking?" she chided herself. She whirled around and headed back toward the warehouse and ran right into an obviously hungry fledgling. He growled. She froze. He growled again. She growled back. He tilted his head to one side, completely confused. A human woman? Growling like a vampire? Before he could regroup for his attack and feed, he dissolved right before her. As the dust settled, a raven-haired man was revealed, still holding a stake menacingly in his hand, the flush of the kill still on his face.

"René!" Baby threw herself into his arms, hugging him tightly. "Your timing is impeccable, how did you know?"

He answered her question with a question, "Miss Baby, what you doin' in the cemetery alone at night?"

"Oh René, I wasn't paying attention and just wandered over here. Damned good thing you were here to save my sorry... oh, hello Jean Claude." She hadn't noticed his brother standing next to him, his hand on René's shoulder. He nodded to Baby, then turned his attention back to his just-past-fledgling-stage brother.

"Good job, René. That's exactly right. You don't have to warn them, certainly not when they are attacking, and you don't have to explain to them what they're doing wrong. They won't understand. They are vicious, animalistic, and would just as soon kill you as look at you. And he'd have killed Baby in the next three seconds if you hadn't moved as quickly as you did."

René looked a bit puzzled, as if he were trying to figure out some mystery.

"It's okay, I know it's confusing, but you have to understand; they are not like us. They don't have the likes of Spike and Baby here to guide them and keep them from the dark places and the killing of innocents. We're lucky, we are." He smiled at Baby, then wrapped a protective arm around her. "We need to get you back home. The Master'll be worried."

Without another word, she headed back toward the warehouse, the strong yet gentle arms of her new sons around her.

She hadn't believed it could be this wonderful. It was a rushed decision when Spike began making childer for them, rescuing Jean Claude as they had, making the decision to turn him rather than see him die at the hands of a criminal. It had been a good decision and spawned the turning of René, who, aside from Spike, was the most beautiful man Baby had ever seen in her life. He was like a Renaissance painting, perfect and striking and difficult to look away from. Baby had caught herself staring at him more than once. It had amused Spike to catch her himself, gazing into those teal-colored eyes. Spike himself had been affected by the sheer attractiveness of the man. They were both more than pleased when René had turned easily and adapted quickly to his new role and his new way of existence.

Baby leaned her head into René's shoulder as they walked, holding both men as tightly as they held onto her all the way back to the warehouse.

********************

"What were you thinking??" Spike's voice was edgy and tinged with fear. If something had happened to her, he didn't know what he would do. She was so much a part of his life and his heart already that he didn't even want to think about life without her, or unlife without her. He held onto her so tightly she could scarcely breathe and finally had to push away from him a little to gasp for breath.

"I...I'm sorry. I just wasn't thinking. I needed to walk and to think about ... well ... things, and the next thing I knew I was..." He enveloped her in another bone-crushing hug before she could even finish. The crystal blue of his eyes flashed at René and Jean Claude. Gratefulness shone from him like a light in the darkness. His sons had saved his love. If he needed any confirmation that beginning their family had been a good idea, their actions tonight had proved that it was indeed the right thing to do. His smile was for them alone as he held tightly to the now-trembling woman in his arms. With a nod from him, they disappeared.

Spike scooped Baby up into his arms and easily carried her up to the loft that served as their bedroom. The place had really taken shape over the last few months, but he knew that soon they'd be forced to move into a proper house. He wanted it that way. He wanted it for her.

As he settled her onto the bed, he looked lovingly into her eyes. "Luv, don't ever do that again, okay? I don't even want to ... " He stopped, curiosity creasing between his eyes as he tilted his head to one side. Then he withdrew from her, standing over her, evaluating her with an intense expression that almost scared her. As if ... he knew. She felt her cheeks go red, burning her face then spreading down her neck and onto her chest. He knew. He was trying to figure it out, but he knew. Damn those vampire senses. She had wanted to discover how it happened before he even knew it had. Damn.

Their eyes met in understanding and Spike stiffened. Suddenly he couldn't even look at her, turning his back to her as if her eyes held the most hideous betrayal imaginable. She sank into the bed, trembling. Minutes passed as if they were hours, with no sign or acknowledgement from Spike and hardly more than a few breaths from Baby. She was suddenly terrified. Terrified that he would leave her, that he would think she had been with someone else and allowed, or even wanted, this to happen.

Without facing her, he finally spoke, his voice hard and cold. "Whose is it?"

"What?!" She didn't believe he was really asking this. Of course she hadn't been with anyone else but him. How could he think otherwise? There had been no one but him since the moment she arrived in Sunnydale, how could he possibly think she could ever be with another man after being with him.

He turned toward her, his eyes suddenly an icy blue that almost froze her heart. "Who has touched you? Who has been with you? It's not a difficult question." The weight of his sarcasm was too much to bear. Tears formed in her eyes, even though she willed them not to.

"No one. No one, Spike. How could I ever be with anyone else?" Her voice was small and fragile, as if making it any louder would cause her to shatter entirely. She didn't know what to do; she didn't know what to say. She just sat there on their bed, silently shaking her head and trembling.

His expression melted into compassion. He could tell from one look at her that she'd been with no other but him. He knew it in his heart even before his mind caught on. She was his. The mark on her neck, the ring on her hand said it loud and clear to the world. She was his. Her reaction, her confusion, and the pain she felt inside that he could both see and feel announced to him that there had been no other for her but him. He sat down next to her, taking her hands in his, caressing her palms with his thumbs. Tears began to splash on their intertwined hands.

"Shhhhhh, Baby, don't cry," he cooed at her. "We'll figure it out. Don't cry, dove; it's okay."

In another part of the cavernous warehouse Jean Claude relaxed. He'd sensed the other presence as well, but he wasn't sure what it had meant at the time and had planned to ask Spike about it later. Now the truth was revealed. The problem was, what truth? What did this mean and how did it happen?

René touched him on the shoulder, startling him. "What's wrong, Brother?" René was still shaking from the emotion running through the place. He was still sensitive to it. It lessened each day, but any time there was an emotional upheaval of some kind in their family, he could feel it as if it were happening to him. He had spent the last few minutes feeling alone and betrayed and worried, and he had no idea why or how.

"It's all right, René." Jean Claude's voice was soothing. "Daddy had a scare is all. It's okay now. Let's go out." He knew it would be best for René to get some distance from what was happening, and it was obvious Baby and Spike needed privacy. Grabbing Claudia on the way, they headed out into the night to rescue and to feed and to get far away from the unspoken announcement their parents had for them.

Chapter Two

"Wes, I have a mystery for you to solve. Have your books handy?" Spike leaned against the wall of the building as he spoke into the payphone around the corner from their warehouse flat. He'd had little difficulty sneaking out. Baby was exhausted both physically and emotionally. If memory served him, she would be exhausted for quite some time. He had taken the chance to begin the research of how this had happened. He wanted to be happy about it. Baby having a baby ... what he hoped would be HIS baby, though sensibility told him that was just not possible.

"Always. What can I do for you, Spike?" Wes was uncharacteristically cheerful. Things must be dreadfully dull in Los Angeles.

"This is just between us, mate." Spike was firm.

"I understand. What's happened?"

Spike began explaining the situation, their confusion, and wondered if there was any way this could really have happened or if ... he didn't want to think about the what if. If Baby had lied to him, if all this time she had been sleeping with a human behind his back, he didn't know what he would do. He couldn't even think about it.

Wes had three texts open on his desk within seconds, finding the entire affair fascinating. Spike reminded him that that wasn't exactly the word he'd have preferred he use.

"Oh, my apologies. I only meant there are no records of something like this happening, only hypotheticals and theories. It's rather exciting to research."

Spike could hear pages being leafed through quickly alongside grunts of displeasure and the occasional ring of, "Hmmmmm." He was losing patience quickly.

"Wes? Could you hurry this up, mate? I don't want the nipper to be born before we know how he came about."

"He? Are you sure it's a he?" Wes could hardly contain his enthusiasm.

"No, mate, just an expression. I didn't think to ... well ... no, I don't know. What have you found?" There was that impatience again.

"Ahhhhhhhhh, maybe this will.... Spike?"

"What???" He was downright testy now.

"Spike, Angel says you have been making childer there in New Orleans."

"Yes, but I fail to see what that has to..."

Wes cut him off. "Are you, well, are you following the usual traditions? I mean to say, are you..."

"Oh! Well, yes. If there's one thing Angelus taught me well, it was how to bond properly with a fledgling, only I skip his favorite parts, the torture, torment, humiliation, and emotional whipping." Bitterness rang plainly in his tone. "Why?"

"Well, it seems, um . . ." Spike could almost hear the former Watcher blush.

"What??? Just tell me! Jesus! Mother of God, Wes!"

"Well, does Baby join you in these sessions?"

Spike was stunned. "Well, yes. I mean, she's their mama; she is a part of everything. First thing I teach them is to love and protect her, and when we ... join and feed, yes, she is with us, though obviously she doesn't feed, still she.... " He wasn't quite getting it and that made him even more anxious. "What are you saying, Wes? Jesus! Just spit it out!"

Wes took a long, deep breath, then tried to sound as clinical and detached as he could. "Spike, sperm can live inside a body for several days after death. If, if you, if she, if you all joined in that way shortly after a childe's making, it's possible that..."

"Jesus Christ!" Spike stared at the receiver, speechless for a few moments.

"Spike? Spike??" came the concerned voice from the other end.

When he spoke, it was slowly and deliberately, "Are you telling me that Baby is pregnant by one of our childer?"

"Yes, I am." Wes was a little hesitant. "It seems the most logical explanation, outside infidelity, which you have dismissed as not possible. It is most likely the most recently made, since you and Baby both would have noticed signs of this sooner."

Silence fell between them for a good long while before Spike finally spoke again, his voice brittle. "Uh, thank you, Wes. Thanks for your help." He hung up and slowly began walking back to the warehouse.

On the other end of the phone, Wesley Wyndham-Pryce stared at the receiver now loudly proclaiming that the other end of the call had terminated.

"What's up, Wes?" Cordelia looked at him with concern. His eyes met hers with an odd mixture of wonder and disbelief.

"You're not going to believe this."

***********************

When Baby awoke, she felt warm and safe and protected in her husband's arms. She never knew he had left. Spike held onto her gently, breathing in the scent of her hair as he buried his face in it. She stirred a little more, kissing him lightly on the chest as she nuzzled further into him.

"Mmmmm, you feel so good, so cool," she spoke into him, enjoying the sensation of his breath in her hair and rewarding it with tiny kisses on his skin. He tasted salty, which seemed so inviting right now, and she began licking him, tasting him, sending prickles of pleasure through them both. She began traveling down the slope of his taut stomach, her tongue quickly twisting and twirling in the short, curly hairs of his groin. He settled back with an unneeded sigh and gave himself over to her. She had this incredible ability to make every kiss, every touch of her tongue a delightful mix of love and sex, want and desire ... and he truly loved what she could do when she went down on him.

Her tongue worked its magic, stroking him, swirling around the tip, slipping inside the foreskin and pushing it back to reach the extraordinarily sensitive head inside. He gasped as she used her hand to pull it back completely and wrapped her lips around him, digging her tongue into the little, precum-filled slit. A moan of pleasure escaped her, as if this was the one thing she wanted most in the world, to devour this part of him. She gently began to suck him and move further down his shaft with each pulse, licking beneath her tightened lips and teasing his balls with her fingertips as she pressed on. He tried to hold back, to make it last, but she was too thorough in playing his body and he knew he couldn't hold out much longer.

She stopped abruptly and sat up, looking at him with fear in her eyes. Unannounced, she leaped from the bed and dashed to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

"Bloody Hell," Spike murmured under his breath, as he heard her retch on the other side of the door.

*******************

"Pet? You okay?" It had been quite some time and he had finally gotten up and dressed. A puking wife puts a squelch on a good shag right quick. He rapped on the door lightly. "Baby? You okay, luv?" The sounds of vomiting had stopped, which was good, but she hadn't ventured out of the bathroom yet. When she finally did, she was vampirish pale, wiping her mouth on a bit of tissue and visibly a bit shaky on her feet. Spike lifted her effortlessly into his arms and placed her gently on the bed once more. He was suddenly very aware of how dingy everything was here.

Baby had made quite a home out of the bits and pieces they had found around town, curtains and furniture and appliances and things that made the vast space into a home. Through their creative efforts, the painted walls were more a masterpiece of color and form than flat and gray concrete. More than one wall had likenesses of the Master, his Lady, and the childer. Still, it was less than satisfactory for the Master of New Orleans, and totally unsuitable for his pregnant consort. New arrangements would have to be made.

He looked down at Baby with affection and concern shining in his eyes. She responded with a brave outer appearance, but he could see she was worried and physically miserable, not to mention confused as Hell.

"Spike ... I...."

"Shhhhhh, luv." He placed two fingers on her lips. "Rest some. It doesn't matter. We'll talk about it later."

She pushed herself up on her elbows. "No, we need to talk about it now. I feel better, much better, I promise. And there's no way I could possibly sleep right now, the situation is too ... um ... upsetting?" She turned the last word into a question. She had no idea why Spike was so calm about it, how he couldn't help but doubt her when such a suspicious thing had happened. She felt stronger, now that the offending contents of her stomach had made their hasty exit, and she needed to talk about this and sort it all out, and then decide what to do about it, if anything.

"Okay then." Spike stretched out next to her, his hand unconsciously resting on her abdomen. He settled in for a moment before becoming uncomfortable. He jerked his hand back, then tried to appear casual about it by stroking her arm affectionately.

"Spike?" Nothing escaped her attention. She knew him too well.

"It's okay, dove, I could ... it's ... it's the heartbeat. I could feel it against my hand."

Baby visibly blanched. She hadn't expected to be that far along. She hadn't expected there to be a discernable heartbeat, even to a vampire. Her forehead visibly wrinkled in thought and concern and Spike found himself calming her with cool, languid strokes across it. "It's okay, pet. It'll be okay."

She wanted to sink down into him, drown herself in his embrace and his love and forget all these worrisome, foolish thoughts about babies and pregnancy and how it happened and what she could or should do about it. She wanted ... so many things, but instead she sat up and looked at him incredulously, as if he had uttered the most foolish words of all. It was as if she was outside herself watching a silly woman make a fuss about nothing, but she couldn't stop herself.

"What are you talking about? Okay? You think this is okay? You think everything will be okay? How in Hell is that possible? There is nothing okay about this. By no stretch of even your vampire imagination could there be anything about this that could be described as okay! OKAY??"

Spike froze. Apparently trying to reassure and comfort her was a bad idea, though he was lost as to why. He wanted to sink into the bed and disappear entirely, scolding himself for upsetting her, and still not really sure what it was about what he said which set her off. But for whatever reason, set off she was, and there didn't appear to be a damned thing he could do about it now. He felt every move he made or every word he spoke would cause further explosion. He couldn't leave, that would no doubt be interpreted as abandoning her; he couldn't really stay either, feeling he was an irritant here in her face. So he remained where he was, frozen and fearful, something which certainly didn't usually describe the Master of New Orleans.

Baby saw his shocked expression and dissolved into tears, her shoulders and chest heaving before Spike could even get to her and envelop her once again. "I don't know what's wrong with me. It's not your fault; why am I yelling at you? It's just.... It's just ... dammit, I don't know what's wrong."

He dared to speak. "I do," he murmured quietly.

Tear-streaked eyes turned to him, melting his heart for the thousandth time and reminding him that there was nothing he wouldn't do for this woman. He was so entirely hers that it would take a thousand unplanned pregnancies to drive him away ... though he realized that was a rather odd way to think of that.

"I know what's wrong." He kissed the tears from the outside corners of her eyes, letting their saltiness linger on his tongue as he whispered softly. "You're pregnant." There, he'd said it. The words hadn't been spoken out loud yet, not by her, and not by him, but there they were, hanging in the room between them as an explanation of what was changing around them that they couldn't control. "Things are different, changing, and it's overwhelming for me; I can't even imagine how much more unsettling it must be for you." He continued stroking her and kissing her lightly, feeling each touch relax her a little more, taking away the fears and worries and confusion which seemed to shroud her.

"But how, Spike? How is this possible? You know I haven't gone outside our family, right? You know that, right?" She was suddenly insecure. Perhaps he did doubt her; perhaps this was all a ruse to get her to confess to something she hadn't even done. It was diabolical and manipulative ... and so totally not Spike-like. She started to relax again. All it had taken was his soft, reassuring smile, and the cool brush of his lips across hers. No. There was no doubt from him.

"I know how it happened and I know whose child it is." He said it casually, as if he were reading the last page of a mystery novel and he had known the criminal all along.

Baby looked at him in disbelief. "Would you care to enlighten me?" There was almost a little hint of that familiar sarcasm to her remark. It made him smile outright and lean away from her so that he could look into her eyes and she could see into his.

"It's René's."

"What??!" She was stunned. "No, Spike, that's not possible, it just isn't! He's a vampire, like you, and there's no way he could, I mean, I know we have been together, in those moments when you bring us all together and you insist that the childer love me. And they do." A little surprise thrill ran through her smile then. "They do so love me, all of them, but I don't see how it's possible. They are vampires. It's just not...." He shut her up with a kiss, deep and penetrating and seductive and oddly calming. When she'd settled down a bit, he began the explanation, he told her what Wesley had found out and how all this was possible. Because of the timing involved, he was sure it was René's, and after his thorough explanation, so was Baby.

"Besides," he said casually with the last confirmation, "you've not bled since René was turned." Baby tilted her head curiously, causing Spike to stifle a tiny laugh. "Baby, pet, just because you try to hide it from me sometimes, doesn't mean I don't notice when you're bleeding. Cor, it's so damned intoxicating it makes my head swim every time I'm around you then, even across the room. But, you've not had one since René came to be with us. I should have realized. I should have known." He stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers.

"How could you when I didn't even know, Spike?" She went away in reflection for a moment, then came back. "What on earth are we going to do?"

Spike grinned like a child on Christmas morning, his eyes sparkling in a way she had never seen and absolute joy leaping from him like sparks. "We're gonna have a baby." And just like that, it was decided, and there was happiness and joy and lovemaking well into the next day ... alone, just the two of them... and the unseen third.

Chapter Three

Baby sat in the garden just past dusk, staring at her reflection in the small pool surrounded with lush greenery and foliage. Things had moved quickly for them in the week since she had been to the doctor. Spike, refusing to have the baby be born in a warehouse, set about getting them into a proper house. And what a house it was! Baby had been stunned at not only how quickly it had been found, but how quickly they had settled into the new place. It was beautiful and lush, an intimate, inviting place with trees and shrubs, peppered with a fountain and small pool, a brick pathway and a few secluded benches. She had loved it the moment she saw it. When she expressed that to Spike, he presented her with the keys, having already obtained it, knowing that it was the perfect home for the Master of New Orleans and his Pride. Baby had been overwhelmed. Again.

As she curled up on her favorite bench, her mind drifted to the life moving about inside her. Odd that she hadn't noticed it sooner. She found that, now that she knew of the child, she was suddenly acutely aware of its presence in her body and in her mind, as if she could speak with it and it with her. She was lost in thought and sensation when René joined her. Not wanting to startle her, he stood silently until she acknowledged him with an almost shy smile.

"René ... " She couldn't help but smile at the beautiful childe Spike had created for them, another incredible and valuable member of their ever-growing family. He was by far her favorite addition so far. His ocean blue-green eyes seemed to look straight into her soul and perch there, absorbing her and radiating love for her all at the same time. There was an odd sadness to him, more hidden and seemingly deeper than the pain Jean Claude still nursed at the loss of his family. Still, Jean Claude had been known to go watch his wife and children and see to their safety from afar. He found great comfort in that, yet René found no comfort anywhere, as if he had no family prior to his new life with their Pride. Yet that silent sadness still seemed to permeate him.

Her smile warmed him like the sun he still missed so much. He basked in it, letting her fill him with her own brand of Baby sunshine, a shower of UV rays that anchored him and made him feel whole and an important part of his new family. The situation, however, obviously made him more than a little uncomfortable.

"Excusez-moi, Maman." He lowered his eyes, realizing that speaking to her was more difficult than he had thought it would be. He couldn't bear to look at her now, he was too embarrassed and she looked far too glorious for him to even so much as glance at without gasping. He pushed at a loose stone with his foot, causing a scraping sound that filled his awkward silence while he gathered his thoughts.

"What is it, René?" Baby tried to lower her head enough to see his features. She could feel how uncomfortable he was, but she so enjoyed looking at him and she wanted him to feel he could come talk to her about anything.

"It's P-Papa, Maman," he stammered a little. He reminded Baby of a 13-year-old boy worried about confessing to some wrongdoing. "Papa, he ... he told me what happened, Maman. About ..."

Baby's eyes grew wide as her face flushed a deep crimson. "Oh. Uh, René, I didn't realize he was going to tell you so soon. I thought, well, I thought we would tell you together before we told anyone else and ... "

René fell to his knees, his hands clasped tightly in his lap, sorrow and regret bleeding out from him like a wounded animal. "I'm so sorry, Maman, I, I didn't mean to, I mean, I didn't ... Je n'ai pas voulu dire pour le faire, il étais un accident, je suis si désolé, je suis si désolé, s'il vous plait pardonnez-moi...." Unintelligible French came pouring from him, a fountain of remorse aimed at her and the situation. She looked down at him with a strange, maternal calm, stroking his hair and cooing softly to him. She had no idea what he was saying, but she knew he felt awful for it.

"Shhhhh, René, no, no, my sweet René, it's okay, really, I'm okay, shhhhhh." After a few moments of petting and her soothing words, he began to calm down. She traced his chiseled jawline with her fingertips, lifting on his chin, forcing him to look up at her. Her eyes settled on his, the rich color washing over her like calm waves on the shore. She felt a rush of emotion that caused tears to form in her eyes, not yet spilling over, but it took all of her strength to hold them inside. He tensed beneath her touch, seeing her eyes about to overflow.

Not wanting him to see her tears and feel worse, Baby placed his head in her lap, softly stroking his deep ebony hair as a liturgy of apology tumbled from his lips, jumbled and tragic and in French. "Je suis désolé, Maman, je n'ai pas su ceci me produirais, un bébé, comment peux je faire un bébé quand je suis mort, mais Papa l'a indiqué était moi qui l'a fait et je ne comprends pas, mais s'il vous plait ne m'envoie pas loin, Maman, je suis si désolé, je ne le fera pas encore."

"Shhhhh, René, it's okay, shhhhhhhh."

Spike quietly joined them, a slight smile turning on his lips. "He doesn't understand, dove; for some reason he thinks this is a bad thing."

Baby looked down at the beautiful man, his sobs cooling the folds of her skirt, then turned her eyes up toward her husband again. She shook her head pitifully, "No, my Spike, he doesn't understand, but we will let him know, won't we? We'll tell him how happy this makes us both, how much it will mean to our family? Won't we?"

René turned his face up toward her, confusion registering on his handsome features. Both Baby and Spike were smiling down at him with love and affection and, oddly enough, gratitude.

"René," Spike said gently, "I tried to tell you before, this is good. No one is unhappy about this, in fact, we're thrilled. It makes our family even more a family."

"But cher Papa, you are not angry? Baby, I mean, Maman, having a baby that is from me? This does not make you angry?" The poor boy was so confused. He hadn't been a vampire very long yet and didn't quite understand the family dynamics of bonding or the importance of sexual contact amongst them all. Though a pregnancy of this kind was definitely unusual, there was documentation of it happening before and these were certainly unusual circumstances to be sure. Spike struggled with some way to reassure René that not only was he not angry, that he really liked the idea. Baby found a way.

With gentle hands she guided René's lips to her own, both drinking him in and bestowing him with love and appreciation for what he had unintentionally given to her ... the chance to be a mother again, to carry life within her own body, give birth to it and nurture it and be what she had once been long ago, full with the joy of motherhood, the ecstasy of holding a precious life in her arms again, to feel it suckle at her breasts and know that this life came from her and came from love. She parted her lips, inviting him into her mouth. He tentatively entered, even more nervous under the watchful eye of his sire and unsure what his place should be here, but enticed and welcomed by the warm, inviting lips of the woman who now carried his child. René gave himself over to her and to the moment, confidence and reassurance embracing him just as his sire did. Spike, his arms around both his wife and his childe, pulled the three of them together in bone-crushing joy, a completion of their joining and his validation that the baby would be accepted as his.

Spike's lips interceded after a few moments as he tasted and licked the hungry lips of his wife. René withdrew slightly, but Spike held fast to him, not letting him leave, wanting him to be a part of this, wanting his childe, his son, to feel the belonging that being a part, a full part, of this family would mean. So far René was still learning the way of things, the way the Pride hunted and why, the general rules of how vampire families lived, and how to be respectful to his sire and protective of Baby. Spike, of course, had demanded first and foremost with all the children that they love and protect Baby. That was his first command of them, and it became the main purpose of their unlife to obey that command above all else. René had learned these lessons well, Jean Claude saw to that, ever the dutiful older brother, but René was not sure how he fit in now, now that Baby was with child, with HIS child.

As they remained there, Baby seated, René kneeling and Spike leaning over them both, the warmth and passion they each felt began to blossom like the night-blooming jasmine which surrounded the pond, fragrant and sweet and compelling. Baby's lips sought René's as her fingers intertwined in the blonde curls of her husband's hair. Spike pulled René in closer, nuzzling his childe's neck, licking his mark, sending shivers through René. It was an exhilarating sensation in itself, but even more so because it flashed the young vampire's mind back to the moment of his making, of his sire, of Baby holding him as the last of his life drained away and his new, immortal life began. He moaned audibly, prompting Baby to deepen her kiss, both her hands now touching and exploring his body just as Spike's hands began to explore hers. René fell into the vortex of their love, for each other and for him, his own hands, seemingly not his, touching and caressing both Baby and Spike, making the circle complete.

Slowly the trio sank onto the damp earth, the sound of crickets mingling with their sighs and moans of excitement. The stars acted as a blanket, showering them with the shimmering light and reflection of long-extinguished suns, making the pond sparkle like a silvery pool of moonlight. Lips moved away from lips and onto skin, buttons were unfastened, clothing shed until the three contrasting figures lay naked to the sky and each other. All had pale skin: Baby's was natural, the two men glowed with the pale complexion of bodies that no longer could be kissed by the sun. René's skin still had that olive hue which made him so exotic in appearance. The starlight made his eyes an even more piercing color, more like teal, as they reflected back at Spike and Baby. A soft, gentle hand appeared from nowhere, twirling fingertips in the plentiful crop of hair that spread across the expanse of his muscular chest. René gasped. He had never felt anything as wonderful as Baby's gentle touch, until the lips of his sire met his own. A low, satisfied growl vibrated through Spike's chest, spreading its resonance into René's as the sire stretched his full body next to that of his childe. Baby made it complete, straddling René's hips before laying down atop his chest, one hardened nipple pressing into him as the other was captured by the roving, hungry mouth of his sire.

René whimpered slightly when Spike's lips left his, prompting Baby to replace them with her own, once more finding a cool, welcoming home. René himself could hardly move; he didn't really want to. His arms were outstretched and wrapped around whichever body they encountered, holding the three of them together as their bodies and their mouths spoke of love and devotion and belonging. The constant thumping of Baby's heart against René's chest made him feel almost alive himself, the sensations he was experiencing reminding him that he was very far away from being dead. He was both devouring and being devoured as their hands and lips continued their explorations, the ever-present heat of Baby's sex a haunting temptation across his now-hard and eager cock. He moaned again, lost in the moment and lost in the two of them.

Baby felt Spike smile across the skin of her breast that in turn spread to her and from there to René. Their lips parted and the three of them gazed from one to the other, a meeting of eyes and hearts, both beating and not beating, and the smell of arousal so intoxicating that anyone entering the garden might pass out themselves.

Baby's heart sped up and with it her breathing. Spike and René joined in, though their breath was unneeded, their caresses and kisses becoming more frenetic and urgent.

Without warning René froze, his eyes flying wide in surprise. Grasping Baby by the shoulders he pushed her upright, her knees still hugging his ribs tightly, a look of confusion on her features. Spike pulled away as well, concerned for René, though at the moment more frustrated that their exchange had come to a screeching halt. René looked into Baby's eyes, his mouth unable to form words. He turned to Spike, still unable to speak, though his lips were moving and the wonder in his eyes almost knocked Spike over. The sire, catching on, gave his son a gentle smile and nodded.

"I ... I can hear it." Every syllable was wrapped in astonishment.

Spike nodded, his smile growing almost playful. "Yes, René, you can."

"I didn't know what it was at first but ... " His eyes turned back to Baby, joy replacing confusion. "I hear it, Maman, I can hear it."

Now it was her turn to look confused, until René's tentative hand waved across her waist and settled onto her stomach, where he placed it gently, palm against skin, fingers spread as if he were trying to feel as much of her beneath his hand as possible. Then it dawned on her. Her glistening eyes turned to Spike, a smile playing on her lips as well, then back to René. "The baby? You can hear the baby?"

"Yes, Maman." His voice was still like that of an excited child. "Yes, I can. It is faster, quieter, but I can hear it. It's ... it's ... merveilleux." He favored them with the most dazzling smile either of them had ever seen, pure joy, pure happiness framed in dark hair and eyes like the Mediterranean. Baby found herself hoping the child would have René's eyes and dark hair.

She turned a playful smile toward Spike, even as she spoke to René, "Wait until you FEEL it, sweet, sweet René." She pressed her lips to his again and shifted her body just enough so that René's hardness slipped inside her. Moving down onto him at a torturously slow pace, when she had taken in his full length, she remained there, her lips straining to remain linked to his, but her slight build not being quite tall enough to accommodate. Spike took over, covering Baby's lips with his own as his hand traced the muscles and curves of René's chest.

Rene gasped yet again. "Yes! Maman! I feel it ... it's amazing, I ... Mon Dieu ... it's-" Spike shifted again, his lips cutting off the words as one hand made its way down René's abdomen to the point where Baby's body engulfed his childe's. Soft fingertips searched their union, tracing the very wet folds of his wife that fully embraced René. Spike slipped his entire hand around the hilt of René's shaft, letting his thumb gently caress Baby's clit for just a moment, before squeezing ever-so-slightly on René. His lips moved across his son's cheek, leaving a trail of kisses until he settled near his ear. "This is a gift, my son, a gratitude for what you have given us, a privilege only to be enjoyed with me in attendance." Spike sucked on his earlobe for a moment, making René gasp yet again, before adding, "Do you understand?"

René responded with a low breathlessness that Baby could not hear, "Oui, cher Papa, je tu comprends. Merci, merci Papa."

Spike's voice took on a darker tone now, "Tres bien, René, parce que le jour où je trouve toi ici sans moi serez votre durez." René's eyes went wide, a shadow of fear crossing his features. Spike's French was flawless, his message even more so .... the day Spike found them together without him would be René's last day.

"Oui, Papa, je tu comprends .... jamais, jamais sans toi." René shivered at the thought.

Spike's mouth covered René's again as he slipped one leg across his childe's chest, straddling him in front of Baby. Her arms were instantly around Spike's waist, her hands skillfully making their way to Spike's hard and eager cock, as she began to raise and lower over René .... pulling him deeply into her, then lifting until he was almost entirely out before slowly engulfing him yet again. Master and childe continued their kiss, Spike's back arched upward like a cat in the tight space while Baby handled him expertly and his tongue explored his childe's mouth. The three of them moved together with such passion and strength and understanding, it seemed like a brief moment before the trio cried out together in release ... their full joining splitting the cool night air, making even the stars shiver in reply.

Chapter Four

The weeks that followed brought a flurry of activity and anticipation as the household began preparations for the arrival of a new life. A room was prepared, furniture acquired. And there was a great deal of discussion amongst the family as to how the baby would be treated, how the child would fit into the family, who would act as parents, and what safety procedures should be taken should anyone notice the child begin to smell like food rather than as a part of the Pride. Vampirism aside, it was a normal home excited to be welcoming a new addition.

Baby withdrew slightly. She spent time reading in the garden when she wasn't sleeping. Her usual sleep patterns, already disturbed from living with vampires, took on an even more odd pattern. She slept any time she needed to, day or night. The garden became her favorite place. It was quiet and she could be left to her thoughts and books, and it had the extra bonus of being far enough away that she didn't feel foolish talking to her unborn child. Unconsciously she knew that Spike could probably hear her a mile away, but she felt more comfortable having her seemingly one-sided conversations out of direct eye-shot and ear-shot.

Spike was a doting father already. It had been decided that as head of the household, he would be considered the child's father. René understood and accepted that decision. He had not been excluded from the discussion, so he felt a part of the final outcome; however, he suffered a twinge of regret. He had no children of his own and this was his only opportunity to be a father. But considering the vampire-human hybrid culture they were developing on their own, it would be too confusing for the child, and for outsiders, to understand a fledgling acting as father to the newborn. And being the father to the child of the Master's wife could cause a seniority problem amongst the childer. Jean Claude usually spoke for the childer and took the position as "first born" or first made. To declare René as father to the Consort's child would displace Jean Claude and put the birth order of the childer in turmoil, elevating René when he was still himself little more than a fledgling. That alone would be difficult, but to equate it to human standards, allowing René to act as father would be tantamount to him being declared Baby's mate, something which absolutely would not be tolerated when she was already the Consort of William the Bloody. The only solution was for René to step aside. It would hurt, he knew. It would hurt much more than he would ever let on to any of the others, but he would do it for the sake of his love for Spike and the Pride ... and Baby.

*****************

It happened again. Baby had been reading a book on the history of New Orleans she'd picked up at the library, and she'd fallen asleep in the sun again. She enjoyed getting out more lately, heading out into the city during the daylight to explore and find treasures of history, antiques, and books. The library had been like finding a gold mine, and she stocked up whenever she could. Spike grumbled about her going out alone, but she assured him she was quite safe, particularly during the day, and she would always be sure to let him know when she was leaving and when she returned, even if he was asleep. However, this time it was she who was asleep, stretched out on her favorite bench, her legs draped casually over the arm, the book she was reading resting on her chest.

René stood in the shadow and shade of the gallery that ran around the entire inner perimeter of the house. He watched from afar, knowing she was sleeping, the gentle rise and fall of the book on her chest giving her away. He could tell from the pink hue to her skin that she'd been out in the sunlight too long and he had tried to call to her quietly so as not to wake any of the others. His whisper was, unfortunately, inaudible to her human ears, but he was afraid to call to her any louder for fear the others would awaken and join him, ruining his moment alone with Baby, even though she didn't even know he was there.

He continued to watch her, his own sensitive hearing able to hear the tiny heartbeat inside her even from this distance. He couldn't control the smile that crept across his features. His child, she was carrying his child. Baby, his "maman," the woman his sire insisted he love and protect above all others, was going to have a baby, his baby. It was like a miracle to him. Actually, in human terms, it was a miracle. He, René Beaumont, who was dead and buried, mourned by his human family, no doubt avenged by them as well, theoretically resting in peace six feet under the earth, was going to be a father. Sometimes just the thought of it filled him up so completely that he thought he would burst wide open with joy. Then he would see his sire and Baby together and feel his unbeating heart squeeze so tightly he thought it would shatter completely. As much as he loved them both, it was hard for him to see them together all the time, knowing that what they had he had never had and never would have.

René had always had plenty of women around him, fawning over him, seducing him, from the time he was about thirteen. His tante called him Le Beau Garcon, "the beautiful boy," from the moment he was born, and he had been a beautiful child. However, once he hit puberty, he blossomed into one of the most handsome young men in South Louisiana. Girls and women flocked to him and he always responded to them, usually flirtatiously. It took little more than a wink from him to make a Southern girl all swoony and light-headed around him. Between his staggering good looks and his family connections he was the ultimate "catch" in his part of the world. He was somewhat quiet, but clever, and he had a hidden sense of humor that took people by surprise, playful and self-assured. He had all the best qualities a man of Cajun upbringing should have in addition to the most handsome face imaginable and a slim yet muscular build. When he had died, no doubt, most of the jeunes filles of Acadia, and possibly the whole of Louisiana, mourned.

Now, things were very different. He hadn't quite found his place in the family yet. He still felt confident and secure inside, but learning the rules of vampire culture had been difficult, particularly the required respect and deference to his sire. He loved Spike, there was no doubt of that, but he was simply not used to deferring to anyone else. It rather rubbed the wrong way. He played the dutiful son, as Jean Claude had taught him, and kept his confidence hidden. It was just safer this way until he could discern exactly how he fit into his new family. It was sometimes better to be thought an innocent than to reveal everything at once.

He watched the book on Baby's chest rise and fall a few more times, the sun glistening in her hair, and pink glow of her cheeks. She was so incredibly beautiful to him right now. Granted, he had been instilled with a deep love for her, at his sire's request, but seeing her there, sleeping peacefully with his child growing in her belly, made her ever so much more desirable to him. It was almost more than he could stand. He wanted to spend time alone with her, talk with her, touch her, kiss her, and make love to her for hours on end. He bit his lip hard at that thought. He could think whatever he wanted, dream whatever dreams of her came to him--in sleep or not--but he could never act on those thoughts and dreams. It would mean his death. And probably hers. Spike's whispered threat echoed in his mind for just a moment, a painful punctuation to his treacherous thoughts. He shook his head a little, to clear his mind, before his eyes dwelled on her again.

Her cheeks were moving past pinkish into red. He had to do something, but it was too far and too exposed for him to go to her and wake her, though bursting into flames right now might just be worth getting to touch her for even a moment. Then again, if he did that he'd never get to see her with their child. He looked about the grounds and found some pebbles within shady reach. Gathering a handful, he began tossing them at her, hitting her belly first, her legs, her knees, the book across her chest. He felt like a ten-year-old, tossing stones at the window of a girl he had a crush on. He almost laughed at the image. Finally he resorted to her head, taking careful aim so as to land them into her bountiful red hair rather than bean her on the nose. One-two-three pebbles and she swatted at her hair.

"Baby!" he whispered. She went right back to sleep. He growled low in his chest in frustration. Her eyes flew open. She sat up quickly, her book tumbling to the ground and looked around, startled. A vampire's growl, a recognizable one, could wake her from deep sleep. René was delighted. Baby looked around to find René smiling at her, hidden in the shade of the verandah, ocean blue-green eyes sparkling back at her with such love. She was suddenly stunned by the beauty of this childe, this man who had come to them under the most difficult circumstances, and yet had been able to give her a gift which could never be equaled by anyone, not even Spike.

As they stared into each other's eyes, the baby inside of her leaped. She gave a short, surprised squeal and then burst into laughter, her hands exploring her belly in hopes of feeling it yet again. "René! René! You must come see this!"

Without thinking, he took two running steps down the wood stairway before he realized his hand was on fire and, with a cringe, he retreated once again. Baby, looking somewhat horrified at what she had done, was at his side in seconds.

"Oh, René! I'm so sorry, I was so excited, I forgot. Oh, please forgive me, cher, please!" As she spoke to him, she kissed his hand where it was burned, leaving a trail of moist, warm kisses over his charred flesh. He couldn't even feel the wound ... all he could feel was her, her presence, her lips upon his skin, the change in the air with her so near; her scent, he thought he would pass out from her scent alone. He stumbled a little and Baby moved him quickly to an Adirondack chair, settling herself on the arm, blowing on his hand where it was burned. René didn't think he'd felt anything so wonderful in his entire life, well, except that time in the garden with Spike and Baby, but that was technically his unlife, not his life, so it still applied. He bit his lip. How could his mind ramble like that when she was so near him? Every part of his body was giving her full attention, yet his mind decided to take a vacation? No, he would not allow it.

Her breath on his hand was intoxicating, like angel kisses feathering the tiny, scorched hairs. His mind went completely blank. He could think of nothing but her, feeling her breath, hearing her heartbeat, feeling it so close to his own, and intermingled with it all was the fast, steady thumping of her child. His child. He paused in his thinking for a moment .... their child.

He lifted his eyes from his hand to her eyes, losing himself in the reflected gold of the later afternoon sun. She held his gaze, looking into him, drinking him in. And time stood still. There was only the steady sound of her breathing, the trickle of water in the pond, and the gentle rush of leaves being tossed about in the quiet, warm breeze. He wanted to stay there, in that moment, for all eternity.

Baby herself broke the silence. "Are you okay, cher?"

Cher. She called him cher. When did she begin using that colloquialism? All he could do was nod. His mouth somehow couldn't form the words to respond. This was so not like him. He could charm the bark off a tree, if it were a female anyway. How was it possible he could become so completely speechless around Baby?

"I'm sorry," she continued. "I was so excited I forgot that ... I'm so sorry, René. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Oui, Bébé," he found his voice in her name, but his heart was still lost in her eyes. "Oui, I'm fine. Can't even feel it now."

She smiled. "I have to show you why I called you! Here, let me have your other hand, the unburned one." Without waiting for it, she grabbed his hand and placed it on the swell of her abdomen. Her eyes sparkled up at him, as innocent and as excited at a child's. "Wait just a moment, just wait, I'm sure it will ... THERE!" She almost shouted with glee. "Did you feel it?" René's eyes were suddenly gigantic pools of blue-green excitement. It had moved! The baby had moved beneath his hand, and he had felt it. His child. Moving.

"Bébé! It's ... it's ..." his eyes met hers again, both of them filled with wonder, and they held there, swimming in the knowledge that something they had unintentionally created together was alive and moving and demanding its presence be recognized. He found his voice once again, "Mon Dieu, Bébé, it's, it's," he dove into her eyes again as he finished his thought with an impeccable French lilt and accent to the final word, "exquisite."

Baby's smile grew even more. "It's the first, René; it's the first time I've felt the baby move." Her eyes filled with tears, glistening up into his with such love. "And you were here. You got to feel it, too. Oh, René, you got to feel it, too!" She reached over to him and pressed her lips to his softly, lingering just a moment before moving to his ear, whispering across it, "You were here with me. Thank you, René. Thank you for this wonderful gift." Her lips met his again with a sweetness that made any consequences he might suffer from his sire worth it. His injured hand moved into her hair as he parted his lips and deepened their kiss.

Baby melted into him, opening to him as well, tasting him, wanting him and drowning in the taste of his lips and the feel of his hand in her hair. She felt something stir inside her, not the baby, but the familiar warmth of need and desire welling up, ready to take control of her body. Warm tingles seemed to run down the back of her neck from where René's hand rested; a quiver between her legs announced her arousal to her. He tasted so good, he felt so good. She wanted to crawl into his lap and stay there with his hands and lips on her, soothing her with his cool kisses and gentle touch. She wanted him. She hadn't planned on this. She was so happy with Spike, but she was suddenly overcome with an urgent need for him, for René, her beautiful, Cajun son who had given her a child of her own.

René knew what she was feeling, he could smell it on her, and it made her that much more desirable. His other hand found its way to her waist, circling around and slipping his hand beneath her blouse, cool fingers finding their way up her bare back. He drew tiny circles there, as Baby moaned her approval into his mouth. Spike's warning tried to find its way into his thoughts; he pushed it away. No matter the consequence, this moment was worth it. Even if he were dust within the next ten minutes, it would be worth it, to die with the taste of her on his lips.

He pulled her face closer, his tongue exploring her mouth, hers answering in kind. The hand on her back made its way back around, cupping her breast and gently rolling the puckered nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

Baby thought she was going to faint right there. He was incredible, his touch, his gentleness, his ability to know exactly where to touch her, just how much to give her and just how much to withhold. She wanted to sink onto him in that chair and give herself over to him completely. Her body was wet and eagerly waiting for him to enter her. She reached out herself to touch him, to feel if he wanted her just as much as she wanted him. Her hand met the hard evidence of his arousal and she smiled into his kiss, his name a whisper on her lips, "René...."

"Baby?" Spike's voice echoed through the entryway at the front of the house.

Baby's eyes flew open, her lips still pressed to René's. She pushed away, her face still flush with desire, her eyes both lustful and panicked. René lifted her from the arm of the chair. "It okay, cher. Go." He raised his chin a little and indicated the bench out in the garden. She understood immediately and scampered to where she had been, picking up her book and settling back as she had been before, sunning herself sleepily.

René smiled to himself, watching her. She had understood immediately, as had he, that moving out into the sun would mean more distance from Spike and the opportunity for her to calm down a bit away from his very acute senses. Her face was flushed; but out in the sunshine as she was, it could just as easily be mistaken for sunburn. She took a deep breath and relaxed into her position, turning her head slightly and finally responding to her husband.

"Out here in the garden." The words had barely passed her lips when Spike appeared on the verandah, all smiles and sleepy-eyed.

"Ah, there you are, luv. Getting a bit of sun, eh?"

Baby smiled at Spike with a glow that suddenly made René quiver inside. He wanted that smile to be for him, that heady, take-your-breath-away sort of smile that would make the most horrible day into the most wonderful one. He wanted that smile for himself; he wanted her for himself. And instead he remained, sitting there in the Adirondack chair, watching Baby worship Spike from her bench in the garden.

"Luv? You're toasting out there, why not come over here and let me cool you off." Spike's playful smile seduced her to the shelter of the shady porch, his mouth plundering hers as his arms engulfed her. She was so hot from being in the sun for so long her face was red. "Pet, you have such fair skin, you should be careful not to harm it, okay? Can't have you roasting out there where I can't get to you now, can I?" She gave him an apologetic grin and kissed him soundly. He rubbed against her, pleased to smell arousal on her already and wanting to take her right there. His hands told her what he wanted; one of them slipped between her legs, the other took her hand and rubbed it up the bulge of his jeans.

Baby laughed a little. "Oh you tease! I'm burning up; let me shower and cool down a little." Her eyes sparkled at him, a temptress in every word and movement. René could see her plainly, and she could see him as well, though she didn't dare look at him. Spike never even noticed him, his back fully to René and too enthralled with Baby to notice him anyway.

She ran her hands down his arms, taking his hands in hers. "Come help me?" She chewed at her lower lip and tilted her head to one side, a seductress in the first degree. There was no way he could resist her, nor could any other man, human or vampire. He scooped her up into his arms, her head resting against his neck, her eyes catching René's as they vanished into the house. René held her gaze as long as he could, watching her fade into the darkness inside. Only then did he let out a deliberate breath, sending the anguish he felt out into the now-stagnant air of the garden, leaving him alone with the memory of her on his lips, the scent of her hair in his nostrils, and a heart full of love breaking open for her to lay in any time she wished.

Chapter Five

René sat staring at the bench where Baby had slept until all light had left the sky and starlight began to throw shimmering silver coins into the fountain. He was deliriously happy and absolutely devastated. His heart was full and empty at the same time. She loved him. He felt it in every move she made, every touch of her lips, every breath she breathed into him. She loved him. She carried his child. He loved her. He was miserable beyond words.

"René?" Jean Claude appeared before him with no warning. "René, I've been looking for you. Have you been here all this time?" René could only nod. The lump in his throat wouldn't let him speak. Jean Claude knew immediately something was wrong, but he also knew his brother well enough to know not to ask until René showed some sign of wanting to talk about it.

"Let's go hunting. Claudia is busy; boys' night out." He reached a hand out toward René, who took it almost immediately.

"Oui, Jean Claude, I'd like that." As they left together, Jean Claude put his hand on his brother's shoulder, tilting his head toward him curiously. Something was different yet familiar, a scent maybe, something he couldn't quite identify. Baby. René smelled like Baby. Jean Claude felt a surge of anger building up from his gut. This was bad, very bad. He wanted to confront René about it, but in his brother's current state of mind that seemed a bad idea. Maybe after a good kill he could approach it better.

René was silent and somewhat brooding. They'd have to make an extra effort to find someone particularly vile to kill tonight. And then, Jean Claude thought to himself, he was going to have to have a serious heart-to-heart with his brother.

They vanished into the night, still linked together, yet miles upon miles apart.

*****************

Jean Claude had never seen René so vicious in his kills before. On the one hand, he wanted to believe that the things he had been slowly teaching his younger vampire brother were sinking in and he was finally realizing the power of the gift he had been given in death. On the other hand, he recognized that René was working out issues and frustrations; frustrations that Jean Claude feared had everything to do with Baby. He suddenly hurt for his brother, the anguish and anger plain in every violent move René made, in ever villain he fed from, and in an overall gloom he seemed to carry with him. René didn't just need the kill, he didn't just need to feed; he wanted it. He wanted it all-the violence, the blood, the aggression, the opportunity to rip someone to shreds and feel justified for it.

The two men walked silently together through a seedier part of town, Jean Claude pondering the change in René and wondering whether he should confront him about it or not. It was all beginning to scare Jean more than he wanted to admit.

As they approached a dark alleyway two forms could be seen lurking in the back near a dimly lit wall. Both vampires could see clearly enough that it was a transaction, most likely drugs, possibly weapons. Though it wasn't something they normally approached as a crime worthy of their attention, René turned to pursue them anyway, walking casually so as not to alarm them and talking in a normal tone of voice to Jean Claude. Jean quickly adjusted to keep pace with his brother.

By the time they reached the pair, René was already in full game face, growling menacingly and ready to take them out. Jean Claude put an arresting hand on his arm. "René, no, they're just kids. Look." René's yellow eyes saw that Jean Claude had been right: one was no more than 15, the other no more than 20, the younger handing money to the older. He growled, still wanting to intercede, when Jean Claude quietly redirected him. "Let's just scare them. They need something to discourage them from this, but they can still turn their lives around if motivated properly. Stand down, brother."

René cringed. The last thing he wanted to do was stand down. He could already smell the fear in the boys ahead. He wanted to taste that fear, feel it sliding down his throat, hot and spicy and fulfilling. Jean Claude's hand on him tightened. "Stand down, René; this isn't the time. I'll handle it."

René slipped back into his human face begrudgingly, throwing a low, warning growl at Jean Claude.

The older vampire approached the boys alone, talked to them quietly, though René could still hear the conversation. The older boy pulled a knife, threatening Jean Claude with it. The younger boy--obviously inexperienced--spooked and dropped everything, running down the alley away from René. He watched the boy flee, like a tiger stalking his prey, motionless but in complete control. Once the boy turned the corner, René leaped up to the fire escape and climbed to the top of the building, scouting the edge and watching where the boy ran.

Jean Claude dealt swiftly with the desperate young drug dealer, grabbing the boy's arm, twisting it, breaking it, and folding it painfully behind the boy's back. "I suggest, young man, you find another line of work. If I catch you here again, your penance will be much more severe." The boy whimpered and stuttered, but could get no real words out. "Do you understand?" Jean Claude was commanding and the boy, though frightened, reacted immediately by nodding that he understood. Jean Claude released him at once. "Now, you'd better get that arm looked at. There's a clinic three blocks south of here; they'll take care of you. If they give you any crap, you tell them Jean Claude sent you, and they'll fix you right up." The boy nodded again, turning quickly to go just as Jean Claude grabbed the small bag of marijuana from the boy's other hand. "I'll take this. You won't be needing it." The boy fled without protest.

Once he was gone, Jean Claude looked to the rooftops to find René. He always did like a bird's eye view. Up he went, following the path and scent of his brother, heading to the edge and watching for him, feeling him, searching for his emotions as much as looking for him. René was in bad shape; Jean Claude shivered at the anger and violence he could feel radiating off his brother even without seeing him. Jean's reactions stepped up and he went in direct pursuit, knowing almost instinctively where René was now and feeling René's thrill in the chase as if it were his own. Leaping to the next rooftop, he finally caught sight of René just as he caught the boy. René was in game face once again, baring his teeth and snarling like a predatory animal, ready to strike.

Jean Claude called out to René just as he saw a clawed hand strike across the boy's throat. Blood shot from the boy as if it were shot from a cannon. Jean Claude could smell it, even high atop the building. With a scream of terror echoing the boy's, he sprang from the building to stop René, to help the boy, to stop what was happening. "Nooooooooooooo!!!!!"

The boy, now appearing closer to twelve than fifteen, stood there shakily, swaying back and forth as if little more than a breeze would knock him down. Knock him down into the sleep of Death that Jean knew could not be stopped now. Jean Claude's cry stopped René from striking the final blow, but René stood there watching the boy as his life bled from him. The scent was peppery with fear and sweet with youth, but René couldn't bring himself to take any of it. Something stopped him.

Just as Jean Claude reached them, the boy turned his face up toward René. Pain and sorrow and fear were written all over the boy's face. His eyes, filled with tears, locked with his killer's. René backed away, his features now frozen in fear and regret, vampire features melting away from the fierce inhuman face that had killed the boy into the pitiful visage of a devastated man. He crumbled to the ground. Jean Claude caught the dying boy as he started to fall, sitting on the ground next to René and cradling the boy in his arms. Then he saw what René had seen. The boy's eyes were gold, not the yellowish demon color theirs changed to when they allowed their demon to come forward, but a devastatingly unusual shade of gold that he had only seen once before ... in the eyes of his sire's consort.

He looked sympathetically in the now glazed expression of the dying child. "I'm so sorry, boy. It wasn't supposed to happen like this." He stroked the boy's blood-soaked hair and cheek, trying to be calm and soothing as he felt the boy's life drain from him.

"Don't tell my mama ... don't tell ..." The boy's voice was weak and crumbling, as if each word carried his last breath.

"I won't, son. I promise, your mama will never find out." Jean Claude felt the boy relax and his heartbeat slow even more. The blood from his wounds was only seeping now, there was very little of it left.

René was on the ground on all fours. He lifted his head and faced Jean Claude. "Brother," he heaved, forcing breath in and out of his body, not knowing what else to do. "Don't let him die. Please, Jean Claude, don't let him die. It my fault ... my fault." René moved quickly, moving his hand over the boy's throat in a vain effort to stop the bleeding that had already progressed too far. "No! Jean Claude, please!" Desperation was in his eyes. He couldn't deal with this; he had killed an innocent child. In his own pain and anguish, he had taken an innocent life, not that of a killer or rapist or even thief; he had destroyed the life and future of a child. He couldn't let it happen. "Please!" he cried.

Jean Claude's voice broke in pain for his brother. "I can't, René. It's too late."

"No! No, it's not!" He was panting now, looking for a solution, any solution. "No, we ... we can change him, Jean Claude; we change him, heh? We make him like us!" Tears flowed from René's eyes for the first time. Jean Claude had never seen his brother cry, not even once he realized what had happened to his life and his family, not in the frustration of learning what he had become. Never had he cried. Now, he was a mass of sobbing desperation, wanting to undo the reckless murder of this boy whose only crime was in wanting to buy some grass for himself and his friends. He had paid for that folly with his life.

"I can't, René, we can't. Not without the Master's say so, you know that."

"Noooo! Jean Claude, we can't let him die. He not supposed to die, it not his time yet, it was ... it my fault."

"And what do we tell Spike? 'Sorry, Master, this was an accident so we made him a vampire?' You'd force Spike not only to kill the boy but us as well. And what would we tell him when he asked why this happened? That you were insane? That you were upset that the woman you love belongs to someone else? Would he really see that as justification for killing an innocent?" Jean Claude was yelling now. Were the streets not deserted, he could have been heard blocks away.

René looked stunned. How did Jean Claude know about him and Baby? How could he possibly know?

"I'm not an idiot, René. I can smell her all over you. You're lucky Spike didn't." The boy in his arms gurgled, his eyes looking up at the two vampires piteously. Jean Claude stroked his hair again, his voice calming and soothing, "It'll be okay, boy, we'll take care of you until it's time. It won't be much longer now." A single tear ran down the boy's cheek. He was so brave. Jean Claude only wished he could save the boy. He knew it wasn't right he should die, but he also knew it would be worse were the boy to be turned, particularly at this age. He'd never be able to completely understand what he was and why he had been denied a place in heaven because of someone else's guilt.

Jean Claude turned to René, his voice a firm command. "Go down to Peabody's. Tell them I'm bringing someone in who will need special attention. They'll know what to do. Go now, René; I'll follow behind once he is gone." Sending René to the mortuary would give him something to do and keep him from turning his victim into a vampire himself. And it would give Jean Claude time to figure a reasonable course and what to tell Spike, as this would no doubt get back to their father.

He whispered to the boy as Jean saw him focus on something out of reach. "Shhhhh, do you see someone you know there? In the light?" The boy managed a single nod. "Then go to them, boy, they are waiting just for you with open arms and love. Go on, now; don't waste time here with me. I'll tell your mama that you died bravely and with honor." The golden eyes closed as the last drops of the boy's life bled away.

Jean reached into the boy's vest and found a wallet. His student ID was there. Jean Claude sighed; he was only in middle school. Such a waste, he thought to himself. He memorized the boy's name and address and stood, hoisting the boy up more steadily into his arms as he walked toward the funeral home.

When he arrived there, he was expected. Quickly they took the boy from him to prepare him. "Please, clean him up well, make him look good for his mama. She'll have a hard enough time as it is. Tell her that her son died bravely, saving the life of another and that his last thoughts were of her and how much he loved her." Jean Claude paused one more time to stroke the child's hair. "You were a good boy, Louis. You made a mistake is all. Sleep well." Then he turned to the mortician quietly: "Make him her beautiful boy again. Send the bill to the Master." He gave a curt nod and left.

Outside Jean found René standing on the sidewalk staring into nothing, motionless, breathless, a standing dead man. He was overcome with both pity and anger, torn between holding his shattered brother in his arms or beating him half to death.

"René?" He turned immediately and Jean Claude clocked him right across the jaw, startling him and knocking him to the ground. "Don't you EVER do anything like that again," his voice seethed with controlled anger. "Don't you kill without cause and never, EVER mention turning someone like this again."

René remained on the ground, shaken, broken, and suddenly angry. When Jean Claude reached down to help him up, he reciprocated, pounding his fist into the cheekbone of his older brother, knocking him down. The brothers' fight began, each of them relentlessly hitting and kicking each other, blood streaming down their faces and mingling with the blood of the dead boy on their clothes. No words were spoken, only the grunts of impact and the occasional cries of pain when a punch hit just right. Jean Claude knew inside himself that this was what his brother needed-to absolutely pound someone mercilessly. As the older brother, better him than anyone else. He wouldn't have to explain anything to anyone.

After ten minutes or so, they both collapsed into the grass, panting unnecessarily but using that instead of speech to calm down. After a few moments, Jean Claude stood up then bent down, wiping his thumb across his brother's bleeding eyebrow. "Come on, little brother, let's fix you up a little." His tone was filled with meaning, and he reached his hand out to René as he had before on the verandah, grasping hold and helping him to his feet.

Both of them were pretty beaten up and bloodied, and the last thing they needed was to go waltzing into the house like this. They were only a few blocks from the old warehouse space, so Jean guided René there. Once inside their old bathroom, Jean Claude ran the water, found some old supplies, and began cleaning up his brother, wiping the blood from his own face as well. He washed the blood from both of their hands--a symbolic gesture to be sure--then began to repair the still-open wounds on René's face. No stitches would be necessary; his vampire healing had already begun to take over. If only his heart could be healed as easily.

Jean Claude knew there was more that his brother needed. Some of it he could give him, some of it he could not. But he would try. Whispering softly, he told René how they would explain what happened, bending the truth a little in places. The wounds on the boy's neck could easily be mistaken in description as coming from a knife rather than claws. Jean Claude would be sure the mortician and coroner both understood that. The rest could be told fairly close to the truth.

Jean Claude pulled a baggy from his pocket, the offending marijuana, and looked up at his brother with a hint of impishness. "I think we could use a bit of relaxing, don't you?" Sometimes fate had a quirky way of providing the needed things at the needed time. Not only was there grass, but also papers and a roller in the baggie. Man, Jean Claude thought to himself, the boy lost his life on his first buy. That's just not right.

He helped René off the bathroom counter and they looked for a place to crash. The scent of Spike and Baby's old room was enough to send them to the other side of the loft. Claudia's room was safer. They flopped on the old mattress and Jean Claude pulled out the goodies and rolled them a joint. René still had not spoken.

Jean Claude lit the joint and inhaled deeply, forcing the fiery smoke into his unaccustomed lungs and holding it there as he passed it. René held it in his hand, staring at it, seeing in it so many things he could have made a list ... the source of the boy's death, Spike's cigarette smoke, respite from the pain he felt, his flaming hand when he had tried to get to Baby just a few hours ago and was scorched by the sunlight. He put the paper to his mouth and pulled the peace that it offered into his body.

The two remained there, silently smoking the entire contents until they were so relaxed and mellow they couldn't even stand. Jean Claude leaned over onto his brother's shoulder. "You know, son, if you don't get control of this, he'll kill you both." Jean didn't have to elaborate on who "he" was.

"I know." René's tone was still cold but hazy. The fighting was over; now came the time to turn over ideas and brainstorm with no inhibitions, stoned out of their minds, far away from the probing eyes of their parents.

"What you gonna do?" Jean Claude moved in closer, his face almost touching René's neck. His brother smelled so good right now, his scent extraordinarily hot and inviting. He turned a little, letting his hand rest on René's chest, his fingers dawdling in the wisps of hair peeking through the opening of his shirt.

"What can I do, Jean Claude, heh? If I stay, he find out. If I go, he find out. I need a reason to go that ain't ... her. A mission, a job, a reason to be where she ain't so that I can ... forget." Even as he said it he didn't believe it. Nothing could make him forget those golden eyes, the too-red hair, her soft, creamy skin, her scent, her laugh, the feel of her lips on his, the excitement on her face as she felt the baby move. Forgetting would be impossible.

Jean Claude read his mind. "I know, fils. She's not easy to forget. I think we're all a little bit in love with her…. Some more than others," he added. He took another long drag on the last joint, finishing it off and then holding the heady smoke deep in his lungs. He looked at his brother, swam in the ocean of his eyes, then pressed his lips to René's, parting them slightly and releasing the smoke into his brother's mouth. René responded, drawing in deeply from his brother, sharing the smoke and the numbing effects it brought to him as well as the comfort Jean Claude was offering him. He took it, accepted it in the spirit it was given. Intimacy. He couldn't have it from Baby, but he could accept the offering from his brother. He had never felt so grateful to anyone.

A moment later, Jean was unbuttoning René's shirt, slowly kissing the bits of flesh beneath as each button was unfastened. René leaned his head back against the wall, giving himself over to the delightful sensation of his brother's cool lips. As the last button was undone, Jean slowly slid the cool, cotton shirt off René's shoulders, caressing the curves of his muscular arms as the shirt slid off. Both men began to respond to the other, the scent of their arousal filling the air and mingling with the residual smoke and their blood. Altogether it was intoxicating.

Lightning showed through the large windows of the loft, quickly followed by the clap and rumble of thunder. A late summer storm was making its way through the area. No doubt, it would cool things down and perhaps wash some of René's pain away. Jean slid his hands around the younger man's waist, pulling them closer together as he climbed onto his brother's lap, straddling René's legs as he reached up his brother's back and rested his head in the middle of René's chest.

René himself was suddenly awash in a sense of calm and comfort that made it difficult to believe that he had been so upset only a few minutes before.

Jean sat up, looking deeply into his brother's eyes, seeing the anguish there and wanting so badly to spare him from it however he could. He knew this wouldn't take it all away, but he had hopes that at least it would be a respite. Leaning in slowly, Jean pressed his lips to a spot on René's chest just over his heart. René's skin was cool to the touch and inviting with the mugginess of the impending rain surrounding them. He turned his head, resting his cheek on the well-defined muscles, rubbing it up and down slightly to feel the movement and friction of hair and skin. He inhaled deeply, drawing the delicious scent of his handsome brother into him, and desire began to course through him like fire. Shattered or not, René was one of the most beautiful men Jean Claude had ever had the privilege of knowing, much less loving, and right now René needed him. There was nothing he wouldn't do for him.

With tiny kisses, Jean worked his way up René's chest and neck, tracing his jaw line with his tongue and finally licking across René's lips, tasting him, asking him for entry, wanting a response. He was granted entry almost immediately as René himself leaned into Jean, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him in even closer, plundering his mouth with his wicked, searching tongue. Jean drew him in further, massaging the foreign tongue in his mouth with his own, encompassing it with his lips and sucking lightly. The first moan came from René. He had never been with Jean like this; he didn't know what to expect. Oh, they had been together with Claudia and even with Baby and Spike; intermingling sex with feeding was a part of their family dynamic. It solidified them, kept them closer and more trusting of one another. But this was the first time he had actually been alone like this with Jean Claude. He was astonished at the skill and intensity his brother could offer him. He wanted to reciprocate.

Jean Claude brought his hands around to René's chest once again, tracing his ribs lightly with eager fingertips to the point that René giggled and pulled away. Jean Claude was surprised and delighted. He was ticklish! René Beaumont, second son of William the Bloody, was ticklish! René knew he was in trouble now; he had just given his brother a powerful weapon in that one small reaction. It would no doubt return to haunt him if the expression on Jean's face was any indication. He had to take the upper hand quickly.

With no warning, René turned his brother over onto his back, pinning his arms over his head with his right hand. His strength was easily enough to allow him an advantage, and take advantage he did, utilizing his free hand to tear open Jean's shirt by removing one solid piece straight down the front from neck to waist. Jean Claude raised an eyebrow: "I rather liked that shirt." René smiled and said nothing, slipping his free hand inside the ruined shirt and lightly searching for the same reaction he had just given. Tiny prickles of tickles filled Jean, but he showed no evidence of it, self-control in full force. No way was he going to show the same weakness.

After a few moments, René surmised that Jean was obviously not ticklish and resorted to a more direct method of torture with a well-placed and very loud raspberry to Jean's belly. Jean roared with laughter, as did René, and they fell apart, both lying on their backs, laughing, as the thunder roared outside once again. They hardly noticed.

Rain began to fall heavily. Jean scrambled to his feet and headed to the window, watching the water sheet down and pool onto the catwalk outside. He glanced over his shoulder at his bewildered brother.

"Viens, René, en dehors."

"What? No, I'm not going outside. It raining! C'est fou, Jean Claude, you're crazy!"

"Viens!" he commanded, a smile beginning to play on his lips. "Viens, Monsieur Poulet! As-tu peur d'une peu de pluie?" Jean began to cluck like a chicken, strutting back and forth in front of the window, flapping his arms.

René laughed so hard he couldn't get out another word. Here was his older brother, the stoic and responsible one, clucking and strutting and taunting him, still sporting a swollen eye and a few cuts on his face from the fight, using everything at his command to try and pull his little brother from the horror that had been made of his unlife in the last four hours. He was overcome with love. Less than six months ago, he couldn't have imagined his life would become what it had, that he would be dead and yet feel more alive than he had in years, that he would have a family who loved and protected him, who taught him the ways of their kind without hesitation and without intrigue, who loved him unconditionally and would do whatever it took to keep him a happily adjusted fledgling comfortable in his surroundings, his heritage, and the knowledge that he was important to them. He stared at his brother now, still clucking and strutting, and could hardly believe that anyone would do this for him. Certainly none of his human brothers would have; they'd have happily pounded him rather than seduce him out of the pit of remorse and guilt he was quickly digging himself into. And here was Jean Claude, using a hidden arsenal of goofiness and comedy to make René see what he needed to see … that life, or unlife, was good, that mistakes happen, that hearts can break, and people die, and yet there would always be someone who loved him and would do anything for him.

Quietly René stood up, still watching his brother with an intensity that, had Jean Claude noticed, might have made him uncomfortable. Slowly he began to walk toward his brother still unnoticed, Jean quite into his performance by now. When René reached Jean, he grabbed him squarely by the shoulders and pulled him to his chest, engulfing the smaller man with his arms and body and holding him to his chest, rubbing his cheek and face into his hair, drawing his brother's scent into his body as if it were a healing elixir. He whispered across his ear, "Merci, mon frère du coeur. Merci pour toute, pour ma vie, pour ton amour." He kissed the top of Jean's head then released him.

"Viens, ensuite, en dehors!" Without warning, René's humor changed entirely as he grabbed Jean Claude by the arms and dragged him out the side door onto the catwalk, straight out into the pouring rain. They both opened their arms to the sky, calling up into the heavens that the sons of William the Bloody would not be confined by a bit of rain. It beat down on them mercilessly, and as Jean Claude had suspected, it began to wash them, their clothes, their skin, their spirits. The blood of the innocent and the guilty ran down their bodies and onto the catwalk, mixing and dripping with the clean rain and washing out to the river to become part of the earth once again. Ashes to ashes washed clean from a forgiving heaven.

They stayed outside for a very long time enjoying the cool shower, the relentless wind, each other's company, and the symphony of rain and lightening and thunder. Soaking wet and the rain dying down, the finally went back inside the warehouse, back into Claudia's room, and sank down together on the floor, wrapped in each other's arms, talking of the dreams they'd had as children, the way their lives took shape, and ultimately how their deaths and resurrections had changed who they thought they were. They were brothers, inseparably linked together through a chance of fate and a man named Spike who brought them to this new existence, and Baby who had taught them both how important it is to love.

Finally slipping from their wet clothes, the brothers lay down together, a tangle of arms and legs forever intertwined and a part of one another. Peace washed over them as the rain had, and as the sun made its first appearance in the distance, they found themselves drifting to sleep in the comfort of each other's arms and hearts. Frères du coeur pour toujours.

Chapter Six

Baby awoke to a clap of thunder that almost shook the house. She wasn't sleeping well anyway, caught between a wave of nausea and thoughts of René that she couldn't seem to get past. As happy as she was with Spike, there was something about René that beckoned to her. She had tried to put it off on the fact that her baby was biologically his, but somehow, even in her hormone-ridden brain, she knew there was more to it than that.

Checking the clock she saw that it was only about 11:30 a.m. She got up, kissed Spike on the forehead, and slipped out the door. Maybe a snack would settle her down some, perhaps some crackers or something light. As she padded barefoot down the hallway, clothed only in her lightweight cotton gown, she was struck by how dark it was. The storm had brought much heavier-than-usual cloud cover; it seemed more like dusk than midday. When she reached the kitchen, she grabbed an apple and tossed it into the air, catching it casually before taking a big bite. It crunched loudly, which for some reason made her smile.

She headed out to the verandah, deciding to curl up in the Adirondack chair and watch the rain. She stood in the doorway for a moment, feeling the cool, rain-soaked breeze caress her face, her thoughts again turning to René. She closed her eyes, able to hear his voice, see those stunning eyes, and remember the feel of his lips on hers. The air seemed permeated with the deliciously sweet and musky scent that only René seemed to have.

She sighed and headed toward the chair, ready to climb into it for a day of musing and daydreaming. As she climbed into it, she found it already occupied. She gave a little squeal of surprise before landing in the middle of René's lap. He looked at her, saying nothing, and she stammered an embarrassed apology. As she started to get up, René's hands reached out to stop her, circling her waist and pulling her back into him.

"René … this is not a good idea …"

"Shhhh, Bébé." He put his fingertips to her lips. "It all right. No one else awake. We all alone, cher."

Chastising herself the entire time, Baby leaned back into him, settling her head on his shoulder and letting him wrap her up in his cool arms. She stayed there a long time, listening to the rain and being close to him, unable to speak and not really knowing what to say even if she could. She shifted in his lap, burying her face into his neck, kissing it lightly.

"René?"

"Mmm?"

"What are we going to do?"

It was a legitimate question for which he had no real answer. Any action they took would rip the family, and possibly all of their lives, apart. If Spike found out on his own, René would be immediately killed, or probably tortured first then killed. If they ran away, they would be found eventually; a childe could not hide from his sire forever. If they went to Spike directly, there was no telling what he would do, but he would be heartbroken, this man they both loved and respected … the Master of New Orleans.

"Je ne sais pas, m'petite." He sighed. "I really don't know."

Baby kissed his neck again. She knew she shouldn't, but he was there, wrapped around her, and cool and smelling so wonderful and she wanted him so much. No matter how much her mind screamed at her to get up and walk away, get far, far away from René, she couldn't seem to obey it. She wanted to be here, touching him, kissing him. Her warm lips worked their way up to his jaw line, her tongue reaching out to taste his skin, savoring the saltiness mixed with something spicy and a hint of fresh peaches. Even Spike didn't taste this good. Spike. She sighed but continued kissing René.

René finally turned his head to look down at her. Those golden eyes looked up at him with such innocence and such want … and such sadness. He suddenly felt the sharp pain of loss for the boy with the golden eyes who had given his life on the altar of René's anger only last night. René needed to stop that pain, his and hers. He brushed his lips across hers. Maybe just once, he thought to himself, maybe just the one kiss would be enough; it would make the pain stop, it would give them enough to live on so that they could continue their lives without falling into the horrible bottomless pit they were both perilously close to tumbling into.

The moment their lips touched, he knew it was a mistake. He never wanted to let go, he just wanted to stay like this for all eternity, damn the consequences. Baby obviously felt the same way. She clung to him, pressing her body more into his and parting her lips to him, inviting him into her mouth and her heart. There was no way to stop, no way to take it back and make this not happen, and they both were lost to it … to their love and their need for each other. Neither of them had the strength to pull away, to say no, or to stop what was happening.

Baby slowly began unbuttoning his shirt as their lips continued hungrily. Her hand felt warm on his skin, just as her breath did on his cheek. Her fingertips played affectionately in the tuft of hair revealed beneath. She didn't stop until the shirt was completely unfastened, then, without even looking, she peeled the shirt away from his chest, opening it and revealing his muscular build. She finally pulled away just to look at him. He felt her quiver before he captured her mouth once again, pulling her closer, pressing her body to his with nothing between them but thin cotton and a few embroidered rosebuds.

René slipped his hands beneath her nighty, his hands trembling as he stroked and caressed her thighs. He inched the fabric up over her hips to her waist. Baby sat back a little, looking into the sea of his eyes and finding such love and want that she could scarcely breathe. All fear and hesitation fled as she pulled her gown up over her head and dropped it into a pool of white cotton. René gasped. He knew she was beautiful, and he had obviously been with her and Spike, and with the family at times of blood-sharing and bonding, but now she was giving herself to him alone. He looked at her, her pale skin with its pinkish glow, her shoulders, soft and inviting, her breasts swollen and round, preparing for a different task than pleasing him once their child was born. Her nipples were large and dark, though hard and obviously wanting to be touched and kissed and fondled. The slope of her belly was showing that the child inside her was growing, taking over its private space in her body and infringing on her a little more each day. She was absolutely exquisite. He looked up into her face and saw a slight blush to her cheeks.

"Mon Dieu," he whispered. "You're so beautiful." His lips captured hers again, his tongue plunging deeply inside her mouth, wanting to taste and devour every inch of her, beginning with her mouth. Baby opened to him, shifting herself to face him completely, straddling his hips, her knees now pressed between his thighs and the arms of the hardwood chair. René's hands tried to touch all of her at once, her back, her shoulders, her thighs, her neck, her breasts, the curve at the small of her back. He could feel his linen trousers wet with her arousal. He could smell her as well, that musky scent which screamed to him how much she really wanted him. It made him want her even more, if that were possible.

Baby reached more toward him, pressing her hardened nipples into his chest as her hands began an exploration of his back and sides, her lips still firmly pressed to his. She could hardly stand being even this far away from him. She wanted to crawl inside him, be one with him, have him take her completely. Her hands began to function independently, as if they had a mind of their own, quickly finding the fastener to his trousers and opening them, fumbling with the zipper before managing to slide it down effectively and plunge her hands inside to find the magnificent hardness she so desperately wanted. She gasped. So did he. Both of them dissolved quickly into moans of pleasure and desire as Baby freed him from the linen prison, sliding them down over his hips as far as possible without standing. She shifted forward; she couldn't wait anymore, she wanted him inside her, filling her again … as he had done the night she had conceived. She had hardly remembered it-even when she and Spike had been with him in the garden she couldn't remember what he felt like, at least, not until now. The moment she felt the velvety touch of him inside her, she wanted to scream as the memory came flooding back to her. How could she possibly have forgotten what he felt like inside her? He fit her perfectly-length, girth, curve, and in movement. Oh God, he felt so wonderful.

She settled down onto him slowly, squeezing and pulling him into her deeply before she rose to do it yet again. René's head dropped to her breast, nibbling and sucking, teasing the extraordinarily hard and sensitive nipple, making it his own and driving her to loud moans of pleasure. His hands settled beneath the soft roundness of her hips, helping her to move up and down as he stroked into her over and over again. He thought he would go insane with pleasure, yet he held tightly to his control, not wanting it to be over too quickly for either of them. She made it increasingly difficult when she began to speed up, thrusting her hips down onto him as she pressed her breast toward him even more, urging him to take more of her into his mouth. He obliged, reveling in every sensation, every lick and taste. The air was filled with their moans and gasps, the rain and thunder covered little of it, and the air was thick with the scent of their lovemaking.

When he thought he could take no more, that he would spill into her at any moment, he pulled back, releasing her nipple and breathing heavily, trying to regain control. Her chest was heaving, her eyes heavy with arousal, her lips parted and swollen from his kisses and their want. He went to taste her mouth again, when she pulled back and bared her neck to him. He was stunned; he didn't really understand. Baby was human; he couldn't take blood from her, not like he did from his brothers and sister. Even like this he didn't think it was possible. She saw his hesitation and reached her hand around the back of his head, pulling him into her neck, begging him to feed from her. "Please … René … please, now, please ………" He felt his face shift and sank his fangs into her neck, drawing her sweet, sweet blood into his mouth and his body, drinking deeply as they both came together in a shattering explosion which took them through wave after wave of pleasure.

He continued to feed from her, feeling her press into him more, wanting him to take more, each draw sending her into another round of earth-shattering orgasms. When he felt her weaken, he withdrew, breathing heavily into her shoulder as she murmured his name over and over again … the sweet sound of her voice wrapping him in unbelievable pleasure.

"René …. " Her voice was little more than a whisper now. He lifted his head, seeking her eyes, and instead found the deep sapphire fury of Spike's. He was standing behind her, his human face seething with anger and anguish. He was holding a long, wooden spear that he plunged into Baby's back, piercing completely through her. She was still looking at René; she didn't even know Spike was there until she saw the spear come through her own chest and into René's. A primal scream tore through his throat as she fell lifelessly onto him as his arms began to turn to dust around her.

"Nooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!" René woke up in a cold sweat, bolting up from the mattress and almost throwing Jean Claude onto the floor.

Jean was awake in a shot. "What? René! What?"

René was standing naked in the middle of the room; the thunder and lightening were so loud he couldn't even hear his brother, he couldn't even hear his own screams. It took him a few moments to see where he was, his eyes wild with fear, looking to Jean Claude for answers.

"It was a dream, brother. It's okay. It wasn't real."

"Wasn't … real?" He was panting. "You sure? You sure she's okay?" He grabbed Jean Claude by the arms, shaking him. "Is-she-okay???"

It took a moment for Jean Claude to read what had happened. It was all so much worse than he had thought just last night. It was so much worse than sending a boy to his early grave in anger or picking a fight with his brother. Jean Claude swallowed hard, realizing what he was talking about, his eyes holding René's as he nodded and tried to reassure him.

"Baby's okay, René. She's at home. We haven't even been back yet."

René crumpled onto the floor into a mass of sobbing, heaving flesh. Jean Claude knelt beside him, holding him, whispering words of comfort and reassurance while inside his heart broke for his brother who was more lost than anyone could have ever known. Jean Claude's tears mixed with his brother's as they sat holding one another on the cold, hard floor of the old warehouse, thunder shaking the old building with its mournful thrum of sorrow and fear.

Chapter Seven

"Nooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Baby woke up in a cold sweat, bolting up from the mattress and almost knocking Spike to the floor.

He was awake in a shot. "What? Baby! What is it, luv?"

She was standing in the middle of the room shivering, her eyes wide with terror. The thunder and lightening were so loud she couldn't hear him; she couldn't even hear her own screams. It took her a few moments to see where she was, her eyes wild with fear, looking to Spike for answers.

"It was a dream, pet, it's okay. It wasn't real."

"Wasn't ... real?" She was panting. "Are you sure? Are you sure he's okay?" She grabbed his arms, fire shooting from her eyes into the cool of his. "What did you do to him??"

Spike took a step back, visibly stricken. Confusion was apparent all over him as she released her grip from him and looked down at the floor, trying to sort things.

It took only a moment for Baby to realize what had happened, and only a moment longer for Spike to see it as well. His features went cold, almost hard, and a low, menacing growl started from deep within him. He had smelled René on her but he had chosen to believe it was the child he sensed rather than his father. He refused to even think there might be more to René and Baby than the accidental conception. It was all suddenly so much more complicated than it had been a few seconds ago. When he spoke, his voice was emotionless; he couldn't allow anything to slip into it, not the slightest waver or hint of jealousy.

"René ... "

Baby's head snapped back toward him almost violently. That was it. This was all about René.

"René is fine, Baby. Jean Claude called earlier, they had a bit of a rough night hunting, but he's okay. They'll be home after dark."

The relief on her face pierced him like the sharpened, hard wood of the Slayer's stake. There was something to watch here, something that, if it continued, could bring destruction to their newly-made family and possibly question his authority as the Master of New Orleans. And it could, quite possibly, rip his heart out.

Baby crumbled onto the floor, visibly shaken, but not crying. She was holding herself under very tight control, so tight that Spike could feel each coiled sinew of her body ready to explode and throw her into frantic action. He knelt beside her, wrapping his arms around her, holding her, whispering words of comfort and love while inside his heart broke for the violation of their bond. He could feel it scattered all around him, like tiny bits of cottonwood blossom caught in the winds of late summer. There was nothing he could do to stop it. It permeated the air, trying to choke him, trying to make him pull away from her and run from the pain that would destroy him. He stayed beside her, holding her to him on the cold, hardwood floor, while the thunder shook the walls with it's mournful thrum of sorrow, fear, and impending doom.

*************

The evening was crisp and clean with no hint of rain or thunder in the air; only the telltale puddles left behind gave notice that it had rained at all. Jean Claude brought René into the house unceremoniously, slipping him quietly past the kitchen, past the usual family gathering, and taking him quickly upstairs to his room. René went along quietly letting Jean take him where he wished.

Once in René's room, Jean tucked him back into bed, stroking his hair lightly as his brother's eyes focused on nothing. "Stay here and rest, little brother." Jean Claude didn't know what else to say. René was trance-like, disjointed, and very, very far away. Perhaps some extra rest would do him good, help him gain perspective, help him forget.

Jean made his way down to the kitchen to greet the family as usual. He pressed a carefree expression onto his face, wanting to appear normal and undisturbed by what had been happening. He was surprised to find Spike alone at the large table, sipping tea and with that same trance-like expression he had just seen on René's face.

"Good day, Papa." He was uncharacteristically cheerful. Spike changed his focus to his eldest son, recognizing immediately that he was forcing normalcy. Spike played along, though he feigned no happiness.

"B'jour, Jean Claude." Spike sipped his tea and tried to look at the paper, but his eyes wouldn't focus on the words. They could only see the shadowy reflection of Baby's horrified expression when she had woken up.

Jean poured some coffee for himself and settled at the table in his usual place, glancing around in a silent question of where everyone was. Spike felt his curiosity.

"Your mama is still sleeping. Claudia and Phillip went out early; something about a festival." He stopped and looked directly into Jean's eyes, as if knowing no matter what he asked, he knew Jean would answer him truthfully and completely. The question was; would Jean tell him the things he didn't want to ask. "Where's your brother?"

Jean tried to hold his father's gaze, but found himself staring at the floor instead. "He's sleeping, Papa. The hunt..." he paused, not sure how to answer. He finally just shrugged and sipped his coffee again as a means to give him time to gather his thoughts for the explanation.

Spike waited, watching his eldest childe as he sorted his thoughts. His expression told Jean that he'd have to tell the tale now instead of later.

Jean sighed heavily. "It wasn't good, Papa. We stopped a drug deal. Two teenagers, though one was barely that." He bit his lip a little wondering how much to tell. "They ran. I caught one. René went after the other and it just went badly. The boy was slashed and..." He looked up into his father's face with tears gathering trying not to spill over the edge. "He was dying, Papa. We couldn't stop it. René turned him over and he had..." He paused painfully, "he had golden eyes, Papa, like Maman's." He gathered his thoughts a little more, but his language began to slip a little, betraying his own concern. "René, he worries about the bébé, about what might happen to it, how will it live with a houseful of vampires. Will it die like that boy tonight? He worries for Baby and her bébé." Jean looked down again, sipped his coffee, and continued. "He ran. I knew why. He saw the boy as the bébé all growed up, with Maman's eyes n' his hair n'," he swallowed hard, "He ran, Papa. He was so scared because the boy was dead and he know it his fault."

"He was a good boy, Papa, just made a mistake, but it was too late. René, he made a mistake, too." Jean wanted to stop there. The last thing he wanted to do was confide to Spike that he suspected René loved Baby. "So, me an' René, we went to the old warehouse an' stayed the day, slept during the storm, and he seems better now."

Spike watched him as Jean relaxed at the end of the story, then took another sip from his cup. "Jean, I want you to take René to Mobile for a few days, maybe a week."

Jean's brow furrowed. He would obey without question, but he felt a little pain in his heart that told him Spike wanted René out of the house for a reason.

"I have some business for you to take care of and I think it would be good for René to meet our contacts there. I'd go, but your mama's not feeling so well, not sleeping well herself. I don't want to leave her right now," his thoughts seemed to drift for a moment. "René needs to be a part of our remote business dealings." Spike nodded, as if he were trying to convince himself as much as Jean.

"As you say, Papa. We'll leave in a few hours," a smile played across his lips. "I'll take the Mustang, and we'll be there before dawn." Spike reflected that smile, knowing exactly what Jean meant, as they both pushed away from the table.

"And Jean..."

"Yes, Papa?"

"See to it that René has a good time. Go dancing, party, something to lighten his spirit a little." Spike's mind added silently, 'And take his mind off what is mine.'

*********************

Baby was restless still, haunted by the memory of repeated nightmares. She insisted on keeping her eyes tightly closed, in the event sleep managed to overtake her, but it finally became obvious that it wasn't going to happen. As her eyes fluttered open she found René sitting on the edge of her bed watching her. She was startled at first but not upset. 'Damned vampires and their quiet ways of moving about,' she thought to herself.

She looked up into his blue-green eyes and started to speak, but nothing came out. She found herself swimming in him, his broad shoulders, raven hair, the love in his eyes. He was by far Spike's most beautiful childe and every time she looked at him she couldn't help but remember the feel of his lips on hers. She shook her head a little to jostle the thought away, but René remained there, just watching her, a small smile beginning to play upon his lips.

"René... I...." He could see the pain in her eyes, the worry. Something was wrong and he needed to know what it was so he could fix it, make things right for her.

"What is it, cher?" It had slipped out. 'Cher.' He felt such affection and love for her that he couldn't keep the word to himself any longer. He had tried. He had dutifully shown her the respect she was due as family matriarch and consort to his sire, even though she was still human. Still, it had slipped out. 'Cher.' His eyes showed her his surprise and she smiled softly back at him with understanding. 'Cher.'

"René, I don't know what..." Her mind was racing, her words couldn't keep up. What could she say to him? 'I can't stop thinking of you?' 'Stay with me?' 'Kiss me?' 'Love me?' Her eyes were darting around, filled with panic and worry. René quietly reached across and lay his hand atop hers. She calmed immediately, as if his touch alone could bring her peace when the world was shaking out of control. They were both affected by it and simultaneously looked to their joined hands curiously.

They did not see Spike and Jean standing in the doorway.

Spike unnecessarily cleared his throat and entered the room with Jean at his side. René and Baby's hands almost leaped away from one another. "Luv, you're awake? Good. René? You taking good care of your maman?" His voice was a micron too cheerful, but she noticed. She tried to dispel the blush of guilt and embarrassment from her face before he saw it. No, too late, he saw it. She glanced quickly at René. No, that was worse, and her color deepened. Spike saw that, too, and the crystal blue of his eyes turned almost violet as he captured Baby's eyes and held them. He knew, and she knew that he did.

Moving to his younger son, Spike placed a hand on his shoulder casually. "René, you'll be accompanying Jean on a quick business trip tonight." Baby looked at him questioningly. "He's going to Mobile for a few days. It's time he started meeting some of our people. We can manage without our handsome sons for a few days, can't we, pet?" His cheerfulness was agonizing. She could only nod.

"You two had better get going. Tell your mama goodbye, and call me when you get to the hotel." Jean quickly rushed to Baby's side, kissing her softly on the forehead, almost demonstrating for René what he had to do to divert any more suspicion. "Au revoir, Maman," he said softly.

Then it was René's turn. He pressed his lips to her forehead, only an inch from where Jean had. "You rest while we're away, Maman." He placed his hand over hers as a comfort, but it did anything but that. It seared into them both, leaving an ache in their hearts and an unspoken fear that they might not see each other again.

*******************

Spike was in his study when the front door burst open. Philip was standing there, drenched from a midnight thunderstorm, holding something in his arms.

"Papa!" he cried as he swept through entryway and into the parlor, setting down his burden on Baby's red velvet settee. "Papa! Hurry!"

Spike ran to the front door, closing it against the wind as he turned toward his son. "What's happened? Where's your sister?"

Philip looked at the shivering, wet blanket-wrapped form on the small sofa. Spike kneeled down next to it, peeling the blanket away and finding the beaten and bloody face of Claudia.

Chapter Eight

It was a cool night as the brothers pulled out of the city in the Jean's convertible. Rain had washed the air, leaving its fresh scent behind, making it the perfect night for a three-hour drive with the top down. Jean gave René a knowing smile before he commented, "There's nothing like a grateful matriarch to bring a smile to a young man's face." He laughed, and René couldn't help but join him.

Miss Ciara Sonnier was one of the elderwomen of New Orleans; her family tree's roots going deeper than most anyone else' in society circles. She had special cabinets filled with photographs and war trophies of Sonnier men who were Indian fighters and Confederate soldiers, as well as the many generations who fought for their country in every subsequent war. She still referred to the Civil War as "the War of Northern Aggression". She was the quintessential example of a fine, Southern woman. She always had a lacy handkerchief, always wore a hat outdoors, and spent her afternoons on the verandah with a sherry in her hand, "to give the Baptists something to talk about," she'd always say.

She also knew how to throw a fete, and she knew how to show tribute graciously to anyone who had done her a turn. And Jean Claude DuValliere had done her quite a turn.

Her young nephew, Sonny, was the last male in the Sonnier bloodline. His father had died in a mishap, his mother soon after from what most folk called a broken heart. Sonny had been raised by his Aunt CiCi, who spoiled him shamelessly. Jean Claude had run across him in a not very appropriate part of town, where he had gotten into a saloon scrape and been tossed out into the hands of five or six thugs. Sonny wasn't the brightest candle on the cake. Still, Jean Claude had dispatched the thugs, saved his hide, and returned him to his aunt's plantation home just outside of town, a little beaten and bruised, but alive. Aunt CiCi had been more than furious with her nephew and had rewarded Jean Claude, the eldest son of the Master, with Sonny's red 1965 Mustang convertible as a sign of "Sonny's" gratitude. Jean Claude said he was just being neighborly, but Aunt CiCi had insisted, and no proper gentleman of New Orleans would ever refuse Aunt CiCi. It just wouldn't have been right.

This was the first opportunity that Jean Claude had taken to see what the finely preserved machine could do. He was thrilled. René wasn't complaining either. They took off into the Louisiana night with the top down and stars raining around them like a shower of diamonds. René leaned back and stared up into glimmering sea and tried not to think as the wind tussled his hair and caressed his face like a lover's touch. Like her touch.

*************************

Claudia had been tended to, bathed, her wounds dressed, and was peacefully sleeping. Baby had remained with her, upset by what had happened and wanting to be near her daughter in case she needed anything. Spike knew better than to argue with her about something like this and just made her comfortable before returning to the study and Philip.

Up until now, his second son had been a disappointment, still showing signs of struggles with his demon, barely containing the bloodlust, and not always respectful of the vampire order of things in their unusual household. Not long ago, when he had attacked René at the warehouse, Spike had feared that Philip might not be able to control himself enough to remain a part of the Pride. Spike had not staked him outright, but instead had taught him a painful, but valuable lesson … don't attack the innocent, never attack the family. Philip had been moved down to the lowest rung of the family order, beneath René, the newest-made son. He hadn't liked it, but after a period of sulking, he had returned to the family and tried to meet his father's expectations. He had been involved in a few scuffles since then, but nothing within the family. Spike had been pleased, perhaps he would work out after all.

Spike poured them both a whiskey, handed one to Philip, and settled into a wingback chair. "So, do you want to tell me what happened, Philip?" He took a deep drink, silently hoping his miscreant son hadn't put his sister in danger.

Philip gathered his thoughts and began to tell the tale of that night. Claudia had wanted to go dancing and he had lost her in the dance club. This wasn't unusual for them; they both typically would find a playmate or two from time to time when they went out. Occasionally they'd even remain together and bring others to join them.

"But something wasn't right, Papa. I could somehow sense that this fella, he wasn't a good one." Philip couldn't look at his father, staring instead into the half empty glass in his hands. "By the time I decided to step in, she was gone. Alicia said she'd left with him, so I went out the back way to find them." He lifted pain-filled eyes to Spike. "Why would she wanna go with someone like that, Papa? She knows better." He broke the gaze and stared back into his glass. "When I found them…." he paused, seemingly unable to speak while he gathered his courage. "He was pounding on her pretty bad. Claudia, she's strong, but he was stronger, had her pinned, her pretty dress torn. He was trying to…" he stopped, his throat trying to close up and choke him. "He… he hurt her pretty bad, Papa."

Spike understood at once, his face contorting into an ugly, angry expression. "Where is he now?"

Philip looked up at him in surprise. "He's dust, Papa. You didn't think I'd let him live after what he did to my Claudia, did you?" He looked down again. "No man deserves to live after doin' something like that to her." He drained the rest of his drink, moving the empty glass around in his hand.

Spike was silently seething, tightly controlled, but obviously upset that anyone dare touch the Master's childe. "What clan, Philip? Where did he come from?"

"He doesn't have one, Papa. Rogue, they say. He had no family here or anywhere. Maybe that's why he did what he did." Philip looked down at the floor in front of him. "He doesn't have anyone around to teach him better."

Moving around to his son's chair, Spike placed a reassuring hand on his childe's shoulder. "You did well, Philip. You avenged your sister, brought her home alive, and dispatched the demon who did this to her." He leaned down and kissed the top of Philip's head, resting his cheek affectionately in his hair for just a moment, whispering softly. "I'm proud of you, son." Then he quietly left the study.

Philip stared into his empty glass for a moment. Spike had never, ever told him that he was proud of him. It was like a stabbing pain in his heart to hear it now. Philip shook it off. He went to the bar and poured another, larger glass of whiskey, downing it in one gulp. Deep in thought, he turned to look at the vacant doorway, his mind traveling to Spike and Baby and how they had stripped him of his status after that episode with René. He thought of Claudia and her injuries and the expression on his father's face when he brought in his injured sister and cared for her. His brow furrowed for moment before a flash of yellow gleamed in his eyes and his lips twisted into a feral smile.

******************************

Jean Claude and René would hit Mobile about 4 a.m., well before daybreak. The night air was moist and cool, a respite after a long summer and autumn of muggy heat. Jean loved how it felt in his hair and on his skin, handing the steering over to René at one point so he could slip out of his shirt and let the sea air dance on his bare chest. It was the only time in the trip that René smiled, following suit and tossing his shirt into the back seat with his brother's. Jean had followed that up by lighting two cigarettes and handing one to René, then cranking up the music. As they made their way east along I-10, they were quite the sight for any woman, young or old; two stunningly handsome men with no shirts, cruising the interstate with the sweet sounds of jazz and blues coming from the radio.

René had said nothing the entire journey, humming with the radio occasionally, but only on the bluesy numbers. He stared off toward the ocean into the night most of the way. He was moping, and Jean let him. It was just better to let René work out the silent things first, then, if he wanted to talk later, Jean would grab them a bottle or two and some glasses, and they could drink and talk through most of the day if he need be. Jean was extraordinarily observant and knew his young brother well already.

As they made their way along Jackson to Church Street, the sky was just beginning its transition to a golden vermilion, the subtle announcement that the sun was preparing to broadcast its light and warmth to Alabama. Jean loved this time of day, the antithesis to sunset.

The clerk at the Malaga Inn was ready for them when they arrived. She was an attractive young woman in her mid to late twenties, dressed in a colorful, feminine frock that showed off her eyes and complexion. The neckline was quite low and Jean flirted with her shamelessly. René didn't even seem to notice her. She handed over the keys and asked if there was anything else she could do for them. Jean filtered out about three suggestive remarks, thanked her, and they headed up to their rooms. He loved the service here.

This was one of Jean's favorite places to stay, with its fourteen-foot ceilings and Old World charm. The courtyard garden was serene, and the rooms were spacious and elegant with verandahs on each level where one could look into the garden or out into the community. Its location was perfectly suited to this trip; close to the water for contemplative walks, and close enough to town to accomplish their business as well as take in a little pleasure while they were there. Jean Claude knew that the one thing that René needed right now was a little pleasure, something to distract him from what was quickly becoming a serious problem for him, the family, and especially Spike.

Jean had gotten two connecting rooms on the eastern side of the building with the balcony facing in toward the courtyard. This way they could sit out until well after dawn if they wished and not be in danger of direct sun exposure.

He had hesitated to get one room for the two of them. René needed his privacy right now, and they could always just keep the connecting door open if they preferred. Jean could feel the loneliness and hurt shimmering off his younger brother like heat waves on hot pavement. He wanted to talk to him, find out what could be done, how he could ease his suffering, and, to be honest, he needed to talk to René about it. He was afraid if Spike caught René alone with Baby again he would discover what Jean now only suspected. Confronting him would not be easy.

The boys unpacked, showered, and met for coffee on Jean's balcony. The bright, December morning was very appealing with the scent of late-year flowers mingling with the hint of evergreen in the air from holiday preparations. The brothers drank silently, watching life inside the courtyard, the comings and goings of other guests, the busy work of the staff, and the birds which occasionally swept in until they felt the predatory presence of the brothers and then they skittered away.

Jean considered some small talk about the weather or the drive over, but he knew it would sound trite or forced. He decided to wait before having the serious, older brother talk. They were both tired and had no business appointments until after dark. Why rush things and start the trip off by possibly making René defensive?

Looking down toward the fountain, he casually said, "Cards, TV, sleep, talk, or reading?"

René looked at him strangely, "What you say, Jean?"

Jean Claude smiled, set his cup down, and looked into the curious face of his brother. "How do you want to spend the day? Playing cards, watching TV, sleeping, talking, or reading? We can't stay out here much longer."

"Oh, I see." René realized he had been way too lost in thoughts of golden eyes and bright red hair, of creamy skin and a round, voluptuous figure. Even this far away, he was still haunted. He'd forgotten to bring his current book, watching TV or playing cards wasn't inviting, and he was afraid if he began talking that he would spill everything to Jean. That would be bad, he decided. Sleeping would mean dreams of Baby, of touching her, kissing her, of the child she carried inside her, of making love to her in the garden with Spike, of wanting her. His unbeating heart squeezed at the thought. "Sleep, I guess."

Jean got up. "Good idea." He hung the do not disturb sign on both doors. René had already removed his shirt again, stretched out, adjusted the pillows to suit him, and was pretending to relax. He was not relaxed. Jean Claude could feel how tightly wound his brother was from a mile away right now.

"René?" Jean Claude said softly.

"Mmm?"

"I'm a bit strung still, want to have a drink?" Nothing could be further from the truth. Jean wasn't the least bit tense, but knew he couldn't ask René if he was. This seemed a good enough way to break the ice.

"Yeah, that sounds good."

Jean smiled to himself as he went back into his room and got two bottles, one of Cuervo Gold for René and some Rebel Yell for himself, and two glasses. He smiled to himself, again grateful for the excellent service this Inn always provided. Putting the drinks on the table, he closed the heavy drapes in René's room, plunging it into darkness and almost silence. He poured the drinks, set the bottles on the night table and handed one to René.

"Santé," they chimed together and drained their glasses. Jean refilled both and sat down on the bed next to René. "So, you wanna talk about it now or later?"

René drained his glass again and didn't look at him. "Don't know what you talking about, Jean."

Jean almost blew bourbon through his nose stifling the laughter. "Yeah, right, because brooding is your favorite thing to do. Come on, this is me. Since when do you completely ignore a fine young fille flirting with you like she was down at the desk this morning?" He took a hit from his glass and waited.

René hadn't noticed her flirting at all. Worse, he hadn't even noticed there was a pretty young thing at the desk.

Jean saw the wheels turning. "Come on, René, don't tell me you didn't even notice her?"

René chewed on his bottom lip a little. Was there a girl at the front desk? He looked at Jean sheepishly. "You're right."

Jean climbed up onto the bed, grabbed some pillows and settled next to his brother, refilled their glasses, and said, "Okay, spill it."

René didn't even know where to start. He didn't know what Jean already suspected, and he really didn't want to talk about this.

Jean was not going away. "You're strung tighter than a fiddle, little brother. Tell Jean what's going on in your head and heart." He leaned his shoulder onto René's, a physical connection for them, but nothing intimidating or suggestive, just a little bit of "Here I am, talk to me" closeness.

René's mouth went dry and cottony. How could he possibly explain to Jean what was haunting him? It could get them both killed. It was wrong. It was…. He sighed.

"I'm in trouble, Jean."

"I know." René seemed surprised. Jean continued. "I know, Petit," he paused. "Maman."

René's eyes grew larger. This was bad.

Jean filled in the blanks for him. "René, it's not surprising. She's pregnant with your biological child. You're still young for a vampire, less than a year still, and still learning the ways and hierarchy of the family. What you have to understand is that this isn't your child. "

"But, Jean, it is…"

He tried to be gentle. "No, René, it's not. Oh the technicalities and physiology of it are yours, but Maman and Papa will be the baby's parents. Not you." He saw René begin to waver a bit. "I know, it hurts. It's the only child you'll ever have, but still, in our culture all children belong to the sire, whether made or born."

"But … "

"No, René." Jean pitched his voice as softly as he could. "It can't be."

René remained silent for a few minutes, absorbing everything, draining his glass, and trying to sort through the mess his life had recently become. He turned to Jean Claude and confessed, "It's not just that, Jean."

"I know." Again René seemed surprised. It made Jean smile a little. "Fils, we all love Baby. You have more reason than most. I'd be surprised if you weren't consumed by her and what's happened."

"But Jean," René turned toward him. He was obviously trying very hard to maintain control, but it was starting to slip. "Maman, she… I think she love me."

That took Jean by surprise. There was nothing more dangerous than to help yourself to the consort of your sire. Dancing with a Slayer would be less destructive and fatal. "What do you mean? Tell me what's happened."

René began to explain their time alone, the touches, the kisses, the feelings, the dreams. "It's agony, Jean. I don't know what to do." The strong, beautiful Cajun man began to dissolve into his brother. Jean wrapped his arms around him and pulled him closer, holding him in his lap, and stroking his ebony hair.

They remained like that for a long time until Jean finally felt René relax a little, then Jean began to speak softly to him. "I don't know what to tell you, René. Maman is playing a dangerous game. I know she loves us all, and I know she is partial to you. But any more of this could destroy us all, you, her, Spike, and the family." He paused for a moment. "And you may have to be the strongest. Maman, she is pregnant. She is tired, not feeling well, and, as much as I hate to say it, emotional. You may have to stop this from happening yourself."

René looked up at him, the pain in his heart showing plainly on his face and especially in his eyes. Jean could hardly bear to look at him.

"I know, Jean." René swallowed hard. "It hurts."

"I know, Fils, I know." Jean began to stroke René's hair again, René's head settling back down onto Jean's lap, his face turned away from Jean so that Jean could not see. Jean felt him convulse in silent sobs every few minutes, but René held tightly to his control. Jean almost wished he wouldn't.

After awhile René turned over so that he was looking up at Jean, his head still resting in Jean's lap, his face streaked with tears. "What do I do, Jean?" His voice almost broke. "Being in the house, knowing she's with him, it hurts. Knowing she cares for me, too; that hurts, too. What happen when the baby is born, heh? Can I hold it and love it and then hand it back to Papa as if it's not mine? As if that tiny life were not a part of me, of my body, of my bloodline?" He looked up to Jean for an answer.

Jean was lost for one. He gathered René into his arms, pulling his brother close, and letting René's head fall almost lifelessly onto Jean's shoulder. Jean held René tightly, not knowing what else to say or how to ease his pain. René's body shook with sobs for the life he had lost and the unlife he would never be permitted to live by an accident of love and heredity. He cried for Baby. He cried for their baby. He cried for Spike, who he hoped would never know how close his wife and his son came to betraying him. Jean could do nothing save hold René and whisper words of love and remorse into the black, silken hair against him. And when René could cry no more, they fell asleep, intertwined on René's bed as the midday sun beat mercilessly against the draperies that protected them from the harsh and deadly world outside.

Chapter Nine

When René awoke, he felt cleansed, as if finally releasing his secrets, his fears, and his pain had washed him clean. He was alone in his bed, but he could hear the sound of Jean's shower coming from the next room. A mischievous grin crossed his features and he slipped into the other room, dropping his
clothes on the floor outside the bathroom door and quietly sneaking inside. He pulled aside the curtain and murmured in a sultry voice, "Need someone to wash your back?"

He was met with a blood-curdling scream.

René almost leaped out of his skin, turned and ran from the bathroom, grabbed his clothes, and dashed to his room, slamming the door behind him. He stood there, naked, staring at the closed door. What the Hell was that?

A knock at his main door sent him skittering across the floor, the voice of his brother echoing in the hall.

"René! Let me in, this stuff is heavy!"

He dropped his clothes and opened the door. Jean was carrying a large tray filled with covered plates and containers, cups and glasses. He made a dash for the bureau and set it down with a slight crashing sound. Then he glanced at René.

"Hmm, nice look for you, but you should probably wear clothes to meet the D.A." He laughed to himself and poured them both a cup of coffee, while René hurriedly grabbed some fresh clothes and began to dress. Jean opened the adjoining door, grabbed a covered plate and a drink from the tray.

René cringed, "Jean! Wait! There's someone…"

Jean was already in his room, shouting at the bathroom door. "Tish? Food's here. Croque Monsieur, right, cher?"

René was standing shirtless in the doorway, staring at his brother, when the lovely blonde from the front desk came out of Jean's bathroom wearing nothing but a terrycloth robe with the inn's logo on the front and a big, satisfied smile.

"Mmm, thank you, cher. I was starving." She smiled at Jean. "Somehow I worked up quite an appetite," and she let loose a lyrical laugh that seemed to fill the room.

"Tish? This is my brother René. René, this is Tish."

The girl was laughing. "We've met. Nice to see you again, René." She sat on the bed, took the lid off her plate, and began enjoying her sandwich while silently admiring René. Jean gave them both an odd look.

If René could have flushed red, he would have. He was thoroughly embarrassed. He looked around the room to find it quite rumpled and "lived in." The linens on the bed were mostly on the floor, one of the chairs was knocked over, and there were clothes hanging from several pieces of furniture.
Apparently Jean hadn't been able to sleep so he found a way to enjoy his afternoon.

"You'd better get a move on, Sleepyhead, we have to be at the D.A.'s office in 15 minutes." Jean was grinning widely. It was rather amusing that René was so disoriented about a girl being in his room. It wasn't like Jean never "entertained."

He leaned over the bed and gave Tish a lingering kiss. "We'll be back late. Call housekeeping will you, cher? Someone has mussed my room." They both laughed. He kissed her again and then dragged a still shirtless René back into the connecting room, closing the door behind them. "Well? Grab your coffee and let's go. The sun's down and we have business to do."

René was still staggering around, more than a little confused.

"And don't forget your shirt."

************************************

Philip sat in the study seemingly reading from one of the ancient volumes on Voodoo. Baby was stretched out quietly on the divan in the next room, and he had situated himself so that he had a clear view of her. He noticed the heavy, even breath of sleep and relaxed, tossing the book carelessly onto a table.

Spike had gone to take Claudia to stay with Mama Claire for a few days. Though her memory of the attack was still hazy, she was recovering nicely, and she had badgered Spike into agreeing to let her go, even though he would have preferred she stay at the house where he could watch over her more closely in the event someone from the dusted vamp's clan came looking for her to finish the job. He had been incensed that anyone would dare attack a member of his family. He was the Master of New Orleans, and no one had the right to touch any of his children. He could have let others do this, at least the groundwork, and then have the attackers brought before him. He wouldn't have it. He wanted to do the search himself, impart to the other clans how big an offense this was and exactly what kind of swift and direct punishment such actions would receive. He suspected it was some rogue family who wanted to challenge the new Master; if that were the case, he would meet their challenge … by executing each and every one of them. You didn't mess with the Master and his family. Ever.

All those who had joined Spike after he defeated the Italian master kept a loyal ear to the ground of happenings and new arrivals in New Orleans. They had all proven themselves, especially the Italian himself. Ordinarily, he would have left him to watch over Baby while he was gone, but Philip had also proven himself in the swift and expert way in which he had dispatched Claudia's attacker and taken care of her. He had been worried that Philip was not fitting into their family. There was so much of the bloodlust in him that Spike feared the demon would win and he would have to be destroyed. He couldn't bear the thought. Leaving Philip in charge of Baby was his way of showing faith in his son. She still wasn't feeling well, her pregnancy now quite evident and slowing her down. She resented it, which, of course, made matters worse.

Spike and the others had gone out in search of the nest Philip had mentioned. They hit the neighborhood asking questions and trying to get information about what had happened and if anyone knew. It was a closed-mouth type of place, but most were agreeable when they heard it was for the Master. Spike had already made quite a reputation for himself in the city, not just in the demon community, but in the human world as well. He was still feared as a vampire and a killer, but people admired and respected the way in which he and his family hunted. And they appreciated that fewer and fewer criminals were on the streets. Even law enforcement had taken notice.

The night wasn't very fruitful. There were a few leads, but very few panned out to be more than third or fourth hand information. Something was uncomfortable about the entire situation, but Spike discarded it, blaming his anxiety on his concerns for Baby. He really wished he hadn't left her. This had been a waste of time; there hadn't even been any good hunting.

They piled into the DeSoto and headed back to Rue Royal, arriving just before sunrise. Spike tossed the keys to the Italian to park the car and hurried into the house. Something wasn't right. There were no lights, no signs of life, and no sounds. He reached out with his hearing, his pace quickening toward the front door. He slammed it open and roared. He knew. He could feel it in his gut, in his throat, in his unbeating heart.

The house was vacant. Baby and Philip were nowhere to be found.

***********************

Jean and René got through the business affairs in record time, Jean being eager to be done with it so they could have a good time and relax some. Lord knew René sure needed to unwind. They had quick and efficient meetings with their legal representatives there, as well as with the Major and District Attorney of Mobile who conveyed personal thanks to the Master and his family for their help in resolving some minor, yet embarrassing, internal affairs. Jean and René were treated like royalty. It pleased them both and they made sure both officials knew that they would relay their good treatment and gratitude to the Master personally when they returned home.

By the time they had finished it was only 8:00 p.m. and Jean could taste that first glass of whiskey and was ready to find another filly to amuse him and hopefully René. "Come on, cher, let's find us a pretty and make her dreams come true," he'd said with a smirk.

René laughed. Jean had this incredible ability to make him laugh even when he didn't feel like it. "Oui, fils, and I know just the one." He smiled mischievously. "Turn at the next corner."

"Ah, I see. You've been holding out, have you?" Jean teased. "Who is she and point the way."

René laughed a little more and sent him to Government Street, where old plantation homes seemed to line the streets. Large, arching oaks covered the street like a tunnel. It was almost mystical, as if they were going back in time somehow.

The entire drive Jean had badgered him to tell who they were going to see and René had refused, only replying that it was a lady of some standing in the community, that Jean would enjoy meeting her, and that they would make her dreams come true, just like he said.

They turned into the large, circular driveway and parked in front of the elegant house, René jumping out and running to the front door before the car had even stopped completely. He rang the bell and banged on the door at the same time, and continued to over and over again while Jean walked to the porch to join him. An old black woman, muttering and complaining about all the noise, finally opened the door. Her eyes flew open in amazement, and René had her in his arms twirling her around two feet up in the air, shouting her name into the sky, "Leone!!! Leone-Leone-Leone!!"

When he finally set her down, René kissed her soundly on the cheek and introduced her to Jean. "Leone makes the best biscuits and gravy in the south," he smiled back at her, "which is the same as saying in the whole goddamn world!" She roared with laughter. René straightened up a little and asked, "Is she here?"

Leone looked at him like a mischievous child. "Yeah, you know she's here. She hasn't dared leave the house since she heard you might be coming in. She's changed her clothes about six times, and that's no easy chore these days." René grinned at her with the charm only a Southern gentleman can display. She scoffed at him and stalked into the house, turning around just inside the doorway with her hands on her hips, wondering why they weren't following her into the house. "Well? Come on in! Or would ya'll rather stand outside all night?"

René put a hand on Jean's arm to hold him back for a moment and said playfully, "Well, now that all depends." He smirked. "Are you still wearin' it?"

Leone suddenly looked like a 12 year old girl, all blushes and excitement, as she lifted the hem of her housedress revealing a scarlet colored petticoat slip with at least six layers. She dropped her skirt back into place quickly and scowled at him playfully, "You dog, you know I only takes that off to sleep and bathe!"

René laughed and put an arm around Jean, almost whispering, not wanting Leone to correct him while he quickly told the story. "She wanted a red slip ever since she see 'Gone with the Wind' when she just a 'tite fille. She say there nothing finer than that petticoat Rhett gave to Mammy and she want one before she dies." René glanced back over at her as she opened the door wide for them. "I give that to her for her birthday almost four years ago. I amazed it not thread-bare!"

All three of them entered the house laughing and went straight to the parlor. It was a grand house, with very high ceilings, a chandelier in the entryway, and a parlor just off the hall. It was a proper Old South parlor complete with an old grand piano, tapestries, and Tiffany lamps. It was stunning, almost as stunning as the old woman standing in front of the chair near the fireplace.

René ran to her, throwing his arms around her and covering her with kisses. Tears ran down the old woman's face and she murmured his name over and over again, whispering words of affection in French and stroking his hair. When they finally stepped apart, René signaled for Jean to come over.

"Jean Claude DuValliere, I like to present Miss Milrie Ollie Beauchamp, the finest woman in Mobile, in Louisiana, and quite probably the South." He absolutely beamed with pride, as did she.

She reached a hand out toward Jean, "Very nice to meet you Monsieur DuValliere."

Jean, brought her hand to his lips, brushing them across it lightly, "Enchanté, Mademoiselle," and he smiled up at her wolfishly.

"Merde, René, vous ne m'avez pas dit qu'il était ce charmer."

"I did too tell you he charming, m' petite. In fact, you recall, I tell you to keep you legs crossed while Jean here. He charm the silkies off a nun, him!"

The old woman didn't blush. Jean did. She took René's arm in hers and reached a hand out toward Jean. "Dinner is ready. Leone's only been cooking since 2 o'clock, she threw two batches of biscuits out to the pigs because she said they weren't good enough. I told her, the pig slop would be good enough for the likes of you, but you know her, she wouldn't have any of it. Told me that damned story about the red petticoat again and went back into the kitchen. We're lucky she didn't burn the place down."

René pulled out her chair at the head of the table and gestured for Jean to take her left side; René took the right. His Aunt Billie had helped raise him; she doted on him shamelessly, had dozens of pet names for him and showered him with attention. He was her moon and stars and everyone in the family knew it. When she heard he had been killed, she didn't leave her room for days. She wouldn't eat, wouldn't talk to anyone, and actually threw things at Leone when she tried to press matters. She was the only member of his family who knew he was alive, or rather, undead. It had been a shock for her when he contacted her, but he had explained things to her and told her he was happy and living with people who loved him. Her world had started turning again. René was alive. She didn't care how.

They chatted over dinner, telling stories and lies and jokes. Jean tried to keep up but he didn't want to intrude on their reunion. The food and the company were of the highest quality, a perfect example of southern hospitality. And they had warmed the heart of an old woman to the point it almost burst, two old women, if you counted Leone.

When they left, she loaded them down with packages of leftovers and smothered René with kisses. She nobly tried to hide her tears, but they slipped down her cheeks and mingled with René's. Jean wasn't sure if they were tears of sadness or joy, and at that moment he didn't think they did either. Nor did any of them care.

As they drove away, the two women stood on the porch waving at them until they had turned the corner back out onto Government Street.

Jean glanced over at René and smiled. "Now, that is a fine, southern woman. How come she never married?"

René smiled to himself and quietly replied, "She say it because I was too young." He looked back at Jean. "There's a long story. I let her tell it next time we come. She whoop me if I tell it wrong and she love to tell the tale."

Jean chuckled a little. "A very fine evening, René. Thank you." It had been an odd turn for them. On the one hand Jean figured he'd need to take René out, maybe get him drunk, maybe find a girl to distract him. As it turned out, René had done that for him instead.

***************************

When they reached the hotel, each man unlocked his own door and went inside their respective rooms. The joining door was still closed from earlier leaving the brothers very much alone and apart from the other. Jean stood in front of the door and stated at it, unsure what to do. He desperately wanted to be with his brother, but he also did not want to intrude on René's personal space. This night had been delightful, but he feared that being around his charming aunt had ultimately put René in a more traditional mindset. Family could do that.

René stood on the other side of the door, staring at it intently, wanting it to open, but not willing to take the forward step of opening it himself. The night with his aunt had actually left him quite unsettled. It was a blatant reminder that he was dead to his family, to everyone except her. His life, or unlife, was different now, with different goals and an entirely different existence than he would have had if he hadn't been the one to catch the bullet meant for his human brother. He suddenly felt vulnerable. He wanted to feel safe; safe from the future, from the past, and from the danger that his feelings for Baby brought to them all. He wanted … Jean.

They stood on either side of the door like bookends with no book between them, leaving them with no purpose except to stand with emptiness between them.

At almost the same time, they turned from their mutual door and went to their respective bathrooms, removed their clothing, and showered. Both slipped into the hotel robes that were hanging on the back of the door. Both returned to the door and stared. Jean had turned to go to bed when he heard the tiniest whisper of his name. Turning around, he listened more closely.

On the other side René still stood staring at the door, his mouth betraying him. "Jean." It was barely more than a thought, hardly any form to it at all, and a human would never have heard it.

There was a knock at the door. "René?"

Relieved, René opened the door to find his brother's look of concern.

"Did you call me?"

René almost smiled. "I only thought o' you, Jean. I didn't think I actually said anything."

Jean nodded, a smile playing at his lips. "Well, I'm here now. Do you need something?"

René thought about the answer to that for a very long time. Did he really want to confess this to Jean? It would be easy to just say no and goodnight, but he wasn't sure that was what he wanted. Finally, he stepped back and opened the door fully, looking deeply into the sable brown eyes of his brother. "Yes."

Jean came through and touched him almost immediately, settling his hand on René's shoulder and following down the muscular arm to his hand, which Jean grasped firmly but gently.

"What do you need, René?" Jean's tone was gentle and patient. He would be here for whatever René needed, be it drink, talk, sleep, or something more. Looking at his brother's stormy ocean eyes, Jean was so drawn to René he actually hoped it was for something more. He felt a need to be with René in whatever way he could be. He knew René was still reluctant to be intimate with anyone, and even then it was usually Claudia during family time. He had a feeling René never visited Claudia outside that time, something he himself greatly enjoyed. He desperately hoped René wasn't going anywhere near Baby, though he knew better, he just chose not to admit it even to himself. René was so tightly strung right now that he could use the release of sex. Jean just wasn't sure how he could tell his René that, the way his brother had been lately. Any mention of sex would no doubt give him thoughts of Maman, and at this point that was not a trigger that needed to be pulled.

René looked at the floor for a moment, gathering his thoughts before responding. He squeezed Jean's hand, still not looking at him. "I need …. you." As he said the final word, René lifted his eyes to meet his brother's once again, a tear forming in the corner of one eye, threatening to spill over onto his cheek. He bit his lower lip hard. A drop of blood formed quickly, but before René could lick it himself Jean's thumb was wiping it off.

Jean looked at the blood on his thumb for a moment, studying the color and texture of it, the scent of it heady and full of need; then he popped it into his own mouth, savoring the flavor of René's blood, of him. Jean's eyes closed involuntarily, an expression bordering ecstasy on his face. When he recovered from it, he took René's other hand, bringing it to his mouth and kissing the palm lightly.

Jean spoke into René's hand, peppering it with random, light kisses. "René, I am here for whatever you need. We are brothers. Your pain is my pain. Your need is my need. Whatever I can do to ease your suffering I will do without hesitation. Just say the word." He pressed a lingering kiss to René's wrist, sending a chill of anticipation through both men.

René turned his hand slightly and cupped the side of Jean's face, gently caressing Jean's cheek with his thumb. René looked at Jean, really looked deeply into his brother and without warning, brushed his lips lightly across Jean's. It was more the promise of a kiss rather than a kiss itself, and if René could have blushed afterward, he would have. But the expression on Jean's face made it all go away. It wasn't lecherous or wanton, but the look of a lover who would be whatever he needed tonight … desperate, gentle, understanding, passionate, whatever René would need, he knew right then Jean would give to him.

René's hand began to tremble slightly. Jean took it once again and squeezed both of René's hands before leading him toward the bed. Jean took the exact position he had taken the night before, sitting up slightly, and he opened his arms to his brother welcoming René into his embrace.

René almost fell into his brother's arms. That was exactly what he had wanted and needed, only he hadn't realized it until the moment he saw Jean's invitation. He buried his face in his brother's chest, breathing in Jean's scent as Jean's fingers began to twirl in René's hair. Jean leaned his head back against the headboard, the feel of breath on his chest almost too delicious to endure without pouncing. But Jean held himself in check. This was about René, what he needed and wanted. Jean's hand dropped from the still damp ebony hair down to René's back, where he drew light circles over the terrycloth of his robe.

René repositioned a little, spreading Jean's legs with his own and laying up his chest, his arms holding tightly, wrapped around Jean. Jean wrapped his legs around his brother, his knees just on either side of René's hips. They held still, feeling the cool life within the other in silence.

"Jean?"

"Yes, René," he whispered into his brother's hair.

"I can't forget her, even for a few moments. She's here, inside me, pulling at my heart and bidding me come to her. She won't let me forget; she's just there like the air I used to breathe and the blood flowing in her veins."

Jean felt him shiver. He wrapped his arms and legs around him more tightly, squeezing him until their bodies were almost bonded together. Jean rubbed his cheek in René's hair. "I know …. I know …. " And he did. He, too, had struggled with an inappropriate love for their mother in his early days. It had taken him weeks to overcome it, or at least control it, he feared he'd never really overcome it. He had been about René's age when it happened, and it had been a difficult time for him. René had so much more to deal with emotionally since Baby carried his one and only child and since Spike had allowed René to share intimacy with them. Jean feared his brother would really never completely recover from this, but Jean would do whatever he could to help René, redirect him, or just outright distract him.

"Jean?" René's voice was like a child's, full of fear.

"Yes, René." His tone was soothing and nurturing.

René turned his face up to Jean's, tears once again threatening to escape the depths of the blue-green eyes. "Make me forget."

Jean responded immediately, lifting René up slightly as he untied his own robe and peeled it back, opening himself and his body to his brother for comfort. René looked at Jean with new eyes, those of a grateful lover, as he looked over his pale, taut skin. Jean reached for René, untying and opening René's robe as well, pushing it off his shoulders but leaving it to cover them both. He pulled René into his embrace once again, skin-to-skin, brother-to-brother, and complete in their bond and their love for one another.

René rested his head on his brother's shoulder, his fingers tangling in the hair on Jean's chest. Jean softly stroked René's back beneath the robe, tracing muscle and bone and just able to reach the curve of his buttocks. Jean kissed the top of René's head, breathing in the scent of René's hair once again and whispering into it, "I love you, René."

René melted into him, burying his face in Jean's chest while pulling down all walls and inhibitions. Jean tilted René's face up toward him again, placing a gentle kiss on his mouth.

"René … let me love you tonight, let me ease your pain however I can."

René could hardly speak, a raspy whisper replied with a single word. "Yes."

That was all Jean had needed. He turned René over onto his back and took the top, kissing along his jaw line and neck, across his throat and down onto his collarbone. René was almost frozen for fear that if he moved Jean would stop. René's tumultuous mind slowed, his thoughts beginning to center on the love being given him instead of the love being denied him. He almost whimpered in the relief of Jean's touches and caresses, as his brother traced each line of René's shoulders and chest with first his hands, followed by his lips and tongue. Jean lingered over one nipple, drawing a circle around it slowly before drawing it into his mouth, an audible gasp coming from René.

It felt so good, so good, René thought to himself. Jean's hands worked their magic on René's sides, almost tickling their way down his ribs to his hip, holding them against the bed as Jean shifted between his brother's legs in an echo of the position they were in only a few moments ago. Jean continued kissing across and down René's chest, worshipping each rib, dwelling over the place where his heart lay dormant. Jean nipped and sucked at René's flesh, licked and flicked both his nipples in a fair exchange between the two until René was writhing beneath him.

Slowly Jean began his descent down to René's belly, the usually hard-muscled surface suddenly soft and welcoming. Jean pressed his face into it inhaling deeply as his lips and tongue explored further, teasing René's navel and sucking in bits of tender skin around it. He dropped lower and lower until the curly short hairs of René's groin tickled his face. He felt René tense, so he moved back up a little more, using his hands to caress and soothe René. He could feel René's arousal pressing hard against his upper chest, so that was not in question, but René's hesitancy at intimacy with a man always amused him. He respected it, but he was always curious about it. Vampires were not usually heterosexual. René seemed to be taking his own path in that. It was a little disappointing for Jean, he would love nothing more than sleeping and loving nightly with his brother. But this was the first time René had allowed him to be this close, this intimate, outside of a family gathering. He loved every moment of it.

When René relaxed once again, Jean started to move down. Again, René tensed and Jean stopped, but did not move up. He rested his cheek in the soft hair and waited for René to decide. He wouldn't press René one way or the other. René's fingers were suddenly tangled in Jean's hair, very slowly and gently pushing Jean down. Jean smiled a little to himself, and then began to kiss and tease all around René's hard, erect shaft. The shiny, purplish head begged for attention as tiny, whitish drops began to gather. Jean lapped them up with one stroke, tasting them, licking his lips before returning to René's hip. René squirmed beneath Jean, desire taking over and want begging to be released. Jean moved even lower, kissing the tops of René's thighs, tugging at the hairs and kissing them again when they had pulled just the tiniest bit too far. He dipped his head between René's thighs, stroking his tongue along the sensitive flesh between anus and sac.

René was panting now, even whimpering. Jean was relentless. He was thorough. He was also having the time of his life. He sucked one orb into his mouth and held it there, tickling it with his tongue and humming his lips around it so that they vibrated against René's skin. René began to tremble, so Jean began stroking René's thighs comfortingly while his mouth moved from one testicle to the other, mirroring his previous movements.

"Jean …," René's tone was urgent, almost pleading, "Jean … please …"

With no warning, Jean plunged his mouth onto the full, hardened length and sucked René in deeply, his tongue massaging the bottom, his lips holding tightly to the hilt.

René almost lost it right there, but the pleading tone of his cries contradicted his words. "Yesss," he hissed, "Mon Dieu, Jean, yessssss."

Jean took a long, sucking stroke upward before swirling his tongue around the tip and plunging down again, pulling René deeply into his mouth and into his throat, swallowing and contracting his throat around him. René could hold it back no longer, though he tried to warn Jean. He wasn't sure he wanted Jean to take him in like this when he came, but he was so far into the ecstasy of it that he couldn't verbalize it. He tried to move Jean's head away, but Jean wouldn't have it, again stroking René's thighs to comfort him and reassure him that Jean Claude knew what he was doing. He swallowed around René one last time when René exploded into him with a growling cry of release that could be heard throughout the hotel and probably well into the community.

Jean eagerly took René all in, swallowing the salty-sweet fluid as the walls of his throat massaged René through each pulse of the orgasm.

René collapsed, nearly unconscious, but panting heavily, as Jean began to work his way up his brother's body once again, touching and caressing, kissing and comforting him all the way.

When Jean reached René's face, he pressed his lips to his brother's hungrily and was rewarded with parted lips and an urgent kiss in return. René was still whimpering quietly into Jean Claude's mouth. When they both settled down some, Jean rolled onto his back, pulling René on top of him again, stroking his back and calming him. René's hand reached down toward his brother's erection, but Jean stopped him.

"No, René … relax into me, this is about you, not me … save it for another time, little brother." And he wrapped his arms protectively around René.

Whispered words passed between them, some in French, some in English, and some in some indecipherable language, but they all meant the same thing … love. The two brothers intertwined themselves to where it was difficult to tell whose limbs where whose, and they fell into a deep, peaceful sleep … probably the first peaceful sleep René had experienced since his turning.

*****************

Jean was awoken suddenly when his brother bolted upright. René's eyes were wild and searching.

"Jean! JEAN!!"

"I'm here!" Jean tried to hold him, but René wouldn't have it. His eyes were becoming more and more desperate. "What is it, René?"

"It's … it's …. Maman … she's ……."

The phone rang, startling them both. They stared at each other for a long moment before Jean reached for the phone. His eyes darted around as he listened, and he leaped out of bed as he threw the phone back onto the cradle.

"It was Spike. We have to go home NOW!"

Chapter Ten

December 10, 2001

Baby awoke in total darkness, chilled to the bone, and shivering in her night shift. Her head throbbed as if tiny mallets were trying to beat their way out of her skull. She recognized the horrid wooziness of being drugged, her stomach roiled and gurgled and threatened to eject whatever it contained. The child inside her complained, turning and pushing as if trying to get its mother's attention, and she could see absolutely nothing.

"I know you're awake." The voice was cold as steel, heartless, soulless, and oddly familiar.

"Yes, but I can't see you." Baby tried to stay calm. She had no idea what was going on, but circumstances sure didn't look very good right now.

"Of course you don't see. You've never seen, never understood." The voice seemed to move around the room. She kept turning toward it, but then it would move again, and she'd search for it, even in darkness, hoping to be able to pinpoint where it came from.

Baby tried to move forward, but ran into a wall. She ran along it to the corner, then another corner, and still another. Panic was beginning to take over.

"I ... I don't know what you're talking about."

"That's because you are a stupid animal. You've never understood that you are nothing more than a pet, a convenient whore," he paused, "and a food supply." There was such hatred in that voice, she could hardly bear it. "You have never learned your place, slut. I doubt you ever will."

Baby sank into a corner. The concrete was extremely cold, piercing the thin cotton easily and making her shiver even more. She didn't care. Reaching her arms around her belly and knees, she pulled them in as tightly as she could. She tried to make herself as small as possible, as difficult to find as possible. It didn't really matter.

"Blood is better when tinged with fear," he said.

She heard a door slam and lock. "Hello?" There was no reply, only the empty echo of her own pitiful voice.

*****************************

Jean was careening down the interstate at over 90 mph. He and René hadn't packed; they had just run to the car and left. They'd send for their stuff later. It was still dark, so they left the top down most of the way, but they could feel the approaching storm in the air, crackling and heavy and threatening.

René hadn't asked what was wrong. He knew. He knew there was something wrong and that it had to do with Baby. His instincts told him that much. Inside he was terrified. He was afraid to ask what Spike had said, or why they were tearing a blue streak back to New Orleans. They'd been on the road for more than an hour before René had gathered the courage to ask.

"Jean?" He swallowed hard. "What did Spike say?" A crease formed between his eyes. "Is she…. Is she alive?"

Jean suddenly realized he had told René nothing at all. When the call from Spike came in, the urgency was to get home, so he went into businessman mode and did what was necessary to get there. He wasn't sure what to tell René to be honest. They really didn't know if she was dead or alive, but all his instincts said alive. Spike must have thought so, too. He was distraught but Jean doubted he could have made the call at all had Baby been confirmed dead. He tried to pitch his voice as calmly as possible.

"She's missing, René." He didn't know what else to say, except go into the details of what he knew, which wasn't much. "Spike took Claudia to Mama Claire's. When he returned, the house was dark and she was gone. There's been no word." He tried to remain as detached as he could, but inside he was screaming. He felt everything. René's pain, Spike's pain, his own, and a widespread panic that they wouldn't be able to find her, or that when they did it would be too late. Jean stomped the accelerator to the floor.

René growled quietly, a rumbling, ominous sound that said he was so angry he had no words for it, he just stared straight ahead. Anything he could say at this point wouldn't help. It would simply be a verbalization of his fears, and he was afraid once that fear was spoken, it might become a reality. He couldn't bear the thought.

Neither of them said any more, and the night stretched on into infinity. It seemed the road would never end.

****************************

Spike was growling. He'd had the minions search every inch of the house for any sign of Baby and Philip. There was nothing, no hint of where they had gone, no hint of what happened. They had just vanished. Every internal alarm went off. She was in danger, and it was his fault. He shouldn't have left her.

He was struggling with a suspicion that Philip might be behind it. He wanted to trust his son; he didn't want to think that he'd been so wrong in letting Philip remain a part of the family. The thought of banishing him had haunted and ripped at Spike's heart for weeks now. He had begun to feel it was inevitable until the night Philip brought home a beaten and wounded Claudia, carrying her tenderly in his arms. Spike had thought Philip might finally become the son he thought he could be. Now, he didn't know what to think. It was possible someone had overpowered him and taken her. Or perhaps, perhaps Spike was over-reacting and they had just gone out for a bite to eat. Even as he thought it, he knew that's not what had happened. He had this awful, sickening feeling that this was just too wrong. Everything about it was just wrong.

René blew through the front door like he was in a hurricane. "Papa! Papa!" He threw himself at Spike, almost colliding with him.

Jean was close behind having left the car still running out front. "Have you heard anything?

Minions were scattering everywhere, moving about like thousands of tiny ants preparing for something but not really having any true direction. Spike was standing in the midst of them, strangely stoic and in control. It was a façade. Jean and René could feel him crying out to them in their minds, his desperation, his complete and utter panic that she had somehow been taken. His voice remained strong.

"No. No word from either of them."

"Either?" René looked at Jean, confused.

"Philip was with her, René."

"Philip!! Philip??" René was suddenly angry and shot an accusatory glare at Spike. "Why she with Philip, Papa? "

Spike growled a warning at him and Jean pulled him back, whispering to him quietly. "It's okay, René. Let Papa tell us what's going on."

Spike glared at René just a moment longer then went into the explanation of what happened with Claudia and how he had gained a renewed trust in Philip because of it. "I don't know what happened, but I sure hope he's with your mama. He'll protect her, I just know it."

A flash of lightening and a crash of thunder and all the lights flickered then went out completely. Even in the darkness, it was easy for their vampire eyes to see that Philip was standing alone in the entry hall, dripping wet, bloody, and beaten. He could hardly stand.

"Papa, " he staggered toward Spike. "Papa, they have her," he began to dissolve to the floor, "they have her." He appeared to be distraught and sobbing.

René growled at him, a low, menacing, and distrustful rumbling which rivaled the thunder outside.

Spike flashed yellow eyes at René, and then joined Philip on the floor. "Where?" he yelled over the next clap of thunder. "Where is she, Philip?" He held tightly to his control knowing that if he lost it there would be blood and death and possibly dust.

"I … I don't know. They were headed toward the water, Papa. I don't know what they were going to do. They kept saying something about getting even, about punishing the Master … I don't know." He collapsed entirely, blood seeping from his face and arms and the back of his head where he had obviously been struck.

Spike signaled some of the minions to take care of him, grabbed the Italian and several others, and signaled René & Jean to meet him outside.

"Stay here, son, we'll find her. I know we will." He placed a reassuring hand on Philip's shoulder and then ran out the door to organize the others.

***********************************

Something didn't smell right. René and Jean both didn't like the feel of this, something was very, very wrong. Spike was determined to find Baby, so he took everyone except his two sons with him toward the water where they would spread out like locusts devouring everything in sight trying to find her.

After hearing the details of what had happened to Claudia, René and Jean had other ideas and told Spike they wanted to check on something closer to town. René felt something was wrong; something about this was too convenient, especially with Spike deploying the troops all around the waterfront. It left an awful lot of the city unexplored and unprotected. Jean had agreed and they decided to search on their own in the city proper.

They split up and thoroughly covered the area in which Claudia had been attacked. Nothing more than an obviously empty lead had turned up, so they stopped to regroup and reevaluate.

Jean closed his eyes in concentration, like there was an idea there he couldn't quite touch, a missing piece of the puzzle.

"René? Don't you find it odd that no one saw the attack? And…" He paused for a moment, his eyes still closed, still searching for that little clue that was being so elusive. "And, isn't it odd that in the alley where this supposedly took place there was no scent of her blood anywhere? We'd have smelled it, and Spike would have, too. No amount of cleaning or chemicals would disguise that to us; we've shared her enough it would attract us to the spot immediately." Jean was analyzing all the facts in his head, comparing, contrasting, turning it all over and over again as if he were examining a solid object instead of an abstract concept. "And isn't it even more odd that no one came to help the daughter of the Master until she was beaten into unconsciousness? Even then, it was her brother who came to save her and no one else?" His eyes flew open, and he looked straight at René.

"Philip," René growled.

"Philip," Jean nodded and agreed.

*******************************

Philip entered the warehouse almost strutting. Everything was working perfectly. Spike and the entire family, all the minions, and most of the family's supporters were searching every inch of the waterfront. There was no one left to search any other part of the city, and certainly nowhere as obvious as the old warehouse they used to call home.

He struck a match and lit an old kerosene lantern, the smell filling the warehouse with that sickening chemical stench. He plodded up the stairway, casting a hideous shadow on the walls as he approached the locked room. He could smell her. He could hear and feel her heartbeat and that of her unborn child, the bastard child that she would present to Spike as if it were his. He snarled at the thought. With any luck, after tonight, he'd have them both for a snack… force the child to be born and eat it in front of her before he ate her as well. Then he would have their bodies delivered to the house on Rue Royal, perhaps gift-wrapped. He smiled at the thought. It was going to be so delicious.

He slammed the doorway open and flooded it with the dim light of the lantern. Baby squeezed her eyes closed, the sudden light, after so many hours of darkness, almost blinding her. She acclimated as quickly as she could and forced them open again. She wanted to know who was behind this and, most of all, why.

"Philip," she snarled. She should have been surprised, but she wasn't. Here was the prodigal son who had gone out of his way to prove that he was worthy after all. He knew he had been on precarious ground with his father. He would have had to be an idiot not to know how close he had been to being destroyed. She should have known. They all should have known. Claudia's injuries were just too conveniently timed with René and Jean being out of town. He'd have never gotten away with any of this had they been here. They'd have discovered him immediately and beaten him almost to death themselves before bringing him before Spike.

She pushed herself up into the corner, sliding up the wall to a standing position. She would not have him talking down to her, at least not with her down on the floor. She stood tall and proud, walking towards him, challenging and growling. Her time with Spike and the rest of the family had taught her just what sounds to make. She did them well.

"Don't growl at me, slut." He moved toe-to-toe with her, his height towering over her, but her pride and resolve not diminishing in the slightest. His voice was full of anger and hatred and pitched so low that it should have rumbled the floor. She growled again, lifting her chin defiantly.

With a furious roar and full vampire strength, Philip backhanded her. Baby landed with a sickening thud on the other side of the room. It hurt. It hurt a lot. The baby made its objections to her rough handling known, moving and kicking inside her, sending warning shards of pain down one leg. Between the smell of kerosene, the churning baby, and the blow she'd been dealt, her stomach began to roil and rebel. She shifted over to her hands and knees and vomited on the cold cement. She hadn't wanted to and had actually tried not to, but the combination of factors was too overwhelming to her swollen body. The blow, combined with the jolt of landing on the floor, was just too much.

She wiped her mouth and looked up at him with pure hatred in her eyes. A sparkle of something triumphant crossed her face, a sudden thought that now, no matter what else happened, he wouldn't be able to smell her fear. He would be unable to avoid the acrid and nauseating stench of stomach bile and half digested food instead. She almost laughed at the thought. It was lovely. Here he had gone to all this trouble to frighten and abuse her, and he wouldn't even be able to enjoy the intoxicating scent of fear in the air, it would be disguised with the putrid smell of vomit.

Wiping her mouth again, she staggered to her feet, even though her body screamed at her for it, refusing to even lean against the wall. Her voice, grating and harsh from the acid in her throat, croaked a warning at him. "Spike is going to kill you." An animalistic sneer spread across her features.

Philip lifted an eyebrow, cocking his head to one side. "Too late. He already did."

Baby's victorious expression faded slightly as he began to walk in a circle around her, stalking her like a predator. She wasn't steady enough on her feet to counter him.

"You see, mommy dearest, I'm already dead. I've been dead for well onto a year." He was enjoying this too much. "I've been dead ever since 'daddy' stumbled onto my botched robbery.

Baby looked confused. Philip let out a disturbing laugh. "For a 200-plus-year-old man, he's not very bright, you know? I was robbing that guy, not the other way around. Bastard turned on me, grabbed my gun and shot me! Can you believe that?" His voice was filled with laughter. "That wimp kid that your vampire mate slaughtered and gave to Jean to eat was innocent as a lamb. Then he offered to turn me into an immortal? Wow! What an amazing stroke of luck! I couldn't believe it. I STILL can't!"

She began to tremble, partially from the cold, partially from rage, and partially in disbelief that they had all been so wrong. This was more horrible than she could have imagined. Her instincts about Philip had been right all along; she should have said more, should have insisted Spike dust him after he attacked René.

"So you see, 'Maman,'" he said mockingly. "He has no one to blame but himself when the package with your two bodies arrives."

Two? He'd said two? Her heart started to race and her hands instinctively moved to her swollen belly. The child inside her flinched as if it knew what was going on, and she began to back up against the wall, moving along it slowly toward the door. He watched her like a panther, following her movement with his eyes and keeping his body facing her, but making no move toward her. His expression was complete domination.

"But before I eat," he smirked. "I think perhaps I should see what it is about your that has Papa so captivated. I mean, you must be an extraordinarily good fuck for him to go so far against vampire culture and keep you as a mate instead of a pet."

She bolted for the door. He cut her off, slamming her hard against the wall and ripping the front of her nightgown off with one wicked stroke. She struggling, scratching, hitting, and biting him until he hit her so hard across the jaw that she lost her footing and almost her consciousness. He held her up, shoving her head viciously against the wall until she was disoriented. She couldn't really see him anymore, everything was turning and moving and flickering in the inconsistent light of the lantern. His hands, mouth, teeth, and body tore at and punished her while he violated her over and over again. She couldn't move. She couldn't stand. He was slamming against her so hard she couldn't get enough of a breath beneath her to even scream, the life inside her being shoved up into her lungs with each thrust of his body. All she could do was disconnect, look past him, and try to focus on something, anything.

Then she saw it … on the opposite wall, dimly lit but still discernible. The brilliant colors danced around as the dark clouds of unconsciousness over took her, but she could still see them … the smiling faces she'd painted only a few months ago … the faces filled with love and joy and belonging, the faces of Spike, Jean, René, Claudia, and Philip.

*******************************

Jean hung up the phone and grabbed René by the arm. "I have an idea. Let's go."

They were in the convertible within seconds. The rain had finally stopped, leaving the air fresh, clean, and damp. The streets shone like diamonds twinkling in the lights, and Jean took the top down immediately, as if he might be able to hear or smell her from a greater distance if they weren't confined to a car with a roof on it. Silence hung between the brothers like heavy fog, neither one sure what to say to the other. René desperately wanting to know what Claudia had said and whether it could lead them to Baby or not, but he was afraid of the answer.

When it became obvious they were headed to the old warehouse, René gave Jean a surprised look. Jean simply nodded until he'd made the next turn.

"Yes, the old warehouse. Claudia is remembering more and more. She remembers being with Philip and at some point being in the warehouse, specifically in Maman & Papa's room because she remembers the mural." The tires squealed as Jean made another tight turn at high speed. "It seems the most logical place to try, don't you think?"

René was still staring at him, but managed a nod.

"And René?" Jean spoke carefully to be sure his brother understood. "Don't kill him. Papa wants him alive."

René let a rumbling growl be his response as they pulled up in front of their old home. Both men jumped out of the car without opening the doors and without turning off the engine. They ran to the door, kicking it open before they began running up the stairs.

"Jean!" René shouted, his throat beginning to tighten. "I smell her … I smell her blood!" They ran faster, heading straight toward their parents' old makeshift bedroom.

Philip didn't even hear them coming. He was roaring loudly while he continued his assault on Baby who he held, still unconscious, against the wall. As the brothers burst through the door, Jean threw himself at Philip, taking him down hard. René caught Baby before she hit the floor.

"René! Get her out of here!" Jean shouted as he recaptured his balance and spun-kicked Philip in the head. Philip tried to duck, but was too late, Jean's blow sent him flying into the opposite wall, his own blood now mixing with the smears and splatters of Baby's and Claudia's.

René lifted the unconscious Baby into his arms, stunned into silence at what had been done to her. Her nightgown was nothing more than shreds of material; she was bruised on her arms, legs, stomach and face. There was blood everywhere, even in her hair, running down her chest and seeping from an open wound on one breast. Blood also conspicuously wept from two puncture wounds at the juncture of her shoulder and neck, leaving twin crimson trails dripping down across her clavicle. Philip had tried to erase Spike's mark on her by replacing it with one of his own. If there had been any chance Philip would be allowed to live, it was erased now. René couldn't even imagine what the punishment would be for a childe who tried to claim his sire's consort. A low growl started from deep inside him and anger overtook him like a raging tide. How could Philip do this? How could anyone hurt her like this, defile her, almost kill her? How could anyone challenge their sire's sovereignty by trying to claim her? It was unconscionable. It was horrifying. It was …. René let out a roar of anger that shook the walls. He wanted Philip dead NOW. He wanted to do it, wanted to rip Philip's arms out of their sockets, rip Philip's chest open so that he could see what kind of black heart could do something like this. And René wanted to do it with his bare hands.

The growl in his chest continued until he felt Baby stir in his arms. René tried to calm down and pulled her close to him, holding back growls and snarls of anger directed at his brother. Seeing Jean had things under control and forcing himself to remember that Baby's safety was now his responsibility, he held onto her tightly, turned and ran from the room. Once down the stairs he gently secured her in the car before climbing in himself and tearing down the street toward Rue Royal. Half way home René realized that taking Baby there wasn't a good idea. If something happened to Jean, Philip might come after them, and home would be the first place he'd look. René's heart squeezed hard at the thought of what could happen to Jean. He wanted to go back and help him; he wanted to rip Philip apart for what he had done. But he couldn't risk any of it. He had to get Baby to safety. He turned around and headed toward Mama Claire's. If nothing else, the magicks there would keep them safe.

Philip began to rebound. He staggered to his feet, trying to pull up and fasten his trousers as he made a swing at Jean. The impact was easily avoided; Jean turning instead and catching his elbow hard in Philip's lower back, knocking him down again. Philip tried to get away. Jean wouldn't allow it. He said nothing as he continued to pound Philip with blow after blow, kick after kick until Philip was almost as bloody as Baby had been.

When Jean finally began to slow down from exhaustion, he found he was forcing himself to breathe, leaning over with his hands on his knees for stability. He didn't take his eyes off Philip for even a moment. Philip crawled away, desperate to escape, blood streaking the floor as he dragged himself toward the door. When he reached it, he looked back toward Jean, a satanic, yet triumphant smile on his face. He reached up for the doorframe and instead grabbed a black-denim clad leg. Fear gripped him as he lifted his face in time to see the black boot just before it kicked his face in.

******************************

Philip was heaped on the floor, chained and shackled and unconscious. Spike was standing over him, seemingly in total control of himself. Spike had said nothing since he had kicked his son into unconsciousness. He was authoritative in stance, with his hands crossed behind his back, balled into tight fists. There was the truth revealed. The only sign of his simmering anger was in his hands, blood seeping between his fingers where his own animalistic vampire fingernails bit into his flesh.

Jean stood in the background, his shirt torn revealing his bruised and bloodied arms and torso. He had cleaned and wrapped the few wounds he had, and was now ready to deal with Philip however Spike wanted it to be done. There was no punishment too severe for his errant brother. He had raped and possibly killed his sire's consort. If he were lucky Spike would let him die within a month. If he were unlucky, Spike would keep him alive for years in tortured agony. Jean just wanted it over with.

"Where are Baby and René?" Spike's tone was icy and detached and his eyes were still watching his son turned mortal enemy still lying unconscious on the floor at his feet. Most likely it was the only way he could respond. Jean feared that if Spike let even a trickle of his anger escape that nothing in New Orleans would be left standing by sunrise.

"They're at Mama Claire's, Papa."

Spike turned and looked at Jean, the unasked question on his lips but the words unwilling to come forth.

Jean understood. "She's alive, Papa. I just got off the phone with René. She's in bad shape, but she's alive." Jean sighed quietly. This was harder than he thought it would be. He thought the hard part had been capturing Philip. He was wrong. Watching his father try to hold his sanity together and not rip the limbs off his treacherous brother while he was still alive was worse. Much worse.

"And the baby?"

"Unsure for now, but it seems to be fine. There are no visible signs anything is wrong and she's not in labor. Considering what he did to her, we're lucky we didn't lose them both." Jean bit off that last part, wishing to God he hadn't said it, so he added. "Maman is an extraordinarily strong woman." There, that was better. He didn't want to give Spike the impression that Baby was somehow weakened and helpless. She had withstood an ordeal that would have killed most other women, and she had managed to keep her baby in the process.

Spike turned his attention back to the mass of blood-soaked flesh on the floor. "Should I pass sentence before or after I see her?"

"After, Papa." He swallowed hard. Jean couldn't say it. He needed to tell Spike what happened to her, the things that were done to her, but he knew it would shatter his father and probably himself as well just uttering the words. "Papa ……"

Spike lifted his chin in response but didn't look at his eldest son.

"Papa, he …" Jean's voice broke, a stifled sob caught there announcing to the world just how hard this was. "He raped her, Papa." The words hung in the air like the headman's axe ready to strike and silence the worst criminal imaginable. Slightly clawed fingers pressed deeper into Spike's hands, streams of blood running from his clinched fists into puddles on the floor behind him. His hands were almost unrecognizable as hands now.

"Jean Claude," he said formally. "Get him out of my sight until I decide what is to be done. I'm afraid if I see him again before that time I will rip him to shreds with my bare hands." Spike turned and looked at his eldest son again. "That's too good for him. I'm going to Claire's."

He walked stoically toward the front door, stopping for just a moment to place his bloodied hand on Jean's shoulder. He couldn't meet his eyes, but the touch alone spoke volumes of Spike's gratitude that Jean was there and willing to do what needed to be done.

*************************

René sat silently by Baby's bed, holding her hand, stroking it softly. He had helped to clean her up, bandage her, and get safe medicines and some broth into her. She hadn't really regained consciousness but did manage to do things groggily if René asked. Her subconscious clung to him like a drowning man to a lifesaver.

Her face was a mass of bruises and cuts, and her head was bandaged with extra cushioning at the back where her head had been slammed into the wall. She had a concussion, and a few stitches were needed, too. Her left arm was broken, and her left shoulder was dislocated, but most of the injuries appeared to be soft tissue only. Her jaw and left eye were swollen shut, cold packs being changed frequently to help keep the swelling down. Her lower lip was raw and still bleeding a little from having been bitten and chewed on innumerable times. Her other wounds and scars were covered by a fresh nightgown, her tattered, bloody one having been held in reserve to give to Spike. Mama Claire had said that he might have a need for it. René hadn't the heart to see or ask what else was wrong. Mama Claire had said Baby was strong and the child was strong and that they would both live. René heard little after that, but he remained with her, unmoving and unwavering, until Spike appeared and told him he could stand down.

René reluctantly stood and moved away from his mama, letting his fingers slip from hers as if they were in slow motion. Spike took his place, leaning over her and kissing her softly on the forehead before settling in to the chair and taking her hand in his. His youngest son stood silently behind him against the wall. Spike spoke to him without looking at him. His voice calm and authoritative, but it was tinged with anger, desperation, and fear at how close he had been to losing everything because of one bad judgment.

"You did well, René. You found her, got her to safety, and saved her life as well as the life of our child." He paused for a moment, his thumb caressing the top of Baby's hand. "I won't forget what you did tonight, son, you and Jean Claude. I am proud and grateful to you both…" His voice softened to almost a whisper, " … beyond anything that words could possibly express." The words cracked, sorrow and pain bathing them both at what had almost happened,

René stood in stunned silence, suddenly filled with pride at what he had accomplished. The vain, shallow René Beaumont of eight months ago was truly dead. In his place stood this strong, confident man who had just risked his undead life to rescue his human mother, had worked hand in hand with his oldest brother, had resisted the bloodlust and urge to kill the brother who had done this to her and remained in total control. These were things the live René might not have done, things the fledgling René should have had more trouble with, but because of the love and guidance of his new family he had conquered the demon that could have taken control of him. He gave a satisfied sigh. He had become the man he should have always been, even though he was no longer living. All that remained of the old René Beaumont was the teal blue eyes and devastating, though pale, good looks.

René looked over at Baby and Spike once again, the swell of her belly showing substantially beneath the coverlet. His unbeating heart squeezed just a little at the words his father had just said, "our child." René swallowed in a dry throat as his mind gave a silent cry of rebellion, "No, my child."

Chapter Eleven

February 12, 2002

The celebration in the air was so thick that it was palpable. The crowds, the music, the noise, and the partying were almost overwhelming. Throngs of bodies were pressed together on the crowded streets, the humidity adding to the heady smells of Cajun food, a propensity of alcohol, and the general drunken revelry that accompanied Mardi Gras in New Orleans. The city itself seemed to breathe as a living being. Visitors worldwide came for this event. It was a splendid place to live and a splendid place to be alive, or even undead.

Spike, Baby, and the rest of the family were no different in that they craved and looked forward to the festivities. The Master of New Orleans and his Pride had the respect and admiration of the community, law enforcement, and certainly the vampire and demon clans. And it showed in the respect the crowd showed them, the space they were given, the stares and nods of admiration, and the occasional shout of gratitude that would waft over the crowd. As the Pride walked down Bourbon Street, the crowd parted and honored them as if they were passing royalty. To many in the city that's exactly what they were; they ruled this part of the vampire world.

They strolled down Bourbon Street as if they owned it, Jean and René walking out front, flanking their parents. The family sported a large quantity of traditional Mardi Gras beads. Usually these were given out to those who stood out in the crowd for their talents, assets, or lack of inhibitions. Tossed from floats, they were snatched from the air by prowess and agility. Handfuls of bright colored baubles were a badge of honor. Both Jean and René were heavily ornamented with strand after strand of very long, colorful beads. Women would step out of the crowd or risk life and limb to lean over the edge of the tall floats, removing all their strands to bestow them on the brothers, who then would reward the lady with a kiss. A kiss from one of the sons of William the Bloody was a symbol of status in itself, so that suddenly for a woman to have no beads at all became a sign that she had been favored.

The brothers were exquisite by any standard. René wore tight-fitting jeans and a shirt that was the same shade of blue-green as his eyes. Jean wore white linen, both his shirt and well-tailored slacks along with his fedora that was dipped ever so slightly down across his forehead and tilted to the left. With these two breathtakingly handsome men leading the way, there was no one present who didn't notice them and their silent herald that the Master was here.

Spike walked hand-in-hand with Baby wearing his usual black jeans. Baby had insisted he add something colorful, so he chose a gold silk shirt that was stunning against the black. Baby wore a white lightweight cotton frock in a small flowered pattern with ruffles at the bottom and on the short sleeves. She also had a lightweight sweater casually draped over her shoulders in the event the damp night air became too chilled for her. The hem of her dress seemed to float as she walked. It was more feminine attire than she usually wore, but she had discovered quickly that maternity clothes only came in two styles, frilly and cutesy. She'd rather go naked than wear something with teddy bears on it, and since Spike would not allow her to go naked in public, the flowers won. At least she was comfortable, and the colorful beads she collected from those paying tribute to the Master and his family made her feel more festive and less matronly. She was very heavy with child now, so that some of the beads pooled at the top of her protruding belly. Spike himself wore no beads, instead indicating Baby to those who offered the jewel-colored treasures. She would always puff up just a bit more with each strand, especially those that almost touched her knees. For some reason receiving this traditional Mardi Gras trinket made her feel more like his consort, as if she were not only honored by those who gave tribute but also by Spike himself.

Claudia followed them, dressed colorfully and smiling at the throngs of people who watched and admired them. She had a respectable amount of beads herself and took to hanging them in places other than her neck, such as in her hair or triple-wrapped as bracelets or anklets.

Guarding the rear was Ari, the former Master, and any and all minions who wanted to venture out into the citywide party. All of them were dressed to the nines, with even the lowliest of minions sporting a strand or two of beads.

They took a slow pace for Baby. They made frequent stops for rest and something to drink, the restaurant and bar owners eager to clamor and fuss over them all just so they could boast the honor of having hosted the Master and his family. Even exhausted with swollen feet, Baby enjoyed the celebratory atmosphere that Mardi Gras had to offer. They all did.

It was a welcome relief from the tiresome, sad, and stressful events of the fall. The last few months had been difficult, but Spike's handling of Philip secured his station as Master of the City. Word spread quickly through Louisiana, Alabama, Georgia, Mississippi, South Carolina, and even as far north as Virginia of how the errant son was disowned for his behavior, then tortured and killed for his flagrant violation of his sire's consort. The story quickly became legend, and those of influence throughout the south sent unsolicited tributes to the Master and his family. Never had there been such a powerful leader amongst the vampires and demons of the South. The legend and legacy of William the Bloody was rewriting the manner in which they lead, hunted, and fed. It was only fitting that New Orleans itself should offer its favorite and feared son the respect and honor he deserved. If the city leaders didn't, the communities certainly did.

Baby had healed nicely from her injuries. She had been doted and fawned over by a house full of mother hens to the point she didn't think anyone would ever let her walk on her own even down the hallway. At times they were intrusive, and she had scolded René and Spike more than once for not letting her alone long enough to take care of basic needs, like bathing or going to the bathroom. But inside she reveled in the love and care they showered on her. She had finally been allowed to get about more and had been promised an outing Mardi Gras night. She had looked forward to this for weeks. Her concussion had finally cleared and there was little visible sign of her injuries outside the recently removed cast. This night, she strutted through the French Quarter with her husband, daughter, and sons like the queen of the world, and if anyone had questioned that, they'd have been met with growls.

About half way down Bourbon Street, Baby began to slow down, walking a little strangely, her face an unexpected grimace.

"Spike?" Her voice was a little unsteady. "Can we stop for a drink?" She was casual, not wanting to cause any undue panic, but she needed to sit down.

Spike glanced at her, sensitive to her needs but feeling there was more to this. He gathered the group at the nearest pub and settled her in outside at the patio. "What's your pleasure, luv?" He assumed a waiter's pose, complete with bow.

Baby laughed an awkward kind of laugh. "Just water, please."

Now he knew something was wrong. Baby never drank water. Not ever.

She added hastily, "And a little wine, please, red." She smiled, a bit sheepishly at Spike. 'Wine, yes, that would be good, maybe relax me a bit,' she thought to herself. She felt a tightening in her belly but forced a smile on her face, trying not to meet Spike's eyes for fear he would know immediately something was wrong. It was too late. He already knew.

Spike nodded to one of the minions who vanished into the pub, everyone else settled into wrought iron chairs and talked amongst themselves, admiring the lights and levity of the atmosphere. Spike sat next to baby, reaching over to place his hand on hers. Her white knuckles did not go unnoticed, but Spike took her hand in his without commenting, placing his other hand over the top.

"Cher?"

Baby was staring off into space, supposedly at the strings of lights dripping from the night sky.

"Baby?" No response.

René was sitting behind her. As if on cue, he turned around, teal blue eyes examining her, glancing at Spike, and then returning to Baby. "Maman? You okay?"

She let out a long, slow breath and then smiled at Spike. He hadn't realized until just that moment that she hadn't been breathing at all.

"Is it too much, pet? Should we head back home?" Spike was concerned. He could tell she was tired and that something wasn't quite right. Perhaps he had been too eager to agree that she could make such a big outing. Mardi Gras was exciting and loud and busy and could potentially be overwhelming for her considering the extent of her injuries. He silently chastised himself for letting her talk him into this.

Across the table, Jean was studying her. His instincts told him all he needed to know. It was time and there wasn't a damned thing any one of them could do about it. He caught Baby's eyes and held them for a moment. She nodded at him, an odd smile on her face, and then her eyes closed as she breathed in deeply through her nose. She didn't exhale.

"Papa?" Jean was talking to Spike but still looking intently at Baby, her eyes still closed tightly, still unbreathing.

"Papa!"

"What Jean?" Spike snapped at him unexpectedly, then softening his voice. "What is it, fils?" His hands were still cocooning Baby's.

"Papa, it's time."

"Time for what, Jean?" For a vampire, he could be painfully dense sometimes.

Eyes the color of sable shifted their focus and bore into the azure blue depths of Spike's. He spoke slowly. "Papa … it's time."

"Time? Wha …. " Before he could finish his thought realization struck him hard. He snapped his attention to Baby, her hands still in his. He hadn't noticed her other hand had piled on top of the others and was squeezing to the point her nails bit into his flesh.

"Baby? Dove?" He spoke gently to her. "Is Jean right? Is it time?"

Baby looked up at Jean, a hint of desperation in her expression, then turned her gaze to Spike. She still hadn't breathed, but she was nodding. Spike, a little nervous, but still in control, looked to his eldest son for advice. "Uh, Jean? What do we do? Get her to a hospital? What?"

The others were beginning to catch on that something was happening, René was already standing behind Baby, his hands resting on her shoulders reassuringly. He didn't know why, he just felt this need to touch her and calm her. He could feel her tension mounting and a small part of him wondered why Spike didn't feel it, too.

Jean was in total control, cool, the all-knowing father of two as a human. "We have plenty of time, no need to panic or rush around. It's Maman's first baby. We have lots of time." His voice was soothing and seemed to bring a wash of calm over everyone … everyone except Baby and Spike.

Baby's eyes were suddenly wide as saucers as she looked up at Jean once again. He could see desperation in her expression and she shook her head three times before she finally let out a gusting exhale. "No! Jean, it's not." She was panting. "It's … it's my third."

Now it was Jean's turn for his eyes to be as big as saucers. "No, Maman, that can't be right. I mean …" He'd forgotten. Apparently so had Spike, who was suddenly standing awkwardly next to her, his hands still intertwined with hers. They had all forgotten that her life didn't begin here with them, in this dimension, in this reality. She had a whole other life before she came to be in Sunnydale, finding Spike and starting their long journey together. And in that other life she had had two children of her own.

Jean looked up into the night sky for a moment, thinking, trying to remember how much time they might have to get her to a medical facility. Unconsciously he chewed on his lower lip while turning everything over in his head. He took a deep, cleansing, but unneeded, breath and relaxed before turning his attention to Baby.

"Okay, we're fine. We need to head toward the hospital as a precaution, but everything should be fine." Spike only hoped Jean was half as in control as he sounded. This was a first experience for him. He had no children as a human and hardly remembered the birth of his younger sister. It had been a long time since Spike knew absolutely nothing about something. He suddenly wished he'd paid more attention at that last prenatal visit.

He leaned over and kissed Baby on the top of the head. "Come on, cher. Can you walk with me?" His voice was as seductive as ever, as if he were asking her to take off all her clothes and take a midnight swim with him. She almost swooned at the thought. Holding tightly to his hands, she pulled herself up, moving carefully around the chair, when she froze, releasing one of Spike's hands and grasping the arm of a wrought iron chair. She shivered for a moment when a sudden gush of water burst from between her legs, soaking her dress, her legs, her feet, and the ground beneath her. Every vampire in the place stopped what they were doing and turned toward her. The scent was unmistakable, water tinged with blood. One of the minions growled, the only sound on the suddenly silent patio.

Baby turned a panicked expression to Jean Claude, her eyes locked with his, his locked with hers.

"Merde!"

He had one brief moment of panic, then control resumed. "Claudia, find a doctor in the area, surely there's someone here at the party." He turned to his younger brother. "René, go inside the pub, ask if they have a private room we could use, anything, a bedroom, party room, anything. Take someone with you, get towels, water, a knife or scissors, newspapers, whatever you can get."

Spike tried to interrupt him. "No, Jean, shouldn't we take her to the hospi…"

Jean cut him off. "No time, Papa. I'm sorry. Third babies do not wait around." He grimaced apologetically.

Baby, still frozen in her wet shoes, gripped Spikes hands tightly again, looking up at him and nodding rapidly. When she could breathe again, she glanced at Jean, then back to Spike. "I … I have a history of short labor."

"MERDE!"

"Jean, you already said that!" she snapped, though she was trying to keep panic out of her own voice now. She wasn't being very successful.

Spike stood there motionless, helpless, and clueless, waiting for someone to tell him what to do. From nowhere a minion appeared with the tray of drinks. He stood motionless and confused that everyone was standing.

Jean was in the zone. "Papa, give Baby the glass of wine."

"Huh? Now?"

"Yes! Now! Trust me, she'll need it!" He looked at the minion who was already handing it to Spike. Baby reached for it, cringed, held her breath, and handed it back to Spike. Releasing his hands completely, she grabbed onto the back of the nearest chair as she bent over slightly, looking down at the ground and taking a step back. She wasn't sure if she was going to throw up or not. Instead, a growling cry of pain was shouted into the ground beneath her. When she was breathing again, she stood up, grabbed the glass of wine from Spike and drank it all at once.

Jean took over again. "Papa, bring her inside." He whirled around and headed toward the main door of the pub. Spike scooped Baby into his arms and followed. They ran into René just inside the entrance.

"There's a room in back, Jean, Ari is …."

"Good! Show me!" Jean barked.

The odd assortment of vampires and humans descended on the small private dining room like locusts. The table and chairs were shoved to the side; a basin of water was brought in. Some napkins and tablecloths would have to suffice instead of towels.

Baby was doubled over just inside the door of the small room. She had forced her way out of Spike's arms and had a death grip on the doorframe, panting heavily as she stared at the floor in front of her.

"No time!" Jean announced with authority. "René, get everyone out of here but Papa. Papa, as soon as she can move, get Maman to that chaise." Jean found himself suddenly glad the dominant color of the room was red, including the chaise.

René growled and the room emptied. He hadn't even had to move. Once they were all gone, he went to the door and stepped through, preparing to close the door behind him.

"René!" Baby was in Spike's arms being carried to the large chair. She reached both her arms out toward their youngest son, a pleading expression on her face. "Stay, René, please, stay." She dissolved into panting once again.

René wasn't sure what to do.

Jean shouted at him. "Close the door and get over here!"

He obeyed without question, his hands and arms ready to be used however they were needed, standing at Jean's right side.

"Maman?" Jean tried to get her attention. "Baby!"

She snapped her face toward him, unable to speak, but giving him her attention.

"Do you want to lay down?"

She shook her head, her teeth gritted together, a deep crease of pain between her eyes.

"Sit?"

Her head shook even more fiercely.

"Standing???" Jean was running out of options.

She was still shaking her head. The three vampires just stood there, frozen, waiting for her to tell them what to do, not sure what she wanted, not sure whether they could or should help. She was clinging to Spike, still in his arms, which didn't seem a very practical place for her to give birth.

When she could breathe again, she urged Spike to release her. She could scarcely talk, but managed one word around her gasps of air. "Ch .. chair."

Spike set her down on the red chaise lounge, where she perched on the edge, her hands on her knees which were wide apart now as she panted rapidly down at the floor.

Spike and René stood there staring at one another. Jean moved into action spreading a tablecloth out onto the floor beneath her, setting a few on either side of her at the ready. He saw in her expression and posture that another contraction was coming.

"Spike get behind her, hold her steady and don't let her fall off the chair!"

He obeyed, climbing in behind her, one leg on each side of her, wrapping him arms around where they were immediately grabbed by the woman in labor. She leaned back into him and started to push.

Jean wasn't quite ready for that, but got ready nonetheless, a murmured, "Where's that damned doctor," on his lips.

Baby's contractions were right on top of each other, she hardly had time for a breath in between them. Only now, with each contraction, she was pushing. Jean knelt between Baby's knees, pushing them out further. She whimpered a little until his soothing voice came over her.

"Shhhh, it's okay, Baby, it's okay. We're gonna have a beautiful baby, all of us here together." While he spoke, he pushed the hem of her damp dress up over her knees and half way up her thighs. He didn't' think he'd be able to see, he wasn't sure he wanted to, so he reached gently up between her legs to feel whether or not the baby had crowned. Spike growled. René echoed it.

Jean's head snapped up angrily at both of them. "Do one of you want to do this?" They stared at him blankly. "I didn't think so. So shut the fuck up and let me work here!" He tenderly reached in again, talking to Baby the entire time, while she panted frenetically and waited for the next wash of pain to take over.

Unexpectedly, he smiled up at her. It almost took her breath away. "Maman …. I can feel the head. Just the top, but I can feel it." His smile was suddenly unstoppable. "We can do this, right? Together?"

Baby nodded at him, hope shining in her eyes just as the next contraction hit.

"Okay, let's go. When you need to push, you do it, I'll be here, I promise. I'll take care of everything."

Spike held tightly to Baby, René knelt on the floor next to Jean, a white linen tablecloth in his hands, scissors on a napkin next to him on the floor. His mouth was hanging open in amazement at everything happening around him.

Baby felt it coming, took a deep breath and slid down so that her hips were just at the edge of the chair. Spike held onto her tightly as he heard the grinding, grunting sound of her pushing. He suddenly wanted to freeze and stop everything. They weren't in any shape to have a baby around the house. What were they going to do to keep it safe from other vampires? Fear of the Master would only do so much to a minion being tempted with the blood of an infant. They couldn't do this. What were they thinking? They couldn't bring a baby into a family of vampires, it would be insane! What would they tell the child when it was going to school? How could they play with it outside, take it to the park, take it on walks. In the dark? In the middle of the night? What kind of life could they give this child? What were they thinking? And what would happen if something happened to Baby right now? What if she bled to death right here in his arms? Could he turn her? Would he want to? Would it make it worse on her to be dead with her live newborn baby that she couldn't suckle from her own body, but would have to feed with formula and bottles kept in the refrigerator next to packets of blood. Dear God in Heaven, please don't let anything happen to her while she's doing this amazing, miraculous thing with her body …..

"Harder! Almost there, Baby!" Jean was crouched down like a major league catcher. All he needed was a mitt instead of the tablecloth draped over his hands. "You can do it! One more push! The head is out, we just need the shoulders. Come on, Baby, push HARD!"

A growling, grinding cry seemed to emanate from her toes and work it's way through her body as she surely was pushing all her internal organs out through the tiny opening. Her cry of pain and joy pierced the air like the cry of a hawk splitting the summer sky.

Suddenly, Jean Claude was staring into the face of a peaceful, squirmy, beautiful child. No crying, just sweet, even breathing. He wiped the baby's mouth out with his napkin-covered pinky finger, wiped the traces of blood from its head, and placed the child into René's waiting hands. The room was silent save for Baby's gradually slowing breaths and the tiny, rapid breathing of the newborn baby. René stared at it, in total awe that something so wonderful had come from this beautiful woman before him. He looked at the baby and then at her. Love and admiration poured out of him like a fountain. She was leaned back, spent, against Spike's chest, still breathing heavily but beginning to calm down. René could hear her heartbeat beginning to slow down after the hard work of labor.

Jean stayed low between her legs, snipped the cord near the baby's body and nodded at René, who enveloped the child in white linen swaddling. Then Jean turned back to Baby, gently tending to the last few chores of afterbirth, cleaning her up as best he could in the somewhat primitive conditions. Baby was resting, her eyes closed, and leaning back against Spike. René was holding the baby tenderly in his arms, looking down in adoration. Jean wiped a touch more blood off the baby's skin and checked to make sure it had all the toes and fingers and appropriate body parts before wrapping it more tightly and taking it from René. René was reluctant to release his precious burden, but Jean's understanding expression told him it would be okay.

The child in his arms, Jean stood up and stepped closer to Baby, taking a more formal posture and presenting her with the bundle in his arms. "Madame, your daughter." His smile seemed to light the entire room, as did hers, as she reached for the tiny being that had just come into their world. She was so small and delicate and perfect. Baby looked up at Jean with awe and gratitude. Then she turned her eyes to René, a tear-streaked expression of pure joy on her face.

"René," she spoke softly as she reached a trembling hand toward him. He took her hand, letting her pull him closer, her eyes shining up at him with almost as much love as he had for her and the child tucked safely into her arms. "René," she said again, squeezing his hand for emphasis. "Thank you for this. Thank you for this beautiful gift." She tugged on his hand, pulling him closer, and placed a soft, warm kiss on his lips.

When she released him, she tried to look over her shoulder at her husband. "Spike? Spike, isn't she the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?" She crinkled her forehead. "Spike?"

Jean started laughing softly as Baby turned herself all the way around to see her husband.

Sometime during all the excitement, the Master of New Orleans had passed out cold.

Chapter Twelve

February 19, 2002

Jean-Claude sped up the highway at a substantially lower speed than he had the last time he had gone to Mobile. He obeyed traffic signs, he kept his headlights on, he even kept the top up. The music on the radio wavered between mellow jazz and the classical station. When he sang along, he didn't sing very loud.

Jean's passenger was different this time, too. He reached a loving hand to the passenger seat and grasped a tiny hand, letting the fingers tighten around his own. It made him smile. He began to talk to her, his voice low and soothing, just as it had been a week ago when he had helped her mother bring her into the world. "Some day, little one, some day we will bring you back home to your family. Some day when it is safe."

He had taken the responsibility of seeing to her well-being and her future. He hadn't asked for it, but neither did he have to. Spike himself could not. His leaving New Orleans on such a task right now would have endangered them all, including their beautiful daughter. René and Baby did not have the heart to do it. Jean had feared that if they had been given the task of finding a proper home for her that they would never find any place good enough and would only end up bringing her back to Rue Royale. Something deep inside him even made him wonder whether the three of them would leave together and never return. Jean shook his head to toss that thought away again. It had crept in more than once in the last week. Seeing René and Baby, as well as Spike, with the baby had made it plain that bonding was happening rapidly and if something was to be done, it needed to be done soon.

Jean had actually approached Spike to discuss it, but before he could even make a suggestion Spike had made exactly that request of him. "Jean, son. You brought that lovely child into our world. I'll be grateful to you for that forever. But now, I need you to do something bloody important for me. I need you to take her somewhere safe. Take her where all this... evil that surrounds us can't ever find her. It can't ever touch her. I know you can do it, Jean. You're the only one I can trust with this."

Jean had been surprised. He had already thought that it would be too difficult to take her away from this loving home. But he had also been aware that twice in the week she had been with them, a stray minion had found their way to the house and tried to gain entrance for no real reason. When pressed, they had asked about the baby. Those had been their last words. The moment they stepped into the entry hall, they had been dusted by Spike himself.

When the four of them finally came together to discuss it, there had been no objections. Spike, Baby, René, and Jean all realized the importance of relocating her to a safer home. But even more, Spike had mentioned repeatedly that she could have no kind of normal childhood there with them: the odd activities, the entire household sleeping during the day and awake at night, the kitchen which was stocked mostly with booze, cigarettes, coffee, and blood, the inability of anyone, save her mother, to take her out during the day. It was no place for a child to be raised, no matter how much it tore them up to part with her. Jean had been assigned the job of finding a proper home. He knew immediately where she would go. She would be safe, she would be hidden, and she would be amongst family. Jean wondered idly to himself if perhaps he had come to this decision knowing that he would still be able to see her regularly. He smiled at the thought. No doubt, that had been a factor, but he would never admit that to any of them. He was just as much in love with the child as any of the others, possibly more so simply because he was the first person to see and hold her. He kept that incredible moment when he brought her into the world tucked away inside himself, like a security blanket to keep him warm when the winter winds of conflict and problems tore at him. That would be his special memory.

He had also been given the honor of naming her. Around the house she had simply been known as "petite." She had a proper birth certificate, but her name had been left blank until a decision could be made. That joy finally fell to Jean, another way in which she could be protected, as no one within the family would know her name but him. He had chosen well, he thought. Jeanina Renée Willamina Beaumont. Named after her uncle, her biological father, and William the Bloody, Master of New Orleans. She would go by Nina, he thought, Nina Beaumont. It would be a fine southern name for a fine southern lady one day.

He removed his finger from the tiny girl's grasp and began stroking the soft ebony hair on her head. His voice leaped two octaves, taking on a babyish tone that he would have denied to the ends of the earth if anyone else had heard. "Won't Aunt Billie be surprised when we show up? She'll just want to eat you up, yes she will." He laughed, his voice dropping back down to normal tone. "Sorry, 'tite fille, poor choice of words."

********************************************

Spike sat in the leather wingback chair in his study, a cigarette in one hand, a glass in the other. It was dark, though not very late, and everyone had gone out for the evening or left for a few days. The place was eerily quiet, especially without the baby. Spike found he missed the sound of her in the house, her cries, the subtle background sound of her tiny heartbeat so easily differentiated from her mother's because it was so much faster. Now, the walls echoed silence.

He drained his glass and moved to the bar for a refill, the lights unnecessary, but the clomp of his boots on the hardwood floor were an oddly welcomed sound. He was glad he had gotten the good stuff this time. It seemed to dull the ache a little better.

He wasn't sure why he felt this way. He rarely ever got melancholy, not with a houseful of vampires, a human consort … and a newborn baby. He refilled his glass and emptied it at once before refilling it again and returning to his chair with a sigh. The place felt so empty.

It had been a tough decision, but he knew it was the right one. The baby would never be safe in their home. She would be put at constant risk, particularly from the random minions who came through. Spike hadn't even staffed the house with human servants yet because it was still too soon to guarantee their safety with the high amount of unpredictable traffic they received. There were still times he had to make sure Baby was tucked safely away. None of the clans would dare to eat the Master's consort deliberately, but too many of them had not yet adapted to the new way of doing things. Any human still smelled like food. An infant smelled like a rare treat. He sighed again. It had been the right decision. He was sure.

At first he thought Baby would object. He waited several days before even broaching the subject with her. The perpetual danger to a human living in vampire culture in New Orleans was substantial. Philip had proven that. It had been on Spike's mind ever since he had been forced to destroy his son. The moment Philip had taken Baby, and hurt her, and threatened her, and planned to kill her and the baby, Spike had begun the internal struggle of deciding what was the best thing to do for the safety and happiness of their child. Since then, not a day had passed that he hadn't tried to think of another way to keep the baby safe. That was his biggest concern, keeping both baby and her Baby safe from any further harm. He had never discussed with her, or with anyone else, the intense guilt he had felt because of what had happened. He should have been there. He should have known she was in trouble. He should have known Philip was being deceptive, everything inside him had told him something wasn't right, but he had been so eager to see improvement in his errant son's behavior that he had chosen to see what he wanted to see rather than what was truly there before him. That mistake had nearly cost him the life of his wife and their child, the rare, unanticipated miracle that was their daughter.

He looked down into the amber colored liquid, seeing it, but not seeing it. He had nearly lost everything. He decided the day Philip was executed that he would never take such a risk again. Not ever. And the only way to guarantee that was to make no more childer.

Spike had stopped hunting after that night. He did not want to be tempted with finding yet another crime victim hanging onto threads of life and having to tell them that there was nothing he could do. He had enjoyed too much the opportunity to give someone a choice; to be tempted and not be able to offer it would rip his heart out. One mistake had paralyzed him.

Jean Claude, Claudia, and René were perfection. It was hard for Spike to imagine life without them now; they had become such an important part of his life's tapestry. They were almost as important to him as Baby. He could ask for no more perfect children than the three of them. They were examples to all others of what the undead could make of their lives given the right guidance and love. They broke the Watcher rulebooks of expected vampire behavior. Spike couldn't be more proud. But one, Philip, had not been able to adjust to things, and Spike had overlooked it. It had been costly, but it could have been so much worse.

He'd had two months since Philip's execution to find another solution and none had come to him. He recognized that there could be no guarantee that any additional children would accept their ways and blend into the family. Rather than take the chance of this happening again, he would rather stop now, and turn no one else, make no more children and allow no more children. His heart ached at the thought, but it was the only way.

Spike drained the glass one more time, then left the oppressive silence of the house to walk the streets of New Orleans and learn to overlook the possibilities in his path and replace them with safety.

****************************************

Jean sat at the bar of the Pink Pony Pub, on the beach at Gulf Shores, sucking up a domestic beer. He wasn't in the mood for an import; it was as if he wanted to suffer. Miller's Genuine Draft? Just how low could he sink? Still, he liked this place. It was so close to the beach you could hear the waves outside over the music. The beach entryway was dusted with sand from the thousands of feet that passed through in search of another drink or something to eat. There was usually live music, and the shrimp baskets were top notch. He took another drink and thought over the day.

Settled in at the bar, he discovered that no matter how he tried to rationalize it, he was brooding. Even the cheerful, pink atmosphere of the Pink Pony wasn't perking him up. He was tempted to delve into over analysis of why he felt this way, and he had even tried to blame it on having to leave Nina behind. But he knew that wasn't it. Taking little Nina to Aunt Billie had been a brilliant idea, and the more he thought about it, the happier he was with that decision. She and Leone were thrilled, even more so when he had explained to them who the little child was. He'd never seen such clucking and fussing. It didn't take more than a cursory glance at the beautiful baby to know that this was René's child. She had his thick, ebony hair, and from the look of things, she was going to have those incredible eyes as well. It was hard to tell at one week old, but Aunt Billie was convinced it would be so.

Jean had made arrangements for her to be taken care of financially so that they would want for nothing, and he explained to them that she was not to know who her parents were until he told her. Her birth certificate had been legally altered to hide her identity, for her own safety, and Aunt Billie had legal guardianship. If anything happened to her, Leone or their attorney were to contact Jean immediately. It would be so stipulated in Billie's will and in all legal papers pertaining to the little girl.

Jean would come frequently to visit and look in on her and hopefully to give her more of a sense of family. He'd already become so attached to the child that it was difficult to part with her, but he knew Spike was right. She would only be in danger if she remained in New Orleans, if not from their enemies then from Rene's family if they ever caught wind of it. Aunt Billie stayed away from the family gatherings as much as possible. "Insufferable boors, all of them," she had huffed.

Jean had spent the next hour helping them drag down antique baby furniture from the attic and setting up a nursery. The two old women planned and schemed about paint colors and curtains and just who else in Mobile had a new baby, hopefully a boy. Jean cringed at the thought they might have her married off before she even started school. Nina had taken it all in stride, sleeping happily in someone's arms almost the entire time, including Jean's. He loved the feel of her tiny body in his arms, the constant thumping of her heart against his hand, and the slow, steady in and out of her breathing. This child would never lack for love if he had anything to say about it, and that was more than any parent could hope for. He hoped René and Baby would approve of his choice of home for her.

The women had insisted on sending him back to New Orleans with a basketful of biscuits and a peach cobbler. He couldn't possibly insult them by refusing, not to mention he adored peach cobbler, so he had graciously accepted them, kissed and hugged both the ladies, and left a tiny kiss on Nina's forehead before heading out.

He'd decided to spend what little of the night was left at Gulf Shores before grabbing a hotel room for the day, then heading back to New Orleans at sunset.

He came back to his brooding, shoving his beer mug wordlessly toward the other edge of the bar for a refill.

"I'll get it, Sid." A young woman of about 23 was rinsing out his glass before he had even looked up. She was somewhat attractive with a round, voluptuous figure, sun-kissed blonde hair, and the deepest brown eyes he'd ever seen. She even had dimples that pitted her cheeks when she smiled, like she was doing now, at him.

"What are ya havin'?" For this part of Alabama, she had very little accent. She was obviously not from around here, yet she was comfortable enough in the pub to be serving up drinks for the owner. She cocked her head to the side as she waited for him to respond, a few tendrils of hair escaping the clip that held it loosely in back.

"Genuine Draft," Jean drawled.

"MGD? That surprises me. You look like a microbrew kinda guy." She tilted the glass and filled it with a perfectly proportioned head of foam. Not too much, not too little. You had to admire a girl who could pour a perfect glass like that on the first try. He smiled at her. She smiled back, an unexpected blush spreading across her cheeks.

"Hey Sid?" she yelled back toward the kitchen. "I'm gonna start my set now, can you kill the music?"

She washed her hands, pulled the clip from her hair, letting it tumble down around her shoulders, peeled off her lightweight jacket and headed toward the baby grand piano on the small stage.

The moment she sat down at the keyboard she moved from somewhat attractive to stunning. She belonged there. Her confidence bolstered just touching the keys lightly to brush over them before she started. She adjusted the microphone and her fingers began to roll over the keys effortlessly.

"I'm in a bluesy kinda mood tonight, folks," she winked at the little girl who moved to the front-most table to be closer to the stage. "I'm thinking it's a Lady Day kinda night."

She had been light talking to Jean at the bar, but the moment she opened her mouth at the microphone, her voice went to sultry, not the low, smokey sound you usually found in jazz club, but something more ethereal with a touch of Billie Holliday's style to it. Not bad for a white girl.

It was a morning, long before dawn
without a warning I found he was gone
How could he do it
Why should he do it
He never done it before

Jean suddenly realized why he felt so down tonight ... René.

Am I blue
am I blue
ain't these tears, in these eyes telling you
How can you ask me "am I blue"
why, wouldn't you be too
if each plan
with your man
done fell through

He knew it was René that was pulling at his lonely heart tonight. He missed his brother. He missed their intimacy and their camaraderie. He missed the fun they'd had on their last trip to Mobile. A sly smile crept across Jean's features at that memory. It was probably why he couldn't bring himself to stay at the same hotel this trip, opting instead for something nearer the beach.

There was a time
when I was his only one
but now I'm
the sad and lonely one...lonely

He was lonely for the teal eyes and dark hair, his tall, lean build, and his strong hands. God he missed him, particularly right now as the torchy vocal gymnastics of the young singer plucked at his heartstrings as much as the thought of René did.

Was I gay
untill today
now he's gone, and we're through
Am I blue

As she went into a piano interlude, Jean's eyes lost focus a bit, staring through the window and into the black sea kissing the beach behind her. He didn't just miss his brother, he was also worried for him as well. Something inside Jean screamed at him that he and Baby going to the plantation house alone together was a bad idea. He could just feel it. He had been surprised that Spike didn't feel the ripple of electricity in the room when the two of them were together. He squelched the temptation to hop in his car and drive like a bat out of Hell to the plantation house and stop any temptation they might be dealing with. The only problem was … he wasn't sure if his desire to stop them was out of concern for them or his own jealousy.

He slumped a little as the girl went back to the bridge of the song, adding turns and twists and ornaments to the final notes. The audience was appreciative. So was Jean.

********************************

About 4 p.m. the next day Jean woke up to the sound of running water. He sat up, glanced at the clock and stretched a bit before standing up and moving to the bathroom. Quietly opening the door, he slipped into the room and slowly opened the shower curtain just to stare at the full, round figure of the girl as she rinsed out her hair. She felt the sudden cool breeze and smiled before even opening her eyes.

"Mind if I join you, cher?"

"Mmmm" her smile broadened. "I wish you would," she said, wiping the shampoo from her eyes.

Jean stepped in and wrapped his arms around her plentiful waist, loving the feel of her soap-slickened skin. He nuzzled her neck, licking off a few water drops as she relaxed into him a little more, setting her head on his shoulder. He made his way up her neck and over her jaw until he met her welcoming lips. Their kiss almost burned, but they refused to let it go, deepening it, until she had to breathe, and even then reluctantly pulling back, a substantial portion of his lower lip held tightly between hers as she sucked on it gently.

They exchanged a knowing, lovers' glance, the kind of look that said, "I can't wait to touch you and taste you again." Jean had a charming, easy way about him that made it easy for him to find one-night partners, either male or female. He rarely slept alone unless he wanted to. When the pub had closed it had taken few words to convince the chanteuse to come home with him. They had exchanged more than a few lustful glances during her last set, and her selections had seemed to be only for him …. music sex. It had been awhile since he had gotten any of that.

In the shower, the water warmed him, her presence even more so. Perhaps they could work in another round before the sun set.

Jean kissed his way down her throat to the tiny hollow there, lingering there until she gasped and then returning to her lips once again.

"Cher?"

"Mmm-hmm?"

Their lips continued their exploration, working their words and moans in around them.

"I'm Jean," he murmured into her mouth.

"Mmmmm," she claimed his lips hungrily before she slowly exhaled. "Olivia."

"Mmmm," Jean responded, burying his face in her neck once again. "Nice to meet you."

No more words were spoken. There was only the sound of the water and the moans and sighs of two people finding pleasure in each other.

****************************************

The house on Rue Royale felt hollow and empty. The silence alone was oppressive. Spike had gone for a short walk, spent time out in the garden, walked from room to room in the big house, then settled onto the front verandah to just watch. He was restless. He hated this much quiet, and he couldn't remember the last time he was this alone. He couldn't stand it.

He finished the drink in his hand, set it on the side table, and got up.

He felt old and out of shape, slow and distracted. He needed something to calm him down, to settle him. He needed …. Baby. She always knew what he needed. Always. He suddenly regretted that he'd sent her off with René for some quiet time to heal, rest, and reflect. He wondered if she was having the same trouble in all that quiet. It was even worse at the plantation house, as he remembered, stiflingly quiet. Like a graveyard.

Suddenly he perked up. "Bugger this," he muttered to himself. He knew exactly what he wanted to do. He leaped the wrought iron banister and landed on the sidewalk, quiet as a cat, a smirk spreading across his chiseled marble features. He hadn't gone hunting since … since … he couldn't even remember. All this bagged blood didn't satisfy like the feel of hot blood pumping into you, like feeling the life drain from some worthless scum who deserved it. He had taught his children to seek out the criminal element from which to feed. Why didn't he ever go hunting anymore?

He adjusted his coat, a black cloud of leather billowing behind him as he ran down the street in the shadows and darkness, and headed toward the warehouse side of town. There was always action there, always some lowlife who was ready to sacrifice his life involuntarily to feed a hungry vampire. He smiled a devilish smile as he pushed his demon to the fore. Just the thought of hot blood coursing through him gave him a sense of excitement and anticipation.

With a roar at the moon, he vanished into the night, without a care in the world.

********************************************

The plantation house had been opened and aired out in preparation for Baby and René's arrival. The beds had been made with fresh linens; towels and other necessities had been set out in preparation. The place was well lit and welcoming when they arrived around 10 p.m., a fire crackling in the fireplace and trays of food set out on the dining room table. René had carried her in from the car and settled her onto the sofa nearest the fire. He had made sure she was warm and comfortable before returning to the car to bring in their luggage. Though the place felt lived in, there was no one where except the two of them; the servants had prepared everything, waited for them to arrive, and then vanished. Everything that they needed was there, ready for them, including privacy.

They had left New Orleans when Jean did. Somehow they would not have been able to stay in the city house with the baby's things and smells still there. When they returned, those things would be gone and they could go on about their lives and unlives as if nothing had happened. No one really believed that, but they told themselves and each other this is how it would be. Spike had wisely selected René to accompany Baby. He trusted his youngest son implicitly and knew that René would protect and care for Baby above anyone else, even himself. The fact that René was the baby's biological father was an additional element. Spike suspected that perhaps René felt the loss of his daughter more than he was saying. It had been agreed from the beginning that she would be considered Spike's daughter; he was the Master, and any child of his consort was by default his. But René had no children of his own when he was alive, and Spike thought this might have been more painful to him than he let on. Spending time alone with Baby would give them both the opportunity to work through these things together.

Baby was still in a pretty fragile state. The birth itself had gone quite well, but she was still recovering from her injuries and that slowed down her recuperation from childbirth as well. Spike had suggested that perhaps some time at the old plantation house would do her good, get her out of the city and the noise and distractions, allow her to sleep more soundly at any time, and perhaps the peaceful surroundings would help to heal and soothe not only her body, but her aching heart. No matter the brave front she put up, Spike knew it shattered her to lose her child. She had already lost two daughters long ago, to lose yet another was a pain he couldn't even imagine for her. They had spoken of her going with the child to raise her on her own away from New Orleans and in more relative safety. But it had been quickly pointed out that, though Spike was the Master of New Orleans and commanded a great deal of respect, powerful men always had unseen enemies. If his human consort vanished right after the birth of their child, it would be an open invitation to pursue them and possibly exploit them. It was better if the city thought the baby had died. Baby had agreed, as well as René. Technically René had no say in the matter, but Spike had been sensitive to his son's feelings about how the child would be raised and cared for. Jean, and only Jean, would know where she was and he would be able to look in on her to be sure she was well cared for and loved. Jean was the rock they all clung to; the one they trusted above all others, and the one man who loved them all without limits.

After they were settled in, René brought the light supper over to the sofa. Baby picked at the food, not really interested in it, finding staring into the crackling fire more appealing. René urged her to eat something, but she wouldn't even look at him. She did anything she could think of to avoid looking into those ocean green eyes of his. They drew her in, called to her, and seduced her without a word. Before the baby was born she had thought her attraction to René had been due to his being the natural father of her child. Her mind constructed this elaborate explanation of how the genetics of the child distorted her affection for René. Somehow, because he was the bodily father of her child, she had developed an infatuation for him, perhaps partially out of gratitude or perhaps it was also due to some magical aspect of his just being turned at the time. She didn't know, didn't understand, and didn't want to think about it. Unfortunately, being alone with him, far from the city, the family, and Spike, forced her to think of it. All she wanted to do was touch him, kiss him, gaze into those incredible teal-colored eyes, and lie back into the safety and strength of his arms.

She had such faith in this childe, as well as Jean Claude and Claudia, something she was afraid that she would lose because of Philip's deception. But René elicited something deeper from her, something she couldn't or was reluctant to identify. As happy as she was with Spike, thoughts of René kept creeping into her mind at the most inopportune times. She would dismiss it as a carryover from carrying his child all those months, but she knew inside it was something more. Something potentially dangerous.

"Cher? You need to eat something." René's expression was one of concern. He placed his hand on Baby's and squeezed it. "Papa be awful angry if you get sick from not eatin'."

Baby lifted her face and finally let herself look at René, drown in the teal-colored eyes and ebony hair. She pulled her hand from beneath his and pressed it to his cheek.

"René …."

"Yes, Maman." He was trying to be the dutiful son, there to protect his mama and see that she rested and recuperated. He knew Spike had entrusted him with his most valuable possession and René didn't want to let him down in any way. But … her hand on his cheek, so soft and warm … it was distracting. It was overpowering

"René …. " her voice was softer, gentler, and filled with an emotion he wasn't sure he wanted to recognize. It was the voice she used on the patio that day. It was the seductive voice full of desire that she used with him in his dreams.

"Yes?" He sounded breathy and a little afraid.

She didn't say anymore. She pulled him toward her and met his lips with hers, softly but urgently and for the first time really tasted him, drawing his tongue into her mouth and sucking on it, engulfing it with her lips, pouring all the emotion she had been holding back into him.

René felt himself falling off a steep cliff, the power of the fall consuming him, reminding him that when he hit bottom he would be dead. Her lips were so soft and warm and inviting; her hands were beginning to touch him, fingers in his hair, thumbs caressing his cheeks and chin and jaw line. When she released him, he could hardly speak.

"Mon … Dieu … Bébé ….."

They looked into each others' eyes. She hadn't really noticed it before, she had only felt it and discarded it, but still, it was there. Love. All-consuming, overpowering, overwhelming love … from him. Her heart began to dance. She didn't know why. She loved Spike, he was all she had ever wanted, ever dreamed of. How could she possibly want to be with anyone else? And yet … those eyes, those blue-green eyes that seemed to look into her soul … they wanted her and she found that she wanted him, too.

A bit flustered, she stammered "I'm, I'm so sorry, René, I didn't mean to …. " She pushed away from him and stood up, walking over to the large French doors and gazing out, wrapping her arms around herself and suddenly grateful he showed no reflection in the glass.

René was young and inexperienced as a vampire, but his experience with women was substantial. That human part of him took over. He recognized immediately that the game they had been playing, the casual yet intense love play they had taunted each other with had suddenly taken an unexpected turn. It was no longer playing; it was no longer a secret game of love shared between them, quiet thoughts, a stolen touch here and there that was affectionate but not really threatening. What he felt from her now … could get them both killed.

He went to the stereo, needing something to break the sudden, awkward silence between them. He hit 'play', not even noticing what was on, and moved to her silently.

She couldn't see him coming toward her, but she could feel him. She was finding it difficult to breathe. And when the music started, her breath caught as he turned her toward him and looked at her with a look in his stunning ocean-colored eyes that she had first seen from him the night he died. It was there again, that love, that sorrowful look of love in his eyes that said "Dear God how can I be dying when I've finally found her." It was a moment she had put from her mind, a moment she hadn't wanted to ever think about; yet, now, here it was again, and he was staring down at her, this tall, breathtakingly handsome, very much undead man before her. Only this time he wasn't spread out bleeding and dying on the ground. This time he could reach out and touch her face, trace her cheek, and lightly touch his lips to hers.

It was a brief kiss, soft and intimate and too quickly broken. His lips moved closer to her ear, whispering across it, "Dance with me, Bébé?" He pulled back, drowning in the gold sea of her eyes, waiting for her to reply as Sting began to fill the room.

If he loved you
Like I love you
I would walk away in shame
I'd move town, I'd change my name

She couldn't say it, but neither could she refuse him. Baby buried her cheek in his chest, letting both of her hands seek and find his, intertwining their fingers as they began to slowly sway to the music.

When he watches you
When he comes to buy your soul
On your hand his golden rings
Like he owns a bird that sings

It was glorious; it was painful: their bodies pressed so closely, the lyrics too close to their lives, the shadow of Spike looming over them like an unseen ghost.

When we dance
Angels will run and hide their wings

The priests have said my soul's salvation
Lies in the balance of the angels
And underneath the wheels of passion
I keep the faith in my fashion

René released her hands and wrapped his arms around her pulling her closer, the rhythm of his movement unbroken. She felt wonderful, finally in his arms. For just these few moments, she was his.

When we dance
Angels will run and hide their wings

I'm still in love with you

Baby ran her hands up his chest, unbuttoning the top two buttons and resting her cheek on cool skin that was peppered with soft hair. She found the fingers of her right hand were suddenly swirling about his chest, tugging very slightly and wrapping chest hairs around her digits like tiny rings.

I'm gonna love you more than life
If you'll only be my wife
I'm gonna love you night and day
I'm gonna try in every way

René dropped his face into her hair, inhaling her gardenia scent into every pore of his body. His pace never changed, slow, guiding, leading her in a lovely, warm dance of love.

When we dance
Angels will run and hide their wings

I'm gonna find a place to live
Give you all I've got to give
I would love you more than life
If you'll only be my wife

She looked up at him suddenly-If you'll only be my wife-seeing a lifetime in a bayou cabin filled with children and love and dreams. A life they could have had. A life that would never be. Pain squeezed her heart. What a life it could have been! If things were different.

If I could break down these walls
And shout my name at heaven's gate
I'd take these hands
And I'd destroy the dark machineries of fate
The vehicles are broken
Heaven's the one above
Hellfire's a promise away
I'd still be saying
I'm still in love

René's hands ran down her back possessively, pulling her even closer, feeling her hands move around his waist, both of them holding onto each other and to these few precious moments together, moments that could never be taken away from them.

He won't love you
Like I love you
He won't care for you this way
He'll mistreat you if you stay

Come and live with me
We'll have children of our own
I would love you more than life
If you'd come and be my wife

René felt it, too, a life just out of their reach, impossible to touch. So close. A home, children, a life away from his human family, a life where they would be free to love one another without hurting each other or the man who stood between them like an invisible wall.

When we dance
Angels will run and hide their wings

I'm gonna love you more than life
If you'll only be my wife
I'm gonna love you night and day
I'm gonna try in every way

His arms released her, hands caressing her shoulders and moving down her warm, smooth arms. He brought her hands back around in front of him and up to his lips, softly kissing each fingertip, down her palm and letting his lips rest on the pounding pulse at her wrists.

When we dance
Angels will run and hide their wings

Baby could hardly contain the thrill of it all, her body quivering with his power and their attraction. Tears began to form in the corners of her eyes as she turned them up to meet René's one more time.

I'm gonna find a place to live
Give you all I've got to give
I would love you more than life
If you'd only be my wife

René bent toward her once again, his lips gently kissing away the tears before they could escape down her cheeks. As the music faded, they stopped swaying and gazed into each other's eyes, living that dream for just a moment longer.

Their lips met in a fiery kiss, their hands touching every reachable part of the other as unchecked passion took them over for too brief a time. When their lips parted, they leaned in, resting their foreheads together, the only sound Baby's rapid breathing.

René spoke first. "Cher?"

Baby's voice caught in her throat, but she managed a timid, "Yes?"

René swallowed. He couldn't look at her, but he could feel her rapid heartbeat. He knew if his heart could beat that it would be in perfect sync to hers.

"Cher," he spoke even more softly and gently. "We never speak of this again, yes? It be our time, our moment together. The only one we ever have."

"Yes, René. Never again."

Their lips met one last time, filling each other with the love they could never have again.

~Fin~

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