Title: Death and the Maiden: Cover Blown
Author: Kelandris the Mad
Fandom: Forever Knight/Mercyverse (gryn!) crossover, touches of Beauty and the Beast/Forever Knight towards the end
Pairing: Nick Knight/Mercy, Nick/Lacroix, Nick/Natalie (implied), Mercy/Charis (both original characters), Mercy/Vincent, and, at the end, Vincent/Mercy/Nick
Rating: NC-17
Status: Posted December 25th, 2001--written about four or five years before that.
Archive: The traditional places. If you don't know what the traditional places are, you might want to write and ask. And here's how:
Feedback: Kelandris
Series/Sequels: This sequels "Escape", "The Attack" (parts one and two), "Restoration" and "Twilight Hours" in the "Death and the Maiden" storyline.
Disclaimers: Nick Knight, Lacroix, Natalie Lambert, Vachon, Janette and anyone else I might happen to mention from Forever Knight belong to their respective creators, Sony Television, and now Sci-Fi Channel. I own and retain all rights to Charis, Mercy, and any other original characters I might happen to mention. Vincent remains the property of Republic Pictures.
Notes: Barbra Streisand intoning the lines in 'Hello Dolly' pair oddly with editing slash.
Warnings: Extreme violence, angst, suffering, angst, emotional distress, major body wounds, heterosexual sex, homosexual sex, heavy fang action, angst, and near-death experiences. Tons and tons more than is required of exposition to move (??) the story along. Did I leave anything out? Oh, right. Angst. :>


*Death and the Maiden, or, Knight Enamoured*
"Chapter Five (Cover Blown)"
by Kelandris the Mad


The night passed much as the day had, with Natalie coming by to check on her, checking her pulse, *tsking* over her without telling her anything. She left more saline, more blood, and then it was just Nick, worrying over her. He spent a lot of time downstairs, playing quiet airs on the piano, or reading, or in general anything to avoid being near enough to her to want her.

And still, she bled from the dark wound in her side. The pads were changed, Nick applying greater and greater force until he bruised the flesh around the wound. After that, he gently packed it, using only the top pad as a pressure bandage, and leaving most of the pressure to the tape holding it. Nothing helped. And nothing changed. And that night, Nick slept on the couch.

The next day, she worried and fretted, thinking of the meet at the airport. She had to be there. She couldn't be there. She was awfully short with Nick a few times when he gave her water, when he brought her to the bathroom, but she didn't know what to do. It was a long, long day.

When night fell, she had decided.

"Nicholas?"

***

He shivered, hearing her. Her voice was thin and thready, and he vaulted up the stairs so that she didn't have to work so hard to call him.

He sat on 'his' side of the bed. "What is it?" he asked.

"You need to go to the airport, and tell Charis what's happened. You need to make sure she gets away from Toronto."

"She's not going to want to leave."

Mercy, restless, distracted, just shook her head. "You have to convince her, Nick. *Please* tell me you'll do this."

The look in her deepset eyes nearly ruined him. He nodded, and grabbed a leather jacket hanging over a tall-backed chair, walking slowly down the stairs.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," he said, then, before she could answer, he slipped through the door and shut it firmly behind him.

***

Mercy nodded to air, then felt her eyelids drifting closed. She could sleep for a while, she thought, and was out.

But her sleep was full of odd sensations, odd desires. Nothing later she could clearly remember, just a lot of motion--blurring behind her eyes, and scents, and faceless people approaching her, running away. She shifted, restless, unable to get comfortable in the bed that wasn't hers. Something was nagging at her, pulling at the edges of her attention. She didn't know what it was, and she turned, whimpering, her hands reaching out.

Was it some sound, just out of hearing? Some color in the air? She felt odd, so tired, so drained, but it was like trying to remember something long forgotten, something essential to remember now, and not being able to recall it. It was like trying to search for the single silver ball in a drawer full of steel ones.

It was like standing in the whirlwind, trying to step out of the center. Quiet where she was, but soon, so much noise, so much confusion--

*Noise,* in the still air, and her eyes snapped open. The door below had opened. With a savage clarity, she felt everything--Nick in the kitchen, drinking some horribly dead, thick blood out of a glass; Charis setting down a pound of fresh-ground Sumatran on the dining table; dust in the air; blood on the mattress. *Her blood.* And what *was* that?

It was similar to hearing a madwoman sing on a streetcorner, and suddenly realizing that you knew the same song. Her head cocked to one side, listening, and that was all it took. Her eyes flashed red, solid, gleaming red, and she sat up.

She heard Charis talking downstairs to Nick, and they were just words, words were unimportant. What *was* important was she was coming upstairs, taking them two at a time. Yes. *Yes.*

She lowered her head, breathing hard, and Charis came up, speaking brightly in a familiar tone. Words again. Words meant nothing. She waited, at the limits of her endurance, until the younger vampire had taken a seat on the bed. Then she lifted her head, the glowing crimson of her eyes beating into Charis' startled face.

"What--?" she heard, and then she grabbed the back of Charis' head, bringing her forward with alacritous speed, sinking her fangs into Charis' sweet flesh.

Yes. *Yes.*

***

Nick had waited downstairs in the kitchen, disposing of the last of the blood-soaked pads, the tape, the empty blood bags. It had almost been scripted, how easily he had found Charis and Bastien at the airport, he thought. Walked right up to them at the main concourse, told them what had happened with Mercy.

Charis, as he had expected, had insisted on being brought here. He thought it might be better if they talked to each other--maybe then she could talk Mercy into going to a hospital.

Bastien simply shook his head, handing him back the card she'd given him. Nick looked down, reading the fine script on the heavy card. *Sloane & Talbot,* it said, with a phone and fax number in England. That was all.

He tucked it into his coat pocket, looked up at Bastien, hearing the man sigh.

"Tell my Mischa I hope she recovers, yes? But I cannot remain here. I muzht return to my Novosibirsk, but tell her--" He leaned in, his face intense, his hand on Nick's shoulder.

"Tell her, please, that the debt is not yet called. I will serve her again, should she choose it."

Then he walked away, shouldering his bags, walking deeper into the airport.

And that had been that. He'd brought Charis here, telling her what happened on the way, and she barely paused to put her coffee down before she darted upstairs to see Mercy.

He dropped his head, thinking, and had turned back to the kitchen when he heard Charis.

"What--" she said, and then nothing. Silence. Then a loud gasp--and who had gasped, Charis or Mercy?

Worried now, he walked to the stairs, slowly coming up them, wondering what had gone wrong now. When he reached the platform, Mercy was sitting up but doubled over, panting, her hands splayed wide on the bed coverlet. He didn't look at Charis, he just walked forward, kneeling on the bed, reaching for one of Mercy's hands.

Charis must have made some sound, for he looked up. She was pale as death, her lips trembling, and she was shaking her head, looking at him. A thin trickle of blood pooled in the hollow of her neck, dripping from the other side. His eyes flew wide.

"Nick," she whispered. "*Run!*"

Mercy looked up. Her eyes were spinning crimson nightmares, and he flinched back, one leg dropping to the floor.

"*Too late,*" she purred, her hands reaching for him. Her arms pulled him towards her, and her mouth was on his neck before he could react, her fangs--*her fangs!--sinking into his flesh!*

There was a flash of pain, and he tensed, his hands clenched against her back, even now trying to push her away. Then a wave of pure ecstasy rolled through him--a different, a deeper ecstasy than he'd ever known. He moaned, shocked, the feeling swimming through him, making him ache to take her, making his skin ache for her touch.

Deeper shock flooded his mind. **She isn't mortal! She isn't *mortal*!**

Oh, but the feeling, the bliss, the sheer, sensual pleasure of her...He rocked against her, hands clenching on her hips. And then the pain set in, the bliss still there, but the pain nibbling away at the pleasure. She was drinking too much of him, *taking* too much of him, and he was feeling faint...dizzy...He was...

He was pushing her away, pushing her from him, at the same time she pulled back, swaying on the bed. Her eyes were still red, but hints of purple were swirling in, growing larger, until her eyes were luminous, crystalline purple, dimming and brightening with each huge breath that she took. For a long moment, they just stared at each other, and then she screamed, falling back on the bed, her hands pressed to her side.

**Damn it, *now* what?**

He dove towards her, pushing her hands away, pushing the side of the robe back to reveal her left side--the curve of her shoulder, the curve of her breast, the taped pad that was even now, leaking dark blood again--

"Nick, you dog," Charis said faintly.

"Not now; we have to stop the bleeding!"

Mercy screamed again, arching off the bed, and they both held her down. Charis, hands trembling, pried at the tape covering the wound while Nick prepped fresh pads, fresh tape. When the tape had been removed, though, and he'd turned back to her, he was astounded.

"What in--Charis?" he asked, looking up at her, then looking down again. The wound--it was still deep, and it was still bleeding, but in its dark depths, he could discern movement. He used one of the pads to mop some of the blood where it welled up, and he saw the tissues inside her, jerking, twitching, pulling together. He leaned back, astonished and faintly appalled.

"She's a vampire," he said flatly.

"No, that's the problem," Charis answered.

"Charis," Mercy gasped. "No--"

The blonde reached for Mercy's hands, holding them in hers.

"Babe, you've pretty much blown secrecy out of the water, here. Besides, he knows what you are now--or, *thinks* he does. He deserves to know the truth."

Mercy shook her head, but made no reply. She was shuddering, though, and Nick put a hand to her forehead. Her eyes flashed red and he flinched back, then they darkened to violet.

**What in the hell is *this*??**

"She has a fever!" he cried aloud. "That's impossible!"

"Not for a mortal," Charis said. "Pour me some water?"

Stunned, Nick did, and handed it to her. He moved closer to the pillows, pulling Mercy's head on his lap to prop her up. He watched as Charis, smiling, handed him the glass back.

"But--"

"Hey, s'okay. Or did you forget my little leather boy last night? She needs more than I can offer, sometimes." Then her expression softened, and her eyes grew sad, looking down at her.

"Sometimes literally," she said.

"But--if she's not a vampire--then--"

"Water," Mercy whispered. Chagrined, he placed the glass to her lips, watching as she took several careful sips. When the glass was empty, she looked up at him, the expression in her eyes pained.

"More?" she asked.

He poured another glass, helping her drink. Then Charis stroked the side of Mercy's face, and her eyes turned to the blonde's.

"Hey, lady," the girl said.

"Precious one. My--apologies, to both of you--" She gasped again, wincing through the pain, her eyes clenching shut for a moment. Then she reached up, touching first Charis' neck with a stroke, then Nick's, and there was a flash of heat that seared him. When he gasped and she took her hand away, Charis was healed. He brought his hand up. So was he.

**What was she??**

"Tell me what you need," Charis said.

Her brow furrowed, looking up at Nick, and Charis sighed.

"Hon, he's either safe or he's not, and we can't worry about that now."

She nodded painfully, still looking at him. Then she collapsed against him, still gasping. Her right arm rose, the hand curling around his leg where it met his hip, and she leaned her head back.

"More blood," she whispered. "Or Natalie's prophesying might prove true."

"Okay, one, who's Natalie, but we'll deal with that later, and two, how much?"

She closed her eyes, shuddered once all over, and went limp.

"Mercy?" Nick said, leaning towards her.

"Nah, she's fine, she's just thinking. She gets that way when she's counting." Her eyes looked worried, but not overly so. He was so confused.

"When she's counting--she's done this before."

"Of course, she's done this before. Though, I'll grant you, the last time I saw her this bad was--well, it's been a few years. She got a lung punctured, and nearly drowned before she managed to get it fixed."

"*Charis.*"

As tired as she was, as drained as she was, there was still steel and ice in that whisper. The girl shrugged, eyes sparkling.

"Guess that's all you get. So. Mers. Any figures yet?"

"Eight...of that size bag," she said, pointing at the empty bags on the IV stand. Charis got up, removing them, spooling the tubes into circles and laying them beside the bed.

"Just eight?"

"At a minimum."

Charis' bright eyes turned to Nick. "You got any gloves?"

"I think so. Why?"

"'Cos I'm gonna rob a blood bank, and I'd prefer not to leave actual fingerprint evidence."

Mercy closed her eyes, sighing. Charis looked from her to Nick.

"What'd I say?"

"Charis, meet...Nick Knight. He's a detective."

"Shit."

"Crude, but...precise."

"You're assuming I'd turn her in," Nick said, looking down at her tense face.

The wounded woman in his lap pressed her head briefly against his stomach, then looked up at him.

"Thank you," she said.

Charis looked at them, smiled wryly, and bounced off the bed.

"Cool," she said. "Surfer Narc makes good. So where are those gloves?"

"Surfer *what*?" Nick asked.

"Gloves?" Charis repeated, waggling her fingers. He pointed to the lacquered cabinet across the room. "Third drawer down, I think."

She rummaged for a moment, pulled them out, pulled them on. "Groovy. They nearly fit! Okay," she said, coming back to the bed. She leaned down, giving Mercy a quick peck on the check. "I'll be back as soon as I can, okay? Hang in there, and do *not* eat the detective!"

"Very funny," Mercy said dryly.

"Best I could come up with on short notice."

Nick gave her the password to his loft, and she clattered down the stairs, pulling the door shut with a loud bang.

And Nick sat there, head spinning. The worst of it was, he still wanted her. Perhaps now, more than ever.

Easing her off his lap, he laid her gently on the pillows again, then lay beside her, on his side. She just looked at him in silence.

Blinking seemed a tremendous effort, but she did it, wanting to watch him. It would get easier, soon. She was burning, her skin on fire, but that, too, would pass. Or so Charis said.

"There are so many questions in your eyes," she whispered.

He nodded, and she put a gentle hand on his chest.

"I can't answer all of them."

"Answer the ones you can." He looked past her, his eyes running up the IV pole and back down again.

She shook her head, eyes closing with the effort.

"You don't understand. There are things I can't say, things I *won't* say...And you--"

"I'm a vampire."

"Yes."

"But so's Charis."

"Indeed, but--ah, I have a feeling if I say it's complicated, you'll say, simplify it..." She turned to lay flat on the bed, sighing in frustration. He was still looking at her, she knew, then he moved.

"I might," he said. He leaned in, looking down at her from a small distance above her. "On the other hand, I might do something else," he murmured. And he kissed her again.

This time, it was gentle, his lips delicately touching hers, and she just lay there, letting him kiss her. His hand descended, stroking down her neck, over her collarbone, gently--so gently!--cupping one breast as she arched slightly, sighing in his arms.

"I don't understand *any* of this," he said, shaking his head.

"I know. I'm sorry."

He shook his head, not looking at her.

"I...have to go for a while. I'll just be downstairs if you need me."

**Best thing,** she thought, **keep him far from me and I won't hurt him again, I won't be tempted by him...that he wants to drink my blood so badly, that I want to let him...Right now, this could get us both killed!**

But she didn't want him to leave. Damn her foolish heart, and his--she wanted him near!

She watched him rise, her eyes hurt, and he made the mistake of looking over his shoulder at her. He had the grace to flinch slightly, at the look in her eyes.

"Mercy...please. If I stay, I'll--I--damn. I *want* to taste you," he said deliberately. "I want to lay beside you, and kiss your neck, and--bite you, and--I can't. I just *can't*."

She sighed, frustrated. "I know. I know it's--safer. But--if I were stronger--with what you know--"

"What do I know?" he cried out. "You have fangs, you drink blood, but you're *not* a vampire?"

She sighed again, one hand flailing helplessly on the coverlet. "You're right," she said softly. "In a manner of speaking, I am *vampyr*...but not as you think of it." Her accent and her phrasing made the word an exotic thing, and he trembled.

"I...I was not *made* a vampire, a thing that fears churches and holy water, sunlight and prayer. I was *born* what I am, and raised with the knowledge of who I was. I have certain abilities the...other vampires...do not have; but I have certain limitations as well, things they...things *you*...can do that I cannot."

He opened his mouth, and she shook her head, eyes growing dark. "Nicholas, I cannot, I *cannot* tell you more!"

He stood and trembled, wondering what was the sudden, powerful attraction that had come over him for her. **Since she bit me,** he realized, and his eyes widened. He was still slightly dizzy from blood loss, and it wasn't safe, it wasn't safe at *all* for him to be up here--

That easily, he was beside her again, lifting her carefully into his arms, kissing along her jaw, kissing down her neck. His lips paused, his tongue licked at her jugular, and he felt his teeth emerge.

"Nicholas?" she whispered, her voice sounding far away and scared.

"Too late," he murmured, echoing her. **Far too late.**

Time slowed to a crawl. He grabbed her waist, pulling her forward and her head to the side. He felt her hands clenched into his shoulders, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. And in between, he sank his fangs into her neck, and swallowed. And swallowed. And swallowed.

END
**************
Kelandris the Mad
gettin' crazy with the Cheese Whiz


If you wanna go back, go back. If you wanna read a different one , read it. If you wanna go somewhere else...hey, I ain't stoppin' you.

Or if you want, write me.