LaCroix slowly drifted back into consciousness, his pale eyes
taking in the dim light and the blurred images of various objects
withing the room.  He had been moved from the warehouse.  But to
where?  LaCroix slowly began to lift himself up on his arms,
intending to further check out his new surroundings, only to fall
back down again when a crushing wave of pain ran from his head to his
lower back.  They had beaten him good, Anonda's men, yet not enough
to end his existence.  No, just enough to keep him from interfering.
By having her cohorts beat him, Anonda had borrowed herself time
enough to set up the next part of her little scheme.  LaCroix
frowned.   Anonda was going to use Natalie as a means of breaking
him.  He struggled once again to lift himself up.  He could not let
anything happen to Natalie...

   "I don't think you'll be going anywhere, just yet."  LaCroix
turned slightly to see Vachon standing over in one corner of the
large room.  The young Spaniard must have carried him to his home in
the old abandoned church.  LaCroix flinched as he finally managed to
pull himself up into a sitting position.  A bottle was placed in his
lap.

   "You've been out nearly all day," said Vachon quietly.  "I thought
it best to stock up on supplies for when you woke up...I didn't think
you'd be too thrilled about partaking of me."  He grinned at LaCroix'
raised eyebrow.

   "Thank you."

   "Don't thank me, it was Screed that found you in that warehouse
all beaten up.  You should really thank him.  Not everyone would have
cared enough to save you."

   LaCroix gave a mental shudder at the thought of being in such
close proximity to the carouche, but nodded his acknowledgement.  He
uncorked his bottle and proceded to drain the contents down to the
last drop.  He had to find Natalie.  He needed all the strength he
could summon tonight if he was to have any hope of doing so.

   Vachon watched as the ancient drank, standing by with a second
bottle in hand.  From the worn look LaCroix was sporting, he was
almost certain that it was going to be needed.  He thought for a
moment, considering whether or not to broach the subject of LaCroix'
attackers.  Who could LaCroix have angered to receive such a brutal
beating?  Enforcers?  Surely, the old man wasn't that stupid. Vachon
huffed at the thought.  Why was he worried?  LaCroix was not in top
shape at the moment.  It wasn't like he would be up to picking a
fight right now.  And when else would such a glorious and safe
opportunity to push the old man's buttons come along?

   "So," He tried to sound nonchalant about it, "Who'd you piss off
to receive such an ass whoopin'?"  Vachon sat down in a chair
opposite the bed to face the elder vampire, trying hard to grin at
the look of hatred that he was receiving.

   LaCroix glared at him.  No need to get angry.  He might still need
Vachon's help before this whole mess was over and done with.  But,
how much should the young one be told?  He had never gained much of
his attention in the past.  Vachon tended to be a loner, minded his
own business, stayed out of trouble...LaCroix generally had no use
for him.  What reason was there for not confiding in him?  He could
turn out to be of some help in the situation, even if only minor.  On
top of all that...LaCroix  had no one else to whom he could turn to
for help in this matter.  Nicholas was gone...so was Janette.  Anyone
else that might have been willing to help him was too far away to be
of any use.  LaCroix sighed.  He really did not have a choice at
all.  It was the Spaniard or nothing.

End part 8