Nathan's Tale


Denise Randall

Chapter One: Revisit

The future sometimes presented itself to Nathan in brief bursts of insight. Whether weeks down the road or a few moments from the present, he was able to use the information to be better prepared for the unexpected.

This moment had never been shown him, however. He wished, once again, that his talent was more accurate – more reliable.

Brilliant white-blue eyes narrowed at him from across the expanse of floor, making the seeming glow off of them intensify in the half-light. Slowly, Nathan reached for the sword strung across his back, but his opponent read the move and tensed. The younger man had barely touched the grip, when his adversary lunged. A flash of bright fangs streaked through the blur of cinnamon brown and black as the creature closed on him.

Unable to do much else, Nathan leapt to one side, twisting to the inside to keep the stake in his opponent's right hand from connecting with his belly. Allowing himself to fall, he rolled up over the shoulder opposite his hilt and into a crouch. Before his adversary could stop and wheel about, he'd freed his sword from its sheath and pressed the backside of the blade against the thick leather along his forearm. Even that surface was sharpened, and would have cut him if not for the protection. Most of the length put pressure along his arm, though about four to six inches of the tip angled away from his flesh, ready to hook and cut whoever or whatever it came in contact with. Nathan quickly swept his wavy brunette ponytail back over his shoulder where it belonged.

Gaze fixed on the dhampir opposite him; he rose to his feet with easy motion and side-stepping as his opponent once more sized him up. Straight black strands of hair now littered the other man's cheeks, obscuring some of his soft features and those intense eyes. The rest had been pulled back into a ponytail that dangled just past the corner of the dhampir's soft jawline. A grin graced the thin lips – an expression that could have signified any number of things – or nothing at all.

Whatever the air meant, it made Nathan's hackles stand up – his claws and teeth slid into place at the threat he could feel that had yet to be voiced. He crooked his free hand, stiffening his fingers, natural weapons to add to the artificial.

Lowering his arm a little and twisting his knife ever so slightly, he turned sidelong and burst across the space between them. He planted a foot and ducked back as the dhampir slashed air with one stake in the space where his neck had been the moment prior. Nathan answered the strike with his claws. His attack missed as well, and, defensively, he brought the long knife up as the heavier stake came around – aimed for his ear.

CLANG! echoed through the space as the two pieces of metal came together, before they shushed each other and fell away again. The dhampir managed to take his hand, and the polished weapon it held, back before the blade made it to his fingers. His foot came up, catching Nathan in the chest and, with more strength than his opponent's frame suggested, he punted the young man away.

His adversary followed this forced retreat closely, already lashing out with his stakes. The movement was nothing but a blur of motion, preternatural talents driving the sharpened point towards him at breathtaking speed. Yet, Nathan answered the action, handily, bringing the sword around with all the strength he could muster. The two weapons barked at and then bit each other once again; Nathan's other hand busying itself with slashing and fending off the other man's blows. The sounds of metal on metal and their grunts as they jockeyed for advantage in the fight drown out all other sounds in their vicinity. The blows came faster and faster until the contact of their weapons echoed into one another and blurred into a hum of sound.

They were midway through another round of attacks when something external begged for his attention; yet Nathan was so focused it took nearly a minute more for the other sound to penetrate his concentration. His alternating defense/offense faltered, and he had to throw himself to one side so that the stake arching down from on high didn't impale him through the right breast. Backpedaling and blinking, he threw up his hand in a halting motion and turned his head towards the sound of a frustrated feminine bellow. His opponent pulled up short in his charge and also turned his attention to the brunette.


Standing in the entrance was Miranda Arturo. She stood, hands on her hips; her mouth still open midway through her latest attempt to draw them out of their combat.

"Jesus!" she added now that she finally had their attention, shaking her head. The long plaited draped down her front wiggled with the motion of her head. "Like talking to two brick walls!"

"Sorry, Hon." Nathan's opponent grinned sheepishly at her. The dhampir, Cabal, glanced his direction, "Can't get distracted around Nate these days, he makes me pay for it anymore."

She looked a combination of disgusted and frustrated as she regarded the dhampir. "I swear every time you two come down here you're bent on killing each other."

Nathan blinked, relaxing his stance and stowing his blade. "We're just sparring, Mom. I wouldn't really hurt him."

She regarded him momentarily, one brow raised above her hazel eyes. The look probably had to do with the number of times one or the other of them came away bleeding from these little sessions.

"Like I'd let you, Nate." Cabal also took a moment to stow his stakes in the harness at his back. He swept his shoulder length hair back behind his ears in the same set of motions.

Unable to help it, he grinned and challenged the man with, "There were several points I could have gotten under your guard, Dad."

Instead of rising to the bait – a wholly dissatisfying conclusion to the debate – Cabal glanced over at Miranda. "What's going on, Miranda?"

"A communiqué's just come in for you – from Italy."

Cabal's frame stiffened. "Dominic?"

Miranda shook her head. "No, it's Dahlia."

A look of confusion leapt across his father's features. "Really? Did she say what she wanted?"

Nathan's mom shook her head in the negative. "She said she wanted to discuss the situation with you. I asked her to hold on while I got you. You weren't answering your com, so you forced me to come down here for you."

A brow quirked above his light eyes, he swept by Nathan without elaborating why he sounded so incredulous.

Curious, Nathan followed his father out of the practice area, past the people walking and lounging along the long curving ramp towards the uppermost level, and into the nearest message room in the Mosier Facility.

Cabal already had the earpiece in his ear and his gaze had lost focus on the surroundings.

"Is there something wrong?" he said immediately. "Did the last shipment not make it to you, My Lady?"

He paused.

"Well that is a relief. Then to what do we owe the honor of your contact?"

A smile crawled over his face at whatever had been the response.

"Really?" He nodded even when the other end of the conversation could not see it. "We would be honored. I look forward to it."

Cabal ended the call after the short, cryptic conversation. He stood and turned towards Miranda. Cupping her shoulder, he nodded for her to follow him. He repeated the motion of his chin for Nathan to do the same. Nathan's father paused at the nearest intercom, keying a code the younger man recognized as Blaine's.

"Yeah boss?" Blaine answered almost immediately, and it took a moment for Nathan to remember that each of the primary leadership in House Cabal carried portable communication devices these days.

"Blaine, did the refurbishment of the largest suite ever get finished?"

Blaine was pretty much the man in charge any time Cabal and Miranda had to leave the facility. Truly he was the man who kept the facility and its people organized even when they were here. He was very handy at handling day to day business – in fact, Nathan could remember how surprised he was to find out that Blaine had been a human slave – in a vampire House back east – at one point in his life. How such leadership ability could be left to molder in one of those hell-holes was beyond him.

"Two weeks ago, Cabal. I know you've been busy, but I thought you'd been down there."

"Uh, no. Meet me there."

Less than five minutes later, the three of them stepped into one of the largest "family" quarters in the facility. The room was more like a clan's room than a single family unit. Blaine was already waiting in the opulent and overly large foyer/living room. At ninety degrees either side of their position and directly across from them were doors that led to smaller suites. Each area was decorated in a similar theme, only different for colors or perhaps specific decorations. The room farthest from the entrance was the largest, having a full showering facility, large amounts of storage space, and a four-poster bed of gargantuan proportions.
The other two rooms were quite a bit smaller lacking their own bathrooms, but still looking modestly comfortable for the occupants. One held two smaller beds and the other a single full bed. There was a second showering facility in the suite for any other guests. Nathan's dad asked questions now and again to clarify security or some other bit of business. Cabal eventually gave the suite a wholehearted approval.

"They did a fine job of it. You made sure…"

"They've no clue where we are or who exactly hired them. It's cool."


"What's this all about, Cabal?"

"I just got off the line with Lady Dahlia."

"Like, of House Damien?" Blaine stiffened at the same time Nathan did, but their reactions were for entirely different reasons.

Blaine admitted, often, the very idea of a House dredged up foul memories of his time in Lord Kluger's care, of his death as a human at the hands of Meirakat's army, and his rebirth on the other side because Lorna loved him too much to let him leave her. While he said he'd never begrudged his life in that place while he lived there, he never wanted to be back in the situation ever again.

Being a free man can certainly spoil a person.

For Nathan, the mention of that particular House rankled him. He closely regarded his mom and dad, gleaning their expressions for any sign of resentment. Had he been in his father's shoes – blamed for murder, tortured mercilessly, turned in a tool – Nathan was sure he wouldn't be nearly as forgiving as his father seemed to be. Nathan unconsciously lifted a hand to the cross sitting just below the dip at the base of his throat, praying – though unsure for what – the strength to get through this without telling that Royal where to go, probably. He was still unable to fathom how either of them could continue to associate with a House that dealt them so much grief.

"The same." Cabal nodded. "They've finally finagled enough of a gap in their schedule that she and a small party from her House are going to come for a visit – unofficial and informal. It's not until next month, but she's a royal, and we've not hosted anyone that high up the food chain before. We're going to need all the time we can scrounge to get ready."

Actually, they hadn't hosted much of any of the foreign dignitaries or House liaisons prior to this. Though most vampires were more than willing to do business with House Cabal – Salvation being very urbane in polite vampire society – they refused to be seen dead in a House that was not affiliated with the Providence Court. Nathan knew, as a fact, they would never be approved. It appalled most vampires that the residents of this House were all treated with equality, no caste system had ever been allowed to take hold within the dome. Their membership in "House Cabal" consisted, in great majority, of army deserters, former human blood-slaves, persecuted dhampirs, and other riff-raff from across the United Territories. Even if the powers-that-be in vampire society changed their minds about a House run by a dhampir and a vampire Second – Nathan didn't think his mom and dad would accept.

The group's conversation continued as they headed up for the Commons, and Nathan peered up to find that the dining area was relatively deserted, only a handful of the residents lounging about or playing games on the large round tables that had filled most of the space once again. His gaze moved to the opposite side of the Commons, seeing the blue glow off the fireplace reflect off the back of the suede couch. The furniture, including the large area rug beneath the coffee table and the recliner that had somehow joined the set, had been moved nearer that source of warmth. They'd had to make the extra room for hosting the human and dhampir's meals throughout the day. Many times their vampire residents joined the party, sipping their salvation from glasses and enjoying the company of other's in the House.

The "living room" often times was the place that his immediate family took respite from their duties. None of the other residents ever seemed willing to invade that space.

They did not head there now, instead the four of them took a table further from the remaining members and they invited in Mouse, and her granddaughter. Amelia was taking the kitchen duties over from her grandmother, who was moving steadily through her sixth decade. Mouse grew more and more feeble each week, but still ran the kitchens for the nearly 150 humans and eight dhampirs who now called House Cabal their home. Amelia did more of the actual footwork, but Mouse was still entrenched in the planning of meals, ordering those items their farms did and didn't carry, and writing weeks' worth of menus.

Others noticed the huddle quickly and before their group had finished their preliminary planning, there were nearly eighty people trying to help or just listen to the news. The excitement grew as the news was passed person to person, and yet, they only had a superficial understanding – their excitement was over celebrity.

Looking over his father once more, Nathan could see…excitement. Cabal was looking forward to hosting these vampires. A frown worked over the vadaryne's face as that idea bounced about his brain cells.

Cabal caught him off guard when he looked up and said, "Nate, I want you in on the security team. We've started a list of things that might be considered points of weakness." He handed the list across the space, and though it went through several hands before it got to him, no one else looked at the neat scrawl that was his dad's handwriting. "I want you and a team of your choice to look at it and add anything you think might be an at risk situation. I need them checked out and tightened up as much as possible in the next month."

"Yes, Dad." He nodded automatically, long engrained with the notion that his father's advice was to be taken seriously. Cabal had told him many times he was a little too zealous in following orders – tried to encourage him to think for himself.

Nathan liked to think that he had a good head on his shoulders; that he could think on his feet to keep himself and others out of harm. Still, when it came to "Cabal – vampire hunter," Nathan wasn't going to argue a point.

He could almost hear his father's voice say, I'm not a Hunter – not any more. That's a past long behind me. That sentiment made it all the more surprising when Cabal finally gave in and agreed to train Nathan in all that he knew.

It wasn't like the vadaryne had allowed him to forget about how much he wanted to know that kind of fighting style. From the time he was about ten, he spent hours bugging his father to train him.

But there's no need for that kind of knowledge in the House, Nate. We live and work with vampires every day.

But, there's still bad vampires out there, right Dad?

He could hear that weary sigh even now, Of course there are, but they have no purpose coming all the way out here.

But what if they did? I want to be able to defend our family and friends! I want to know how to fight. I want to be like you!

Pride and pain had filled his father's face each time Nathan said that. And yet, Cabal had denied him that wish, over and over and over again. Half the time he just walked away while Nathan continued to plead at his back. Something changed Cabal's mind on the issue right around the time he was seventeen. Expecting yet another rejection, Nathan had been taken aback when Cabal had simply agreed, without even a single protest or cajoling on Nathan's part. Perhaps his dad had always planned to teach him, but was waiting for him to be old and mature enough. To this day, he'd never been sure what changed his father's mind about letting him learn weapons use and fighting skills best employed against vampires.


The month seemed to fly by, and each day had been filled with something about getting prepared for their company. Now, like it or not, they stood waiting to receive their guests.

Nathan stood next to his father, watching the sky for the transport their small greeting party was waiting for. Consisting of five members, they stood facing the expanse of desert to the west of their factory on a lonely patch of asphalt where normally factory workers parked their vehicles. Production at the facility to their right happened, for the most part, during the day. At night, the factory was a ghost of itself, a miniscule crew, handling shipping arrangements, and a small staff that made sure the books was kept.

Quite a few members of their House were employed here. Most of those workers were directly involved with the development of Salvation – the artificial blood that was sold to both human and vampire buyers, and for very different reasons. The night shift consisted of many of the vampires and the growing number of dhampirs living in their House, some in delivery and some in administration. That wasn't to say the upper echelon jobs were caste solely to the supernaturals. One of their finest executives was a human, and more than her dotted the administration.

Salvation was the lynchpin product that kept their House running and in the green, with support from the sale and trade of both livestock and plant products from the massive farming levels below the residences in the Mosier Facility. His mother told him tales when he was younger about how small the scale was when she was growing up compared to now.

Originally Salvation was produced within the confines of the Mosier Facility. However, when his parents realized the prudence of selling the lifesaving (and life giving) product externally, they realized it would only endanger the residents. Their caution had kept the dome's location still relatively unknown in the dead lava field surrounding their home. Any hostile takeovers would then be aimed at the public factory some twenty miles removed from the House.

The factory was a dome unto itself, refurbished from a town that had gone under long before his sister was even born. The venture had taken the combined earnings of every resident, including the main backing of his parents, to get a factory design to their specifications and constructed. In the five decades since that decision, none of the investors seemed ill at ease with their shares. Their clients ranged from the local domes surrounding their home to major research facilities to five vampire Courts and nearly three dozen Houses around the world. That wasn't to mention the hundreds of vampire broods ranging over the United Territories.

Residents of House Cabal kept their own appetites in check by the smaller and yet just as vital operation that took place within their home.

A cold wind cut across the empty tarmac, lifting Nathan's wavy brunette hair and depositing it in inconvenient spots along his back and shoulders. When the ponytail caught on the pommel of the sword strung diagonally across his back, Nathan twitched his head to free it from his weapon. The move loosened the elastic band holding it there, and he took a few moments to pull the wavy strands tighter against his skull. Those that escaped to dangle in his face, he swept back behind his exposed ears.

When his dad told him about their visitors, he insisted that Nathan bring the short Arabic style sword.

"Why?" he remembered asking. "I thought these were allies?"

"They are. Don't think you'll offend them with it. Trust me, they'll be armed as well." Cabal had shrugged. "Besides, it's not them I'm worried about. Their itinerary will not exactly be private, and I wouldn't put it past a pack of raiders to try and take advantage of such high profile guests being in area."

Dad believed in being prepared for anything, and peering his direction, he noted the slight bulge between his father's shoulders that marked where the stakes were safely stored at his back.

As Nathan lowered his arms, he shrugged to get the heavy leather of his jacket to sit properly along shoulders just broader and thicker than his father's. The metal rings, to which his curved blade was clipped, made slight ringing sounds as the two pieces of metal collided and fell apart.

The already heavy material had been reinforced across his chest and shoulders with yet another layer of pressed leather armoring. The sleeves were zippered to his wrist, bringing the rolled leather piping into parallel tracks down the underside of his arm.

Unconsciously, Nathan clenched and relaxed his large hands, making the gloves creak quietly in protest. The sound contrasted the clanking sound from his shoulder and waist.

The vadaryne glanced to his right, focusing slightly lower to his father's profile. The dhampir had his shoulder length of straight black hair down, and it brushed the shoulders of a jacket that was a simpler version of Nathan's.

Though stoic to a casual glance, Cabal's expression revealed an undercurrent of excitement for the upcoming meeting. His ice blue eyes glinted and glowed as they searched the indigo night for a sign their visitors were close.

Miranda, his mother, stood just the other side of Cabal, looking less enthused than his father as could be told by how she leaned possessively into his shoulder and gripped the elbow of his jacket. Never one for dressing up, she remained in a casual outfit, but not terribly formal – slacks and a button front blouse. She'd left her long wavy hair groomed and down, falling past her waist.

Hair he'd inherited from her, along with his hazel eyes.

The party was rounded out by Blaine and his mate Lorna. The two vampires were an interesting couple. Blaine was painfully short for a man, perhaps five foot six. Meanwhile Lorna towered over him like the Amazon she was. She loved to wear high heels as well, so the disparity in their heights was even worse.

Blaine's newsie hat was pushed back from his forehead, allowing dark curls to spill past its brim to decorate his fair skin all the way down to his brow. The headwear should have detracted from the matching vest and light gray shirt. But Blaine pulled if off without effort. The vampire actually looked dressier than either his father or him.

While Nathan watched, Lorna leaned over, kissing her mate on the top of the head, her bobbed brown hair spilling past where she had tucked it behind her adorned ears. It made a silky looking curtain which hid her profile and part of Blaine's face as well.

Focusing once more, the young vadaryne scoured the night sky for the hover carrying the party from Italy. Cabal spotted them before anyone else; the slight stiffening of his frame the only thing to give the notice away.

Glancing to that side, Nathan gaged where his dad was looking and then back to the sky. Coming in from the south, the light separated itself from the bright stars. It wasn't easily visible at first, not until it swept wide right, flying in a long sloping arch towards their position. The vehicle profile grew larger and other lights became visible – green and red navigation lights defining the general outline of the vehicle's size. If they were to be believed, the hovercar was easily bigger than Dad's Mandalay. Larger and larger the shadow grew before sinking into wash of the floodlights.

The pilot of the vehicle was good, but he or she couldn't compare to Cabal's ability to maneuver a hovercar. It wheeled and spun as it positioned itself to empty its passengers even with the five of them. Each of them lifted arms to protect their faces as the backwash kicked up the thin sheen of dust that had settled on the asphalt since the workers had gone home.

The vadaryne had to reassess the size as it lowered gently onto the tarmac. Not even his sister's Holocaust could compare to the limousine that's engines were now winding down.

Cabal and Miranda took a step forward, assuming a patient, professional demeanor as the chauffer got out and stepped to the back of the hover. The young human woman opened the door and stood aside.

The way his father carried himself changed once again as the first person stepped out of the vehicle. He was unsure what that change in framing meant, and couldn't see his father's face to get a clue.

A dhampir slipped out of the seat first, the man's aura told Nathan that. The man was big – at least five inches taller than Cabal and half again as heavy. The dhampir was obviously some sort of guard, for as he stood straight he was already clipping a long broadsword to his waist. The move revealed subtly hidden armor underneath a handsomely tailored, and completely outdated, tabard. He had to remind himself that European Courts like to pretend they were still in the middle ages – at least as far as dress went. There was a horned and fanged skull on his left breast, above a more formal looking crest. That move also revealed the man was carrying two ranged weapons of an unfamiliar design.

The dhampir did a quick sweep of the surroundings before meeting Cabal's gaze. His mouth hinted at a smile and recognition sparked in the steel gray eyes. The man nodded at his father, not even making the black curls on his head bob, and then stepped aside. The guardsman extended a large hand and slim pale fingers emerged from the dark, slipping into a palm which swallowed them without so much as a trace. The guard curled his fingers slightly and lifted his arm, allowing the occupant to use it for leverage getting out of the vehicle.

An expensive boot emerged from the shadows of the cab and, with a clap, settled on the asphalt. There was a cuff at the top of the boot, turned down and catching just a glint of light from the overhead. The pants were just as black, blending with the boots, but white broke the darkness as a woman leaned forward to shift her center of balance. A gauzy blouse draped ruffles down her front. Blonde hair spilled past one shoulder as she lifted herself out of her seat and stood to her full height. She was very tall for a woman, like Lorna, but a coif on the back of her head added to an already impressive stature. Nathan switched views, peering at a very deep aura – not quite ancient, but definitely an older vampire. Deep blue eyes peered out of a pale, fragile-looking face. Those eyes were wizened and astute, and spoke of a strength the rest of her appearance hid.

"Thank you, Dominic."

"My Lady," The dhampir murmured and bowed slightly.

Though Nathan expected the dhampir to accompany his Lady forward, the guard hung back by the still open door. The Lady seemed unphased by this lack of escort and continued to approach their side of this meeting. A moment later it was clear why. Out of thin air, a slighter figure appeared; crimson robes settling about pale and scared shoulders as if she'd run here.

Though the woman wore a hood, the scars on her face were very easy to see. Black hair peeked out and dangled across the clasp holding the cape to her – a blood red rose settled into the gold. His father's tale about The Rose tickled through his brain a moment. Mismatched eyes met his gaze; a grin turned up one corner of her nearly intact lips, before she turned her gaze forward and seemed to stare at nothing. His heart about stopped as he got a good look at her aura – vadaryne. It could be none other than Cherlize, then.

"Lady Dahlia," Cabal's greeting returned his focus to their VIP. Nathan heard the gladness in his father's voice, "I'm glad that you could finally make it to the United Territories."

The woman nodded her head. "It has taken longer than I expected for things to settle enough where I could leave the House in an interim state."

"Thirty years?" He watched his father's head bob. "Things must have been really hectic after we left."

These pleasantries went on, but Nathan's attention was divided by yet another exiting the vehicle. Dark gray granny boots landed on the asphalt beneath the fins of the hover. Unlike the Lady, these boots were adorned with a high heel, making uncomfortable points of small feet. The woman waved away her guard's offer of assistance, and she instead rose to her feet without even touching the frame. Her hair was flaxen, nearly curly, and fell to her elbow. The only thing keeping the length out of her face was a headband that matched the shade of her shirt. She had a lilac and purple shirt on along the same lines as the other woman.

And she was gorgeous. She shared many of the features of the elder vampiress and he could readily assume they were related – another royal, then.

He must have been staring because those aqua pools of blue lit on his face and an annoyed expression strayed over her pretty features.

Nathan blinked and tore his eyes away, trying to focus on the introductions and other banter that moved between their party and his own. Still his eyes continued to stray as the hulking dhampir and the petite flower joined Lady Dahlia. Though he was sure this girl was Dahlia's daughter, the younger vampiress did not share her mother's dominating stature.

They arrived just as Cabal said, "And this is Nathan Arturo, our son."

A wry grin cropped up on his father's face, and suddenly Nathan wondered what memory was attached to such an expression.

The elder vampiress bobbed her head slightly, sweeping him with a critical eye. "Mr. Arturo."

Nathan finally found his voice. "Lady Dahlia."

She did not introduce the guardsman; however she did wave the little flower forward. Once more the vadaryne was unable to take his eyes off of her.

"You remember Princess Margareta?"

Cabal bowed and belatedly Nathan remembered to follow suit.

As his father straightened, he added, "I hardly recognized you, Princess."

The girl's answer came out cold. "How could you, Hunter, I was merely three when we last met."

Cabal's expression turned carefully neutral as he added, "You've grown into a beautiful woman – every bit as lovely as your mother."

Lady Dahlia looked flattered, however Margareta looked bitter.

"Miranda?" Cabal turned the floor over to Nathan's mom.

"Shall we go in?" Miranda began smoothly, waving them towards the facility.

Cabal hung back, still standing next to Nathan. While Nathan could feel his father's stare, he couldn't manage to meet his father's gaze.

Finally, Cabal whispered, "Please close your mouth, Nate. It's rude to ogle."

His jaw promptly snapped shut.

A small laugh left his father's throat, and a flush moved through Nathan's face at the sound of it.

"Didn't see that one coming, did you?"

Nathan shook his head and said, "Sure didn't. You didn't tell me Dahlia had a daughter."

"She was three, and it was thirty years ago. There were other, much more powerful memories to focus on, believe me." Cabal clapped him on the shoulder and nodded towards the retreating party. "C'mon."

A/N: Well I THINK I have enough of an archive now that I can begin this little tale. (I probably don't but I want to get it started as a motivator anyway)

There are a lot of elements tied into this story from all over the TOHS universe. Obviously I'm bringing The Devil's Own back into play (they were very popular!)...and I'm giving you a glimpse of Nathan - Cabal and Miranda's son - all grown up. HEE! This one is going to try to be fluff...but usually there are some serious aspects that come into play - because I don't know how to play to pure fluff! LOL!

I hope you like it!

NEXT UP: Escort Duty

Nathan Escorts Princess Margareta to the Dome, and makes several attempts at getting to know the young vampire better. Too bad she's not playing the same game.