Nick's mind was wandering as he drove down the dark country lane. He thought of the years he'd spent with Janette. How many? 98? That sounded right - just under a century. They'd been wonderful years for him, but Janette had felt smothered by his all-encompassing love. She had hurt him terribly when she left him.
       He recalled the centuries of blood lust and the destruction he had caused. Guilt slithered its way down his spine. LaCroix always told him quilt was an emotion their kind could ill afford. Their kind. Nick wasn't like LaCroix - not anymore. Perhaps he never was ……
       LaCroix - mother, father, lover, tormentor - Nick didn't even know his real name. The elder vampire had been a good thousand years old already when he brought Nicholas DeBrabant across into the world of eternal darkness. A disillusioned Templar Knight, just back from the Crusades, Nick had welcomed death - and the destructive life that came after. Now, though, he found it difficult to feel much more than this over powering guilt.
       He was able to assuage that guilt somewhat by working in some way to help humanity. He'd been a doctor, a scientist, a teacher - he'd also been involved in law enforcement at many different levels during varying time periods. Janette now had a business in the city of Toronto and Nick was planning to join the Police Force there as soon as he could establish a good enough history for himself. For now, he was exploring his past - visiting some of his old European haunts.
       He'd walked the Parisian streets he'd traversed on the last night of his mortal life. The inn where Janette had found him no longer existed - having been replaced by residential buildings. He didn't have the heart to return to his ancestral country estate, which still stood, he knew. It had been many centuries since he felt strong enough - worthy enough to kneel before the graves of his parents and his sister.
       Now he was driving down a dark road just north of London. He'd first worked as a modern policeman in London - at the turn of the last century. It had been easy then; he only had to convince one or two supervisors of his credentials and he would be accepted. Now-a-days, with everything computerised, his entire life history - or lack thereof - was available to anyone at the touch of a button.
       His attention was suddenly drawn back to the roadway ahead, as a blinding flash of light erupted, followed by the sound of screeching metal. Chunks of pavement sprayed up over his windshield and Nick swerved off the road and stopped.
       There was another car nearby. It was a bronze colored sports car; a little crumpled and laying on its side in the narrow ditch. Nick heard a slight moan. An ordinary mortal might have missed it, but his acute senses not only picked out the sound, but identified it as human and male. Nick was standing before the wreckage in the blink of an eye. When the door wouldn't open immediately, he tore it from its hinges, realising too late that it opened up rather than out. Fearing a possible explosion, Nick reached in with one hand and yanked the man out. Once a safe distance away, Nick set the man down and examined him.
       He was a handsome man at about middle age, with platinum hair and clear blue eyes. He was not badly injured and was still conscious, though disoriented. Nick hoped he was disoriented enough to discount the seemingly superhuman strength of his rescuer. Since he was not in need of immediate medical care, Nick thought about leaving the man, but the big blue eyes focused and the man spoke before Nick could make a decision.
       "What happened?" the man asked in a rough, authoritative voice.
       "I don't know. There was some kind of explosion and you were forced off the road."
       "You see what exploded?"
       "No. Can I give you a lift somewhere?"
       The man eyed Nick suspiciously and said, "My name is Straker - Ed Straker. " He held his hand out.
       Nick hesitated a moment, trying to recall what name he had used on his passport. "Nick," he replied. "Nick Knight." He took the offered hand.
       "You pulled me out by yourself?" Straker asked, still a little wary.
       "That's right. You were disoriented. I was afraid the car might explode."
       Not so disoriented that I didn't notice you lifted me out with one hand like I was a throw pillow, Straker thought, but he didn't get the chance to actually say anything before a red-suited figure came into view, and it was too early in the year for Father Christmas.
       Straker elbowed Nick to the side and went for his gun. The alien fired twice into Nick's chest as he kicked Straker back. Another alien was right behind and they disarmed Straker and started dragging him toward their craft.