Faith unleashed a bloodcurdling scream that would have done Sarah Bernhardt proud. When nothing immediately happened, Faith threw herself on the floor and started flailing her arms and legs.

Tears. Red cheeks. Pupils so large, they made her eyes look black. Faith was not giving in gracefully. She was having the hissy fit to end all hissy fits.

Nikita stood and quietly watched her daughter coming apart at the seams. Concern etched itself into her now-pale face. She always had a problem withstanding Faith’s temper tantrums. Glancing quickly at Michael, she let him know that he was in charge, but she would gladly back him up. All of this she communicated somehow without saying a single word.

Chris frowned uncertainly. He wasn’t sure if Faith was hurt or not. Her screaming grated on his ears, but worse, it abraded his nerves. "Why Fee cry, Mommy?"

Unsure just how to answer that question, Nikita looked to Michael for guidance. Michael crossed his arms and sighed. "Your sister wants attention."

That didn’t necessarily sound like a bad thing to Chris. "Me, too, Daddy."

"Not that way, Chris." He pointedly remarked on his daughter’s behavior without speaking to her directly.

"Only bad girls and boys kick and scream when they don’t get their own way," Michael continued, knowing that Faith was listening.

Faith stopped screeching just long enough to utter, "Me no bad, Daddd...Me good girl."

Michael coolly surveyed his daughter, who even now was crying wretchedly, as if someone were torturing her. "Declan, could you and Birkoff please leave? We need to get rid of the audience."

Declan nodded. But even as he and Birkoff left the room, the rest of the family descended upon Michael and Nikita. Madeline, Neil, Miranda, and bringing up the rear, Walter.

Walter spoke first, sounding out of breath. "What’s up, little Sugar?" he said to Faith. Miranda shook her head, confiding in Nikita, "I tried to get him to slow down, but he heard the baby scream, and he insisted on running all the way up here."

"Well, what’s wrong, little one?" Walter caught his breath finally and leaned on his wife. "She’s not answering me, Honey." He turned to Nikita. "How come little Sugar isn’t answering me, Sugar?"

Nikita winced at the ear-splitting noise that last sentence seemed to provoke. "Dad, I’m so sorry you had to be disturbed like this. I know you’re feeling much better, but you need your rest."

Miranda stopped Nikita from apologizing any further. "Please, Nikita. Don’t apologize. First of all, we’re in your home, not the other way around. Second of all, this one has been looking for an excuse to get up and sniff around the party plans for ages."

Nikita laughed. "Well...I take it he’s coming then."

Walter snorted. "Wild horses couldn’t keep me away."

Faith continued to scream, and Michael counted to ten. "Could I have everyone’s attention please?"

Everyone continued to chatter endlessly about the upcoming party, while Faith shrieked in the background, even more loudly, to be heard over the others. Michael tried twice more, to no avail.

Finally, in a last-ditch effort to regain control of the situation, Michael shouted, "SHUT UP!"

Dead silence reigned. Everyone stared at Michael, including Faith, who stopped yelling only to start trembling. In earnest. "Dad-dy?"

Michael picked up his daughter and held her, while she scrubbed at her tear-drenched face. "Thank you for coming, but we need to speak to Faith about her behavior."

Walter started to say something, but Michael turned the infamous glare on him. "I know you all want to help...but we can handle this. Ourselves."

Madeline nodded, acquiescing to Michael’s subtle demand. He was right. Faith was their daughter. Theirs to love, theirs to discipline. This was their house. They were upsetting the balance of things by intruding upon Michael and Nikita’s way of life. Just because they were staying here didn’t give them any more right to interfere in how the children were raised than a stranger walking in off the street. Madeline understood that better than most.

Everyone filed out of the bedroom, their faces reflecting some of their concern regarding the little girl’s fate. Nikita stood there, white-faced, staring at her husband until Michael cried out, "What? What is it, Kita? You think I’m a heartless beast, too? Waiting to pounce on the little innocent?"

"No, Michael. I know how hard it is for you to set limits with Faith. I just wish--" She started to cry, and no matter what she said to the contrary, Michael only heard the sound of his wife’s tears.

Faith started to cry, too, seeing her mother so upset. Faith pushed at her father, trying to reach her mother, and Chris grabbed hold of the leg of Michael’s jeans. "Daddy!"

Michael closed his eyes, certain that what he would see reflected in Nikita’s light blue eyes was reproach. He felt a trembling hand on his arm and hesitantly opened his eyes. "I wish I were as strong as you are, Michael. I wish I were more supportive of you when everyone just barged in here and assumed we were beating our kids. I wish I’d let them know you were doing the right thing."

Nikita picked up Chris and placed him on the bed. "I want you to sit here a moment, like a good boy, Chris. Okay?" Chris nodded solemnly, sticking his thumb in his mouth.

When she turned around, Michael held Faith out to Nikita. "Maybe you would feel better if you held her, Kita," he said softly. Faith reached out and grabbed hold of her mother’s hair, bursting into a fresh round of sobbing that made Michael’s heart ache.

"Faith," Nikita said to her daughter. "Good girls don’t throw temper tantrums."

Chris looked up at his father. "Daddy, what’s tempa tantum?"

Michael glanced at his son, his emotions dangerously close to the surface. "Ssh, petit fils. Tais-toi un moment." Chris dutifully obeyed. When his father asked him to be quiet, he would be quiet. There had to be an important reason.

"You can’t always get what you want, Faith. And kicking and screaming just makes things worse. It makes all of us upset. Even your brother." Faith stuck her thumb in her mouth, like Chris, as if it were a show of solidarity.

"Do you understand?" Nikita asked.

Faith nodded uncertainly.

"Mommy and Daddy love you. But we don’t like that kind of behavior. If you do that again..." Nikita paused. "...we will spank you."

"Do you know what spanking is?"

Faith shook her head, her eyes big as saucers now, her pupils black as could be.

Nikita turned the little girl over and slapped her very lightly on her behind. "It’s like that, Faith, only much harder. You don’t want that to happen, do you?"

Faith whispered, "No."

Nikita straightened up and looked wearily to Michael. Whispering in his ear, she asked, "Was that strong enough?"

He whispered back, "That was fine, doucette." He kissed her and rubbed the back of her neck. Their hands met, palm to palm, then slid apart.

"Chris, you were so good. Come with me and get your Halloween treat." Michael held out his hand to his son, and Chris put his tiny hand in Michael’s.

After Michael and Chris left, Nikita sat on the bed, looking at her daughter. "You know how much Mommy loves you, Faith, don’t you?"

She nodded seriously.

"Good." She smiled and held out her arms to Faith. "Let’s go have some fun now. We still have to get you into your costume."

"Mom....me still a princess?" Faith asked anxiously, having already relinquished the telltale scrap of material to her mother.

"Yes, sweetie, you’ll always be Mommy’s princess." Nikita sighed contentedly as her daughter kissed her.

Declan paced back and forth. "Are you coming out of the bloody bathroom sometime tonight, Sey?"

"Eventually...what’s your hurry, Dec? Don’t tell me you’re actually nervous!" Birkoff’s voice came through the door muffled but bemused.

"Are you using up all the hot water, too? No one cares what you look like, Sey! It’s a bloody costume party! The whole idea is to disguise yourself!"

"So you want me to disguise myself as what? Someone who doesn’t bathe?"

The door swung open with a loud crash as it hit the wall. "Sorry," Birkoff remarked as he exited the bathroom, a fluffy white towel draped around his middle.

Declan looked him up and down, then whimpered pathetically before bolting into the bathroom. Birkoff frowned. He heard the sound of retching, then flushing. When the door opened again, Declan was standing in the doorway, leaning weakly against the doorframe. "Could you...help me please?"

"What? What did you do?" Birkoff immediately went into a state of near-panic.

Declan’s chest was bare and sweat glistened across the broad expanse. His hair was loose, the ends trailing wetly down the middle of his back. Aside from his boots, the only thing he wore was a pair of black leather pants. Tightly stretched across his thighs, they left very little to the imagination.

"I need to use the bathroom. But I can’t seem to get these damn pants undone."

Declan fidgeted nervously with what should have been a zipper, but the truth was, the pants looked as though they had been poured onto his body and left to harden around the edges and angles that delineated his sexuality.

"You want me to help?" Birkoff offered. "How much time do we have?"

"Ack, I don’t know! I’m a bloody mess! I’m never going to be able to pull this off!"

"The pants?" Birkoff chuckled.

"No, being elegant." Declan sniffed. "Thanks for the bloody great vote of confidence, too."

"Dec, you always look elegant to me. Even in jeans and a black T-shirt..." Birkoff knew he had a fresh remark and a snicker ready at all times, but he wasn’t joking. Declan could pull off looking elegant. Even if it did make Birkoff’s skin crawl to think of Declan wearing Mission Black again.

"Can you get them undone, then, Sey? I need to pee!" Declan was growing exasperated.

Birkoff worked at the leather. "Well, what do you want me to do, Dec? Hold it for you while you go? Maybe I could sing a few choruses of "Please Release Me", and then, it’ll just pop out like the Pillsbury Doughboy, all clean and fresh!"

"You’re bloody irritating right about now, Sey-mour!" Declan knew that would get to Birkoff, which is why he did it, but he was going to live to regret it.

"Don’t you freaking call me that, Declan!" His finger caught inside the leather of Declan’s pants, and he suddenly realized that he couldn’t get it out.

"You’re going to ruin the leather, Sey!" Declan growled.

"You’re going to break my damn finger, Dec!" Birkoff countered.

"Oh, I hope so, boyo. I got big plans for you later, you just wait and see if I don’t!"

"Is that a freaking threat?"

Declan nudged Birkoff’s hand with a sway of his lower body. "No, it’s a freaking promise! Know what the difference is? A threat is something that might happen! A promise is something that will!"

"Now you did it!" Birkoff exclaimed, just as his towel unraveled itself and fell around his ankles.

Declan couldn’t stop himself from looking. Just once. But that was all it took to put the final monkeywrench into the works.

Declan was now aroused. So aroused, the leather clung to him like a second skin. So aroused, there was now no way to remove the leather from his body without a blowtorch. Unless Birkoff ripped it open with his teeth. A scenario that was beginning to look more and more likely with every passing moment.

"You know what? There’s only one way to undo this, Declan!" Birkoff pushed at Declan’s chest, slapping him lightly with one hand.

Declan gave Birkoff the same glare Michael gave Walter sometime earlier. It was equally effective. Birkoff backed up, bent over and grabbed his towel, preparing to re-apply it to his lower body. But Declan had other plans.

"You’re not bloody ripping these pants, Sey! They’re too expensive, for one thing! For another, they feel...good," Declan uttered that last in a low, smoky voice that rivaled Walter.

"So? You got a better idea how to get you out of ‘em?" Birkoff said smugly, confident that Declan couldn’t possibly come out with another solution.

Declan put his hands on Birkoff’s shoulders. That smoldering look in his normally pale grey eyes transformed him completely. He looked like a dark angel come to feast on Birkoff. "Yeah."

"The only way to get these off...is for you to make..." Declan grabbed Birkoff’s hand and placed it on his groin, right over his now throbbing arousal. "...this go down."

Declan rubbed himself against his lover’s hand and groaned. "And the only way to make this go down...is for you to...kiss me and make it better."

Birkoff shivered in anticipation. "Am I under orders...to please you?"

Declan flung his head back and howled, his grey eyes glittering fiercely with passion now. "Hell, yes!"

Birkoff let the towel slide unnoticed to the floor between their feet. Stepping carefully, so that Declan’s boots didn’t crush his toes, Birkoff reached up and licked Declan’s hyperextended neck. When Declan took another breath, he looked down at his partner, smiling at the sight that greeted his hot gaze. He was aroused, too. Last night was not a fluke or a whim of fate. Birkoff was healed. And he was his.

Birkoff knelt between Declan’s legs, his palms sliding over the black leather again and again. Declan’s arousal thrust at him, but there was no way short of ripping the fabric to release it. Birkoff looked up at Declan for guidance. "What do you want me to do, Dec?" he whispered.

Declan sank to his knees, his lover’s hands still upon him. "Please...make love to me...Sey."

"How?"

"Any bloody way you can," came the urgent reply.

Birkoff pushed Declan gently to the carpet. The leather was now clenched so tightly around Declan’s arousal, it was trapped within. But that didn’t faze Birkoff. He pressed his hands against Declan, massaging him and kneading him until Birkoff swore he could smell the scent of his arousal on his skin. He couldn’t free Declan’s arousal, so he rubbed his cheek against it, the softness of his skin so like the buttery softness of the leather.

When Declan’s groans came closer together, Birkoff sat astride him, rubbing his own arousal against Declan’s. So soft, the feel of the leather, the feel of his skin. So hard, the length of him pressing tautly against that same leather. "It won’t be long, Dec," he whispered as he buried his face against Declan’s neck.

Declan pulled on his lover’s hair, forcing his head up for his punishing kisses. He drank from his partner’s mouth, again and again, tugging on his lower lip until it was quite swollen. "You’re mine."

"Say it." Declan commanded.

"You’re mine," Birkoff intoned with utter sincerity.

Declan’s grip on Birkoff tightened. It should have been painful, but it wasn’t. Their bodies thrusting, almost in synch, their mouths claiming each other possessively. It was glorious...that final moment of freefall...before they plummeted to earth once more.

Birkoff rubbed his face against Declan’s chest, as they lay in each other’s arms, hand to hand, heart to heart. "I love you, Declan."

Declan caught his breath at the wonder those words sent through his entire being every time. Pressing a tender kiss to his lover’s hair, he whispered, "I love you, too, Sey."

"Michael! What are you doing?" Nikita giggled as Michael’s mouth claimed the nape of her neck.

"Branding you. So I can recognize you. Even in disguise." Michael felt so light-hearted, it was a strange and heady new feeling for him.

She loved Michael in black. But she was terribly glad that it was not Mission Black. He was dressed in head-to-toe black as Zorro. He wore black leather pants and matching black leather boots. His shirt was black silk and opened to reveal his throat and part of his chest. A black silk mask tied behind his head, leaving much of his cinnamon-colored hair loose upon his shoulders. His green eyes glowed vibrantly through the slits of the mask.

"Shall I find you languishing in a corner and have my way with you?" he said in a husky whisper.

Nikita wound her arms around his neck and kissed him. "Oh, yes, please, ravish me."

He ran his hands down her long slender arms until he reached her fingers. Playing with her fingers, Michael realized that he was becoming aroused. Not a comfortable feeling when he was trapped within leather pants that outlined every centimeter of that arousal. He groaned under her mouth and broke away. "We need to stop," he whispered.

"Why?" She slid her hand inside his black silk shirt, the tender bud she touched springing to life under her caress. "It’s our party," she stated matter-of-factly, "we can be fashionably late."

He moaned when her tongue replaced her hand. "Um...I’m already dressed."

"So? You can get...undressed." Nikita gave her husband a carefree smile.

"Keep going, you’re convincing me..." He pulled her against his body, sinking his teeth into her neck, ever so gently.

***

The ballroom at the chateau had not seen such festivities in many years. Black and orange paper streamers decorated the ceiling, the walls, and every inch of available space. The lights were dimmed, the atmosphere hazy and sensual. And gradually...the players began taking their places...

The twins, allowed to stay up for exactly one more hour, were making the most of their time with the grown-ups. Feverishly overexcited, Faith hopped restlessly from foot to foot. Her "princess dress" was crafted lovingly by her mother, with the help of Miranda. A lovely shade of light pink, it fell to Faith’s ankles, like a tiny evening gown. A rhinestone tiara sat atop Faith’s head, teetering precariously now, with her careless movements. Her bright green eyes, so like her father’s, danced merrily. This was a grown-up dress, and Mommy let her wear it for this special ‘cashun.

There was Mommy now. With Daddy. Mommy looked beautiful. Like a real princess. And Daddy looked scary. All in black. But his eyes were friendly. Faith smiled. It was okay. He was still Daddy.

***

Nikita was Sleeping Beauty. From her hair to her feet, she looked like she had stepped from the pages of a storybook. Romantic. Elegant. Regal. Her pale blonde hair was swept up, hundreds of tiny white pearls running through it. At her neck, a single pearl, so large, it must have been specially created. Just for her.

Her arms were covered to the elbow in the most exquisite pale lavender satin gloves. Her shoes, mere slippers, scraps of satin in the same color as her gloves. Her dress was memorable. Designed as a wedding gown originally, her dress fell to her ankles, like Faith’s, its deep purple satin enfolding her, embracing her, like a lover.

The man at her side, every inch the legendary romantic figure he resembled, Michael now wore a black hat in addition to his black silk mask, a sweeping floor-length black silk cloak covering the rest of his body. Holding out his hand in invitation to dance, Michael glanced at his wife. Their hands joined in an almost courtly gesture, they officially opened the party together.

"To our friends...and our family...we say welcome," said Nikita with a majestic inclination of her head.

"Please...eat...drink...and make merry as you will...It’s Halloween!" said Michael, raising his arm in salute, the black silk pulling away from his body to reveal tight black leather clinging to the rest of him.

Those already there cheered. Those yet to come waited in the shadows to make an entrance.

***

Chris blinked sleepily. He finally got to be a dark knight, just as Mommy promised. Dressed in dark grey material, designed to resemble armor, Chris’ bright hair and eyes made him an unlikely knight. But then again, his facial expression was remarkably like his father’s. Until he yawned.

The music was not loud. A mixture of salsa, jazz, and other assorted rhythms blared through the speaker system, its volume muted on behalf of the young ears in the ballroom. Rather than put the children to bed upstairs, where no one could watch them, Michael had decided to cordon off an area of the ballroom where they could sleep and still be under the careful surveillance of adults.

Judging from the look of the twins, sleep was not far off. Michael nodded to Nikita, who wanted everyone to hear their announcement at the same time. He held up his hands for quiet. There was a noticeable lull. Grasping Nikita’s hand in his, Michael suddenly seemed curiously shy, costume to the contrary.

"We have something...we would like to share...with all of you here...tonight...." Michael looked deep into Nikita’s eyes, and everyone else faded away.

The tiniest of smiles traced his lips. "We’re going to have another baby," he said, not realizing that he’d whispered it instead. Nikita kissed him, tears suddenly appearing in her sapphire blue eyes. "I know," she whispered back, "Now tell them."

He laughed softly, turning to face their family. "We’re going to have another baby!" he shouted.

Excitement rippled throughout the room at Michael’s announcement. Madeline and Neil already knew that Nikita was three months pregnant, but the news being made official sent a thrill through them nonetheless. Madeline and Neil were quite the interesting couple. Dressed as Gomez and Morticia Addams of TV sitcom fame, they were finally able to reveal their secret to everyone... Madeline had a wicked sense of humor!

Clad in a floor-length black silk gown that clung to every inch of her slender body, Madeline looked both elegant...and alarmingly sensuous. Her long dark brown hair cascading down her back, Madeline extended a finger to her husband. Her sleeves came to the wrist, ending in slashes of material that resembled starfish. The hem of her gown slashed similarly, her slipper-clad feet barely protruded. It was hard not wearing her usual spike heels, and she was certain she was dwarfed by everyone present, but she knew she could not dance in heels. And dance she would.

Her husband promised her a tango. No one knew it, but Neil was a remarkable dancer. Unfortunately, he had little time to practice. But they were going to make up for lost time tonight. Here. Now. On the dance floor.

Neil was indulging his own rarely-seen sense of humor as well. Dressed as Gomez, Neil wore a suit of narrow pinstripes, grey and black in color. His hair slicked back and parted down the middle, his mustache carefully penciled in as a thin black line, he knew he made a curious picture. But that was okay... It was Halloween!

***

Luckily, the twins succumbed to the inevitable. Michael pressed a last kiss to his daughter’s forehead before bidding her goodnight. She protested weakly, making a sound somewhere between a groan and a grumble, but soon her eyes closed for the night.

Michael turned to Nikita, stroking her face with the back of his hand. "You let her wear the princess dress to bed," he whispered, a hint of a grin appearing.

Nikita shrugged, biting her lip. "You don’t mind?"

He shook his head. "No, doucette," he whispered. "You have such softness in you...but I wouldn’t change a thing about you. Even if I could." He kissed her, his lips warm and moist against hers.

"Is Connor asleep? I was concerned--"

"About the noise level, I know." Michael studied the infant who resembled his own son. "He looks so much like Chris did at that age."

Nikita nodded. "Someday..." she began wistfully.

Michael heard the note in her voice and reacted immediately. His hands reached for her, pulling her into his embrace. "What, love?"

She wiped an errant tear from her eyes. "It’s just--" She began again, remembering to whisper, "It’s just that someday...we’re going to be standing here...and it won’t be our babies, Michael...but our babies’ babies."

He wrapped his arms around her, kissing her face and mouth, over and over. Such soft, tender kisses. "Just when I think you can’t touch my heart any more than you do, you say something like that...."

"You’re the one who said...we would always be together, Michael." Her voice broke.

"And so we will, love. Always."

***

Somewhere...in a dark corner of the room...lurked a vampire and its human companion. Giggling?

"Another baby! Dec, you knew and you never said a word!" Birkoff laughed, playfully teasing his lover.

"Well, it wasn’t official. I didn’t really know. I just guessed."

Declan was a daunting figure. Dressed completely in black, not unlike Michael, Declan looked striking in a black silk shirt and black leather pants. He too had a floor-length black silk cloak, but the inside of his cloak was lined with red silk, so that if the wind caught it, or if he simply struck a pose, its inner lining was revealed. His hair was unbound. Loose, but unruly. A riotous mass of bright red curls that flung themselves halfway down his back. It was hard to tell who he might be...until he opened his mouth. Fangs. Truly awe-inspiring...fangs.

Birkoff draped himself lazily over Declan’s body. Here, in the corner, where no one could see them, he could indulge his own fantasy. That Declan was his vampire. Come to suck on his neck.

Declan pretended to bite at Birkoff’s neck, his ‘fangs’ grazing his lover’s skin. "We’ll have to fight over who gets to be godfather to this one, Sey. The babies are starting to outnumber us."

Birkoff laced his fingers through Declan’s. "You know what I wish?"

"What, love?" Declan kissed his ear, his tongue sliding gently inside.

"Mmm...Nah, it’s gonna sound stupid." Birkoff dropped his head, but Declan cupped his chin, forcing him to make eye contact.

"Tell me."

"I wish..." Birkoff whispered, biting his lip anxiously. "We could have a baby of our own." He wrenched his face away from Declan’s hands. "See? I told you it would sound stupid."

Declan felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach. Hard. All the breath left his body in a rush. "Oh, shit, Sey...sometimes it’s frightening the way you speak what’s in my heart."

"What?" Birkoff caught his breath on a near-sob.

Declan gazed at him with such tenderness, his hands slowly stroking Birkoff’s hair away from his face. His storm-grey eyes gentled as they waited for his lover’s reaction. "If I could get you with child, I would. To have a son...with your eyes..." he whispered wistfully.

"No, Declan...it would have to be a girl...with your hair and your eyes," Birkoff countered, so softly, his voice was barely audible.

"Details, Sey, mere details," Declan said with an attempt at laughter. He wrapped his arms around Birkoff, enveloping him within his silken cloak.

"I have to believe in God, Sey, cause no one else could have sent me someone like you."

"I love you, Declan." Birkoff kissed Declan, the urge to be with him barely controllable.

Declan bent his head to sip at his lover’s lips, but when there was but a hairsbreadth of air separating their mouths, Declan stopped to whisper, "You are my wife, Sey, in every way that matters."

"Then I can dream, Declan?" Birkoff asked softly.

"Aye...sometimes all we have is our dreams."

Michael stood behind Nikita, his arms clasped possessively around her waist, his hands resting protectively on her abdomen. "Now that everyone knows, Kita, I can hold you this way any time I like."

"Yes, Michael," she said quite dreamily, feeling his lips kiss the nape of her neck.

He laughed softly at the unnaturally submissive tone of Nikita’s voice. "Are you listening to me, Kita?"

"Yes, Michael," she repeated, in the same dulcet tones as before. He kissed her again, in the same place.

She leaned back, tilting her face up to look at him, her fingers reaching out to caress his face. He nibbled playfully at her fingertips. "Are you ready to be ravished yet, doucette?" he whispered to her.

She sighed. "Yes, Michael."

Michael smiled. She was listening.

***

Everyone realized just how well Madeline could tango the moment her feet touched the dance floor. She looked stunning, her black gown draped seductively around her body, a dark red rose clenched between her teeth. She moved into Neil’s arms with a grace and elegance borne of long years of practice. Madeline was many things, but no matter how ruffled her feathers might get, she always managed to seem the quintessence of cool. She flowed across the floor, and Neil, who rarely danced anymore, more than met her challenge.

They made such a striking couple, he so fair, she so dark. He twirled her around in his arms, and she kicked out, swiveling her ankles sharply, causing the hem of her gown to flare. He tilted her backwards, into a dip, and her back arched gracefully. "My serene highness," he whispered to her as he held her.

They stared deep into each other’s eyes, then began the rhythm of the tango again. She snapped her head to the side, as they touched their outstretched arms and marched cheek-to-cheek, almost in lockstep. "Je te desire, mon mari."

"Maddy!" Neil exclaimed, loud enough for everyone to hear. "You spoke French, you know it drives me wild!"

Michael and Nikita laughed, as if it were an inside joke directed at them. Neil then proceeded to kiss his way up Madeline’s arm until he reached her shoulder. He paused briefly for effect, then claimed her mouth with a passion that dared those elusive love thieves to appear.

Melodrama was clearly Neil’s forte, for he turned back to the audience and winked charmingly. Madeline raised an imperious eyebrow, grabbing Neil’s face between two of the most wickedly long fingernails ever seen, and kissed Neil for so long, he thought he was going to need cardiac massage to restart his heart.

Releasing him abruptly, Madeline watched as Neil nearly fell to his knees. "Kiss my foot!" she ordered. He bowed obsequiously. "Your wish is my command." But when Neil pulled off one sequined slipper to reveal Madeline’s slender foot, everyone groaned in unison.

Birkoff yelled out, "Don’t do it, man! Next thing you know, you’ll be kissing something else!"

Madeline turned and fixed Birkoff with a devilish grin. "Why, Birkoff, however did you guess?"

***

Birkoff’s costume was a curious mixture of the traditional and the modern versions of Renfield, Dracula’s liaison to the human world. Dressed in a black robe tied with a piece of rope, he hobbled slavishly after Declan, everywhere he went, yelling "Yes, Master!" whenever Declan deigned to address him.

Declan played his part well, regarding Birkoff as if he were a bit of flotsam that washed up upon the shore. Birkoff, in turn, pretended to struggle to gain Declan’s favorable attentions.

"Oh, Birkoff?" Declan haughtily declared in his poshest British accent.

"Yes, Master?" Birkoff muttered submissively, fawning all over Declan.

"I shall want my bed turned down and warmed before I retire for the night. Make sure this is so."

Birkoff grunted accordingly, saying again, "Yes, Master."

"Oh, and Birkoff?" Declan declared.

"Master?" Birkoff inquired, letting his eyes roll back and forth comically.

"See that you’re in it," Declan commanded.

"Yes, Master!" Birkoff gleefully agreed, his dark eyes lighting up at the thought of sharing his Master’s bed.

"There’s a good boy, now go on with you," Declan drawled in the most aristocratic accent imaginable.

Birkoff ambled off, his gait awkward and ungainly. Declan watched him until he disappeared from sight. When he smiled, it was more like a feral grimace, revealing his fangs. Poor Birkoff. To be a victim of such healthy appetites.

***

Michael wrapped his cloak around himself and his wife, standing behind her with legs apart. Rubbing himself gently against her back, he used the cloak to hide the progress of his hands up her legs and under her dress. He knew something no one else did. That wonderfully sheer piece of lingerie everyone wanted to get their hands on was all that Nikita wore under her splendid gown.

His hands gripped her buttocks and slid under the gauzy concoction. His fingers slipped into the cleft between her legs and parted her. Groaning involuntarily, Nikita felt an answering tremor run through the rest of her body. Unconsciously opening her legs a bit more, Nikita felt Michael’s fingers working their magic upon her tender flesh.

He buried his face in her hair, knowing there was something infinitely arousing about taking her this way. No one could see a thing, yet there was that element of danger, of discovery. He rubbed his arousal against her buttocks, closing his eyes as he concentrated on the feel of her skin. So soft. So warm. So...wet.

His hand found the nub that hid from him. He pressed his lips to her neck and lightly licked her there. Nikita’s body reacted just as he thought it would. "Oh, Michael," she groaned. "What if I--oh!"

He turned her just enough so that he could kiss her mouth. Her mouth opened, seemingly on its own, and his tongue followed hers, expertly divining what she wanted. "Come for me, my Kita...please..." he whispered. That last bit was her undoing. The idea of Michael begging for her completion.

She came apart in his arms, and he managed to make it look as if she were merely responding to his kisses in an overexcited manner. "There, there," he said quietly, as if he were calming her.

His hands slid over the heart of her one last time, feeling the delicious way her body quivered even now, the last of her spasms fading. She smiled at him, her eyes fever-bright. "You’re my magic."

He kissed her, this time sweetly, as though she were his most cherished possession. Which she indeed was. "I love you, my Kita."

"Magic man..." she whispered.

***

Walter drove the damn motorcycle right into the chateau. Oh, it wasn’t an accident. He did it on purpose. He opened the door and drove right onto the dance floor, dressed as the ultimate biker, his trusty gal pal riding pillion behind him.

Revving the engine, several times in a row, Walter was clearly enjoying the spectacle he made. His wife clung to his back, looking as if a strong wind might blow her away. In fact, the moment Walter stopped the motorcycle, Miranda leaped off it, clutching her poodle skirt, embroidered with a huge, lacy M.

Walter dismounted and parked the motorcycle right in the center of the dance floor. Michael looked ready to spit nails at the older man, but Walter didn’t know why. He approached Michael and Nikita slowly, striding towards them with his own version of the ‘strut’.

Nikita sagged against Michael’s body, wondering what on earth ever possessed Walter to try such a stunt. She was barely recovered by the time he came more fully into her field of vision.

Michael was understandably upset. His protective instincts kicking in, he was afraid of Nikita being startled like that. What if she, God forbid, miscarried? He was all set to lace into the older man when Walter glanced at Michael with tears in his eyes.

Taking Nikita’s hands in his, Walter apologized. "I’m so sorry, Sugar. I had no idea you would react that way. You usually like surprises."

Nikita clenched her teeth, willing her body to stop shaking, her heart to stop racing. "I...hate...surprises, Dad."

"Oh! Must be me who likes ‘em then," he quipped.

"Yeah, must be." Nikita sighed, but not with contentment. "Dad, I’m truly happy that you’re feeling so much better."

Walter chuckled and kissed her. "That’s my Sugar."

"But the next time you want to make an entrance...leave the bike outside. It messes up the floors," she said dryly.