Valentine over saw the placing of the wards, his attention on the  simple, but complex spell that would keep out the undead.  As the priest spoke the last words, he felt the painful barrier slam down between them.  He placed his hand on the door way and a solid, yet invisible, wall burned his palm.  He nodded to the old, exhausted priest.

It was done. The central vaults of the U.N.C.L.E. headquarters were sealed.  And because of his help, they were sealed with wards that no Lilim or vampyre would ever be able to breach.  Even if invited into this sanctuary, the walls would burn.  The closer one got to the holy place, the more intense the flames that burned the undead.  In a way, he had just betrayed his own kind.  In another, he had just ensured their survival.

"Valentine?"  His partner's voice called him.

"Yes, Alexander."  He looked up, his hand unconsciously clenching and unclenching in pain.

"Let me see."  The old man took his hand and, as always, the burns faded at the touch of his soulmate's skin.  The gentle touch erased the soot stains, revealing fresh, pink flesh.  "I think it is time for you to rest."

"We do not have time for that."  His regret was audible.  It had been so very, very long since he had time to relax and enjoy his friend's company.

"Sir, the last of the wards are now in place."  Napoleon darted into the room and Valentine fought a smile.  The younger Knight was always underfoot it seemed. He glanced around, thoughtfully.

"Where is Illya?"

"I thought he was with you."  Napoleon did not seem worried.  "When I checked the study, he had gone."

A shiver of unease crawled along Valentine's spine.  "He has not returned the grimoire to me."

"It was still in the study."  Suddenly the Knight paled and shook.  Then he sank to his knees, clutching his head.

"GRANDFATHER!"  A young vampire raced into the room, eyes gleaming red. "I found a dead priest in the catacombs.  The scent of the killer was that of a shapechanger!"

"Find Illya!"  Valentine yelled, his mind reaching out but hitting an impenetrable barrier. "Hurry!"

Several  floors above them, Prince Illya Nicovech Kuryakin allowed himself to be led to the couch.  His mate's hands were gently teasing him, touching and retreating, ghostly touches that stole his thoughts from him.  The slight frission of unease still curled at the base of his spine but was overwhelmed by the teasing touches and the scent of pheromones.

"Strip for me?" Napoleon's pleading whisper danced along his nerves.

Unable to fight the compulsion, Illya found himself obeying.  His suit coat hit the floor, a dark puddle on light carpet.  His shirt swiftly followed and he turned, smiling at the unholy light in his soulmate's eyes.  The brown eyes darkened becoming almost jet black for a long moment, but Illya's clouded mind found no reason to fear.

"I want to see you. only you."  Napoleon's voice caressed him, heating his skin.  "No chains, no scraps of leather, no bits of silk."

His hands paused at his waistband as he pondered the words. Mechanically, his hands skimmed up his chest to caress the gold cross he wore.  If Napoleon wanted if off, it was off.  Delicately, he opened the clasp and removed the chain, dropping it and the cross it held onto the side table.  Then his hands went to the silken cord about his neck and the leather pouch it held close to his heart.

"Someday, my son, you will need this."  He could still his mother's whisper as she placed it about his neck.  Her pale eyes had stared into his, warning him without saying a word.  Rumors said she was not a normal vampyre.  Rumors said she was a snow demon called up to repay a debt to the family bloodline.  His father had laughed at the rumors and married her.  She had given him five daughters and a son before dying to save Valentine from an attempted coup. "Do not remove it.  It will protect you in the time of your direst need."

"Just your skin and mine."  Napoleon's voice whispered again, his breath streaming across his cheekbones.

Illya looked up, his eyes darkened by want, clouded by pheromones and conflicting memories.

"It is time for us, Ilyusha.  Time for us to have a moment for ourselves."  The scent of Napoleon's skin, the heat of his nearness tantalized.

Eyes worshiping  the brown orbs staring down at him, Illya grasped the leather bundle and pulled, breaking the silk cord.  Then he let it drop onto the floor.

Napoleon's hand drew him close as his lips lowered to meet Illya's.

A roar echoed through the room.  Winds blew, knocking Illya to the floor, away from Napoleon.  He felt splinters of wood stab into his skin as he slid into the wall, shattering the paneling.  He looked up in time to see a white blur attack Napoleon. but it was no longer Napoleon.  He could see through the apparent face and into the dark, festering soul of the shapechanger.  The white blur shifted and Illya saw no more.

Halfway up the building the elevator shuddered.  The two vampires eyes widened as they heard a scream beyond the hearing of any human. Napoleon nearly fell as Illya's dismay hit him, only remaining on his feet because of the inhuman grip of the young vampyre at his side.

"What was that?"  Alexander Waverly asked, not really wanting to know.

Valentine shook his head, not wanting to answer.  He was afraid to answer.  Only the fact that Napoleon had not echoed the scream gave him hope.  The two were bonded closely enough that if Illya had died, Napoleon would have reacted far more violently.

When the elevator doors opened, the vampires left their human companions behind, racing to the shattered doors at the end of the hallway.

"Grandfather?"  Illya's voice was a mere whisper, young and frightened.

Valentine stopped at the doorway and stared in shock.  The room was a shambles, not a single piece of furniture left, all of it splintered wreckage.  In the center of the room, lay the remains of a shapechanger.  Only the head was unmarked, and it bore an eerie facsimile of Napoleon's face.  The rest had been torn into small pieces.

Illya lay on the far side of the room, his torso peppered by tiny wounds. Beside him crouched a pale white panther, its blue and gold eyes staring at the newcomers measuringly.  After a long moment, it yawned, long teeth gleaming in the faint light.  Then it went back to grooming itself, purring as it did so.

"Do not move, Illya."  The oldest vampyre whispered, staring in disbelief.  He had never seen one and had never expected to see one. But it crouched beside his heir, cleaning the remains of a shapechanger from its fur.  "That is."

"She saved my life."  Illya whispered, his hand softly smoothing the blindingly white fur.  His expression was dazed and then without another sound, he closed his eyes and passed out.

"How do we get near him?"  Alexander whispered, staring at the mythical beast beside the unconscious vampyre.

Napoleon ignored them and headed for his partner.  The white head came up and studied him.  Then it opened its mouth and yawned again before giving a soft rumbling purr at his approach.  With a heavy butt of its head, the big cat knocked him to the floor beside Illya.  Napoleon moved Illya so that the vampyre rested against him.  When he tried to stand the cat growled, a sound that echoed in his bones.  Respecting its wishes, he settled himself against the wall.

The cat shifted its body so that it shielded both men from the watchers crowded in the doorway.  Napoleon glanced around at the destroyed room and the dead shapechanger.  He decided he was not about to argue with it.  Instead, he let his head rest against Illya's and drifted off into sleep.