In response to the impudent words hurled by her firstborn, Lilith's shriek of unbridled rage resounded off shuddering walls of rock, but Belial, his true form fully revealed, stood unmoved. Impressive before, he now stood all but a giant, a colossus of daemonic flesh and blood whose cloven hoofs sent cracks opening in the hard ground with each deliberate step in the direction
of a locked, ancient door.

Illya and Napoleon looked on in horrified fascination at the being who seemed to have forgotten their presence, the words that Valentine had sent to Napoleon alone, echoing in *both* their heads: **There is but a chance -give the Dark One what he cannot have...what he *needs*.**

Needs...

...not "wants".

*Needs*.

They had done the one thing that the dark lord of the Lilim would never have been allowed lest he be distracted even for an instant from the single-minded pursuit of his mother's cause. He who had never felt pleasure or joy, had been forced to feel both. He who had existed in unyielding coldness of spirit, new felt fire in his veins. He who had never doubted his mother's word, now doubted...and questioned. "Why should I *not* have pleasure, Mother! Is it a thing reserved for the humans and other lesser beings alone? Have I not *earned* the right!" He was shouting now. "Have I, who has obeyed you in all things, not earned the *right* to feel my spirit soar as do lesser beings that are fit only to grovel beneath our feet!!!"

"Insolent whelp!" came the thundering, disembodied female voice. "Do as you are bid!" The impregnable barrier began to shake, a sickly green glow beginning to seep from the hair-fine space growing between door and arch. "We have no time for such petty human whims!"

"No. *You* don't have time." His link to Illya strengthened by their renewed contact, Napoleon Solo's voice was once again steady and strong. Gone was the weak whisper of infirmity and the purr of seduction -this was the voice of the First Knight of the U.N.C.L.E. in all his power. "YOU have no time, Mother of Demons!" he bellowed, a flood of old memories rushing from behind fractured mental walls created when the youth Napoleon had been could no longer bear the clashing aspects of his beliefs. Now, he accepted...and knew. The hours before the midnight that led to the Winter Solstice were dark indeed, a time when the powers of evil fought the inevitable gradual renewal of the Earth and the diminishing of their powers with their greatest
strength. The minute before midnight was the darkest side of all sides that deciding hour. It was now or never -for the forces of darkness *or* of light. "What do you think, Belial! That she will *share* her domain with you -*you* who questioned her even once! You *haven't* destroyed the Covenant -another failure!"

Belial's eyes blazed. "Be silent!"

A mocking smile turned the Knight's lips. "Who," he said quietly, "has she already chosen to replace you?"

For once, the dark being's countenance went blank as those simple words hit home and he again faced the now glowing door, the mystically -wrought barrier's image rippling and distorted by the heat and glare. "No rejoinder, Mother? You will not deny the human's words? It *is* true then. Your freedom -*my* destruction!" Belial gestured and the Grand Grimoire flew into
his outstretched hand. "But you will *not* be free! *I* have the Book! *I* have the Key which would unlock-"  The thunderous tirade was cut off by a dagger of dark green fire which darted from the barrier and struck the Firstborn of all Lilim.

Belial ceased to exist without a chance for so much as a cry of denial...

...and the ancient tome fell among a pile of smoking ash.

It was then that there was a resounding clatter as the leaden box stolen from the Island snapped open and the Key flew from it, propelled by unseen hands, and imbedded itself in its matching lock within the shimmering door. "no..." Napoleon darted forward and grasped the Key, but was immediately forced to release it as the rust-red metal had also begun to glow with its
own burning heat. An loud echoing laugh shook the air. "Dammit! Illya, help me with this thing!" No answer. Napoleon turned, dread building within his breast. It was only now that he realized how silent his paramour had become. "Illya..? Oh no."

The small, blond vampire was huddled on the rough, cold floor; his lean body shuddering as he rocked himself back and forth. "Illya...?" Napoleon whispered. The blond head snapped up and the shock of what he saw forced the Knight to take an involuntary step backwards. Eyes that had been glowing red before, now literally blazed with sanguine fire, the once regal countenance distorted by a vulpine grin that revealed fangs longer and more razor-like than Napoleon remembered...and Illya's lips were wet with regurgitated blood.

Blood fever.

"You deduced correctly when you said that I had chosen another, Sir Knight," came Lilith's disembodied voice. You are worthy of your place in the Prophecy of the Lilim." Napoleon did not answer and Lilith laughed again. "Ah, but you do *not* know all things. Did Valentine of the Kindred not tell you of the Prophecy? Did my old enemy not tell you that the first chosen son of the night *will* consume the first chosen son of the morning and then I *will* be free? No?" A cruel cackle that chilled Napoleon's bones to the marrow followed the mocking query. No... He -the son of the morning; Illya -the son of the night? No! It *couldn't** be possible...but in Illya's present state, how could it *not* be possible? "Ah yes, Sir Knight... Your
Valentine hoards his secrets -even from those he call 'allies'."

"It won't happen!" Napoleon shouted back to his unseen foe. "Illya would never-"

"But it *will* happen, Sir Knight. Do you not see his hunger...his *need*? Kindred he was -Lilim, he will be. My Darke Childe's thirst can now only be quenched by human blood. *Your* blood." There was a soft sigh of satisfaction. "Obey thy mistress, Illya Nickovetch! Take him."

There was little time to think, to reason this situation out, before Napoleon had to dodge the small blond juggernaut of teeth and claws that he called friend and lover. Tumbling, he grabbed a shard of rock that had fallen the ceiling to the floor, lethally sharp, and stood, holding it as a weapon. This should have been familiar territory -he was a knight of the Order, trained to kill -with the tools of his trade or whatever weapon presented itself- and to defend himself from -to kill- a vampire of the Kindred shouldn't be any different than when he had battled other creatures of the Netherworld...

...but this was Illya. Maddened by hunger or by whatever had been done to him, the child of the Kindred may have been, but he was still the vampire...the *man* who had become the other half of his soul... Dark eyes widened as with that admission, the very last fragment of suppressed memory finally fell into place. He remembered it all now -the teachings of his Nana...the magicks...how he had once cured a little boy on the verge of total transformation because of an attack on his family by a rogue Kindred that had become a Lilim... "Illya..." Despite the kill-fever which radiated from the Illya in tangible waves, the young vampire stopped in place, hesitating...listening. There was a clatter as Napoleon allowed the shard to fall from his hand -except for the tiniest fragment. "Illyaa... I won't fight you." With the tiny sharp sliver, the Knight opened a small wound at the base of his throat -blood, warm and dark, immediately welleed up to the surface of his sweat-dampened flesh. "What I have is yours. Take it."

Was that confusion, maybe even distress, that Napoleon could see in those luminous eyes? Behind the shroud of blood-hunger, did his Illya still resist? The new silence was deafening, but then- "Do it, Darke Childe!" thundered the Mother of Lilim. The spell of uncertainty was broken. With the predatory swiftness of his kin, the young vampire launched himself at the unresisting First knight. There was pain as Napoleon's head made contact with the hard ground; *explosive* pain that almost deadened every other sense by its sheer intensity. Then...as if from a distance, he could hear laughter -wild, echoing, *triumphant* laughter- and the scraping of metal against metal.

The Key had begun to turn itself in the lock.

Yet, even more certain than that reality, and growing ever clearer, was the sensation of needle-like fangs piercing his flesh and the wet warmth of Illya's tongue lapping at the sanguinous flow. Napoleon knew that he could not have stopped the attack now even if he wished to -he could already feel the stupefying pleasurable weakness flooding his limbs and knew that the cold touch of death would not be long in following.

He had very little time...

...just as he had had little time to help that tiny child those years ago -Val Waverly whose only good fortune on that fateful day was that a teen-aged Napoleon Solo's cross-country hiking trip through Europe had brought him upon the scene of a rogue vampire's attack. The bottle of Holy Water that Napoleon's Nana had pressed upon him before her death had bought the youth and the child their escape and it was upon a rolling green English hillside that Napoleon had performed his last true act of white magic -a witch's exorcism...a purging of the Lilim infection spreading through Val's tiny body with a powerful spell of healing through Napoleon's untainted  blood.

But Val Waverly had only been a little child whose tainted blood had only needed cleansing and his thirst had been small. Illya Kuryakin was a true vampire; Kindred, daemon, and Lilim combined. Napoleon could not change that -but he prayed to God and all the saints that he still had the will to do what had to be done -for both their sakes...for the Earth's sake.

As Illya slaked his raging thirst, Napoleon held fast to the slight form with his waning strength.

As blood flowed, darkness reaching, Napoleon whispered the arcane words and prayed that it was enough.

And as blackness finally enfolded him, dragging him into its endless depths, Napoleon heard one last thing. "NO!"

Illya's howl of anguish and denial resounded as he suddenly, brutally, snapped back to sanity and he became aware of the limp body still clutched tightly against him. What had he *done*! He could feel Napoleon's flesh growing colder as the human's heart faltered in its natural rhythms, unable to pump what was no longer there. "Polya...no ...not this...not this for *me*!"

"*Yes*,Darke Childe!" the Cave of Despayre was shaken anew -peel upon peel of thunder causing the foundations of the chamber to begin to crack and crumble. "Yes!" came Lilith's voice from behind the now blinding-white barrier of her prison, tendrils of  ectoplasmic energy beginning to snake out from the widening space between door and frame. "I-am-COME!"

"No..." The first chosen son of the night must consume the first chosen son of the morning... He had heard that much. No. It would not be! Illya hesitated only for a moment, begging in silence for forgiveness from the God he barely knew and out loud to the one who had always been the other half of his soul, before he lifted his bare wrist to his mouth and tore the flesh with his teeth and then pressed the bleeding limb to Napoleon's slack, open mouth. He waited. The moment lasted for an eternity, time seeming to suspend its ceaseless flow, and then the Knight's body suddenly shuddered...

...as he began to drink.

"NO!!!" This time, Lilith's thunderous roar was a cry of denial. "NO!!! Damn you -NO!!!" came the voice of the Mother of Monsters. "STOP!!! I COMMAND IT!!!"

The feeding did *not* stop. Neither Lilith's frenzied commands nor the fury of the elements that convulsed in sympathy with her berserker rage could stop what was happening -Kindred blood continued to flow into the Knight's mouth and into his veins, his heart beating loud and strong now, denying Death its prize. Daggers of eldritch fire lanced out from the blazing portal, striking wildly and without direction. Illya shielded his partner and mate with his naked body, praying for the deadly lightning to strike him rather than his beloved Napoleon...

...but it did not hit. Not even close. And even as that fact filtered through an increasingly dazed Illya Kuryakin's mind, there was an explosion like the shot of a gun and the Key, spinning madly, flew from its hole, hitting a far-off wall. All at once, there was a great wind...not blowing, but like the suction of a vacuum as ectoplasmic tendrils, eldritch fire, sundry flotsam, along with more demonic toadies than could be counted were literally sucked into the blinding portal. With his remaining strength, Illya freed his wounded wrist and pressed Napoleon down to the ground, fighting the damning gale.

"NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!"

And then, for the first time in too long, all was silence.

No thunder.

No damning voice.

Just silence.

It was over.

Illya blinked heavily, realizing that he must have blacked out for a moment, and became aware of two warm dark brown eyes staring up at him...dark brown eyes distinctly rimmed with the color of blood. "Bozhe moi, Polya...I did not mean...I am sorry...I had no-" The vampire gasped as soft lips were pressed to his own, cutting off his words. "Caro mio..." Napoleon whispered. "Apologize to me only when there is something to apologize for."

They both stared at the door to Lilith's prison; cold, secure, and silent once more.

"Sir!"

"What is it?"

"Come and look at this!"

The director peered through the eyepiece of the telescope -there, up in the night sky, was the Moon; full, white...and normal. He cursed and then sighed, resigned. "Send for someone to look at this pile of junk. I'm going home to bed."

In a penthouse in New York, a single dark figure swirled the shimmering  brine in his goblet with a finger, a low growling chortle issuing from between thin lips. "Ah, Lilith... Failed again, have you, my 'dear' ex-wife?" he murmured to the image in the bowl. "Tsk. Perhaps if you ask me nicely next time, I might help you."

The Prince of Darkness chuckled mirthlessly and dumped the salty fluid into a sink. "Yeah, right. As *if*."
 
 

EPILOGUE:

New York's La Guardia Airport -hustling, bustling, teeming with humanity determined to make or find their Christmas flights; just as many going on vacations as there were those ready to go home.

Home.

Valentine Kuryakin glanced at the electronic marquee indicating out-going flights. Ah, common flight -such a dull mode of travel, but not so wearying as traveling the shadows...and despite his years, he was weary indeed...as much from the very recent past as from a heavy heart. A hand was laid gently upon the Kindred's broad shoulder. //Troubled thoughts, my love?//

Alexander Waverly's mental voice cut through the persistent hum. Valentine smiled gently. //You know my mind too well, dear one. I feel that I should stay, but my place is with my people and my duty is to deliver this to a place where it will be safe.// The vampire's free hand brushed the locked reinforced attaché case he carried -within, was the Key, the  key to the Cave of Despayre which he was to deliver to the safekeeping of a mystical order amongst his people. The Grand Grimoire was to be protected and studied by the Knights of the U.N.C.L.E. and the Cave itself had been put under the guardianship of the Knights Templar. So many precautions. So necessary. Centuries of relative peace had allowed the Kindred and their human allies to become lax. Never again. Though Lilith remained imprisoned, her Lilim were now out in the world as they had been long ago. The work for the Knights of the U.N.C.L.E. and the Kindred was cut out for them. //And your First Knight -will your order accept him now that-//<

//They will accept Napoleon Solo as I do -because he and your grandson did what they had to do to stop Lilith and to preserve the Covenant. There will be no battles of revenge and no Mother of Demons to egg them on.// Here, Alexander Waverly chuckled softly. //Besides, it is long past time that we since we brought our peoples closer.//

Valentine cocked an eyebrow. //Is that why you come with me now, Alex -duty alone?//

Waverly warmed the elder vampire's hand with his own. "Of course not. Ah! Here come our wayward children!//

Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin walked towards them, to all the rest of the world, just two friends at each other's side; two friends so taken with each other that neither noticed Valentine's silent scrutiny or his sad sigh as he noted that Illya had exchanged the traditional garb of his people for clothing more popular to these parts -black-dyed jeans and a turtle-neck
sweater with a leather jacket- and that the flowing gold locks that had been pinned in a long ponytail had been cropped to a length that Alexander would still find too long while *he* found it far too short. So...his grandchild -child no longer- had made his decision. That left one last duty to perform before he returned to his homeland. //Napoleon Solo! I would speak with you.//

//Yes, my Lord?// the Knight responded in kind as he and Valentine drew away from the others.

The Kindred prince fixed the young knight with his piercing gaze. //I will say this but once -I could order Illya to return with me.// Napoleon blanched. //But he is an adult -he became that when he chose to bring you over- and it is his responsibility to guide you...and yours to heed his wisdom. Besides that, he loves you...enough to stay with you and not to displace you.// Valentine sighed aloud. //Be forewarned, if I felt it necessary to separate you, I would do it. So do not disappoint me, Napoleon. I do not wish to regret leaving my favored heir with you.//

Napoleon returned the steely gaze. //I love him with all my heart. Will that be enough?//

//It will have to be.// Valentine allowed himself a distinctly menacing grin. "Because if you hurt him, as Prince of the clan to which you now belong, I would have to kill you.//

[[Flight 545 to Moscow now boarding at Gate #6. Flight-]] Valentine glanced up at the calling of his flight before returning his attention to the young knight. //Remember that.// The elder vampire gathered his soulmate to his side. //Ready to go, my Alexi?//

//Whither though goest, my love.//

Illya Kuryakin allowed his partner's strong arms to enfold him as he watched his grandfather and his soulmate's mentor merge with the crowd, his and his grandfather's minds touching in a fond private farewell, before they disappeared around a turn in the corridor. "So...what did my prince have to say to you, Polya?"
 

"Ahh...that he'll have my head on a pike if I don't listen to your wisdom." Napoleon caught the disbelieving arch of a wheaten eyebrow. "Well... *something* like that."

"Good..." Illya murmured with a slight grin as they began to walk towards the parking lot. "Because I have a great deal to teach you."

Napoleon waggled his eyebrows suggestively, a red gleam coming to his eyes. "Hmmn...afterschool lessons with teacher perhaps? I love it." There was a keening electronic tone and Solo disgruntledly retrieved his communicator. "Solo here -what is it?"

"Sorry, sir, but we have a slight problem. Kowalski has escaped from his holding cell -again."

Napoleon muttered a curse and signed off. "You heard?"

Illya shrugged. "I heard."

"So..?"

"So," Kuryakin said with a smile that revealed tiny, sharp canines and was mirrored in wickedly sparkling ruby eyes, "first rule -we catch Kowalski -again- and *then* we have 'lessons'."

A similar twinkle entered Napoleon's now garnet gaze as he turned to follow his partner in eternity -work *before* lessons...such a tall order.

There was no rest for the undead.
 

Fini