Vampire, Interrupted (19 page)

Excusing herself, she stood and glanced around,
then stopped the waiter to ask where the ladies’ room was. It turned out it was on the upper floor and she negotiated the building’s steep, old steps with care, relieved when she arrived at the landing and spotted the sign over the women’s bathroom door.

Slipping inside, she smiled at the pretty, young mortal at the sink and joined her. The walk had cooled her off after they left the theater, but as she had feared her face was a touch shiny and her hair looked a bit limp and sad. Marguerite fluffed her fingers through her hair, returning a bit of life to the stressed strands, then turned on the tap and splashed some cold water on her face.

Marguerite heard the door she’d just passed through open again, and assumed it was just another woman in search of the restrooms. It was a gasp from the woman beside her that made her blink her eyes open and start to straighten.

Catching sight of the mirror in front of her and the reflection of the figure in black, her eyes widened. It was the same person who had attacked her in her hotel room her first night in London, she was sure. The shape was the same; tall, broad shouldered, muscular, and covered from head to foot in black, including a black cape. He also had the sword, she saw and it was swinging toward her as she straightened.

Marguerite quickly ducked her head back down and stumbled to the side, away from the arc of the sword. Only the woman beside her kept her from falling to the floor. They both stumbled to the side and against the wall, and then Marguerite managed to regain her footing. She caught the woman’s arm and pushed her toward the stalls along the back wall
as she straightened to face her attacker, the action meant both to get the woman out of the danger zone and out of her own way so she wouldn’t be tripped up at a critical moment.

“Go. Get out of here,” Marguerite hissed at the woman, shifting to the side until the frosted windows were at her back as the figure in black turned to face her, his sword rising again.

Eyes wide with terror, the woman slid slowly along the wall of stalls, obviously terrified the man in black would hack at her with the sword at any moment.

Marguerite found herself worrying about that very thing herself when the man hesitated, his head turning the mortal’s way, tracking her like a cobra about to strike. Desperate to distract him, she asked, “What do you want?”

Stilling, the black-clad figure turned back to her then, and Marguerite gave a little wave with her hand, urging the woman to make a run for it. Still, it wasn’t until the man raised his sword and hurried toward Marguerite that the woman found the courage to scramble to the door. She pulled it open and slipped out of the room just as Marguerite threw herself to the side to avoid the oncoming sword.

She landed hard on the floor, her back slamming into the corner of the first stall with a painful jolt. Marguerite scrambled along the floor at once, sure that at any moment she’d feel the bite of the steel slicing into her flesh. It didn’t happen, however, the sword had bitten deep into the wood of the windowsill and it took her attacker a moment to tug it free.

By the time he had and turned on Marguerite, she’d got back to her feet and was rushing for the
door. He charged that way at once and knowing she wouldn’t make it before him, or at least wouldn’t get the door open and get out before he brought the sword down, Marguerite skidded to a halt and scrambled back toward the wall of stalls, her eyes darting around, searching for something to use as a weapon or shield. She very much feared that if she didn’t find something and quickly, Julius would be eating his meal alone…as well as looking for a new lifemate to replace his headless ex-lifemate.

There was nothing to find however, nothing to hurl at him or block his blows. Sensing movement out of the corner of her eye, Marguerite drew her head back around to see the sword swinging again, and instinctively leapt back. The door behind her swung away under her weight, crashing into the stall wall as she stumbled back into the tiny cubicle.

Marguerite cursed herself for not diving left or right even before the back of her legs ran up against the toilet and she began to fall. She was trapped in the stall and had done it to herself, she realized with disgust as her attacker approached, the sword held high. He couldn’t swing from side to side and take off her head in the small booth, but Marguerite had no doubt he’d simply give her a fearsome bodily injury, and then drag her out of the stall while she was too weak to fight and cut off her head then. She imagined he must be smiling with victory under that damned balaclava covering his face.

Furious with both herself and whomever this man was, Marguerite shot her foot up and out the moment he was close enough. She felt great satisfaction when it lodged firmly between his legs, the blow up
setting the man’s aim, she saw just before the sword sliced down into her shoulder.

It was the clatter of high heels tapping down the stairs in a mad rush that drew Julius’s attention. His first sight of the terror on the face of the woman even before her feet slid out from under her and she tumbled the last few steps was enough to send a shock of concern down his back and bring him to his feet.

Crossing the restaurant at a speed that would have startled everyone if their attention hadn’t been on the jibbering woman now being helped to her feet by the maitre d’, Julius didn’t stop to hear what she had to say, but hurried up the stairs at once, taking them three at a time in his rush to reach Marguerite.

There were three doors off the landing at the top of the stairs. Julius rushed for the one with the ladies’ room sign above the door, slamming it open with a crash that no doubt echoed through the building. He then froze in horror at the sight before him. A wounded and bloodied Marguerite was being dragged out of one of the stalls by her arm by a man dressed all in black. Julius’s entrance had caught the man’s attention, however, and the black-clad figure paused with Marguerite’s legs still in the stall to peer around. The two men stared at each other briefly.

“Jesus,” someone breathed behind him, telling Julius he’d been followed.

Julius charged forward, but the attacker was already moving to make his escape. Turning away, he ran in the opposite direction, charging the large square window at the end of the room, his sword out before him.

There was a shocked shout from behind Julius as
the man crashed through the glass and dropped out of sight, but he paid it no attention. Neither did he chase after Marguerite’s attacker, instead, Julius stopped and knelt beside her, his hands moving swiftly over her to check her wounds. She’d taken a bad blow to the shoulder that had nearly severed her arm, and another to the chest. They were not killing blows to an immortal and she was already healing, but needed blood and a lot of it he realized.

Julius started to scoop her up into his arms, pausing when she moaned in pain.

“She’s alive,” someone breathed with shock by his ear.

Julius lifted his head to the speaker. It took him a moment to recognize the maitre d’ and then he glanced toward the door with a frown as he became aware of the clatter of several people rushing upstairs to join them. Cursing, Julius slipped into the maitre d’s mind, altering his memory of what he’d found here and sending him out into the hall to head off the oncoming crowd and assure them that everything was fine.

Once the door had closed behind the man, Julius scooped Marguerite into his arms and then hesitated. He could hardly carry her out of here past all the people out on the landing. He didn’t have the time to wipe all their memories.

Marguerite moaned again, drawing his gaze down to her. She was pale, her face the color of the porcelain in the room. The blood was migrating to her wounds, repairing and regenerating and doing all sorts of miraculous things to save her life and limb. But it had a price and he knew soon she would be in
agony as the nanos in her body attacked her organs in search of fresh blood.

Cursing, he moved to the shattered window and peered out. There was no sign of her attacker, but he hadn’t expected there to be. More importantly, the walkway between the building and the river was completely empty, and that’s what he’d hoped for.

Pressing Marguerite tight to his chest, Julius climbed up on the ledge and jumped through the opening, dropping one floor to the cobbled walk below. He landed awkwardly, his ankle twisting on the uneven cobbles.

Julius ground his teeth as pain shot through the abused joint, but ignored the pain and started quickly along the walkway in the direction of the townhouse, glancing at Marguerite with concern as she moaned again. This time she didn’t stop.

Ten

“Hello?”

Julius tore his gaze away from Marguerite’s pale face and glanced toward the door at that call. He’d been sitting on the side of the bed for the last half hour, just watching her as he waited for the men to arrive at the townhouse with the blood. Now he stood and moved to the door. Opening it, he stepped out into the hall and peered down at the men trooping into the rented townhouse.

“Up here,” he said quietly, not wanting to disturb Marguerite.

Tiny was at the head of the trio and quickly started up, a cooler in hand. “We were as fast as we could be. What happened? Christian said we were to get as much blood as we could find and meet you back here. Is Marguerite all right?”

Julius didn’t answer at once. His gaze moved past the mortal to Marcus and Christian as they followed the detective into the house. Each of the three men carried a cooler, all presumably crammed full of blood. He supposed they’d robbed a blood bank, and had probably brought back every last bag they’d found there.

Julius led the way to the bedroom where Marguerite was starting to stir again. He had known the two measly bags of blood he’d given her wouldn’t calm her for long. Julius paused in the door and turned to Tiny as the man reached his side. He opened the cooler the mortal carried and grabbed a bag, then moved to the bed.

“What happened?” Tiny asked with concern as he set the cooler on the bedside table and turned to peer at Marguerite.

Julius didn’t answer at first, his attention taken up with opening Marguerite’s mouth and popping the bag to her protracted teeth.

“Jesus.”

Julius glanced around at that whisper to see that Marcus and Christian had followed them into the room. Christian had shifted his cooler under one arm and bent to scoop up Marguerite’s dress from the floor where Julius had thrown it after stripping it from her. The younger immortal held the dress up, his eyes moving over the blood-soaked and torn cloth with dismay.

“She was attacked at the restaurant,” Julius told them.

“Where the hell were you?” Tiny asked, propping his hands on his hips.

“I was at our table. She’d gone up to the ladies’ room. I should have gone with her,” he added fretfully.

“That probably would have caused a bit of a stir,” Marcus pointed out quietly.

“And you think this didn’t?” Julius asked dryly, reaching for the cooler Tiny had set on the dresser as he saw that the bag on her teeth was nearly empty.

Tiny was there before him, opening the lid, and retrieving another bag for him. As he handed it over, he asked again, “What happened?”

Julius traded the empty bag for a full one before repeating, “She was attacked in the ladies’ room. Fortunately, there was another woman in there with her and when she came rushing downstairs in a state, I headed right up.”

“It was a woman who attacked her?” Tiny asked with a frown.

Julius shook his head. “No. It was definitely a man. He was an inch or so shorter than me, but just as wide; big arms, thick legs.”

“Did you recognize him?” Christian asked, moving forward and placing the cooler he carried next to Tiny’s.

“No. He was covered from head to foot in black; a black balaclava over his face, black clothes, even a black cape. He had a sword.”

“Just like the guy Marguerite described the morning she was attacked at the Dorchester,” Tiny said thoughtfully.

“Why didn’t he cut off her head?” Marcus asked quietly. “Did you stop him?”

“I think so. She was badly wounded and he was
dragging her out of one of the stalls when I rushed in. I think he was trying to get her out where he could get a proper swing to behead her.”

“Thank God you arrived when you did then,” Tiny said, his worried gaze on Marguerite’s face.

“You killed him?” Marcus asked and Julius felt his shoulders sag at his own failure as he shook his head.

“He threw himself out the window the minute I came in.”

“So he’s still out there somewhere,” Christian said, and Julius glanced up to see all three men peering toward the window as if expecting a man in black to come crashing into the room at any moment.

“Did you lock the door behind you when we came in?” Tiny asked suddenly.

Marcus and Christian glanced at each other, and then Christian turned and hurried from the room.

“I’ll make a quick search of the house while he’s locking the door,” Marcus muttered, following.

For a moment, Tiny looked as if he might follow to help, but instead he turned to Julius and said, “If this really does have to do with Christian’s mother, you could put an end to it all by just telling him who the hell she is.”

“It wouldn’t keep Marguerite safe,” he said quietly.

“The hell it won’t. We’d go home then and she’d be safe.”

“I don’t think she would,” Julius admitted at once, chilled at the very idea of her leaving.

“What?” Tiny asked with disbelief.

“I don’t think she will be safe now no matter where she is,” he said quietly, admitting the conclusion he’d
come to while waiting for them. “I think whatever has been set in motion will continue to play out.”

“Until what? Until she’s dead?” Tiny asked angrily and bent to grab the sheet covering Marguerite. Julius reached to stop him, but the man only pulled the sheet down far enough to reveal the top of her shoulder. The wound there was already half healed but it was still a great, ugly gaping gash. “Just what the hell did Christian drag us into here?”