Vampire, Interrupted (25 page)

“Well, actually no, it doesn’t. I mean it does in that you can squash or crush a bug, but you can’t have a squash on someone. It’s—”

“Tiny,” she interrupted shortly.

“Right. Not the issue at the moment,” he muttered and cleared his throat. “Look, just let him explain everything, okay?”

“I don’t have to.”

He rolled his eyes impatiently. “I know you don’t have to, but a grown-up person would—”

“Tiny,” she interrupted dryly. “I wasn’t being childish, I meant I don’t have to because I’ve read it all out of your head already.”

His eyes widened incredulously. “Cut that out!”

Marguerite sighed and lay wearily back on the bed beside him, saying without apology, “I needed to know I hadn’t been wrong in trusting you. I wanted to be sure you hadn’t betrayed me. After all, you appeared to be running with the enemy.”

“I wasn’t betraying you,” he said sharply.

“I know.” She opened her eyes long enough to find his arm and pat it, then closed them as she added, “Well, at least not on purpose. I know you really believe this nonsense story of his.”

“It’s not nonsense,” Julius said quietly.

Marguerite’s eyes shot open and she sat up abruptly at the sight of a solemn-faced Julius standing before her. She hadn’t heard him enter the room, the man moved as silently as a thief, which was an apt description she decided, since he’d stolen her heart.

Sitting up had put her eyes level with his waist and
they immediately found the bags of blood he held. They were undoubtedly peace offerings, she thought, ignoring the hunger that immediately leapt to life in her. She needed the blood, but was too stubborn to take it from him. Instead, she forced her hungry eyes away from them and found herself staring at his zipper. Marguerite scowled, briefly considering punching him there, then stood to move quickly away from him and both temptations.

“It
is
nonsense,” she muttered. “From what I’ve read of Tiny’s thoughts, you told him we’d met before.”

“We have.”

“We haven’t,” Marguerite countered firmly. “I’d remember. And I’d certainly remember if I gave birth to Christian.”

“You—”

“As for ordering him
killed
—A defenseless little baby?” she asked with disbelief and then shook her head firmly. “Never.”

“I agree,” Julius agreed quickly and crossed to set the bags of blood down on the dresser beside her. “We don’t think you would have done those things either. At least not willingly…not without someone controlling you.”

Marguerite tsked impatiently and shook her head. “There is no way I would have forgotten twenty some years of my life, including meeting a lifemate and giving birth. I’m sure it isn’t even physically possible for an immortal to—”

“I know it’s hard to believe. I’ve been struggling with it myself, but we
have
met before, and we discovered then that we were lifemates, and those things
did
happen.” When she started to shake her head
again, he sighed and said, “Just tell me this, if it were possible for an immortal’s memory to be erased, was Jean Claude the type of person capable of using it against someone?”

Marguerite glanced away from him, her mouth flattening. After a moment, she admitted, “If it suited his purposes, yes.”

“Then—”

“If
it were possible,” she interrupted grimly. “But it simply isn’t possible. It can’t be.”

Marguerite heard the desperation in her own voice and turned abruptly away, biting her lip painfully. The truth was she didn’t want it to be possible. She didn’t want to believe that she’d lost something so precious and been forced to order her own child’s death.

Turning back sharply, she asked, “And if this is all true, then who has been trying to kill me since London? You said you thought it was Christian’s mother’s family. If what you say is true, that would be my family and no one in my family would try to kill me.”

“Jean Claude m—”

“Jean Claude is dead,” Marguerite said with exasperation.

Julius was silent for a minute and then asked, “Who else besides Jean Claude could control you?”

Her eyes widened at the seeming change in subject, but she said, “No one. He’s the only one. Thank God,” Marguerite added in a mutter.

“But Marguerite, this morning—” Tiny began and then snapped his mouth closed at a look from Julius.

Her gaze slid between the men warily. “What about this morning?”

“She’ll just read my mind,” Tiny muttered apologetically to Julius.

Marguerite turned toward Tiny to do just that as Julius snapped, “Well, think of something else then, dammit.”

Marguerite frowned as Tiny began to recite
Three Blind Mice
in his head, and then gave up with a small shrug and said, “I’ll just read him when he’s distracted.”

Julius sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “It will just upset you.”

She turned on him sharply. “I am over seven hundred years old, Julius. Deciding what is best for me is not your place any more than it was Jean Claude’s.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” he said at once, looking rather shocked to realize that’s exactly what he’d been doing. He gave his head a shake, then sighed and said, “What do you remember about this morning here at the townhouse?”

Marguerite frowned at the question. “I remember waking up in the living room. I was on the couch and Tiny was in the doorway looking out. I got up and came up behind him and saw you and Christian and Marcus on the stairs and heard what you were saying.”

Julius nodded and then asked, “How did you get to the couch?”

She stared at him blankly and then started to shake her head with confusion.

Nodding again as if expecting that reaction, he asked, “What’s the last thing you remember before waking up on the couch?”

“Last night,” she said slowly, searching her mind. “We went to a play, then a restaurant. I was attacked in the ladies’ room and woke up in bed with you. We talked and…er…” Marguerite glanced at Tiny. The mortal was grinning like an idiot. Sighing, she said, “Then we talked some more and then I put on your T-shirt to go to the bathroom and when I came back we went to sleep.”

He nodded. “You remember everything…about last night. Then there’s this morning.”

Marguerite frowned. “I think I got up at some point to get blood. I was very sleepy, though, and don’t recall how I got to the couch…” She shook her head with confusion. “Did I lie down to sleep?”

“I can only tell you what I know,” he said. “This morning I woke up at a little before noon and you were up and gone. I was annoyed,” he admitted. “I got up to find you. When I came out of the room I heard Tiny asking you if you were all right. I looked down the stairs and saw you walking toward the door. You were heading outside in nothing but my T-shirt.”

Marguerite’s eyes widened incredulously at this claim, but he continued, “Tiny stepped in your way and you picked him up and threw him into the wall.”

“What?” she burst out, her eyes shooting to Tiny to find him nodding that it was true.

When she turned back to Julius, he continued, “And then you just walked outside into the sunlight, in only the T-shirt. I ran out after you.”

“He was naked,” Tiny informed her, apparently determined she understand the sacrifice he’d made.

Julius ignored him. “I picked you up and brought you back inside and laid you on the couch. That’s why you woke up there. After I laid you down, I drew a blanket over you, and then ran upstairs to pull on some pants and that’s when Christian started grilling me. You know the rest.”

“It’s true, Marguerite,” Tiny said quietly. “Every word of what he just said is true. You just walked right outside in that T-shirt. But it wasn’t you. Your face was blank, no expression at all. Someone was controlling you.”

Marguerite leaned weakly against the dresser behind her. She was stunned by this news. No one but Jean Claude had ever controlled her, and she hadn’t thought it possible anyone else could. She’d reassured herself that he was only able to do so because he was so old and had been the one to turn her, but now someone else had done it. Or Jean Claude was alive as Julius seemed to think.

Marguerite didn’t know which possibility was worse, that someone else could control her as Jean Claude had done, or that he might still be alive.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you everything from the start, Marguerite,” Julius said, then shrugged helplessly and pointed out, “But, look how much trouble you’re having accepting it after knowing we are true lifemates. Can you imagine your reaction if I’d blurted it all that first night we met?”

She’d have thought him mad, Marguerite acknowledged to herself.

“I don’t know how I can convince you I’m telling the truth. I was hoping that being here in York, where we met and lived for the short time we were together,
would help you remember, but…” He shrugged unhappily.

“You have the portrait,” Tiny pointed out.

“Yes,” Julius said and then explained to Marguerite. “The portrait in my desk at home in Italy, the one you heard Christian talking about. It is you. It’s one of two portraits I had commissioned of you that year. I had a large one painted to hang over the fireplace, and a miniature made so I could carry it with me when I traveled. The large painting was gone from the castle when I returned to find you missing, but the miniature was with me and I still have it.

“I would like you to come home to Italy with me to see it. You would be safer there anyway. My home has a high-tech security system including a wired fence. That should help keep anyone from getting too close to control you,” he added quietly.

Marguerite shifted. She was so tempted to believe him. Julius seemed sincere and if she did believe him she could have him back, but it was so hard to believe. How could she have forgotten? How could her own memories be false?

“Why would Lucern never have mentioned this to me?” she asked suddenly. “He would have been around one hundred at the time. He—”

“You sent men to look for him when we decided to marry but he didn’t return until after it was all over and you were back with Jean Claude,” Julius said quietly. “I am not sure what story he was told then, but we never got the chance to meet.”

Marguerite would have called her son right then to demand he tell her what he knew, but he was traveling with Kate and thanks to some stupid, grubby little
London thief, she didn’t have his cell phone number.

“I did meet Lucian,” Julius suddenly blurted.

Marguerite’s head jerked up. “Lucian?”

“Yes. He apparently checked on you often after Jean Claude’s death. He knows all about the two of us and knew we were expecting,” he assured her and then added, “I don’t know if he’d admit to it all since it paints his brother pretty black, but he might.”

“Let’s call him now,” Tiny suggested abruptly, getting to his feet.

Marguerite nodded with relief. She was finding herself more confused and frustrated by the minute, part of her believing, the other part afraid to. But if Lucian knew about this, the whole matter could be cleared up in minutes.

“Use my cell phone,” Julius offered, taking it out of his pocket and giving it to her.

Marguerite accepted it and punched in the number, grateful that she knew it by heart. Raising the phone to her ear, she listened tensely to the ringing, her eyes following Julius as he moved to sit on the foot of the bed. He looked a bit anxious, but not exceptionally so.

She stiffened and turned away from him as the phone was answered, but sagged as a recorded message informed her that Lucian and Leigh weren’t available and to try again later. Marguerite felt a moment’s pleasant surprise that Lucian and Leigh had apparently turned out to be lifemates and worked things out. She’d had a good feeling about the pair the moment Lucian had called her about the woman, and she was happy for them, but would have been happier to talk to Lucian at that moment.

Marguerite glanced toward the clock on the bed
side table as she listened to the instructions to leave a message and sighed as she saw the time. Two
P.M
. That made it nine
A.M
. back home, and Lucian didn’t pick up the phone during the day for anything. He turned it off while he slept. He did have a cell phone that he kept by the bed in case of council emergencies. That phone he would answer during the day. Unfortunately, Marguerite didn’t know the cell phone number off by heart. She didn’t need it, she didn’t often have emergencies and it was programmed into both her home phone and cell phone anyway.

“Lucian,” she said wearily when the beep sounded. “I wish you were there. I need your help. I’ll try again later.”

Marguerite closed the phone and turned to the men, noting that both Tiny and Julius were looking about as disappointed as she felt. She started to hand the cell phone back to Julius, and then paused as an idea occurred to her. “Martine.”

Julius shook his head. “I never got to meet her either. You were staying in her home while she had a break. She couldn’t return for fear someone would recognize her and note she hadn’t aged.”

“Yes, but she could at least tell me if I really had stayed here in York, couldn’t she?” Marguerite said with triumph. “And then I would know if I have missing memories, wouldn’t I?”

His eyes widened at the suggestion and he smiled. “Yes you would.”

Smiling now, Marguerite flipped open the phone, punched the number for directory inquiries and asked for the number to the Dorchester Hotel in London,
noting that Julius had begun to pace, as had Tiny. She could feel the tension in the room mounting.

When the number was rattled off to her, Marguerite quickly hung up and punched it in, then began to tap the fingers of her free hand impatiently against her leg as she waited. She breathed out a little breath of relief when the phone was answered by a cheerful female voice announcing the hotel. Marguerite asked for Martine’s room, waited through a couple of clicks, and then almost groaned when she heard yet another recorded voice. Of course, Martine would have requested they not be disturbed during the day while they slept and any calls directed to voice mail.