ello?"

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 of panic, 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?"

"I wish I knew," Julius muttered.

"What are--?"

"Leave," Julius interrupted wearily, and then slid into the immortal's mind to make sure he did so. He needed time to think without Tiny's worried and angry questions, so he sent him to his bed to remain there for the rest of the night. Julius knew the man would just ask his questions again in the morning, but hoped by then he'd have answers to offer him, or at least a good lie.

Sighing as the door closed behind the mortal, Julius retrieved a fresh bag and switched it for the empty one, then waited patiently as Marguerite's body drew it in. She didn't look quite as pale as she had been, more the color of parchment than porcelain now. She would need another three or four bags, but should be okay for a little bit after that, he thought. Of course, the healing would probably continue through the night. Even after the wound itself was no longer visible, the body would be busy repairing the internal damage and she'd need two or three more bags blood before dawn, and then again when she awoke before she would be back to normal.

"The doors and windows are locked and there's no one in the house but us," Marcus announced as he and Christian returned to the room.

Julius nodded as he switched bags again.

"This was the same attacker as at the hotel, wasn't it?" Christian asked quietly, moving around the bed to sit on the other side and peer down at Marguerite.

"I'm pretty sure it was, yes," Julius admitted.

Christian nodded. "And you still think my mother was behind it?"

"Her people most certainly," he answered and frowned at the guilt that swept over his son's face. "It is not your fault, Christian. Had I handled the matter differently at the time, none of this would have happened."

"What do we do now?" Marcus asked quietly, changing the topic. "Stay here and wait for Martine Argeneau to return from London?"

Julius hesitated, his gaze shifting to Marguerite. He wanted to show her more of York in the hope that she might remember something, anything of the past that she seemed to be missing from her memory, but wouldn't risk her being attacked again to do so. Next time, they might not be lucky enough to escape with her life.

"What time is it?" he asked suddenly rather than answer.

"Almost one o'clock," Christian answered. "There won't be any trains running now."

"No," Julius agreed. He was silent for a moment, and then said, "We'll discuss it tomorrow when we wake up. Marguerite can have an opinion then as well."

"I suspect she'll want to stay," Christian said. "So long as we don't let her out of our sight she should be sate enough. Whoever it is who's attacking her seems to try to get to her when she's away from us."

When Julius glanced at him in question, he shrugged and said, "Otherwise why risk such a public attack? A public washroom with mortals in the room? The only benefit was that there were no other immortals in the immediate vicinity to help fend him off. That's probably the furthest you've been from her since we arrived."

"He's right," Marcus commented. "The man obviously followed us from London, and you two were out walking around the first night. Why didn't he attack then? He's avoiding attacking her when there are other immortals nearby."

"So if we keep her close, she should be safe." Julius's gaze slid back to Marguerite. If that were the case, he wouldn't leave her side for an instant until all of this was resolved. It wouldn't be a hardship. The hardship would be not trying to keep her in bed... naked for the duration.

Marguerite stirred as Julius took away the last empty bag, her eyes blinking open. Her gaze slid over the three of them with confusion, and then her memory of the attack apparently returned and she glanced down at herself.

"It's all right," Julius said. "You're safe now and almost completely healed."

Giving a slight nod, she raised her eyes to his. "Did you--?"

"He got away," Julius interrupted quietly.

"Was anyone else hurt?"

"No," he assured her and she closed her eyes with a little sigh and seemed to drop back off into a healing sleep.

Julius watched her for a minute, and then glanced at the other two men. "You may as well take the other two coolers of blood back to wherever you got them. There are still a couple bags in here and more is being delivered just before dawn."

Nodding, Marcus lifted the cooler he'd set on the foot of the bed, and Christian stood and walked around to the dresser to retrieve the one he'd carried in.

"Take a key and be sure to lock up behind you," he ordered as they left the room.

When they assured him they would and pulled the door closed, Julius stood up and started to undo the buttons of his shirt, grimacing when he realized that the cloth was sticky with blood and clinging to his chest. He glanced down at Marguerite, and then turned away. The blood had soaked into his pants as well as his top and he'd need to shower before slipping into bed next to her.

Julius left the bedroom and bathroom doors open, glancing through to Marguerite every few seconds as he turned on the shower and quickly stripped off his tacky clothes.

Unwilling to leave her alone for longer than necessary, he took the fastest shower he could manage, leaping under the cascade of water, splashing water on his chest, tugging the shower curtain aside to lean out and peer into the bedroom at Marguerite, then ducking back under the water long enough to soap up before sticking his head out to check on her again. The next duck under the water was his last and it was just long enough to wash away the soap, then he was out, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around his waist as he headed back into the bedroom.

Julius pushed the door closed behind him, and dried himself as he walked to the bed. He then dropped the towel and pulled back the sheet and blanket to slide into bed next to her.

Marguerite opened her eyes the moment she felt the bed depress beside her. She hadn't really fallen back to sleep, she just hadn't felt like talking while the other two men were there. She'd opened her eyes after she'd heard the door close, but had seen Julius undoing his shirt and the sight of her own blood staining the white top had been rather distressing. Marguerite had quickly closed her eyes again and simply listened to his movements, but had opened them with surprise when she'd heard the shower turn on. Realizing he was washing away the blood, she'd closed her eyes once more and waited patiently for him to finish and return. Now, he was back.

"You're awake," Julius said, stilling in surprise when he saw that her eyes were open.

"Yes," she offered him a smile.

Julius hesitated, his gaze concerned. "Do you want more blood?"

Marguerite shook her head. "Not right now, thank you."

He smiled faintly at her prim words, but asked, "A drink then? Or food?"

Marguerite shook her head. Despite not having gotten the chance to have their meal, she wasn't hungry. All she really wanted was for him to hold her close just then. She wanted his warmth and his strong arms around her to help her feel safe again.

Julius hesitated and she suspected he was searching his mind for something else he might offer, but apparently not coming up with anything, he finally lay down beside her, easing onto his back, careful not to jostle her. Marguerite waited until he was still, then rolled over and curled up against him, resting her head and arm on his chest.

"Don't hurt yourself, you're still healing," Julius said with concern even as he slipped his arm out from under her to wrap it around her back.

"It doesn't hurt anymore. It's mostly healed I think," she assured him snuggling into his chest.

They were silent for a minute, his fingers running lightly through her hair, her own toying with the hair on his chest, and then Julius suddenly asked, "Marguerite, will you tell me about your marriage to Jean Claude?"

She stiffened in his arms, her fingers stilling. Her marriage was not a topic Marguerite enjoyed thinking about, and while she'd revealed some of it to Tiny during the first three weeks here, it wasn't something she wanted to share with Julius. Marguerite was afraid if she revealed the humiliating details of her marriage, it might affect how Julius saw her. He might lose respect for her or see her as weak, or a victim because of how Jean Claude had controlled her. He might even begin to look at her with the same disgust Jean Claude had.

No, she wouldn't risk it, Marguerite would rather just leave her marriage as dead and buried as her husband was.

"Marguerite?" he queried softly.

Finally, she shook her head. "I would rather not."

Julius was silent for a moment, then sighed and said, "Marguerite, in another time and another place I would have respected that wish. I realize now it would have been a mistake. It would have left me at a disadvantage when--if anything happened."

"Anything like what?" she asked curiously.

Rather than answer, Julius seemed to change the subject, or at least shift it to the side. "Tell me about Jean Claude's death."

Marguerite breathed deeply, drawing in a great lung full of air. The question had taken her by surprise.

"I don't ask out of mere curiosity, Marguerite. There is a reason for the question."

When she tilted her head on his chest, to glance at him he stared solemnly back. Marguerite lowered her head again and began to pluck at the hair on his chest. "He died in a fire."

"How?" he pressed and she frowned, knowing that to explain how he had died she had to explain at least some of their marriage. "Please, trust me," Julius said quietly.

Marguerite met his gaze, saw the pleading there and closed her own eyes on a sigh.

"Jean-Claude was... troubled," she began, and then glanced up through her lashes to see Julius nod. Swallowing, she continued, "I think he secretly loathed himself for marrying me, for the weakness in doing so when we weren't true lifemates."

"You knew you weren't true lifemates?" Julius interrupted quietly.

"Not at first. I knew nothing about immortals or... anything at the start. But I soon learned there was something wrong and that was what it was."

Marguerite explained, and then said, "The first hundred or so years after we married weren't so bad. He wasn't cruel at least. He was just selfish and cold, indifferent to my feelings and needs. If he wished to go to a ball, or to travel here or there, I wasn't allowed not to want to go. He would insist and if I refused he would slip into my mind and make me compliant."

"I suppose it wasn't just restricted to attending balls and things," Julius said carefully. "Did he enforce your compliance in the bedroom too?"

Her expression must have been answer enough. Marguerite could feel the anger tightening his muscles. "It was just an occasional thing the first ten or twenty years. I was young and eager to please then, but..." She shrugged. "I grew up and became less so and the more I resisted, the more he took control, but there was no real cruelty. Just an indifferent determination for him to have his way no matter my thoughts or feelings."

"What changed that?" Julius asked, and she could feel his tension increasing.

Marguerite shook her head against his chest with bewilderment. "I don't know. It all followed our tour of Europe."

"Your tour of Europe?" He asked and something in his voice made her look at him sharply, but his expression was unrevealing and he prompted, "When was that?"

"It was a long tour, more than twenty years. It started somewhere around 1470 or so and went on until 1491," she admitted. "We left England and toured around Europe."

"Tell me about that."

The tension had entered his voice now, Marguerite noticed but admitted, "It's all rather vague to me, although I recall it was pleasant..."

"Pleasant?"

"Yes. I just remember having a good time. I know we visited country after country, city after city constantly moving, never really staying long enough anywhere to see anything." She gave a self-deprecating laugh. "I know it sounds silly to say that we spent twenty years of touring and not really seeing anything, but..." Marguerite shrugged against his side. "That's how I recall it."

Rather than seem confused by her words Julius nodded solemnly. "Go on."

Sighing, she began to pluck at the hair of his chest again. "To this day I don't know what happened to change things so suddenly. It just seemed like, overnight, Jean Claude became another person. He began to take to feeding off people who had imbibed too much, and people who had ingested drugs. He even hired servants who were alcoholics so that he could feed from them." She shook her head. "And the more he fed from such people, the more cruel he became."

Marguerite paused, and then admitted painfully, "And he couldn't even seem to look at me anymore without loathing in his eyes. He wouldn't allow me to leave the house alone, wouldn't allow me to have friends. Jean Claude said I was to be a mother to his children, and that was all I was to do." She shook her head with despair. "And yet for the longest time he refused me children."

"Refused you children?" Julius asked softly.

Marguerite nodded. "I wanted to have another child. Lucern was a little over one hundred and I began to ache to hold a child in my arms again." She paused suddenly and realized, "In fact that too started directly after the European tour," she admitted with a little sigh. "I guess it somehow changed both of us."

"And you wanted a child," Julius prompted.

Marguerite nodded. "It was more than want. I needed a child in my arms, they felt empty. I felt as if..." She stopped and shook her head, knowing how ridiculous it must sound.

"Tell me," Julius said, and somehow she knew the answer was very important to him. The problem was, she didn't know why.

After a hesitation, Marguerite admitted, "I felt as if I had lost a child. As if there was a child who should be there, but wasn't. I yearned for a baby... So much so, I pestered him constantly." Marguerite flushed as she admitted that she'd begged her husband to share his seed and get her with child. "I had never begged for anything before that. I had too much pride. But I did then." She managed a smile and shrugged against him once more. "And eventually he did. It took a long time, but a hundred years later he came to me and Bastien was born."

"Were you happy then?" Julius asked.

"It helped," Marguerite said and then tilted her head to tell him. "I love children, Julius. I have raised my own, as well as nieces and nephews. I can't imagine any mother wanting any child dead, let alone her own."

"No. I don't think you can," Julius said solemnly and closed his eyes, but not before she thought she caught the sheen of tears in them.

"What are you thinking?" She asked quietly.

"I'm remembering... a dream I had."

"Tell me," she urged, tired of talking herself.

"It was of you and me in another time."

She smiled.

"We were lovers and true lifemates and so happy sometimes my heart hurt with it. But I seemed always to fear trusting that happiness, afraid that I would lose it. And then I did. I lost it to the actions of another, but mostly through my own lack of faith."

"Lack of faith?" Marguerite asked with a frown. "In what?"

"In you... and in my first instincts about you," Julius admitted. "In the dream someone told me something about you that really wasn't a lie and was the truth as they saw it, but wasn't the whole truth either. My first instinct was that it was not right, but I allowed my fears and doubts of others to convince me that exactly what I had feared had happened, that it had all been false, and I let you go."

Frowning at the sadness in his expression, Marguerite reached up to brush the hair back from his face. "It sounds a horrible dream. We must be sure never to allow it to happen in real life."

"Yes," Julius said huskily. "Never again."

Marguerite wanted to ask him what he meant by 'never again,' but his mouth was on hers and his hands were moving on her and she soon forgot the question. It felt as if she had lived the last seven hundred years just for that moment, to be in his arms, and to hold him in hers. She didn't think life could ever be so perfect again and understood his dream fears, because suddenly she was afraid that it would all be snatched away and she would wake up in her own cold bed, finding it had all been a dream or even worse, that it wasn't Julius in the bed beside her but Jean Claude.

Julius opened his eyes sleepily and reached for Marguerite, scowling when she wasn't there. The other side of the bed was empty. Marguerite was up before him and gone again which was damned annoying when, like the morning before, he woke with a raging need for her. This may be their second time around--at least for him--but it appeared his need for her was going to be just as desperate as it had the first time he'd met and fallen in love with her.

Those thoughts drifted away as Julius recalled the attack the night before. Marguerite had nearly been killed and should be resting to recover. What the hell was she doing up?

Shifting up onto one elbow, he peered at the bedside clock, frowning when he saw that it wasn't even yet noon. What was she doing awake? Pushing the sheets aside, he slid his feet to the floor and got up, heading for the door without bothering with clothes. Other than Marguerite there were only men in the house. Besides, no one should be up at the moment anyway, including Marguerite.

Scowling, Julius pulled the door open and stepped out into the hall. The bathroom door was open, showing that it was empty and he had just turned toward her bedroom door to check there, to be sure she hadn't slipped off to her own room, when he heard Tiny's voice from below.

"Marguerite? What are you doing up?" the man asked and Julius moved to the top of the stairs to peer down, eyes widening when he saw that Marguerite was just stepping off the bottom step. All she wore was one of his T-shirts, the garment large on her and reaching halfway down her thighs. He'd fetched it for her to wear on a trip to the bathroom last night before they'd gone to sleep and she hadn't bothered to take it off on slipping back to bed, claiming she liked the idea of wearing his clothes close to her body.

Julius had smiled at the time, but wasn't smiling now. While the cotton shirt covered the important bits, it was hardly decent enough to wear and walk around in front of Tiny, he thought with irritation.

"Marguerite?" Tiny was frowning now as well, concern drawing his expression tight as he stepped out of the living room and into the hall ahead of her. "Are you all right? Marguerite?"

The detective reached out to catch her shoulders to try to bring her to a halt as she continued forward without slowing, but rather than stop, Marguerite reached out, clasping him by the arms and tossing him to the side as if he were nothing more than a pillow that had fallen in her path. She didn't even glance in Tiny's direction as he crashed into the hall wall and fell, but continued on toward the door.

Shocked and confused, Julius hurried down the stairs.

"Are you all right?" he asked Tiny as he rushed past and barely caught his stunned nod before turning his gaze back to Marguerite as he hurried after her. She was at the door now, pulling it open and stepping out in to the sunlit day and he shouted her name but she didn't even look around. She had taken several steps outside before he caught up to her and caught her arm.

Julius jerked her around to face him, then saw that her face was completely expressionless, her eyes dull and flat. She raised her hands to clasp him as she'd done with Tiny, no doubt preparing to toss him aside as she'd done with the mortal, but suddenly stopped and went limp.

Cursing, Julius caught her before she hit the sidewalk, and then scooped her up into his arms, but froze as he became aware of the people on the street. At least a dozen people stood around on the sidewalk, on both this and the other side of the street. Some were alone, some in groups, but every last one was gaping at him where he stood completely naked, an unconscious Marguerite in nothing but his T-shirt in his arms.

There were far too many for Julius to wipe all their memories on his own unless he wanted to spend several minutes there performing the task, minutes during which more people would approach and have to be wiped as well, so Julius muttered the only excuse he could come up with. "She sleepwalks."

Whether they believed the explanation for what they'd witnessed or not, Julius didn't care. Turning away, he carried her quickly back into the townhouse, grateful to find Tiny there to close the door.

"We heard you shout, Father. What happened?" Christian asked, hurrying down the stairs with Marcus on his heels.

Julius paused at the foot of the steps. He'd intended to take Marguerite straight up to his room and hold her close until she woke up. The men on the stairs prevented that. They also caused yet another problem. He didn't mind Marcus knowing what had happened, he even wanted to talk to the man about it and get his opinion and advice on the matter, but he definitely didn't want his son there. Or Tiny for that matter.

"Father? What happened to Marguerite? Is she all right? Was there another attack?" Christian asked.

Julius shifted his gaze from the woman in his arms to his son, then past him to Marcus. He briefly met the older immortal's gaze, hoping the man could read the message in his eyes and then gave the same excuse he'd used outside.

"Nothing. Marguerite was sleepwalking," he growled, turning on his heel to carry her into the living room. "Go back to bed."

"She wasn't sleepwalking," Tiny protested, following him. "She looked right at me, but there was nobody home, Julius. It's like she was drugged or hypnotized or something."

"What?" Christian asked as he stepped off the stairs and followed them. "Is that true, Father?"

Julius's only answer was a grunt as he laid Marguerite on the nearest sofa and grabbed a throw off the back of the couch to place over her. He then settled on the edge of the couch and brushed her hair off her cheeks, watching her face worriedly.

"It's true," Tiny insisted, "Marguerite would never hurt me, but she picked me up and tossed me aside like trash. She had to have been controlled like I was in California."

"Controlled?" Christian sounded shocked.

"Yes," Tiny muttered, and Julius felt the material of the mortal's corduroy pants brush against his hip as he moved closer to peer at Marguerite with concern. It reminded Julius that he was naked.

"I'm going to get dressed. You two stay here and watch Marguerite," he growled glaring at Christian and Tiny. "Call me if she wakes up."

He started from the room, glad when Marcus immediately followed. He wanted a word with him. Julius jogged up the stairs and strode straight into his room.

"I hadn't expected this. It was frightening to behold," he muttered to Marcus while dragging a pair of jeans from the wardrobe and stepping into them.

"What was frightening to behold?" Christian asked, and Julius nearly tumbled over sideways as he jerked around, jeans still at half-mast, to see that his son had followed them upstairs.

"I told you to keep an eye on Marguerite," Julius hissed dragging the jeans the rest of the way on and doing them up.

Much to his fury, the man shrugged the suggestion away impatiently. "Tiny can watch her."

"Tiny can not watch her. Didn't you hear him? She threw him across the room like a bag of garbage being tossed in the back of a truck," Julius growled furiously. "He cannot stop her if she is controlled again and made to walk out the door."

"So, she was controlled," Christian said with triumph.

Cursing, Julius turned away to grab a T-shirt from the drawer where he'd put them and pulled it on as he strode quickly toward the door. He couldn't leave Marguerite alone downstairs with Tiny and risk her being controlled again and sent walking out the door probably to her death.

"There was a time you would have obeyed me without question," he growled at the boy in passing.

"Yeah, well, there was a time when you deserved that honor," Christian snapped back, following him into the hall.

Julius stiffened and paused at the top of the landing to peer at him narrowly. "Are you saying I don't deserve it now?"

Christian hesitated, and then sighed and said, "I don't know if you do or not, Father. You won't tell me anything and I'm not sure what's going on."

"I have told you why I won't tell you about your mother," Julius began wearily.

"Not telling me about her is one thing, but you have more secrets than that," Christian said grimly.

Shaking his head impatiently, Julius turned to start downstairs.

"Is Marguerite my mother?"

That blurted question made the blood freeze in his veins and Julius came to an abrupt halt on the stairs. He turned slowly to peer up at his son, noting that Marcus looked as shocked by the question as he felt.

"What would make you even think something like that?" he growled, avoiding answering the question.

"The picture in your desk drawer in your study," Christian announced descending several steps until he stood only one above him. "A miniature painted portrait of Marguerite or a woman who looks just like her. She's wearing clothes from the late fifteenth century... around the time that I would have been born."

Julius paled at the words. "When--? How--?"

"I found it when I was a boy," Christian admitted, and added unapologetically, "I was snooping. I looked in your drawer and found the painting. I thought she must be my mother because you kept it hidden and... because she had such a loving smile I wanted her to be." He admitted with a shrug. "I used to sneak in there often just to look at her and imagine that she would appear at our door one day and--" He swallowed and waved away whatever foolish child's dreams he'd had.

"When I met Marguerite in California, I knew at once that she was the woman from the painting." Christian smiled wryly. "Why do you think I hired her? Tiny may be a detective, but she isn't and I didn't really think they'd be able to find the answers I wanted anyway. Only you can give me those."

"Then why did you hire them?" Julius asked, suspecting he already knew the answer.

"Because I knew Marcus would tell you I had, even though I'd asked him not to."

When Marcus shifted uncomfortably, the younger immortal glanced at him and shrugged. "You are a loyal friend to my father, Marcus. You were raised together and are like brothers. You tell him everything," he said dryly and then turned back to his father and admitted, "I brought Tiny and Marguerite over to Europe knowing you'd hear about it and--as usual--try to intervene. I wanted to see your reaction when you met. I was sure I'd be able to tell if she was my mother."

Julius let out his breath on a slow sigh and leaned against the stair railing. Here he'd thought himself so clever keeping everything from the boy and he'd figured out most of it on his own.

"So," Christian said grimly, "is Marguerite my mother or does she just look like her?"

Julius shook his head and opened his mouth to answer, but some instinct made him glance toward the living room door as he did and he froze, alarm snapping his mouth closed. Their voices had obviously drawn Tiny. The detective stood in the doorway waiting for his answer with grim anger, but that wasn't what made the blood run cold in Julius's veins. Marguerite had awakened and stood behind the mortal, her pale face and horrified expression telling him that she too had heard everything.