"We have blood."

She stopped abruptly.

"Nice, fresh, clean blood. Bags of it. You won't have to hunt."

Marguerite didn't really care about bags of blood. She actually had been enjoying the hunt, but the blood might be a good face saver so it didn't look like she was giving in for any other reason. She glanced around, noting that Christian and Marcus were making their way toward them from either side, and then she spotted Tiny hurrying toward them from straight ahead. He obviously wasn't being controlled by anyone or held against his will and she frowned, wondering if Julius was really telling the truth. Had Tiny gone over to the other side?

Determined to find out, Marguerite slipped into his mind briefly, touching on his anxiety and worry that she would be angry at him, but also his determination that she give Julius a chance. He thought it was in her best interests. In fact, he was afraid it was the only way to keep her safe from...

"Jean Claude?" Marguerite murmured with confusion as she read the name in his mind, and then cried out as she was suddenly snatched up, hefted over Julius's shoulder and being carted through the station at a dead run.

"Julius had your best interests at heart."

Marguerite stopped pacing to scowl at Tiny. The detective was sitting on her bed, eyeing her warily, both of which he'd been doing ever since entering her room at the townhouse several moments ago.

"Tiny," she said with the slow care of someone who thought they were talking to an idiot, "he has kidnapped me."

"No, he hasn't," the detective assured her quickly.

She snorted and arched an eyebrow. "He grabbed me, threw me over his shoulder, and charged through the train station like he was fleeing a burning building."

"Yes, but-"

"And then," Marguerite cut him off, "he continued to run all the way back here to the townhouse with me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. I'm sure everyone was staring...although I couldn't say for sure since I couldn't see through the back of my skirt, which had fallen over my head," she added acidly. "My butt must have looked like the full moon rising over his shoulder in the white lace panties I'm wearing. Thank God I didn't put on a thong."

"Your panties are very pretty," he assured her soothingly. When she turned sharply on him, his eyes widened in alarm at the violence in her face and he said quickly, "I only saw them for a second when he first picked you up. I was running way behind after that. Even carrying you he's inhumanly fast and I couldn't keep up," he added with disgruntlement, "Marguerite, he had your best interests at heart and you really haven't been kidnapped."

"I believe the definition of kidnapping is taking someone by force and holding them against their will and I am definitely unwilling."

"Yes, but I'm sure you wouldn't be if you'd just let him explain."

"I don't see him offering explanations," she snapped.

"Because the minute he put you down in the townhouse, you stormed up here...and then you started screaming and throwing things at him when he followed you," Tiny said with exasperation.

"I was upset," Marguerite snapped.

"Yes, I know that and so does he, so he left you alone to calm down."

"I'm calm," she snarled.

Tiny merely pursed his lips doubtfully. "Look, you haven't been kidnapped. The bedroom door isn't locked, you can leave the room any time you want."

"And if I tried to leave the townhouse?" she asked archly.

"He'd probably try to stop you," Tiny acknowledged. "But it would be by reasoning with you. He didn't mean to kidnap you. When you said Jean Claude's name he thought you'd spotted him in the crowd and was just trying to keep you safe from him. Cut the guy some slack, Marguerite. He loves you."

Her mouth twisted bitterly. "He doesn't. He can't. We hardly know each other."

"Are you going to tell me you don't love him too? Because you sure seemed pretty happy there for a day or so."

"As I said, I hardly know the man, Tiny," she said impatiently. "It can't be love. It's just a squash."

"A squash?" he asked blankly.

She sighed. "An infatuation?"

"Oh, you mean crush," he realized.

Marguerite waved her hand impatiently. "Crush, squash, it means the same thing."

"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.