"Roberto?" Fidelia fluffed up her long, straggly black hair. Unfortunately, two inches of gray showed at the roots. "Is he muy macho muy macho like you?" like you?"

"I...wouldn't know." Jean-Luc retrieved his cell phone from the inside pocket of his tuxedo jacket.

"He's a Scotsman in a kilt," Heather muttered. "He's got a bigger sword than Jean."

What the hell did that mean? Jean-Luc paused in the middle of dialing to meet her challenging glare. "A claymore is naturally larger than a foil, mademoiselle, but its very weight causes the swordsman to be more slow."

She gave him a bland look. "Slow's good. I like slow."

He stepped toward her. "Finesse is better. And do not forget experience and perfect timing. I am a champion, you know."

"Right." She yawned. "But you know how it is. Only those who are lacking claim that size is not important."

He gritted his teeth. "I lack nothing, mademoiselle. I will gladly prove myself. As slowly slowly as you like." as you like."

Fidelia burst into laughter. "Ooh wee, if only I was twenty years younger. Well, make that thirty, but anyway, I'm not into swords or men in skirts. I've got all the men I can handle."

Jean-Luc dragged his eyes off Heather to focus on the babysitter. "You do not want Robby?"

"Hell, no, I was just foolin' with you." Fidelia hefted her large purse into her lap and fumbled inside. "What would I do with a Scotsman when I have this nice Ger man muchacho muchacho, Mr. Glock." She removed a revolver, patted it fondly, and set it on the cushion beside her.

She pulled out another one. "Then there's Mr. Makarov from Russia with love." She set the pistol next to the first one. "And my Italian honey, Mr. Beretta."

While Jean-Luc slipped his cell phone back into his pocket, he noticed there were trigger locks on all her pistols. "How many guns do you have?"

"One for every husband I went through. At least these honeys don't shoot blanks." Laughing, Fidelia stuffed the pistols back into her purse. "My favorite, Mr. Magnum, is upstairs in my bedroom. Too heavy for my purse." She winked. "But talk about size-"

"Fidelia, I need something from the kitchen." Heather motioned with her head toward the back of the house.

"Then go get it." Fidelia's eyes widened when Heather angled her head once more to the kitchen. "Oh, right. Let me help you." She stood, cradling her purse against her large bosom. "We'll be right back, Juan. Don't go."

"Of course." He bowed slightly as Heather strode down the hallway.

Fidelia waddled after her, her long skirt swishing. She glanced back with an amused smirk. "I'm sure she's just lost something. Like her senses."

Jean-Luc eased toward the foyer to watch them, and once the kitchen door stopped swinging in their wake, he zoomed at vampire speed out the front door to his BMW.

He removed a bottle of synthetic blood from the cooler and chugged it down. He hated cold meals, but in his case, it was the best thing. Filling himself with cold blood was the vampire equivalent of taking a cold shower. Just what he needed, for he was hungry for more than food.

He surveyed Heather's two-story, wood-framed house. Blue with white trim. So warm and appealing. So different from his stone chateau north of Paris. It was flawless and formal, chilly like a mausoleum. This house was full of vibrant people, and looked so...lived in. His eye for detail had noted all the signs. A pair of small, wet sneakers left on the porch. A half-crocheted afghan spilling from a basket next to the fireplace. Seat cushions on the couch that remained permanently indented. A cross-stitched sampler on the wall, beseeching God to bless their house. Exuberant artwork, obviously drawn by Heather's daughter, displayed on the mantelpiece with pride. house. Blue with white trim. So warm and appealing. So different from his stone chateau north of Paris. It was flawless and formal, chilly like a mausoleum. This house was full of vibrant people, and looked so...lived in. His eye for detail had noted all the signs. A pair of small, wet sneakers left on the porch. A half-crocheted afghan spilling from a basket next to the fireplace. Seat cushions on the couch that remained permanently indented. A cross-stitched sampler on the wall, beseeching God to bless their house. Exuberant artwork, obviously drawn by Heather's daughter, displayed on the mantelpiece with pride.

It was a real home. A real family. Like he had never had. Merde Merde. You would think in five hundred years, he would have gotten over it. One thing was for sure, he couldn't let Lui destroy this family. The battle would be difficult, though, because he didn't know when or where Lui would strike next.

Jean-Luc's most dreaded fear, the feeling of powerlessness, lurked in the shadows, waiting for a moment of weakness. He would not succumb. For Heather's sake, he had to protect her and vanquish Lui.

He scanned the yard and street before zipping back into the house. He quietly shut the front door. With his superior vamp senses, he heard Fidelia's whispered voice.

"Why not let him protect you? What do you have against him?"

There was a pause. He silently locked the door.

"There's something odd about him," Heather finally said. "You can see the obvious flaws, but there's something else I can't quite figure out."

"What obvious flaws?" Fidelia asked.

Exactly. What obvious flaws? Jean-Luc eased down the foyer, frowning.

"He's too good-looking," Heather announced.

Jean-Luc grinned.

"And arrogant," she continued, and his smile faded. "I swear, if I have to hear about his championship one more time, I'll take that sword of his and make him a champion blue ribbon steer."

He winced.

"Don't be silly," Fidelia hissed. "If you mess with a man's equipment, then what good is he for?"

"I've been wondering that for about four years now," Heather muttered.

Jean-Luc restrained himself from marching into the kitchen and tossing Miss Heather Westfield onto the table for some much-needed illumination.

Fidelia chuckled. "Well, if he stays here for very long, you might find out."

Damned right. Jean-Luc nodded.

"He's not staying here," Heather insisted.

Damned wrong. He scowled at the door.

Heather lowered her voice. "I want to know if you're getting any sort of strange vibes off him."

"Nothing yet. You know most of my visions come in my dreams at night."

"Then go to bed."

Fidelia laughed. "I can't guarantee I'll dream of him...but you might. I can tell you like him."

Jean-Luc tiptoed closer to the kitchen door. He needed to hear Heather's response, but instead, there was a fumbling sound.

"Are we out of triple chocolate ice cream?" Heather made a sound of exasperation as the freezer door slammed shut.

"You're in denial," Fidelia announced.

"No, I'm fully aware that I'm overweight."

"No," Fidelia countered. "You will not admit that you are attracted to Juan."

"His name is John."

He grimaced. Neither one of them pronounced it right.

"He's very handsome," Heather whispered. "But he's too domineering."

"No, no. Chica Chica, he's nothing like your ex. You just think all men are bad right now."

"There's something weird about him I don't trust."

Fidelia made a clucking sound. "Then let's finish his reading and see what the cards reveal."

Jean-Luc dashed back into the living room and eyed the cards on the coffee table. After Fidelia had shuffled them, she'd invited him to select seven cards. Only one had been turned face up so far, that damned Hermit card. He didn't normally believe in such nonsense. He'd seen too many charlatans over the centuries. Still, hearing someone announce his loneliness had pricked his pride.

Of course he was lonely. How could he court a woman knowing that Lui would try to kill her?

"I'm not sure he's what he says he is," Heather's soft words drifted from the kitchen. "He has...secrets."

She was a perceptive woman. Jean-Luc leaned over the coffee table and flipped the next card. His heart froze.

The Lovers. It was so tempting to hope for a happy future and a glorious union with a loving woman. But how could it possibly happen with Heather? Even if she survived Lui and forgave him for endangering her, how could she accept a lover who was undead? It was so tempting to hope for a happy future and a glorious union with a loving woman. But how could it possibly happen with Heather? Even if she survived Lui and forgave him for endangering her, how could she accept a lover who was undead?

He heard them enter the foyer. Quickly, he grabbed the Lovers card and stuffed it back into the deck. He picked another card at random and set it facedown where the Lovers card had been. Then he sat in the wingback chair and assumed a bored expression.

"We're back!" Fidelia marched into the room, her long skirt swishing. She flopped down onto the middle dip in the couch and set her purse beside her. long skirt swishing. She flopped down onto the middle dip in the couch and set her purse beside her.

"Can I get you something to drink?" Heather motioned to the kitchen with a hand that held a glass of ice water. The cubes clinked together like musical chimes.

"No thank you." Jean-Luc clenched the arms of his chair to keep from standing. He'd lived through several centuries when good manners dictated a male should stand whenever a female was standing. Such habits were hard to break, but it would be even harder to explain why he had such a habit. Heather already suspected too much.

"How about we finish your reading?" Fidelia leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees.

Heather set her glass on a coaster close to the cards. "Do you mind if I watch?"

"No. I have nothing to hide." He was such a liar.

She gave him a suspicious look as she perched on the sofa arm. She dragged a powder-blue chenille pillow into her lap and twisted the fringe around her fingers.

"All right, the second card." Fidelia flipped it over.

Thank God he'd gotten rid of the Lovers. Whatever he'd substituted had to be an improvement.

"The Fool," Fidelia announced.

He winced.

Heather chuckled, then pursed her lips when he glared at her.

"It doesn't mean you are foolish," Fidelia assured him with a smile. "It means you have a secret desire to leap into the unknown and start a new life."

"Oh." That might be true. He glanced at Heather. She hugged the pillow to her chest, her fingers lightly stroking the soft chenille.

She likes texture. She liked to touch and feel things.

His groin reacted. Hopefully she enjoyed hard things as well as soft. His groin reacted. Hopefully she enjoyed hard things as well as soft.

Fidelia turned over another card and frowned. "Oh dear. Ten of Swords."

"Is that bad?" A dumb question since Jean-Luc could see the card's depiction of a dead man on the ground with ten swords in his back.

"Desolation," Fidelia answered. "Your fate is tracking you down, and there is nothing you can do to avoid it."

"Louie," Heather whispered, and squeezed the pillow tighter.

"I won't let him harm you," Jean-Luc assured her.

Fidelia turned the fourth card. "Eight of Swords, reversed. Your past has come back to haunt you."

He shifted in his chair. This was too close for comfort.

Fidelia flipped over the fifth card. "Knight of Swords." She shook her head with a confused look.

"That's bad, too?"

"No, good. You are brave like Sir Lancelot and a defender of women." Fidelia sighed. "I just find it odd that you would select so many Sword cards. There are three other suits. The chance of picking cards from only one suit is rare."

Jean-Luc shrugged. "I am am a swordsman." a swordsman."

"The swords stand for reason." Fidelia narrowed her eyes. "It must mean you have been concentrating on your intellect and ignoring the needs of your heart."

"I had no choice. I couldn't risk a relationship with anyone because of Lui."

"How old is Louie?" Heather whispered.

Jean-Luc stiffened, then forced himself to lounge back in the chair nonchalantly. "He is...older than I."

Heather watched him closely, her fingers digging into the soft chenille pillow. "How old would that be?"

Merde. She was on to him. How could he gain her trust if he had to keep lying? "I don't know his exact age." At least that much was true. trust if he had to keep lying? "I don't know his exact age." At least that much was true.

Fidelia revealed the sixth card. "The Moon." She gave him an odd look.

Jean-Luc swallowed. "Something to do with hunting?"

"No. It means deception." Fidelia glanced at Heather. "It could also mean something supernatural."

Heather's eyes widened.

He sat forward. "Do not be swayed by superstition. I have sworn to protect you, and I will."

"I want to believe you. I'm just not sure I can." Her eyes searched his, and he tried to pour all his concern and admiration for her into his gaze. She didn't look away. A spark of hope ignited inside him. He wanted her trust, her friendship, her respect. He wanted everything she could give him.