Vampire, Interrupted (Argeneau #9) - Page 7

Marguerite picked up her drink and finished off the last sip with a little sigh of pleasure. It was an immortal Bloody Mary–blood mixed with tomato juice, Tabasco, pepper, lemon, salt, and Worcestershire sauce–and had gone a long way to improving her mood. She'd sat fretting over what Tiny had said until her drink had arrived, but just the one drink had made her feel better able to cope with matters. Obviously, the lack of blood was affecting her, she thought and suspected she could do with several more of the drinks to make up for the lack of straight blood in her system.

That thought in mind, she glanced around for a waitress and then stilled when she saw Julius and Christian making their way across the room. Julius was closing his cell phone and dropping it back in his pocket when she spotted him and she wondered about that. The two men had been gone a rather long time, but the interesting thing to her was that while Christian had looked exasperated and Julius worried when they'd left, Julius now appeared cheerful and Christian worried. Curious.

"We have to go," Julius announced as he paused beside her chair.

"What?" Marguerite asked with dismay.

Julius nodded. "I've called for two taxis and they assured me they'd be here right away so we'd best move."

"But–" Marguerite's protest died as everyone else got to their feet, even Tiny, she noted, though she shouldn't have been surprised that he was happy to go. He'd turned a little green when the drinks had arrived. There was just no way to mistake them as being anything other than blood mixes.

Sighing, she gave in and got to her feet, remaining silent as Julius took her arm and walked her out of the club. They didn't wait long out in front of the Night Club before the taxis arrived. Julius led her to the first one and Marguerite slipped inside when he opened the door. She settled herself on the bench seat, sliding into the corner to make room for others, but no one followed right away. Julius was standing in the door, his back to her, talking to Tiny and Christian.

Marguerite frowned and started to slide back along the seat to try to hear what was happening, but just as she did, Julius turned and ducked to enter. Moving quickly, she scooted back along the seat to make room and glanced sharply back when she heard the door close.

"Isn't anyone else riding with us?" she asked anxiously as Julius settled on the seat next to her.

He shook his head and explained, "I had them all take the other taxi. I wanted the chance to talk to you alone about… things."

"Oh." She sat back against the seat as the taxi pulled away, and waited, wondering what he would have to say. Christian had already told her that Julius intended to stick close and keep an eye out for any more attacks, but Julius might not know that and intend to tell her himself, so she waited… and waited. Marguerite finally gave up waiting and decided to prompt him, but she'd barely opened her mouth when the taxi pulled to a stop.

"Where are we?" she asked, glancing around with surprise. The car had pulled over in front of a Starbucks, not the hotel.

"I thought we could talk here," Julius explained, handing several pound notes to the driver and opening the door.

Marguerite hesitated and then followed him out of the car and allowed him to see her inside. He settled her at a table in a corner away from the few other patrons and then asked, "What would you like?"

"Nothing, thank you. I'm fine," she answered.

Julius peered at her silently for a moment, and then said, "I suspect we'll have to order something to sit here. I'll pick something."

He headed off to the counter and she watched him place and wait for their order, fretting over why he'd brought her here. When he returned to their table, her eyes widened incredulously on seeing that he'd purchased not only two large, foamy drinks, but two triangular pastries as well as two square ones she recognized as brownies.

"I couldn't make up my mind," Julius said with a shrug as he placed one of the drinks and a plate with one of each of the deserts before her. He then settled in the chair across from hers and fetched several packets of sugar out of his pocket, offering her two.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"These are mocha, frappa-cappa something or others," he said as he opened two packets and put them in his own coffee. Smiling wryly, he admitted, "The girl picked them and assured me they were good."

Marguerite smiled faintly and opened her own sugar packets to pour in. She stirred the drink then, fascinated by the foamy top. They hadn't had drinks like this when she was still eating and drinking. Her gaze slid to the brownie on the plate and then back to her drink before returning. She could smell the sweet chocolate and her mouth was watering again.

"I wanted to tell you, Marguerite," Julius said, drawing her attention away from the brownie. "I really appreciate what you did for my nephew Stephano in California when he was attacked."

Marguerite shook her head. "I did very little."

"You helped save his life," he said solemnly.

"I merely helped watch over him during the turn. Vincent is the one who saved his life."

Julius nodded solemnly. "I was impressed when I heard what he'd done. Few immortals would have."

"Vincent is special," Marguerite said proudly and then found herself telling him about her nephew; about how talented he was, and about his business and the plays he produced. Somehow that led to talk about her stay in California, which led back to her children and their lifemates.

Julius, in turn, told her some tales of his trials in raising Christian alone. His love for his son was obvious as he spoke. She could hear the pride in his voice and see it in his face, along with his desire–like most parents–to keep his child safe from harm and pain, though he didn't say that outright. Each of them kept to the their own tacit agreement not to talk about either Jean Claude or Christian's mother.

Despite skirting that issue, Marguerite began to realize that she'd misjudged the man. It quickly became obvious that he would do anything for Christian, and that his reasons behind keeping knowledge about his mother from him must be purely protective, not selfish as she'd first thought.

Somehow, while not paying attention, Marguerite found herself eating both the brownie and the lemon cranberry scone that was the triangular pastry. Both were like manna in her mouth. She had never tasted anything so good. They also went through several of those mocha-frappa-cappa drinks as well, both of them going up to the counter together to purchase them so they didn't have to stop talking, and so they could both pick out other pastries to try.

Julius was telling her about Christian's musical abilities when Marguerite reached for her drink and lifted it to her lips only to find her cup was once again empty. She shouldn't have been surprised, she supposed, talking and laughing was a thirsty business.

"I, of course, don't know a thing about music, that's something he got from his mother's side, obviously," Julius said dryly, drawing her attention from her empty cup. "But the minute he picked up that violin and started to play it by ear, I was sure he was the next Chopin or Bach."

Marguerite bit her lip on a laugh at his self-mocking expression.

"So I spent scads of money, hired the best teachers in Europe, all the while imagining that one day my son would play in the world's premier orchestras. He would compose music that would last through the centuries. The name Notte would resound through the music world."

"But he didn't get accepted into an orchestra?" she asked sympathetically.

Julius snorted. "Oh, yes. He did. He was accepted to several over the centuries, but he never stayed long at any of them. He found most of the music he was made to play too staid, and the stuff that he did like he soon got bored of playing over and over." Julius shook his head. "Finally, he seemed to give it up. He worked for the company and kept his music as an enjoyment on the side."

"What a shame," Marguerite said sadly.

"Hmm." Julius nodded his head. "I was terribly upset at the time, but now, all these centuries later, he's found the music that stirs his passion. He's actually composing. I can see the difference when he plays it. Even I, musically retarded as I am, can tell that before this, while he was technically perfect, his heart was not in it. But now, he's excited, vibrant, alive… playing with his heart rather than just playing by rote."

"But that's wonderful," Marguerite said, and then tilted her head uncertainly at his wryly amused expression. "Isn't it?"

"I guess it is," he said with a laugh. "I just find it…" He shook his head. "Ironic."

"Why? What is he playing?"

"My classically trained, world-class violinist, prodigy of a son is playing…" He raised an eyebrow. "Hard rock."

Marguerite blinked. "You mean he's switched to guitar?"

"No. He plays violin… in a rock band."

Marguerite sat back in her seat with a bump. "Really?"

Julius nodded.

"Well, that is…" She paused, at a loss for words. She'd never heard of a violin rock player.

Julius chuckled at her expression and then lifted his cup to his mouth, only to pull it away and peer into it with a frown as she had moments ago. "I'm empty."

"So am I," she admitted.

"Shall we try something new this–" He paused and glanced toward the window beside them. "Is that birdsong?"

Marguerite glanced out the window. The sky was still dark, but now that he mentioned it, she could hear what sounded like bird's chirping their morning call.

"The sun will be up soon," he said and Marguerite glanced over to see him peering at his watch with an expression that was half surprise and half disappointment.

She glanced down at her own watch, shocked to see just how late it was… or how early depending on your point of view. The sun would indeed be up soon. They'd spent the entire night in that Starbucks talking.

"I guess we'd better head back," Julius muttered Marguerite nodded reluctantly, her eyes slipping over their table laden with countless empty cups and half a dozen empty plates that had once held pastries. The aftermath of a night that was the most fun she'd had in a long time… perhaps in her life. She didn't ever recall laughing as much as she had tonight, and she was sorry to see it end.

"Yes, we should go back to the hotel," he said more firmly, as if–despite his words–he'd considered not doing so. "We have to get some sleep. We're catching the seven P.M. train to York tonight."

Marguerite nodded and stood. They started to collect their cups and plates, but the fellow behind the counter who had served them all night was immediately there, waving them off and assuring them he'd get it. He wished them a good morning as they left.

It was much cooler than it had been earlier in the evening, but not uncomfortably so. A mortal might have wished for a coat, but immortal's bodies weren't as affected by temperature as mortals were. After so many hours spent doing nothing but talking, the two of them were oddly silent on the short walk back to the hotel, but it was a companionable silence that neither of them seemed to feel the need to fill.

The hotel lobby was nearly empty when they passed through it to the elevator, with just one couple dragging luggage to the reception desk to check out and catch an early flight.

"Here we are," Julius murmured, stopping at the door to their suite.

Marguerite remained silent as he unlocked the door and then stepped inside when he held it open for her. The lights were on in the sitting room, but there was no sign of Marcus.

Marguerite hesitated, her eyes moving to the door to her bedroom, but then turned back, uncertainly, to Julius. "Thank you. It was fun."

"Yes, it was," he agreed. He raised his hand to gently brush her cheek and for one moment, Marguerite was sure Julius was going to kiss her. Despite her long-held determination not to risk involving herself with another relationship after what Jean Claude had put her through, at that moment, Marguerite wasn't at all sure she didn't want him to kiss her, but then he merely offered a crooked smile, let his hand drop away, and whispered, "Good night."

Marguerite slowly let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and turned away to walk to the door to her room. She paused there to glance back, and smiled slightly when she saw that he had reached his door and done the same. When he smiled back, she slipped into her room and eased the door closed.

It was only as she was undressing for bed that Marguerite realized that he had never brought up the "things" he'd said he'd wanted to talk to her about alone. If there had been "things," she thought, her mind mulling over what had just taken place. As far as she could tell, she'd had a very enjoyable nothing-to-do-with-business sort of date with Julius. And both of them had eaten food and drank several caffeine-rich beverages.

Both of them.

She was eating. He was eating. She couldn't read his mind. Could he read hers?

Marguerite didn't know, but she did know that Jean Claude hadn't eaten when he'd met her. He hadn't displayed that sign of having met a true lifemate. Not that she would have recognized it as a sign at the time. She'd been mortal then, a simple servant in a large and rich castle, completely ignorant that there were immortals walking among them, beings who fed on blood, were stronger and faster and could survive long, long lives while non-immortals dropped around them.

Wincing as she recalled her naivety, Marguerite slid into a long black satin nightgown and moved to the window seat, settling herself there to peer out over London. She really hadn't known much of anything when she'd met Jean Claude. She'd barely been fifteen; young and impressionable and easily swept off her feet by a simple smile from the handsome warrior on horseback. She'd thought her infatuation was love, and had been foolish enough to equate his desire with his loving her as well. She hadn't known until much later that she looked so like his long-dead and well-mourned lifemate that he'd been driven to sweep her off her feet, claim her as his own, and turn her. By then it was far too late to change anything.

But, in all the seven hundred years of their miserable union, Marguerite hadn't ever seen Jean Claude eat as Julius had.

Marguerite was almost afraid to consider what this might mean. Perhaps the man made himself eat all the time. Some immortals did, usually the men wishing to keep up their muscle mass. Her own son Lucern had always eaten for just that reason, though he'd taken little pleasure in it until meeting his lifemate Kate. Perhaps Julius was the same way. But Marguerite knew that–despite her fears–in her heart of hearts she was hoping that wasn't the case. She was hoping that she too could find what her children had found and experience what life with a real lifemate was like. The idea of having a true and proper mate to love and care for you and share the burden of this long, sorrow-filled life made her heart ache. Surely she had paid for such happiness in advance with all the misery Jean Claude had dealt out to her? Surely she deserved some happiness too?

As much as Marguerite ached for it however, she was reluctant to risk another relationship that might turn out like the one she'd had with Jean Claude. One would think it wouldn't be a concern; that no immortal would willingly bind to someone who was not a true lifemate, but it had happened. Hers was not the only such match where a naive mortal was lured into a life-long binding to an immortal who could and did control them. She'd even heard of it happening between immortals, who should know better but–weary of being alone–settled for a union with a non-lifemate. They were usually temporary relationships, however, because it was rare for one immortal to be able to control another as wholly as jean Claude had controlled her, and they were usually able to break free. Marguerite thought his power over her must have come from the fact that he had turned her, though she would never know the truth.

Whatever the case, while she was attracted to and was coming to like Julius Notte very much; if he wasn't a lifemate, she wouldn't accept such a relationship, a temporary affair that would eventually go wrong when the stronger one could no longer resist and tried to dominate the other. The truth was she wanted an equal partner such as her children had… which meant she should probably avoid being alone with Julius for now. If he hadn't been able to read her, she was quite sure he would have said something, so either he could read her or he hadn't yet tried.

Either way, it seemed better to avoid being alone with him as much as possible until she knew whether he could read her or not. She already liked the man more than anyone else she'd met in her long life, and she was attracted to him as well. She could be very badly hurt if it turned out he could read her.

Marguerite came to that decision before finally dropping off to sleep curled up in the window seat of her room. She awoke a few short hours later to pounding on her door.

Gritty-eyed and exhausted from lack of both sleep and blood, Marguerite uncurled from the window seat and stumbled to answer it.

"Marguerite!" Tiny cried. "Everyone is waiting in the lobby for you. Julius is checking us out this very minute and you aren't even dressed yet!"

She could just make out his scowl through her sleep encrusted eyes and grimaced in response. Honestly, why was it men were always so grumpy? Or was it just her who seemed to bring about this exasperation?

"Move, woman," he ordered, turning her from the door and pushing her across the room to the en suite bathroom. "You shower, I'll get your clothes."

Marguerite paused abruptly in the bathroom door, suddenly wide awake and digging in her heels. "I'll get my own clothes."

"Marguerite," he said with exasperation.

"You are not rifling through my panties," she snapped.

"Oh." Tiny stopped trying to push her at once. "Yeah. Okay, you get your clothes."

Was she not now in a bad mood, she would have laughed at his sudden discomfort.

Shaking her head, she gestured to the door. "Out. I'll be downstairs in ten minutes."

Tiny hesitated and then grumbled, "You'd better be or we'll miss our train."

Marguerite waited until he left, then burst into action, rushing to her suitcase to snatch up clothes, then hurrying into the bathroom. She took the very first shower of her life, cursing when she got shampoo in her eyes, and then cursing again when she realized that she'd been so distracted the evening before that she'd never managed to call Bastien about the blood. With it once again too early to call him, she'd muttered to herself with irritation as she ran a towel quickly over herself to dry the worst of the water, then stepped–still half wet–into her clothes.

She brushed her wet hair while throwing her nightgown and other items in her suitcase, threw the brush in last and zipped it up. She was ready. Or as ready as she had time to be, she supposed, applying lipstick as she dragged her suitcase out of the room and wheeled it to the elevator.

She stepped off the elevator to find Julius, Marcus, Christian, and Tiny waiting for her near the elevator doors. The relief on their expressions when she stepped out made her feel guilty, but then she noticed that Dante and Tommaso were missing and began to frown.

"Where are the twins?" she asked, dragging her suitcase off the elevator.

"They're on the way to the airport. There's some business back home that needs tending," Julius answered as he took the handle of her suitcase from her. Passing it to his son, he then caught her arm and urged her toward the doors to the street.

Julius already had two taxis waiting. They divided the luggage between the two and Marguerite, Tiny, and Julius rode in one, while Marcus and Christian followed in the other. Traffic wasn't too bad by London standards, which was a good thing since even with that advantage, they arrived at King's Cross just seconds before their train was to leave. A mad dash followed as they raced through the station to reach and board seconds before it pulled away.

Julius had booked the tickets, reserving two sets of table seats for their party of five. One table was a four-seater, the other, which was across the aisle, sat two. Julius explained this as he stowed the bigger suitcases on the rack. Marguerite followed as he then led the way up the aisle to their seats. He paused on reaching them, stowed a black overnight case overhead, and then slid into the nearest window seat of the grouping of four. However, when he then glanced at her expectantly, she–firm in her determination to distance herself a little from him until she knew which way the wind blew and whether he could read her–took the far window seat of the two-seat table on the left so that they were kitty-corner to each other across the aisle.

She saw the surprise that flashed across Julius's face, followed by disgruntlement. Much to her relief, however, he didn't say anything. Tiny was directly behind Marguerite and–after a hesitation–moved to drop into the seat across from her, leaving Christian and Marcus to take the two seats opposite Julius.

Marguerite was at first satisfied with the arrangement, until she realized that Julius's position seemed to put him exactly in her line of vision… and she seemed unable to keep from looking. Her gaze drifted over the man and she noted how the overhead light gleamed off his shiny black hair, how his features were almost noble, how deep and mysterious his eyes were, how soft and full his bottom lip looked in comparison to the thinner upper lip–That thought made her wonder what it would be like if he kissed her and she could almost picture it, his strong, nicely shaped hands gliding through her hair, pulling her face closer as his mouth descended–"Something to eat or drink?" Marguerite blinked and sat up abruptly as her view of Julius was suddenly blocked by a cart. Glancing up, she found herself staring at a redhead with a healthy sprinkling of freckles on her face that no amount of makeup would hide. Despite that, it didn't detract from her attractiveness, her wide smile, and sparkling eyes made up for it.

"I'll have a sandwich, please," Tiny said, drawing the woman's attention.

Marguerite waited until Tiny had finished his purchases and when the woman then turned to her asked, "You don't have anything to read, do you?"

"There was a women's magazine left on my seat, Marguerite," Tiny said as the server shook her head apologetically.

"Thank you." Marguerite accepted the magazine as the girl turned her attention to Julius and the others. She glanced over the cover, grimacing at blaring headlines that read, "Lose Two Stone In Four Weeks Without Dieting!" "Health Worries–SOLVED!" and "100 Secret Sex Techniques To Drive Your Man Wild!" That last one made her pause and she opened the magazine, flipping through to the page listed on the front. It had been a while. A refresher course couldn't be bad. Not that she expected to have sex any time soon, Marguerite assured herself.

The sound of the cart moving on distracted her and she glanced up, finding herself looking at Julius again. He was saying something to Marcus, gesturing with his hands as he did, and she couldn't help but notice how strong and nicely shaped they were.

Shaking her head, Marguerite forced her eyes back to the magazine in her hands, and managed to read a whole sentence before her gaze slid back to settle on Julius once more.

Really, this was just ridiculous. She couldn't seem to stop thinking about the man.

Now that she felt sure he'd kept Christian's mother's identity a secret to protect him, her judgment had softened considerably. A good parent protected their child as much as possible and that was what he'd been doing. Even more impressive to her was that for five hundred years Julius had allowed Christian to think he was simply being annoyingly autocratic, and had preferred Christian to be angry with him for not telling rather than cause him the pain that knowing his own mother hadn't wanted him and had actually ordered him dead would bring.

Marguerite thought it a very caring thing to do. Most men would have happily revealed the truth and probably delighted in painting the mother a bitch while presenting themselves as the saintly parent who had saved them from her clutches and raised them with love. Instead, he had neither told the truth of the matter nor painted her as anything and Marguerite thought Christian had probably benefited from it.

Julius glanced up from the newspaper he was reading and Marguerite immediately looked away, groaning inwardly as she felt a blush creep up over her face. She was seven hundred years old, not a schoolgirl, for heaven's sake. She had no business blushing. Next she'd be giggling and holding pajama parties.

"I should have picked the cheese and onion sandwich."

"What?" Marguerite glanced at Tiny. He was making a face as he opened his sandwich and spread it out on the table between them.

At first, she didn't think he'd answer. His concentration was on the serious business of scraping off the brown relish from his Ploughman's sandwich, but then he sighed with disgust as he got the last of it off. Slapping the two parts of the first sandwich half together, he explained, "I don't like this brown stuff they put on their ham sandwiches over here. I should have picked an onion and cheese sandwich."

"Why didn't you, then?" she asked with amusement.

"I wanted meat," Tiny muttered.

"They had shrimp salad," she pointed out.

"Shrimp is not meat," he said with disgust and then added, "And who ever heard of putting shrimp on bread?"

Marguerite smiled faintly at the comment as she reached over to take one of his chips and popped it in her mouth. Salt and vinegar. Mmm. The flavor burst in her mouth, almost painful in its sharpness.

"Why didn't you get something for yourself if you're hungry?" he asked with disgruntlement.

"I don't eat," she reminded him.

"Yeah, right," he said on a sigh.

Ignoring his ill-temper, she took another chip and popped it in her mouth. She then sat back in her seat and tried to concentrate on her magazine article. So far, she wasn't seeing any new and wondrous techniques. It seemed nothing had changed much in that area in the more than two hundred years since she'd got pregnant with Lissianna. Good to know, she supposed.

"You look pale Marguerite. When was the last time you fed?"

Marguerite glanced up with a start, cursing the blush that returned to her cheeks as she saw that Julius had stood and crossed to stand in the aisle beside her. There was a concerned look on his face.

She snapped her magazine closed before he could see what she was reading and answered honestly. "I ran out just before we started the drive to London the night before last."

His eyes widened incredulously. "But you had a cooler in the hotel. Dante brought it with your suitcase."

"The cooler is empty. I was supposed to receive a delivery at the Dorchester but we left before it arrived. I never got around to calling Bastien last night," she said with a shrug.

"You should have said something. We have plenty to share," Julius said with exasperation as he reached up to shift through the bags in the overhead rack until he found and pulled down the small black cooler bag he'd stored there. Taking the bag, he turned away, ordering, "Come."

Marguerite's natural instinct was to refuse the order, to rebel where she hadn't been allowed to rebel against Jean Claude. But she would only be spiting herself. Her body was aching at the very idea of the blood in the cooler he carried, and she couldn't feed in front of a trainload of people. Sighing, she got to her feet and followed him up the aisle and out of the carriage.

Julius led her to a door and opened it, revealing a small bathroom. Her eyebrows rose at the tiny cubicle, but when Julius stepped aside for her to enter, she stepped inside. Marguerite then turned to accept the bag of blood she expected him to hand her, but instead she found him following her inside.

Eyes widening incredulously, she quickly scuttled to the side, trying to make room for him, but there was really little room to make. In truth, the tiny cubicle was probably too small for him to sit in comfortably alone. It was positively claustrophobic with the both of them standing in there. Not that it seemed to bother him, Marguerite noted as he set the small cooler bag on the sink and moved in front of it. She heard the sound of his unzipping it, and then he turned to offer her a bag of blood.

"Thank you," Marguerite said, her fangs sliding out as she took the bag. Leaning against the wall to brace herself against the sway of the moving coach, she popped the bag to her teeth and met his gaze, only to glance self-consciously away as she waited for her teeth to do their work.

Julius didn't take the opportunity to berate her further for not mentioning her need. This rather surprised her. Jean Claude would have. Instead, he simply waited until the bag was nearly empty, and then turned away briefly to retrieve another bag. When the bag on her teeth was empty and Marguerite pulled it free, he held out both hands, one offering her a fresh bag, the other waiting to take the empty one, and they swapped.

Marguerite had never needed as much blood as Jean Claude and the boys, but that need had seemed to lessen as the centuries passed, until now she could go three or four days without feeding if necessary before the need became unbearably painful. She knew it was unusual for an immortal, but it was the way she had always been.

Jean Claude had once said it was the sign of an exceptionally strong constitution. That was way back at the beginning of their marriage when he had still troubled to complement her on occasion. That period hadn't lasted long. His ability to read and control her