Marguerite stared past Tiny's back to them en on the stairs, her brain roaring with horror and drowning out any possibility of thought.
"Is Marguerite my mother or does she just look like her?"
Christian's question was screaming in her head, repeating over and over like a skipping record.
"Marguerite?"
She blinked her eyes, seeing that Julius was off the stairs and moving toward her with Marcus and Christian following. Pushing Tiny out of the way, he hurried forward, his eyebrows drawn down with frustration and concern.
Marguerite backed away as he approached, feeling as cornered as she'd been in that stall the night before. She moved back until she came up against the couch, and then flinched when he reached for her.
"Don't touch me. Leave me alone." The words were wooden rather than panic filled as they should have been. She felt disconnected, empty.
Julius let his hands drop, but didn't back off. Instead, he said calmly, "I can explain."
Marguerite stared at him, waiting. She wanted him to explain. She wanted him to have an answer that would fix everything so that her heart would stop breaking... and so she waited, giving him that chance, but he hesitated, and then said almost helplessly, "No, I can't."
Marguerite sucked in a breath, staring at the man she'd found such pleasure with. She'd thought he was her lifemate, had foolishly allowed herself to love him, to dream of a future together. But nothing was as she'd thought.
She knew she wasn't Christian's mother, which meant that she just looked like his mother. She looked like a woman Julius had obviously loved deeply and whose picture he'd kept near at hand for five hundred years. It was Jean Claude all over again, she realized and felt her heart crumbling to dust in her chest.
He reached for her again, but this time Marguerite struck out, slapping him sharply across the face. Julius stilled, eyes glowing black. He didn't try to stop her when she walked around him and pushed her way through the others to leave the room. She could feel their eyes following her as she walked upstairs.
Marguerite went straight to her room, closed the door behind her and just stood there for a moment, the silence crowding around her... and then the chittering began in her brain.
"You look like Christian's mother," it taunted. "Julius must have loved her dearly to still have her picture. She was his true lifemate, you just look like her."
"He can probably read you and was simply saying he couldn't because he wanted you... because you look like his lifemate."
"Every time he made love to you he was thinking of her."
"Every time he touched you, he was touching her."
"It's not you he wants at all. You're just a stand-in."
"It's Jean Claude all over again."
She should leave, Marguerite thought numbly. She should go... somewhere. Find someplace where she could be alone to lick her wounds and think. She moved away from the door and peered around the room, her eyes landing on the bed. Memories of their lovemaking immediately rose up in her mind, making her long for his arms around her, his lips on hers, him inside her...
Maybe it would be different than it had been with Jean Claude. Maybe...
Cursing, Marguerite hurried to the closet to find something to wear. She dressed quickly, paused to take a shaky breath, and then peered around the room. She needed to get home, but didn't have the energy or any desire to pack. She'd leave her clothes, she decided, they'd just remind her of Julius anyway.
She started to cross to the door, but then paused. The men were in the living room. There was no way she was going to be able to slip downstairs and out the door without their notice.
Sighing she glanced around. When her eyes landed on the dark curtains on the opposite wall, she crossed to the window and drew open the heavy material. Sunlight immediately splashed into the room and she took a step back, her eyes lifting to the sky. The sunlight was blinding overhead. Her gaze slid to the digital clock on the bedside table to see that it wasn't even one o'clock yet.
No wonder she was exhausted, she'd had hardly any sleep at all, Marguerite thought absently as she peered down at the narrow alley behind the townhouse. It was an easy jump to the ground and would save her running into Julius on her way out and possibly being stopped.
Marguerite glanced back toward the bedroom door as she thought of Tiny, but she was rather hurt that the mortal she'd come to think of as a friend hadn't followed her upstairs to be sure she was all right, and, instead, had stayed with the Notte's. It felt like betrayal to her.
Her attention shifted back to the window. While the building was terribly old, the windows were new, probably installed for energy-saving purposes. Marguerite released the lock and slid the window open. She cast one nervous glance skyward, climbed to sit on the window sill with her legs dangling outside, and then pushed herself off. She landed on the stone below with a small jolt, her knees bending to ease the impact, and then started to stand up straight again.
"You'll explain and do it now! Marguerite deserves that much at least."
The faint words were spoken in Tiny's angry voice and she turned her head, and then ducked to the side as she realized she'd landed in front of the kitchen window and the men were now entering the kitchen.
And Tiny was confronting Julius Notte on her behalf, not conspiring with him, she realized. The fact almost sent her marching back into the house to collect the mortal and take him with her, but Marguerite decided against it. She really didn't want to have to face Julius again. She'd call Tiny on his mobile as soon as she got somewhere with a phone and have him meet her.
The sun was beginning to warm the back of her head. Marguerite moved quickly away from the window to head up the alley.
"Are you going to tell me what the hell's going on?" Tiny asked, following Julius into the kitchen.
"I told you, I can't," Julius snarled, dragging the door of the mini-fridge open and then slamming it closed with a curse when he recalled that the blood was stored in the mini-fridge in the living room.
"The hell you can't!" Tiny snapped. "You'll explain and do it now. Marguerite deserves that much at least."
"So do I," Christian added grimly from the door.
"Perhaps it's time," Marcus said quietly.
Julius glanced at him silently, then sighed and dropped to sit at the table. He spent a moment trying to sort out where to start, then decided the best place to start was the beginning and said, "I met Marguerite here in York in 1490."
"She is my mother," Christian breathed, dropping into one of the other chairs.
"No, she isn't," Tiny told him apologetically. "She can't be."
"She is," Julius corrected quietly and the mortal turned on him.
"If she met you before, why didn't she say so? Why have you both been acting like you didn't know each other? And why the hell would she agree to go hunting for Christian's mother when it was her?" The mortal shook his head with disbelief. "You're lying and you'll have to do better than that. She sure as hell didn't spend the last three weeks going half blind looking through archives for kicks."
Christian's eyebrows drew together in confusion. "That's true."
"I'll explain if you can both sit down and shut up long enough to allow it," Julius said patiently.
Tiny scowled, but moved to take a seat at the table, then raised his eyebrows.
Nodding, Julius started again. "I met Marguerite here in York in 1490. Marcus and I came here to... er..."
"Carouse," Marcus filled in dryly.
"Carouse?" Tiny asked with bewilderment.
"Gamble, lift the skirts of the prettier wenches and feed on the locals," he explained and then shrugged. "We were young... er. Younger."
Julius smiled faintly at the correction, but then continued, "I met Marguerite our second night here and that was the end of the carousing for me."
Marcus shook his head at the memory and commented, "Spoiled all the fun."
"Why doesn't she remember?" Tiny asked, and when Julius turned a scowl on him, sighed and said, "Right. No interruptions. Go ahead. I'll shut up."
Julius nodded, and continued, "Marcus and I were hunting when we spotted her."
"Hunting?"
"Looking for dinner," Marcus explained when Julius sighed in exasperation at yet another interruption.
"You aren't talking deer are you?" Tiny asked dryly.
Marcus shook his head solemnly and when the detective grimaced, reminded him, "There were no blood banks back then."
"Right." He sighed. "So you were hunting and spotted Marguerite."
"She was beautiful," Julius continued with a smile. "She had on a burgundy gown with the lowest d¨¦colletage a lady of quality would dare to wear, a matching cape, and this ridiculous little cap perched on her head that looked like a bird in its nest."
While Christian remained silent, Tiny grunted, apparently not seeing the charm.
"She was on the hunt too, though she'd found her quarry and was leading him into a snickleway. I waited until she had finished her meal and then approached."
"And was lost," Marcus said mournfully.
Julius smiled faintly at the words, but his smile faded as he said, "She had been widowed twenty years earlier and had a grown son. She'd just moved into Martine's home to live while Martine moved away for a bit to prevent anyone realizing she did not age."
"Widowed?" Tiny asked with surprise.
"Her son's name was Lucern," Julius continued, ignoring him and the man held back his questions, though his confusion was plain on his face. "Fortunately, he was one hundred years old when she became pregnant with our child and there was no issue with carrying him to term.
"We were both extremely happy. Then, shortly before she was to give birth a messenger arrived. My father had been at the English court arranging a marriage for my sister, Mila, to her true lifemate, Reginald."
"He was an English baron, still is I suppose," Marcus told Tiny. "And Mila is short for Camilla. She and Reginald are Dante and Tommaso's parents."
When Tiny nodded, Julius continued, "Mila was visiting with Marguerite and me, but was now ready to join our father at court. Marcus and I escorted her to him." He shook his head sadly. "I wish now I had left Marcus to accompany her alone."
Tiny opened his mouth, no doubt to ask why, but Julius didn't wait for the question and continued, "While I was gone, Jean Claude Argeneau had returned from the dead. Marguerite--"
"Wait, wait," Tiny protested. "I know you didn't want interruptions, but you have to explain this Jean Claude bit. What do you mean returned from the dead? Was he or wasn't he dead? Can you guys die and come back? I don't understand."
Julius frowned. "Don't you know about our people?"
"Yes, yes," Tiny said impatiently. "Your ancestors are from what is now referred to as Atlantis. They were advanced scientifically, and combined nano technology and bioengineering to create little biters who run through your blood repairing and regenerating everything so you never age and never grow ill. But they use more blood than a body can create, so you need blood. There were blood banks in Atlantis, but when it fell, your people were forced to flee and live among the rest of us more primitive types in squalor. Without blood banks, the nanos altered you to hunt and feed and survive off mortals." He paused and raised an eyebrow. "Right?"
"I meant the healing part, not our history," Julius said dryly. "But never mind, it is easier just to answer your question. Jean Claude was supposed to have died in the Battle of Edgecote in 1469, beheaded in battle," he explained wearily. "And, no, immortals cannot come back from a beheading, we will not re-grow a head. Marguerite, as well as the rest of the immortal community, was led to believe that Jean Claude had died in battle and was gone. She lived as a widow for more than twenty years before we met."
"But Jean Claude wasn't dead?" Tiny tasked with a frown.
"No," Julius said. "I returned home to find Marguerite missing and I was raising a search party for her when Magda, her maid, stumbled through the gates with a newborn Christian in her arms. She said Marguerite had given birth to our son earlier that same night and gave the child to her, ordering Magda to kill him and bring his body to me in the home we'd shared... along with the message that she had chosen to return to Jean Claude, a lifemate but also her true love. She regretted ever becoming involved with me and wished never to see me again."
Christian sagged in his seat, pain twisting his face, but Tiny's reaction was the opposite.
"No," he said firmly, leaping to his feet. "There is no way that happened. Jean Claude wasn't Marguerite's true lifemate, she told me that herself. He made her life miserable. Some of the things he did to her..." Tiny shook his head. "And she would never kill a child, especially not her own. She loves her children. You've got the wrong woman."
"It was Marguerite," Julius said quietly, but acknowledged, "I didn't believe it myself at first. I thought the maid must be lying, trying to cause trouble between us for some reason. But both Marcus and I read her and we saw the memory of Marguerite telling her to kill Christian and bring him to me and say those things. We saw."
Tiny sank back into his chair, shaking his head with stunned disbelief. "But she wouldn't do that."
"We weren't convinced either until she murdered the maid," Marcus announced quietly.
"Murdered the maid?" Tiny asked with renewed horror.
Julius merely nodded and continued, "She was pushed down the stairs. After that I took Christian and fled back to Italy to keep him safe. I never set foot in England again until now."
"And then that trouble happened in California and Christian insisted on going over to find out who had killed his cousin." Marcus picked up the story. "We knew it would mean some interaction with the Argeneaus and tried to talk him out of it, but when he refused to be swayed from hunting down Stephano's attacker, Julius asked me to accompany him to keep him safe."
Marcus grimaced and said, "I was shocked when I first met Marguerite again and she didn't appear to recognize me. I thought it was a ploy and read her mind, but she really had no recall of me," he said with remembered dismay. He shook his head. "Even more amazing was that she had no recall of Julius or anything that tied them together. There was a lot happening in California at the time, but I searched her thoughts when she was distracted and there simply was no memory of her ever being in York, meeting Julius, living with him, or having Christian."
"How is that possible?" Christian asked quietly.
Julius exchanged a glance with Marcus, then sighed and admitted, "Marcus and I discussed that when the two of you returned from California and he told me all he'd learned. We think her memory has been wiped."
"But she's an immortal," Christian protested. "Our memories can't be wiped."
"And yet the memories are gone," he pointed out. "She doesn't recall me, Marcus, or even the period when Jean Claude was missing. Instead, Marcus found some vague memory of a tour of Europe during the twenty-two or -three-year period encompassing his death and our being together."
"How?" Christian asked with bewilderment.
"We don't know," he admitted with a sigh. "It's possible a three-on-one might have done it."
"A three-on-one?" Tiny asked.
"A procedure where three immortals merge together and wipe away memories of a fourth individual," Julius explained.
"A mortal," Christian insisted with a frown. "That only works on mortals. You can't wipe the memories of an immortal."
"But if they're telling the truth then Marguerite's memories have been wiped," Tiny pointed out, and then added, "and I believe it."
Julius nodded, glad at least that he didn't have to convince the detective.
"So," Tiny continued, "the question becomes, why would they wipe her memory of that specific period if she willingly did all you just recounted?"
"That is what we wondered," Julius admitted. "It seemed obvious to us that all was not as it had been presented at the time. We needed to find out what really happened five hundred years ago. If she'd had her memories still intact, Marcus could have read them, but she had no memories to read. So, the best bet seemed to be to get her to York and hope that being here sparked some memory in her that would unravel the rest and we would finally find out what happened."
Tiny snorted disparagingly. "If she did order Christian killed, Jean Claude controlled her and made her do so."
"I agree," Julius murmured.
"You do?" Christian asked and the hope on his face that his mother hadn't wished him dead made Julius's heart ache for him.
"Yes, I do," he said firmly. "The Marguerite I know now is the same woman I fell in love with all those years ago, and she is not a woman who could kill a child, any child, and most definitely not her own."
"Well, then--" Tiny began but Julius interrupted him.
"But that doesn't explain her killing the maid who saved Christian."
"Jean Claude must have controlled her and made her do that as well," Tiny said with a shrug that suggested this was obvious, but Julius shook his head.
"She was alone when she entered the house. Jean Claude was not with her, and he wouldn't have been able to control her from a distance anymore than I can control someone out on the street from here."
"I was controlled in California and made to unlock Vincent's door by someone outside," Tiny pointed out.
"Then the immortal must have been looking in the window. They have to be able to see where they are sending you."
Tiny frowned over this news and then said, "So whoever controlled her was in the house today?"
Julius stiffened and stared at the man.
Tiny was frowning. "Did you see anyone? I don't recall seeing anyone in the house, but I could have been controlled. Did you see anyone?"
"Dear God," Julius breathed as he realized he hadn't seen anyone in the house. Someone had controlled her from outside. But how was that possible?
"How can anyone possibly control her like this?" Christian asked with a frown. "She is an immortal. No one should be able to control her so completely."
"What do you mean?" Tiny asked curiously.
"She's seven hundred years old," Christian explained. "Mortals and newly turned or young immortals are easily controlled by all and sundry, but the older we become, the better we become at erecting guards in our mind to protect ourselves. She shouldn't be controlled so easily. In fact, Jean Claude should have lost his ability to control her after the first hundred years or so."
"I wondered about that too," Marcus admitted "It troubled me that he still controlled her so completely right up until his death."
"You were able to read her, Marcus," Tiny pointed out. "Could you control her as well?"
"No, I tried to control her and make her sit beside Julius on the train when she started to move to the opposite table," he admitted. "But she didn't even hesitate in step."
"But you can read her easily enough?" Tiny asked, trying to understand.
"Reading is different," Julius explained. "Marcus and I are much older. We can read most immortals younger than ourselves if they are distracted, and Marguerite was undoubtedly distracted in California and then again here."
"Can you read her?" Tiny asked Julius, eyes narrowing.
"No. She's my lifemate," he said without hesitation. "We cannot read lifemates, that's what makes them--"
"I know. I was just checking," Tiny interrupted and then sighed. "So, Jean Claude shouldn't have been able to control her for so long, but somehow managed to. And someone controlled her today, but it couldn't be Jean Claude because he's dead, right?"
"He was supposed to be dead five hundred years ago too," Marcus pointed out dryly.
That comment had a stultifying effect on everyone. Three pairs of eyes turned to him as if he'd suggested they hold an all-male orgy.
Marcus shrugged. "Well, it's true. He was supposed to be dead for more than twenty years when he returned and reclaimed his wife. And," he added grimly, "the man supposedly died in a fire this last time. What if it wasn't him they buried?"
"Dear God," Julius breathed with horror and stood up. "She's not safe here. We have to take her back to Italy."
"I doubt she'd be any safer there than here," Tiny argued. "Besides, we need her to remember and you need to keep her here to help her do that."
Julius considered this briefly and then shook his head. "There is security on my estate. It would be difficult for anyone to get close enough to control her there. It is more important to keep her safe. We can resolve everything else later if necessary."
"You're going to have to tell her everything," Tiny warned. "Right now she's probably packing her bags and ordering a taxi," he said and then frowned and asked, "Why the hell didn't you just tell us everything from the beginning?"
Julius snorted at the idea. "That would have worked well, I'm sure. What should I have said, 'Hello, Marguerite. I'm Julius Notte, your long lost lifemate. I know you don't remember me, but we met five hundred years ago when you thought you were a widow. We're true lifemates and love each other more than life. We even married and were expecting our first child when Jean Claude, your husband who was supposed to be dead, showed up. You dumped me for him, ordered our child murdered and then killed the maid for not killing him. Oh, and by the way, those twenty-two years or so you spent in Europe? Never happened. And maybe your husband is alive now, we're not sure, but heck, let's be lifemates and live happily ever after, huh?'"
Tiny grimaced. "I guess it would have sounded pretty farfetched when you first showed up in London. Especially after you attacked me and everything."
"You were in bed with my lifemate," Julius snapped. "As for telling her now, despite everything that has happened, she will probably still find it too farfetched to believe. That's why I didn't even try to explain to her just now when she asked me to. She is never going to believe me. She'll think I'm mad, or lying, or..."
"Another Jean Claude," Tiny suggested quietly when he shook his head helplessly.
"Yes," Julius said miserably. "That bastard hurt her terribly. She has trust issues because of him and I don't know if our love is enough to help her get past her fears and believe in me... in us."
They were all silent, and then Tiny said tentatively, "You might be able to convince her. There is that painting in your desk that Christian mentioned."
Julius was considering that and wondering if it would help convince Marguerite of the truth behind the seemingly wild tale when Tiny suddenly straightened, his expression excited.
"Was Martine here when it all happened?" he asked.
"No. I told you, when we met, Marguerite was living here while Martine--"
"Oh, right-right," he said on a sigh and was silent for a moment before asking, "Where was her oldest son, Lucern?"
Julius sighed. "He was here in York with her for the first couple of weeks after she moved in, but I didn't meet her until after he left. Marguerite sent messengers out to look for him when we decided to marry, but he was a mercenary and moved around a lot and it took a while to reach him. Then we realized she was pregnant with Christian and decided we couldn't wait for his return. I gather he popped up back in York a few days after his father returned."
"Lucern was a mercenary?" Tiny asked with disbelief. "I thought he was a romance writer?"
Julius sighed. "I'm sure he has been many things Tiny, he's over six hundred years old. When he was young he was a warrior. Now he's a romance writer. Five hundred years from now he may be a scientist. Interests change when you have the time to explore them."
"Right," Tiny muttered and then asked, "Wasn't there anyone around from her family who could help back you up?"
Julius started to shake his head and then paused. "Her brother-in-law."
"Lucian?" Tiny asked with dismay.
"Intimidating fellow, isn't he?" Julius asked dryly. "He gave me the talk.'"
"The talk?"
"The If you hurt her, I'll kill you talk," he said dryly.
"Yeah?" Tiny grinned.
Julius sighed. "He's a hard bastard and he was Jean Claude's twin brother. I don't think he'd be very helpful."
"I don't know," Marcus said suddenly, and Julius glanced at him in question. "Well, despite their being twins, Jean Claude let Lucian think he was dead along with everyone else. He obviously didn't trust him to keep the secret."
Tiny shook his head. "No, he wouldn't. From what I know of the family, Lucian's a hardcore, by-the-book type. He'd have turned Jean Claude in to the council."
"That doesn't necessarily apply to his brother, and doesn't mean he'd help me out now," Julius pointed out.
"No," Tiny agreed on a sigh.
"I think we should leave the issue of finding a family member to help back up your story until we see if Marguerite needs the extra convincing," Christian announced. "The picture and your word might be enough."
"Do you think so?" Julius asked uncertainly.
He shrugged. "There is only one way to find out."
"Right." Julius stood... and then sat back down. "What do I say?"
"Just tell her everything," Tiny advised. "Be honest. We'll back you up if necessary. And if it doesn't convince her, ask her to at least come home to Italy with you so you can show her the picture and perhaps call Lucian to get him to back you up."
Nodding, Julius straightened his shoulders and stood up again. He strode purposefully up the hall, reached the stairs and then turned back, turned to the stairs again, then hesitated once more. This was the most important thing in the world to him. He was about to ask her to trust him on blind faith. Something he hadn't managed to give her five hundred years ago. He didn't want to spend another five hundred years without her. He didn't want to lose her for a minute. He had to do this right.
"Father," Christian said quietly, walking up the hall toward him.
Julius glanced at him, relieved for the excuse to delay.
"Get your ass up there and talk to the woman. I've spent five hundred years without a mother because you were too stupid to talk to her back then and find out what was going on. And she spent that same time in a marriage that was hell for the same reason. It's time to fix things."
Well, as support went, it rather sucked, Julius decided with disgruntlement and began to trudge upstairs. The hall was silent when he reached the landing. Julius forced himself to cross to the door, reached for the knob, then hesitated. What if he got it wrong and messed up yet again?
"Go."
He glanced over his shoulder, scowling at his son. Christian was now at the foot of the stairs glaring at him. Turning away, Julius shook his head and opened the door. He didn't panic when he found it empty. Marguerite had obviously returned to her own room. The message was "No more nooky for you, mister." He supposed he should have expected that, he probably wouldn't be able to lure her back to his bed until all of this was straightened out.
Wincing at the thought, he moved to the next door, but didn't hesitate this time. Julius could actually feel Christian's beady little eyes glaring into the back of his head, so he opened the door at once and then stepped inside to peer around, only to realize this room too was empty.
Turning away he peered at the open bathroom door, and then checked the last bedroom despite the fact that she would have no reason to be there. Of course, she wasn't there either. Marguerite was gone.
Marguerite's eyes widened at the hoards before her as she paused at the mouth of the alley. It opened on to a busy street filled with shoppers moving every which way. While she'd thought the streets were busy at night, they were nothing like the mass of humanity before her now. It made her glad she normally only came out at night. This was madness.
Terribly aware of the sun overhead, Marguerite forced herself to move, thrusting herself into the herd, her nose quivering as she was pressed from every side. Now that she was out of the house, Marguerite was becoming aware of a need for blood. The attack last night had caused a lot of damage and used a lot of blood to heal it, and while Julius had fed her several bags at the time, she knew she should have had three or four more bags on awaking. Instead she'd had none. That was going to be a problem.
She was already paying the price, cramps starting in her stomach.
Marguerite sighed to herself. Her heart was breaking and she was a hungry vampire surrounded by several hundred, or even thousand, living, breathing blood bags with legs. She could feel her teeth shifting in her mouth as the smell of them hit her.
Feeling like a fox dropped in the center of a hen house, Marguerite forced her fangs back into place and hurried up the street, doing her best to weave around people to avoid contact. Unfortunately, they didn't seem to have the same concern. They were brushing, bumping, and knocking her at every turn. It seemed that personal space wasn't a consideration here, she thought with annoyance, withstanding the urge to grab the first plump mortal she passed and drag them into the nearest snickleway for a nibble. She had to get out of there.
Much to Marguerite's relief, the crowd began to thin as she reached the end of the street. She'd broken free of the town center, she realized and paused to peer around. The roads here were wider, allowing vehicles and the first thing she spotted was a row of taxis at a stand. Breathing out with relief, she hurried to the first one in line and leapt into the backseat.
Pulling the door closed with a slam, Marguerite glanced toward the front of the taxi, only to frown when she realized the driver was missing. She twisted on the seat, peering about until she saw a handsome young man break away from a small group of men gathered by the third car. He nodded at her as he hurried toward the taxi and Marguerite relaxed back in the seat.
She eyed his throat as he slid into the driver's seat in front, and then blinked as his voice sounded over the little intercom system between the glass separating front and back of the vehicle.
"Whereto, love?"
Marguerite hesitated, and then asked, "Can I fly from York to Canada?"
He shook his head and turned in his seat to peer at her through the glass. His smile was engaging as his eyes slid over her with interest. "Sorry, love. You'd be wantin' an international airport for that. The nearest one is--"
"Take me to the train station," Marguerite interrupted, uncaring where the nearest international airport was. If she couldn't fly out of York, she'd return to London and fly out of there. She just wanted to get moving. While being in the taxi was better than being outside, the windows weren't curtained and sunlight was still reaching her. The sooner she was indoors, the better.
Nodding, the man turned to face front and started the engine.
Marguerite noticed his eyes finding her repeatedly in the mirror and looking her over, but didn't speak. Her own attention was fixated on the tan skin of his neck beneath his short-cut dark hair. She was hungry and not for food. Her cramping was becoming more insistent and painful.
She felt her teeth shift again in demand, and slid her tongue forward to touch the tip of one as she stared hard at the man's neck, an image coming to mind of her leaning forward and burying her teeth in his throat. Of course, she couldn't, the glass barrier was between them, but that didn't stop the image from replaying through her head along with an imagining of the relief she would feel were she to do that. The pain would ease, and the clamoring in her would be reduced to a less frantic din. All she had to do was--
"Here we are."
Marguerite blinked and glanced out the window at the people moving in and out of the doors he'd stopped in front of; the York train station. The idea of having to move through that crowd while she was in such a state was a scary one.
"That'll be--"
The driver's words died as Marguerite turned back and slid inside his mind. Turning in his seat, he shifted gears and pulled out onto the road again, steering them out of the busy traffic and onto a quieter street. He pulled into a parking lot and parked, got out of the front seat and climbed into the back, his expression blank as he settled on the bench beside her.
Marguerite didn't waste time. Shifting, she climbed onto his lap facing him, her knees on either side of his hips on the seat. She tilted his head to the side and sank her teeth into his neck. The driver's body went stiff and he jerked as her fangs pierced skin, but then he moaned with excitement and raised his hands to grasp her hips as she began to share her pleasure and relief with him. Closing her eyes, Marguerite sighed and ignored the way he clutched at her hips, pulling her hard against him, her concentration was on the blood flowing into her body, easing the pain.