"What do you think?"
Marguerite smiled at Christian as he threw himself into the chair next to her at the table. It was their night out to get to know each other, but rather than getting tickets to a concert, she'd decided she'd rather hear him perform, so Marguerite had asked him about his band and if she might attend the next time they performed. Christian had seemed a little uncomfortable when she'd first suggested it, but had agreed and told her they were playing at a local spot in a couple of nights and she was welcome to come.
She'd spent the time between then and this evening looking for any little signs of herself in Christian, and she'd actually found some. Where his father had black hair, Christian's was a dark auburn like her own. He had his father's eye color but her large almond-shaped eyes. He had his father's jaw but her high cheekbones. It was nice to note these things, but hadn't made her more comfortable around him, and, despite her desire to get to know him, Marguerite found herself feeling and behaving in a stiff and unnatural manner around the boy.
Julius had reassured her over and over that everything would be all right and just to relax and be herself, but while Marguerite had a sincere desire to feel and act with Christian as she did around her other sons, he wasn't her other sons. She had centuries of shared experience with them and virtually none with Christian. On top of that, Marguerite was suffering under a burden of guilt and regret for the time lost with him. She was struggling.
Right this minute, however, some of her stress had lifted. Marguerite had always loved music and found it soothing, and had realized as she watched and listened to her son play that here was something they had in common besides hair color. Here was something they could discuss. Christian played violin in his rock band, and he played well.
"You hated it," Christian guessed when she remained silent so long.
Marguerite shook her head quickly. "No. I didn't. I quite liked it. This is the first time I've heard violin rock live, but I've always thought it added a fascinating sound to the mix, and you play very well. I enjoyed it."
When he looked doubtful, she insisted, "It's the truth. Actually, I was just thinking that you must get your musical talent from me. Your father is tone deaf."
"Yes, he is," Christian agreed with a grin, then said, "You play?"
"Yes. Piano, violin, guitar, drums--"
"Drums?" Christian interrupted with disbelief.
Marguerite shrugged. "If it makes music, I've probably played it. I have always loved music and it filled up my time. Being a housewife is extremely boring, especially when you have servants to actually do the work," she said wryly and then breathed out a little sigh and admitted. "I used to play all the time, but haven't as much since Jean Claude died. I was finally free to come and go as I liked and I've been going a lot, but tonight has made me want to play again."
Christian glanced toward the stage as the next band began to warm up. "They're going to start up. Would you like to go somewhere quieter for a coffee or something before we go home?"
Marguerite nodded at the offer, knowing it was purely so they could continue to talk. Christian didn't eat or drink. When she realized she was smiling and that it felt more natural than any of the other smiles she'd given him since finding out he may be her son, Marguerite felt herself unclench a little inside. Perhaps it would be all right after all.
"There's a coffee shop around the corner," Christian said as they stepped out into the night. "I don't know if it's any good there, but its close enough we can walk."
"I'm sure it's fine," she said as they started along the street.
"Hey, lady, you dropped something."
Marguerite and Christian paused and glanced back to see a man pointing to a small purse lying on the sidewalk.
"I'll get it," Christian said, releasing her arm to hurry back along the street.
"But I didn't bring a--" Her confused words came to an abrupt halt as Marguerite became aware of movement out of the corner of her eye. Turning sharply, she realized they'd stopped at the mouth of an alley and someone--two someones, she realized--in dark clothes and masks were rushing out at her.
Marguerite instinctively turned to make a run for it, but didn't have a chance. Before she'd taken two steps, they were on her.
Cursing, she struggled briefly but they were immortals, and both larger and stronger than she, she soon found herself caught against one of the men, a long, wickedly sharp knife at her throat. For one moment, Marguerite thought he intended to cut her head off right there in the street, but he merely pressed it to her throat until he drew blood, forcing her to stop struggling.
Breathing shallowly and trying not to move to prevent the knife from sinking any deeper into her flesh, Marguerite saw Christian stop halfway back to the purse and turn. He froze at the sight of her predicament. The man who had called out that she'd dropped something was scuttling away up the street. No doubt he'd been paid to distract them with the purse business, she thought on a sigh, then met Christian's angry gaze.
"Run," Marguerite ordered, uncaring of the knife at her throat.
When Christian stared at her silently, his expression unreadable, she knew he was going to be stubborn about this.
"Christian, do as I say, dammit!" she snapped, stomping her foot furiously and ignoring the bite of the knife as it slid deeper. "I'm your mother!"
"Yes, you are," he said, a smile slowly curving his lips upward, and then he raised his arms in surrender and walked forward.
"Turn around," the fellow behind her ordered when Christian paused a few feet in front of them.
Christian tossed her a reassuring glance and turned around, asking cheerfully, "So, where are we going?"
Instead of answering, the second man stepped up behind him. Marguerite cried out in warning, but it was too late, the man had driven his knife into Christian's back. As he twisted and jerked the knife upward, she began to struggle, uncaring of the damage she was doing herself, but paused when a shout sounded from the entrance of the restaurant.
All three of them froze, only Christian continuing to move and that was only to collapse to his knees. Marguerite peered toward the restaurant to see Dante and Tommaso rushing forward, but the twins stopped abruptly at an order in Italian from the man holding her.
Marguerite wasn't surprised to see the pair. Julius had told her that he wanted the twins to follow them and keep an eye out tonight and she'd agreed so long as they kept their distance so she and Christian could talk freely. They'd been sitting at the other side of the bar and she'd seen them get up to follow when they left, but the bar was crowded and they'd had farther to go to reach the door. She and Christian should have waited at the door for them, Marguerite thought unhappily.
When the man holding her said something else in Italian, his comrade nodded and immediately lifted Christian, hefting him over his shoulder. He then came to stand beside them.
Marguerite stumbled and nearly beheaded herself when the man holding her suddenly began to back toward the alley, but she quickly grabbed his arm and managed to keep her feet. Her hold didn't ease the pressure of the knife against her throat however and it was a tense few minutes as they backed into the alley.
Dante and Tommaso followed slowly, eyes narrowed, bodies tense as they waited for an opportunity to intervene, but that never came. Marguerite was backed up to a van, and held still while the second man opened the side door and dumped Christian's unconscious body inside. While he then rushed around to leap behind the steering wheel, Marguerite was dragged back into the van by her captor. The knife remained at her throat until he threw her aside to close the door. Marguerite took that opportunity to crawl to Christian and try to check on him, but the next moment pain radiated through her head and unconsciousness claimed her.
Julius stood, staring out the window of his office, his gaze lifted to the stars overhead. Somewhere out there, under those stars were his lifemate and son... and he may never see them again.
That thought had been running repeatedly through his head for the last two hours since Dante and Tommaso had returned to the house and told him that they'd failed in watching his son and Marguerite and that the pair had been taken.
Julius had wanted to crawl across his desk and rip both their hearts out, but he'd calmed somewhat since then. At least, he didn't blame them anymore for what had happened. They'd done their best. The fault lay with him. He should have refused to let Marguerite out of the house. But she was so uncomfortable around their son and had been so eager to spend time getting to know him, and the previous attacks had always taken place when she was alone without another immortal nearby to aid her, Julius had thought she'd be safe.
He'd thought wrong, and now it could cost him both Marguerite and his son. Damn Jean Claude Argeneau! He had to be behind this.
"Julius?"
He turned sharply, his gaze moving eagerly to Vita as she entered his study, hoping for news. Waiting for a ransom demand that he knew would never come was driving him wild, but Marcus had pointed out that they had called in everyone who worked for them, mortal and immortal alike, to search for the pair, or some sign of the van that had taken them, or even for Jean Claude Argeneau. And if there was a ransom demand, he should be there for it.
It was possible, Marcus had suggested, that this was a different matter altogether. After all, the other attacks had been outright murder attempts on Marguerite alone and they hadn't really had to take Christian at all once he was disabled, but had. Also while his son had been stabbed he could recover from that and Marguerite hadn't been harmed much before being dragged off.
Julius didn't think even Marcus believed these suggestions, but he was hoping the man was right as he watched Vita cross to him.
"What is it? Is there news?" he asked, hoping that if there was, it was good news.
"No," she said apologetically. "I just thought you should know, some of Marguerite's family are here."
Julius's eyebrows rose with surprise and then he frowned. "Which ones?"
"I'm not sure," she admitted. "The only one who introduced himself was Bastien. He's one of her sons, isn't he?"
"Yes." Julius nodded. Bastien Argneneau was the one who ran Argeneau Enterprises.
"There are three others with him."
Sighing, Julius moved around his desk and headed for the door.
"Well, that was a cheap shot."
Marguerite opened her eyes and peered down at her son. She'd woken up several moments ago to find that they were locked in some kind of cell or dungeon, both of them with chains around their ankles, tethering them to the wall. But their upper bodies were free and the length of the chains allowed some movement. The first thing she'd done was check Christian.
Marguerite had been alarmed by the state he was in. His wound was already healing of course, but he'd lost a lot of blood. She'd known he'd be in pain when he woke up and had left him to sleep while she'd taken a look at the chains around her ankle.
Marguerite had tested their strength, tugging at the chain between the wall and her ankle. When the links hadn't shown any sign of stress, she'd then tried to pull the fastening out of the stone wall instead, but that hadn't given any either. They wouldn't be able to break the chains.
Marguerite had then shifted back to Christian and lifted his head into her lap to whisper soothingly and brush the hair back from his face as he moaned in pain. She could sympathize with him. Marguerite was in a bit of pain herself. The head wound she'd taken must have been a serious one. Her head was throbbing, the side of her face caked with dry blood, and her body was screaming with a need for more blood to replace what had been lost. She thought that the man must have caved in the back side of her head. No doubt, her body had used up a lot of blood to repair it. They were both in a bad way, which had, no doubt, been the intent of their attackers. In this state, they weren't likely to cause too much trouble or have the strength to break their chains.
Frightened for their future, Marguerite had begun to sing a lullaby she used to sing to her other children when they were young. The sound had seemed to soothe Christian. At least, his moaning had slowly quieted, leaving him sleeping peacefully. She'd sung until her voice began to crack from a dry throat, and then had fallen silent and bowed her head as exhaustion had claimed her. Marguerite had finally closed her eyes, dozing in and out of a fitful sleep that had ended the moment Christian spoke the wry complaint about being stabbed in the back when he'd surrendered.
Now she opened her eyes and peered down at him with a relieved smile. He was pale from loss of blood and there were lines of pain around his eyes and mouth, but he was alive and awake and she could have wept with relief.
"Yes, it was a cheap shot," she agreed. "And completely uncalled for since you'd given up."
"But smart," Christian murmured.
When she raised her eyebrows, he shrugged mildly in her lap. "I may have appeared resigned, but even a tame cat can turn."
Marguerite smiled faintly and brushed her fingers through his long hair. It was as soft and silky as a babies and her smile faded as she said, "I wish I had seen you as a boy."
"I wish you had too," he said solemnly.
"I bet you were adorable."
"Undoubtedly," he agreed tongue in cheek.
Marguerite closed her eyes as pain radiated through her head. Once it had passed, she smiled at him in what she hoped was a reassuring manner and said, "Tell me what your childhood was like. Were you happy?"
Christian hesitated, but then his smile faded and he began to try to sit up. "I think we would do better to try to find our way out of--" Christian's words ended on a quick inhalation of breath as he got halfway upright and then froze before dropping back to lay against her.
"I think we are both still healing and you should stay put until you can move without turning green," she suggested quietly.
"Green, huh? At least my head is not misshapen." The words were said lightly, but there was concern on his face as he peered at her. "Does your head hurt very badly?"
"Yes," Marguerite answered simply, and then added, "Now stop changing the subject and tell me about your childhood. It'll distract us both from the pain. Was it a happy one?"
"Happy," Christian echoed the word thoughtfully and then nodded. "For the most part. Father was a good father."
"Did you always call him Father?"
"No. I called him Papa when I was young, but you know, after a hundred years it seems a bit undignified so I switched to Father."
Marguerite chuckled softly and leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes to try to imagine what he spoke of as he continued, "I lacked for nothing, except for you, of course. But Gran and the aunts spoiled me rotten to try to make up for it. Naturally, I took full advantage."
"Naturally," Marguerite murmured, forcing away the guilt she felt for not being there for him.
"Father was always there for me," he added solemnly. "He played with me when I was young and trained me himself."
"What did he train you in?" Marguerite asked, trying to keep the pain out of her voice.
"Battle, hunting, feeding..."
"Were you a good student?"
"The best," Christian assured her. "I was always trying to please him, to make him smile. He always seemed so sad. I thought if I could just be perfect, the sadness might leave his eyes."
Marguerite swallowed thickly and kept her eyes closed to keep back the tears gathering behind her closed lids.
"I remember asking Gran once why Father was always so sad, and she said it was because he missed my mother. That she'd hurt him terribly. It's the only thing she ever really said about you, and she seemed angry when she said it, so for the longest time I didn't ask about you anymore. But of course, the older I got, the more curious I became and when I was a teenager I think I drove them all crazy with questions about you."
"Not that it got me any answers," Christian added, a wry note to his voice. "They had a pat line they gave me. Your mother is dead and that is all you need to know."
"It wasn't enough. I wanted to know what you were like. I thought you must have been wonderful for him to miss you so much, and I was sure everything would have been all right if you were just there with us. Father would smile and be happy and I would have the smiling woman from the picture as a mother, and she would love us both and make everything all right."
Refusing to let them fall, Marguerite blinked away her tears, and then peered at Christian with fear in her heart. His honesty was frightening to her. It told her he thought they weren't likely to survive. She didn't think he'd be this forthright otherwise. She had her own fears in regards to their survival. The previous attacks on her had been outright murder attempts and she doubted their captors had much better intentions now despite having included Christian this time. But they couldn't afford to give up. So long as there was hope, there was a chance, but if he gave up...
"Christian," she said quietly. "We're in a spot of trouble here, but we aren't done yet. Don't tell me anything you will regret when we get out of here."
He peered at her, solemn and unblinking. "I have had a million imaginary conversations with you over my five hundred years. Let me tell you. I might not get another chance."
Marguerite bit her lip, but held her tongue. "I always believed them when they said you were dead," he continued quietly. "Otherwise you would be with us. But I often daydreamed that you were there and proud of me."
"I'm sure I would have been," Marguerite assured him. "And I wish I..."
"What do you wish?" Christian prompted.
Marguerite frowned. She'd been about to say that she wished she'd been there to tell him so, to love and mother him as he deserved, to help raise this handsome young man, watching over him proudly as he grew to manhood. But she had stopped herself because that would be a betrayal of her other children. If Jean Claude had not done what he'd done, and she had stayed with Julius and Christian, then Bastien, Etienne, and Lissianna would never have been born. She couldn't wish for that, not even for a moment. Marguerite loved and cherished all her children.
"Mother?" Christian whispered.
Marguerite felt a thickness in her throat when he called her that, but forced a small smile and a shrug and said, "I wish for the impossible."
"I understand," he assured her solemnly.
Nodding, she blew her breath out, forcing the sad mood with it and then teased lightly, "So you were spoiled rotten by your aunts and Gran?"
"Of course," Christian said, matching her tone. "I am an only child. Only children are always spoiled rotten. They get all the attention and all the goodies."
Marguerite smiled wryly and murmured, "Oh, dear."
"Oh, dear?" he echoed curiously.
"Well, you are not an only child anymore, Christian. You have three brothers and a sister and will soon be an uncle."
A startled look entered his eyes at her words, and he admitted, "I hadn't thought of that. I mean, I knew you had other children, of course. But my mind never made the leap to..." He shook his head in wonder. "Brothers and a sister."
"They will love you," Marguerite assured him. "Bastien's nose will be out of joint at first because he will drop in ranking from second son to third, but they will all love you."
Christian snorted at the claim. "It is more likely they will resent having to share you after all this time."
Marguerite gave a dry laugh. "Trust me my dear, they'll be grateful to have someone else for me to interfere with and take some of the heat off of them. I have driven them mad for years, sticking my nose into their business. They will be glad for any respite."
"I don't believe that," Christian assured her.
"No?" she asked with amusement. "Well, you wait until I'm dragging home the check-out girl from the grocery store for you to try to read." Marguerite shook her head. "No. I have no doubt they are enjoying their break from me while I am over here in Europe."
