by Lynsay Sands
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 baby’s 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 regard 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.”
Seventeen
“Julius Notte?”
Julius came to an abrupt halt halfway across his study as the doorway was suddenly crowded with men. The Argneaus.
“I’m sorry, Julius.” Vita moved to his side. “I did ask them to wait and said that I would bring you right along.”
He waved her apology away, knowing it wasn’t her fault, and then arched an eyebrow at the men still crowded in the doorway.
The man at the front of the group moved forward, a hand extended.
“Bastien Argeneau,” he introduced himself.
Julius nodded and accepted the hand in greeting.
“I apologize for not waiting as requested.” His gaze encompassed both Julius and Vita, and then he smiled wryly and added, “But we couldn’t. We’re all a bit worried about Mother. She was calling home every day for the first three weeks she was in England, and then the calls suddenly stopped. Thomas flew to England to look for her and we were tracking her cell phone to try to find her, but it turned out we were tracking someone who mugged her and stole her purse and the cell phone with it.”
“She was mugged outside the Dorchester the night we moved from there to Claridge’s,” Julius said wearily, thinking it seemed so long ago now, though it had barely been a week since it had happened.
“Ah.” Bastien nodded. “Well, when Thomas was able to find her, the rest of us flew over to help. We were scouring York when we found out she’d called our Aunt Martine and left this number. I managed to use the phone number to get this address. Is she here?”
Julius hesitated, wishing he could reassure the younger immortal, and wishing he didn’t have to tell him what he did, but finally blew his breath out and admitted, “She and our son were kidnapped off the street earlier tonight.”
There was a stunned silence, and then one of the men behind Bastien said, “Kidnapped?”
Another said, “Our son?”
Julius opened his mouth to explain the “our son” part, but such a long and convoluted explanation was beyond him at the moment, so, he merely nodded and said, “Yes. Kidnapped. I have men out looking for the van that took them, as well as any sign of Je—the man we think is behind it,” he said, avoiding mentioning their father for now. “I have had to stay here waiting in case there is a ransom demand.”
Bastien’s eyes narrowed and Julius felt a slight ruffling in his thoughts. Mouth tightening as he realized the immortal was trying to read him, he immedi
ately slammed his guards up into place to block him out.
“You said ‘our son’?”
Julius turned to glance at the speaker, his eyebrows raising in question.
“I’m sorry,” Bastien said quietly. “This is my brother, Lucern.”
Julius nodded, and offered his hand, saying, “Marguerite’s oldest son. The writer.”
And the one he’d never got to meet back when he’d first found Marguerite and married her.
“And this is our cousin Vincent,” Bastien introduced the next man.
Julius raised an eyebrow. He’d expected the man to be the youngest son, Etienne, but he supposed that must be the man standing glowering behind the others. They all looked like their father, or at least their father’s twin brother since he’d never met Jean Claude himself. But while the rest of the men were dark-haired and the resemblance to their father could be seen, the blonde at the back bore the most striking resemblance.
Vincent held his hand out, recapturing his attention and Julius accepted it, saying, “You’re Marguerite’s nephew. The one who produces and acts in plays. My own nephews Neil and Stephano work for you.”
Vincent’s eyes widened. “I thought you must be related to them when I heard the last name.”
“Yes. I’m Christian’s father,” he said.
“Christian’s father?” His eyebrows went up and then he frowned with concern. “Christian isn’t the one kidnapped, is he?”
“Yes,” Julius admitted unhappily.
“But you said ‘our son,’” Lucern growled with confusion. “Yours and whose?”
Julius ran a weary hand through his hair as he realized he simply couldn’t avoid explanations. “Mine and your mother’s.”
There was a dead silence as three pairs of male eyes all widened in shock. Only the man at the back of the group didn’t react so. Instead, his eyes narrowed and that made Julius’s eyes narrow on him and he suddenly got the feeling this was not Etienne Argeneau, the youngest son. In fact, he realized, this man was much older than the others. He could sense his power and strength and he carried himself like a king.