Part Three

She'd taken a walk after leaving the Raven, but it hadn't helped.  It rarely did
anymore, these days.  Dani leaned back against the wall of the elevator as she
waited for her floor.  She couldn't wait until she could take a nice, long soak in
the tub and go to bed.  When the elevator stopped, she hurried to the suite; she
found the door unlocked.

The lights were dimmed.  Shane was lounging in a chair, his legs hanging over
one arm.  Branwen was nowhere in sight, but Dani could sense her in the suite. 
Without a word, she went straight to the bar and poured herself a drink.

Shane finally broke the silence.  "Enjoy your meal?"

"I was...interrupted."

"It's just as well.  I found out that your 'friend' the detective is partnered with
one Nicholas Knight...and guess who Nick's master is."

"Lacroix," she growled.  "It figures."  Events of the evening were beginning to
make sense to her now, but she was still too incensed over the loss of her prey
for it to all sink in.  After draining her glass, she slammed it down on the bar. 
"Oooh, the *nerve* of that woman!"

"What woman?"

"The woman that took Eric away from me!  Your latest obsession, Marguerite
de Louvain."

Shane looked at her with interest and smiled to himself.  He now had her name. 
"Really?"

Dani snorted indelicately.  "Don't look so pleased.  After she waltzed off with
my meal, I asked around.  She belongs to *him*, you know."

Shane stared blankly as he tried to follow the conversation.  She was really
angry over this, and he couldn't understand why.  It was only a mortal.  But
then, Dani had never been very level-headed.  "By 'him' do you mean Lacroix? 
I'm not impressed, love.  I don't care who she's involved with.  I..."

"Perhaps Dani is not making herself clear," Branwen interrupted from the
doorway.  "The girl *belongs* to him.  And that means that he's not going to
just *let* her get involved with you."  She smiled as she walked further into the
room.  "Keep that in mind as you try to seduce her."

Shane raised an eyebrow.  "*Try*?"

"See that he doesn't kill you first," she commented wryly.  "I would be very put
out if I had to replace you."

Some people were not so easy to replace, she reflected, thinking of her
mother's death.  The General had murdered her, and Branwen had witnessed it. 
He'd come home to the house in Pompeii, as he did every time he returned
home to celebrate.  During one of the many parties, she'd discovered him
kneeling over his mother's lifeless body.

In a rage, she had attacked him, but he managed to subdue her easily.  Soon
after, he was summoned to Rome, but he'd left her at the Pompeii house.  And
the next year, Branwen found herself given as a gift to his  whore, who was
carrying his child.

********************

The stars were out again tonight.  There were also some clouds, playing hide
and seek with the moon.  Lacroix was staring out the window and
contemplating the heavens.  He was leaning back against the wall of the
window seat with one leg up with his elbow resting against his knee; his chin
resting on his hand.  A book lay forgotten on the seat next to him.

He was not happy; he was unable to stop thinking about Branwen and her
mother, Niamh.  It aggravated him to no end that he could not do what he had
instructed his children to do so often: forget about the past.  It did no good for
him to dwell on it.  He could not go back and change it, and even if he could... 
He'd acted as any man of his of his background and station would have.

***Rome, 65 A.D.***

Niamh and her daughter had fought him at every turn on the beginning of the
trip back to Rome; early on, he'd found it best to separate them.  He found the
woman much more pliable when faced with the possibility of being
permanently separated from her daughter, an act he thoroughly intended to
carry out if he had any more problems with them.  After she promised that she
would behave herself, he allowed them to be reunited.

He was rarely home.  Even when he was, he was so busy that he rarely saw
them much.  On this occasion, he intended on spending a few weeks at
Pompeii, where his family had a vacation home.  His father rarely went there,
and Lucius was counting on that fact; he did not want to spend his much
deserved time away from the Roman Army with his father.  He was also
looking forward to spending some time with Seline, a beautiful young
prostitute that he'd met the last time he was there.

He'd sent a few slaves ahead to help ready the house for guests, Niamh and
Branwen among them.  He intended on having a few parties while he was
there.  This party was particularly wild.  Lucius decided to look for a quiet
place to soothe his pounding head.

He was passing a smaller guest bedroom when he heard noises of a struggle
coming from within.  There was a great crash, and a man came rushing out of
the room.  It could have been Marcus, but he was unsure in the darkness.  He
entered the room, and in the dim light he could see a woman lying on the
ground.  Her clothing was torn, and it looked like she'd been assaulted.

Lucius grew closer; she was too still.  He kneeled by the body and saw that it
was Niamh.  He put his ear to her face and found that she wasn't breathing. 
Unsure of what to do next, he started to rise and get someone to help him,
when suddenly, he was attacked by a screaming banshee.

It had to be Branwen, of course.  Even at her age, she was never far from her
mother's side for long.  Cursing, he somehow managed to subdue the brat
without inflicting too much damage. 

*******************

"Lucien?"

Lacroix was surprised to see Marguerite standing next to him; he hadn't heard
her come in.  He was looking forward to her explanation of what exactly had
gone on in his office earlier with Nicholas' partner.  He'd sensed the
most...interesting feelings coming from Marguerite after she'd led the detective
into the back room.  He sat up and pulled her down onto his lap.

Putting her arms around his neck, Marguerite settled herself comfortably as she
kissed him.  Lacroix placed one hand on her hip to steady her, and the other he
buried in her hair at the back of her head.  She broke free when she was
satisfied that she'd given him a proper 'hello'.  Something was bothering him,
and she could guess what it was.  "I've missed you," she purred into his ear
before kissing it gently.

"Really?" he murmured.

She pulled back enough to look into his eyes.  "I would have been home
sooner, but I wanted to stay with Natalie until Uncle Nick came home."

Lacroix sighed impatiently.  "Are you going to draw this out all night,
Marguerite?  Why don't you just tell me what happened in my office with
Detective D'Angelo?"

"I was just getting to that."  Ignoring his disbelieving look, she asked, "You
saw the woman he was talking to tonight?"

"The young fledgling?" he asked absently.  "Yes, I could see them from the
booth.  Brianna was keeping a closer eye on them for me."

"I know.  When I came in with Natalie, Brianna filled me in on what was going
on.  I heard her ask Eric to leave with her as I approached their table, and
I...interrupted her."

His lips twitched, threatening to break out into a smile.  "So I saw.  She
skulked around for awhile after the three of you disappeared."

"It figures," she snorted.  "That Eric is so stubborn!  He insists on coming to
the Raven, even though he knows it drives Nick crazy.  I don't know how
many times I've warned him about getting too friendly with the other
customers in the club."

Finally understanding what he'd sensed earlier, Lacroix smiled widely.  "And so
you had another talk with him?"

"I scared him half to death, and I think it worked.  Unfortunately, I made Nat a
little anxious in the process.  She didn't think I was going to stop."  Her eyes
narrowed.  "If you tell me that I'm not supposed to stop..."

"Let's just change the subject, shall we?  I don't want to fall out of your good
graces, my dear."

"Fine by me.  Why don't you tell me what's bothering you then?  I know you're
still thinking about Branwen."

"I don't know why," Lacroix admitted reluctantly; there was no use in denying
it.  "Have you called Kayla?"

"I left a message at the hotel where they're staying, but I left it for Anton.  I
thought he'd be less likely to over-react and want to come home."  Marguerite
stood up as she replied, dragging Lacroix with her.  She put her arms around
him as he righted himself.  "How about we find something to distract ourselves
in the meantime?"

Lacroix smiled as he lifted her up into his arms.  "I think that is the best idea
I've heard all night."  He didn't get too far before the phone rang, and he had to
place Marguerite down so she could dash to pick it up.

"Hello?"

"Marguerite, is everything okay?" Kayla asked without preamble.

"Maman!"  Marguerite's eyes widened as she looked at Lacroix.  "Everything's
fine.  Can't I just call to talk?"

Kayla sighed.  She still hated leaving Marguerite 'alone' -- even with Marcus
dead, and even though she was far from alone.  Some habits were just hard to
break, especially after seven hundred years.  She'd picked up the messages
while Anton was out doing some research; when she had seen that Marguerite
had left a message for Anton, she'd decided to call right away.  "There's no
reason why you can't.  How is everyone?"

"We're all fine.  Are you and Anton enjoying yourselves?"

Thankful her child couldn't see her, Kayla grimaced as she replied, "Oh yes,
very much.  I'm meeting up with Anton later."  She wished that she didn't have
to keep the truth from Marguerite.  Everyone thought that she and Anton were
touring different countries in order to spend some time alone
together.--Although that was an attractive benefit, she thought to herself.

The truth of the matter was that she had been searching for scrolls that she had
heard rumors of over a thousand years ago.  Scrolls that might contain
Nicholas' 'cure'.  She had shared her plans only with Anton.  Not only did she
not want to give Nicholas and Natalie false hopes, but she didn't want Lucius
brooding over something that might not ever be found.

"Meeting up with him?" Marguerite asked as she moved to get herself a drink. 
Getting the information she wanted without causing unwarranted concern
might take awhile at the rate they were going.

"You know Anton, he's always getting sidetracked by art in all its forms.  He's
off investigating some architecture, and I'm just not interested."

Marguerite laughed.  "I don't blame you."  She stuck her tongue out at
Lacroix, who was making faces at her to dispense with the small talk and get
on with the conversation.  "I did call with a question in mind, Maman, and it
might sound a little strange.  Do you know of any other vampires that might
have been brought across in Pompeii when you were there?"

"Well, I'm not sure.  There were a few others traveling with us, and one of
them seemed to have been very interested in a slave from Seline's villa.  I
suppose he could have brought her over; I never really thought about it.  I've
told you that after Divia was brought over, the group separated.  Anton and I
couldn't get far enough away."

"I remember, Maman.  A slave?  What did she look like?"

Kayla paused as she though back; it had been so long.  Someone else from
Lucius' past, a vampire today...and in Toronto.  This couldn't be good.  "Let's
see...  She was very tall -- well, for her time anyway.  Maybe about 5'9" or so. 
She had red hair, and extremely blue eyes.  She seemed angry all the time, or,
at least, she never seemed happy.  And she always seemed to be around Divia." 
Something else was tugging at her memory, but she wasn't sure what yet.  "Are
you going to tell me what this is all about, Marguerite?"

"Her name is Branwen, and she was in Fleur-de-lis the other night, buying a
few things.  When Seline was pregnant with Divia, Lucien gave Branwen to
her as a gift.  She disappeared right after Divia was 'healed', but Lucien just
assumed that she ran away."

Lacroix rose from the couch to get a drink.  While Branwen had hated him
when they were mortal, she surely had not carried the grudge this long, had
she?  He wondered if she knew that he'd survived Vesuvius' blast, and, if so,
for how long.  He decided that it wouldn't hurt to prepare himself for the worst
case scenario.  He could still hear Kayla's voice even by the bar.

"I don't like this, Marguerite...not one bit.  Anton and I are coming home."

"Non!" Marguerite exclaimed firmly.  "It's not a big deal, Maman.  She's
probably gone by now.  And if she's not, Lucien can handle her."

"You're right, of course.  I can't seem to stop fussing over you.  Forgive me. 
It's just that I think that Marcus was intimately involved with that girl, and
hearing that she might still be around makes me concerned."

Marguerite coughed as the liquid in her mouth went down the wrong way. 
Branwen had been sleeping with Marcus?  She glanced at Lucien; had he
known?  It was hard to tell what he was thinking, but she knew by the look on
his face that he would not want to discuss it.

Kayla's voice broke the brief silence.  "Marguerite?"

"I'm here.  I'm just speechless.  Do you have any idea how creepy this is?"

"The thought had crossed my mind," Kayla commented dryly.  "Are you sure
that you don't want us to come home?  I can..."

"Maman," Marguerite interrupted, "Lucien looks like he just swallowed a bug. 
*If* Branwen is still in Toronto, and *if* she knows about Lucien, he can
handle it.  Really."

"Fine, Marguerite.  But I want you to promise me that you'll call if you need
any help."

Even though it was unspoken, Marguerite understood that it meant even if
Lucien didn't want the help.  "I will.  I swear," she promised.


++++++++++++++++++++


He was catching up to her.  There was no way she could outrun him; he was
too fast.  It was so dark.  If she didn't know the trail so well, she surely would
have gotten lost, or tripped over something and fallen.  But the darkness didn't
seem to bother the stranger; he moved as quickly and surely as if it were day. 
Without warning, he knocked her to the ground, and it seemed like she
couldn't breathe.

She'd managed to catch her breath by the time he rolled her over onto her
back.  She struggled against him as hard as she could, but he was larger. 
Vaguely, she became aware of her surroundings.  Somehow, she was in a
dimly lit room.  She was very confused; she was sure that she hadn't lost
consciousness, and she was still on the floor, her attacker trying to subdue her.

Her breath was stolen from her once again as his mouth came down on hers. 
His hands were rough as they grabbed at her.  Somehow she knew that he was
going to kill her.  Feeling as though her heart might explode through her chest,
she redoubled her efforts and fought him harder.  He lifted up off her slightly
and tore at her clothing.  Once she realized her mouth was free, she tried to
scream as loud as she could, but her throat was raw.  His arm came up as if he
was getting ready to hit her, and her last coherent thought was that he would
probably beat her to death.


Marguerite's eyes popped open, her breathing ragged.  She lay still, hoping that
she hadn't disturbed Lucien.  The dream had felt so real, she wondered if she
had been thrashing around.  She hadn't had a nightmare in a very long time,
especially one involving Marcus.  This one was especially strange; normally,
she dreamed of the night when he had attacked her and left her for dead.

When she was convinced that she was calmed down, she rolled over, intending
to spoon up against Lucien.  He would comfort her without even knowing that
he had.  But he wasn't in bed with her.  She sat up slowly, her eyes taking in
the empty room.

She was still groggy, but it didn't take much for her to ascertain that Lucien
was blocking his thoughts from her.  Despite this, she tracked him to the
basement easily enough.  He was sitting on the couch, his head leaning back
with her headphones covering his ears.  She could faintly hear strains of the
music; it was Andrea Bocelli's beautifully  soothing voice.  There was a half full
glass on the table next to him.  She could use a drink herself.

His eyes had been closed, but they opened as soon as her feet touched the last
step.  He stood up and removed the headphones in one fluid movement. 
Touched by the haunted look in Marguerite's eyes, he strode over to meet her
and took her in his arms.  She buried her head in his chest and sighed.

He stroked her hair gently and kissed the top of her head.  Marguerite broke
away and moved to get herself a drink.  Lacroix's gaze followed her to the
refrigerator on the other side of the room.  He knew about the nightmare, of
course.  It was troubling her even now, but she was also concerned for him. 
He waited until she had taken a few sips from her drink before he spoke.  "I
didn't want to disturb you," he explained.

"You didn't; I had a nightmare."  She finished the glass and poured herself
another.  "It was about Marcus."  She walked as far as the pool table and
leaned against it.

"Really."  He was trying his best to sound non-committal, but he knew
Marguerite could hear the concern in his voice.  It vexed him greatly that even
in death, Marcus could still frighten her.

Marguerite placed her drink down and picked up one of the billiard balls,
turning it over in her fingers.  "He was chasing me on the path to Louvain
Castle.  It was so dark, but it didn't matter to him.  He pushed me to the
ground, and when I opened my eyes, I was in a dimly lit room.  Somewhere
I've never seen before."

Her breathing hitched, and Lacroix was in front of her in an instant.  He gently
took the ball out of her hands and put it back on the table.  She put her arms
around him and he stroked her back in an effort to comfort her.  "I realized he
was going to rape me, and I struggled harder.  He started to hit me; that's when
I woke up.  It felt so real."

He cursed himself for sharing blood with her tonight.  She must have picked up
on his memories of Niamh, and how he'd found her.  Marguerite looked up and
studied his face, her expression puzzled.  "Why do you think this has
something to do with you?"

Marguerite recognized that look, the one he got when he didn't want to discuss
something.  She decided she had let him brood long enough, and she wasn't
going to accept this anymore.  "Don't deny it, Lucien.  I can sense it.  I want to
know what's going on in that head of yours for a change."

She pulled back from him enough to look into his eyes; he sighed aloud when
he saw the stubborn set of her jaw.  She was not going to let this go.  He didn't
know why he hadn't shared it with her before this, really.  She already knew so
much about his mortal life; more than anyone ever had.  It wasn't as if he'd
done anything to Branwen.  He had purposely given her to Seline because he
knew she would be well cared for, and they could stay well clear of each other.

"I've thinking about what Kayla told you."

"About Branwen?"

"About Marcus and Branwen, yes."  He paused.  "When you came home
tonight, I had been thinking about the night her mother died...  was murdered."

Lacroix paused again; he broke away and went to retrieve his glass. 
Marguerite said nothing, not knowing what she could say.  There were so
many questions to ask, but she wanted to let him tell it in his own way.

"I've told you that whenever I returned to Rome, I spent a great deal of time in
Pompeii, in order to avoid my father.  I often hosted parties at the family villa. 
This time was no different, and the party was very loud and wild.  I was
searching for a quiet place to rest when I heard noises coming from a bedroom. 
A man rushed out of the room as I neared the doorway, and I found Niamh
inside, beaten..." he trailed off.

"She had been raped," Marguerite stated; it wasn't a question, because she
knew -- she'd dreamed it.  

"Yes," he said softly.  "Branwen found me with the body and attacked me.  She
assumed that I had been the one to...harm her mother."

"Who did?"

"I could not prove it, but I believed it was Marcus."

"That's nasty."   Marguerite shuddered.  "What do you mean, you couldn't
prove it?"

Lacroix sighed.  "Precisely that...  It was dark, and I was very drunk."  As he
took a drink from his glass, he decided to paint a clearer picture.  "Marcus'
father and mine were best friends.  Naturally, they expected their sons to be
close as well.  When we were children, I was indifferent about his friendship,
but Marcus always resented me.  Even after all of the underhanded things he
tried to do to me, I never thought him capable of murdering a woman."

Off Marguerite's disbelieving look, he added, "Of course, now I know better,
and that he is Niamh's killer does not surprise me in the least."

"And since Branwen was his lover, she's never going to believe that he killed
her mother."

"No," Lacroix admitted readily, making his way back to the pool table as he
spoke.  "But then, she never really stopped hating me.  Niamh, on the other
hand, had come to accept her situation.  I would have freed her eventually, and
Branwen along with her."

When he was near enough to her, Marguerite pulled his head down towards
hers, and kissed him.  Lacroix lifted her up to sit on the table, and she was
smiling dreamily when they broke apart.  Slowly, she moved her hands over his
shoulders and down his chest to begin working at the knot in his robe.  She
whispered, "I want to forget about all this, at least for a little while.  Let me
share another dream with you, it involves you and this pool table..."


End Part Three