Ildaria stared at the woman blankly for a moment with amazement. She made G.G. sound like a teenager. “You know he is nearingforty now, si?”
“Forty,” Mary breathed with horrified wonder. “And he hasn’t produced a single grandchild for me yet.” Turning on her, sheasked, “When are you two going to get busy on that? I expected to be a grandmother by this age.”
“What?” Ildaria gasped with horror as Marguerite burst out laughing. “We are not even married yet.”
“You’re right,” Mary said judiciously. “So when is that going to happen?”
“I don’t know, maybe when your son asks me,” Ildaria suggested with exasperation. It was the end of October. They had only been together for three months and had been busy during that time working at the Night Club, helping his parents find and move into a house here in Canada, and Ildaria with her new courses at the university. Whatever spare time they had was usually spent either making love, or passed out after making love. They hadn’t had time to talk about the future. But she suspected now that his mother had brought up the subject, she would be harassing them nonstop until they got married and produced a grandchild. Ildaria shook her head at the thought. She loved Mary dearly, she was like a mother to her, but she also drove her crazy.
“Well,” Mary said on a dramatic sigh. “I guess I can’t blame you for that then, can I? I’ll have a talk with my son,” shepromised. “But right now, I’m going to go kiss that foxy hunk of burning love with the red Mohawk . . . and give him the shoppingbags to carry,” she added, and hurried off to meet the men.
“So, how are things?” Marguerite asked as they followed more slowly.
“Good,” Ildaria assured her. “Very good.”
“You do seem much happier. You glow with it,” Marguerite said with satisfaction.
“Oh.” Ildaria felt herself blush at the compliment, but said, “You have a pretty good glow going too, Marguerite. Pregnancyagrees with you.”
Marguerite smiled at the words, one hand shifting to smooth over her round stomach. The woman was six months pregnant nowand really was glowing with it, but instead of responding to the comment, she asked, “Any word about Juan?”
Ildaria shook her head. “He returned home and there has not been a peep out of him. And none of his men have headed north again. I really think he’ll leave me alone now.”
“I do too,” Marguerite agreed. “But I am keeping my eye out for another possible mate for him anyway to make sure he leavesyou alone.”
Ildaria glanced at her with surprise, and then stopped to hug the woman. A difficult endeavor with them both weighed downwith shopping bags full of decorations for the Halloween party at the Night Club that night. Marguerite and Mary were helpingher with the decorations and the menu, and Ildaria appreciated it more than she could express. She’d never arranged a partybefore, but a Halloween party had sounded fun, and Mary had been so excited at the prospect when G.G. had mentioned it, Ildariahad just got caught up in that excitement and agreed.
“Thank you,” she said now to Marguerite, and then releasing her, she added, “For everything.”
“My pleasure,” Marguerite assured her. “Now let’s go tell our men how good they look.”
“Yes.” Ildaria nodded and turned to continue toward her man and her future.
Announcement
Turn the page for a sneak peek of the next Argeneau novel, coming to you this Fall!
Prologue
Mac had just finished setting up his centrifuge when he caught a whiff of what smelled like smoke. He lifted his head andinhaled deeply; there were the astringent cleaner he’d used on the counter surfaces, various chemical and other scents hecouldn’t readily identify that were coming from the boxes he had yet to unpack, and—yes—smoke.
A frisson of alarm immediately ran up the back of Mac’s neck. Where there was smoke there was fire, and fire was bad for hiskind. It was bad for mortals too, of course, but was even worse for immortals, who were incredibly flammable.
Straightening abruptly, Mac stepped over one unopened box and then another, weaving his way out of the maze of unpacking he still had to do and to the stairs leading out of the basement. He took them two at a time, rushing up the steps to the special door he’d had installed several days ago. It blocked sound, germs, and everything else from entering the lab he was turning his basement into. He’d also had the walls sealed and covered with a germ-resistant skin. Apparently, his efforts had been successful. Even at the top of the stairs, he was only able to catch the slightest hint of smoke in the air, yet when he opened the door he found himself standing at the mouth of hell. The kitchen on the other side of the door was engulfed in flames that seemed almost alive and leapt excitedly his way with a roar.
A startled shout of alarm slipped from his lips as heat rushed over him, and Mac slammed the door closed at once. He nearlytook a header down the stairs in his rush to get as far away from it as he could and crashed into a box as he stumbled offthe last step. Pausing then, he stopped to turn in a circle, a mouse in a blazing maze, searching for a way out.
His gaze slid over the small half windows that ran along the top of the basement wall on the back of the house, skating overthe flames waving at him from the burning bushes outside, and then he turned toward the rooms along the front of the houseand hurried to the door to the first one. It was a bathroom, its window even smaller than the others in the main room. Itwas also covered with some kind of glaze that blocked the view. Even so, he could see light from the
