By Julia

Disclaimer: Laurell K Hamilton owns all the characters. I'm not making any money.

This is a tie in with my story Demon Lover, and also The First Meeting, known as The Fete on Bad
Popsicle’s awesome site. It is placed after both of these.

Jean-Claude’s POV

I held ma petite close to me as we reveled in the after effects of the night. I listened to ma
petite’s heartbeat. Ever since our close encounter with Amador, when he had tried to squeeze to
life from Anita through her heart, she has had a heart murmur. It worries me, for it had been three
months since the last, as she would say, showdown with Amador, and Anita should have healed it
by now. Ma petite slowly fell asleep in my arms, I felt it as her muscles relaxed and her breathing
deepened.

I slipped out of bed, tucking her into the silk red sheets. I slipped into my robe, belting it tight
around me, and stepped outside. There were at least two hours before dawn, and I had much to do.
Even though I could have easily sat for the next two hours just watching ma petite sleep, there
were many loose ends to tie up before our trip, which we would be departing for as soon as the
sunset once again this day. Anita’s bags were packed and ready to go in the living room. She had
come to stay here for the night for fast traveling. We were going to Amador’s estate, in France. By
laws of vampire duels and such, by killing Amador his estate became mine. I wanted to inspect the
place, to see if I would have it torn down and build something new, or if the old house would be
kept intact.

I had suspicions that I would be tearing it down. I was sure it was a very fine mansion, but
lord knows what evil things could be left behind in the wood work, much less the bad memories the
place would invoke in Anita.

As I passed Jason’s room a sound stopped me. A voice. A voice so familiar, so clear and
true, my heart stopped. And it seemed to be coming from the flatscreen television I had allowed
Jason to purchase. I peeked my head in the door to see Jason, and surprisingly Asher, watching the
screen. Jason was watching the film, what appeared to be yet another remake of The Three
Musketeers. But Asher’s eyes were glued to the woman playing in the movie, a look of pure
surprise and disbelief plastered upon his features. She was short, perhaps 5’3”, with dark brown
hair that cascaded down her back in a mass of curls. Her skin was milky pale, and smooth. Her
eyes were a warm brown, lined with black lashes, and her eyebrows were perfect sculpted arches.
All these features painted the exact image of Julianna, the woman both Asher and I had loved so
long ago.

“Mon Dieu, Asher.”

“I know, mon ami. I know,” he answered.

Asher’s POV

I cruised through the underground halls of the Circus of the Damned, seeking something to do.
There were a few hours left before dawn, and Jean-Claude had not assigned me a particular task,
being busy with Anita. I wandered into the living room, to find no one there. But there was
something interesting on the coffee table. A magazine, with a picture of a very lovely young lady on
the front, I ascertained with one glance. But then my eyes were drawn back to the front of this
magazine, and my jaw nearly dropped to the floor in surprise. I picked up the slick papered
publication to take a closer look. The woman had ivory pale skin, and rich brown hair that fell in a
cascading mass of sleek curls around her. Her warm brown eyes were lined with long black lashes,
and her eyebrows were carefully sculpted and tended into thin arcs. Her full lips were curved in a
gentle smile. I felt my knees go weak with the sight of this woman who so closely resembled my
Julianna.

Reading the cover more closely, the cover of People magazine advertised the beauty on the
front cover with a headline, “10 things you didn’t know about Julia Anne Minette.” Julia Anne. The
name was such a close resemblance to Julianna. I turned the pages to the article about this young
lady, Mademoiselle Julia Anne Minette. Mon Dieu! That was Julianna’s surname, so long ago. The
article listed several odd things, such as she earned a double Masters in French Literature and
Drama, and that she only listens to classical music because rock and roll or pop or any other types
of “music” hurt her ears. I could relate on that one. But two things especially caught my attention.
The seventh item listed was that she had developed a strong case of amnesia at the age of 20, she
didn’t really know who her parents were, or where she was specifically from. She had been found
wandering the streets of Paris, and was taken in by a hospital. Her knowledge of life had been
brought back to the surface, but not specifically who she was. And no one had come forward as a
friend or parent as this lovely young lady.

The second item that caught my attention was that she has an acute fear of large fires. She
had been on the set of a Jeanne d’Arc movie, the very last scene to be filmed of her burning to
death. Of course the flames were to be special effects, but the director still wanted a shot of her
tied to the stake. When she was tied to the stake and the cameras were ready to roll, she suddenly
went into hysterics, having flashbacks and what seemed to be memories of burning at the stake, the
flames consuming her from all directions. All of this was caught on film and used for the final scene
after the flames were added in with computers, but she wasn’t acting.

This information struck me to the core. Was there truly such a thing as reincarnation? Or had
Julianna somehow survived without my knowing about it, and healed back to her perfection? It was
all very suspicious, and unnerving.

And then a voice struck me, that sweet, melodic voice that had entranced me so many nights.
At first I thought there were voices in my head, the so called schizophrenia, but I then realized it
sounded as if the voices’ source was the new TV Jean-Claude had allowed Jason to get in his
room. I made my way to Jason’s room, peeking my head into the doorway. “Hi Asher,” said Jason.

“Hello.”

“Want to watch a movie with me?” he invited good naturedly.

“What is this that you are watching?” I entered the room, gently closing the door behind me.
I perched on the edge of a chair, watching the screen of the flatscreen television.

“Its called D'Artagnan, In The Service of The King. Its pretty good, lots of sword fights.
And it has Julia Anne Minet in it. She is so hot.”

Jealousy suddenly curled in the pit of my stomach, but I surpressed it. This young woman
was not mine, I had to remind myself. No matter how much she may resemble Julianna. My lips
curled in a small smile at my sudden response of jealousy, and I was glad my control was great
enough that Jason did not sense it. The wolf had always been kind to me, I did not want to scare
him or make him feel uncomfortable. The scars must do that enough. Although, I have heard Anita
say behind closed doors that I was prone to mean streaks. I suppose this was true. But it was also
odd to hear it come from Anita, the Queen of Quick Temper.

I sat with Jason, my eyed transfixed to the large screen, on the familiar beauty before me.
She seemed at home in the elaborate courtier costume. Jean-Claude chose that moment to peek his
head into the door, much as I had earlier. His midnight blue eyes took in the scene, my look of
surprise, and then he adapted one of his own when he saw Julia Anne.

“Mon Dieu, Asher.”

“I know, mon ami.”

Jean-Claude entered the room, wearing his black robe cinched tight around his waist. A
shame, to be sure. Even after all these years from being driven from Jean-Claude’s bed by Belle
Morte, I still drank in Jean-Claude’s beauty, like a fine wine. And it made me miserable to think
that I no longer had much to give back to his eyes in return. I could smell Anita on my friend, her
sweet scent heavy on his skin. He sat down on the arm of the chair I was sitting in, transfixed on
the screen as well.

Julia Anne played the part of Milady de Winter. She played an excellent villain, sweet and
coquettish one moment, and a hissing viper the next. Neither Jean-Claude nor I paid attention to the
plot though, not just because we knew the book from cover to cover, but because we were too
entranced with this actress Julia Anne. “Jean-Claude, she looks just like Julianna, she sounds
exactly like Julianna, she even moves like Julianna did.” I reached out a hand towards the screen
before realizing my action, drawing back.

“But how could it possibly be her?” said Jean-Claude, thinking aloud.

“I do not know. But the resemblances are frightfully exact.”

Jason shoved a mouthful of popcorn into his mouth. “Damn, Julianna was…” Both I and
Jean-Claude turned a stare of venom to the werewolf, waiting for the ensuing adjective describing
our beloved Julianna. “Beautiful,” he finished. Perhaps the wolf was growing up after all.

“Oui, she was,” answered both Jean-Claude and I. And perhaps still is, I thought to myself,
as I watched this actress Julia Anne.

Anita’s POV

Staring up at Amador’s old estate from the cobblestone courtyard/driveway, I wasn’t quite
sure how to feel. The house was lovely, and huge. But I remembered my stay here bitterly, I
remembered how Amador had dragged me over these very cobblestones, to throw me in a car and
take me to the Council for punishment. That plan had backfired in his face, leaving him dead.
Deader than most, as my father would say.

Feeling eyes upon me, I turned to look at Jean-Claude standing beside me. “Are you alright,
ma petite?”

I blinked my eyes several times, refocusing on the world around me. I realized I had been
staring at the gargoyles atop the roof of the house for at least five minutes. “I’m fine.” Jean-Claude
gave me a look that suggested he believed otherwise. I glared at him, and started for the front door.
I had better things to do than have a staring contest with Jean-Claude. He caught my hand,
preventing me from walking any further forward. I turned to look up at him. “Anita, you do not
have to stay here to prove anything. If it truly bothers you that much, we will go stay at a hotel, tear
this place to the ground, and start building anew.”

“I’ll be alright, Jean-Claude. I was only here for like….5 hours. I woke up, I ate dinner, I
pissed Amador off, and he dragged me off to the council. The bad memories aren’t in the house,
per say.”

Jean-Claude still looked like he didn’t believe me. Then, like magic, the amused mask was
suddenly in place again. He nodded. “We shall see, then, ma petite.” He kissed me on the forehead,
and began to draw away. But I wrapped my arms around his torso, pulling him back, hugging him to
me. “You are trembling, ma petite,” Jean-Claude whispered into my hair, rubbing my back slowly in
comforting lines.

I drew back. “Maybe. Come on, let’s get this over with.”

“Over with?”

I started towards the house again. “Yeah. Are you coming?” Without waiting for an answer,
I walked up the steps leading to the front door. As I reached for the doorknob, the door suddenly
opened before me. The Browning materialized in my hand, and I found myself staring down the
barrel at a very surprised domestic. He was middle aged, and reminded me of a penguin in his suit.
He looked like a butler was supposed to look.

“Ma petite, please refrain from shooting the help, if you can restrain your self.”

I put away the Browning with a mumbled apology. The man slid by me, out the door, still
watching me very closely. Like I was a crazy person, who shouldn’t have been let out of the
hospital quite yet. When he had reached the end of the stairway, he turned his attention to
Jean-Claude. With a nod, he asked, “Monsieur, may we take your bags?”

“Oui, Francois, thank you.”

With a snap of Francois’ fingers, he produced two more footmen. They went to the trunk,
taking our group’s bags and ferrying them into the house.

Asher walked to Jean-Claude’s side. With a soft whistle, the blond vampire’s gaze traveled
over the front of the house. “Amador certainly had no issues with decorum,” he commented.

“Yes, much like us, mon ami,” said Jean-Claude, with a wry smile.

“Indeed,” answered Asher.

Then something hit me, like a smack between the eyes with a sledge hammer. Jean-Claude
and Asher had spoken French. And I had understood. Jean-Claude’s attention turned to me at the
top of the stairs, a concerned statement on his face. “Ma petite, you look as though you have seen
a ghost.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You two were speaking French.”

“Yes.”

“And I understood every word.”

A smile passed Jean-Claude’s lips that was wide enough to flash his white fangs.
“Vraiment?” he asked. I understood it to mean “truly?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“A side effect of the fourth mark, no doubt,” said Asher, pleased as well.

“Well, I guess you guys wont be able to talk about me right in front of me without me
understanding anymore,” I said.

“We do no such thing,” protested Jean-Claude.

“My ass,” I countered, finally walking into the house. This was the first time I had come
through the front door under my own power. I looked around the foyer, a soft “wow,” escaping my
lips. The floor was done in white marble with soft red veins. The walls were a pale ivory color, with
dark wood and gilt gold trim. The ceiling was painted with images of the battle for heaven, Lucifer
trying to take over heaven. The demons of hell were ghastly, with long claws and terrifying faces,
mouths filled with razor sharp teeth. And the archangels were just as magnificent, their gleaming
gold breastplates and great swords a terribly sight to behold. I suppose this scene was fitting for a
domicile of a half demon.

I didn’t hear Jean-Claude appear beside me, but I felt his presence. “Magnifique,” he said
softly, gazing at the ceiling along with me.

“That’s one word for it. How old do you think this house is, Jean-Claude?”

“At least 400 years, perhaps 500. I do not remember when he built it. Of course, I did not
pay attention to such things. Do you know, Asher?”

Asher still stood at the threshold of the house. “I would be glad to tell you, if you invite me
in.”

Jean-Claude chuckled. “I apologize, mon ami. Please, come in. I invite you into my home.”

Asher nodded. “Thank you. This house was built around the year 1600, if I remember
correctly.”

Jean-Claude nodded. “I would not have known that, being born a year later.”

This comment made me turn to Jean-Claude, my eyes widened. He had never given me such
an exact, such a direct clue to his age. Never. “You are four hundred and one years old.”

“This coming August I will be, yes.”

“Why tell me now? After all the effort you’ve put into keeping your age a secret from me,
why tell me now?”

He shrugged. “Why not?”

With a sigh, I said, “You are such a pain in the ass.”

“Thank you, ma petite.” His midnight blue eyes glittered with suppressed laughter.

“And Ash—” I turned to look at Asher, but he was gone. “Where’d he go?”

“He’s around somewhere,” said Jean-Claude, taking my hand. “Come, ma petite, let us
explore our new conquest.”

“Alright.” We walked out of the foyer, into the hall way.

“You are no longer trembling, Anita. Are you better now?”

I nodded. “Yeah. The house has a completely different feel to it, now that Amador is gone. It
has…I don’t know…a lightness to it that wasn’t there before. Like it was waiting for a very long
time to be free of his evil, and now it can just sit, and be beautiful without harboring that sin within
its walls.”

By Jean-Claude’s amused statement I thought he was going to remind me it WAS a
non-living structure I was referring to. But instead, to my surprise, he just nodded, and we walked
on. I still wondered where Asher had gotten off to.

Asher’s POV

I soared through the air, leaving the house near Nîmes behind. It was lovely, to be sure. A true
architectural accomplishment, now in Jean-Claude’s grasp. I would have stayed to explore the
house with Jean-Claude and Anita, but there was something outside that called to me, this night.
Something in the air. The night called to me, beckoned to me with her dark velvet embrace. Flying
through the sky, far above the ground, I felt as if I were one with the star speckled night sky its
self. For the first time in a long time, I felt beautiful. I was an awesome and powerful creature to
behold, and no one on the ground could touch me.

I had always had a particular knack for flying. I’m much better at it than Jean-Claude, if I do
say so myself. He can transport himself from here to there, which is useful. But he couldn’t come
up here with me tonight, to enjoy the air, and the wind whistling past at incredibly fast speeds,
hundreds of feet above the ground. Flying like such is one of the few things I can do, that he
cannot. But who am I to taunt and brag? A scarred thing like myself. Congratulations, Asher, you
can fly like a bird, I tell myself. If only I had feathers to cover the scarred side of my face. Then
perhaps I would not be regarded as such a freak.

A sudden sense of dread struck me, sending me reeling through the air. It was much like a
shared sense, like I had shared with Julianna, so many years ago. I didn’t know where that had
come from, but I soon regained control of my flight, after dropping perhaps a hundred feet in the
air. Then a feminine scream turned my eyes to the ground. Below, I saw one of the large estates
that dotted the country side around this area. Flames licked around the sides of the house, and I
saw three figures on the flat roof, two male and one female. The two males appeared to be
pursuing the female, she was running across the roof.

I felt myself flying towards the burning house to assist the lady who was so obviously in
trouble. “Merde, Asher, are you going to get involved in this?” I asked myself. And it appeared the
answer was, “Yes, I am.”

The much awaited Julia Anne’s POV

I sat curled up in my chair in the large salon, at my estate near the city of Nîmes in France, reading
a book. Notre Dame de Paris, by Victor Hugo. It was an excellent fiction, an excellent piece of
French literature. And there was something about Notre Dame, something that drew me towards
that magnificent cathedral. I had high suspicions that it had played a part in my past. My forgotten
past. Because, you see, at the age of 20 I developed a severe case of amnesia.

Or at least, I think I was 20, even though I haven’t seemed to have aged even a little. But I
don’t exactly know for sure if this is my age. I don’t remember my birthday. But the number 20 just
sounded vaguely right, when the doctors at the hospital tried to coax information of my true identity
from my mind. Much is the same with my name. “What is your name, child?” the doctors and
nurses and therapists had asked me, time and time and time again, until I finally answered Julia
Anne. I gave that name, because it sounded vaguely right to me. But I had a feeling deep in my
heart, that that too wasn’t exactly right. There was another name out there that was my own, that I
couldn’t quite grasp, that was locked in the depths of my mind that refused to come out. I had a
feeling that if I could just hear it once, I would know it was my name, that I would recognize it
immediately.

The first day I essentially truly remember of my life, was about six years ago. I had been
wandering Paris, aimlessly, and was hit by something I now know is called a bicycle. I had been so
fascinated by all the things of Paris that seemed to be new to me. Electricity, cars, lights, flashing
neon signs, motor scooters, that I hadn’t paid close enough attention to my footsteps, and collided
with a man on a bicycle. The man was not hurt, but they took me to the hospital to get stitches. I
had a rather large gash on my arm.

The gash healed in the hospital, before the doctor could even put the stitches in. I didn’t know
why. To my knowledge, I was not a being of any supernatural quality. The doctor thought I was a
shape-shifter. If I were in the United States, this would not have been a problem. But in Europe, to
be outed as a monster could easily mean one’s death, even by such old fashioned means as being
stoned to death, or burned at the stake. But much to my luck, this particular doctor was not so
inhumane. When I told him that I could not remember if I was a shapeshifter or not, but highly
doubted it, he took a blood test to be sure. Turns about that I was not a shapeshifter, which
surprised the good doctor. He placed me in a program to recover my memory, but told no one of
my healing abilities, not even writing it on paper. I probably owe that good man my life.

Which takes me back to the recovery of my memory. I have retained the knowledge that I
have apparently collected throughout my lifetime, which is quite a lot, but not my identity. The truth
is I really don’t know who I am exactly, or rather, who I was. In theory, I am Julia Anne Minette. I
am 5’6”, I have long rich chestnut brown hair, brown eyes, and ivory pale skin. My voice is soft, as
is my temperament, but I can be vicious and witty when provoked. I like music by Bach and
Bethoven and Lully, I cannot stand listening to this modern noise they call “music.” When I go
clothes shopping I find myself drawn to clothes that have lace trimmings, fit bodices, and ruffles. I
always seem to feel more at home in a long skirt than pants. And I always prefer a nightgown in
my sleep.

I earned a double major in college, in French Literature and Drama. My favorite authors are
Alexandre Dumas and Victor Hugo. I speak flawless French, along with English.

I am an actress, popular in Canada, the US, Britain, and France alike. I am famous for my
time period films, my favorite pieces are based in 17th century France. The most recent project I
just completed was yet another adaptation of Alexandre Dumas’ The Three Musketeers, where I
played the role of Milady de Winter. Even though I knew the critics would hate to see yet another
film such as this, I didn’t do it for popularity, or even money, at this point. I did it because I love the
story, I love the costumes, I love the scenery. I love being able to go back to another time-period,
where oddly I feel like I belong more so than in this year of 2002.

This familiarity with the past could be my biggest clue to my past. Perhaps that, and
reoccurring dreams I constantly have. Some are good, and some disturbing. My worst dreams, my
worst nightmares, are of being burnt at the stake. I can always see the flames, feel their heat,
choke of the smoke which seems so real. I will wake up in a hot sweat, as if the flames had indeed
been cooking below me. And then there is another set of reoccurring dreams, of a much more
pleasant nature. They are of two men, one of darkness, and one of light. I know not their names,
but if I were to ever meet them I would know them instantly. After these dreams I will often wake
up in a sweat as well, for totally different reasons, with flashes of midnight blue eyes, or golden silk
hair stuck in my memory.

Footsteps summoned me from my reverie. I looked up from my book to see three large men,
dressed in black, looming over me. My heart suddenly jumped from my stomach to my throat with
fear. I stood up, setting the book down on the chair. “I don’t know what you are doing here, but I
will have to ask you to leave,” I said, hiding my fear behind my words. Surprising me, one of the
men swung his arm, slapping me, sending me skidding across the floor on my side. I let out a short
startled scream on the way to the floor. “What do you want?” I demanded, not getting up. If I
stood once again, it would just give them a reason to knock me down again.

“Shut up,” said one of the men clad in black.

One of the others whistled. “She is a beaut. You know, the boss didn’t say we couldn’t have
some fun with her ourselves, before we took her to him.”

“You know Guilliame, you are absolutely right,” said the smallest of the three men. The one
called Guilliame approached me, until he stood not a yard away. And it was at this moment I
noticed I was not far from a display case along the wall, where I kept rapiers of different styles on
display. With a speed and strength I had never known, or had never thought to use, I smashed my
hand through the glass, grabbing one of the swords. I pushed to my feet and with one smooth
stroke, passed the blade through Guilliame, giving it an extra twist for good measure. “Having fun
yet?” I asked as he fell to the floor, his eyes rolling into to the back of his head.

“Merde, you killed him!” exclaimed the other two that were left.

“Indeed,” I answered, backing up towards the exit of the salon, keeping my eyes on the
remaining two thugs. “But the bastard’s bleeding on my carpet. I don’t like that.”

The smaller one smiled. “Moriceau, we’ve got ourselves a little spitfire here.” He looked
directly at me. “I heard you don’t like fire,” he said with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.
Producing a matchbox from a pocket somewhere, he lit one, and dropped it on a nearby drapery
over the large windows. It immediately went up, flames climbing to the ceiling. A jolt of fear
suddenly shot through me. From the flames, and what these men would do to me if I was indeed
captured. I continued to back away, now into a corridor. But then I realized my only option from
this part of my house would be to flee up the stairs. Not the best of plans with the growing flames
that had now already consumed half of my living room.

“She’s so afraid, Benett. You can see it in her eyes,” said the one called Moriceau.

“Yes, you can see it.” With that Benett rushed me, making a mad grab. With an expert twist
of my wrist I sliced him across the chest. The wound wasn’t very deep, but it was there and must
have hurt, all the same “Damn, bitch!” exclaimed Benett.

I backed into the stairs, loosing my balance and falling backwards. Benett fell upon me again,
wrenching the rapier from my hand. But I managed to roll away, and flee up the stairs. The two
men were close behind me, I could hear them. But I stayed a step ahead, knowing the twists and
turns of the corridors better than my attackers. I rushed through a secret door, locking it behind me,
and made my way up to the flat roof of the villa. I thought I was safe then, until I heard them rush
out to the balcony. “She’s up on the roof,” I heard one of them say.

They soon joined me on the roof. I wasn’t sure if they jumped or climbed. I didn’t really care
at this point, all that mattered was that they were here, and I had to find a way to get away. They
advanced towards me. “End of the line, doll,” said Benett.

Flames were now pushing out from both sides of the house, I choked on the smoke. I was
now seriously contemplating taking the 60 foot jump down to the swimming pool in the back of the
villa. Could I possibly make it? As both Benett and Moriceau rushed me, I decided to find out,
taking a running leap off of the roof, screaming as I fell. I was going to make it. I wasn’t. I was. I
wasn’t. I was!

I pointed my toes, straightening my body, trying to make as little resistance as possible for
when I hit the water. I waited for the stinging slap of the cool pool water, but it never came. Strong
arms caught me, fifteen feet above the water. At first I thought I somehow had been captured in
mid air, but I didn’t feel threatened at all in these arms. I looked to my catcher, so to speak, to see
the ice blue eyes, and golden blond hair that had been in my dreams, for what seems to be an
eternity. And then a name came to me, for as I said before, If I could just see one of them in
person, I would know them. “Asher?”

He looked startled, as if I had slapped him in the face. Half of his face fell in shadow. “You
know my name?”

“Apparently.”

“How?”

“To be perfectly honest, I don’t know.”

Asher’s POV

I sped down, towards the house. The two men in black rushed the woman, and she ran. She ran,
straight off of the roof! Merde! I raced faster and on my way past the roof, I recognized Moriceau,
and Benett. Not a good sign at all. But where was Guilliame? It didn’t matter right at the moment.

As I reached the other side of the house, I saw the woman was going to land in a swimming
pool. Essentially safe enough, but she could still hurt herself from that high of a fall, if she landed
wrong. With another burst of speed I caught the woman in my arms, and headed up for the sky
once again. But when I realized who I had rescued, I nearly dropped her. It was Julia Anne, that
actress we had watched in Jason’s room. But it might as well have been Julianna that I held in my
arms, and I asked Heaven what cruel hoax was this? But what startled me even more, was when
she said, “Asher?”

My heart pounded in my chest. “You know my name?”

“Apparently,” she answered.

“How?”

“To be perfectly honest, I don’t know.”

I took a deep breath. That one intake of air wafted her sweet scent in my direction, that
sweet scent that I knew so well. “Mon Dieu,” I whispered under my breath.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked softly.

“Do you trust me?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

She smiled, meekly. “I don’t know. I feel safe, here with you.”

“Then I will take you somewhere where you will be safe, cherie.”

She wrapped her arms around my neck, resting her head against my shoulder.
Chardonneret, I heard her think in her mind. I felt a tear slide down my cheek as I clutched her
closer. It is Julianna, I thought. Mon Dieu, she is! How could she not be?

I landed softly on one of the balconies of Jean-Claude’s new villa, and entered the living room,
shouldering the door open and closing it gently behind me with my foot. Anita and Jean-Claude
were sitting on the large overstuffed couch, and appeared quite surprised by my arrival with the
woman. I set her down on her feet on the carpet gently. Jean-Claude stood from his seat, eyeing
the woman with wide surprised eyes. He indeed must have been surprised, to show his emotions
through the mask he normally kept up around his visage. “Asher, you did not kidnap this woman!?”
Jean-Claude demanded.

I smiled. “Would I do such a thing?”

Jean-Claude snorted, a very inelegant lapse for my former lover. “I can not believe it!”

“I did not kidnap her, I rescued her. Her house was burning down, and two men were after
her; Benett and Morceau.”

This caught Jean-Claude’s attention. “Benett and Morceau? What about Guilliame?”

“I did not see Guilliame. He may have been there somewhere though.”

Jean-Claude stroked his chin in deep thought. Anita watched the scene, for once, saying
nothing. He turned his attention to Julia Anne to say something, when he noticed her statement. An
statement of recognition, but also confusion.

“Your name is Jean-Claude,” she said softly, studying Jean-Claude.

His eyes widened with this. “How did you know that?” he questioned.

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“She knew my name as well, mon ami.”

It was Jean-Claude’s turn to shake his head, in disbelief. “It is not possible. She cannot be
HER. SHE died, nearly 400 years ago, Asher.”

“But look at her!” I exclaimed. “The resemblance is exact! She sounds like her, even her
scent is that of HER.”

“Do you know who I am? Do you have the answers I have sought, for nearly 6 years?”
demanded Julia Anne. She explained her strange case of amnesia.

“Mademoiselle, we may indeed have the answers you seek. I have a test to settle this,
Asher.”

“What?” I asked, somewhat suspicious of Jean-Claude’s methods.

Jean-Claude turned to Julia Anne. “Seize the night,” were his simple words, but the phrase
had worlds of meaning for us. If Julia Anne could finish the phrase, then it would prove she was
Julianna. It had been something of a slogan for us, like “All for one, one for all.”

“For the day is for sleeping,” she easily replied, then seemed astonished by her own words.

Both Jean-Claude and I were astonished as well. Only one word could pass either of our lips,
“Julianna.”

Julia Anne’s POV

“…Julianna…” That name echoed in my mind, over and over. Something clicked within my mind.
That was the name, THE name I had been waiting for. The one that I would know instantly was
mine, if I ever heard it.

Then they hit me, slamming into me like a thousand battering rams all at once. My memories
flooded through my mind, making me cry out, falling to all fours on the ground. I saw the real
beginning of my life, how I had met Asher at a fete thrown by the duc d’Orleans. I saw my
fiancée, the Comte de Frontenac, beat me out of jealousy for speaking to Asher at the party. And
then Asher whisked me away, taking me to his home in the council chambers, where we had made
love for the first time that night. I saw Jean-Claude, who had protected me in the council chambers
while Asher was away. I saw the fourth mark, felt the bliss of becoming Asher’s. I remembered
our first ménage a trios, the heat and the passion sent me reeling. And then I saw Belle Morte, who
had bartered me to Arturo, and then had helped me escape the council chambers with my two men
on the black stallions Jean-Claude had procured. I saw all this, and much much more. I saw the
witch hunters take us, and that was where the memories stopped, for now. With the right trigger, I
was sure more would be unlocked.

I opened my eyes to find myself on the floor, Asher beside me, both of us stunned. “You
remember now,” he whispered, turning those ice blue eyes to me, his hair covering one side of his
face.

“Some of it, yes.”

“I shared your memories, our memories.”

I nodded. I reached out, touching his hand tentatively. Suddenly I was in a crushing embrace,
held in the strength of Asher’s arms. I didn’t mind, I felt safe, I felt comforted, and I felt at home.

Continue to Part 2
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