Chapter Text
It had been almost four years since the end of the Great War and it seemed likely that London was forever changed. Jazz clubs and flappers now ruled the night and there was little peace to be had, even so close to dawn. Matthew closed his book, preparing to call for Pierre. Perhaps a short trip to Woodstock would improve his mood.
A flash of movement and color caught the corner of his eye and he whirled around to see the disturbance. A blonde woman, heavily pregnant, carrying some books and wearing a strange assortment of oddly-fitting garments was standing there looking at him in disbelief. He took a step towards her, but then stopped at her expression of relief and...was that joy?
“Matthew!” she cried, sounding shocked, but happy. “You’re home! But why didn’t you come wake me?”
He continued to stand there, completely still, staring at her in confusion. This seemed to agitate her and he could smell her anxiety begin to rise.
She tried again, “When did you get here? I thought you were still in New Orleans with Marcus.” Her voice dropped into a hopeful whisper. “Are you home for good?”
This was too much, he thought, his mouth hardening into a line. If she knew about Marcus’s brood, she would need to answer some questions.
He approached her, far too quickly for her warmblooded eyes to track, appearing less than a foot from her face. She startled and stepped back, but not before he heard her blood begin to sing. Christ, what was a witch of all creatures doing in his house?
“I think you had better begin by telling me who you are and why, as a witch and a stranger, you feel comfortable wandering around my study in my home without an invitation,” he bit out dangerously.
Her eyes widened in fear and then rolled back up into her head. He barely had time to catch her before she began to fall, fainting dead away. As he carried her over to the overstuffed armchair where he’d been reading earlier, he noticed that her strange clothes smelled of him. Not strongly, but definitely like he’d worn them sometime in the not too distant past. They were certainly his size and expensively made, even if an odd style. And she had a vampire’s blood oath marking her forehead. Not just any vampire’s, either, but Philippe’s.
He heard Pierre, then, on the stairs and called for him. He’d need someone to watch the witch while he called his father on the new telephone downstairs. She didn’t look particularly threatening, but she clearly had power and witches, as a rule, couldn’t be trusted.
“Milord! It is good to see you. But what is wrong with madame?” Pierre approached cautiously, as if half expecting a welcome but also fearing a violent outburst.
“Madame? Are you saying you know who this witch is?” Matthew shook his head. Pierre’s words made no sense. “And what do you mean, it’s good to see me? We’ve been living here in Mayfair for the past 3 years.”
“Merde.” Pierre’s eyes widened in shock. “Are you saying you don’t know her?”
“How the hell should I know her? She just appeared, standing over there, and then fainted after I approached her.” Matthew glanced over at the woman, still slumped in the chair. “Now tell me,” he began, his voice rough with agitation, “who is she? And why do you, and she it seems, think that I should know who she is?”
Pierre shook his head. “Milord, you need to call your father. He can explain. I’ll look after madame while you do.”
Matthew stalked down the hall, down the stairs, and into the parlor below, all the while his mind racing, wondering who on Earth this witch could be and why she was here in his house. He picked up the receiver and asked the operator to arrange a trunk call to France. While he waited, he listened for any sign of movement upstairs, but all was quiet.
It took some time, but he was finally connected and his father’s voice boomed out over the line, “Mattaios! It’s been too long since your mother and last I saw you. Are you calling to arrange a visit home?”
“I have a...strange...situation here in London. A pregnant witch appeared out of nowhere in my study. She fainted before I could do more than ask a few questions, so I still have no idea who she is.” His frustration began to rise. He’d gotten used to being blindsided by his father by his father over the years, but it was never a comfortable feeling. “She seemed to know me and the family and she’s carrying the echo of your mark on her forehead.”
“I see,” Philippe began. “Give me a moment to ensure we have some privacy. This is...delicate and needs to stay between us for now. Is anyone there with you?”
“Just Pierre,” Matthew answered, “and he’s sitting upstairs with her while we speak.”
“Alright.” Matthew heard his father calling for Alain to clear the family apartments near Philippe’s office, waiting until his father was ready to speak. “You said she fainted. Is she ill?” He sounded concerned.
Matthew shook his head. Of course his father wouldn’t give a shred of information until his own questions were answered. “I’m not sure. I didn’t examine her. I didn’t sense anything obviously wrong with her, but I was barely in her presence for five minutes. Please. Who is she? And why did you make her my sister?”
Philippe chuckled. “Don’t call her that to her face if you want to survive the encounter.”
“Well, I have to call her something and if you won’t tell me her name, then that leaves either ‘sister’ or ‘madame’ like Pierre. As she clearly knew who I was and seemed to think we were close, ‘madame’ hardly seems appropriate,” Matthew said heatedly.
Philippe sighed. “Her name is Diana and she’s a time spinner.” He waited a moment, as if expecting an outburst. When none came, he continued, “she visited me with her husband a number of years ago. The family was all away that winter, so it’s largely been kept quiet. Only a few people know about her.”
“But I can still hear the mark! It’s supposed to fade after a year. And what possessed you to adopt a witch into the family?” Matthew was incredulous. His mother would be furious once she found out.
“I assume it’s been less than a year for her, which is why it’s still audible.” Philippe paused, as if considering his next words carefully. “She and her husband were hiding from the Congregation in their own time. They’d broken the covenant and she needed a chance to develop her talents before they could return home. She asked for my protection and I granted it.”
Matthew’s brain stuttered to a halt. The implications of everything that had happened catching up to Philippe’s words. He swallowed roughly, asking “her husband? And who is he?”
“Surely you’ve figured that out and are not so stupid as to need to ask,” Philippe admonished. “I’m concerned that sharing even this much with you could alter the future in ways that are hard to predict. Perhaps Diana will have a solution once she’s awake. She must have come here for a reason.”
“I’m not so sure,” Matthew replied. “She seemed genuinely surprised to see me. If she’s ill, it’s possible she was confused and came here by mistake.”
“We will figure something out. But in the meantime, please examine her and make sure she’s alright. Call me if anything comes up, but try to keep this as quiet as possible for now.”
“Of course,” Matthew promised. “I imagine she’ll want to speak to you once she’s awake. She’ll probably have a lot of questions I can’t answer.”
“Do your best, but we’ll arrange a call once she’s feeling better, if necessary. I don’t want her to make herself sick and delay her return home. If this was genuinely an accident, then her husband is probably out of his mind with worry.” With that, Philippe hung up and Matthew was left with the receiver in his hands.
Matthew walked back upstairs, his mind in turmoil. The conversation with his father had provided some answers, yes, but they were if anything more perplexing than being in the dark.
Her scent hit him as he stepped into his office. The witch, Diana he reminded himself, was still passed out in the chair where he’d put her earlier. Pierre stood as Matthew gathered her into his arms. She seemed to sense the change and nuzzled her nose into the crook of his neck. Dieu, she was lovely.
“Pierre, she’ll be staying in the bedroom next to mine. My father has asked that I examine her to make sure she’s alright and that we keep this...visit...to ourselves for now. I imagine she’ll be hungry when she wakes. Can you go out for some basics once the shops open? I don’t imagine we have much here that a warmblood would find satisfying.”
Pierre nodded and walked back downstairs, leaving Matthew standing and holding her to his chest. With an effort, he shook his head to clear his thoughts. He carried her to the Green bedroom, its theme and decorations oddly appropriate for the woman in his arms.
He placed her on the bed and started to remove her clothes, struggling for clinical detachment. No matter who she was, he was still a doctor and she was under his care. Even unconscious, she was shimmering with power, making it smell almost like an electrical storm was raging outside.
He lit a fire in the fireplace, then retrieved some night clothes from his wardrobe. They’d be too large, but warmer and more comfortable than the strange assortment she’d appeared in. Once he’d removed her socks and the thick, strange stockings on her legs, he started checking her over. Her pulse and blood pressure both seemed fine -- a little low, if anything -- but the swelling in her legs and feet worried him, as did her increasing agitation while she slept.
He replaced the stocks with the soft cotton pajama trousers he’d brought and then carefully removed her shirt, exposing her back first. That was enough for him to set her down again and walk to the fireplace, pacing, while he fought for control. Someone had hurt her, had branded this beautiful woman with his insignia. If Philippe’s conversation earlier had hinted at the truth, this confirmed it. The “husband” Philippe kept referring to was a future version of himself. It was insane, but there didn’t seem to be any doubt left.
Determined to finish changing her before she woke, he went back to the bed and finished removing her shirt. What he saw shocked him and sent his mind reeling. There was a scar over her heart vein. Not just a wife, then, but a mate. A pregnant mate with two additional heartbeats. Twins. Deiu, this should not be possible.
He stared at her in wonder for what seemed like hours before remembering himself with a start. She would be confused and frightened once she woke and the last thing he wanted to do was make it worse. After buttoning the pajama top, he pulled the covers up over her, then got into bed with her. Wrapped in blankets, he folded himself around her, hoping that the contact would help her relax. As he held her, one hand drifted down to her belly, resting on the swell, protecting and marveling at the lives within.
Nothing would harm them, he vowed, not while he had breath or blood left in his body.