Marcus was used to his clients wanting their own way. It was just the way of old crusty Bulgarian diplomats. Working for Khaat had been different. She was so traumatized by James now that she didn't want to go out. Hell, she didn't want him even to leave her in her own house. She wanted him with her all the time. She didn't sleep well without him in the room, even when Brian was asleep beside her. She never complained when he couldn't be, but it was different for Marcus to have someone not running away from him at every opportunity.
She hated going out now because of how disfigured she was. She resisted with all she had, and even so, she had grown to rely on Marcus to help her hide her face in any way they could think of. Sure, there had been photos in the press but the revolted looks from people when they saw her in the flesh made her recoil and retreat behind the safety of her estate. Brian had made it as impregnable a fortress as he knew how to design it, and left to her own devices, she would simply become a recluse for the rest of her life, Marcus was certain.
There were rare exceptions to her self imposed exile. The first exception was if someone she loved were in danger. Her Gryffindor personality got the best of her, and, when combined with her own sense of hopelessness because of the damage James had inflicted, she wasn't the least bit hesitant to toss herself under the proverbial bus for someone else. Marcus was highly attuned to that and had learned her body language and facial expressions and had learned to anticipate.
The second, and recently more prevalent, exception was when her seers abilities started to kick in. That could, and did, happen at any hour of the day or night, and when it did, she had an irresistible compulsion to react and to go wherever it led her. She was drawn, like a moth to a flame. She had told him it was that sudden unquenchable urge to follow those instincts that had at least in part been responsible for the destruction of her first marriage. Her first husband just couldn't adjust to that. Marcus understood that, he supposed, but he didn't envision himself ever getting tired of the adrenalin rush that came with needing to be beside Khaat because of whatever new debacle she would throw herself in front of or in the middle of.
And the pull had come for her again this morning at just about daybreak. She had been at breakfast with her family when she was, for no outwardly apparent reason, struck with such utter terror, the likes of which he had never seen from her, that before she had realized what she was doing, she had leaped up and bolted from the table and was racing to find her wand and the thin summer cloak with the full hood that partly shielded her face. He had raced after her.
She hadn't been sure of where she needed to go, only that it was London. He had managed to slow her down, secure the cloak around her, draw up her hood, place her wand in her cloak pocket, and ported her to London. He had started with Diagon Alley, figuring that was the obvious first choice. She stood for a moment frozen, trying to get her bearings and figure out where her senses were urging her to go.
"This way," she said softly, heading quickly up the street. "Hurry."
"Slow down," he told her. "And stay with me."
"Hurry. We have to hurry," she said urgently. He noticed, even though she had not, that the green stone she permanently had to wear around her neck had started to give off a slight green shimmer. Well, that explained it. Werewolves. And that could only really mean James. Damnit. He was not looking forward to any confrontation with the battleship sized beast. Some back up seemed, now, to be urgently needed before they ran headlong into James Blood all on their own.