Without speaking, Nicholas turned, took Marcus’s right hand in his and placed it over his heart, placing his left over Marcus’s for the space of three heartbeats before breaking the contact. The ancient gesture was one of friendship and respect that was shared only among the closest of friends. It was the kind of thing that Marcus wouldn’t have been surprised to see before Sarah’s death. Nicholas smiled, just a slight curl of his lips that didn’t reach past the sadness and fear in his eyes.
Marcus watched in a daze as Nicholas stepped into the guest room and closed the door.
The strange feeling of disconnection held as Marcus walked to his bedroom, and exhaustion took over. Stumbling, desperate for much–needed sleep, his mind spun out of control. Not caring for anything beyond wanting to get some rest, Marcus peeled off his shirt, letting it fall to the floor. Not bothering to take off his pants, he slid between the fine cotton sheets. In spite of his whirling mind, he was asleep almost the instant his head hit the pillow. How’s that for a kick in the ass? Marcus thought before he slipped into his usual dreamless sleep.
4 – UNKNOWN – UNKNOWN
Hushed voices drip honeyed lies into her mind.
Soothing words caress her like a lover’s touch.
Traitors’ voices taunt, poisoned barbs sink into her psyche, and fester.
SHE WAKES, WRITHING in flame, the pyre’s fingers licking up her body. They dance along her ribcage, phantom reminders of his touch. Her body screams in agony as she grinds her teeth, jaw aching from the strain. The scream in her throat is nothing in comparison to the one that echoes through her mind. As the storm passes and the flames subside, she can rest again.
HIS HAND DRIFTS down her neck, skating over her throat to her ribs. The cool touch soothes the inferno within, more than the cool air over her exposed flesh. She hears him whispering, but cannot force her mind to understand his Russian dialect. His gentle murmur ceases a moment before the sharp blade slides into her flesh. The pain is like a fog, slithering through her until it covers everything. Her screams shatter the silence, first one then another, and another until there are no pauses. She hears the soft patter of what sounds like falling rain, and knows that it is her blood. She watches as the ‘Doctor’ carries away what’s been collected. She doesn’t know what he does with it, nor does she care. She welcomes sweet oblivion as it enfolds her.
TWILIGHT FILLS HER mind, coloring everything in muted tones. She hears movement, but her muscles refused to respond; too much energy is being expended to heal the damage she has sustained. A cool hand braces the back of her neck and presses a bleeding wound to her lips. The rational part of her wants to fight, but the Beast is starving. It hijacks her thoughts, instinct taking over as a drop of blood touches her tongue. It’s like touching a live wire in a hurricane, her fangs slam into the flesh, and she drinks in long and greedy pulls. Energy courses through her, then she screams, as the burning intensifies until her mind shuts down.
HUMIDITY TICKLES HER nostrils before a fat drop of cold water lands on her closed eye. She takes a deep breath. Wet wood, storm clouds, moss; the area pulses with life, and decay settles over everything like a shroud. Morgan’s eyes snap open as her misfiring synapses make the connection. She is in a swamp, sitting with her back to a tree. Someone has dressed her in oversized hospital scrubs that smell of the Doctor. She wrinkles her nose and fights the urge to rip them off. She massages her throbbing temples and pushes herself to her feet, her legs, unable to support her weight as she slips back to the wet earth. Her back scrapes along the tree’s thick bark, as she gives into the darkness once more.
5 – THE BAYOU – UNKNOWN
MORGAN OPENED HER eyes, taking time to let them adjust to the light. Sounds of the bayou assailed her ears, and the full moon hung in the star speckled sky. She rubbed her temples and dragged her hands through her hair. What the hell? she thought as she surveyed her surroundings. She was propped up against the trunk of a tree and her feet dangled into the soup–like water. Morgan shook her head, trying to clear it, to access memories that would explain how she’d ended up in a swamp. As her eyes scanned the darkness, she made out the shape of a large semi–truck. Adrenaline surged through her, and Morgan pulled herself to her feet. She looked back at the semi and saw a shaft of light appear at the center of the trailer. Time’s up, she thought, and started running deeper into the bayou.
The swamp was silent, as if even large predators knew that something more dangerous was among them. Azreal moved through the thick undergrowth and thigh deep water with none of his usual grace. He knew that the master wasn’t going to be pleased. They had lost their best prospect and now she was somewhere in the vast Louisiana bayou. The night hadn’t gone as he’d planned from the start and it didn’t look as it was going to finish that way either. He paused, listening for the sound of Morgan’s passage, and smiled when there was a splash that no human would have been able to hear up ahead.
It could be an animal, but they’ve been damned quiet since we started moving through here, he thought, straining his senses. This mental shit’s never been my strong suit. Damn it. I have no clue if that’s an animal or Morgan. Why couldn’t she be a good girl and stay put? No, she has to run at the first opportunity, Azreal thought, as he glanced at Julian and saw the other vampire heading in the direction he’d heard the noise. That’s her; trust her blood ties with Julian to turn him into a bloodhound. Perhaps this night is starting to look up, he thought, as he began following Julian.
Azreal’s night had started going south in New Orleans. The woman he’d found to spend the evening with had turned out to be an unsuitable prospect. She had too many friends who’d begun asking uncomfortable questions. As a result, Azreal had been forced to find a second human; he hadn’t been able to spend as much time with her, as he had the others. She’d still been alive when he dragged her into the alley. As if his luck couldn’t have gotten any worse, Elizabeth had been in the area and had come to investigate the commotion that the woman’s death throes had caused. He’d been forced to subdue the other vampire and, knowing that the Doctor needed new subjects, Azreal had brought the enforcer back to the lab.
I never expected the Doctor to be so taken with Elizabeth. Shit, I’m surprised he left Morgan alone long enough to sleep. Who would have guessed that he would latch onto Elizabeth like he did? If I had just done her in, then I wouldn’t be traipsing around the swamp looking for Bloody Morgan!
I don’t know, nor do I care, how she managed to escape. While I’m searching for her, the night ebbs ever closer to sunrise. I need to take shelter before then, Master’s wrath be damned, and am not about to end my existence as a perverse parody of a Roman Candle.
“This is a waste of time. She’s gone to ground,” the second vampire called, his silver eyes flashing with anger. Azreal stopped and slammed his fist into a tree; not caring that he’d left a perfect imprint of his knuckles on the trunk.
“Where?” Azreal demanded, rounding on the second vampire. “You are her Sire! Where has she gone?”
“I don’t know.” Julian whispered, as if answering the question in a low tone would prevent Azreal’s rage.
Growling low in his throat, Azreal turned the way they’d come, dreadlocks flying away from his head. Dark, almost black eyes, pierced the night as he walked, trusting that Julian would follow.
I have no idea what that doctor did to Julian, but I am not going to let it happen to me, Azreal thought before turning his mind to more practical matters. What the hell am I going to tell the bastard when we get back to that so–called lab?
Morgan stayed still, using every ounce of control she could muster to mimic a statue. The shadow of the moss–covered tree gave thick cover, but with two vampires on her tail the slightest movement would mean going back.
No, I’ll find some way to end my existence before I go back there, she vowed to herself. Azreal spun; his dark gaze seemed to latch right onto her. She fought the urge to close her eyes, certain that he would notice. He pau
sed. Those merciless pools narrowed for a moment before he shook himself and stalked further into the swamp. It was harder to watch Julian leave. The creature wore her Sire’s face and spoke with his voice, but nothing that made him who he was, remained. He had moments of pure sanity, but over the weeks Morgan had watched those diminish in length and frequency. She held herself in check as Julian scuttled after Azreal, wringing his hands and muttering under his breath.
Wanting as much distance as possible between herself and the “lab,” Morgan waited several minutes. Once it was safe, she stumbled through the thick undergrowth, each step straining her weakened body past every limit she thought she had. Dense clouds obscured the moon, leaving the air thick with moisture. She paused for a moment and listened with her preternatural senses. Morgan’s heart thrummed in her chest. Breath rasped through her lungs, the fetid perfume of the swamp coated the back of her tongue leaving a disgusting aftertaste. Morgan ran, feeling her muscles protest, but pushed on until the weight of coming dawn pushed her weakened body past its breaking point, and she sank to her knees.
“Damn it to hell,” she swore under her breath. Unable to get even the faintest sense of her location, Morgan didn’t move. She didn’t even breathe, at war with herself, debating the merits of sinking into the swamp to let vegetation cover her for several decades. Maybe by then he will have carried out this madness, and I can pick up the pieces of what remains. She sank to her knees, and began digging into the soft soil that was going to be her tomb for the duration. As she worked, blood soaked images flitted through her mind, teasing, taunting, and mocking. I just want to hide, to let someone else handle this. As soon as the thought crossed her mind, Morgan saw Nicholas’s handsome face, his blue–grey eyes shining with laughter and fierce pride. This will land on his desk when it blows up and he’ll throw himself at the challenge. But he’s going to be handicapped, distracted by my disappearance. She rocked back, sitting on her heels for a moment, before she resumed digging.
No hiding for a decade, just for the day, Morgan decided. Julian would laugh, his Blood Child brought so low as to hide in a hole in the swamp for even a day. She slipped into her uncomfortable tomb as the moon slid below the horizon. Marcus, was that a flash of insanity or truth? she thought as exhaustion dragged her down, into the perfect peace of a death–like slumber.
Morgan woke with the soft, too wet, earth of the bayou molding itself to every inch of her body. She felt the pulsing life of tiny creatures who dared not come near the predator. Mind alert, eyes closed, she flexed her fingers a few times, getting a feel for the texture of earth and water. Strange tingling, stinging, sensations ran through her nerves, tugging at something in the back of her mind.
I don’t have time for this. I can’t let this madness be unleashed; I have to try and stop this, she thought before half digging, half swimming her way out of the saturated earth until she was free. Morgan staggered the few steps to a nearby fallen tree and sank down onto the trunk. I need to feed, but there aren’t any humans in the area. Even if there were, my chances of seducing one in this state are very low, foolish, she told herself as she began walking.
The day of rest had returned enough strength that her usual sense of direction was back. Once again she could feel subtle changes in the earth’s pull. Centuries before, Marcus had taught her how to use it, to get her general bearings. Focused on her thoughts, Morgan picked her way through the swamp, trusting that the creatures inhabiting it were giving her a wide berth. Hours later Morgan stumbled to a fallen tree and sat down as despair settled over her, weighing her shoulders down, constricting her chest.
“What the hell am I doing? I need to move, to get up and get on with getting my life back,” Morgan scolded herself. But rather than moving, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She let the damp air fill her lungs, seeking suitable prey. Several minutes later a masculine scent filled her senses, sharp, spicy with a hint of leather. Morgan kept her eyes closed, certain she was hallucinating.
“Given up on trying to blend in, I see.” Marcus’s rich tenor voice said from a few feet to her left.
“I figured, what the hell.” Morgan laughed, but stopped as soon as she heard the hysterical quality of her voice. She opened her eyes and found him kneeling a few feet away. He shrugged out of a long black leather coat, that Morgan was certain was too hot for even a vampire on a night like this, and held it out to her. She tried to stand, but her knees buckled and she collapsed back to the log. Goddess, I can’t even stand on my own! What the hell is wrong with me?
“What in the deep, dark, pit of Hades happened to you?” Marcus asked as he helped her sit forward, and then wrapped his too–large coat around her.
“It’s a very long, exhausting story,” Morgan answered, as he lifted her like she weighed nothing. Feeling weak and fatigued, but safe, she leaned her head against his shoulder.
“Good thing I’m not Christophe. He’d be bitching about the mud ruining his couture,” Marcus teased. Morgan knew he was just trying to make her laugh, but she was too tired. He was right; she could see and hear Christophe in her mind, swearing, in French, as his designer clothes were destroyed. She exhaled a soft chuckle, closed her eyes and inhaled the dark, musky grounding scent that was Marcus and his cologne mixing together.
“I thought I heard your voice last night, in my mind,” Morgan muttered as Marcus started walking, picking his way with care though the undergrowth.
“That was a week ago, doll,” Marcus whispered, trying to be gentle with her.
“A week?”
“Yes.”
“Has anything strange happened to our kind?” Morgan asked frantic, as dread roared to the forefront of her awareness. She gripped Marcus’s chin and turned his head, forcing his eyes to hers.
“Define strange.” He eyed her with wary curiosity and stopped walking.
“I don’t know, something out of the ordinary that you or Elizabeth knows about. Anything!” Morgan snapped, her eyes wild with fear.
“Nothing I know of. And, nothing that the Assassin knows of either. At least that’s where things stood about three hours ago, before we resumed combing the swamp for you,” Marcus answered, keeping his voice even. He needed to calm her, not make things worse.
“You called Nicholas?” The blind panic was back, a looming dark–winged beast whose origin Morgan had trouble pinpointing.
“Of course I called the Assassin,” he scoffed.
“Did he bring the rest of the enforcers?”
“No. Not even Elizabeth is helping.”
“Who is?”
“Nicholas, Charles, Christophe, and I,” Marcus answered, his tone one Morgan had heard many times before. He was answering her with the least information possible, in order to manage her panic.
Damn, I must look awful if he’s dancing around the truth like this. “Why?”
“Our theory is that you were attacked by someone you knew, maybe even trusted, or were drawn into a trap. Care to talk about it?” he asked, his voice soft and comforting.
“No. I can’t stand the thought of having to tell the story more than once.” She shook her head, feeling a shiver run through her, though she was wrapped in Marcus’s coat.
“I brought a snack for you,” Marcus said, trying to change the subject to something less stressful.
“I wish you hadn’t done that.” She shook her head, fighting panic. “I have no idea what my control is like. I don’t want to kill one of your donors.” Morgan felt his muscles tense and knew she’d said something stupid, in the next moment her mind caught up with her mouth. Of course, Marcus didn’t bring one of his donors; that would just be asking to get them killed.
“Do I look like I was turned yesterday? Ye Gods, Morgan! I grabbed a bad man for you, on my way out of town.” Marcus scoffed, looking at her as though she’d grown a second head.
“I’m sorry Marcus, I’m exhausted and completely out of it.”
“Rest, it’s about three miles before we get back to the
car, and I can’t move as fast as I usually do.”
“I can walk,” Morgan insisted, trying to push out of his arms.
“Oh hell no! The Assassin would kill me in a heartbeat if he knew. As soon as Christophe and Charles arrived, he spent about five hours interrogating them nonstop. He was trying to figure out if we were overreacting. When he decided we weren’t, well, he’s been like a man possessed.”
“I should call him,” she said, resting her head on Marcus’s shoulder, weary.
“It can wait ’till we get back to the truck. Just close your eyes and rest. It should only take about half an hour to get there,” he assured her, before increasing the length of his stride. Once the trees started moving by at a faster pace, Morgan felt her head begin to whirl. As the first hints of nausea began tugging at her stomach, she closed her eyes. She stilled her muscles and took Marcus’s advice, using meditation tricks to quiet her mind. She lost track of time, and in what seemed to be no time at all they arrived at the truck. Marcus set Morgan on her feet and opened the back of a large black SUV.
“Thank you,” she whispered hearing the human’s heartbeat, strong and even.
“He’s pond scum. Don’t even bother searching his mind. It was repulsive,” Marcus answered.
Morgan nodded and listened to the heartbeat for a few seconds before her thirst won out over self–control. She caught sight of the man’s wide eyes for a moment before her fangs sank into his flesh. The blood flowed as some strange alchemy in her bite kept the clotting agents from working. The human’s memories slammed into her psyche, violent, blood soaked fantasies, some that he had made a reality. Fighting the urge to be sick, Morgan drank down the hot metallic liquid. His heart raced, and then slowed to a weak fluttering. She withdrew her fangs and pushed the corpse aside, licking her lips to catch every last drop of his blood.
Cast in Blood (Morgan Blackstone Vampires Book 1) Page 4