“Morgan? Is everything all right? You look strange.” Marcus knelt in front of her, concern clouding his eyes.
“I’m covered in drying muck, have been held against my will, tortured, starved, and I slept in a swamp for a week. How should I look?” she snarled, with more venom in her voice than intended. He opened his mouth to speak, and Morgan held up her hand, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, Marcus. I didn’t mean it to sound like that. I’m exhausted in more ways than I can count.”
“It’s okay. Here’s my phone. Call Nicholai. I’ll take care of this mess.” He handed her the cell phone she’d purchased for him several years before. Then he reached into the back of the truck, and pulled the cooling corpse into a fireman’s carry before disappearing into the night. Morgan knew he wouldn’t go too far and smiled as she slid off the SUV’s tailgate while dialing her husband’s cellular from memory.
“Marcus?” Nicholas’s rich tenor voice came over the line after only one ring.
“Not quite,” she answered in a breathless whisper.
“The Old Man found you,” he breathed over the line. Morgan smiled, and drank in the rich music of his voice.
“I can run away if you’d like to find me yourself,” she teased, feeling more like herself than she had in weeks.
“Not a chance in hell. You stick to Marcus like glue. I’ll see you at the townhouse.” His voice took on a low, threatening growl with a touch of laughter.
“No third degree?” She asked, caught off guard.
“In due time, love. First, I want to make sure you’re safe. No offense to the Old Man, but I won’t feel that way until I see you for myself.”
“Whatever you wish my love.”
“You never give in that easily.” Though it was still strained, his voice held a thread of laughter that warmed Morgan’s heart.
“I’ve not heard you so concerned in a long time,” she sighed and rested her head against the seat back. “I thought I’d make the situation simpler.”
“Maybe I should take advantage of this,” he answered, with a subtle note of teasing in his voice.
“You should hang up and drive carefully.” Morgan answered as she heard the low rumble of a car’s engine in the background. “Marcus is on his way back.”
“He left you alone?” Nicholas growled. There was no laughter this time, only the unspoken threat.
“He had to clean up after I ate. He hasn’t gone far.”
“You win.” Nicholas capitulated with a soft laugh. “I’ll talk with you at home.”
“Nicholas?” She whispered not wanting to leave one thing unsaid. She had, the last time they’d talked on the phone, and regretted it. No way am I making that mistake again. What’s an extra second or so?
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too. Rest. I’ll see you at the townhouse,” he replied before the connection broke. Morgan smiled and set the phone into the center console. I really need to get Marcus an upgrade, that’s not even a smart phone, she thought before closing her eyes, as Marcus slid into the car started the engine.
“Where to?” Marcus asked, as he eased the car onto the road heading east.
“The townhouse,” she answered, referring to the large home she and Nicholas had purchased centuries before, in the Garden District.
“Are you okay?” Marcus asked, frowning a little bit. I expected the blood to put some color back in her cheeks, but she still looks awful. Those bruise–like marks under her sunken eyes and that whole ashen look should be gone. Is there something more going on here than expected? Great, this shit ain’t gonna be easy.
“Didn’t we go over this before?” she snapped, showing a minuscule amount of her usual fire as she spoke.
“Yes. But I expected the feeding to have more of an effect on you,” he answered, eyeing her with a look of concern and doubt clouding his hazel eyes.
“I still look like hell?”
“Darlin’, no offense intended, but you look like you’re on death’s door. For a vampire that can’t be good.” He muttered the last under his breath, though he knew she’d hear it as if he’d spoken out loud.
“I’ll be okay, I just want to rest until we get back to the house.” She lied. What am I going to tell him? That it feels as though the blood in my veins is trying to burn its way out?
“Yeah,” he replied, before turning the radio on, letting rock music fill the silence. As Morgan’s focus drifted from the music to the fire moving through her veins, she was aware of Marcus talking on the phone, two conversations. He caught her watching him for a few moments before mouthing Charles’s name. She nodded and drifted away on a sea of dark waves.
6 – NEW ORLEANS – SEPTEMBER 11, 2009
AS HE GUIDED the SUV off the freeway onto the streets of the Garden District, Marcus glanced over at Morgan. She was dressed in hospital scrubs that were at least a size too big. Those aren’t the clothes that the boys said she was wearing when she went missing, Marcus thought. Gotta make it look good for the humans, don’t you? he thought. But that begs the question, what happened to those clothes? And how did you end up with those bruises? Dark masses dotted what he could see of her flesh, many appeared several weeks old. You said that you went to ground a week ago. Why aren’t you healing? While he waited at a red light, Marcus took a longer look. Or did you get these after you woke this evening; before I found you? Maybe I should have pressed for more information, he thought turning his eyes back to the road. Something’s not right, I can feel it in my gut. The feeding should have done more. She shouldn’t be asleep. She should be healed, or at least showing some signs of healing by now, but nothing. Marcus’s thoughts chased each other, like a serpent eating its own tail. He eased the car into the driveway, and came to a stop, right in front of the door.
Morgan opened her eyes, as the car came to a stop. Golden light bathed the cobblestone drive, framed by a six foot high wall. The wrought iron gate closed with a whisper of metal against metal. She looked around, seeing flower beds filled with cheery chaos, explosions of color that only made sense to her gardeners, and made Morgan smile, as she felt herself relax for the first time in a very long time. On her right, red brick steps led up to the front stoop where several potted vines overflowed their confines, spilling to the ground below. The house was white clapboard with closed green shutters. The courtyard hadn’t changed since the last time she’d been here.
“We figured you’d be more comfortable at home. We can move on if needed,” Marcus said, as he cut the engine, and pulled the key from the ignition. At Morgan’s right shoulder, a golden light spread across the cobblestones from the front door, two long shadows appeared on the ground. “Strange,” he whispered under his breath.
“What?” she asked.
“I expected Nicholas to be here already. I didn’t think he’d gone as deep into the back country as I did,” he said, regretting it as Morgan’s brows furrowed, and anxiety flashed in her eyes.
“Maybe something came up?” she replied, knowing that Nicholas’s position as the Lead Enforcer often meant that he had to deal with emergencies.
The elder vampire shook his head, a slight crease appearing between his eyebrows. “It would have to be something he couldn’t find a way out of,” Marcus said, as he opened the car door. He stepped out of the vehicle as Morgan’s door was opened by one of her two Blood Sons.
"Cherie.” Christophe offered her a hand, “Do you think you can walk?” His accent was thicker than usual, which meant that he was either exhausted, not feeding often enough, or play acting. Judging by the dark circles under his amethyst eyes, unkempt blonde hair, and the off–the–rack jeans and t–shirt he wore, Morgan was certain it was exhaustion.
“I think so,” Morgan said. She turned, and took his hand as she slid out of the seat. She placed her free hand on the car door, in case she needed it for support. She closed her eyes and eased her weight onto her feet. Then it hit, the moment of sheer panic when she knew that both o
f her knees had given out. There was a split second of vertigo when she felt the ground was coming up to meet her. Then the world righted itself. She felt pressure on her forearm, and opened her eyes to find Christophe supporting her weight. Her Blood Son winked his way of letting her know that no one else would guess that he was supporting her.
Marcus watched Morgan and Christophe walk into the house. Charles paused by the door for a moment waiting until the elder vampire waved him away. The younger man shrugged, and a moment later the golden light from the house disappeared. Ignoring the muck and blood that caked his clothing, Marcus surveyed the yard. The heavy wrought iron gate had closed, and flood lights bathed the flower beds, leaving no place that an intruder could hide. He walked back over to the rental SUV and opened the back. A slight smile curled the general's lips as he began rolling up the heavy canvas tarp. That wasn't a bad idea; he thought, cleaning up blood is always such a pain in the ass. The humans have that nasty habit of asking too many questions, he thought, as he walked into the garage, and tossed the canvas into the incinerator. He closed the metal door with a clang before fishing out his phone. Marcus chuckled at the messages on the screen and made his way into the house.
“I just heard from Nicholas,” he said, as he stepped into the foyer where the three younger vampires were mingling. “He’d gone farther out than I thought. Apparently, he also ran into traffic on the way back, some kind of an accident. Maybe humans will eventually learn to drive." He shook his head and sighed. "They did invent the technology, after all.”
“And what was the point of this, Marcus?” Charles asked from where he stood near the entrance to the living room.
“That he expects to be back in about forty five minutes to an hour. Didn’t I say that?” the elder vampire asked his voice like a cracking whip.
Forty–five minutes to an hour, Morgan thought, feeling her throat tighten. It’s been far too long since I’ve seen him. I just wish it was under better circumstances.
“No,” Charles replied, with a soft chuckle.
“Bath?” Christophe asked Morgan, his voice a little more than a whisper.
“Please,” she said, choosing to ignore everyone but Christophe. If this weakness doesn't pass I'm in big trouble, she thought. A chorus of voices in the back of her head sang a round of sing–song taunts before coming together to remind her that the only way she could survive was with the doctor's serum. Without it, they told her; she would, at best be driven insane.
“Think you can make the stairs?” Christophe asked. He watched her, not doing anything to pressure her into making a decision before she was ready.
Morgan looked up and sighed. There’s no way I’m going to make that climb. She shook her head. “No, I can’t.” She hated to admit weakness, but there was no way around it. The only bathroom she thought she could make was the one in the basement, the safe room. She hated the room, but had added it to the house because Nicholas insisted their homes needed a safe place to go underground, just in case. Going down there now will feel too much like running, like I’m back in that cell. She felt a shudder run through her, as her mind flashed on the cold, impersonal space that had been her haven for so many weeks. “How long was I gone?”
“Eight and a half weeks since you disappeared,” he said, as he scooped her up into his arms. She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck.
“Sorry about the couture.”
“Please,” he shook his head and chuckled. “This is off the rack. Running around in the swamp is no place for high fashion.”
“You’ve been looking the whole time?” Morgan met his gaze for a moment, and the emotions she saw play through his lavender eyes told her everything. “How long?”
Christophe thought for a moment before he answered. “We didn’t know for sure until about a week and a half ago.”
Christophe started taking the stairs two at a time, and Morgan closed her eyes, resting her spinning head on her Blood Son’s shoulder, taking long slow breaths, as her stomach roiled. At the second landing, he paused and shifted her weight. Morgan gasped and gripped his upper arm with one hand.
“Is everything all right, cherie?” His question was simple, and one that not too many vampires his age would ask. They would have forgotten that part of their humanity. Christophe was a different story. It was what made him so good at his job, managing The Dracul’s VIP clientele.
“Vertigo, nausea,” she answered in a low whisper.
“Do you want to stop?” he offered, turning toward one of the guest rooms.
“No. Bath. I need it,” she said, feeling desperation creep into her tone.
“I wasn’t going to tell you,” he turned back to the stairs, and resumed climbing them, “but the slept–in–a–swamp look is so last season,” Christophe said, with a light laugh.
“City streets are in?” Morgan asked, desperate for anything that might distract her from the shards of glass now churning through her stomach.
“No, no, my dear, it’s all about sleeping in the park. You get the outdoorsy feel without all the mud in your hair.” He chuckled while climbing the last flight of stairs.
“You really must remind me about the changes in trends,” she sucked in a deep breath through gritted teeth.
“Morgan?” Christophe asked, his brow knitting together in concentration.
“I’m fine.” She lied.
“Not yet, but you will be.” Christophe set her down in the bathroom. The tub was already full of steaming water, the shower billowing clouds of vapor. Morgan braced herself on the counter. Her vision swam in and out of focus again, and she leaned on the vanity. When the wave passed, her legs were weak but she turned, taking in what Christophe had done. “I figured you might want to clean up before you got into the tub.” He took a step away from her. “I’ll be right outside. I’m sure you want your privacy, but Nicholas would kill me if anything happened.”
“Thank you,” she choked out in an almost inaudible whisper.
“Of course, cherie,” he winked, before stepping out of the room.
Morgan looked down and shook her head. The muck and mud on her clothes had dried into a caked–on clay–like substance. The scrubs were ruined. There’s no way to salvage them, even if I wanted to. She stripped off the oversized garments and tossed them into the trash. As soon as she opened the shower door the heated clouds rolled out, over her feet and legs. She stepped under the hot water, closed the shower door, and let the water wash away all traces of the swamp.
Awhile later, she was up to her neck in foamy scented water, when there was a soft knock. Morgan glanced at the door before she shook her head, closed her eyes, and ignored it. I doubt Nicholas would knock, so whoever it is, can wait.
“Morgan?” Christophe’s muffled voice drifted through the closed door. When she didn’t answer the second time, the door opened, and he stepped into the room. “You know you can’t stay in there indefinitely.”
“Why not?”
“Vampire or not, you’ll do that wrinkled prune thing, and that is just not a good look for anyone,” Christophe teased, pulling a face that was somewhere between disgust and horrified shock.
“Are there any other reasons?” She didn’t bother to suppress the giggle that bubbled up.
“Not really, though Nicholas called, and he should be here in about twenty minutes.” He shrugged, “I thought you might want a little warning so you could get out and dressed.”
“Thank you, Christophe,” Morgan said. She closed her eyes, and let her mind drift, thinking of Nicholas. She smiled, as the thought of seeing him again filled her with a sense of comfort. Once he gets here, we’ll figure things out, together.
Christophe stepped back out of the room, and closed the door before she took a deep breath. Clutching the edge of the bathtub, using the wall to steady herself, she stepped out. Mustering what energy she had, Morgan dried off and wrapped a towel around her hair like a turban. She avoided looking in the mirror, while scanning the room for somet
hing to wear. Christophe, she thought, as her eyes fell on a pile of her clothes sitting on top of the laundry hamper. It must be all those human girlfriends. The rest of us have a tendency to forget little things like that. She picked up the baggy sweater and slipped it over her head. It had started out as one of Nicholas’s but she’d stolen it from his closet and had never given it back. Her limbs trembled as she rode out another wave of nausea. Morgan finished dressing, freed her hair from the turban and began brushing it.
When the cramping began in her stomach, she took deep breaths. Maybe I can just ride this out like I did the others. Morgan closed her eyes, and wrapped her arms around herself as if it would make the pain ripping through her manageable. Wrong on that one, she thought, stumbling toward the tub. She cried out, more from surprise than pain, when her shin met marble.
She dropped to her knees and clung to the edge. Feeling as though she had stepped outside her body, she heard a voice far off and unintelligible, and someone pulled her hair behind her shoulders. Her throat seized, abdomen clenched and forced what felt like liquid fire up her gullet. Morgan doubled over, wanting to scream, but her throat slammed shut. As the bile ripped through her esophagus, Christophe clutched her hand, and she clung to him, helping to steady her through the convulsions. After a few moments Morgan’s body rejected the last of the blood she’d drunk a little over two hours before. Spent, she sat back, leaning against Christophe’s legs for support.
“What’s wrong cherie? I have never seen something like that before,” he asked, watching a swirling mix of blood and black bile flow down the drain.
“I don’t know,” Morgan said, as she closed her eyes. I hate lying to you mon ami, but I can’t help it. I have to get out of here. If I don’t, you’re all in danger and I can’t have that on my conscience.
Cast in Blood (Morgan Blackstone Vampires Book 1) Page 5