Cast in Blood (Morgan Blackstone Vampires Book 1)

by Michelle Rabe

  10 – NEW ORLEANS – SEPTEMBER 29, 2009

  MORGAN WOKE AND rolled over in bed, stretching her muscles like a big cat. Not wanting to open her eyes, she moved back on her left side and tugged the blankets to her chest, with a soft sigh. She lay there for several minutes, thinking that she would be able to get a little more rest. When sleep was elusive, Morgan gave it up as a lost cause, and rolled onto her back. As the vestiges of slumber slipped away, she knew Nicholas had slipped out of the room at some point during the day, leaving behind a hint of his cologne in the air. Morgan smiled and pulled his pillow against her chest, enjoying the small pleasure of being able to breathe in his scent. After a few minutes, she threw back the covers and swung her legs off the edge of the mattress. Morgan groaned and closed her eyes, as a wave of dizziness washed over her. She took several long deep breaths, waiting for the sensation to pass, before opening them. A quick glance at the clock told her that it was a little bit past sunset. Morgan walked over to the closet and turned on the light.

  While her eyes roamed over the small selection of her clothes, she thought about the welcome she would have upstairs. I know that Charles and Christophe will have come up with variations of that damned concoction to pour down my throat. She rolled her eyes and grabbed a pair of jeans. Oh yeah, I know exactly how it’s going to go. They’re going to poke and prod at me until they figure out what’s wrong or until I pass out, whichever comes first, she thought, while getting dressed. Facing Nicholas isn’t going to be much better. He’s going to want a blow–by–blow account, she thought as a shudder ran through her entire being. I really do not want to go there yet.

  Morgan finished dressing, and pulled her long black hair into a high ponytail before she stepped back into the main room. Her eyes roamed over the Spartan furnishings, settling on the high drafting table set in a far corner. Her bare feet sank into the thick carpeting, feeling it between her toes as she crossed to the corner. She ran her hand over the antique table’s surface. She’d bought it in the early nineteenth century for a human architect who was her donor at the time. He had loved sitting at it for hours on end, sketching designs, some of which became reality and others that lived only on paper, and in his mind. Morgan settled on the stool, and pulled open one of the small drawers along the left leg, and took out a charcoal pencil. She picked up a large pad of heavy white paper and set it on the table in front of her. She stared at the blank sheet for a moment before she started sketching.

  Her hand flew over the page, moving with short sure strokes, letting the image in her mind flow through her hand onto the page. She worked without thinking, and when the sketch was complete Morgan tore off the page, and dropped it to the floor by her feet. Without missing a beat she started on a second sketch. She worked like that for hours, finishing one sketch, purging another memory, and consigning it to the pile on the carpet, before moving on to the next.

  There were about a dozen surrounding her feet when the door opened and closed. Morgan glanced up, there was a moment of eye contact before she turned back to the task at hand. She completed the sketch on an exhalation of a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, set down her pencil and turned to face her husband.

  “What is all of this?” Nicholas asked, his tone neutral, being careful not to appear as though he was concerned, even though his mind spun with questions.

  “I didn’t want to go up and face fifty questions, or be a guinea pig,” Morgan answered, feeling her temper flare and die in an instant.

  “And so you decided to kill a couple trees?” Nicholas asked, trying to make a joke of it, but failing in spectacular fashion.

  “Not quite. I couldn’t just sit still, and there’s not really a lot to do down here, so when I saw the drafting table I couldn’t resist.”

  “What are they?” Nicholas had to stop himself from reaching out to her. After they had brought her to the safe room while the fever raged, he had tried to comfort her. He remembered the pitiful cry that had escaped her lips, and the incoherent mutterings that had followed. Each word had been a needle slipping into his heart.

  “Things I remember. I’m not one hundred percent sure of the contexts right now, but they’re things I saw.” She paused, and her eyes drifted over the images. There.” Her gaze stopped on one drawing that looked like a strand of pearls around a throat.

  “So, how are you feeling?” he asked, trying to distract her.

  “A little better,” she replied, with a soft chuckle. She was silent for a moment, considering something before she shrugged, and added, “less scattered.”

  Nicholas frowned. “Why don’t we take care of these and then go upstairs?”

  “You don’t want to pick my brain yet?” she asked warily, as though she didn’t trust what she heard.

  “I do, but I don’t think that’s the best thing for you, love.” Nicholas answered, choosing his words with care as he crossed to where she sat. “I trust that when the time is right, we’ll discuss all of this.” Nicholas smiled, as he dropped to one knee and began picking up the drawings, fighting the urge to examine them in great detail. Gods know I want and need whatever information she can give, but now is not the time. The fever seems to worsen when she gets stressed or fearful. I’d rather have that under control before I question her.

  “I don’t think there will be a right time.” She closed her eyes and tucked her hair behind her ear. “I can’t say that I’ll ever be ready to talk about all of this.” Morgan shook her head as a frown creased her brow.

  “I’ll be right there with you, and we’ll take it slow,” he assured her, and set the sketches on the drafting table. “But that’s not for tonight. Maybe a little later, but right now the boys want to see if their theories are right.”

  “Too bad there isn’t a test we can run,” Morgan answered, with a mirthless laugh.

  “Or a doctor we can turn to without worrying that the test results would end up being leaked to the press,” Nicholas muttered, shaking his head in frustration.

  “That would be bad,” she answered, her voice far off and distracted. Nicholas followed her gaze and frowned; she was studying the sketch at the top of the stack. He took a moment to study it, and saw that it looked like some kind of ring. “Was someone I need to kill wearing this?”

  A ghost of her usual smile flitted across her features before she answered. “Lucian called him ‘doctor’ and he seemed to be doing experiments on me. He was the one who administered injections, including the ones they used to keep me fed.” A slight tremor ran through her.

  “I swear to you that I will find him, and his death will not be easy,” Nicholas vowed in a low tone. He took Morgan’s hands in his and pulled her off the stool, before he slid his right arm around her waist and steered them out of the room.

  Together they walked upstairs into the kitchen and found Charles at the stove. There were several bottles lined up in front of him. Christophe sat at the end of the island, looking over Charles’s notes. Charles looked up, at the sound of their footfalls on the tiles, a lock of mahogany hair falling in front of his left eye. A crooked smile crossed his features as he pushed it out of the way, before going back to work. Morgan glanced at Nicholas, a question in her eyes, which he answered with a shrug, before steering them toward the island.

  “So what have you been doing?” Morgan asked, as she settled herself on one of the tall bar stools.

  “I’ve been trying to figure out why the formula Joshua gave us isn’t working,” Charles said. “While it is possible that his theory is wrong, there’s also a possibility that we need to take your nature into account.”

  “My nature?” she asked.

  “The fact that you’re a vampire.”

  “You haven’t been taking that into account?” Nicholas asked.

  “Obviously it’s something that we can’t ignore. However, it does present a complication,” Charles explained, as he turned his attention to the bottles on the counter.

  “Well, it’s a complica
tion we can’t ignore,” Nicholas insisted.

  “You’re right, and I’m not suggesting that we do. The problem seems to be that, unlike a normal vampire, Morgan can’t seem to keep the concoction down. The theory was that, like any drink, her system should be able to tolerate and assimilate it,” Charles said.

  “Unlike solid food, which we have to either throw up or have it rot in our stomachs,” Nicholas muttered.

  “Exactly. Unfortunately, it seems that something is preventing the formula from being absorbed by Morgan’s system.” Charles picked up the first bottle and poured some into a goblet. “In fact, her body has been rejecting it outright. We have a couple of theories and options in that respect.”

  “Well, don’t keep us in suspense,” Morgan drawled.

  “The first is that it’s simply the wrong brew.” Charles shrugged. “Apparently there are several varieties which work differently, based on the element which the sorcerer is strongest in.”

  “I assume that is what explains the different bottles on the island.” Nicholas waved his hand toward the counter.

  “Yes. The other likely theory is that Morgan needs blood.”

  “You want to combine blood with the concoctions?” she asked from her perch on a bar stool.

  “Yes. All the information Joshua gave us assumes a human’s drinking it.” He ran his fingers through his dark hair. With a sigh, Morgan turned to Christophe, imploring him with her eyes to explain what they wanted to try.

  “We thought that it would be best to begin as though you were human,” Christophe explained. “We know very little about how the blood you were injected with is reacting with your system. So we decided to begin with the proven mixture.”

  “Morgan is not a lab rat you can experiment on,” Nicholas snapped, as he fought to keep his temper in check.

  “If there were a lab rat we could utilize, I would. Regrettably, all I’ve got is my friend and mentor. The only other option is her death,” Christophe spat, letting his temper run roughshod over better judgment.

  “He’s right Nicholas. If this gets too difficult we’ll stop and look for another way,” Morgan whispered, laying a hand on her husband’s shoulder to reassure him.

  Nicholas sighed, defeated. Morgan slid her arm around his waist, and nestled her head against his chest, watching as her Blood Sons worked in silence. Charles measured out a portion of the mixture into the stockpot while Christophe used a syringe to draw blood from a bag that was floating in a pot of hot water. Warming it, Morgan thought. Charles held the glass, as Christophe emptied the syringe into it before handing it to her.

  “We believe that it’s best to start with a low concentration, if your body doesn’t reject it we can increase the ratio and fine tune,” Christophe explained, reacting to the curiosity he saw in Morgan’s eyes. She stared at the goblet for several moments, before she took a deep breath and lifted the glass to her lips.

  The heady aroma filled her nostrils before the brew slid over her tongue. Fighting the part of her vampiric nature she called the ‘beast,’ Morgan drank the mixture in one long pull. The flavor had changed, and now held echoes of blood pulsing from a vein, and her fangs slipped out of their protective sheaths.

  “More,” she growled, setting the empty goblet on the counter.

  “Not yet. I’m not convinced that we’ve hit upon the proper ratio. I want to be sure we’re not going to repeat last night’s performance,” Charles answered, gesturing toward the empty stockpot. He took a step away, when Morgan’s lips peeled back in a snarl revealing her long glistening canines. “Just until we know how your system is going to react to the addition of the blood. Joshua wasn’t sure if there would be any side effects.”

  “Can we at least move to the sitting room?” Nicholas asked his tone impatient, ending the discussion.

  “Of course,” Christophe answered.

  Before she could object, Nicholas scooped Morgan into his arms, carried her into the living room, and settled her on the sofa.

  “Where is Joshua?” Nicholas asked, as he sat beside his wife.

  “He came downstairs a few hours ago. Said, he had a lead on someone who might be able to help Morgan. I gave him the keys to one of the cars, and he took off like a bat out of Hell. He wasn’t sure when he’d be back,” Charles answered.

  “You brought him here?” Morgan asked.

  “He is an avenue for information, and I wanted to see what he knows about our kind,” Nicholas answered.

  “You think that I let something I shouldn’t slip?”

  “I really had no idea, Morgan, and needed to know for certain.”

  “I haven’t told him anything that puts our kind at risk, more than revealing the information to a donor,” Morgan explained, as she fought to control her temper.

  “But he’s a professor of Folklore.”

  “Yes, and I trust him not to share the information he got from me.”

  “Are you certain?” Nicholas asked, not hiding the frustration in his voice.

  “Our secret is safe with him,” she answered, with as much honesty as possible. This really isn’t a fight that’s worth having. Much easier to tell him as much as he needs to know and hope.

  “Very well,” Nicholas answered, with a nod.

  “Have you heard from Marcus?” Morgan asked, changing the subject as she made a concerted effort to keep her breathing slow and even, hoping to help keep the mixture down.

  “He’s been checking in every couple of hours. So far he has some leads, but is laying low for a little while,” Christophe answered, keeping his tone neutral.

  “He suspects Azreal,” Morgan sighed.

  “Yes, how do you know that?” Nicholas asked.

  “Charles, there are some sketches on the drafting table in the safe room, would you mind getting them for me?” she asked, hoping to buy herself a little time to get her thoughts in order.

  “Of course,” he answered and walked out of the room.

  “Christophe, perhaps you should call Marcus and invite him over?” Nicholas asked. I don’t understand half of what’s going on, and my judgment is clouded at best. I need the Old Man to bounce my suspicions off so I can get a clearer picture of what’s going on. He thought, as Charles nodded and walked into the foyer. A moment later a hint of sultry Louisiana air drifted into the room, before the front door closed with a soft thump. “Azreal is in on this?” Nicholas asked, in a whisper, as he wrapped an arm around Morgan’s shoulders. She was silent as she tucked her legs up onto the couch cushions, and eased into his embrace.

  “He was there. Let’s wait until Marcus gets here, we can discuss it then,” she answered while her mind raced. I know what he’s thinking: Azreal, a member of the Council and a descendant of Magnus, Nicholas’s own Sire.

  “Of course, you’re right; he should hear this,” he muttered.

  Morgan closed her eyes, listening to the sound of Nicholas’s soft melodic humming, and smiled. I wish he wouldn’t do that just when he’s nervous. I love listening to it; Morgan thought, as she heard the muffled mutterings of Christophe on the phone, and the soft footfalls of Charles, making his way back upstairs.

  She was relaxed, so the convulsion was more intense when it hit. She fought to hold in a groan as her muscles contracted around what felt like broken glass. With blind panic rising, Morgan rolled onto her side, and brought the stockpot under her chin, before she threw up again. Voices were far off as her body rejected the concoction, and Nicholas’s hand on her shoulder steadied her. Morgan clutched at his free hand, letting his touch ground her. After several minutes, the convulsions eased, leaving only a faint all over tremor in their wake. Sensing that the worst was over, Nicholas pulled Morgan back onto his lap. She curled into herself, waiting for the after effects to pass. The voices continued, and for a while, Morgan was content to let them fight it out, drifting toward what felt like much needed sleep.

  “It wasn’t the right ratio,” Charles muttered, from nearby. His words interrupted Morgan
’s almost nap, as he knelt and touched her cheek. His chocolate eyes were filled with concern and the boundless curiosity that was an integral part of his nature. “Are you up to trying again?”

  “Not like there’s really much choice,” Morgan croaked, her throat protesting being used for more than the most basic functions.

  “So, you’re okay with them using you as a lab rat? If you haven’t noticed, the fever has risen,” Nicholas snarled.

  “I have noticed! And I’m not pleased about becoming, as you put it, a lab rat, but we have no other choice,” she spat, coughing at the end.

  “Morgan, this isn’t good for you. Can’t you see that?”

  Morgan sighed and closed her eyes. Nicholas is right, this isn’t doing any good, but I just can’t put my fate in Lucian’s hands. I won’t take that risk; she thought. “We have no other choice Nicholas. I won’t push myself too far, but the alternatives are just as, if not more, unacceptable,” she whispered, hoping that he would see reason.

  “We go to Lucian,” he insisted, grasping at straws.

  “You’re assuming he would help rather than harm,” Marcus scoffed, entering the room, tossing his long leather coat on the back of the sofa opposite where Morgan was.

  “The archives,” Charles suggested. “They might have some useful information if what Joshua hypothesized is wrong.”

  “If we send anyone into the catacombs to search, Lucian will know,” Marcus countered.

  “There has to be another way,” Nicholas insisted, running his fingers through Morgan’s hair.

  “Not without taking actions none of us wants to think about Nicholas,” Morgan muttered, feeling a small sense of accomplishment when her voice sounded normal.