Cast in Blood (Morgan Blackstone Vampires Book 1) (5 page)

“I take it the boys couldn’t add anything to what we already knew. In spite of the almost five hour interrogation?” Marcus asked, fighting to rein in his own temper, leaning against the banister at the top of the stairs.
 

“Five hours?” Nicholas stopped moving. He turned to Marcus, meeting his eyes. The other vampire nodded.
 
“It was really that long?”
 

“Yes. What’s next, Assassin?” Marcus asked, letting some of the frustration he felt give his voice a hard edge. The last thing they needed right now was for Nicholas to go soft.

“We can’t do anything before the sun sets,” he said, after giving Marcus a long, appraising look.

 
He’s assessed my well–being and decided I’m not fit for the field. I’ve seen that look too many times before and know better than to argue with him
, Marcus thought, trying to work out a logical counter argument.
 

“I haven’t slept.” Nicholas sighed. “You look like death warmed over and those two are rattled.” He nodded toward the room where he’d left the younger vampires.

“Fine.” Marcus nodded. “I took the liberty of having my staff get us some SUVs. If Morgan’s alive, she’s going to need fresh blood. We’re going to need the extra room.” Marcus was almost certain that he didn’t have to mention that, but the desperate look in Nicholas’s eyes led him to believe that there was no such thing as being too careful in this situation.

“She has to be alive, Marcus.”
 

“We’ll find her.” Marcus answered, feeling like an ass for lying.
We both know that the odds suck. This could be nothing more than trying to find her body. Gods, whoever did this is going to pay.
 

“I have a very bad feeling about this,” the Assassin muttered, looking through Marcus. Nicholas’s mind was turning over what he knew, making connections and searching for others.

“How so?” Marcus asked, prompting Nicholas to think aloud, knowing it helped him make connections he otherwise missed, and it gave Marcus the opportunity to make a few as well.

“The security footage Danny sent over from the club’s parking lot shows Morgan and her attackers, but never their faces.”

“The club has cameras outside?”

“Apparently one of the human staff had some trouble right after the club opened. Morgan had them installed after that.”

“They could have scoped out the cameras. Not too difficult when you know what to look for,” Marcus muttered, his brows drawn together. “Why didn’t anyone see her being attacked, if it was caught on camera? Why are we just learning about this now? Just because she somehow jacked my mind and knocked me flat on my ever–loving ass.” Marcus’s words sped up as he continued, agitation given voice.
 

“The footage is stored on massive hard drives but not reviewed unless an incident is reported. Since no one reported her disappearance...” Nicholas’s voice trailed off.
 

“I have a feeling Morgan will be revising that policy when she returns.”

“If she returns.”

“You can’t think like that, Nicholas. Not yet.”

“I don’t know what, but there’s something wrong, something we’re missing.” Nicholas ran his hand through his hair and shook his head. When he met Marcus’s eyes, his gaze was cold, hard. “I don't want anyone else to know about this. I’ve already sworn Christophe and Charles to secrecy. Can I count on your discretion?”

“For Morgan, anything. Can’t have my little sister killed because I couldn’t keep my yap shut. But Elizabeth was with me when I went down and called you,” Marcus replied, glad to stop thinking about thousands of possibilities racing through his mind with maddening clarity.

“You want to get her on board with the program, or shall I?” A sneer curled Nicholas’s mouth, the sight of it sent a chill through Marcus.
 

“I’ll handle my Blood Daughter. Now, is there anything else that I can get for you?” Marcus asked, though he knew nothing would help. The sense of loss and impotent rage was a crushing weight, leaving only the desire to scream and pound someone into their grave, or give into grief.

“Truce for now?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t have made the call if I hadn’t been willing to put that shit aside,” he answered.
Nicholas is no fool; he’s given me the chance to call him out for Sarah’s death, and I’m refusing. No matter what, the living deserves more consideration than the dead.

“Thank you.”
 

Marcus watched the remaining energy drain out of his friend. “Come on Assassin, you need sleep, like now,” he coaxed, putting his hand on the other vampire’s shoulder. Nicholas turned vacant eyes on him, and Marcus fought to suppress the tremor of fear that ran through him as the other vampire nodded.
 

“Sleep,” Nicholas muttered, slurring the word as though he’d just gotten back from one of their epic pub crawls from centuries past. Marcus nodded, not trusting his own voice, and led Nicholas back down to the second floor. They steered away from the landing, down the hall past the two rooms where Charles and Christophe had retreated, to the last empty room other than his own. Marcus opened the door and waited.
 

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.

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.

S
HE
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.

H
IS
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.

T
WILIGHT
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.

H
UMIDITY
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.
 

M
ORGAN
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
?