Cast in Blood (Morgan Blackstone Vampires Book 1) (6 page)

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 paused. 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.

“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
?