Cast in Blood (Morgan Blackstone Vampires Book 1) (13 page)

“Morgan,” Lucian began. Fear flashed in his eyes as he tried to find another tactic. Morgan had sighed before she cut him off. He saw something pass behind her eyes that Lucian had never seen from her before.
Resignation. She means to give in to me, he
thought, feeling a sense of triumph blossoming in his chest.

“You are not welcome here, Lucian.” She met his gaze, watching for some kind of reaction as she spoke. His crystal blue eyes met hers, as if daring her to continue. Morgan smiled, feeling a perverse sense of satisfaction as she continued. “Blood kin or not, I will call the human authorities if you continue to trespass on my property.” When she’d finished speaking, Christophe steered her back toward the kitchen, but not before she caught sight of the scowl twisting Lucian’s face.

“You wanted to hear it from her, and I believe Morgan has made her wishes abundantly clear. Now I must insist that you leave. We will keep you informed, as is your right,” Nicholas said, as he moved back into the doorway. Without needing to be asked, Marcus took up position next to him. The pair of them blocked the entry.

“She is not in her right mind,” Lucian muttered, more to himself than Marcus or Nicholas.

“Believe what you will, but your behavior has not gone unnoticed.” As he spoke, Nicholas stepped forward, forcing Lucian to back up a step, when Marcus followed his lead. “Like Marcus, I begin to wonder why you are so adamant that she comes with you. Is it truly for her benefit?” Though his tone was calm, the storm gathered in his eyes. Marcus touched Nicholas’s shoulder. Lucian stood, frozen for several moments, as though he was weighing Nicholas’s words. Nicholas watched, as an emotion passed over Lucian’s face, as his take on the situation changed. His eyes slid halfway closed, and the corners of his lips drooped in a semi scowl.

“Very well, and do keep me informed, Nicholai or I may still see fit to bring the matter before the full Council.” In spite of giving in to Morgan’s demands, the elder vampire pulled an air of authority around him like a well–worn cloak. “Perhaps we have given the Lead Enforcer too much latitude, if you can be easily moved to such blatant insubordination,” the elder vampire answered, before turning and stalking back to his car, his body stiff with leashed rage. Only the feel of Marcus’s fingers digging into his upper arm kept Nicholas silent, as they watched until Lucian’s car pulled out of the driveway.

“What, in Dante’s seven Hells, was that about?” Marcus growled.

“I don’t know, Old Man, I just don’t know,” Nicholas sighed. “Maybe Morgan can shed some light on the matter. I can’t take what we have before the Council. No one will believe it. If we can’t find anything to back up Morgan’s story, we’ve just really pissed off our Sire’s brother, without cause.” The weight of his office was balanced against his responsibility as a husband was, like a heavy wooden yoke around his neck.
 

“I needed a new hobby,” Marcus laughed as a man being led to his execution. He knew that they had just made a powerful enemy, as they turned and walked back into the house.

“Let’s go see what’s brewing in the kitchen.” Nicholas shook his head, as they strolled through the house. When they stepped into the kitchen, Morgan was seated on one of the barstools, rolling a goblet of dark golden liquid in her hands. Charles was at the stove, answering a question Nicholas hadn’t heard.

“Joshua did caution that he’s not sure how a vampire’s system might react to it. Apparently the blend somehow balances out a sorcerer’s blood, allowing them to work with the elements without fear of losing control.”
 

“If this doesn’t make you feel horrible, we made a stop at the local blood bank.” Nicholas stepped up behind Morgan and wrapped his arms around her, offering his support.
 

“I know you hate the way blood bank protocols change the taste, but I doubt we want to take the chance with one of our live donors,” Charles explained, leaning against the island.

“How did Joshua come up with the sorcerer theory?” Morgan asked, watching the liquid roll inside the goblet as though she expected the fluid inside to sprout tentacles and attack her.

“I explained your symptoms. He said that some sorcerers have the ability in their blood, but their talents don’t manifest until they’re older. Apparently they exhibit similar signs. This is how the Conclave handles those cases.”

“How long do they have to drink this?” Nicholas asked.

“It varies. Some have to drink it for the rest of their lives,” Charles answered.

“What if they don’t?” she asked, hoping that her terrible assumption was wrong.

“Their fevers run unchecked. Nothing can be done to bring their temperatures down.”

“It kills them,” Morgan muttered.

“Yes.”

“Alright,” she answered, feeling a strange sense of calm settle over her. Some part of this was right. Closing her eyes, she brought the goblet to her lips and inhaled. The aroma was a heady mix of herbs and full–bodied red wine. She waited the span of several heartbeats for her stomach to go into convulsions. When it didn’t, she smiled, and took a sip. As the warm mixture slid down her throat, Morgan sighed, enjoying the slight burning sensation that flowed into her chest.
The flavor isn’t half bad, a nice balance of sweet and spicy. All in all, a nice earthy natural blend,
Morgan thought in the short time she had to savor the mixture before her stomach clenched. As the convulsions began, Christophe moved faster than the human eye could see and managed to slide an empty stockpot to her just in time. Morgan closed her eyes, gasping for air.
I am not bleeding internally, and those were not shards of glass that just forced their way out of my system.
The thought passed through her mind when the dry heaves subsided, and she could think beyond the veil of pain. Nicholas moved to stand at her side, smoothing Morgan’s hair, as she leaned into his chest.

“The fever’s worse,” Nicholas muttered, feeling the heat of her skin through his shirt. Morgan opened her eyes when someone touched her on the shoulder.
 

“I doubt that left a pleasant taste in your mouth,” Christophe offered, handing her a glass of water.

“Very practical my friend, thank you.” Morgan had rinsed her mouth with the water, before she spat it into the stockpot. She tried to look inside, to see if the black bile were still there, but Christophe took it away before she had the chance.

“If you feel up to it, we’d like to try something else,” Charles asked, watching Morgan through thoughtful eyes.

“Didn’t you hear what I said? Her fever’s worse! That didn’t do anything!” Nicholas growled, putting himself between Charles and Morgan, as if he meant to protect her from her Blood Son.

“Nicholas…” Morgan began, but he talked over her.

“Maybe we
should
let Lucian help. After all, if he is the one who set this in motion, he should know how to stop it,” Nicholas muttered, searching for anything that would give him answers, even if it meant going to someone Morgan didn’t trust.

“Are you through?” she asked, fighting to keep her voice level. Nicholas turned his gaze on her, his eyes dark like a raging storm cloud, every trace of his usual humor and compassion obliterated. She watched, as he shook his head, and started pacing. “We will not be calling Lucian. There is no need yet.” She paused, closing her eyes. When she continued, the words tasted like ash in her mouth. “There may come a time when his intercession is the only option, but until then, the answer is no.” She finished.
I just hope this pacifies Nicholas long enough to figure out what’s going on, without having to resort to that, she
thought, as she turned to Charles and slid the goblet back to him. “What’s next?”

“No. I won’t let you try something else right now,” Nicholas insisted, from near the back door, where he’d paced while she spoke.
 

“You won’t let me?” Morgan snapped.

“Not right now. You need some time to recover, and regain as much of your strength as you can.” He braced himself on the island leaning toward her. “Gods know I want to see you well just as much, if not more, than you do, but I will not let it happen like this.”

“Nicholas, we don’t know that time will help,” Morgan countered, hoping that he would be reasonable.

“We don’t know that it won’t,” he answered, with maddening calm.

“Oh, there’s a brilliant argument,” she scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“Fine.” He threw up his hands and stepped away from the island. “I will withdraw my objection if you can stand there for two minutes without needing to lean on some
one
or some
thing
for support,” Nicholas challenged, certain that she wouldn’t be able to.

“You can be a son of a bitch sometimes,” she growled, shaking her head in frustration.

“If it keeps you from pulling a stupid stunt like this, then by all means call me whatever you want, babe,” Nicholas rumbled, stalking close to where she was sitting.

“Asshole.”

“Sticks and stones, love,” Nicholas whispered, leaning in close to her. She closed her eyes and shook her head.

“Damn you, that’s not fair,” Morgan muttered, as his hand drifted up her thigh. He knew what it would do to her, and wasn’t above playing a bit of dirty pool.

“Yeah well, I never said that I play fair. Come on, let me take you to bed.”

“Tease,” she answered, with a petulant frown.

“You knew that when you married me,” he chuckled and offered Morgan a hand.

“I’m not going to stay in bed forever.” She frowned at him but took his hand.

“Not forever, I wouldn’t ask that,” Nicholas answered as he helped her stand. “Just long enough to get some of your strength back, so that we can explore the options that Joshua offered, without risking your life.” Nicholas wrapped his arm around her waist.
 

“There are times when I hate you, love,” she grumbled.

“Only when I’m right,” Nicholas teased, as he steered her toward the safe room. They walked down the stairs, and Nicholas let go of her when they were inside. He sealed the door and leaned against the wall beside the control panel, as Morgan moved around the room, using the walls and furniture to help steady her, getting ready to sleep.
She’s still weak, but if I go and try to help, she’ll get pissed. She needs to do this herself or else she’ll never forgive me.
About ten minutes later she slipped under the covers. Morgan turned onto her side and yawned. “Ah ha, I was right,” Nicholas chuckled, kneeling beside her.

“Yeah, yeah, you were right,” she grumbled and rolled her eyes.
 

“Get some rest, love. I’ll be right here when you wake.” He leaned over her and laid a gentle kiss on her forehead.
 

“No need. I know you’ve got stuff you need to do.”

“And one of those things is you.” He smiled, and traced her lower lip with his thumb, “I haven’t had the chance to be the hovering husband yet.”

“You don’t need to hover,” Morgan muttered, as her eyelids drifted lower.
 

“Let me worry about that. Right now you need to rest for a while,” Nicholas whispered, and slid in bed beside her. He wrapped an arm around her waist and smiled, as Morgan snuggled close. After a few minutes, her breathing evened out, and he knew she was asleep.

J
OSHUA
STEPPED
OUT
of the Louis Armstrong airport terminal, and into the warm sunshine. He took a deep breath and let it out, happy to be breathing fresh air for the first time in almost eighteen hours. After a few minutes, he shook himself and was about to call Charles, when he glanced up to the sky, high above the sun burned bright, just a few degrees shy of its apex. The vampire had said someone would meet him, but so far Joshua hadn’t seen anyone. He was reaching into his pocket to call a cab, when a large black SUV pulled to a stop in front of him. He was just about to step away from the car, so he’d be visible to his ride, when the driver opened the door, and an errant breeze carried something unexpected to his sensitive nose. It was the scent of damp, fresh turned earth, mixed with the stale shed snake skin–like scent that he associated with just one creature.

Vampire
. The thought bounced around in his skull like a crazed pinball high on meth.
But it’s the middle of the day! How the hell is this possible? They’re not supposed to wake for at least another six hours.
Joshua watched, as a man stepped out of the car, ran his left hand through sandy hair, and began heading his way.
Six feet at least, more a swimmer’s build, than a weight lifter type. Finesse and agility, instead of brute strength.
As his mind spun, the vampire walked over to Joshua, and held out his hand.

“Nicholas Falstaff.” The vampire’s voice was a neutral tenor, and a slight smile curled his lips as he offered Joshua a hand. “You’re Joshua, I take it?” Nicholas asked.

“Uh. Um.”
Oh shit. He’s the Assassin.
Even though he was a werewolf, not a vampire, he’d been taught who the Council’s Lead Enforcer was, by the elders of his pack.
I may not be one of them, but I know enough about their kind to know who he is, and what that means.
Joshua shook his head, knowing that he looked like a fool. “Yeah. I was expecting a chauffeur,” he answered, his New England accent becoming more pronounced than usual. He shook Nicholas’s hand.