Cast in Blood (Morgan Blackstone Vampires Book 1) (23 page)

An hour later she’d ordered a casket, which would be delivered later that afternoon. Once that was done, she turned her attention to more mundane matters, and began catching up on work–related emails that had gotten out of control while she was out of touch. Soft footfalls approaching the office caught her attention, and, on instinct, Morgan reached for the dagger she’d put on the desk. Every muscle in her body tensed, as she waited, ready to strike if necessary, after a few moments Christophe appeared in the open door.

“We are home,
cherie
.” There was something wrong about the way he was holding himself, too tense. Morgan was wary.
 

“Did you have a good night?” she asked, trying to keep the conversation light.

“Yes, and from the look on your pretty face I’d say it was a far sight better than yours.” He pushed away from the door and strolled toward the desk. “What happened?”

“Alexander attacked Nicholas and Eric,” she answered with a sigh, that carried weight with it. “Nicholas is doing much better. Eric not so much.”

“Mon Dieu,” Christophe whispered on a soft exhale, he sat on the arm of the chair to her left, and ran a hand through his hair. “What happened to Eric?”

“Marcus made him one of us,” Morgan continued, as if her Blood Son hadn’t spoken. “According to Marcus, Elizabeth said it’s what he wanted.”

“And Marcus brought him here?” Christophe asked, knowing the answer before he asked.
I so do not want to hear this. We really don’t need more complications
.
 

“Yeah, he’s in the safe room.” Morgan’s answer held no emotion. The flat, almost dead tone sent a chill down Christophe’s spine.

“
Merde
.” Christophe swore under his breath, as he ran a hand through his hair. “Is there anything I can do?” He shook his head, stood, and began pacing the room.

“No. I’ve got everything under control,” Morgan answered, though it felt like a lie. As he watched her for a few seconds, she noticed a slight twitch in Christophe’s left eye.
Oh yeah. He can see I’m bluffing my way through this. Now the big question is whether or not he calls me on it.

“Where are Marcus and Nicholas?” he asked. There was a hint of wariness in his voice, as though he was reluctant to hear the answer.

“They’re out, drinking,” she answered, again without emotion.

“Wait.” Christophe furrowed his brow and held up one hand. “Nicholas left you alone?” He shook his head as though he couldn’t believe what he was saying.

“Yes he did,” she replied. “Don’t look so shocked. Nicholas can be reasonable, even when he’s being over protective.” She paused, taking a moment to register Christophe’s incredulous look. “Marcus was freaking out in a big way,” Morgan sighed, and ran a hand through her hair. “I didn’t think the Old Man was safe to be on his own, or to stay here.”

“So Eric’s out like a light?” Christophe asked.
 

“Dead to the world, in a casket, for the next fourteen or so hours.” Morgan’s delivery was deadpan; she didn’t even crack a smile.

“I did not just hear you make that awful, terrible joke.” Christophe groaned, shaking his head.

“Gallows humor?” she asked, raising one eyebrow with a small smile curling her lip, but not quite reaching her eyes.
 
There was still something deep within those emerald pools that held pain and anger.

“There will be no last minute pardon for that joke,” he murmured, shaking his head, “and I’m thinking more along the line of physical and mental exhaustion.”
 

“Are you telling me I need to get some sleep?” she chuckled.

“That is exactly what I’m saying.”

“I’m ass deep in emails,” she complained, gesturing to her laptop with one hand.

“And they’ve waited this long.” Christophe walked around the desk. “They can wait some more.”

“Did Nicholas put you up to this?” Morgan asked.

“Does it really matter?” He didn’t need to hear her answer. The dark look she gave him was enough. “No, he didn’t put me up to this. I can see well enough that you are about to fall over on your feet, thank you.” With a gentle hand, he guided her out from behind the desk, toward the hallway. “You can’t push yourself too hard, not while we’re still trying to figure out how your system will react to the changes to your blood.”

“You’re going to guilt me into bed?” she asked, a note of incredulity creeping into her voice.

“Yeah. Low I know,” he teased, mischief sparkling in his lavender eyes, “but it’s the hand I’ve been dealt.”

“Well, it’s working.” She grumbled, rolling her eyes.

“How are we going to handle his first feeding?” Christophe asked, changing the subject.

“I’m going to call Annabelle and have her bring someone by.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Unfortunately, it’s not like we have much of a choice. We can’t call one of the donors. Feeding a newborn is always a risk, and considering the situation, it’s more so.”

“This would be why I’ve never taken a donor.”

“And here I thought it was because you didn’t want to be tied to one human for too long,” Morgan teased, threading her arm through his.

“Well, there is that too. I like the fact that I don’t have to be tied down.” Christophe chuckled, as they walked out of the room together.

“That makes you sound like a woman.”

“It’s not intentional, believe me.” Christophe held his hands up in mock surrender. “In all seriousness,
cherie
, I was about to be forced into a loveless marriage when Alexander tried to kill me. Saving me from that fate is the
only
thing I thank my Sire for.”
 
He emphasized the important words by drawing them out a bit more than was necessary.
 

“I never thought I’d hear you say anything like that.” Morgan shook her head.
 

“Yeah well, after four hundred years I can admit that I owe him some tiny bit of thanks,” he explained. “Though, if I ever see his face again, I will do everything within my power to watch him draw his last breath.”

“I think you’re going to need to get in line,” Morgan answered.
With my husband rushing to be at the head, I doubt anyone else will get close to Alexander before his life is ended.

“So, how long do you think Nicholas will keep Marcus away?”

“I don’t know how long they’ll be gone, but I hope Marcus is sensible and stays away until we know whether or not Eric will survive the transition.”
 

“What’s your gut feeling?”

“I never met the guy, so I really can’t say” Morgan shrugged, and thought about it for a moment, then continued. “I must admit that I wouldn’t be upset to have a cop on our payroll.”

“You can’t just tell while he’s sleeping?” Christophe asked, putting the last word in air quotes as he spoke.

“Not yet. Right now he’s just as dead as a human being would be.” Morgan sighed, as they walked into her bedroom.
 

“When will you have some idea?” he asked, with a note of genuine confusion in his tone.

Morgan looked at Christophe, duplicating his expression, for a moment before she shook her head. “I keep forgetting you’ve never done this before.”

“It’s not like you’re an expert either, doll face.”

“Doll face?” She raised her left eyebrow and her mouth quirked up in a slight smile.

“I’m feeling a bit,” he pursed his lips and waved his hand in lazy circles, “Noir tonight, so sue me.”

“Keep it up and I might fire you, at the very least,” she answered, in perfect deadpan.

“You can’t fire me. I’m your Blood Child.” Christophe gasped, as though he was play–acting in a melodrama.

“Damn.” Morgan frowned, though she fought a smile.
Leave it to Christophe to help me not feel like shit. The world could be crashing in around us, and he would have a smile on his face, and a joke on his lips, until the end.

“So what can we expect from Eric’s transformation?” Christophe asked, as Morgan disappeared into the closet.
 

“Well, I’m not entirely certain because Marcus didn’t drink his blood. I’m basing a lot of my assumptions on what happened with you and Charles.”

“What were the differences?”

“Well, from what Nicholas tells me you two stayed quote–unquote dead, for an extra twenty–four hours.” Morgan called out to Christophe. “I don’t know about our friend in the safe room.”
 

“And why the casket? It seems a little bit on the melodramatic side if you ask me.”

“Oddly enough,” she paused, “it’s a safety thing.”

“Safety?”

“Yes. Some newborn vampires panic during their change.” Morgan pulled a set of burgundy satin pajamas from her dresser and laid them on the settee.
 

“Panic?”

“Yes, it can get rather violent,” she replied, “thankfully modern caskets are very sturdy, and due to size it doesn’t allow the newborn to make use of their strength.”

“Not to mention they are nicely padded.”

“I’m not sure I want to know how you know that,” Morgan answered, wary.

“You’re right. You really don’t.” Christophe concurred, and they sat in silence for a few seconds, each lost in their own thoughts. “So back to
monsieur
Eric?”

“I have no idea how to respond to that,” she muttered, just loud enough for Christophe to hear her. “So, I’ll just say that I think he’s going to wake at sundown, and need to feed. He will have no control whatsoever, so using a donor for this feeding would be an act of supreme stupidity,” Morgan answered, as though she was a lecturing professor.
 

“And that’s where Annabelle comes in? Why her? Why not let one of us go out, find someone for him to feed on?”

“Because, in the end, she’s expendable.” Her answer was short, simple and practical.
 

“I hate it when you do that.” Christophe shuddered, feeling an army of insects scamper through his veins.
 

“Do what?”

“When you’re so damned callous about the fact that someone may die,” he snapped.

“
I am not
callous. It’s true that I don’t know how things will go, but I don’t wish for more death.” She paused and took a deep breath. “That being said, I
will not
put more of my family at risk when there are others willing and able to help.”

“Willing?” The question held was open, honest, and right to the point.

“Yes.” Morgan walked out of the closet wearing the pajamas she had selected, with a black robe open over them. She caught sight of the smile of appreciation that curled his lips and felt a small blossom of satisfaction.

“Why would she be willing to help?” Christophe watched as she padded across the room on bare feet.

“Considering how this is all going down, he may not want to join the Dynasty. He could make the decision to become a Nomad, and there’s nothing we could do about it.”

“So Annabelle’s interest is more along the line of whether or not she can convince him to join their team.” Christophe couldn’t hide his skepticism.

“Pretty much.” Morgan chuckled and walked into the bathroom. She paused to flip the light on, before picking up her hairbrush.

“
Merde,
” he whispered, shaking his head. “That could cause more complications.”

“We’re not going to worry about that right now,” Morgan answered, shaking her head. “Anyway, after the feeding at sundown Eric will fall into a kind of torpor. He will be out for at least forty–eight hours. If he doesn’t wake within seventy–two, he didn’t make it.”

“Damn, I’m glad I don’t remember much about my transformation, it sounds brutal.” Christophe sighed.

“It helps keep the population of vampires down.”

Christophe was silent for several seconds, before he sighed. “Is there anything else that needs to be handled tonight?” He pursed his lips and leaned against the post of the bed, folding his arms over his chest.

“No. I’m going to check in with my husband one last time, and try to get some sleep.” She put the finishing touches on her French braid and stepped out of the bathroom.
 
As she walked over to the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress, she let out a heavy sigh.

“What’s wrong, doll?” Christophe asked, walking over to the bed.

“Damn you.” She shook her head and closed her eyes, shutting down.

“I know you don’t like it when I call you doll but,” Christophe’s voice trailed off, when he saw the cold hard look her eyes. “Oookay,” he stretched out the word for longer than necessary. “You’re not pissed that I called you doll. What is bothering you?”

“Can’t I just be having a bad night?”

“I’d say you’ve had more than your fair share in the recent past.” Christophe sat down beside her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Morgan leaned against him and smiled, inhaling his designer cologne.

“Is that a new scent?” she asked, as she snaked her arm around his waist.
 

 
“Yes. Lara gave it to me,” he answered, his voice full of trepidation.