The Return (9 page)

He couldn't tell friend from foe and it made him sick. He couldn't go on like this. He
wouldn't
go on like this.

Zac didn't know how long he lay there
wanting
to die. He was so out of it he didn't understand that someone was looking down at him. A woman. At first he thought she was an angel come to take him away, her blonde hair sparkling in the moonlight. What must he look like? Covered in blood, lying in a ditch at the side of the road, six mutilated soldiers from
his own
side scattered across the asphalt. Had she come to take him to hell?

Strong hands hauled him into a sitting position and somehow he knew the woman was a vampire. Why did she care? He was a stranger to her, a psychotic killer.
All the
bad
things about being a vampire.

He realized then that she was a nurse. He took in her uniform and couldn't fathom it. "How can you..." he began, but the words died in his throat. The moment he spoke, the burning came back and he choked.

"How can I stand the blood?" she asked as he grasped his forehead, rubbing his temples with bloodstained hands.

Zac nodded, eyes wide.

"Practice," she grinned lopsidedly. "What's your name, soldier?"

"Degaud," he rasped.

"Well, Lieutenant Degaud," she had spied the insignia on his jacket, "first things first. Let's get you out of the mud."

"Why?" he whispered as he stumbled to his feet.

"I can't really leave you out here like that," she said, gesturing to his stained clothing. "And you're kind of in the midst of a rampage."

Zac knew she was right. If she left him, god knows what he would do next. He didn't have a choice but to follow her.

The woman led him to an abandoned barn in a field some way from the major roadways. It was decayed and falling down, but served as a good hiding place for the time being. It seemed she had used this place before. The ground was trampled and the scent of freshly turned hay filled the air. There were hidden things here in forgotten corners. He was positive that she knew that he had worked it out. A vampire saw much more than a human would. What worried him was why she had been here before if she was a nurse with the British Army.

When she noticed his confused look, she said, "I sometimes bring Resistance here. If things get too close in Paris and they need to hide for a night, I help get them out."

She was a vampire that moonlighted as a nurse for the British Army and the French Resistance? What the hell was she?

She took out a bottle of wine that had been hidden under a pile of hay and handed it to him. A bundle followed, clean civilian clothes that were probably meant for some future political refugee. "Best you get out of those clothes, you stink of blood."

He took a long draught of the wine, the alcohol soothing his burning throat. Taking the clothes, he went into one of the old stalls and peeled off his wet and dirty uniform. A basin of water was pushed under the door and he washed the dirt and blood away.

"Will anyone miss you?"

"What?" He jumped at her sudden question and pulled on the dark grey shirt from the bundle.

"Your CO," she explained.

"No."

"I hope you had enough sense to compel him and not rip his face off," she scolded.

"I'm not a total imbecile," he spat.

"Calm down." She held her hands up when he peered at her over the stall door. "I was just asking."

Zac snorted and pulled his boots back on, throwing his wet coat over the wall. When he came out, the woman was perched on an old bale of hay, looking at him.

"I'm going to help you," she declared.

"Why?" He had it in him already that he was a lost cause.

"Because I can and I was in the right place at the right time." She didn't seemed too put off by the circumstances of his downward spiral. Handing him the bottle of wine, she smiled and gestured for him to sit.

"Who are you?"

"Nurse Knowles," she said. "Morgan Knowles."

"How do you do it? Resist..."

"I was a nurse before as well," she said. "I guess the calm carried over when I was made. It's never really bothered me."

"You're lucky," he whispered and swallowed a mouthful of the wine.

"I wouldn't call it lucky, Lieutenant. I don't know about you, but I didn't particularly want to be a vampire. It kind of grew on me, though."

Morgan told him she'd been turned five years ago. At the time she was working at Great Ormond Street Hospital in London. One night, as she left she was attacked from behind. The assailant was human, just out to get off on the high of killing an innocent woman. He stabbed her multiple times and left her to bleed out in a gutter. If she had of been found by a human, she said, she would have died. Her wounds had been fatal.

A vampire came along with the intention of healing her, but was too late. She had died with their blood in her system and thus became a vampire. An unfortunate turn of events, she called it, but who was she to complain? She was gifted with a second chance, no matter how twisted, and she used it to help others.

Her savior was named William and he himself was new. New to a vampire
was
a few decades, he said he was fifty years dead. He stuck with her for a while and taught her how to look after herself and she soon returned to her old life at the hospital. Then she was called up to join the war effort and William disappeared as vampires often did.

"And now I am here," she said. "I could hardly let my skills go to waste."

He knew from her expectant look that she wanted him to tell her about his own turning. But he said nothing.

Morgan sighed, "Get some sleep, Lieutenant Degaud. I will still be here when you wake."

When morning finally came, Zac was surprised to see Morgan out in the sunlight.

"Britain is an ancient land," she said, when he stood next to her. "Witches are a dime a dozen if you know where to look."

He grunted, looking out across the fields. His attitude still stunk.

"I said I was going to help you," Morgan scolded him, placing her hands on her hips. "And
If
that means going through the basics, then so be it."

"What, now?" he began to protest.

"No time like the present." She took his arm, leading him across the field.

A small flock of sheep were
grazing at one end, the crispness of the early morning making them huddle together for warmth.

"Your problem is you don't know when to stop." She pointed to the sheep. "Go get one."

"A sheep?" he asked, an eyebrow
raising
.

"Don't worry about looking stupid in front of me. I've seen it all."

So, that was that, then.

They worked like this for several days until he didn't feel the desire to feed at the slightest scent of fresh blood. It took some work to get to this point and many dead sheep. Some farmer would be extremely annoyed at the loss of his livestock. When Zac was able to let the sheep walk away, bleeding, but alive, he felt a lot better. His control seemed to be coming back, piece by piece.

Of an evening they hid in the barn and talked late into the night. Morgan told him of her human life, growing up in Britain. She was born in a small village in Surrey and had always hoped that she would become a nurse. She told him about her work after she had been turned, about what she had been doing with the army in France. Using her new skills to help the Resistance. Her real identity was a carefully guarded secret. She never shared her true self with humans, only other vampires. The French had even given her a codename, but she never told him what it was.

In turn, Zac told her much about his brother Sam and their travels as vampires. Eighty years was a
life time
and they had wandered far. He told her about his time in the American Civil War and World War I. He even caved into her sweetness and told her how he had turned and what had happened to his family.
The massacre and Victoria's abrupt end.
She had a way with words that drew him in. His shoulders felt lighter than they had for a long time.

Morgan understood it all and didn't judge him for any of it. She was too good for him.

"Lieutenant Degaud," she murmured, placing her small hands on his face. "If I have learnt anything about you in the past week, it's that you are more than a monster. You are a good man."

"How do you know?" he whispered, sliding a hand onto her waist.

"I can see it in your eyes when you speak of your brother. And when you speak of the person you want to be. There's a fire inside of you."

He couldn't help but shiver as she leant forward, her lips brushing against his. "Zac," he whispered. "Call me, Zac."

Her hand dropped to his shirt, and she pulled him close, his lips colliding with hers. When he kissed her, he only felt his body respond, not his heart or his mind. 
He didn't love her
,
it wasn't like that
. They were comfort to each other. Nothing more would ever come of it.

Her hands slipped inside his shirt and he pushed her back into the hay, pulling off her dress.

Comfort. That's all it was.

The sound of a bird rusting around in the barn roof woke him just as the sun was rising. Morgan was curled against him, naked, her back pressing into his chest. She was sound asleep
;
dead to the world. He didn't move, not wanting to disturb her. When she finally stirred, he ran a hand along the curve of her waist, pulling her hips back hard against him.

"You know I can't stay forever," he said, burying his face into her hair.

"I know."

"I have to go find my brother soon. He will be worried."

"Where's home?"

"America," he said. "Louisiana. He talked about going to New Orleans. I hope to find him there."

She sat up and began to dress, the sadness in her face fleeting before she turned away.

"Morgan," he began.

"We need to go back to civilization," she cut him off before he could explain. "You need to pass the final test before you go."

Zac knew she meant human blood. The control he'd learnt over the past week would mean nothing unless he could hold back with a human.

Sighing, he began to dress, aware of Morgan's eyes on him. She'd changed. He shouldn't have... He knew the effect he had on people without trying. He was afraid that Morgan had become more involved than she should.

"We'll go to Calais," she said, interrupting his thoughts. "From there it will be easier to get back to London. I'm sure you'll find passage back to America from there, war or no."

"Morgan." He had her in his arms before she could turn away. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Zac," she whispered into his chest. "I always knew you had to go some time. Just not so soon."

He let his arms drop and she led him outside and back to the road without another word.

They hitched rides with army convoys travelling north during the day and ran during the night. By sunrise the next morning, they were in Calais. News had already reached the town that Paris had been liberated and was now in the hands of the Allies.