The Return (The Witch Hunter Saga)

by R Taylor, Nicole

  "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.

  It seemed too soon, but as they explored the city, they walked past a make shift army hospital, where the wounded were lined up in their hundreds. Everything from gunshot wounds to amputations were laid out and bleeding. Morgan skidded to a halt and pushed him backwards.

  "I'm so sorry, Zac. I didn't know." She tried to hold him back as he registered what they had stumbled upon.

  Human blood was more potent than that of an animal. Its rich coppery scent hit him like a ton of bricks and he turned away sharply, fighting to keep himself in check.

  "Zac," Morgan cried, knowing that the slightest trace of blood would set him off.

  Blinking hard, he felt the burn in his throat subside. "It's okay," he rasped. "I won't."

  Thankfully, she pulled him down the street away from the tent hospital, the sea breeze pulling the scent away.

  They found themselves at the pier, where many British and American war and supply ships were docked. Men were running up and down the gangplanks and
crates and trucks were everywhere. Many of the supply frigates were being loaded with the wounded for their trip home and he knew that was his ticket back to Britain.

  "I need to go." Zac sounded almost desperate. He wanted to see Sam so much.

  "Are you sure you can handle it? I mean, back there…" She gestured back towards the tent hospital.

  "Yes. I've come back before. This feels the same."

  "Well then," she smiled sadly. "Safe journey, soldier."

  "Thank you, Morgan. For everything." He took her in his arms and kissed the top of her head. She shrugged away from him and gestured for him to go. There was a ship preparing to pull anchor. He had to go now or wait god knows how long for another ship to gain clearance to leave.

  As Zac walked along the gangplank and onto the supply ship, he turned and lent on the railing, watching as Morgan disappeared into the bustling crowd. It didn't feel right, leaving her so soon. They had become friends in the short time he'd known her and he felt like he'd used her.

  As the ship pulled away from the dock, he knew it was too late to go back. If he jumped, thousands of people would see and that would be disastrous.

  He hoped that one day they would cross paths. He would tell her then that he was sorry.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Zac walked towards the manor with Morgan, feeling a lot better about himself. It was a huge turn around from that morning when he had been prepared to die. He still wanted Aya more than anything, but he no longer felt powerless.

  "Wow," Morgan breathed, breaking the silence. "It's really beautiful out here."

  "It's your first time in the South?" he asked. He was kind of surprised knowing how old she was.

  "Yes," she nodded. "I mean it's stinking hot, but the swamp, the forest. It's kind of magical."

  "I bet that's what the settlers thought."

  "Were your parents…"

  "No," he shook his head. "My grandparents came out from France a while after New Orleans was founded."

  "Did you ever see where they were from? I mean, when you were over there for the war?"

  "No."

  Morgan didn't push him to explain and he was relieved. She knew all about it.

  They approached the driveway side by side, her familiar presence calming. He had always been jealous of her. She was calm, level headed, caring and had the control he craved. Morgan had purpose and he had just lost his to a two thousand year old vampire. He desperately needed a direction before he lost his grip on his humanity again.

  As they turned up the long driveway towards the front of the manor, Morgan whistled. "Lieutenant Degaud, I had no idea," she laughed.

  "That I was stinking rich?" he chuckled, feeling better than he had in days.

  The willows that lined the graveled drive dipped low, and Morgan ran her hands through the fronds, a strange look on her face. She smiled when she caught Zac looking at her curiously and disappeared behind the curtain of leaves.

  He hesitated, wondering if he should follow her or just continue up to the house, but she came back out, laughing. "Just look at things from another perspective, Degaud." She tugged on his arm and pulled him through the branches. "See, isn't that better?"

  The air was cooler in the shade and the dimmed light was actually calming. Morgan shook her head and took his arm. They walked towards the manor and if he closed his eyes, Zac could almost imagine it was 1863 again. The night before he had left for Virginia, his parents had hosted a ball at the manor. He forgot what it was for, but walking arm in arm with a lady brought back the memory like it was yesterday.

  Carriages had lined the road, filling the air with the sound of hooves on gravel, carrying finely dressed men and women come to social climb. Businessmen from New Orleans, property barons, plantation owners. His parents were obsessed with it and that's why it had cut them so deep when he joined the Confederate forces. His father had wanted him to take it all over, but it just made him feel sick.

  Closing his eyes, Zac sighed. He could almost see the bright moonlit night, the perfumed smell of the wisteria on the warm air, the glow of the gas lamps. The music that filtered through the open doors and windows. The sick feeling in his stomach that had occupied him all night that he was going to Petersburg the following morning. It was a feeling that he wouldn't understand until much later. He wouldn't see this again, the house, his family. This place would never be alive again. He was going to his death.

  "Zac?"

  He jumped as Morgan's voice pulled him back.

  "Where'd you go just then?" She was frowning at him, her head cocked to the side, waiting to see what he would say.

  "Nowhere." He dropped her arm and scowled. They were standing in front of the front door and now he would have to go inside and come clean to Sam. "Stay here," he said, turning to Morgan.

  "I can come in eventually, right?" she smiled.

  "Yes," he said. "I just want to explain to Sam first."

  "It's okay, Zac. I understand. Just let me know when I can come meet him."

  "Sure."

  "I'll be right here," she winked as he walked inside.

  Closing the door behind him he knew Sam was in the parlor. He could feel him there. What was he going to say? Hey, so in the forties I kind of went psychopathic and I was saved by a vampire posing as a nurse? Perhaps he should be less sarcastic.

  "Zac." Sam stood as he came through the doorway, a concerned look plastered on his face. "Liz said…"

  "Stop," Zac held his hand up. He didn't really want to be told off for trying to off himself.

  "What's going on?"

  He took a half empty bottle of whisky from the shelf and sat down on the sofa. "Look, I'm sorry about this morning, okay? It won't happen again."

  Sam didn't look very convinced by this, but nodded anyway. "Something's happened, hasn't it?"

  "Nothing bad." Zac sighed and took a draught of the alcohol before placing it down heavily on the coffee table. Sam had ripped shreds off him when he found the damage he'd inflicted with his knife. The day Aya had brought him back from his last uncontrollable adventure. The table was antique. He didn't care. "Well," he continued. "Depends on how you want to look at it."

  "Shit, Zac."

  "Yeah, yeah." He waived a hand at his little brother.

  "Just tell me. With what you pulled this morning, it'll be hard to top that."

  He leant back into the sofa and grimaced. "We have a visitor."

  Sam narrowed his eyes. "What kind of visitor."

  "One from my sordid past."

  "Care to elaborate further?"

  "Her name is Morgan." He rolled his eyes when he caught the look on Sam's face. "It's not like that. I don't have a girl in every port, you know."

  "If you say so."

  Zac let his expression drop and ran his hands over his face. "Back in the forties, when I went… I went to war. I was desperate. I couldn't take it anymore. Always feeling…" He couldn't say it. He always felt hungry. Not hungry for blood like a human is hungry for food. Hungry for violence. "Morgan pulled me back from the edge."

  Sam was silent as he digested this little gem of his pathetic past. "How bad did it get before she found you?"

  "It wasn't pretty, Sam." He couldn't bear to tell him the truth, it would break his heart, but he knew he had to come clean.

  "How bad, Zac?"

  He grimaced.

  "Zac?"

  He rubbed his temples. "Bad. Very bad. When she found me, I had just slaughtered twelve men. Friend, foe. It didn't matter." He let his head drop into his hands. "I don't know when I would have stopped. It was a miracle Morgan came along when she did."

  "Where were you when she found you?"

  "Somewhere in the countryside outside of Paris. I don't know."

  "What was she doing out there?"

  "She was a nurse with the British army. She also moonlighted with the French Resistance. It was right before Paris was taken back from the Germans. She helped get a lot of people out during the occupation
. She had a safe house nearby, I guess she was in residence."

  Sam looked at him for a moment, waiting for him to crack. When he didn't he said, "Look, I'm not happy you didn't tell me, Zac. I want to help you. I can't do that if you're not forthcoming."

  "Sam, just leave it. It's past. Done. Whatever." Please just let it go.

  "What is she doing here now?"

  "She told me that she heard about the werewolves and came looking. She was looking for me." Before Sam could jump to conclusions he said, "It's not like that."

  "I wasn't going to say anything."

  "Whatever," he said sullenly.

  "We don't know her."

  "But, I do," Zac said. "Sam, she saved my pathetic life."

  Sam looked like he was going to disagree, but he threw his hand in the air. "Okay. Just be careful what you tell her. If she so much as puts any one of us in danger…"

  "I'll make sure of it."

  Zac would have liked to have said Sam took to Morgan like a duck to water, but he was wary of her intentions. After all, she'd just appeared out of thin air looking for his big brother right at the moment he had tried to stake himself. They'd stood in the parlor, eyeing each other with something akin to jealousy. They each wanted to protect him in their own way and it annoyed the hell out of him. He didn't want to be coddled like the psycho everyone thought he was.

  He'd told Morgan that she couldn't stay at the manor. The only room they had spare was Aya's. Had been Aya's. She'd left in good spirits, but he suspected it was a show for his benefit. He'd be annoyed, too. Most of the next day he spent staring into space until Sam dragged him out to take his mind off of things.

  Relief came in the form of alcohol and Max's was the perfect place to partake in it. Gabby and Liz had ambushed Morgan the moment she came in, drilling her for information. The mystery woman from his past was too much temptation, it seemed.

  "I was a nurse," Morgan was explaining. "I remained one after... you know."

  "Wow," Liz exclaimed. "That would have taken some guts."