“Christophe, what did you change about that mix?” Nicholas asked. His voice seemed to be much calmer than he had been a few moments before.
“O–neg from a blood bank.”
“We all know that drawn blood isn’t the best substitute,” Nicholas suggested. “The protocols...”
“No,” Morgan snapped, cutting him off. “I don’t want to take the chance that I might inadvertently harm one of the donors.”
“What was the ratio of wine to blood?” Charles asked, from the chair he’d settled into.
“Three to one,” Christophe answered.
“Perhaps we should try one to one. Joshua was rather insistent that I follow the formula exactly. It is possible that the imbalance in the wine to blood ratio caused the problem.” Charles paused, looking in amazement at first Nicholas, then Christophe, before turning his chocolate eyes on Morgan. “What? You don’t spend four years at an Ivy League college and not pick up a few things,” he laughed, looking at them like they’d each grown a second head.
“I know. I just never expected to find such a practical application for your chemistry requirements,” Morgan said.
“I’m just as surprised as you are. I may just be blowing smoke here, but it feels right,” he chuckled, ushering Christophe into the kitchen.
“You’ve done well with them,” Nicholas muttered, as Morgan snuggled closer to him, and laid her head on his chest listening to the slow, steady beat of his heart.
“They didn’t always make it easy. They’ve always had their own ideas about certain things,” she sighed, as Nicholas tucked a blanket around her, and though she would have, under normal circumstances felt stifled, it was comforting. Morgan looked at him, and knew by his expression that his mind was racing. She smiled, but resisted the urge to reach up and smooth out the tiny crease between his eyebrows.
Morgan smiled and caught his hand in hers. Without thinking, she brought it to her lips and drew his finger into her mouth, caressing his skin with her tongue. Nicholas gasped a harsh intake of air, as her fangs scraped his skin. Pleased by his reaction Morgan nipped the tip of his finger just enough to draw blood. The full–bodied flavor drew a soft moan from her throat, and Nicholas sighed, his free hand massaging her thigh. Though she wanted to continue, caution made her flick her tongue over the wound after only a bit of his blood. “What is it?” Morgan whispered, examining his thoughtful expression. Without answering, Nicholas tilted her chin toward him, capturing her gaze, before his lips touched hers.
“It just hit me. What if we’re using the wrong kind of blood?” he asked, brows knitting together.
“What do you mean the wrong kind of blood?” she asked, with her right eyebrow raised, a sure sign that her curiosity had been piqued.
“What if the sorcerer’s blood is causing some kind of breakdown in yours?” he muttered, eyes not really focusing on anything. Morgan knew that look well, over the centuries it had gotten them into, and out of, several tight spots.
“You mean it’s somehow changing my blood?” she asked.
“It might be breaking it down so your body can’t handle it. That’s why your system keeps rejecting both human blood and the concoction.”
“That sounds logical.”
“It would also explain why we avoid feeding from sorcerers because, like lycanthropes, their blood is deadly,” Nicholas mused.
“How does this help us?” Morgan asked, shaking her head in frustration.
“When you fed on the human Marcus brought you, how did it feel?” he asked. Morgan smiled for a split second before answering.
“It was disgusting. The things in his mind were beyond reprehensible!” she growled. That’s one death that will never stain my conscience.
“No, I mean the blood itself,” he chuckled and nipped her neck. “How did it make you feel?”
She thought about it for a moment. “I started to feel strange almost immediately, even when I talked to you.”
“With the concoctions that Christophe and Charles came up with?” Nicholas asked, trying to coax the information he sought, from her.
“The ones with or without?”
“With. The one with no blood your body rejected immediately.”
Morgan considered for a moment, a slight crease in between her brow before she answered. “I felt all right until the convulsions hit.”
“And how do you feel now?”
“Aside from the fever, fine,” Morgan muttered, frowning.
“What if a bit of vampire blood is all this concoction needs? Something to help balance out whatever the sorcerer’s blood is doing to yours.”
“That sounds sensible, but who is going to want to share their blood with me on a regular basis?” she asked, knowing that they would run the risk of creating a bond, not unlike the one all vampires shared with their Sires. Not exactly a bad thing. However, it can be intrusive when one or the other is under a lot of stress or in danger, Morgan thought, as another part of her mind ran through a very short list of people she would want to be bound within such an intimate manner. Goddess knows that Julian and I couldn’t stand to be within one hundred miles of one another for about a decade, twenty years after I was changed. That’s when he first sent me to live with Marcus.
“I can think of someone,” Nicholas whispered, breaking Morgan’s trip down memory lane.
“Are you certain?” she asked, knowing that he meant himself. I love you Nicholas, but there are times when we spend long spans of time without seeing one another. The distance helps keep us strong as a couple, and it works. The thought that such separations might not be possible, is somewhat frightening.
“If it means that you’re back to normal strength, yes. We’ll deal with the long term ramifications later,” Nicholas answered. He slid out from behind her and stood.
“Thank you,” Morgan stopped him by catching his hand and kissing the back of it. Nicholas turned, and flashed a charming smile that lit up his blue grey eyes, making them sparkle with warmth before he gave a little bow, and disappeared into the kitchen. Feeling unsettled and restless, but not trusting her strength, Morgan tucked her knees close. Listening to Nicholas explain his idea to the others, she closed her eyes. Drifting toward blissful oblivion, a slight smile curled her lips as the sounds of the debate floated away, becoming little more than background noise.
“Do they ever just make a decision without an argument?” Marcus asked, from a few feet away.
“Holy shit Marcus! Don’t sneak up on me like that!” Morgan gasped, sitting up, laughing to shake off the spike of fear that pierced her heart.
“Sorry, but really Morgan, you shouldn’t be so lax about your security, and neither should the Assassin,” Marcus chuckled, though his expression was serious.
“You’re right. However, Nicholas and the others are in the kitchen. Have you been able to find anything?”
“I’ve come up with a few leads,” Marcus answered, though he was distracted, he had noticed the sketches on the table. “But what I’ve found makes very little sense.”
Knowing better, Morgan didn’t push him, as he picked up the stack of drawings and leafed through them, pausing every now and then to set one on the table beside him. As Marcus continued to examine the sketches, Nicholas walked out of the kitchen with a goblet in his hand. He passed it to Morgan and sat at the end of the sofa.
“We’re still trying to figure out how to keep me alive,” Morgan explained, in response to Marcus’s curious gaze, and lifted the glass to her lips.
“Testing a theory,” Nicholas offered.
“Testing? Isn’t that dangerous?” Marcus asked, his hazel eyes narrowing, making him look cunning, dangerous.
“We have no other choice,” Nicholas sighed.
“Besides, I think we may have hit on it,” Morgan added, inhaling the rich, full–bodied aroma. The herbs and floral scents mixed with the sharp rusty tang from the blood, cutting it. Her fangs extended, as Morgan closed her eyes, and she took a long pull of the
concoction. The instant the liquid touched her tongue, her vampiric nature, roared to the fore wanting to devour, to gulp it as fast as her throat would allow. No! She forced herself to slow down.
“Morgan?” Christophe asked, as she tipped the glass vertically to catch the last drop.
“Yes?” She set the glass on the coffee table and licked her lips.
“Better?” Christophe asked.
“Much,” she answered, on a contented sigh.
“Now I suppose we wait. So, Marcus what have you learned?” Nicholas asked, as Morgan took his hand in hers, enjoying the feel of his skin, still cooler than hers, soft as silk with an underlying strength.
“Actually, I have a couple of questions for Morgan, if you feel up to it?” Marcus settled himself on the coffee table facing her, looking at ease.
“I’ll do my best, but can’t promise anything.”
“Fair enough,” he replied, then leaned to his right and picked up the sketches he’d set aside. “What do you remember about this?” he asked, handing her the drawing of the ring Nicholas had found earlier. She felt Nicholas’s hand squeeze hers as she took the sketch.
The fear hit without warning, one moment she was looking at the drawing, trying to remember more, and the next her hand was shaking. Nicholas slid his arm around her shoulders, offering his strength. Marcus reached out and tried to take the sketch, but Morgan pulled it away, flashing her fangs with a low growl.
“He’s a human. Someone who knows more about our kind than he should,” she muttered, after a few minutes silence. “He knew more than most of the donors I know. A doctor of some kind, has access to a lot of drugs, and what he couldn’t lay his hands on someone provided him with,” Morgan whispered a dreamlike quality to her voice, as her eyes lost their focus. “He’s the one who came up with the drug cocktail. He was older, for a human. I’d guess around fifty, maybe sixty, salt and pepper hair, cut short with a bald patch. His forehead was very shiny.” Her words had picked up pace, until they were coming fast, as though speed would keep the worst of her memories at bay. Across the room Christophe started to speak, but Marcus silenced him with a gesture, and Morgan continued without noticing. “He was short, only about the same height as Lucian, which would put him somewhere around five foot six. And his eyes, they were brown, but there was no warmth in them. He took pleasure in what he did.”
“Did he have an accent?” Nicholas asked, keeping his voice neutral.
“Southern, it sounded like somewhere in Texas.”
“Anything about what they were doing?” Marcus asked, reminding Nicholas that they made a good team.
“They were some kind of blood experiments. For the most part, I think they used Rogues and Nomads. He wasn’t pleased by the results, he wanted someone with a better bloodline and Lucian was obliging, for his own reasons. My Grandsire held his cards close; I never heard him say anything useful.”
“They were experimenting on Nomads and Rogues?” Marcus seemed surprised.
“Have you had a chance to speak with the Lady of the City?” Nicholas asked.
“No. I’ll make a point to go see her tonight before I return home.”
“Let me know what she has to say. If she questions your authority, tell her that you are there at my request and remind her that the enforcers also police her Nomads.”
“I do recall the protocol. Is there anything else you can tell us Morgan?”
“I think the doctor lived where I was held,” she said, with a soft sigh. “I never heard him talk about leaving. Somehow I knew he never did. He saw me as a challenge. The drugs never quite worked as he expected. That was something both he and Lucian found strange and fascinating, because they’d worked on…” she stopped as if silence could change what she’d just remembered. Nicholas’s hand left hers, and Morgan let him draw her into his arms, taking solace in his embrace.
“Who?”
“Julian,” she answered, an image of his silver eyes wide with fear and disbelief flashed in her mind.
“Julian, your Sire? Lucian’s own blood?” Marcus asked unable to mask his shock.
“Yes.”
“Madness,” Charles shook his head.
“Assassin, now that she’s confirmed our suspicions, we have to get Morgan out of the city. There’s no way the four of us can keep her safe,” Marcus insisted and rose from his seat. He stepped away from the table, and started pacing. The room was silent, waiting for someone to break it.
“No,” Morgan answered, bursting the bubble. “I will not run.”
“Morgan!” Nicholas and Marcus spoke as one, both turning to face her.
“No. I don’t know what’s happening, but I know that if I hide, it will continue. I have to know why, and put a stop to it, if I can.”
“Morgan, we all know that Lucian isn’t just going to give up. In fact, I’m somewhat surprised that he’s stayed away as long as he has. Marcus is right; you’re not safe here. Now that we seem to have solved the problem of how you can feed, traveling is no longer a concern,” Nicholas countered.
He’s going to fight me on this, no matter what I say he’s not going to like it, and he’s going to make my life difficult. Why is that so annoying? Morgan thought, as she shifted position on the couch so that she could see Nicholas. Fear and concern were etched on her husband’s handsome features, making him even more so to her eyes. Morgan swallowed hard and reached out, touching his cheek with a tender caress. “Nicholas, I can’t leave, not without knowing what happened to Julian.”
“I’ll stay and search,” Marcus offered. Julian’s been my friend for centuries, and I will tear this city apart to find him, if it comes to that.
“And I’ll send enforcers to assist. Obviously there’s more happening that what we just don’t understand,” Nicholas interjected, his mind already turning over the mystery and formulating theories.
“That’s why I refuse to run. I need to understand what’s happening or else I’ll lose my mind.”
“Morgan, please. Be reasonable…” Nicholas began, but Charles cut him off, speaking in a firm tone that was out of character for him.
“We can’t leave the city yet.”
“And why can’t we leave whenever we damned well choose?” Nicholas snapped, rounding on Charles as though he was the prey to be stalked.
“Because Joshua won’t know how to find us, he indicated, that the concoction isn’t the only thing that the sorcerers need to survive.”
“What do you mean he won’t find us?” Nicholas asked. “Last time I saw him, he was in one of the guest rooms.”
“He left, said something about a possible source to see in Baton Rouge,” Charles answered, shrugging. “He said he should return sometime late tonight or early tomorrow.”
“Then we can tell him where we end up,” Nicholas countered, not backing down.
“No,” Morgan interrupted, from the sofa. “Joshua is already taking time away from his life to help us to help me. I will not repay his kindness by asking that he chase us to Goddess knows where. We will remain here until he arrives. Then we can see where we stand, and plan from there.”
“I can’t talk you out of this can I? In spite of my concern there’s nothing I can do to make you see it my way, is there?” Nicholas asked, his shoulders slumping as though a great weight had landed on them.
“I’ve made my decision.”
“Then I will stand beside, and protect you to the best of my ability,” he vowed.
“Thank you love,” Morgan whispered. “I know how difficult this is for you.”
“It’s my job, not just as the Council’s Lead Enforcer, but also as your husband, to protect you. Despite the fact that this goes against every instinct I possess, I will defer to your wishes,” he answered his voice flat. “Now what else can you tell us about these drawings?”
A tense silence hung in the air, as Marcus flipped through the sketches and selected one before handing it to her. Morgan frowned, not remembering drawing it. The abstract re
presentation taunted her, teasing the edge of her memory, like forgotten words to a well–loved song. Morgan closed her eyes, hoping that the loss of distraction would help, but ghostlike forms danced before her eyes, never forming into more than vague shadows.
“All I remember,” Morgan paused, as she searched her memory for the right image, “is that it was like being laced into a corset. But that’s wrong. It wasn’t a corset; it was something that held my arms behind me, something that even though I should have been able to break, it didn’t allow me enough leverage to make use of my strength.”
“Is that why the sketch is more abstract? This isn’t something you saw, but felt?” Marcus asked, studying the drawing as though the answer would manifest on the page.
“I think so,” she frowned.
“Nicholas?” Christophe called to him from the chair where he sat. Nicholas glanced up, and the younger vampire beckoned him over, wanting to show him something on his laptop. He crossed to where Christophe was and looked at the screen. They spoke in hushed murmurs. After a few moments, Nicholas nodded and began pacing the room, with a deep scowl etched on his features.
“What is it?” Morgan asked.
“Christophe just found something that would explain the sketch. It’s a dead end I’m afraid. Too many places to purchase such an item,” he answered with a dismissive gesture.
“I hate it when you talk in circles, but I’m not going to push it. I don’t have the energy.”
“Do you want to rest?”
“No. I’m okay. I’m just not looking for another fight,” she answered with a sigh.
“As you wish.”
“Hand me another one Marcus,” she sighed, not really wanting to do it, but knowing that it had to be done.
“What’s this?” he handed her a sketch of a metal table.
“We weren’t given humans to drink from, but they were determined to keep us alive,” she answered, fighting to keep the shiver that ran the length of her body from showing.
“It looks like an embalming table.” Christophe said, looking over Morgan’s shoulder. “They would bring humans there and drain their blood?”
Cast in Blood (Morgan Blackstone Vampires Book 1) Page 12
