Marcus laughed a short barking sound that exploded, like a peal of thunder. He shook his head and took a deep breath, steeling himself. He knelt beside Eric, lifted the young man’s shoulders and shifted the limp body to his chest.
“Gods help me if this is not what you want,” he whispered, and closed his eyes before easing the tight control he held over his beast. He felt his fangs slip their protective sheaths. Marcus took a deep breath, letting the scent of Eric’s blood fill his senses, instinct took over and Marcus struck.
The flesh was warm under his lips as his fangs broke the surface. When feeding on a healthy human, the blood flowed into his mouth in a rush. Eric had already been bled to near the point of death, so it moved in a sluggish flow, as if it were beginning to clot.
Marcus groaned, feeling memories battering his psyche. This wasn’t a single moth; this was an entire swarm of locusts crashing into a window. Marcus drank, taking long, slow pulls, until Eric’s heart hesitated, and there was more than a three second gap between futile beats. Marcus slid his fangs out of Eric’s throat and sealed the wound with a swipe of his tongue. He shifted the detective’s weight and bit into the flesh of his own wrist. Marcus pressed the bleeding wound to Eric’s mouth and put his free hand behind the other man’s neck.
“Five, four, three,” Marcus counted down with slow deliberation, “two, and one.” When his count finished Eric gasped, and tried to push Marcus’s wrist away. Using just a small amount of his strength, the vampire held him in place as Eric set his teeth into the flesh on either side of the bleeding wound. “I hate this part,” Marcus complained, just before Eric’s hands fell away from his arm, as he slipped into the limbo between death and rebirth. He would remain there for the next twelve to eighteen hours. Marcus slid the body to the floor and stood.
Don’t lose focus on me now asshole. The voice was back, and more annoying than ever.
“Don’t you ever shut up?” he asked
Nope. Have you thought about how you’re going to get that vampire in waiting out of the house and back to Morgan’s without anyone asking questions? It’s not like you have all the time in the world. Tick tock, don’t forget sunrise, asshole.
“You think that just because I haven’t done this in the past two centuries that I’ve forgotten the procedure? I remember what I’m doing.” He grumbled, while walking through the house looking for a blanket or something large enough to hide the body in. He stepped over shattered furniture and mementos into the bedroom. The bed had been tossed on its side, the mattress leaning against the wall, stripped of its covers. Why go to all this trouble? Marcus asked, as he crossed to the bed and reached for the comforter. He froze in mid motion, the silence broken by the high–pitched wail of a siren. Shit, time’s up, he thought, snatching a dark colored blanket from the floor.
Without paying attention, Marcus raced back into the living room and threw the blanket over Eric’s corpse. The wail, growing louder with each passing moment, Marcus gathered up the body and the blanket, before heading to the back door. He opened it and paused, listening. The sirens had drawn closer, but estimated that he still had about two minutes before they arrived. He threw Eric over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, and crossed the yard to the back fence. This is going to suck, he thought, as he climbed the fence and dropped to the other side.
With having to keep to the shadows, and the burden of Eric’s dead weight, Marcus took more than fifteen minutes to get back to the townhouse. He stopped at the side door and kicked it with his left boot, waiting.
I do not want to put him down. It’s such a pain in the ass to pick up dead weight from the ground. He thought while waiting for the door to open. The front door cracked, and an emerald eye appeared in the space between the door and the jamb.
“Marcus?” she asked, taking a step back and opening the door the rest of the way. “What the hell happened?” Morgan ushered him into the kitchen, and closed the door.
“I found him on the point of death,” Marcus answered, his voice empty of emotion. It matched his mood, numb.
“Did you?” Morgan asked, letting the rest of the question hang in the air between them. He met her eyes and could see the rest of it there, she knew the answer, but wanted to hear it from him.
Marcus sighed and broke eye contact. What the hell is wrong with me? It’s just an answer to a question. It’s not like she doesn’t know already. I mean hello, I carried in the man’s corpse. Just answer the question. “I did,” his voice was hollow.
“Are you alright?” Morgan laid a hand on his shoulder, her voice comforting. He wanted nothing to do with it. To put some distance between them, he walked into the sitting room. There was a moment of silence before the sound of her footfalls followed him.
“I feel as though I’ve been run over by a bus,” he paused, and eased Eric’s limp form onto the couch, before turning to face her. “Twice,” Marcus finished, rubbing his hands over his face, as though trying to scrub away the exhaustion, and clear his thoughts.
She nodded and walked back to the base of the stairs. Marcus frowned as she leaned on the banister and looked up. “Nicholas! Can you come down here?” she called.
“Yes, my lady?” Nicholas appeared at the top of the stairs.
“I need you to come handle the Old Man.” She said, as though Marcus wasn’t within earshot.
“I don’t need handling,” Marcus snapped, as he started pacing. What the hell was I thinking? Why didn’t I try to get the kid to the hospital myself? Gods know I could have gotten him there faster than human EMT’s.
“Bullshit.” Morgan turned to him and folded her arms. “You,just did something that I know for a fact you swore not to after Sarah was killed. You need to get the hell out of here for a few hours.”
“I don’t need you telling me what to do, doll,” Marcus growled, hoping that she would fight him. He needed a good brawl, and didn’t care who gave it to him.
“Then listen to me.” Nicholas’s voice was calm, soothing as he walked down the final flight of stairs. “You look run through. Morgan can take care of Eric. I think that this calls for Tequila,” he paused, “and lots of it.”
“What about the women?” Marcus answered, clawing at the life preserver Nicholas had just thrown him. Just like old times. When one of us flounders, the other pulls his ass out of the fire without acknowledging it. But is it safe with his arm injured? The sling was gone, but he could tell that the arm was still stiff.
“You ask me that with my wife standing right here?” Nicholas chuckled, though there was a sharp edge to his voice. No need to tell her that we get drunk by feeding off intoxicated humans. Better to let her think that we just go through a few bottles each. Do you want her to divorce me?” Nicholas chuckled, as he slid his left arm around her waist.
“Well, there was a time when she didn’t care how you got drunk,” Marcus replied.
“Only because I never told her how it happened,” Nicholas countered.
“Stop it, both of you,” Morgan interjected, pinning first Marcus then Nicholas with a pointed look. “Look, I love you both, but get out.” Her words were punctuated by an affectionate laugh, and she pointed to the front door.
“What?” the male vampires asked in unison.
“Get out. There are about ten things that need to be done for Eric, and if you two keep up with the Keystone Cops routine,” she sighed and shook her head, “I’m never going to finish. And, since I don’t see either of you making any kind of move to help,” she paused, slipped out from under Nicholas’s arm, “the alternative is to get out and let me handle it.”
“Alright,” Nicholas chuckled, and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. Morgan watched him through narrowed eyes. “Is there anything we can do to help before we leave?” he asked, knowing it would help to soothe his wife’s temper.
“He’s going to need to feed at sundown,” she answered, and began walking toward the sofa where Eric was laid out. “Since Alexander is still on the prowl, it would be ext
remely stupid for me to go out. Calling a pizza delivery person would arouse too much suspicion.” Morgan let the rest of the thought hang in the air, unfinished.
“You need someone to bring some, shall we say, take out?” Marcus asked, with a sly smile curling his lips.
Morgan shook her head and chuckled. “Yeah.”
“I can call Annabelle and have her take care of it,” Marcus answered, without missing a beat.
“Do you trust her?” Morgan asked.
“With this, yes.” He shrugged, looked toward the ceiling, and tilted his head, first to one side then the other. “With other things, not so much.”
“That’s not exactly a glowing recommendation Old Man,” Nicholas answered, shaking his head.
“Look, I wouldn’t trust her with my deepest darkest secrets, but where Elizabeth is concerned, I would.” Marcus paused, as if considering what to say. “They were tight, and I know my Blood Daughter would ask her for help with Eric’s transformation, if needed.”
“Good. Give her the number for the house phone,” she said.
“Not your cell?”
“No. I don’t give that number out to every Tom, Dick and Dracula,” Morgan muttered, thinking that if needed, it was easier to change the land line.
“As you wish, love. Do you want some help getting Eric downstairs?” Nicholas offered, as he turned his gaze to the body on the sofa.
“No. I want to get things started up here. I’ve got him.”
“Are you certain you can handle it?”
“Why don’t you trust me when I say yeah, I’ve got it?” Morgan snapped.
“Because I worry about you,” Nicholas whispered, and slid his arm around her waist.
“Thank you,” she said, feeling genuine gratitude that he was there when she needed him. Morgan slipped her arms around his waist and laid her head on his chest, feeling his soft chuckle more than she heard it.
“We both have our cells.” Nicholas kissed the top of her head. “Call if you need anything.”
“Check in every now and again.”
“Will do. And we’ll call if anything out of the ordinary happens.”
“Have fun you two.” She kissed Nicholas on his cheek, and waited as the guys walked out of the house.
When she was alone, Morgan took a deep breath and turned to the body on her couch. Eric looked as though he was asleep. She took a few moments to examine him. There were numerous bruises about to blossom under his skin, and the near fatal blow seemed to be a puncture wound to his liver. She walked over and knelt at Eric’s side, the sharp scent of alcohol clung to his flesh and clothing. This is going to take a little bit of time. She gathered Eric up in her arms and carried him down into the safe room.
Over the next few hours Morgan cleaned up his body and redressed him in some of Nicholas’s old clothes. When she was satisfied there was nothing more to do, she stepped out of the safe room and sealed the door behind her.
13 – NEW ORLEANS – OCTOBER 1, 2009
MORGAN SIGHED AND leaned against the wall at the bottom of the stairs, eyes closed, for a few moments. Her mind was spinning, working through potential pitfalls, and how she could mitigate them. She knew from experience that Hollywood, fiction, and mythology had it all wrong. Just because someone was fed a vampire’s blood didn’t mean they would survive the transformation. She pushed away from the wall, and climbed the stairs, two at a time.
I need to see what I can do about having a casket delivered. Last thing I need is for the kid to lash out and kill himself, or hurt one of us.
Feeling the toll that the events of the night had taken, Morgan went into the kitchen and set the bottle of brew in a warm bath on the stove to warm. Charles had prepared it in advance. I’d be willing to bet a healthy sum that my husband is still keeping Marcus out of trouble. She turned to the cabinet and took out a dark cobalt blue goblet, setting it on the counter. For Nicholas’s sanity I need to keep Christophe and Charles nearby for protection.
When the brew was ready, Morgan poured a measure into the goblet. Letting the heady aroma of wine, herbs and blood fill her senses. That means I need to get in touch with Annabelle, so she can have suitable prey here at sundown. She corked the bottle and put it back in the refrigerator, her eyes catching the small semi–flat bags on the shelf. I am going to have to ask the boyos how on earth they’re getting that blood. She closed the door and turned back to the stove, picking up the pot. I don’t want to think about it, but it looks like a blood bank might be the way to go. Cradling the goblet of warm brew in her hand, Morgan went upstairs and into her office.
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.
Cast in Blood (Morgan Blackstone Vampires Book 1) Page 16
