Cast in Blood (Morgan Blackstone Vampires Book 1)

by Michelle Rabe

  “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.

  “Lara the bartender at The Dracul?” Morgan turned her head, so she was looking up into his lavender eyes.

  “Yes.”

  “I thought you weren’t interested.”

  “I’m not.” He shrugged. “But one morning, shortly after you disappeared
, she was helping me get the closing done and we got to chatting.”

  “Did one thing lead to another?”

  “Actually no,” Christophe chuckled. “We have drinks a couple times a week and talk, but that’s it.”

  “And yet, she bought you cologne.” Her reply made it clear she didn’t believe a word he was saying.

  “That’s where things get complicated,” he chuckled, “and I don’t think we have the time to go into it tonight. When we get back to Hollyweird, I promise we’ll have a good long chat.”

  “Are you trying to get me into bed?” Morgan teased.

  “Only if you’re going to go to sleep.”

  “I promise,” she answered on a yawn.

  “Good. Now call Nicholas, make sure he’s fine and then sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Thank you Christophe,” Morgan chuckled, just before he stepped out of the room.

  14 – NEW ORLEANS – OCTOBER 3, 2009

  ERIC WOKE WITH a gasp, feeling as though his lungs hadn’t been put to use in days. Sounds around him were muffled as if hearing them through something solid. He opened his eyes and felt his stomach sink to do a flip. He was surrounded by perfect darkness, and reached out his hand, connecting with soft cloth only a few inches away. The scream that welled up in his throat caught on something before he could give it voice, vocal chords aching, with the vain effort to push it out. Eric wanted to pound against the cloth but the space was too small for him to get any momentum with his swings. Then he heard the erratic thundering of his heart, loud in his ears. Skipping around in wild rhythms, first speeding like a bullet train, then slowing to a crawl.

  Something is very wrong here, Eric thought, trying to force himself to be calm. I just need to breathe and it will clear things right up. He paused, and his brows knit in concentration. How long has it been since I took a breath? Shit, it’s been long enough that I noticed it. That’s not normal, is it? That’s not, human. His heart kicked back into high gear, and as if to make up for its recent hiatus, Eric’s breath followed suit. Without a clock, or any way to measure time, he didn’t know how long it took to calm down. The instant he did, Eric realized he wasn’t alone. There was another heartbeat nearby, muffled by whatever surrounded him.

  Metal scraped against metal and fell silent. The process repeated, though in a different place, up near his torso, the first had been near his calf. The process repeated a final time. Uncertain of what was happening, Eric reached into his pocket and found the rosary his grandmother had given him a few days before her death. He clutched it. Amber light lanced through the darkness, hinges hissed like vipers and Eric had to close his eyes as the light sent stabbing pain into his brain.

  “Easy now. Just relax as best you can.” The woman’s soft Irish brogue battered his ears.

  “What happened?” Eric asked, in a whisper, hoping it would keep his ears from screaming.

  “Alexander attacked you. Marcus found you and gave you his blood. You are one of us now,” she answered, in a soft whisper.

  It sounds as though she tells someone they’ve just become a vampire every day, make that every night of her life. Who knows, maybe she does. Eric thought, feeling a strange sense of disconnection as his mind wandered. This is not me. I’m able to focus no matter what. What’s happening to me, and how long will it last?

  “Do you think you might be able to answer a question?” The woman’s voice, interrupted his thoughts.

  “Sounds just as patronizing as I always thought,” Eric growled, as he cracked one eye open, letting in a tiny sliver of light

  “That’s not an answer,” she replied, with a hint of laughter in her lilting tone.

  “Fine what’s the question?” Eric asked, with more frustration in his tone than he’d intended. There has to be something wrong, I know it, I’m holding my grandmother’s rosary, and nothing is happening. Shouldn’t my skin be burning? Shouldn’t the cross be glowing? Something, anything. Maybe it’s glowing but I just can’t see it. He pulled his hand, with the rosary, out of his pocket and looked at it, both his hand and the holy symbol looked normal.

  “This is actually something that Marcus insisted I ask as soon as you woke.” The woman seemed to stifle a laugh as she revealed the information. “He wants to know if you invited Alexander into the house.”

  “No.” Eric shook his head and turned his eyes from his hand to the woman. He smiled, taking a real look at the female vampire. She was standing a couple feet from him. Long raven hair fell over one shoulder, and green eyes watched him with cautious curiosity. “I was alone, falling down drunk. Who are you?”

  “I’m Morgan, a friend of Marcus’s. Is it possible that you answered a phone call from Alexander?” she asked. There was a pause, while Eric shook his head. After a moment, Morgan continued, though she seemed to be talking to herself more than him. “I haven’t heard of it, but I don’t see why a phone invitation wouldn’t work. Is it possible that you were drunk enough to not remember a phone call?” She bit her lower lip, the delicate tip of one fang pressing into the red–stained flesh.

  “There would be a record either in my cell’s call log or the caller ID at the house.” As he spoke, Eric’s gaze was fixed on her lips, his mouth started watering and blood pounded in his skull. What the hell is going on? he thought, as Morgan watched him with a smile, that carried the weight of years. It made Eric feel as though she knew what he was going through.

  “You’re famished. Normally, I would take you out on your first hunt. However, this situation is far from normal.” She offered him a hand, which Eric accepted and pulled himself out of the opulent coffin where he’d been resting.

  “How long was I in there?”

  “Eighteen hours. That’s how long it takes for your body to begin the change.”

  “And you just happened to have a spare coffin in your…” Eric’s voice trailed off as he looked around, “basement?”

  “Actually, that’s a casket and no, I had to rush order it. This was something of an emergency. Marcus said you had agreed to be transformed, if you were at death’s door.”

  “It was part of the–” Eric paused, searching his mind for the right word, “–Covenant?”

  “Yeah, that’s what it’s called,” Morgan answered, watching him as though he was something she hadn’t seen before.

  “What?”

  “By all rights, you shouldn’t be this rational. You should be fighting me. You should be trying to get out and find someone to feed from, willing or not.”

  “I want a donor.” Eric growled, feeling as though a beast was trying to rip its way out of his chest. He gasped, and clenched his jaw, as if that could contain the feelings. I will not take a life. Elizabeth said that it was possible. I do not want to become a killer.

  “That’s more like it.” Morgan chuckled. “Not tonight. You’ve only just been reborn. We can’t risk your control with any of the donors. It’s not safe for you or them.” Her voice was filled with the patience Eric equated with his mother.

  “I will not kill,” Eric replied, with more venom and anger in his voice than necessary.

  “You will not be able to control it.” There was steel in her voice now, the velvet was gone. She wasn’t going to take his crap.

  Before his world turned topsy–turvy, he would have backed down from the fire flickering in the center of her pupils. Now, he wanted to lock horns with her. “I am stronger than you think,” he growled, feeling the edges of his grandmother’s cross digging into his palm.

  “You’re not convincing anyone, boy,” she shot back, with an air of menace that was difficult to ignore.

  “What is happ…” he began, but stopped when he realized that the lisp that he’d gotten over as a child was rearing its ugly head. He licked his lips, and nicked the top of his tongue on one sharp fang. The blood filled his mouth for a moment, cool and metallic.

  “You’ll get used to them,” Morgan said, taking a step back, giving the new vampire some room to breathe. She
knew all too well what those first few hours were like. Confusing, frightening, and overwhelming. She thought, and took another step back, giving him more space, while using her other senses to assess him. His heartbeat is strong, and though I’m no expert, I’d say his personality seems intact. He’s fighting the urge to feed longer than most, and winning. If he can get past tonight he’ll have a good chance to survive in our world. I just have to get him past the “not wanting to feed because he might kill someone,” part. Damn it, where’s Annabelle? How long does it take to find someone with a suitably dark heart in this city?

  “How do you stand the taste?” he complained, making a face and sticking his tongue out, as if that would help rid it of the flavor.

  “If you’d gotten human blood on your tongue, it would be a different story.” There was a hint of laughter in her voice. “You are strong, but you’ll still feel the pull of human blood like nothing else.”

  “I don’t want to kill anyone,” he spat, feeling blood trickle down his arm from the hand clutching the cross, the metallic scent spearing his consciousness like a lance. Eric closed his eyes and curled his arm around his torso.

  “You can’t get around it,” Morgan said, her voice calm and soothing. “I have Annabelle finding a suitable unwilling donor.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” He was being petulant, but didn’t care.

  “That little vampire is one of the most gifted telepaths I’ve ever heard of. She can read a human’s mind like it was a dime store novel. She’ll bring back someone whose death won’t matter, someone whose death will make the world a safer place.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’ll still be a killer.”

  “And what about the man who put criminals behind bars?” she asked. “If memory serves detectives still hunt murderers, and Louisiana is a death penalty state.”

  “That’s different.”

  “Why?” The question was meant to make Eric think, and perhaps bring him around to her way of thinking.

  “Because all I ever did was find the evidence and make a proper arrest.”