Cast in Blood (Morgan Blackstone Vampires Book 1) (16 page)

The heady aroma filled her nostrils before the brew slid over her tongue. Fighting the part of her vampiric nature she called the ‘beast,’ Morgan drank the mixture in one long pull. The flavor had changed, and now held echoes of blood pulsing from a vein, and her fangs slipped out of their protective sheaths.

“More,” she growled, setting the empty goblet on the counter.

“Not yet. I’m not convinced that we’ve hit upon the proper ratio. I want to be sure we’re not going to repeat last night’s performance,” Charles answered, gesturing toward the empty stockpot. He took a step away, when Morgan’s lips peeled back in a snarl revealing her long glistening canines. “Just until we know how your system is going to react to the addition of the blood. Joshua wasn’t sure if there would be any side effects.”

“Can we at least move to the sitting room?” Nicholas asked his tone impatient, ending the discussion.

“Of course,” Christophe answered.
 

Before she could object, Nicholas scooped Morgan into his arms, carried her into the living room, and settled her on the sofa.

“Where is Joshua?” Nicholas asked, as he sat beside his wife.

“He came downstairs a few hours ago. Said, he had a lead on someone who might be able to help Morgan. I gave him the keys to one of the cars, and he took off like a bat out of Hell. He wasn’t sure when he’d be back,” Charles answered.

“You brought him here?” Morgan asked.

“He is an avenue for information, and I wanted to see what he knows about our kind,” Nicholas answered.

“You think that I let something I shouldn’t slip?”
 

“I really had no idea, Morgan, and needed to know for certain.”
 

“I haven’t told him anything that puts our kind at risk, more than revealing the information to a donor,” Morgan explained, as she fought to control her temper.

“But he’s a professor of Folklore.”

“Yes, and I trust him not to share the information he got from me.”

“Are you certain?” Nicholas asked, not hiding the frustration in his voice.

“Our secret is safe with him,” she answered, with as much honesty as possible.
This really isn’t a fight that’s worth having. Much easier to tell him as much as he needs to know and hope.

“Very well,” Nicholas answered, with a nod.

“Have you heard from Marcus?” Morgan asked, changing the subject as she made a concerted effort to keep her breathing slow and even, hoping to help keep the mixture down.

“He’s been checking in every couple of hours. So far he has some leads, but is laying low for a little while,” Christophe answered, keeping his tone neutral.

“He suspects Azreal,” Morgan sighed.

“Yes, how do you know that?” Nicholas asked.

“Charles, there are some sketches on the drafting table in the safe room, would you mind getting them for me?” she asked, hoping to buy herself a little time to get her thoughts in order.

“Of course,” he answered and walked out of the room.

“Christophe, perhaps you should call Marcus and invite him over?” Nicholas asked.
I don’t understand half of what’s going on, and my judgment is clouded at best. I need the Old Man to bounce my suspicions off so I can get a clearer picture of what’s going on.
He thought, as Charles nodded and walked into the foyer. A moment later a hint of sultry Louisiana air drifted into the room, before the front door closed with a soft thump. “Azreal is in on this?” Nicholas asked, in a whisper, as he wrapped an arm around Morgan’s shoulders. She was silent as she tucked her legs up onto the couch cushions, and eased into his embrace.
 

“He was
there
. Let’s wait until Marcus gets here, we can discuss it then,” she answered while her mind raced.
I know what he’s thinking: Azreal, a member of the Council and a descendant of Magnus, Nicholas’s own Sire.

“Of course, you’re right; he should hear this,” he muttered.
 

Morgan closed her eyes, listening to the sound of Nicholas’s soft melodic humming, and smiled.
I wish he wouldn’t do that just when he’s nervous. I love listening to it
; Morgan thought, as she heard the muffled mutterings of Christophe on the phone, and the soft footfalls of Charles, making his way back upstairs.
 

She was relaxed, so the convulsion was more intense when it hit. She fought to hold in a groan as her muscles contracted around what felt like broken glass. With blind panic rising, Morgan rolled onto her side, and brought the stockpot under her chin, before she threw up again. Voices were far off as her body rejected the concoction, and Nicholas’s hand on her shoulder steadied her. Morgan clutched at his free hand, letting his touch ground her. After several minutes, the convulsions eased, leaving only a faint all over tremor in their wake. Sensing that the worst was over, Nicholas pulled Morgan back onto his lap. She curled into herself, waiting for the after effects to pass. The voices continued, and for a while, Morgan was content to let them fight it out, drifting toward what felt like much needed sleep.

“It wasn’t the right ratio,” Charles muttered, from nearby. His words interrupted Morgan’s almost nap, as he knelt and touched her cheek. His chocolate eyes were filled with concern and the boundless curiosity that was an integral part of his nature. “Are you up to trying again?”

“Not like there’s really much choice,” Morgan croaked, her throat protesting being used for more than the most basic functions.

“So, you’re okay with them using you as a lab rat? If you haven’t noticed, the fever has risen,” Nicholas snarled.

“I have noticed! And I’m not pleased about becoming, as you put it, a lab rat, but we have no other choice,” she spat, coughing at the end.

“Morgan, this isn’t good for you. Can’t you see that?”
 

Morgan sighed and closed her eyes.
Nicholas is right, this isn’t doing any good, but I just can’t put my fate in Lucian’s hands. I won’t take that risk;
she thought. “We have no other choice Nicholas. I won’t push myself too far, but the alternatives are just as, if not more, unacceptable,” she whispered, hoping that he would see reason.

“We go to Lucian,” he insisted, grasping at straws.
 

“You’re assuming he would help rather than harm,” Marcus scoffed, entering the room, tossing his long leather coat on the back of the sofa opposite where Morgan was.

“The archives,” Charles suggested. “They might have some useful information if what Joshua hypothesized is wrong.”

“If we send anyone into the catacombs to search, Lucian will know,” Marcus countered.

“There has to be another way,” Nicholas insisted, running his fingers through Morgan’s hair.

“Not without taking actions none of us wants to think about Nicholas,” Morgan muttered, feeling a small sense of accomplishment when her voice sounded normal.

“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.