Morvicti Blood (A Morvicti Novel Book 1) (31 page)

Tonight we begin our everlasting journey together.

These are my final gifts. The Duchess Lupei’s foot is for Dr. Wilson. The photo of your biological mother, which I found next to Austin on Murphy Street, is for you.

Your last instructions are these, my love. Take the packages back to Dr. Wilson’s home. Give him samples of your blood and saliva. Let him run his tests on your samples and the five samples I provided.

It’s time for the world to know the truth about the Morvicti.

Finish this and then we can be together forever.

With all my love,

Jack

Angelique held up a photo of a beautiful woman with long dark hair and green eyes. “Could this really be our biological mother?”

He recalled the empty frame next to the one that held the photo of Angelique and him. “Possibly. Except for the color of her eyes, you look just like her.”

“How can we find out?”

“I don’t know. But we have to put that on hold until we get this and the other package back to Doc. Maybe with our investigation we’ll know for sure one way or the other.”

“Maybe we should have gone to Henriques Street like he wanted us to do. We still don’t have Michael. He didn’t even mention him, Austin.” The fear was forefront in his sister’s voice. “Where could he be?”

Austin swallowed hard. “I don’t know. But as far as Michael is concerned, apparently, his plan was not to give Michael to us yet. That’s pretty obvious. Just hang on. We’ll do what The Ripper has told us to do, and we’ll figure this out together.”

“We’ve got to, Austin. I’ve always wanted to know where we come from, what we are. Why I heal the way I do. And I also want to find out how you came back from being mortally shot. But Michael is my only priority now. Nothing else matters.”

“He’s mine, too. But we have to use every lead we can if we are going to save him. Have you ever heard of Duchess Lupei before?”

She shook her head.

“And who the hell are the Morvicti?”

“Maybe Dr. Wilson knows.”

“Call Doc and find out. Tell him we’re headed to Henriques Street.”

A police car parked on the center median ahead reminded him about the APW. As they passed it, he was glad that he had on the Doc’s fedora.

“Austin, there’s no answer.”

“Try again.”

She did. The result was the same. “We’ve got to head back to Dr. Wilson’s home. Something is wrong.”

CHAPTER 57

8:31 PM

Dr. Thomas Wilson handed the driver the money. “Here’s the extra forty pounds I promised you, Kenneth. Twenty for each stop.” Then he pulled out an additional ten pounds. “This is for carrying these packages to my door.”

“My pleasure, sir.” Kenneth tipped his hat. “Cheers.”

As the driver returned to his taxi, Wilson inserted his key into the lock. He hadn’t been this excited since he was a child on Christmas Eve. He swung the door open and bent down to retrieve The Ripper’s packages. He’d thought about opening them in the taxi, but didn’t want to push his luck with Kenneth. The two boxes most certainly contained body parts.

He walked into the building and shut the door behind him.
Gita’s door is open. That’s strange.

“Gita?” He set the packages down on the floor in the foyer and turned back to her flat. “Gita, you left your door open.” No answer.
Very strange.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

Out of the corner of his eye down the hallway, he saw Gita on the floor.

As fast as he could with his ancient legs, he ran to her. “Gita, are you okay?” He bent down over her, seeing the blood near the center of her chest. The top of her apron was already stained a bright red.

His eyes filled with tears. “Gita, my poor Gita. Why did I leave you alone?” He placed his fingers to her neck and found a ragged pulse. “Stay with me, my darling.” He kissed her cheek. “I’m going to call 999.”

“No you are not, Dr. Wilson.”

He felt the barrel of a gun press into the center of his back.

1973

Monnet, Missouri

CHAPTER 58

Heading down their long drive, Octavian held the steering wheel with one hand and his wife’s hand with the other.

The newscaster’s voice was somber. “The fallout from the Saturday Night Massacre continues to haunt President Nixon as more elected officials call for his impeachment. Three United State congressmen—”

Katherine turned the dial to another station. Gladys Knight and the Pips latest hit rang out from the radio of his brand new 1973 four-door Chevrolet Impala.

Most people these days were consumed with the Watergate scandal, but he and Katherine were not focused on politics in any way. They had something more exciting to be thinking about. Everything was about to change for them.

The roses he and Katherine had planted were in full bloom along their fence. They had bought the fifteen-acre spread ten miles from town when they had started their practice. Building their dream home had been one of the most satisfying things he had ever done. The five-bedroom ranch was meant for them to raise their family.

After ten years, they were finally going to have children. Twins. A miracle.

Katherine stared at her belly. “Jim, I’m so ready for our babies to be here.”

‘Jim.’ Damn, she doesn’t even know my real name. But she will. Soon.

Katherine was the most beautiful pregnant woman he had ever seen, and having delivered many children over the past six years in their practice, that was saying a lot.

“Sweetheart, you and I both know it could be any time. Today. Tomorrow. The due date. Maybe longer.”

“Longer?” She slapped his leg lightly. “No way. Our babies will be here on November twelfth or before. I’m putting my foot down on that one.” Being a physician just like him, she realized due dates for multiples rarely hit the mark, most usually coming early.

“It might be tonight.” Knowing not to argue with her, he decided to change the subject. “We better get candy for the trick-or-treaters.”

Their staff always made the trek to their house with their children for Halloween every year. Why wouldn’t they? Katherine filled every child’s bag to overflowing with sweets.

As he pulled out from the end of their driveway onto the country road, she smiled. “I can’t wait to see the little kids—”

A loud bang from something colliding into them on the passenger’s side silenced her.

The car rolled several times before coming to a stop, leaving them upside down hanging from their seatbelts.

“Katherine. Katherine.” He saw the blood pouring out of her forehead, soaking her dark locks that dangled toward the ceiling away from her face. “Speak to me.”

She didn’t respond. Her eyes were closed.

His own body was battered and bloody.

Carrying a gas can, the other driver got out of his car. He was wearing a black mask.

An orthodox coward. The Brotherhood has found us.

The man bent down and peered in through the broken glass. “My lord, you can’t imagine how long I’ve been searching for you.”

“I’ll have your head for this, bastard.” Holding the steering wheel to prepare for the fall to the car’s roof, Octavian unfastened his seatbelt. He twisted around, his feet landing on the car’s roof, sending a shock through his injured ribs.

“Now you’re talking like a true believer.” The driver looked at Katherine and frowned. “When I learned this morning from one of your neighbors three miles up the road that Dr. James Bailey was married and expecting twins, I thought I’d gone down another dead end. I was certain a Morvicti prince would never marry a human and conceive abominations. But I was wrong.” The venom he spewed repulsed Octavian. “I will do my duty and make sure your bastards and whore die today. When your body is nothing but char, I will pull you out of this car and remove your head.” He bowed theatrically. “Goodbye, My Prince. Heresy will always be dealt with swiftly by us.”

“Tell me your name,” Octavian roared. “I will show you what swift justice is.” He needed his gun. It had been under his seat before they had rolled. Was it still there? He shoved his hand under his seat. The revolver wasn’t there.

The masked man chuckled. “There are more of us who follow the old ways than you can imagine, Your Highness.”

The sharp smell of gasoline filled his nostrils.

Reaching under Katherine’s seat, his fingers finally clasped around the gun. He bent down and fired out the shattered windshield at the fanatic’s leg. The man fell to the ground, cursing. Octavian fired another shot into the man’s head, silencing him totally.

Flames licked the windshield from outside. Tucking the gun into his jeans, Octavian opened his door and hobbled over to the passenger’s side. The door wouldn’t budge. Screaming as his ribs protested, he pulled on the door with enough force to finally wrench it open.

The blaze was growing, and black smoke made it difficult to breathe. Though Katherine was unconscious, he apologized to her with every sharp move. “I’m so sorry, my love. I know this hurts but I must get you inside.” Guilt rolled through him. With tears in his eyes, he knew he was to blame. He should have walked away the day they met. But he did not, believing he could keep her safe.

He managed to get her unbuckled and out of the car as quickly as possible. He turned toward the driveway and began limping back to the house. Every step was agony.

“You’re going to be fine, sweetheart,” he whispered. “You have to be.”

Katherine was breathing shallowly, but she was breathing.

Keeping hold of her, he stepped into their home. He lowered her gently to the sofa and shut and locked the door.

Where there was one orthodox assassin, he knew there were bound to be more. When that bastard didn’t return to his superiors, someone else would come looking, eventually. Octavian knew they likely only had a couple of days. But he and Katherine would be long gone by then.

Without pausing, he ran to his closet in his office. In the back of it was a concealed mechanism that unlocked a secret door. He’d designed the entrance to the chamber to be so well hidden that even Katherine didn’t know of its existence.

So many lies.

She didn’t know his truths.

He hurried back to her, disregarding the pain radiating from his body. He lifted her back into his arms and carried her down the secret stairs to the chamber below.

He lowered her onto the hospital bed. “I did not know how to tell you about this, sweetheart. I was going to tell you everything but was waiting for the right time. But…there never was a right time. I prepared this place for the birth of our children. There’s so much more to say.”

Her eyes remained closed, her breathing becoming more and more labored.

He checked her vitals and realized she was slipping fast. He removed her clothes with scissors. Seeing how damaged her body was destroyed him, but he didn’t stop trying to save her.

Using every skill he had learned in medical school and in their practice, he worked feverishly to bring her back.

He tried everything, but nothing worked.

When her heart stopped, he wished his would, too. But he knew what he had to do.

Our babies have to come out now.

Through the tears, he grabbed a scalpel. His hand shook, and he paused, needing to steady himself. He took a deep breath and sliced Katherine’s abdomen.

Moments later, he held his newborn babies, his chest being warmed by their first breaths. He clung to them as if they were tiny lifelines to their mother. The sheets of the bed were drenched dark red with his wife’s blood.

“Blood.” The bitter irony burned his lips like acid.

Agony crushed him. He knew loss far too well. Grief, his constant companion, born from standing at so many graves over so many years, slowly drained away the color and vibrancy of his life. His gray existence, standing apart from the world, became not what one would call comfortable—but normal.

Until Katherine.

His boy’s fingers curled into two small fists.

“Our son is a fighter, sweetheart,” he choked out, wrestling with his sorrow.

He looked at their babies’ palms and bottoms of their feet, tinged pale violet.

They carried his genes, but would they survive? Definitely not if The Brotherhood of Purity found them again. They would see his children as halfbloods. Lesser. Evil.

Despite his efforts to remain hidden, the fanatics had found him and Katherine.

The Imperial Morvicti Council would be no help either. None of the nobles on the council were orthodox, or so they claimed. Still, their righteous indignation for the mingling of the bloodline remained intact, despite that very body having relaxed the laws concerning such offspring. The old barbaric requirement of executing halfbloods had been overturned long ago, which had given rise to open resentment and secret alliances. The current council’s rule still required that offensive progeny be cast off, shunned, placed in the care of humans who had no knowledge of the Morvicti.