The Return (10 page)

It seemed too soon, but as they explored the city, they walked past a make shift army hospital, where the wounded were lined up in their hundreds. Everything from gunshot wounds to amputations were laid out and bleeding. Morgan skidded to a halt and pushed him backwards.

"I'm so sorry, Zac. I didn't know." She tried to hold him back as he registered what they had stumbled upon.

Human blood was more potent than that of an animal. Its rich coppery scent hit him like a ton of bricks and he turned away sharply, fighting to keep himself in check.

"Zac," Morgan cried, knowing that the slightest trace of blood would set him off.

Blinking hard, he felt the burn in his throat subside. "It's okay," he rasped. "I won't."

Thankfully, she pulled him down the street away from the tent hospital, the sea breeze pulling the scent away.

They found themselves at the pier, where many British and American war and supply ships were docked. Men were running up and down the gangplanks and crates and trucks were everywhere. Many of the supply frigates were being loaded with the wounded for their trip home and he knew that was his ticket back to Britain.

"I need to go." Zac sounded almost desperate. He wanted to see Sam so much.

"Are you sure you can handle it? I mean, back there…" She gestured back towards the tent hospital.

"Yes. I've come back before. This feels the same."

"Well then," she smiled sadly. "Safe journey, soldier."

"Thank you, Morgan. For everything." He took her in his arms and kissed the top of her head. She shrugged away from him and gestured for him to go. There was a ship preparing to pull anchor. He had to go now or wait god knows how long for another ship to gain clearance to leave.

As Zac walked along the gangplank and onto the supply ship, he turned and lent on the railing, watching as Morgan disappeared into the bustling crowd. It didn't feel right, leaving her so soon. They had become friends in the short time he'd known her and he felt like he'd used her.

As the ship pulled away from the dock, he knew it was too late to go back. If he jumped, thousands of people would see and that would be disastrous.

He hoped that one day they would cross paths. He would tell her then that he was sorry.

Z
ac walked towards the manor with Morgan, feeling a lot better about
himself
. It was a huge turn around from that morning when he had been prepared to die. He still wanted Aya more than anything, but he no longer felt powerless.

"Wow," Morgan breathed, breaking the silence. "It's really beautiful out here."

"It's your first time in the South?" he asked. He was kind of surprised knowing how old she was.

"Yes," she nodded. "I mean it's stinking hot, but the swamp, the forest. It's kind of magical."

"I bet that's what the settlers thought."

"Were your parents…
"

"No," he shook his head. "My grandparents came out from France a while after New Orleans was founded."

"Did you ever see where they were from? I mean, when you were over there for the war?"

"No."

Morgan didn't push him to explain and he was relieved. She knew all about it.

They approached the driveway side by side, her familiar presence calming. He had always been jealous of her. She was calm, level headed, caring and had the control he craved. Morgan had purpose and he had just lost his to a two thousand year old vampire. He desperately needed a direction before he lost his grip on his humanity again.

As they turned up the long driveway towards the front of the manor, Morgan whistled. "Lieutenant Degaud, I had no idea," she laughed.

"That I was stinking rich?" he chuckled, feeling better than he had in days.

The willows that lined the graveled drive dipped low, and Morgan ran her hands through the fronds, a strange look on her face. She smiled when she caught Zac looking at her curiously and disappeared behind the curtain of leaves.

He hesitated, wondering if he should follow her or just continue up to the house, but she came back out, laughing. "Just look at things from another perspective, Degaud." She tugged on his arm and pulled him through the branches. "See, isn't that better?"

The air was cooler in the shade and the dimmed light was actually calming. Morgan shook her head and took his arm. They walked towards the manor and if he closed his eyes, Zac could almost imagine it was 1863 again. The night before he had left for Virginia, his parents had hosted a ball at the manor. He forgot what it was for, but walking arm in arm with a lady brought back the memory like it was yesterday.

Carriages had lined the road, filling the air with the sound of hooves on gravel, carrying finely dressed men and women come to social climb.
Businessmen from New Orleans, property barons, plantation owners.
His parents were obsessed with it and that's why it had cut them so deep when he joined the Confederate forces. His father had wanted him to take it all over, but it just made him feel sick.

Closing his eyes, Zac sighed. He could almost see the bright moonlit night, the perfumed smell of the wisteria on the warm air, the glow of the gas lamps.
The music that filtered through the open doors and windows.
The sick feeling in his stomach that had occupied him all night that he was going to Petersburg the following morning. It was a feeling that he wouldn't understand until much later. He wouldn't see this again, the house, his family. This place would never be alive again. He was going to his death.

"Zac?"

He jumped as Morgan's voice pulled him back.

"Where'd you go just then?" She was frowning at him, her head cocked to the side, waiting to see what he would say.

"Nowhere." He dropped her arm and scowled. They were standing in front of the front door and now he would have to go inside and come clean to Sam. "Stay here," he said, turning to Morgan.

"I can come in eventually, right?" she smiled.

"Yes," he said. "I just want to explain to Sam first."

"It's okay, Zac. I understand. Just let me know when I can come meet him."

"Sure."

"I'll be right here," she winked as he walked inside.

Closing the door behind him he knew Sam was in the parlor. He could feel him there. What was he going to say? Hey, so in the forties I kind of went psychopathic and
I was saved by a vampire posing as a nurse
? Perhaps he should be less sarcastic.

"Zac." Sam stood as he came through the doorway, a concerned look plastered on his face. "Liz said…"

"Stop," Zac held his hand up. He didn't really want to be told off for trying to off himself.

"What's going on?"

He took a half empty bottle of whisky from the shelf and sat down on the sofa. "Look, I'm sorry about this morning, okay? It won't happen again."

Sam didn't look very convinced by this, but nodded anyway. "Something's happened, hasn't it?"

"Nothing
bad
." Zac sighed and took a draught of the alcohol before placing it down heavily on the coffee table. Sam had ripped shreds off him when he found the damage he'd inflicted with his knife. The day Aya had brought him back from his last uncontrollable adventure. The table was antique. He didn't care. "Well," he continued. "Depends on how you want to look at it."

"Shit, Zac."

"Yeah, yeah." He waived a hand at his little brother.

"Just tell me. With what you pulled this morning, it'll be hard to top that."

He leant back into the sofa and grimaced. "We have a visitor."

Sam narrowed his eyes. "What kind of visitor."

"One from my sordid past."

"Care to elaborate further?"

"Her name is Morgan." He rolled his eyes when he caught the look on Sam's face. "It's not like that. I don't have a girl in every port, you know."

"If you say so."

Zac let his expression drop and ran his hands over his face. "Back in the forties, when I went… I went to war. I was desperate. I couldn't take it anymore. Always feeling…" He couldn't say it. He always felt
hungry
. Not hungry for blood like a human is hungry for food.
Hungry for
violence
.
"Morgan pulled me back from the edge."

Sam was silent as he digested this little gem of his pathetic past. "How bad did it get before she found you?"

"It wasn't pretty, Sam." He couldn't bear to tell him the truth, it would break his heart, but he knew he had to come clean.

"How bad, Zac?"

He grimaced.

"Zac?"

He rubbed his temples. "Bad.
Very
bad
.
 When she found me, I had just slaughtered twelve men.
Friend, foe.
It didn't matter." He let his head drop into his hands. "I don't know when I would have stopped. It was a miracle Morgan came along when she did."

"Where were you when she found you?"

"Somewhere in the countryside outside of Paris. I don't know."

"What was she doing out there?"

"She was a nurse with the British army. She also moonlighted with the French Resistance. It was right before Paris was taken back from the Germans. She helped get a lot of people out during the occupation. She had a safe house nearby, I guess she was in residence."

Sam looked at him for a moment, waiting for him to crack. When he didn't he said,
"Look, I'm not happy you didn't tell me, Zac. I want to help you. I can't do that if you're not forthcoming."

"Sam, just leave it. It's past. Done. Whatever."
Please just let it go.

"What is she doing here now?"

"She told me that she heard about the werewolves and came looking. She was looking for me." Before Sam could jump to conclusions he said, "It's not like that."

"I wasn't going to say anything."

"Whatever," he said sullenly.

"We don't know her."

"But, I do," Zac said. "Sam, she saved my pathetic life."

Sam looked like he was going to disagree, but he threw his hand in the air. "Okay. Just be careful what you tell her. If she so much as puts any one of us in danger…"

"I'll make sure of it."

Zac would have liked to
have said
Sam took to Morgan like a duck to water, but he was wary of her intentions. After all, she'd just appeared out of thin air looking for his big brother right at the moment he had tried to stake himself. They'd stood in the parlor, eyeing each other with something akin to jealousy. They each wanted to protect him in their own way and it annoyed the hell out of him. He didn't want to be coddled like the psycho everyone thought he was.

He'd told Morgan that she couldn't stay at the manor. The only room they had spare was Aya's.
Had
been Aya's. She'd left in good spirits, but he suspected it was a show for his benefit. He'd be annoyed, too. Most of the next day he spent staring into space until Sam dragged him out to take his mind off of things.

Relief came in the form of alcohol and Max's was the perfect place to partake in it. Gabby and Liz had ambushed Morgan the moment she came in, drilling her for information. The mystery woman from his past was too much temptation, it seemed.

"I was a nurse," Morgan was explaining. "I remained one after... you know."

"Wow," Liz exclaimed. "That would have taken some guts."

Morgan laughed, "Some would say I was lucky. Blood never bothered me before. I knew some nurses that were prone to fainting when they first started out. I never had a problem with it. I guess it carried over."

"So, you still practice now?" Gabby asked, trying to sound casual about it.

"Not right now. It's harder these days to blend into the system. In the forties it was much simpler. For one, there was a war going on and they didn't care where you came from. The only thing they wanted to know was if you were capable."

"Couldn't you use compulsion?"

Morgan grimaced, "Yeah, but I'd rather not. I never liked doing that."

"Except when you get cornered by Gestapo," Zac interrupted, earning him a few raised eyebrows.

"Except then," Morgan laughed. "Then it comes in handy."

"What do you mean?" Liz asked, leaning heavily on the table.

"I was with the Resistance."

"The French Resistance?" Gabby exclaimed.

"Yes."

"Is that how you two met?" Why did Gabby have to ask that question? Fuck.

Zac stood sharply with a snort and strode over towards the bar to get away from the inevitable awkwardness that was about to descend on them. Everyone knew how unhinged he was capable of being, but the last thing he wanted was for it to be rubbed in his face. He heard the conversation come to an abrupt halt behind him and he rolled his eyes.

"So, you and Zac?" he heard Liz say after a moment.

"Oh," Morgan sounded surprised. "It was never like that."

He sat heavily on a stool by the bar and gestured for another drink.
Anything to stop himself from hearing them.
He'd already re-lived it once
today,
he didn't need to go back there again. When Morgan sat down next to him, he didn't bother looking up at her. He was tired of being coddled and asked if he was okay. He was far from it, but he didn't need his hand held. Not by anyone. Never.

"They're being nice, I hope," he said to be polite.

"Yes, they're nice enough." He didn't miss the implied meaning in her words. How couldn't she know that they were giving her the third degree?

"It's just a weird time for everyone."

"I understand, Zac. I'm the outsider. Trust is a hot commodity around here," she nudged him with her elbow.

"You're taking this very well," he glanced at her warily, spinning the ice around in his glass.

"Should I be taking it badly?"

"No, I…"

"Drop it, Degaud."

He sighed, "Consider it dropped." He began to think that coming out to the bar tonight was a bad idea, Morgan or no. His mood swings were giving him whiplash and he didn't care to think about Sam or the others.

"Why does Sam work in the gardens?" asked Morgan, breaking into his thoughts yet again.