Cast in Blood (Morgan Blackstone Vampires Book 1) (15 page)

“That’s you?” Joshua asked, indicating the man with the white wig.

“Morgan wanted to have that done.” Nicholas scoffed, and shook his head before starting to walk back up the stairs. “Unfortunately those white things were in fashion, and it would have made the artist ask questions if I wasn’t wearing one.”

“You could have refused to pose,” Joshua said, as he followed Nicholas.

“Spoken like a single man.” The vampire chuckled and led the way into the room at the top of the stairs. “You’re staying here while you’re our guest.”

“Thank you,” Joshua said, as he stepped into the well–appointed room.
 

“I need to get some rest before nightfall.” Nicholas set the bag on the chest at the foot of the bed. He walked out of the room and stood at the rail. “If you go down to the second floor, you’ll find the study, it’s the only room with an open door. The kitchen is on the main floor, make yourself at home. You might not want to use any of the dishes that are in the sink.”

“Why not?” Joshua asked, as he stepped up beside Nicholas and looked down.

“They’re what Charles and Christophe have been using to make the concoction.”

“And some of the ingredients are poisonous,” Joshua finished, nodding.

“Yeah. How does that work? Poison helps keep them alive?” The question was incredulous.

“To be honest this isn’t my area of expertise,” Joshua admitted with a sigh, as Nicholas set his bag onto the bench at the foot of the bed. “I’m trying to reach a friend who should know more.”

“I hope these work,” Nicholas sighed and turned toward the stairs. He paused at the top and faced the professor. “Our only alternative isn’t exactly what you’d call a great option.”

“We’ll tackle it this evening; a few hours rest won’t hurt her,” he responded, hoping to assure Nicholas that there was still hope. The vampire considered his words for a moment before he nodded and headed downstairs. Joshua walked into the room and sat on the edge of the bed. The clock read a few hours past noon, but he was exhausted.
Well, it’s not like that flight was relaxing. Could there have been more turbulence? Just a few minutes rest, then I’ll get back to work trying to find whatever rabbit hole Richard has crawled down.
Joshua lay back on the bed, in a few minutes he was asleep.

M
ORGAN
WOKE
AND
rolled over in bed, stretching her muscles like a big cat. Not wanting to open her eyes, she moved back on her left side and tugged the blankets to her chest, with a soft sigh. She lay there for several minutes, thinking that she would be able to get a little more rest. When sleep was elusive, Morgan gave it up as a lost cause, and rolled onto her back. As the vestiges of slumber slipped away, she knew Nicholas had slipped out of the room at some point during the day, leaving behind a hint of his cologne in the air. Morgan smiled and pulled his pillow against her chest, enjoying the small pleasure of being able to breathe in his scent. After a few minutes, she threw back the covers and swung her legs off the edge of the mattress.
 
Morgan groaned and closed her eyes, as a wave of dizziness washed over her. She took several long deep breaths, waiting for the sensation to pass, before opening them. A quick glance at the clock told her that it was a little bit past sunset. Morgan walked over to the closet and turned on the light.
 

While her eyes roamed over the small selection of her clothes, she thought about the welcome she would have upstairs.
 
I know that Charles and Christophe will have come up with variations of that damned concoction to pour down my throat.
She rolled her eyes and grabbed a pair of jeans.
Oh yeah, I know exactly how it’s going to go. They’re going to poke and prod at me until they figure out what’s wrong or until I pass out, whichever comes first,
she thought, while getting dressed.
Facing Nicholas isn’t going to be much better
.
He’s going to want a blow–by–blow account,
she thought
as a shudder ran through her entire being.
I really do not want to go there yet.

 
Morgan finished dressing, and pulled her long black hair into a high ponytail before she stepped back into the main room. Her eyes roamed over the Spartan furnishings, settling on the high drafting table set in a far corner. Her bare feet sank into the thick carpeting, feeling it between her toes as she crossed to the corner. She ran her hand over the antique table’s surface. She’d bought it in the early nineteenth century for a human architect who was her donor at the time. He had loved sitting at it for hours on end, sketching designs, some of which became reality and others that lived only on paper, and in his mind. Morgan settled on the stool, and pulled open one of the small drawers along the left leg, and took out a charcoal pencil. She picked up a large pad of heavy white paper and set it on the table in front of her. She stared at the blank sheet for a moment before she started sketching.
 

Her hand flew over the page, moving with short sure strokes, letting the image in her mind flow through her hand onto the page. She worked without thinking, and when the sketch was complete Morgan tore off the page, and dropped it to the floor by her feet. Without missing a beat she started on a second sketch.
 
She worked like that for hours, finishing one sketch, purging another memory, and consigning it to the pile on the carpet, before moving on to the next.
 

There were about a dozen surrounding her feet when the door opened and closed. Morgan glanced up, there was a moment of eye contact before she turned back to the task at hand. She completed the sketch on an exhalation of a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, set down her pencil and turned to face her husband.

“What is all of this?” Nicholas asked, his tone neutral, being careful not to appear as though he was concerned, even though his mind spun with questions.

“I didn’t want to go up and face fifty questions, or be a guinea pig,” Morgan answered, feeling her temper flare and die in an instant.

“And so you decided to kill a couple trees?” Nicholas asked, trying to make a joke of it, but failing in spectacular fashion.

“Not quite. I couldn’t just sit still, and there’s not really a lot to do down here, so when I saw the drafting table I couldn’t resist.”

“What are they?” Nicholas had to stop himself from reaching out to her. After they had brought her to the safe room while the fever raged, he had tried to comfort her. He remembered the pitiful cry that had escaped her lips, and the incoherent mutterings that had followed. Each word had been a needle slipping into his heart.

“Things I remember. I’m not one hundred percent sure of the contexts right now, but they’re things I saw.” She paused, and her eyes drifted over the images. There.” Her gaze stopped on one drawing that looked like a strand of pearls around a throat.
 

“So, how are you feeling?” he asked, trying to distract her.
 

“A little better,” she replied, with a soft chuckle. She was silent for a moment, considering something before she shrugged, and added, “less scattered.”

Nicholas frowned. “Why don’t we take care of these and then go upstairs?”
 

“You don’t want to pick my brain yet?” she asked warily, as though she didn’t trust what she heard.

 
“I do, but I don’t think that’s the best thing for you, love.” Nicholas answered, choosing his words with care as he crossed to where she sat. “I trust that when the time is right, we’ll discuss all of this.” Nicholas smiled, as he dropped to one knee and began picking up the drawings, fighting the urge to examine them in great detail.
Gods know I want and need whatever information she can give, but now is not the time. The fever seems to worsen when she gets stressed or fearful. I’d rather have that under control before I question her.

“I don’t think there will be a right time.” She closed her eyes and tucked her hair behind her ear. “I can’t say that I’ll ever be ready to talk about all of this.” Morgan shook her head as a frown creased her brow.

“I’ll be right there with you, and we’ll take it slow,” he assured her, and set the sketches on the drafting table. “But that’s not for tonight. Maybe a little later, but right now the boys want to see if their theories are right.”

“Too bad there isn’t a test we can run,” Morgan answered, with a mirthless laugh.

“Or a doctor we can turn to without worrying that the test results would end up being leaked to the press,” Nicholas muttered, shaking his head in frustration.

“That would be bad,” she answered, her voice far off and distracted. Nicholas followed her gaze and frowned; she was studying the sketch at the top of the stack. He took a moment to study it, and saw that it looked like some kind of ring. “Was someone I need to kill wearing this?”

A ghost of her usual smile flitted across her features before she answered. “Lucian called him ‘doctor’ and he seemed to be doing experiments on me. He was the one who administered injections, including the ones they used to keep me fed.” A slight tremor ran through her.

“I swear to you that I will find him, and his death will not be easy,” Nicholas vowed in a low tone. He took Morgan’s hands in his and pulled her off the stool, before he slid his right arm around her waist and steered them out of the room.
 

Together they walked upstairs into the kitchen and found Charles at the stove. There were several bottles lined up in front of him. Christophe sat at the end of the island, looking over Charles’s notes. Charles looked up, at the sound of their footfalls on the tiles, a lock of mahogany hair falling in front of his left eye. A crooked smile crossed his features as he pushed it out of the way, before going back to work. Morgan glanced at Nicholas, a question in her eyes, which he answered with a shrug, before steering them toward the island.

“So what have you been doing?” Morgan asked, as she settled herself on one of the tall bar stools.
 

“I’ve been trying to figure out why the formula Joshua gave us isn’t working,” Charles said. “While it is possible that his theory is wrong, there’s also a possibility that we need to take your nature into account.”
 

“My nature?” she asked.

“The fact that you’re a vampire.”

“You haven’t been taking that into account?” Nicholas asked.

“Obviously it’s something that we can’t ignore. However, it does present a complication,” Charles explained, as he turned his attention to the bottles on the counter.

“Well, it’s a complication we can’t ignore,” Nicholas insisted.

“You’re right, and I’m not suggesting that we do. The problem seems to be that, unlike a normal vampire, Morgan can’t seem to keep the concoction down. The theory was that, like any drink, her system should be able to tolerate and assimilate it,” Charles said.
 

“Unlike solid food, which we have to either throw up or have it rot in our stomachs,” Nicholas muttered.

“Exactly. Unfortunately, it seems that something is preventing the formula from being absorbed by Morgan’s system.” Charles picked up the first bottle and poured some into a goblet. “In fact, her body has been rejecting it outright. We have a couple of theories and options in that respect.”

“Well, don’t keep us in suspense,” Morgan drawled.

“The first is that it’s simply the wrong brew.” Charles shrugged. “Apparently there are several varieties which work differently, based on the element which the sorcerer is strongest in.”

“I assume that is what explains the different bottles on the island.” Nicholas waved his hand toward the counter.
 

“Yes. The other likely theory is that Morgan needs blood.”

“You want to combine blood with the concoctions?” she asked from her perch on a bar stool.
 

“Yes. All the information Joshua gave us assumes a human’s drinking it.” He ran his fingers through his dark hair. With a sigh, Morgan turned to Christophe, imploring him with her eyes to explain what they wanted to try.

“We thought that it would be best to begin as though you were human,” Christophe explained. “We know very little about how the blood you were injected with is reacting with your system. So we decided to begin with the proven mixture.”
 

“Morgan is not a lab rat you can experiment on,” Nicholas snapped, as he fought to keep his temper in check.

“If there were a lab rat we could utilize, I would. Regrettably, all I’ve got is my friend and mentor. The only other option is her death,” Christophe spat, letting his temper run roughshod over better judgment.

“He’s right Nicholas. If this gets too difficult we’ll stop and look for another way,” Morgan whispered, laying a hand on her husband’s shoulder to reassure him.

Nicholas sighed, defeated. Morgan slid her arm around his waist, and nestled her head against his chest, watching as her Blood Sons worked in silence. Charles measured out a portion of the mixture into the stockpot while Christophe used a syringe to draw blood from a bag that was floating in a pot of hot water.
Warming it
, Morgan thought. Charles held the glass, as Christophe emptied the syringe into it before handing it to her.

“We believe that it’s best to start with a low concentration, if your body doesn’t reject it we can increase the ratio and fine tune,” Christophe explained, reacting to the curiosity he saw in Morgan’s eyes. She stared at the goblet for several moments, before she took a deep breath and lifted the glass to her lips.