Cast in Blood (Morgan Blackstone Vampires Book 1) (2 page)

A short time later Morgan walked back out to the club, and spent the next few hours mingling among the patrons. She made certain that the regulars were well–cared for, and sent most of them their favorite drinks, on the house. As she moved through the crowd, she issued subtle reminders to the not–quite–human clientele that the rules would be enforced. Once she was satisfied that everything was under control, Morgan made her way up the spiral staircase to the converted choir loft that now housed The Dracul’s offices. She had to file a report.

Hours later, Morgan strolled out of her office and crossed to the wrought iron railing. She sighed and looked out over the now empty club. At just after four in the morning, the shadowed lighting design had been changed in favor of bright working lights, after the last patron had been ushered out the door two hours before.
 

The building had been scheduled for demolition, and another rectangle had been planned to join the Los Angeles skyline. Unwilling to see the architecture destroyed, Morgan rescued the property. The inside had been gutted and remodeled while keeping the architecture; in spite of human beliefs about vampires, she kept the religious themed windows. Such iconography had no power over her, though it might affect other younger vampires.

The room was silent as Morgan surveyed the large dance floor with its high gloss lacquer, scuffed in several places, leaving long scars in the hardwood below.

That’s going to need refinishing soon
, she thought, committing the note to memory.
 

She took a deep breath, letting the cacophony of scents fill her senses. Reading everything, from the sharp pungent peaks of sweat, lust and betrayal to the constant soothing deep undertone of beeswax left by decades of prayers sent to God on flickering candle flames. Curving Gothic arches soared toward the peaked roof reminding her of flight. Morgan’s laugh echoed through the converted church as she vaulted over the railing. She closed her eyes and flung her arms wide as the air rushed past, blowing her long black hair away from her face and neck. The sensation of flight had lasted for a few moments before her boots slammed into the dark gloss wood of the dance floor. She dropped into a crouch, letting her knees buckle to absorb the impact.

A man’s laughter broke the silence. Danny, the other head of security, walked toward her with a wide smile spread across his cute face. It would take a few more years before his features made that slight shift from boyish and cute to handsome, but when it happened, he was going to be a fine specimen of masculine beauty.

“Not exactly subtle there, boss. No human could have managed to make that drop without screaming in pain in the end,” Danny laughed, his accent pure southern California, ocean blue eyes sparkling.
 

“Hey, the humans are all gone. No one here but the vamps and wolves,” Morgan chuckled, rising to her full five foot eight inch height with practiced ease, smoothing the line of her skirt over her hourglass frame. “Are you and James almost done closing?”

“That’s what I came to tell you. James went home for the night. Do you need me to hang around while you do your final walk–through?” he asked, referring to the final check she did of the club every night.

“No Danny, go home.” Morgan’s emerald eyes sparkled with laughter, and a smile curled her lips, revealing the delicate tip of one fang. “I know your girlfriend already wants to kill me because of your hours,” she strolled toward the bar area. Even in the deepest part of the night, light streamed through the stained glass, casting sections of the two bars along the walls in pools of color. She laid her sword cane on the bar, she wouldn’t need it for the walk–through.

“Thanks. See you tomorrow night.”

Morgan paused, hair falling over one shoulder as she looked back. “I thought you had the night off?”

“James and I swapped. He’s covering on Friday so I can help with some of the newer pack members.” Danny replied, crossing to where his boss stood.

“Right, full moon.” She nodded. “You’ve got people who can keep their cool scheduled for Friday?”

“Of course.” He laughed. In the six months since the club opened, they’d had this conversation every twenty–eight days. They both knew that they were going to do it several more times before Morgan got over her concerns that everything was under control, whether or not she was there to clean up afterwards.
 

“Great, now get outta here,” she laughed, nodding toward the door. “I can handle the final walk–through on my own.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” he yelled over his shoulder as he made his way toward the employee’s entrance.

“Actually I did!” Morgan called out, laughing. She strolled across the dance floor, scanning the tall mahogany tables and barstools that surrounded it, making sure that each was in order. Harsh utility lights showed every nick and imperfection in the high–gloss lacquer finish as Morgan made her way behind the bar on the left side.
 

Further down the wall, heavy burgundy velvet drapes concealed doors leading to private rooms where both wealthy and well–known patrons partied away from prying eyes. As she moved into the curtained hall, the bright utility light dimmed to the amber glow of emergency lights. Morgan paused and entered the code on a nearby control panel. The utility lights cut out, leaving the club shrouded in dim amber.
 

“A right proper twenty–first century vampire.” Nicholas’s words echoed through Morgan’s mind, bringing a smile to her face.
Goddess knows what he means by that. Too bad every time I ask for an answer, he finds some way to dodge it. In the eight years since the new century began, I haven’t gotten an answer. I might have one by the end, but I doubt it,
she thought as she opened the door to the first private room. A cursory glance told her that the cleaning crew had done another fine job; the room showed no trace of the fight.

Though it was, on the outside, a human–owned and operated business, The Dracul was a neutral zone for all manner of supernatural creatures. To stay in business, and on the right side of the Council of Ancients, Morgan had to keep the peace with an iron fist.
My human life is proving to be much more useful than I thought
, she laughed, remembering the way her father had taught all his children their clan’s warlike ways. In the centuries that followed, his lessons remained, though, as a woman, her place in society had changed.
 

Morgan took another fifteen minutes to complete the walk–through and though she didn’t have to worry about it, she could feel the pull of sunrise in her chest, a dull ache that was more of an annoyance than pain. Satisfied that everything was in order, she left the club through the employee side entrance. Her car wasn’t more than a twenty feet from the door; nothing was amiss as she turned to lock the club for the day. When she turned back, someone was leaning against the sports car’s dark blue side. The vampire wore a fine, tailored suit and carried an ebony cane.

“You know the dreads kill the refined look, Azreal,” Morgan said, gripping the handle of her cane just a little tighter. Her mind spun, turning options over before deciding that confrontation was the best.

“Alas, they are what I have. Some of us don’t have the time,” he paused and shrugged one shoulder, “or inclination to worry about our hair every night.” His cultured baritone rumbled like a big cat as he pushed away from her Tesla Roadster. He took a few steps toward Morgan, punctuating each with a sharp rap of his cane on the asphalt.

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be holed up at the compound? Why darken my doorstep?” she asked in quick succession, not allowing him the chance to respond.
Why did I wear these boots tonight
? She thought cursing her inability to step out of the three–inch heels.

“You and I both know that maintaining permanent residence at the compound is not required.” He chuckled, the yellow parking lot lights throwing a strange jaundice shadow over his face. “Besides, I have a proposition that you might be interested in.”
 

“Talk to the Enforcers. I’m certain they’ll be much more interested in what you have to say than I am,” she snarled, a vicious sneer curling her lips. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” she flashed him a false smile. “I have had a long night and would prefer to be home before the dawn.” She moved to step past Azreal, but he flicked his cane up and to the left, blocking her.

“You will want to hear what I have to say.” He punctuated each word, enunciating them with care.

“I know what you are,” Morgan whispered, closing the distance between them. “You manage to hide your true nature from the Council and the Enforcers, but I have seen you kill. I have watched you toy with your victims.” She moved so close that from the outside, they might have been mistaken for a pair of lovers. “I know that someday you’ll get sloppy. And when you do, you can bet that I’ll be there when you are executed, or entombed.”

“You are a killer yourself,” he bowed his head, tilting it to the right as he continued. “I know it as do you. We all take lives, admitting it isn’t a sin or crime. It is what we are, what we do.” Azreal bared his long canines, bending toward her throat.

Morgan tracked his movement with just her eyes. She knew he was trying to dominate her, to get her to back down. When his fangs were less than half an inch from her flesh, and Morgan could feel his breath on her throat, and smell decay on the air, she planted her hand in the center of his chest and shoved. The elder vampire rocked back on his feet and let out a hearty chuckle. Smiling, he met her green eyes with his almost black ones.

“I thought you might respond like this.” There was a small, self–satisfied smile curling Azreal’s lips.

In the back of Morgan’s mind, her father’s voice floated out of the past, reminding her that there were times when retreat was the only option.
 

“Look, I don’t have the time or the patience for playing your sick games tonight.” She turned away and dismissed him with an imperious wave of her right hand. “Go darken someone else’s doorstep.” She took two steps toward the safety of the club and walked right into someone else.
 

The hell
? She thought, taking in the vampire in front of her. Tall, gaunt, flesh stretched tight over his skull, making every angle stand out. Pale blue eyes gazed out of shadowed sockets filled with disdain.
 
This is impossible. Why didn’t Nicholas tell me that he had escaped?
 

“Alexander.” A memory flashed, showing Alexander bound in chains, being locked away in a heavy steel coffin, and sealed into one of the Council’s tombs deep in the catacombs.
He’s been locked away for over four centuries
.
 

The skeletal vampire smiled, his lips cracking as the skin stretched further than it could handle, with red–black sluggish blood welling up in the fissures. A shudder of revulsion and fear ran through Morgan, and she pulled her sword free from its sheath. She dropped the hollow cane to the ground with a loud clatter, echoing in the early morning. Before she could raise it to strike a fatal blow, she felt a sharp pain at her throat, followed by slight pressure. Morgan slapped at her neck, knocking Azreal’s hand away as she stumbled toward the club. The scent of Azreal’s designer cologne drifted up to meet her. Her sword slid from her fingers, and she pulled a syringe from her neck. She glanced at it. The plunger had been pressed, and whatever had been inside it was now coursing through her system. Liquid numbness began slithering through her veins.
Shit, shit, shit
. She could feel her thought processes slowing; simple decisions took several moments to make, and her focus narrowed to the door of the club. If she could get inside, she could bar the door and, with a little luck, be safe until the drugs wore off or dawn came.
 

“Why do you fight?” Azreal asked from a few feet away, with a hint of incredulous laughter in his voice. “You should have listened to my proposition. This would have been much easier if you had.”

Morgan leaned on the wall beside the door for support, focusing all her attention on finding her keys. She reached into her pocket and came up with her cell phone, and let it slip from her fingers. She needed The Dracul’s keys.

“You never were one to make things simple,” Azreal chuckled, his voice getting closer.

Morgan ignored him as her fingers hooked around the cool metal ring. Her vision swam in and out of focus as she came away with the keys, swinging from one finger. Her heart beat faster as adrenaline kicked in and her body tried to counter the sedative.

“Now, now,” Azreal chuckled, “we can’t have any of that.” He snatched them as Morgan’s vision narrowed further.
 

She opened her mouth to scream, hoping to catch the attention of some humans, force Azreal to retreat, but Alexander was behind her. One hand clamped over her mouth while the other’s long fingers squeezed her windpipe. Bright tracers skimmed through her vision as tendons shifted in painful ways. Unable to expel the breath in her lungs or draw anymore in, Morgan choked, a painful raspy croak, the only sound she was able to make. Frantic, she clawed at Alexander’s hand, but at the same time whatever had been in the syringe worked its way into her nervous system.
 

“I always wanted to drive one of these,” Azreal mused as he turned to face Morgan’s car. “I must remember to repay the favor.” He hit the button that unlocked the doors and strolled over to where Morgan’s sword cane had fallen.