Cast in Blood (Morgan Blackstone Vampires Book 1) (21 page)

“I was going to say, I’d feel much better if you left the city.” Nicholas took her left hand and met her eyes. “I’m not sure I can keep you safe. I don’t want to risk losing you.”

“I’m staying, Nicholas. At least until we get a better handle on this,” she murmured, as she finished wrapping his injured arm in a sling. “Try not to move this too much, you should be healed by tomorrow evening.”

“Thank you, love,” he sighed, and before Morgan could move away Nicholas pulled her to him, wanting her close. “I’m sorry, I should have been more careful.” His breath played across her neck with his words.

“Don’t be sorry Nicholas, Alexander can be a cagey bastard,” she whispered, something in her expression closed off, shut down. After seven hundred years of marriage, Nicholas knew when to let go.

“Marcus, I need you to check in with Eric.”

“Elizabeth’s Eric?” Marcus asked, as he tossed Nicholas’s coat aside.

“Yes. He lives near where I was hunting and heard the commotion. He shot Alexander. I wouldn’t put it past that son of a rutting whore to seek retribution.” As he spoke, Nicholas watched Morgan gather his destroyed clothes and toss them in a nearby trashcan.

“I’ll go look in on him,” Marcus confirmed, checking his weapons and sheathes.

“And ask him about Elizabeth’s theory involving Glaser rounds.”

“Excuse me?” Marcus stopped what he was doing.
 

Interesting, it appears that Elizabeth held her cards close. Protecting Eric perhaps?
Nicholas thought, watching a jumble of emotions play across Marcus’s face. “I don’t know. Be careful and check in when you arrive.”

“I’ll go along with whatever you say Assassin. This is your show.” Marcus shook his head and held up one hand in mock surrender. “I’ll take time to meet with Lady Caitlyn as well, give her your apologies, and hope her temper doesn’t get the better of her,” he continued, as he shrugged into a long leather coat.

“Good idea. She needs to know that there’s an insane Renegade on her streets. But tell her as little as possible. I’d rather not have Alexander’s,” he paused and rubbed his forehead, “release, escape, whatever the hell this is, becoming common knowledge, until we decide.”

“I’ll keep in touch,” Marcus said, as he pulled his coat closed and picked up the ebony dragon–headed cane that hid his sword. Morgan slipped out of her husband’s one–armed embrace, kissed him, and walked to where Marcus stood.

“Be careful,” she whispered, touching Marcus’s cheek.

“Always darlin’.” He laughed, hugging her. Nicholas heard the rumble of Marcus’s voice, as he said something, but the elder vampire spoke too low for him to understand. Morgan laughed before Marcus let her go, chuckling as he strode out the door.
 

Feeling a sense of confusion, mixed with curiosity, Nicholas watched as Morgan locked the front doors and set the alarm. Her eyes met his for a moment, before she walked into the closet. Frowning, Nicholas watched as she pulled several blades from the safe and laid them on the table.

“Morgan,” he started, but she turned her gaze on him, cold and hard, as the gems her eyes resembled.

“Nicholas, you are wounded, and I’m doing much better. If I have to, I will do what I can to defend my loved ones. It’s my turn to say that you need to rest.” She cut him off with a hint of her usual spirit flaring. Nicholas smiled, wanting to take her in his arms and kiss her, but knew better. If he tried to do something like that, she would see it as trying to coddle her, and her temper would show itself. Even on a good night, he had no desire to tango with Morgan in a bad mood.

“Yeah, it sounds just as patronizing as I thought,” he muttered, as Morgan slid the daggers into their sheaths. He smiled, seeing the small tremor run through her shoulders, as she tried not to giggle.

“How do you feel?” Nicholas asked, settling for a tone of neutral curiosity, fighting to keep his expression schooled to match.

“I feel fine,” she answered, with a smile that reached her emerald eyes. “Now, if only my husband would be a good patient and rest…” she trailed off, offering him her hand.

“What did you have in mind?” He stepped up to her and leaned in to purr at her throat.

“I was thinking along the lines of curling up on the couch with a movie.”

“A movie?” he asked a hint of incredulity slipping into his tone. The look she gave him was enough to freeze water in seconds. “Sounds great.”
 

“Smart man,” she mused, making the blood pound in his veins in ways that had nothing to do with fear or stress.
Nope, nothing more than my natural reaction to that tone in her voice, pure desire.

“Watch yourself, I’m out of commission for the night,” he teased, wiggling the fingers of his arm in the sling.
 

“Sorry,” she murmured, but looked away with a satisfied smirk, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“My God. I married a wench.” Nicholas laughed, wrapping his uninjured arm around her waist.

“You knew that centuries ago,” she countered, while her arm snaked around him.

“As soon as my arm is healed, if you’re still feeling fit…” He let the thought hang in the air, and moved his arm to rest at the rise of her hips.

“You are on.” Morgan laughed, as they walked into the media room together. Nicholas took one step toward the large built–in cabinet where the DVD’s were, but a glance at Morgan’s expression had him changing course to settle in on the couch. She smiled, satisfied, and took care of getting the movie started. Watching her move around the room, Nicholas was aware of every weapon she wore, knowing that because of his injuries, he was out for a minimum of twelve hours.
If Lucian decides to make a move tonight, we are in fifteen kinds of trouble.
She set up the movie and walked over to the couch, unbuckling the sword belt that sat at her hips. She laid the saber on the table and sat on the couch beside him. Nicholas reached out to her and Morgan shook her head

 
“You’re injured.”

“Meaning?” he asked. Morgan considered him for a moment, before she smiled and slid under his arm, shifting position until they were comfortable. With a chuckle, Nicholas started the movie and smiled. Morgan had picked one of his favorites, an action flick with an easy to follow plot, lots of explosions and senseless violence, to help bring his emotions back under control. As the beeline plot unraveled on the screen, Nicholas let himself get lost in the fantasy.
Yeah, there’s a shit storm on the horizon, and things are going to get worse before they get better, but for this moment I’m content to sit with my wife.

M
ARCUS
WALKED
THROUGH
the city streets, not noticing the beauty of life around him. He was focused on the odor he’d picked up off Nicholas’s jacket, Alexander’s scent. He followed it through the streets. Three blocks from the house, he paused. It was strong, but he also felt a cloying undertone of decay, the same one that clung to the jacket. Frowning, Marcus closed his eyes and focused on trying to follow it. After several unsuccessful minutes he opened his eyes. The scent was growing fainter with each passing second.
 

He moved through the dark, empty streets, slipping from one shadow to another, following the trail until it broke off a short distance from the alley that Nicholas described. The scent lingered, but had mixed with other chemicals that Marcus had not anticipated. An unmistakable blend of metal, petroleum, and exhaust, mixed with the fetid concoction.
 

“So you drove here rather than walk,” he muttered under his breath, to his unseen quarry. “Interesting, why here, why now?” Marcus knelt and took a deep breath, hoping that the proximity would help him use the scent to get a better handle on how long the car had sat there. The odors assailed him; the vehicle had been there for several hours, leaving behind a hint of blood and recent death.
 

His eyes snapped open as he stood. On instinct he took his cane in both hands, and twisted the lower half, releasing the blade hidden within. Reining his senses back under control, Marcus scanned the area to confirm that he was alone. Still holding the cane across his body, senses alert for trouble, he walked to Elizabeth and Eric’s house.
 

Marcus stood outside the entry, his eyes studying the immediate area. The door was shattered, jagged wooden spikes hanging from three hinges on the left side. What remained of the solid oak piece had been reduced to shrapnel, scattered down the foyer and into the long hall. Marcus eased the blade out of his cane, exposing the Damascus steel, as he stepped across the threshold.
 

Thank the Gods that Elizabeth gave me an open invitation, or I’d be stuck pounding on a wall, praying that Eric might be able to hear me.
A sharp metallic scent assailed his nostrils, pulling at his baser instincts.
Precious life sustaining blood is being wasted.
A voice screeched; high pitched, like fingernails across a chalkboard bouncing around his mind.
 
How did Alexander get in? The kid must have let him in without realizing who he was.
 

Putting his back to the right hand wall, the longer one, Marcus moved further into the building. He placed each step with care, testing each floorboard before settling his weight on them
. If Alexander is still in here I don’t want to announce myself. Yeah, maybe it’s not honorable, but if I can get a drop on this son of a motherless whore, I’ll take it.
He stepped into the archway to the sitting room and paused. The house was quiet, but if he focused, there was a stuttering heartbeat limping toward oblivion.
Damn it, why isn’t there some sign? Alexander may be a sick bastard, but back in the day, he loved to play games. What is the game here?
Marcus thought, as he stepped into the center of the hall, the floorboard under his foot shattered the silence with a long low cry. Marcus froze. After a couple seconds, he shook his head and walked into the sitting room. He set his cane aside and crossed to where Eric lay near the sofa. Bottles littered the floor around the coffee table, as though they’d been knocked off in a struggle.

“What had you drinking like fish, Kid?” Marcus knelt beside Eric and pushed his sleeve up past his wrist. “Also looks like you met up with Alexander.” He shook his head in frustration. “Gods! Why did I ever agree to do this?”
 

Marcus pushed himself to his feet and paced the room. He knew he was wasting precious seconds, but a memory clawed at him. Talons slipped into his mind and threatened to drag him back into the past. Marcus shook his head and crossed to where Eric had been flung like trash. He knelt beside the other man and laid one hand against his throat.
 

The pulse was weak, fluttering like a moth beating itself against the window, trying to get at the light on the other side.
Suicidal and hopeless.
Marcus thought, on instinct he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and started to dial emergency services.
What am I doing? He doesn’t have that kind of time. Three, maybe five minutes tops. Yeah, the EMT’s could get here in time. Time enough to watch him bleed out, while not being able to do shit. Damn it!
Marcus raked his free hand through his hair and sat back on his heels.
I do not want to do this. I swore I’d never do it again after
, he paused, having difficulty thinking about the events surrounding Sarah’s death,
after what I did to Georgia
.
 

This is nothing like that.
A voice that sounded a lot like Elizabeth’s echoed through his mind, with the warning tone that he knew all too well. It was the one she used when she wanted to push him into something he was reluctant to do.
 

“Something like this,” Marcus muttered, to the room. He turned his eyes to the ceiling as if he were praying to a God that he didn’t believe in. “I am not going to do it. I made this mistake once. I will not make it again.”

He wants our life, who are you to deny him? You know that if I were there you’d have no problem turning him and leaving him to foster with me
. She was in his head again, just as annoying as the real Elizabeth.

“I swore that I would never make another Blood Child.” Marcus shook his head, as if denying it would shut the voice out of his mind.

You’re going to waste a shit ton of potential, because you’re a stubborn ass?

“Gods, why won’t you just shut the hell up? You’ve always been too bloody headstrong.”

Pot meet kettle.

“Oh shut it,” Marcus growled, as he pushed to his feet and walked away from Eric’s body. Eric’s heartbeat, which had faded into the background, charged back to the fore.
 

It’s faltering; he won’t last much longer, and if you continue to stall, he’s going to lose too much blood. And then what? You’ll have even more innocent blood on your hands.
 

“I swore I wouldn’t do this again,” Marcus sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. “I can’t do this.”

Just change him and leave the rest to Morgan. She knows what to do. Look at what she managed with Christophe and Charles?”

“Yeah, one’s a bookworm and the other’s a womanizer. Just what I need.”

No. He’s a cop and a damned fine detective. If you ask me that sounds like exactly what you need smart–ass
. The voice still sounded like Elizabeth, however the words were something he’d tell himself.