Cast in Blood (Morgan Blackstone Vampires Book 1) (32 page)

“Much like when you first became a vampire, is it not?”

“No, it’s entirely different!” As soon as the words left her mouth, Morgan wanted them back.
I sounded like a five–year–old. Way to make a good impression.

“How so? You possess gifts that, if you do not learn to rein in, could bring about your death.” Richard paused, and waited to see recognition dawn in her green eyes, before he continued. “That sounds very much like what I imagine a newborn vampire goes through. Is it different because you made the decision to become a vampire, and did not choose this?”

“No. It’s not that. I… I don’t know.” Morgan sighed, throwing her hands out to her sides in a gesture of frustration. “I only know that I don’t feel like myself anymore.”

“That is because your definition of who you are must change,” Richard answered.

“I’ve worked hard to get where I am. I don’t want to lose any of it.”

“Who said that you have to? Cassandra was a powerful sorceress, when her blood mixed with yours, it awakened something. Something that I suspect lay dormant from when you were human.” Richard started walking toward the cabin.
If I can entice her with information, it will be easy to get her into the house, before the sun has fully risen
.
 

“What?” She stopped, and looked over her shoulder, green eyes filled with intelligence and pure curiosity.

“Tell me, what was your family like? Your human family?” he called over his shoulder, as he stepped onto the front porch.
 

“My father was a chieftain, my brother a warrior, who would have taken up father’s mantle, had they lived. My mother was a hunter, skilled with bows and daggers.” As she spoke, Morgan followed the sorcerer out of the clearing.
I know what you’re doing. I wasn’t born yesterday, and yet I will follow.
 

“What of your grandmothers?”

“On my father’s side, both warriors, it was the way of our people. On my mother’s side, she was a wise woman. My other grandmother died before I was born, and was never spoken of. I know nothing about her,” she answered, with a slight shrug.
I wonder. Why my grandmothers are important? They’ve been dead for centuries.

“The wise woman, she was skilled with herbs and a keeper of the clan’s lore?” Richard asked. As he stepped into the cabin, he stood aside and held the door open for the vampire following him. Morgan smiled and strolled into the living room, where she resumed pacing.
 

“Yes, she said that I was to follow her and had begun teaching me their ways.”

“Your grandmother was likely a sorcerer. Perhaps even the one you know nothing of. It wasn’t unheard of in ancient times for sorcerers to burn themselves out because they didn’t know their limits, or some emergency forced them to push themselves too far,” Richard mused, and closed the door. He watched Morgan for a few moments, hoping she might volunteer information. When it wasn’t forthcoming, he made his way into the kitchen and continued. “This would have been a few centuries before the Conclave began seeking all magic users for training, and to watch over them.”

“So you’re saying that this was in my human blood?”

“Yes.” He paused in the kitchen, and did a slow 360 degree turn, getting a feel of its layout. “Since your grandmother had only begun teaching you, I’d guess the talent had yet to fully manifest. In that case, it’s possible that the vampiric transformation nullified those abilities, until you were fed Cassandra’s blood.” As Morgan paced in silence, Richard busied himself, preparing the brew that would help control what was happening in the vampire’s blood. Silence would have settled over the cabin, if not for the tapping of Morgan’s boot heels, and the soft metallic hiss of the spoon against the pan as Richard stirred.
 

“It changes nothing,” she said, breaking the silence that had stretched into minutes.

“Perhaps, perhaps not. Won’t you at least give yourself a day or two to consider? Death is not someone who takes kindly to being cheated, twice.”

“The book isn’t working,” Morgan sighed, allowing herself to admit what was at the deep, dark, heart of her anxiety. “I read it. Followed your instructions, but can still feel my blood burning my veins. I don’t know how long I can go on like this.” She sank into a chair at the table, pillowing her head on her arms, as though any energy had drained right out of her.
 

“Then find your own path. This goes against everything The Conclave will say, but the book is not absolute,” Richard admitted, as he took the brew off the stove. He poured it into a goblet and rinsed the pan. “If you have a handle on what the lessons are trying to teach you, focus, intent, but most importantly, control. Then find your own way to channel the energies you need to work the magic. If you hit on it, you will know.”

“So ignore everything that everyone, who’s supposed to know, tells me, and find my own path?” Morgan scoffed, turning wary green eyes on him. There was something else there, a flash of defiance.

“Yes.” He met her gaze.

“Then why will I need you?”

“Because control, and use of these abilities are two entirely different things,” Richard answered, as he set the brew on the table beside her.

“But you can’t be certain about that? I mean rules have already been broken,” Morgan countered his argument as she picked up the goblet.
 

“True. However, some rules do not break. I believe that to use the abilities without danger to yourself or others, you will require training.” He answered with the authority Morgan had heard several times over her long life. He sounded like every professor she’d ever had at any college, an expert in his field.
 

“You’ve given me a lot to think about,” she muttered, frowning at the brew, as she swirled the liquid in the glass.

“Good. All thoughts of burning in the sun are gone for now?” His tone softened, and she saw a faint smile curl his lips.

“For the time being,” she replied. After a moment, she continued. “Will you tell me something?”

“If I can.”

“What was Cassandra like?”

“To be honest, she was a real bitch. She wouldn’t listen to anything anyone told her. I was surprised she survived her time as a neophyte.” The slight laugh Morgan heard in Richard’s words was more comforting than the forceful tone he’d been using.
 

“Neophyte?” she asked, concentration creasing her brow.

“It’s the first level of training. What you’ll go through soon enough. It’s getting late; you need to get some sleep. Just relax about this whole process. You’re going to do quite well, I believe. Don’t worry. I’ve trained several neophytes, and I haven’t lost one yet. I don’t have any plans to start with you.”

“Thank you, for everything,” Morgan said, waving her hand in a small circle as though she couldn’t think of the words to explain what she meant.

“My pleasure,” Richard replied, before he stood.
 

Morgan retreated to her own thoughts as she sipped the intoxicating liquid.
 

There’s a spine in that one. Can’t see much of it right now, because she’s too busy bending like a willow in a hurricane, but once she finds it again. She’s going to be just fine,
Richard thought, as he let himself out, locking the door behind him.
 

M
ORGAN
WOKE
IN
the bedroom though she didn’t remember going there to sleep. With the last vestiges of slumber clinging to her consciousness, she reached out to Nicholas’s side of the bed, and though it was empty, his scent lingered. She smiled and pulled his pillow close, inhaling the comforting blend of spice and earthy things that never failed to calm her. Morgan cracked one eye and found the alarm clock on the nightstand. The green glowing numbers told her it was a little past nine at night.
Dear Goddess, I’ve slept too damned long
, she thought, pushing herself into a sitting position. Her eyes wandered around the room, searching for, but not finding, any sign that Nicholas had been there, since she’d gone to sleep. Shaking herself, Morgan dressed and walked out to the main room. Again she stopped and searched for some sign of his return. Her heart sank, when she saw no change in the room. Refusing to let herself consider what his absence meant, she walked into the kitchen and began preparing the brew.

Fifteen minutes later, she was tucked into a corner of the sofa with the book in her hands, trying to make sense of the words.
For all the good it’s doing me, might as well be written in bloody Sanskrit
. The clock read ten thirty when Morgan gave up. She was still alone and no closer to the control Richard talked about.
 
She shook her head and wondered, for what felt like the thousandth time, where Nicholas was. Her hand went to the cell phone, sitting on the coffee table beside her, but stopped.
He’ll come back when he’s ready
, Morgan told herself, trying to squash the little voice in the back of her mind. She had little success, and it continued to taunt her with explicit descriptions of what Nicholas was doing with Lilly at that very moment, in a singsong manner.

“I have got to get out of here.” Morgan tossed the book on the coffee table and stood. “Somehow I don’t think a nighttime hike in the woods is going to be enough,” she muttered, as her eyes landed on the rapier, hanging in its sheath from the coat rack beside the door. With a wide smile, Morgan walked to the door, unsheathed the weapon and walked outside.
 

“Don’t think. Just act,” she told herself and walked to the center of the clearing. The sword in her hand was a familiar weight, so it took no time to find the proper balance. She paused and took a deep breath, letting the cool, clean mountain air fill and ground her. Hearing her long dead father’s voice in her mind, Morgan began moving through a series of drills she’d been doing for more centuries than she cared to count.

As she worked through the exercises, Morgan felt her mind clear, first focusing on her body’s position and controlling her movements. As muscle memory took over, she let her mind drift to the secrets locked inside the book. The more she thought about secrets and who held them, what they might be, and what they would mean, the less focused she became.
 

It happened in an instant, locked in meditation it was like a key slipped in, and opened some kind of rusted mechanism. Without thinking about it, her thoughts turned back to the book; Morgan closed her eyes. Patterns flashed before her, links missed in days of focused study, bright shimmering threads intertwining with one another. She felt the magic in her blood answer, flowing through the threads turning more orange than gold. The power ebbed and flowed, the breath filling her being with warmth and peace.

“Morgan?” Nicholas’s voice floated through her consciousness, suffused with concern and wonder. She smiled, knowing that very little unnerved her husband. She took a strange sort of pleasure knowing she’d managed it. “Love, wherever it is that you’ve gone, it’s time to return. The sun…” his words trailed off, as Morgan let go of the patterns.
 

It’s like releasing a kite, but leaving it tied off to something. The threads are still there; it will only take a few moments’ focus to bring the threads back under my control,
Morgan thought, as she finished the movement of the martial exercise she’d begun, and turned to face Nicholas. He stood a few yards away, the pale light of early morning casting a shadow across his handsome features. “Dawn.”
 

“Yes. You’re not tired? Ill? Weak?” He walked toward her, careful not to make any sudden movements.

“Why would I be?” Morgan asked, her voice sounding loud and unfamiliar to her after the prolonged relative silence.

“Because, you’ve been at this for hours, and I’d be lying if I said you learned all those moves from either Marcus or me.” He teased, trying to keep the mood light, despite his worry.
 

She closed the distance between them and laid a gentle kiss on his lips. She laughed as his arm snaked around her waist, and pulled her against him. Something she hadn’t known was out of place, shifted as Nicholas took the gentle kiss, and made it something more. Morgan gasped when his lips left hers, and she ducked her head, hiding her face in his chest. She breathed deep, fighting the hysterical laughter that shook her body. “Would you care to share what you find so humorous love?” he asked, as his hand stroked her hair.

“It’s not funny,” her laughter took on a hysterical quality. “It’s bloody frightening, and you’re not going to like it one bit.”

“I still want to hear it,” Nicholas said, as chills settled in at the base of his spine, and began worming their way up.

“Then I think we’d better go inside.” Morgan turned and started walking toward the cabin; Nicholas’s hand trailed around her waist before he caught her hand in his. He didn’t release it until they were inside the cabin.
 

Morgan sheathed her rapier, and sat on the sofa watching, as he made certain the cabin was secure. When he was done, Nicholas took a deep breath and let it out; his shoulders rising and falling, before coming to sit on the opposite end of the sofa, facing her.

“Talk to me,” he whispered. The wariness in his tone hurt more than she’d expected, but Morgan knew she had to convince him.