Cast in Blood (Morgan Blackstone Vampires Book 1) by Michelle Rabe Page B

make the stairs?” Christophe asked. He watched her, not doing anything to pressure her into making a decision before she was ready.  
    Morgan looked up and sighed. There’s no way I’m going to make that climb. She shook her head.   “No, I can’t.” She hated to admit weakness, but there was no way around it. The only bathroom she thought she could make was the one in the basement, the safe room. She hated the room, but had added it to the house because Nicholas insisted their homes needed a safe place to go underground, just in case. Going down there now will feel too much like running, like I’m back in that cell . She felt a shudder run through her, as her mind flashed on the cold, impersonal space that had been her haven for so many weeks. “How long was I gone?”
    “Eight and a half weeks since you disappeared,” he said, as he scooped her up into his arms. She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck.  
    “Sorry about the couture.”
    “Please,” he shook his head and chuckled. “This is off the rack. Running around in the swamp is no place for high fashion.”
    “You’ve been looking the whole time?” Morgan met his gaze for a moment, and the emotions she saw play through his lavender eyes told her everything. “How long?”
    Christophe thought for a moment before he answered. “We didn’t know for sure until about a week and a half ago.”  
    Christophe started taking the stairs two at a time, and Morgan closed her eyes, resting her spinning head on her Blood Son’s shoulder, taking long slow breaths, as her stomach roiled. At the second landing, he paused and shifted her weight.   Morgan gasped and gripped his upper arm with one hand.
    “Is everything all right, cherie ?” His question was simple, and one that not too many vampires his age would ask. They would have forgotten that part of their humanity. Christophe was a different story. It was what made him so good at his job, managing The Dracul’s VIP clientele.  
    “Vertigo, nausea,” she answered in a low whisper.
    “Do you want to stop?” he offered, turning toward one of the guest rooms.
    “No. Bath. I need it,” she said, feeling desperation creep into her tone.
    “I wasn’t going to tell you,” he turned back to the stairs, and resumed climbing them, “but the slept–in–a–swamp look is so last season,” Christophe said, with a light laugh.  
    “City streets are in?” Morgan asked, desperate for anything that might distract her from the shards of glass now churning through her stomach.
    “No, no, my dear, it’s all about sleeping in the park. You get the outdoorsy feel without all the mud in your hair.” He chuckled while climbing the last flight of stairs.  
    “You really must remind me about the changes in trends,” she sucked in a deep breath through gritted teeth.
    “Morgan?” Christophe asked, his brow knitting together in concentration.
    “I’m fine.” She lied.
    “Not yet, but you will be.” Christophe set her down in the bathroom. The tub was already full of steaming water, the shower billowing clouds of vapor. Morgan braced herself on the counter. Her vision swam in and out of focus again, and she leaned on the vanity. When the wave passed, her legs were weak but she turned, taking in what Christophe had done. “I figured you might want to clean up before you got into the tub.” He took a step away from her. “I’ll be right outside. I’m sure you want your privacy, but Nicholas would kill me if anything happened.”
    “Thank you,” she choked out in an almost inaudible whisper.  
    “Of course, cherie ,” he winked, before stepping out of the room.
    Morgan looked down and shook her head. The muck and mud on her clothes had dried into a caked–on clay–like substance. The scrubs were ruined. There’s no way to salvage them, even if I wanted to. She stripped off the oversized garments and tossed them into the trash. As soon as she opened the shower door the heated