the gooey, rotting leftovers that coated the tile floor. Marguerite had apparently decided to empty the refrigerator before she left. Spread across the floor was spaghetti, some sort of stew, a rice dish or two, and what he’d assumed was some sort of chili.
He had rolled in the disgusting mess as he repeatedly tried to regain his feet and failed. Everytime he got halfway to his feet and found them sliding out from under him, he cursed his niece, nephews, and their mates. Marguerite didn’t generally eat. However, her children had done so since finding their mates. He wasn’t sure why, but it was one of the first signs of a lovesick immortal. He himself hadn’t eaten since the death of his wife and children during the fall of their homeland. However, it appeared Marguerite had been having her children over and feeding them when they visited, hence the leftovers.
Once he’d finally managed to get himself up out of the mess, he had stripped off his shirt, shoes, and socks. He’d washed the muck out of his hair and off his hands, and then—rather than risk getting anything else dirty while he cleaned—had simply kept his already filthy pants on, donned the apron, the rubber gloves, and then found and wrapped a kerchief around his hair to prevent anything from splashing into it while he worked. After catching a whiff of the rancid garbage he was about to clear away, he had to fetch a second bandanna to wrap around his face in the hopes it would block the worst of the smell.
The better part of the evening and night had passed as Lucian divided his time between cleaning up the mess Julius had made and running upstairs to change the blood bag in Leigh’s IV. He’d also checked in with Mortimer and Bricker, to learn they were working with Bastien to track Morgan and the Donny fellow. They’d checked the ID on everyone in the house that day, and Mortimer made a list for the council records. It was standard procedure. Now, Mortimer had given that list of names of rogues and victims to Bastien, who’d immediately set people to work watching the bank accounts and credit card activities of all the individuals.
Lucian hadn’t been surprised to learn that there was activity on one of the credit cards. It belonged to a Bryan Stobie, one of Morgan’s victims who had been dead when they’d arrived. He hadn’t been a turn, but someone whom several of them had apparently fed on, killing him in the process. Yet his credit card was still being used. Whenever a new charge came through, Bastien called Mortimer and Bricker and reported it, and the men were following that trail. So far there was a rental car and several restaurant and gas charges on it. Morgan had moved up through northern Kansas and into Missouri, apparently heading north toward Canada.
Lucian’s instincts told him the man was heading their way. The protective way Morgan had cradled Leigh in his arms as he carried her out of the van and into the house made him think the rogue’s interest in her was more than that of a sire who had turned her to please Donny, as the conversation they overheard in the house suggested. If he was right, it meant Morgan might become a problem. However, he knew they were still far enough away that it wasn’t an urgent issue. The smelly and dangerous mess in the kitchen had held more import at the time, and he’d turned his attention to that.
After several more attempts to contact Thomas, Lucian had been forced to wash the hall floor, and finally the kitchen. He was halfway through when he recalled his intention to take water and perhaps some food upstairs to leave for Leigh in case she woke, which was why the floor was only half cleaned. Cleaning the other half wasn’t an attractive prospect.
Julius shifted beside him and whined when Lucian bent a glare his way.
“Yeah, you know you messed up, buddy,” he muttered, and walked over to kneel by the pail. Reaching into the cold, dirty water, he retrieved the sponge, wrung it out
He had rolled in the disgusting mess as he repeatedly tried to regain his feet and failed. Everytime he got halfway to his feet and found them sliding out from under him, he cursed his niece, nephews, and their mates. Marguerite didn’t generally eat. However, her children had done so since finding their mates. He wasn’t sure why, but it was one of the first signs of a lovesick immortal. He himself hadn’t eaten since the death of his wife and children during the fall of their homeland. However, it appeared Marguerite had been having her children over and feeding them when they visited, hence the leftovers.
Once he’d finally managed to get himself up out of the mess, he had stripped off his shirt, shoes, and socks. He’d washed the muck out of his hair and off his hands, and then—rather than risk getting anything else dirty while he cleaned—had simply kept his already filthy pants on, donned the apron, the rubber gloves, and then found and wrapped a kerchief around his hair to prevent anything from splashing into it while he worked. After catching a whiff of the rancid garbage he was about to clear away, he had to fetch a second bandanna to wrap around his face in the hopes it would block the worst of the smell.
The better part of the evening and night had passed as Lucian divided his time between cleaning up the mess Julius had made and running upstairs to change the blood bag in Leigh’s IV. He’d also checked in with Mortimer and Bricker, to learn they were working with Bastien to track Morgan and the Donny fellow. They’d checked the ID on everyone in the house that day, and Mortimer made a list for the council records. It was standard procedure. Now, Mortimer had given that list of names of rogues and victims to Bastien, who’d immediately set people to work watching the bank accounts and credit card activities of all the individuals.
Lucian hadn’t been surprised to learn that there was activity on one of the credit cards. It belonged to a Bryan Stobie, one of Morgan’s victims who had been dead when they’d arrived. He hadn’t been a turn, but someone whom several of them had apparently fed on, killing him in the process. Yet his credit card was still being used. Whenever a new charge came through, Bastien called Mortimer and Bricker and reported it, and the men were following that trail. So far there was a rental car and several restaurant and gas charges on it. Morgan had moved up through northern Kansas and into Missouri, apparently heading north toward Canada.
Lucian’s instincts told him the man was heading their way. The protective way Morgan had cradled Leigh in his arms as he carried her out of the van and into the house made him think the rogue’s interest in her was more than that of a sire who had turned her to please Donny, as the conversation they overheard in the house suggested. If he was right, it meant Morgan might become a problem. However, he knew they were still far enough away that it wasn’t an urgent issue. The smelly and dangerous mess in the kitchen had held more import at the time, and he’d turned his attention to that.
After several more attempts to contact Thomas, Lucian had been forced to wash the hall floor, and finally the kitchen. He was halfway through when he recalled his intention to take water and perhaps some food upstairs to leave for Leigh in case she woke, which was why the floor was only half cleaned. Cleaning the other half wasn’t an attractive prospect.
Julius shifted beside him and whined when Lucian bent a glare his way.
“Yeah, you know you messed up, buddy,” he muttered, and walked over to kneel by the pail. Reaching into the cold, dirty water, he retrieved the sponge, wrung it out
Similar Books
