Zac," she whispered into his chest. "I always knew you had to go some time. Just not so soon."
He let his arms drop and she led him outside and back to the road without another word.
They hitched rides with army convoys travelling north during the day and ran during the night. By sunrise the next morning, they were in Calais. News had already reached the town that Paris had been liberated and was now in the hands of the Allies.
It seemed too soon, but as they explored the city, they walked past a make shift army hospital, where the wounded were lined up in their hundreds. Everything from gunshot wounds to amputations were laid out and bleeding. Morgan skidded to a halt and pushed him backwards.
"I'm so sorry, Zac. I didn't know." She tried to hold him back as he registered what they had stumbled upon.
Human blood was more potent than that of an animal. Its rich coppery scent hit him like a ton of bricks and he turned away sharply, fighting to keep himself in check.
"Zac," Morgan cried, knowing that the slightest trace of blood would set him off.
Blinking hard, he felt the burn in his throat subside. "It's okay," he rasped. "I won't."
Thankfully, she pulled him down the street away from the tent hospital, the sea breeze pulling the scent away.
They found themselves at the pier, where many British and American war and supply ships were docked. Men were running up and down the gangplanks and crates and trucks were everywhere. Many of the supply frigates were being loaded with the wounded for their trip home and he knew that was his ticket back to Britain.
"I need to go." Zac sounded almost desperate. He wanted to see Sam so much.
"Are you sure you can handle it? I mean, back there…" She gestured back towards the tent hospital.
"Yes. I've come back before. This feels the same."
"Well then," she smiled sadly. "Safe journey, soldier."
"Thank you, Morgan. For everything." He took her in his arms and kissed the top of her head. She shrugged away from him and gestured for him to go. There was a ship preparing to pull anchor. He had to go now or wait god knows how long for another ship to gain clearance to leave.
As Zac walked along the gangplank and onto the supply ship, he turned and lent on the railing, watching as Morgan disappeared into the bustling crowd. It didn't feel right, leaving her so soon. They had become friends in the short time he'd known her and he felt like he'd used her.
As the ship pulled away from the dock, he knew it was too late to go back. If he jumped, thousands of people would see and that would be disastrous.
He hoped that one day they would cross paths. He would tell her then that he was sorry.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Z ac walked towards the manor with Morgan, feeling a lot better about himself . It was a huge turn around from that morning when he had been prepared to die. He still wanted Aya more than anything, but he no longer felt powerless.
"Wow," Morgan breathed, breaking the silence. "It's really beautiful out here."
"It's your first time in the South?" he asked. He was kind of surprised knowing how old she was.
"Yes," she nodded. "I mean it's stinking hot, but the swamp, the forest. It's kind of magical."
"I bet that's what the settlers thought."
"Were your parents… "
"No," he shook his head. "My grandparents came out from France a while after New Orleans was founded."
"Did you ever see where they were from? I mean, when you were over there for the war?"
"No."
Morgan didn't push him to explain and he was relieved. She knew all about it.
They approached the driveway side by side, her familiar presence calming. He had always been jealous of her. She was calm, level headed, caring and had the control he craved. Morgan had purpose and he had just lost his to a two thousand year old vampire. He desperately needed a direction before he lost his grip on his humanity again.
As they turned up the long driveway towards the front of the manor,
He let his arms drop and she led him outside and back to the road without another word.
They hitched rides with army convoys travelling north during the day and ran during the night. By sunrise the next morning, they were in Calais. News had already reached the town that Paris had been liberated and was now in the hands of the Allies.
It seemed too soon, but as they explored the city, they walked past a make shift army hospital, where the wounded were lined up in their hundreds. Everything from gunshot wounds to amputations were laid out and bleeding. Morgan skidded to a halt and pushed him backwards.
"I'm so sorry, Zac. I didn't know." She tried to hold him back as he registered what they had stumbled upon.
Human blood was more potent than that of an animal. Its rich coppery scent hit him like a ton of bricks and he turned away sharply, fighting to keep himself in check.
"Zac," Morgan cried, knowing that the slightest trace of blood would set him off.
Blinking hard, he felt the burn in his throat subside. "It's okay," he rasped. "I won't."
Thankfully, she pulled him down the street away from the tent hospital, the sea breeze pulling the scent away.
They found themselves at the pier, where many British and American war and supply ships were docked. Men were running up and down the gangplanks and crates and trucks were everywhere. Many of the supply frigates were being loaded with the wounded for their trip home and he knew that was his ticket back to Britain.
"I need to go." Zac sounded almost desperate. He wanted to see Sam so much.
"Are you sure you can handle it? I mean, back there…" She gestured back towards the tent hospital.
"Yes. I've come back before. This feels the same."
"Well then," she smiled sadly. "Safe journey, soldier."
"Thank you, Morgan. For everything." He took her in his arms and kissed the top of her head. She shrugged away from him and gestured for him to go. There was a ship preparing to pull anchor. He had to go now or wait god knows how long for another ship to gain clearance to leave.
As Zac walked along the gangplank and onto the supply ship, he turned and lent on the railing, watching as Morgan disappeared into the bustling crowd. It didn't feel right, leaving her so soon. They had become friends in the short time he'd known her and he felt like he'd used her.
As the ship pulled away from the dock, he knew it was too late to go back. If he jumped, thousands of people would see and that would be disastrous.
He hoped that one day they would cross paths. He would tell her then that he was sorry.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Z ac walked towards the manor with Morgan, feeling a lot better about himself . It was a huge turn around from that morning when he had been prepared to die. He still wanted Aya more than anything, but he no longer felt powerless.
"Wow," Morgan breathed, breaking the silence. "It's really beautiful out here."
"It's your first time in the South?" he asked. He was kind of surprised knowing how old she was.
"Yes," she nodded. "I mean it's stinking hot, but the swamp, the forest. It's kind of magical."
"I bet that's what the settlers thought."
"Were your parents… "
"No," he shook his head. "My grandparents came out from France a while after New Orleans was founded."
"Did you ever see where they were from? I mean, when you were over there for the war?"
"No."
Morgan didn't push him to explain and he was relieved. She knew all about it.
They approached the driveway side by side, her familiar presence calming. He had always been jealous of her. She was calm, level headed, caring and had the control he craved. Morgan had purpose and he had just lost his to a two thousand year old vampire. He desperately needed a direction before he lost his grip on his humanity again.
As they turned up the long driveway towards the front of the manor,
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