Subj: Blood Scar, chapter 1,
Date: 1/8/00 1:55:57 AM Central Standard Time
From: Beverly LaCroix

WARNING: Adult. Sexual situations. m/m
Chapter One
Rosewater Madness

Morgan stirred as he heard the creaking of the panel swinging open, that lead into the secret room of the Collins Mausoleum. He didn't open his eyes as the lid slowly opened, and he knew he was being stared at by the piercing eyes of his master. The evening ritual of coaxing, tempting, tantalizing and trying to get him to rise and become one with the night would begin. His master had tried everything he knew to persuade him to feed, but he had refused.

Barnabas had explained it all to him. This strange time band he was in, the many years in the future, but he had spent most of the time telling him of the vampire curse that was now his existence. Morgan had only wanted to die, to cease his existence, not live for an eternity as this unholy creature that this strange Barnabas had inflicted on him.

Remembering the blood dripping from that horrible creature's fangs, and it had been fangs that were buried in his neck, he had tried to scream, but the fear was replaced by an erotic pleasure that was too overwhelming to feel shame. He had leaned into that disgusting foul demon from Hell in a moan of passion, his cock so hard it ached. His movements were a rocking trying to touch that creature in that sinful way. But he had wanted that bloodsucking demon to touch him, and relieve the aching fulness of his now leaking cock, but he had moaned and writhed more, and then he had felt the wetness at the crotch of his pants after the orgasm, and had wanted die, such remorse and shame had flooded him.

It had gotten worse, that foul mouth was on his now, probing his mouth with his tongue, and he had succumbed once again, unable to resist even the slightest. Oh how he had shuddered with passion when he felt those fangs at his neck, probing the holes in the vein, teasing him by pulling his fangs out, and then forcing them back in, the intake of breath that had escaped him caused that creature to look at him, and he had dared to gently push a lock of his hair away from his face. Oh the nerve of him, he had thought at the time. He no longer resembled Barnabas, Bramwell's father, but the devil, the devil as an angel of light, that had come to torture, torment, and tease him for an eternity. He just knew he had gone mad from that cursed room. And now he was forced to behave like a common whore or even worse he was screwing the devil himself, and behaving as if he couldn't get enough of this foul demon's hands touching him, and he leaning into them like a bitch in heat. Hades would reserve the hottest flames of Hell for him, and he would be tormented forever with this madness.

He had prayed for darkness, for the interlude of death to take him, and when he thought he could take the pleasure no more, the darkness begin to descend on him, and it had been darkness for him since that moment.

There was nothing Barnabas Collins could say to him that would make him feed. He didn't want to live in this time or in his own time. Barnabas had shown him that gender was nonexistent to a vampire. They were superior to humans, and he mustn't feel shame for his desires and passion for a creature so far above the human race. He told Morgan that he loved a mortal woman, and had come very close to falling in love with a mortal male at one time, but it was not meant to be. He told Morgan of his Josette, and how he had never stopped loving her. But the one that interested him was Angelique the Witch, the one he described and said looked just like Catherine, but was so very evil in ways he was just beginning to understand.

Morgan had laughed derisively at that, and had told Barnabas there were evils that were so subtle they could destroy the soul with their duplicity, deceit, and lies. At least Angelique had truly loved him, maybe not the kind of love he understood, but she had loved him the only way she had known how, and had given everything she had had to give for the love of him.

Morgan had laughed and had called him a hypocrite for not understanding Angelique's love for him, when he laughed at mortal men for feeling shame, because of the forbidden desires his bite created. Barnabas had looked at him strangely, and had stared at him long and hard when he had said that, it was as if Barnabas were seeing something for the first time, although it had been there all along.

Barnabas had told him about Julia's cure, Dr. Lang, Adam, and the Leviathins, and how he had come to be cursed by the deadly Leviathin curse, and it had also awoken the dormant cells of Angelique's Curse. Now, he craved blood every waking moment, there was never enough for him. He had been in that room, watching, hoping it would change, and he had appeared.

Asking Barnabas why he had wanted the room to change with him in it, he laughed at Barnabas' answer of hopefully he would be cured in another time band. And Morgan had told him, "and so you would have, if you had come to my time. But maybe you wouldn't have cared for your life, Mr. Collins. You weren't wealthy, or the respected affluent person you are here. All of the Collinses seem to be treated differently in this time band than in mine." Morgan had mumbled, mostly to himself.

Morgan had retained a blood scar on his neck, and even with his super healing abilities it had stayed the same. Barnabas, his Cousin Quentin, and he came to the conclusion it was because of not only his coming from a parallel time, but from an earlier period. Quentin went on to conjecture that the blood scar was a vampire mark from his master/father, that is, Barnabas. And even if he were in the other time and were in trouble the blood scar would throb, and probably cause some pain, and Barnabas would feel the same feelings knowing his vampire/childe was in trouble. It was like the bond Barnabas and Willie had or whomever Barnabas' victim was that he chose to act as a father/mentor. The scar would remain.

Barnabas had shown Morgan around the Estate, and it was almost the same. The Old House was not the same, it was elegant, richly furnished, well-taken care of as though someone loved it. Barnabas had shown him Josette's Room, and it was so spellbinding that Morgan could feel a spell being woven around him, sucking him into that vortex of the smell of jasmine, hints of the old ways of Martinique, he could hear the voodoo drums in the time recesses of this room. It had been here, all of it. Its beauty covered its evil. For some reason Morgan couldn't begin to fathom Barnabas couldn't see the evil in this room, or smell the death that was being smothered by jasmine and rosewater. Morgan's eyes widened, it was the rosewater that held the scent of death. It had been used to lure Josette into the spider's deadly domain. For one brief instant he was allowed to look back, and saw the beautiful Josette falling to her death at Widow's Hill. He shrank back, and wanted out of the room, he felt evil here, and he smelt the ever present scent of death. This room was a tomb, and he could feel the door closing -- he needed to get out of here. He had jerked away from Barnabas, and bolted for the stairway, having forgotten about his vampiric speed. Very clumsily he had went over the stairwell before he could right himself, and he had looked into the laughing eyes of Barnabas.

He wouldn't tell Barnabas what he had seen in that room, because part of that death was Barnabas, and he had almost brought Josette to the same living death as he himself had been consigned to live for an eternity. Angelique had not allowed Josette to stay in that tomb or to be snared by the seductive siren lure of the vampire. No, she had saved Josette from that, and no one could see Angelique's gift to Josette but him. Angelique wasn't even mentioned in their family history book. Joshua Collins had been wise when he had ordered her name struck from the records, it would have been a curse that the following generations would have had to bear, like Brutus. He wasn't going to think about Brutus, Bramwell, and most of all that deceiving whore he had married.

Morgan had been with Barnabas, Quentin and Willie one evening when Barnabas had a visitor, a young female. Morgan had been clothed correctly for the time period, and he had rather liked his new clothes. They weren't nearly as restrictive as the ones he had had to wear in his time. He had on a long-sleeve button down black silk, with small threaded silver stripes, and black silk slacks gathered at the waist. He didn't have to hide behind the shuddered area, but he preferred to at this time. He watched as Barnabas and a young woman entered the room. Quentin stood and greeted her very affectionately, Morgan wondered if they were in love. The woman's dress was very short, but he knew this was popular for the day. It didn't seem to make the women any worse than the ones who wore the corsets, and stays, with bustles and all the other layers of clothing that his wife wore. His wife was worse than any of the scantily-clad women he had seen in this time.

Dark auburn-colored hair fell to below the shoulder, and the woman turned around and was looking straight at him. He heard her gasp, it wasn't fear he knew, but surprise. Quentin had assured him that he was ever bit a Collins. Strikingly handsome with his long black hair that shined like the onyx ring that Barnabas wore. Wide-shoulders, burning black eyes, acqualine features, he would be noticed, and Maggie Evans had noticed him. He had a silver-hooped earring he had insisted on wearing, he had always wanted to be a pirate when he was a kid, and this was kind of a rebellious move on his part. He and Barnabas had agreed on a small medium hoop, and even Barnabas had to admit it looked good.

Morgan had liked being with Barnabas and Quentin for awhile, even though he had refused to feed, he had been able to ignore the hunger, and then he met Maggie. He forgot Catherine, Bramwell, Barnabas, Quentin, and it was just the two of them. He had to have her, and he could feel his fangs dangerously begin to descend.

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