Unseen Scenes—End of Book Two, Treaty Version (Morgan PoV) (Patreon)

On the Other Side of the Cave Compound. Outside.

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For a nomadic group, the Maa-Alused sure have a lot of shit.

“Here,” Morgan grunts, shoving a large crate into the hands of a spindly-legged maa-alused, who almost buckles beneath the weight.

“Thank…you…” the man groans in reply before waddling away beneath the wooden box.

Morgan heads back to grab another container full of who-knows-what before a familiar voice echoes across the clearing and makes her chest ache. It’s a sensation she’s getting more and more, so she swings around and flicks her narrowed gaze about the area until she spies [MC’s Name] on the other side.

-

If Falk is attracted to the MC

They’re standing at the mouth of the main cave system, looking as tempting as ever. But a prickle heats uncomfortably against Morgan’s skin as she spots the tall, annoyingly regal-looking Maa-alused leader beside them.

That asshole has been drooling all over the Detective since they first met.

If Falk isn’t attracted to the MC

They’re standing at the mouth of the main cave system, looking as tempting as ever.

Another voice overcomes theirs after a moment, and Morgan’s nose wrinkles. The annoyingly regal-looking Maa-Alused leader is butted up almost right beside the Detective, probably trying to convince them into making Unit Bravo clean the caves after doing all the work of moving them in.

-

“Tch.” Morgan clicks her tongue and leans back against the heap of crates behind her. She can only hear the whispered fringes of the conversation and not any actual words. An uneasiness about that almost has her stepping closer so as she can listen in.

But her path is blocked. So she shifts her gaze to the obstacle—a grey-uniformed agent who is fidgeting on the spot in front of her.

“What do you want?” she growls.

The agent flinches before pointing an only slightly shaking finger to the boxes behind Morgan. “I need to move that one, uh, ma’am. Sorry. Ma’am.”

Morgan rolls her eyes but does move out of the way so as the agent can bustle forwards and grab the box.

She doesn’t bother acknowledging the agent’s grateful nod, instead dragging a cigarette out of her pocket and lighting it up. The quick hit of nicotine flurries through her system for only a millisecond before it’s gone.

Being a vampire has its perks. Not getting to enjoy the numbing effects of alcohol or cigarettes for more than a moment is not one of them. Still, it’s at least something.

“Do you want me to move too?” Morgan asks, forcing her gaze away from staring over at the detective and switching her focus to Sanja.

The fortune teller shakes her head. “No. In fact, I would prefer you stay. I have something to gift to you.”

Morgan smirks, expecting the usual flush of flirtation and desire to well up in her at those words.

But there’s nothing. No attraction, no need to reply with an invitation, no nothing.

Just the urge to rid herself of her presence so as she can find an excuse to make her way over to [MC’s Name] instead.

Her smile falls. “What is it?”

“Something precious.” She smiles, a slight glimmer in her gaze before the light dulls. “As well as a warning. But let us begin with the gift first, shall we?” Her hand stretches out, her long fingers grasped around a piece of paper.

Morgan snatches it from her, only to realise it’s not paper at all, but instead a photograph. The photograph of her and the Detective from the carnival.

And now she feels something.

What it is, she’s not quite sure, but it wriggles and swirls inside of her, sending a warm, buzzing sensation through her limbs and torso, until her chest feels so full with it that she has to catch a breath.

She lifts a brow, but shakes away the feelings as best she can.

It lingers as she looks over the photograph again.

“Why would I want this?” she asks, the question genuine.

“Because you will need this memory. You will need to remember this time.” Sanja meets her eye and holds it before turning with purpose. “And you will need them.”

Morgan glances across the clearing, following the fortune teller’s eyeline to where it lands on the detective. And once more that buzz takes up in her chest, making her head foggy.

She scoffs as best she can through the confusing emotion. “I don’t need anyone, least of all a human.”

“Are you sure? If your family was taken from you, could you cope on your own?”

“Family? I don’t have—” Her words grind to a halt behind her gritted teeth. She rolls her lips together and turns away.

Sanja steps closer, the hit of her autumnal sweet scent almost making Morgan recoil. “You understand then. But your family won’t be able to give you what theycan.”

They both once again look over to the detective.

-

If Morgan had Fortune Told

“The stirring shadow is…” her brow knots, “it is a familiar one for you. And when it comes, there will be no one who can stop it from suffocating you beneath its depths. No one but them.”

If Morgan didn’t have Fortune Told

“There is a shadow stirring in your future. In the future of you all.” Her brow knots. “It is a familiar one for you. And when it comes, there will be no one who can stop it from suffocating you beneath its depths. No one but them.”

-

Sanja rests a hand on Morgan’s arm, sending a stinging pain to radiate out like cracks against her skin, so she snaps it away from her touch.

“So you’re saying, what?” She folds her arms and juts her chin up. “That they’re going to save me?”

“No,” she replies with a soft shake of her head. “I’m saying that you will save each other.”

Her arms drops back to her sides as she can sense the fearful rush of blood through Sanja’s veins. Whatever it is she thinks she has seen…it really scares her.

“You need to understand what it is between you two. What this bond means. And you must do so with haste.” A desperation edges into her voice, her eyes widening. “They cannot save you if you will not allow it, and if you lose them…it will cost you more than you could ever imagine, vampire. You will not recover from it.” There is no desperation in that statement. Her voice is as sharp as her stare.

Morgan pushes past the teller’s words which float hauntingly inside her head. “How about you be a whole lot less enigmatic and tell me what the hell it is you see?”

“It does not work that way, as much as I wish otherwise.” She sighs, sending another rush of sweetness wafting across Morgan’s senses and making her nose wrinkle.

“Then what use is that? Either tell me something I can use or piss off.” She swivels away, crossing her arms again but tighter this time, putting a definite end to the conversation.

It’s a while before she hears Sanja’s footsteps tread away, and as soon as she’s gone she lets out a breath and drops her shoulders.

Sanja’s words creep into her head, clawing into her thoughts, refusing to leave.

In one hand, her cigarette has nearly become just a tube of ash, so she stamps it out on the ground. In her other hand, she still clasps the photo.

She examines the picture, smooths a thumb across the image of [MC’s Name], and then stuffs it into her jacket pocket. The pocket closest to her heart.

…Not that she realises it.