Eternally His

by Shawn Lane

  Eternally His

  By Shawn Lane

  Published by JMS Books LLC

  Visit jms-books.com for more information.

  Copyright 2017 Shawn Lane

  ISBN 9781634863322

  Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

  Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

  All rights reserved.

  WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America.

  NOTE: This book was previously published by Amber Quill Press.

  * * * *

  Eternally His

  By Shawn Lane

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Prologue

  1275

  Morton hunkered down on the turret looking at the ferocious battle taking place below. It had been going on for a long time. Sections of the castle flared with fire. His enhanced hearing picked up the groans of the fallen. The cries of the victorious. When would it be over?

  Fingers caressed the nape of his neck. The hairs stirred and he closed his eyes, willing the revulsion the touch caused to dissipate. A torment he could not escape for eternity.

  “Master,” he said, softly.

  The hand slid to his cheek, then his chin, turning his face. Cold lips covered his. He kept his eyes closed, not wanting to see the pure evil in the silvery eyes of the man possessing his lips.

  And then the kiss was over and the fingers dropped from his face.

  “The battle is nearing its end, Morton. Soon we will have our chance.” Seymour’s long auburn hair blew away from his face as the wind picked up. The acrid smell of burning wood and flesh floated up to them.

  Strange how so many senses were intact, others like the hearing, better.

  Seymour was the reason he was crouched on the turret looking at the disaster of his former home, hoping with all that was left of him that at least one warrior would be spared.

  Graham.

  When was the last time he saw his big axe-wielding warrior close enough to touch? So long. Should he give into the despair and throw himself into the flames? If only he knew that would truly end his life.

  “Are you sad, my pet?” Seymour asked, mockingly, from beside him. He stood on the turret, surveying the scene. He wore long robes, similar to a holy man, and the wind whipped them around his legs.

  “‘Twas my home.”

  “Now your home is with me.”

  Morton swallowed. The unending nights had begun nine months earlier. A fight with Graham had sent him away from the castle and Seymour had taken the opportunity to attack. And it had ended with him as Seymour’s slave.

  He touched the spot where Seymour’s teeth had sunk in to make him just like him.

  “No matter how much you touch it, it will not disappear,” Seymour said.

  “I know.”

  “You would think you would show more gratitude. You have immortality now. We will be together forever.”

  And that was what Morton feared to the very depths of his shattered soul.

  On the right of the battlefield, he spotted Graham, large and blond and perfect. He swung with his axe, felling invaders one after the other. But he was weakening. Morton saw the falter of his steps. And if Graham fell, Morton’s defeat would be complete.

  Seymour turned his head to look at the courtyards below where serfs fled. “I’m going to go feed on them.”

  “Wait.” Morton rested a hand on Seymour’s leg. “I thought the plan was to drink the blood of the fallen. They yet live.”

  Seymour laughed. “Look around, pet, your former lord has lost. They will all die before this night is through. I but end their suffering.”

  Before Morton could protest further, Seymour was gone.

  Would this night from hell ever end?

  He turned back in time to see Graham drop to his knees.

  No!

  And then he was jumping from the turret, flying to the ground below. Morton could not delay. He dodged a few arrows and sword swings to find where Graham had fallen. He dropped beside him.

  “Graham,” he whispered.

  The big blond warrior’s eyes were closed and his breathing appeared shallow. Blood soaked through the chainmail covering his chest.

  He was dying.

  “No!”

  Morton glanced around. He saw no sign of any foes near, nor did he see or sense Seymour. Of course, Seymour was the bigger threat. Especially considering what Morton intended to do.

  He shouldn’t, but he had no time to reconsider. Graham would not last longer. He leaned over Graham, turning his former lover’s jaw to the side to expose his throat, soiled with dirt and blood from the battle. Morton’s canine’s lengthened, changing to fangs.

  “I’m so sorry, Graham. I cannot let you die like this.”

  Sinking his teeth into the pulse of Graham’s throat, Morton began to suck, the flow of warm, sweet blood filling his mouth. He’d never drunk from a live person before. So far he’d fed from those who’d fallen in battle or natural causes. This was so different. So…incredible.

  He closed his eyes, feeling Graham’s life force fade. He needed to stop. If he took this too far, it would be too late to save Graham.

  Morton pulled away with a gasp, and then bit his own wrist. Just as Seymour had done when changing him, or so he had learned after he had awakened once Seymour changed him. If he wanted to stop, now was the time. But an eternity without Graham and with Seymour was more than he could stand.

  He held his bitten wrist over Graham’s mouth and used his thumb to force Graham’s lips apart. “Drink, Graham.”

  Morton bit his lip and once more glanced around. The battle seemed to be over. Bodies were strewn everywhere. He could hear a few warriors gasping out their last breaths. Graham’s mouth was still slack, so he had to force the blood to drip into Graham’s mouth. The longer the blood flowed, Graham began to actively suck at Morton’s wrist.

  He watched for Seymour again, then turned back to Graham and gently slapped his cheek to bring him to alertness.

  Morton whispered, “That’s it, just a little more.”

  The big blond warrior’s green eyes opened and he stared at Morton.

  “We must go.” Already he’d lingered here too long. Any moment, Seymour would come looking for him. If he found him here with Graham, only disaster would befall them.

  Graham blinked, recognition lighting up his green eyes. Morton withdrew his wrist and stopped the words about to come out of Graham’s mouth with his fingers across Graham’s lips.

  “There’s no time. I will explain when we are safely away.”

  * * * *

  Morto
n sagged against the door of the inn, weak from loss of blood and trying to get as far away from Seymour as he could. He had no doubt Seymour would pursue him. He only hoped that he and Graham had gotten far enough away, at least for now, to escape him.

  He pulled the front door open and gestured for Graham to precede him. To his credit, Graham had not questioned him on their journey, though Morton knew him well enough that he had to want to demand answers from Morton.

  Graham moved to the innkeeper. He looked like he was doing better than Morton, actually. Which Morton had to admit was vaguely annoying.

  “A room, please.” Graham slid coins across the counter at the innkeeper.

  “We will need it until tomorrow night,” Morton quickly added.

  If the man thought it odd the blood-covered knight and his hooded servant asked for a room at nearly dawn, he didn’t say so. He handed a key to Graham and gave him directions on how to find the room.

  When they had reached the room, Morton headed for the bed and dropped down to the hard unyielding mattress.

  “I am tired beyond measure,” he muttered.

  “Not too tired to tell me where you have been these many months,” Graham said, standing by the bed and staring down at him.

  Morton sat up. “Aye, ‘tis time to tell you.”

  “Past time, Morton.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Graham sat next to him. “I know you were upset when you left, but I thought you would return by morning. Why did you leave me? I thought…Did I not treat you well? Did you feel forced?”

  Morton swallowed. “No, Graham. I did not want to leave.”

  “Then what, Morton?”

  “You have heard of the sorcerer, Seymour?”

  Graham nodded.

  “He is an unusual sorcerer. He has a dark secret. The night I went away, Seymour attacked me.”

  “Attacked you?”

  “Yes,” Morton whispered. “I was taken away to his dark tower and I have been there since.”

  Graham grabbed his hands. “He has violated you?”

  Morton looked away. “He has possessed my body. In more ways than you can imagine.”

  “You speak in riddles, Morton.”

  He tugged his hands out of Graham’s grasp and paced the floor in front of where Graham sat. “I know this will be hard to hear and you may not believe at first, but in time, you will. Seymour is immortal.”

  “Immortal?”

  “He cannot die.”

  “I know what it means, Morton. Explain yourself.”

  “He is…he drinks blood to live.” He dared not spare a glance in Graham’s direction, for he was certain Graham would think he’d gone completely mad. “He came at me in the night and drained me of my blood.”

  Graham’s brows furrowed. “Have you hit your head?”

  “No. When I woke in his tower, I had been…altered. I am like him now, my lord. Tonight, we were there to drink the blood of the fallen.” He closed his eyes tight. It all sounded so horrible, and indeed was. He was not yet used to this himself. But better to feed from those that would die anyway at the hand of another than to take their life himself.

  “Morton—”

  “Please, there is more, and I would have it all finished. You lay dying when I came upon you. In fact, I saw you fall from my perch on the castle and I went to save you, but I knew once I found you that you would die of your injuries.”

  “But I am not dead, Morton, and I am not in any pain. I can find no injuries.”

  Morton nodded and turned to Graham. He went to his lord and helped him remove his mail hauberk. His hands smoothed over the linen shirt Graham had worn beneath his mail. Graham looked down at the blood soaked, torn linen, then back at Morton.

  “What is this?”

  “Your injuries are gone now, Graham.” Morton knelt before him. “I have changed you.”

  Chapter 1

  Present Day

  Morton rushed off the stage of the nightclub, leaving behind the rest of the musicians who usually played for him. The piercing, thunderous applause and screams of the audience followed him as he turned the corner and headed for his dressing room.

  “Xavier!”

  He shook his head, ignoring the shouts, and opened the door to privacy at last.

  “Graham?”

  Too much privacy. The room was empty. Where was his lover? He’d thought he would be here, waiting.

  Shaking his head, he picked up a towel and wiped at the sweat dripping from his forehead. How was it he could be immortal and still sweat so much? It made little sense to him, but these performances made him sweat like he’d run four quarters across a basketball court.

  Morton sat before his mirror on the makeup table. He’d have to reapply everything before his next set in an hour. It amused him how one of the myths about vampires mentioned not being able to see a vampire’s reflection in a mirror. Thankfully, that was just not true.

  He tugged at his leather gloves and set them on the table. He’d changed into another pair for the next performance.

  The door swung open, and Morton looked over hopefully.

  “Good evening, Henry.”

  Henry Littlefield was Morton’s manager. The balding, thirty-something hurried over to him, his face beaming. “Xavier, that was wonderful!”

  He sighed. “Cut out the Xavier when we’re alone. I’m plain old Morton here.”

  “Fine, fine, whatever. My God, did you see that crowd? They went nuts.”

  “I heard them, too.”

  “I might have to start wearing earplugs,” Henry said. He pulled Morton’s long black leather trench coat off his shoulders and reached for a hanger. The rest of Xavier’s performance outfit consisted of tight black leather pants, combat boots, and a black, rhinestone studded sleeveless T-shirt.

  Morton eyed his private bathroom, which contained a shower. He wondered if he had time to take one. Normally, with an hour between sets, he’d have plenty of time. But if he had to look for Graham, he might not.

  “Want me to order in some food? You need to eat something.”

  Morton nodded, rose, and walked over to the mini-fridge. He withdrew a chilled blue bottle. “Have you seen Graham?”

  “He left a note.” Henry grimaced. “That’s all you’re going to have? You and that weird tomato juice concoction you drink.”

  “It’s got all the vitamins and minerals I need,” Morton assured him. He took a long swallow, letting the soothing blood slide down his throat. “Where’s the note?”

  “Over there by your wardrobe cabinet.” Henry pointed to a blue slip of paper sticking out of the pocket of one of his replacement coats. “Morton, we need to talk.”

  “About?”

  “Expanding Xavier’s performances. You’ve become so popular here. I think we should schedule you for some other venues, even in other states. I’ve been speaking to a guy at LDR Music and they’re interested in signing you.” Henry practically rubbed his hands together. “We could even do a video and post it on YouTube.”

  Morton smiled and took another drink. “I’ll have to think about that, Henry.”

  “Sure, sure. Maybe we could all have lunch this week. Graham can come, too.”

  He shook his head. “You know I don’t like sun exposure. It’s bad for my skin.” Very bad. Unfortunately, being exposed to direct sunlight was one of those stories about vampires that was very much true. They didn’t have to sleep the day away, but they did have to stay out of the sun. During daylight hours, if Morton did not sleep, he confined himself to rooms without windows.

  As for some of the other more famous tales, garlic was not poisonous to them, but most vampires found it repugnant for some reason. As far as Morton could tell, crosses and holy water were not particularly effective either. At least they’d never affected any vampire he’d known, including him and Graham. They could be staked through the heart though.

  One of the myths Morton only wished had been true was turning into a wolf or a
bat. Alas, that would have come in handy.

  “Morton.”

  “Hmm?”

  “I’ve been talking to you,” Henry said with a little pout.

  “Sorry.” He walked over to the wardrobe and took out Graham’s note. “What is it you were saying?”

  I went to see another of our kind about some disturbing rumors. I should be back by your second set. If you have time, come to the end of the alley behind the club half an hour before your set for some downtime. G

  Rumors? Morton bit his lip. He did not like the sound of that. But the other, the downtime, Morton knew what that meant. Usually him against the wall, his pants down around his knees while Graham pounded into him. Smiling, he tucked the note into the same pocket.

  “Morton!”

  “Oh, Henry, yes, sorry.” Morton turned and flashed him a smile. “We’ll have to have this talk later. I’m off to meet Graham.”

  “Meet Graham? B-but you have another set! Soon!”

  Morton patted Henry’s cheek. “I’ll be back for the set. Don’t worry so.”

  “But your makeup!”

  He laughed. “You’re going to give yourself a heart attack, Henry. It’s fine. I’ll touch it up when I’m back.”

  He grabbed another of his long black trench coats and shrugged it on. “See? Almost ready.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t do this to me,” Henry pleaded, looking vaguely ill.

  Morton decided not to assure Henry it was fine once more. He’d been through this a million times. Opening the dressing room door, he went into the hallway. He waved to the few band members lurking around, and turned toward the back alley exit.

  Slipping outside, the cool January night air hit him. Outside the doors stood a security guard having a cigarette. He blew the smoke in the other direction when he noticed Morton.

  “Xavier, you should stay inside. It’s cold and could be dangerous out there.”

  “No worries, Ralph. I’ll just be gone a short time.” He waved as he made his way down the dimly lit alley. The farther he got away from the club, the less the alley was lit. At one point, the alley curved away so that the guard wouldn’t be able to see Morton anymore, which was fine with him. He didn’t really want an audience when Graham fucked him.