by Shawn Lane
After he removed his own clothes, Graham grabbed the lube out of the bathroom and knelt on the bed next to Morton.
Framing Morton’s face in his hands, he whispered, “You’re so beautiful.”
Morton’s full lips curved into a small smile. “You’re the beautiful one.”
Graham shook his head. “I’m handsome, I suppose. But you’ve always been the most beautiful man I’ve ever known.”
“You certain about that? You’ve been alive for many years.”
He kissed Morton’s nose. “Positive. I want to make love to you. Are you up for it?”
Morton nodded, licking his lips. “Please.”
Still he hesitated. He knew Morton better than he knew himself sometimes and was aware that his lover would never deny him anything even if he was exhausted and defeated.
“Are you certain? We can wait for you to rest a few hours.”
“No. Rest later. You. I want you.”
Graham covered Morton’s lips with his, slipping his tongue between the opening. Since the first time he’d had Morton, the younger, slighter man had been all Graham wanted. He’d been devastated when Morton disappeared when they were mortals. He’d tried to go on with this life. Back then he’d had a wife and children. It had been expected of him and Graham did as was expected.
But he had yearned for Morton. Always would.
His callused hands roamed across Morton’s smooth bare abdomen, then up toward Morton’s sensitive pierced nipples. He tugged gently on the silver rings as Morton’s body rose and trembled beneath him.
Brushing his lips down Morton’s jaw and to the pulse of his throat, Graham felt his fangs lengthen as the need to mate with his true love became primal, all consuming. His lover’s hands slid down Graham’s back to his buttocks, tearing a groan from him as he sank his teeth into Morton’s neck.
“Graham.” Morton gasped, writhing under him, his erection pushing against Graham’s stomach.
Though he’d drunk much blood over the years, there was none that satisfied him the way Morton’s did. He knew it was the same for Morton with his. His own cock leaked with fluid, aching to be inside the hot tightness that was Morton’s body.
He reached blindly for the lube he’d brought with him, and when his hand closed around it, he worked quickly, slipping his hand between their bodies. He found Morton’s entrance with his lubed fingers and pushed them in.
He moved his lips from Morton’s neck back to his lips, sharing the blood in his mouth with Morton as they’d done many times before. With his free hand, he lifted one of Morton’s legs, giving Graham better access to his round ass.
“Graham, oh, please.” Morton moaned, his eyes closed, his pale cheeks flushed slightly pink.
“Open your eyes, love,” Graham said, withdrawing his fingers and placing the head of his cock at Morton’s hole.
Morton did as he bid, dark brown eyes meeting green as Graham entered him, pushing past the tight ring of muscle until he was balls-deep. He brought Morton’s mouth to his once more, melding their lips harshly together as he pounded into the tightness again and again, drawing out gasps and whimpers from Morton.
His lover’s hand stroked his own cock as Graham drove into him, their wide-open gazes still locked on each other just as their lips were.
Every part of him sizzled with life, intensity, the need to be deeper still inside Morton, joined with him in every way. Morton’s fangs lengthened, poked out from his lips as he broke their lip-lock to bite Graham’s throat. His balls drew tight and his body tensed as the wave of his release crashed through him, filling Morton’s ass. Cum splattered across his stomach, letting him know Morton, too, had reached orgasm.
After a moment, Graham withdrew and pulled Morton into his arms, pushing his head onto Graham’s chest.
“Do you need anything? More blood?”
Morton shook his head.
He wished more than anything he hadn’t had to tell Morton of the rumors regarding Seymour. The evil vampire had already taken up so much of their lives and Morton had been filled with such joy when they’d thought Seymour had been destroyed. The desolation, the utter despair was back and Graham ached with it. If Seymour did live, he would do whatever it took to destroy the monster himself, this time for good.
Even if it cost Graham his own immortality.
“I love you, Morton. Eternally.”
“I love you, too, Graham.”
Graham opened his mouth to tell his lover not to worry, but there would be no point in lying to Morton. They both knew there was a great deal of reason to worry.
Chapter 3
Seymour stretched, naked, on the long, enormous bed as he came to awareness. Still so weak. Would he ever get his full strength back?
For years he’d been preserved. Not dead but not living. It had taken his servant many years to revive him, bring him back even this far. It was worse than when he’d been a new vampire. And when finally he’d awakened from his healing sleep, his servant had to hold cups of blood to his lips like he was an invalid. He supposed he had been, really. He’d been lucky to survive the attack on him.
Sitting up, he looked around the dark room, remembering where he was. Not England anymore. His servant had brought him to Italy several months ago and now he stayed in this old home.
The door of the room opened.
“Master Seymour?”
“I am awake.”
An overhead light flicked on and it revealed his servant, Albert, standing just inside the doorway.
“Shall I help you dress?” Albert asked. He’d found Albert three hundred years ago. A vampire discarded by another, the one who’d made Albert, just as Seymour had made Morton.
“Yes.” Seymour rose, taking tentative steps toward his closet and dresser. Albert opened the closet before Seymour reached it.
Albert was slight and blond, pretty in an almost feminine way, and though Seymour had made use of Albert’s body over the years, he could never compare to Seymour’s need for Morton. No one could.
“Kendricks arrived a few moments ago.” Albert chose a dark blue buttoned down shirt out of the closet.
“Does he have any news?” Seymour asked, putting on the shirt.
“No, not really. I should warn you; he brought someone with him.”
“Who?”
Albert bit his lip. “Someone I think he intended to pass off as your Morton. I dissuaded him of that idea. To be fair, he does look a lot like him.”
Seymour snorted. “I am not so easily fooled. Instead of resorting to trickery, he should be finding information about the real Morton.”
“I told him so.”
“You are a good boy.” Seymour stroked Albert’s golden hair. “Later, after I am fed, you may join me in bed.”
Albert nodded, his eyes downcast. He handed black pants to Seymour.
“I’ll be out in a minute.”
“Yes, Master Seymour.”
When Albert had gone from the room, Seymour finished dressing, then sat once more on the bed to regain his strength. He didn’t want even Albert to realize how weak he still was. The weakness made him entirely too vulnerable to attack. He trusted Albert, mostly, but over the centuries he’d learned even those most trusted could execute the most brutal betrayals.
He slipped out of the room and to the main area of the house where Kendricks would be waiting for him. He immediately saw the young man Kendricks had brought with him.
Seymour sighed. “Who is this you brought me?”
The young man lay on the floor, his arms and legs bound. His dark eyes were wide with fear. Albert had been right. With the young man’s dark curly hair and big doe eyes he did look a lot like Morton.
“Well, I—”
“Do not bother. Albert has told me of you intent to trick me. Is this boy even immortal?” Seymour glanced at the boy, trying to use his weakened senses. They told him, no, this boy was mortal. And Kendricks had brought him here. Kendricks would have to pay.
&n
bsp; “My lord, I am having trouble locating Morton,” Kendricks whined.
“Albert!”
Albert appeared instantly at his side. “Yes?”
“Take this boy out of here.”
“Shall I return him to his home?”
Seymour shrugged. “I don’t care. He is yours to do with as you please.”
Albert nodded and knelt beside the young man. He untied him and then helped the shaking young man to stand. “It’s all right. You’ll be fine,” Albert said, stroking the youth’s arm. “Come this way.”
Normally, Seymour would have played with the young man himself. Probably fed on him and used him well before discarding him to die. He’d certainly done so before. At the moment he only cared about taking care of Kendricks.
When he was completely alone with Kendricks, Seymour circled him, satisfied when the younger vamp appeared to quake with fear. He should.
Kendricks had been in his employ only since the late nineteenth century. He hadn’t made Kendricks. In fact, Morton had been the only immortal Seymour had ever made, ever wanted as his own. Kendricks’s original maker had been destroyed shortly after creating Kendricks. It seemed Seymour took in a lot of stray immortals.
“I’m sorry, Master Seymour. I was not thinking when I thought to fool you with that man,” Kendricks said, a note of desperation evident in his words.
Seymour nodded. “You were not. But your foolishness in that regard is not why I am angry.”
“It isn’t?”
“I would never have been fooled by an imposter. Morton is bonded to me because he shares my blood. A bond that exists only between a vampire and his maker. Since your maker was destroyed, you never learned of it.”
“Oh.” Kendricks shifted uneasily.
“I am angry because you have been searching for Morton for all this time and the only thing you have to show for it is an imposter. I expect competence, Kendricks.”
“I’ve been trying, my lord.”
“Do not whine. It will not have the effect you desire.”
Seymour stopped circling Kendricks and stood next to him, very close. Vampires had a tendency to be a bit pale compared to mortals, no matter their race, but Kendricks had lost even more color.
“Do you know what I am going to do?” Seymour whispered.
Kendricks swallowed. “No.”
“I am hungry, Kendricks. I am going to feed on you.” He smiled when Kendricks’s eyes grew very large. “I may drain you of all your life or, at the end, I may let you live. I don’t quite know yet.”
“Master, please.”
It wasn’t a common way to kill a vampire, for only another vampire could drain the blood through feeding, but Seymour had done it before.
“Quiet. This is the ultimate way to serve your master.” Seymour grabbed his head and tilted it to expose Kendricks’s neck.
* * * *
Morton woke just before dark. He only knew the time of day because he’d been alive for many hundreds of years. He sensed when it was not yet night. Next to him, Graham still slept.
He eased out of bed, being careful not to disturb his lover. Graham was often on alert and didn’t get as much rest as he needed.
Slipping from their bedroom, he went down a dark hall to another room where they kept their clothes. It was such a large house, and just the two of them in it, so they had only their bed in the resting chamber. He chose a pair of blue jeans and a red T-shirt and then made his way to the hall bathroom to shower.
Showers were definitely one of his favorite modern inventions. He’d hated bathing in tubs or not bathing at all, for that matter. He soaped himself up under the shower spray and tried not to let the panic overtake him.
Seymour.
Could it be true? Was Seymour still alive and coming after him?
Morton knew that if Seymour was indeed alive, the second part of his question was a given. Seymour would pursue him always. He’d been assured of that.
After he’d finished his shower, he dressed and looked in on Graham. His lover still slept and Morton decided he would let him continue to rest.
He made his way into the living room to check for messages. Morton sighed. He loved this house. It was the nearest thing to home he’d had in a long time and he didn’t want to leave. Every house he’d ever loved, though, Seymour had destroyed. Burned to the ground.
They’d lived in a lovely townhouse in London in the eighteen hundreds. Morton had adored the place, and it, too, had gone up in smoke.
And that time Seymour had succeeded in getting his hands on Morton.
He shivered and noted the flashing light on the answering machine. Morton pressed the button.
“Morton, it’s Henry. Call me when you get this. I want to finish our conversation about the next steps in your career.”
His career. He probably had none now. His senses went on alert and he knew he was no longer alone in the room.
Morton closed his eyes and leaned back against Graham, who wrapped his arms around him from behind.
“How long have you been awake?” Graham asked, kissing Morton’s ear.
“Just a short time.”
“You should have awakened me.”
Morton shook his head. “You needed your rest.”
“Are you hungry? We only have a few more bottles of blood. I need to get you more.”
“I know, but I am not hungry now.”
Graham turned Morton him to face him. “You aren’t eating enough, love. I don’t want you getting weak.”
“I’m fine, Graham,” he snapped, then winced. “Sorry.”
Graham smiled a little. “I know you think I am coddling you. Maybe I am. It’s hard for me not to, after all these years.”
Morton leaned his head on Graham’s shoulder and wrapped his arms tight around his lover. “I know. I’m just…I don’t know anymore.”
“I know you’re scared. But we don’t even know for sure Seymour is alive, let alone that he knows where to find us.”
He nodded, his throat closing.
“Do you want to go out tonight? If you’d rather stay in, I can call Littlefield and cancel Xavier’s show tonight.”
And the truth was, he did want to stay home. He didn’t want to go on stage and pretend everything was fine. He loved performing, but tonight he didn’t think he could.
“Morton?” Graham gently lifted his chin so their faces were only inches away.
His eyes filled with tears and his vision blurred. “Do you hate me?”
“What? Hate you?” Graham shook his head. “Hold on.” He went to the phone, his hand still clasped with Morton’s, and Morton was grateful for the warmth of Graham’s fingers curved around his palm. Graham hit a few buttons. “This is Graham. Morton is under the weather and won’t be able to appear tonight at the club. We’ll call you later. Bye.”
A cold tear slipped down his cheek and Morton wiped at it. Graham led him to the old couch in the room and sat, then pulled Morton down on his lap, holding him tight.
“How could you think I could hate you?” he asked after a moment.
Morton closed his eyes, squeezing out more tears. His stomach ached, his throat felt raw. “I hate him.”
“That is something we both agree on, love. There is no one I despise more than Seymour.”
“But that’s not what I mean. I hate him for making me. For creating what I am. This…this monster. If not for him, I would have died hundreds of years ago as I was supposed to and not have had to live through this torment.” Morton bit his lip and opened his eyes to look at Graham. “And this, I did this to you.”
“Morton.”
He shook his head. “I did. I made you immortal. I changed what was supposed to be for you, because I was a coward and I couldn’t bear to be without you. I took you from your life.”
“If you had not created me that day, I would have died from my battle injuries.”
“But you would have been free. You wouldn’t have to feed off mortals. You w
ouldn’t have had to face Seymour tormenting us for centuries.”
“And I wouldn’t have you,” Graham said quietly.
He swallowed a sob. “I am no prize.”
Graham smiled and tilted his face to kiss him softly. “I beg to differ. I love you. You are my one and only. I loved you as a mortal. I love you more now than ever. One day soon we will be free of Seymour…forever this time. I vow it.”
“I want to believe that.”
“I know it is difficult. But it will be true,” Graham swore.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what, my love?”
“For making you, for doing this to you. To us. I hate him so much.”
Graham held him close. “I know. I’ll find a way to distract you from your sorrow.” He smiled crookedly. “And then, I will make sure you eat.”
Morton smiled, too. Just a little. They could forget about Seymour, perhaps, tonight. But soon, they would have to face their demon once more.
Chapter 4
Morton woke with a start.
Alone.
He lay on the couch, naked, and Graham had gone, likely off hunting. He opened his senses, but to his relief, he was alone in the house. No intruders.
He sat up and ran his fingers through his hair. The room swam a bit, reminding him he was weak and hungry. Shifting on the couch, Morton grimaced. His ass was also sore from the pounding Graham had given him before he’d left.
Morton stood and reached down to pick up his earlier discarded clothes. As he walked toward the dark kitchen, he left them on a nearby chair. He opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of blood He twisted the cap off, leaning against the open fridge door.
Closing his eyes, he swung the bottle up and let the cold, thick blood slide down his throat. He hated the need to drink blood. Had hated it for hundreds of years. He despised Seymour for making him a killer. And he couldn’t deny he’d been changed. The killer instinct was part of being a vampire. For Graham, well, he’d already had it as a warrior. That aspect had not been that different for him.
Morton fought it. Thanks to Graham he had to kill a lot less than he would have had he been on his own.