Eternally His

by Shawn Lane

  He got out, leaving Morton to sleep, and went to the door and rang the bell. After about five minutes, a man of sixty or so appeared, his hair slightly mussed, but dressed. He opened the door.

  “Good evening,” Graham said pleasantly. “I’m sorry to wake you but we need a room.”

  “Of course. Come in.”

  Graham entered the lobby of the motel, making sure he kept his car and Morton in his sights. “I’d prefer a room as far from the rising sun as possible. Quite dark if you can manage since my friend and I will be sleeping during the day.”

  The man nodded. “Traveling at night?”

  “Yes, less traffic and heat. We won’t be checking out until evening.”

  “That’ll be fine. I’ll make sure to let the maid know not to disturb you. Payment?”

  “Cash.” He glanced at the amount on the receipt the man had printed out and gave it to the man.

  “Room 212 in the back. Here’s a map to get around that way. There’s an elevator if you need it.”

  “Thank you, and sorry again for the late arrival.”

  “Don’t mention it. Good night.”

  Graham watched as the man locked back up after him and then he got back in the car. Morton continued to sleep as he drove around to the other side of the motel.

  Before he bothered to wake his lover to move to the room, Graham surveyed the area. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He sensed no immortals nearby. For now.

  Really, they had no choice. They were trapped where they were by the sun until night fell again.

  Graham went back to the car and gently shook his lover. “Morton.”

  Morton blinked, his dark eyes opening at half mast. “Are we there?”

  “Yes, love. We’re at a motel in Saint George.”

  “Okay.”

  Graham offered a hand to help him out of the passenger seat. His lover was still quite groggy. He steered them toward the stone stairs that led to the upper floor.

  “It’s chilly out here,” Morton remarked.

  “I know. We’ll get you warm inside.”

  He found Room 212 and opened it with the key card the motel manager had given them and they stepped inside. There was only one small window, and it was covered with a drape. Good. He flicked on the light, added the Do Not Disturb placard to the outside of the door, then double bolted them in.

  “I’m so tired,” Morton whispered.

  “I know. And you probably need to feed more.” Graham sighed. They could feed a bit off each other, but it wouldn’t be enough. They’d need more and soon. The next night for certain.

  Graham flicked off the light and they lay together on the bed, holding each other. He wrapped his arms tightly around Morton, trying to give him warmth and blood, and wondered how much time they had left.

  Chapter 6

  He’d never been to Saint George before, but Morton didn’t care if he ever saw it again. No offense to the city, of course.

  Morton hunkered down in the passenger seat of the car as Graham pulled away from the inn where they’d slept away the day. The sky had darkened with the night and significant cloud coverage. He supposed it would rain and he could only hope that it would somehow slow down their pursuers.

  “Too bad the myths aren’t true,” he mumbled.

  “Hmm?” Graham asked as he drove up the highway onramp.

  Morton shrugged. “It would just be a lot easier if we could turn into bats and fly off into the night.”

  “True enough. Alas, our immortal powers only go so far.”

  He nodded sullenly, dropping his chin to his chest. He should be watching other cars to see who might be following them. They could only hope Seymour had gone another way. Somehow, Morton doubted it.

  “Where are we headed now?” he asked.

  “New Mexico. We have to go southeast rather than straight across, so I’m hoping they won’t expect the change in direction,” Graham explained.

  “Okay.” Morton put his hand on Graham’s leg. “Are you hungry?”

  “A little, but nothing I can’t handle.”

  Back in the motel, they’d fed off each other before departing, but Morton knew it wouldn’t be enough for either of them for long.

  “We’ll stop halfway to New Mexico and find something.”

  Somebody.

  Morton wanted to say it out loud, but he kept quiet. Graham did the best he could for him with regard to human prey and he wouldn’t make things harder for them by whining about it now.

  “Any sign of anyone following?” Graham asked.

  Looking around, he studied the cars around them on the highway. It wasn’t yet terribly late so there were many cars driving past or behind them. Morton wasn’t foolish enough to believe that cars passing them weren’t possibly suspect. He watched them all. While it was likely true that Seymour would be unable to drive, having been out of commission for so many years, that didn’t mean Albert hadn’t learned to drive, or some other minion who had attached itself to Seymour.

  “No one suspicious yet. But I’ve got my eyes on a few just to be sure.”

  “We’ll be all right, Morton,” Graham said. “I won’t let him get to you.”

  He swallowed heavily. “I know, Graham.”

  The truth was, though, he knew Seymour would get to him. He couldn’t explain it, he just knew.

  * * * *

  Morton glanced around the small reservation town of Cameron, Arizona. This was the place where Graham had decided to stop to feed. It was quiet and very dark. The population wasn’t too large either.

  Graham got out of the car, so Morton followed suit.

  He fidgeted nervously and reached for Graham’s hand. “What’s the plan?”

  “There’s an old one nearby. Dying soon. Can you sense him?”

  Morton stood perfectly still and reached out with his senses. An old man, not far from where they were, in a small house, almost a shack.

  “You’re right, he doesn’t have long. Maybe a few days.” He bit his lip. He really hated this, but he was hungry.

  “We can’t change what we are now, love,” Graham said, softly. “Let’s go.”

  They walked toward the small house where the old Native American man lived. The short walk seemed to take forever and Morton was aware of every little noise, every little movement around them.

  Graham tried the back door of the man’s house and Morton frowned when it opened easily. Graham gestured that he would enter first.

  Morton followed him inside closely. He clung to the back of Graham’s leather jacket. He didn’t immediately sense an immortal nearby, other than himself and Graham, but his nerves were on edge and he knew something could happen at any time.

  They reached a living room area and there, sitting in an easy chair was a very old man, his white hair very thin. He stared at them with dark eyes.

  “I have been waiting.”

  Morton opened his mouth to speak but Graham squeezed his arm.

  “Waiting?” Graham asked, his voice neutral.

  “You are the Spirit Guides who have been sent to take me to another life, are you not?” the old man asked.

  “Yes, it’s time.” Graham walked over to where the man sat and led Morton behind him. “You have made peace here?”

  The old man nodded.

  “Graham—”

  “It’s all right, Morton.”

  Morton swallowed, but remained silent. He knew they needed to feed, no matter that he hated it.

  Graham gestured for Morton to go first and, clenching his eyes shut, he sat beside the old man and took the man’s hand in his.

  “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

  The old man smiled a little. “I have lived a full life. I am ready.”

  “How-how old are you?”

  “Do you not know?” His forehead furrowed.

  Morton nodded. “I do, I just, I want to hear it from you.”

  “One hundred and one,” the man said proudly.

  Morton smile
d. “That’s amazing.” He lifted the man’s hair off his neck.

  “How long have you lived, Spirit Guide?”

  “Many hundreds of years now,” Morton answered truthfully. “Over seven hundred.”

  He leaned forward to pierce the veins in the old man’s neck with his fangs. The blood began to flow into his mouth and the wild, animalistic side of him took over, though he continued to hold his victim.

  When he’d had his fill, he moved aside so Graham could have the rest. With his back to Graham and the old man, Morton wiped his mouth with a black handkerchief from his pocket and his fangs receded to normal teeth once more.

  Graham rose from the couch and laid the man down, displaying him so it would appear he’d just passed in the night.

  “Come, we mustn’t linger,” Graham said, grabbing his arm and leading them out of the man’s house.

  They quickly returned to their car and left Cameron, Arizona behind. Their next stop would be New Mexico, and Morton only hoped they could get farther away still before Seymour tracked them down.

  For the first couple of hours after they’d left Cameron, Morton had kept aware, watching and waiting for signs of someone tracking them. But eventually his eyes grew heavy and he drifted off. Moving vehicles tended to put him to sleep, though he always tried to stay awake.

  He woke again when the car pulled to a stop.

  “Graham?”

  “Wait here, I’ll get us a room,” Graham said.

  Morton saw they were once more at some nondescript motel. He could only assume one in New Mexico. He leaned his head back against the seat, then after a few minutes, he got out, restless.

  Graham had not come back yet, but he could see the tiny motel office from where Graham had parked the car. He turned away and glanced around the mostly deserted parking lot. The motel was near an unpopulated area from what Morton could tell. To the right of the parking lot he saw a dark woodsy field.

  He saw movement and tensed. “Who’s there?”

  No answer and nothing more, but his senses opened and slammed him so hard he dropped to his knees.

  Seymour.

  Morton scrambled to his feet, turning around. He felt the warmth drain from him, leaving him icy cold.

  Seymour stood on the roof of a car near the office, the slight breeze blowing his auburn hair around him. Next to the car stood the angelic Albert and two large, beefy immortals who were unfamiliar to Morton. They held Graham, who struggled against their grasp.

  “Run, Morton,” Graham called. He growled when one of the men who held him tightened his hold. “Get away.”

  Terror froze him, gripped him tight. He knew this would happen yet now that it had he desperately wanted to crumble to the ground in a fetal position.

  “I have waited a long time to find you again, my beloved,” Seymour said. “Come to me.”

  “No, go, Morton,” Graham ordered. He tried to break free of vampires’ hold but they pulled him back.

  “If I promise to come with you without a fight, will you let Graham go?” Morton heard himself ask. He didn’t know if he could trust Seymour to keep his word, if he even gave it, but he had to try to save Graham. He tried to ignore the crushed, defeated look on Graham’s face when he’d offered to go with Seymour willingly. It would haunt him for a long time.

  Seymour moved with astonishing speed off the roof of the car and stood before Morton, only steps away. His silvery eyes flashed with a triumphant gleam. He held his arms open.

  “Come to me, and Graham will go free. I only want you. Anything else is not important.”

  More afraid than he thought he’d ever been, Morton walked into Seymour’s embrace, felt his arms clasp around him. Felt cold lips brush his forehead. The trembling started; he wondered if it would ever go away again.

  “That’s my Morton. You have been naughty, trying to get away from me.” Seymour turned, continuing to hold Morton. “Leave Graham, but disable his car and…him.”

  “No,” Morton whimpered.

  “Shhh.” Seymour bit his neck and darkness claimed him.

  * * * *

  Graham woke face down on the asphalt, his gut in searing pain, his body weak and his heart shredded. He spit out little bits of rocks and struggled to sit upright. The sun was beginning to rise and he knew he didn’t have much time.

  He covered the wound from the vampire’s dagger with his hand. It would heal as soon as he got enough blood to drink.

  Pushing to his knees, he looked around. He was alone. He needed to return to Los Angeles and locate his axe, hidden in the secret passages of their probably now ruined home.

  Seymour had taken Morton and Graham had no idea where.

  But he would find him. He had to. And this time, Graham would put an end to this.

  Chapter 7

  Morton woke to total darkness and for a moment couldn’t figure out why. His night vision should have kicked in, but he couldn’t see anything. He began to panic, thrashing at the darkness, feeling the pressure of someone holding something over his eyes.

  “It’s all right, Morton,” a soft cultured English voice said.

  Albert.

  And then he remembered. He wished he could forget.

  A cloth was lifted from over his eyes and Albert’s angelic face leaned over him. Morton blinked at the suddenly bright lights.

  “Oh, I am sorry.” Albert disappeared and the lights dimmed, but did not go out. “Is that better?”

  “Yes.”

  Albert was by his side again and helping him to sit up. He had been lying in a king-sized bed, fully clothed. The last thing he remembered was Seymour sinking his fangs into his neck. He closed his eyes, wanting the memory to go away.

  “You are weak. Drink.” Albert handed him a wineglass filled with chilled blood. “I remember you like it cold.”

  Morton took the glass but just stared at it.

  “You’ll have to drink it. Seymour won’t let you go on a hunger strike.”

  He merely glared at Albert. “Where is he?”

  “Resting. He’s still not as strong as he once was,” Albert admitted. “Getting you took a lot out of him. I’ll check on him shortly. Drink.”

  He lifted the glass and sniffed, searching for the scent of any additives Albert might have added to the blood, but detected nothing. He swirled it around, then took a large swallow of it.

  Albert smiled, watching him. “See, perfectly safe. I would not harm you, Morton.”

  “You helped him capture me. That is harmful. Beyond harmful.” Morton shook his head. “I should have killed you three hundred years ago.”

  “I wish sometimes that you had,” Albert whispered, then his blue eyes lowered.

  Ordinarily, Morton would feel sympathy for Albert. Albert didn’t like being a vampire any more than Morton. He knew Albert had been changed when he was barely twenty. Much like he had. Immortals could be very cruel when they wanted someone, like Seymour had wanted Morton.

  But now, Morton was back where he never wanted to be again. And all he wanted to do was rage against Albert.

  “Where are we?”

  “We’ve rented rooms in New Mexico,” Albert explained. “The morning was nearly here when we caught up to you and Sir Graham. When I wake Master Seymour we will travel away from here.”

  “By car?”

  “No, we’re flying on a private plane and then we will take a car from there. I’ve taken care of everything.” Albert patted his leg. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

  Morton knew wherever they were going they’d get there when it was still dark.

  He also knew that Graham would come for him. Of that he had no doubt. After his rescue, the same thing that had been happening for hundreds of years would happen all over again. Seymour’s constant pursuit of them would continue. They had thought him destroyed, and yet here he was again. Morton didn’t see an end to it.

  Unless Morton did the unthinkable. Or previously it had been unthinkable. Now he could hardly think of any
thing else. The final end to this.

  To me.

  As long as Morton lived, Seymour would never let him go. He knew this. Seymour thought Morton eternally his. The way to break that bond forever would be to end his own life.

  * * * *

  Morton had been forced to sit next to Seymour on the plane. He hadn’t wanted to, of course, but what he wanted had never mattered to Seymour.

  Albert and the two thugs that had been holding Graham sat in the row ahead of them and there was an immortal flight attendant. Strange that. He hadn’t known there was such a thing as Vampire Airlines. He supposed Seymour, via Albert, could arrange anything.

  The row in which they sat had only two large seats. He’d been placed on the inside seat, Seymour on the aisle.

  The flight attendant handed him a glass of blood and then another larger glass to Seymour, who immediately downed his.

  Turning his cold eyes to Morton, he said, “Drink that.”

  Grimacing, Morton drank it, though not with the speed Seymour had. He wondered briefly where the blood had come from; it was real, not synthetic, and he couldn’t imagine Seymour sending his minions to a blood bank to collect blood the way Graham did for him. He forced the shudder away.

  He tried to pretend Seymour staring intently at him did not bother him, but it took a great deal of willpower not to panic. He knew he couldn’t hide his trembling though.

  “I’ve heard you sing as Xavier,” Seymour said after a few more moments of staring.

  “Have you?” Morton looked away, at anywhere but Seymour. The man had reached for Morton’s hand and started stroking the inside of his wrist with his thumb.

  “Yes, and you are magnificent. But then I shouldn’t be surprised. You’ve always been magnificent.”

  He closed his eyes, trying to push aside the revulsion creeping up his spine.

  “You can still have that. If you want to be this Xavier, I will allow it.”

  “I don’t know.”