Eternally His

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.”