Lane Shawn His 5 Eternally His

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…“I’ll be back inside in a few minutes, Ralph,” Morton assured

the guard. He didn’t want Ralph waiting for him or, worse, coming
down the alley to escort him back inside. He waited until Ralph was
out of view again before turning to continue on his way. The men had
disappeared now and his senses already picked up the presence of an
immortal.

But he wasn’t worried. He knew this immortal well.
“Graham?”
Graham dropped down from the top of the nearest building,

landing near him, on his booted feet. His lover wore jeans and a purple
buttoned-down shirt. One of Morton’s favorite parts of living many
hundreds of years was getting to try all the different fashions of the
time. Things were definitely casual these days.

Pushing his shoulder-length blond hair behind his ears, Graham

smiled his welcome. Morton found himself up against the wall, with
Graham’s lips ready to take possession of his.

“Wait.” He stayed Graham with a hand on his muscular chest.

“You’ve been here all this time, haven’t you?”

“Mmm.”
“Why didn’t you help me with Larry, Curly, and Moe?”
Graham’s smile turned wolfish as he leaned in close in spite of

Morton’s attempts to keep his distance. “You could handle those three.
I knew you could.”

“And if I couldn’t have?”
“I would have stepped in.” Graham covered Morton’s lips in a

deep, possessive kiss…

LSO

HAWN

ANE

At Long Last

The Beach House

The Best Gift

Car Wash

Galaxy’s Heart

The “His” Series

His One And Only

Hitting It Big

The Impersonator

Jake’s Regret

Lawyers In Love

Lost Between

Manfred’s Curse

More Than Anything

More Than Enough

Most Likely To Succeed

The “Only” Series

The Other Side

Pulling Apart
Pulling Away

Sorcerer’s Lover, I & II

The Squire

Still The One

Sweet Reunion

Ticket To Ride

Twice In A Lifetime

Until The End Of Time

ETERNALLY HIS

SHAWN LANE

MBER

UILL

RESS

LLC

http://www.AmberQuill.com

TERNALLY

MBER

UILL

RESS

OOK

This book is a work of fiction.

All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the

author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously.

Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales,

or events is entirely coincidental.

Amber Quill Press, LLC

http://www.AmberQuill.com

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.

ISBN 978-1-61124-244-7

PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

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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

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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,”

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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.

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“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

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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.”

* * *

Morton 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

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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

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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.”

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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

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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.

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“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

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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,

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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.

As soon as he made the turn, though, he saw the three rather

beefy looking white males hanging around a large trash receptacle.
They appeared to be digging through the trash. He stopped for a
moment, letting his senses assess them. They might be big,
muscular guys up to no good but they were ordinary mortals.

Morton continued down the alley toward the place he usually

met Graham. So far, there was no sign of his lover.

The men turned to look at him, noticing his approach. They

eyed him up and down.

“Well, what have we got here?” the biggest one asked. His two

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friends snickered.

“Looks queer to me.” One of the two others took steps toward

Morton. “You a fag, boy?”

“Why? Are you interested?” Morton asked, as they surrounded

him. He wasn’t too worried about it though.

“He even sounds queer.” They laughed.
The second man shrugged. “I’ve heard fags like you like to

suck cock. You wanna suck mine?”

“Tempting, but, no.”
One thing vamps could do was move very fast. Which he did

now, moving out of their circle and to the other side. He faced
them.

“Fuck,” the first guy swore. “How’d he do that?”
“Who knows? Some sort of trick. Give us your money, mister.”

The third guy’s hand was in the pocket of his open soiled coat and
Morton figured either he had a gun or was pretending to have one.
Didn’t matter either way, he’d go for that one first.

“These pants are really tight. I don’t have any room for

money.”

The guy came at him, but Morton was ready. His polished

black fingernails lengthened into sharp claws. He slashed across
the guy’s abdomen, ripping through his shirt. The dirty gray fabric
instantly turned crimson.

The man screamed and dropped to his knees. “He’s got a

knife,” he groaned, wheezing.

The security guard appeared at the far end of the alley. “Xavier,

are you okay?”

“I suggest you take your friend and get out of here. Now,”

Morton said. “I’m all right, Ralph. These guys were just leaving.”

The two uninjured men took their friend and hurried down the

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alley in the direction Morton himself intended to go to meet
Graham.

“I’ll be back inside in a few minutes, Ralph,” Morton assured

the guard. He didn’t want Ralph waiting for him or, worse, coming
down the alley to escort him back inside. He waited until Ralph
was out of view again before turning to continue on his way. The
men had disappeared now and his senses already picked up the
presence of an immortal.

But he wasn’t worried. He knew this immortal well.
“Graham?”
Graham dropped down from the top of the nearest building,

landing near him, on his booted feet. His lover wore jeans and a
purple buttoned-down shirt. One of Morton’s favorite parts of
living many hundreds of years was getting to try all the different
fashions of the time. Things were definitely casual these days.

Pushing his shoulder-length blond hair behind his ears, Graham

smiled his welcome. Morton found himself up against the wall,
with Graham’s lips ready to take possession of his.

“Wait.” He stayed Graham with a hand on his muscular chest.

“You’ve been here all this time, haven’t you?”

“Mmm.”
“Why didn’t you help me with Larry, Curly, and Moe?”
Graham’s smile turned wolfish as he leaned in close in spite of

Morton’s attempts to keep his distance. “You could handle those
three. I knew you could.”

“And if I couldn’t have?”
“I would have stepped in.” Graham covered Morton’s lips in a

deep, possessive kiss.

Morton clutched the material of Graham’s shirt and pressed

their bodies closer as he gave himself to his lover’s kiss. The kiss

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ended too soon though and Graham was turning him around to face
the wall.

“What about the rumors you mentioned?”
“Fuck now, talk later.”
He loved having a big tough warrior like Graham, but his

single-mindedness about certain things could be irritating. When
he wanted to fuck, it was now. Everything else waited.

Morton braced himself as Graham lifted his coat, then reached

around to unfasten his leather pants and scoot them down to
Morton’s knees. Graham’s cool callused hands brushed across
Morton’s ass cheeks and Morton’s cock rose to full attention in
response.

He’d read a famous book about vampires once and he’d been

so disappointed the characters couldn’t have sex. How boring.
Thankfully another thing that was not true.

A blunt, lubed finger pushed inside him and he gasped.
“You’re so tight,” Graham growled, slipping a second finger

inside. “Even after all this time.”

“I don’t need more prep, just take me.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Now.” Morton leaned back against him, tilting his head

to expose his neck for Graham’s mouth. Graham’s cock entered
him, pushing past the tight ring until he was all the way inside. He
lowered his lips to Morton’s pulse and his sharp teeth pierced
Morton’s pale skin.

“Fuck.” Graham’s hand closed over Morton’s hard cock,

stroking the pulsing length. It never took him long to come, not
with Graham.

Graham slammed into him hard and fast, knowing their time

was limited. But both of them needed it. Needed each other.

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The hand jerking him sped up, tightening around his length,

demanding his surrender.

“Graham!” Cum shot from his cock, coating the fingers still

stroking him.

Graham’s hands dug in as he thrust powerfully into Morton

again and again before finding his own release with a roar.

There was nothing particularly romantic about hard, dirty sex

in an alleyway, but Graham had been Morton’s lover for many
centuries and they’d made love in every place, every way it was
possible.

Graham withdrew and pulled up his jeans before helping to

right Morton’s clothing. He turned Morton in his arms and kissed
him deep and slow.

He sagged against Graham for a moment, but then pulled away.

“About these disturbing rumors you wrote of.”

“After your next set. It’s time for you to get back to the club,”

Graham said, grabbing Morton’s hand. “It can wait.”

Morton sighed. “You dragged me out here and I still have to

wait?”

“I dragged you out here for sex. I’ll tell you the rest after your

show.”

They made their way to the back door of the club and Morton

tapped on it to get the guard to open it.

When Ralph had, Morton smiled. “See? Right as rain. And I

have Graham with me.”

Ralph nodded. “I would have been less concerned if I knew he

was with you.”

Morton patted the guard’s arm and headed for his dressing

room. As soon as he stepped inside, Henry stopped pacing.

“Oh, my God! There you are. I really was about to have a heart

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attack.”

“I told you I’d be back in time.”
“Barely.” Henry looked down at Morton’s hands as he reached

for the black leather, fingerless gloves Henry handed him. “What’s
all over your hand? Is that blood?”

Morton held his hand in front of his face. His fingernails had

gone back to their normal appearance but the blood from the man
in the alley still smeared their tips. For several seconds, he stared at
the blood, fighting the desire to stick his fingers in his mouth and
suck the dried blood from them. The only reason he didn’t was
because Henry would be appalled. He could feel the itch of his
incisors.

“Here,” Graham said, coming up beside him and grabbing his

hand. “Let’s go over to the sink and wash that.”

He blinked, his blood focus gone, at least for now, as he

allowed Graham to lead him to wash off the blood. Such a waste,
Morton thought, as the warm water turned red as it washed it all
away.

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CHAPTER 2

Graham watched Morton perform from the shadows of

backstage. Morton’s elegant gloved fingers were curved around the
microphone as he belted out a tune, dancing and strutting across
the stage.

The club audience, made up of both women and men, watched

him, too. Enthralled by Xavier.

It had been Morton’s manager’s idea to give his lover a stage

name. Someone named Morton wouldn’t have screaming fans,
Littlefield declared, but Xavier would. Graham still wasn’t pleased
by the change, but he agreed because Morton wanted this.

And Morton did have an amazing voice and charisma. Every

man and woman watching Morton wanted him. Graham could see
it on their faces.

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He clenched his fist. He didn’t have to like it though. They

could lust after Morton all they wanted, but he belonged to
Graham.

Besides watching the lustful crowd with some jealousy,

Graham also looked for anyone suspicious. Meaning anyone
immortal. He’d be able to sense them. But it was always good to
see them first. So far, fortunately, it was just he and Morton.

The sides of Morton’s unruly dark brown hair had been shaved,

leaving just long bouncy curls on the top and his nearly black eyes
had been lined in gray eyeliner. He looked so fucking sexy,
Graham had to hold himself back from dragging the man off the
stage to fuck.

Their situation was about to get very complicated though. For

many years they’d let down their guard, thinking they could, but
the rumors were too specific to ignore. Really, he should have
known better than to think after all these hundreds of years, they
could live a normal, carefree life. Graham had wanted that for
Morton, for them.

Graham was aware of a gnawing hunger within him. It had

been a few hours since he’d fed. For the most part, Morton had
convinced him not to kill for their food. Just to drain until the
blood lust was satisfied. He left the supply of bottled chilled blood
for Morton—it was preferable to let his lover feed that way, since
his beloved had always had a conscience about being a vampire.
Graham had been an axe-wielding warrior in his mortal life and
had taken the lives of many men. It gave him no special pleasure,
but likewise he felt no special guilt over it.

Xavier would have several more songs before he would be

done for the night, so Graham decided it was time to seek his next
meal. He turned away from the stage and slipped out the back door

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before anyone noticed.

He swung up to the roof, making his way above pedestrians

below. One of the things he liked about being a vampire, and there
weren’t many things he liked, was the ability to scale great heights
and float down as though on wings, always landing on his feet, like
a cat.

Now, with it being late at night, most of those he saw were

street people. Prostitutes, homeless, drug addicts, and drunks.

Easy prey.
Tonight, Graham had the urge to drain a victim’s life,

something they’d learned over the centuries became part of the
change to vampire. Morton, of course, fought it most of the time.
Graham did his best to make his lover happy, but there were times,
like tonight, he felt the blood lust burn harsh and needy. Morton
didn’t need to know he had killed.

From his perch, he spotted an old man digging through a dirty,

soiled wire trashcan placed on the city street. He dropped
effortlessly to the ground, moving closer to the man. In their
immediate area, there was no one but him and the old man.

The man was sick—dying. He reeked of imminent death. From

his tattered and soiled clothes, soaked with old booze and bodily
fluids, this poor man had been living on the streets digging for
food and other treasures for a long time.

Graham would not bother to absolve himself of the killing by

trying to think this man would be better off going to whatever
afterlife waited for him. Taking the man’s life was killing and there
was no absolution in it.

As he neared his victim, the man seemed to sense he was no

longer alone. He raised his head from looking in the trash.

“Who’s there?” he asked, his voice worn and raspy. He

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coughed, deep and hard, as though his lungs would give out soon.

Graham moved to stand behind him and with one swift

movement, he held the man to him and then he sank his fangs into
the thick vein in the man’s neck. The old man let out a small gasp
of protest, but it was soon quelled as his life force drained. Blood
flowed freely into Graham’s mouth and he swallowed pint after
pint of the metallic liquid. When he’d had his fill and the man had
passed, Graham very gently laid him to the ground.

He knew from past experience, the cops would just assume the

old homeless man had finally expired of living off the streets. It
was common enough for it to actually happen that way and no one
expected a vampire to actually exist.

Once he had returned himself to the rooftops above, he made

his way quickly back to the club, anxious to be back for Xavier’s
last song.

* * *

“You were amazing as usual,” Graham said, pulling Morton

into his arms in the dressing room. He ran his fingers through the
dark curls at the top of his lover’s head. Soon, they would go home
and Graham could take his time fucking Morton again and again.

“You didn’t even stay for the whole performance,” Morton said

with a laugh. He pecked Graham’s lips and then gently pushed
away from the embrace. He began to remove Xavier’s clothes.
“Where did you go?”

They were alone, at least for the moment, so Graham said, “To

feed. I was hungry.”

Morton sighed. “I hope you were careful.”
“Always.” He helped Morton out of the trench coat and tossed

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it on a nearby chair.

“I need a shower.”
“We can take one together when we get home.” Graham pulled

off the black T-shirt, then handed Morton a green one to replace it.

“Anxious to get out of here?” Morton sat and shimmied out of

the tight leather pants. “I’m all sweaty.”

“I know, love. But it can wait until we are gone from here.”

Graham handed him his regular, ordinary blue jeans. He was
anxious to leave, to get Morton alone.

“Well, tell me about the rumors while I clean my face,” Morton

urged. He sat before his makeup mirror, dabbing a makeup
remover cloth on his skin.

Graham glanced at the closed door. “Where is Littlefield?”
Morton shrugged. “Last I saw Henry he was on the phone.

Lock the door if you are worried.”

He walked over and slid the lock, then took the few steps to the

fridge to remove one of Morton’s blue bottles. He took notice that
only two remained after this. He’d have to refill them for his lover.

“Here.” He handed the bottle to Morton.
“I had some after the last set.”
“You need more. Drink.” He knew Morton had a tendency to

skip meals if Graham didn’t make him feed.

With a dramatic sigh, Morton took a sip. “Tell me.”
“Sources have said Seymour is alive,” Graham said softly. He

studied Morton carefully, waiting for his reaction.

Morton’s long lashes swept over his intense dark eyes.
“Morton?”
His lover’s bottom lip quivered slightly, but he still said

nothing. He took another sip from the bottle of blood.

Graham couldn’t stand it any longer. He knelt in front of his

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lover and seized the hand that didn’t hold the bottle. “It could be
false.”

Morton nodded but still didn’t look at Graham. “He was

supposed to be dead.”

“I know.”
“Completely destroyed.”
“I know, love. Maybe the rumors aren’t true.”
The lashes rose and the dark eyes pierced him with a haunted,

lost look that tore at Graham. “If he lives, why hasn’t he come
after us? The witnesses said he’d been destroyed one hundred
years ago, Graham. Where has he been?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he was merely injured and weakened.

But whatever the case, if he is alive, love, he will come after you.
We both know it.”

“I thought it was over. That we were free of him at last. I can’t

believe this.”

Graham brought Morton’s hand to his lips. “I swear I’ll keep

you safe. No matter what it takes.”

“We should go home.”
“Yes. It’s safe there for now. We’ll talk more about this.”

Graham stood and helped Morton up, then embraced him, kissing
the top of his dark curls.

“What about Xavier?”
“We’ll figure it out. There’s no need to panic yet. Let’s just get

home as quickly as we can.”

* * *

For the last few years, they’d lived in a two-story home at the

end of a cul-de-sac, one of only four houses on the street, and

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theirs had been fully fenced in with a gate that could only be
opened with a security code.

They had changed the house to suit their needs. Most of the

bottom floor was windowless. They had kept the upstairs windows
but those were heavily draped most of the time. Besides the gate,
the house itself was heavily alarmed.

Graham punched in the code and drove his black Cadillac

through the open gate, which closed quickly as he entered the
garage. As soon as they were inside the house, Graham made sure
the alarms were active on all the doors once more.

He sensed nothing so he knew they were alone in their house.

They’d probably have to move again. Graham hated the idea of
uprooting Morton, who liked where they lived. So did he for that
matter. But he’d meant what he said when he vowed to keep
Morton safe from Seymour. They’d been fighting with Morton’s
maker for hundreds of years. The old vampire was insistent that
Morton belonged with him.

Over Graham’s immortal soul.
“Graham?”
“Come, let us rest.” He took Morton’s hand and led him to their

windowless bedroom on the first floor. He locked the door
carefully, setting the immortal alarm he had crafted several years
ago. In the floor was a trapdoor that, if necessary, they could open
and use to escape into a tunnel that ended across town. Also
something Graham had had done when they bought the house.

Without bothering to turn on the light—they didn’t need it to

see with their preternatural sight—he undressed Morton, who
remained mostly silent, his expression vaguely shell-shocked.
Graham couldn’t blame him. Seymour had been tormenting
Morton since he’d first made Morton a vampire. The last time,

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before they’d finally believed Seymour had been destroyed,
Morton had been nearly killed himself. Graham would not let that
happen again.

“Lie down, love.” Graham gently pushed his now naked lover

toward their bed.

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.

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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,

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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.

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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.

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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

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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.

“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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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mortals. You wouldn’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.

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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.

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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.

He rested the cold empty bottle against his heated forehead,

fighting against his fangs elongating or his claws coming out. In a
moment, he could put the bottle down and pick up another should
he want it. He thought maybe he did.

Morton set the empty vessel in the sink and then reached in for

another. Two should do it for now. Twisting off the lid, he brought
it to his lips.

“Morton.”
“Seymour,” he gasped, dropping the bottle and falling to his

knees. Blood poured from the bottle, all over the floor, coating his
bare skin. His breath knocked from him, Morton glanced quickly
around, but there was no one. He was alone in the kitchen. Yet
Seymour had whispered his name in his ear.

Or it had seemed so.
But pushing out his preternatural senses, he could feel no one

in the house other than himself. No one even in the immediate area
who was an immortal.

Yet…
His stomach twisted in knots and his temples pounded.
“Seymour?” he whispered faintly, but he received no response.
Perhaps he was losing what was left of his mind after all. He

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struggled to stand, being careful not to slip on the blood pooling
around him. Suddenly still being naked made him feel very
vulnerable, but he didn’t want to re-dress until he’d had a chance
to wash.

He was desperate to see Graham, so he hoped his lover would

be back soon. He flicked on the kitchen light, which quickly
illuminated the room and the bloody tile floor. The monster part of
him wanted to drop to his belly and lap up the discarded blood.
Morton wondered if there’d be a time when the non-human side of
himself would win the battle.

With a sigh, he sopped up the bulk of it with paper towels,

which he discarded in the trash under the sink. Then he found the
mop and took care of the rest. After rinsing off the blood in the
shower, he re-dressed and waited for Graham to return.

Should he tell his lover what happened? Morton didn’t know.

Probably, though.

Restlessly, he roamed the lonely house, turning on lights as he

went, not wanting the eerie shroud of darkness to surround him.
Silly, of course. He could see in the dark, but still, he wanted the
comfort until Graham returned.

Then, just as he was afraid Graham would never come home,

he sensed Graham’s approach. Graham was bonded to him since
he had created Graham, just as Morton was, unfortunately, bonded
to Seymour. Because of the bonding, he always knew when
Graham was near.

Nearly overcome with relief, Morton waited to greet Graham.

His lover came through the front door, like any ordinary person
would, dressed in black from head to toe, a startling contrast to his
shoulder length blond hair. In his left hand, he held a fabric
shopping bag.

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“You’re back!” Morton exclaimed, throwing his arms around

Graham, sighing when Graham’s arms tightened around him.

“Your hair is damp again.” Graham kissed the top of his head.

“Did you take another shower?”

He nodded. “I had a little accident.”
Graham held him back a little, enough to look into Morton’s

eyes, but did not release him. He frowned. “Let me get this blood
put away and then we will talk.”

Morton followed Graham into the kitchen, where he opened the

fridge and put several bags of blood inside. He didn’t really ask
Graham where the blood came from. He always supposed blood
banks or something similar. Later, Morton would transfer them to
opaque bottles.

Turning back to him, Graham asked, “Did you eat?”
“Yes, I had one bottle.”
“You need more, Morton.”
Morton shook his head. “I’ve lost my appetite. Kiss me

instead.”

Graham drew him close. “I will kiss you and do other things,

also. But not before you tell me of this accident.”

He knew he would be forced to tell Graham, and he wanted to,

really, but it also meant having to think about the eerie voice, the
feelings, the panic.

“I was about to drink a second bottle of blood, but something

happened and I dropped it all over the kitchen floor. And I got
some on me, so that’s why I showered again.”

Graham framed Morton’s face in his big hands. “What

happened, love?”

He closed his eyes, shivering as Graham’s thumb brushed

against his bottom lip. “I heard a voice say my name.”

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“A voice?”
Morton lifted his lashes to meet Graham’s gaze. “Seymour’s

voice.”

Graham tensed. “He was here? He is near?”
“I don’t know. I don’t feel his presence, Graham. But it was his

voice. I know it.”

“I’m sure. I know your presence, your scent, everything there is

to know of you, I feel,” Graham said. “It was this way always for
me, but even more so since our bonding.”

Misery threatening to choke him, Morton could only whisper,

“But I am also bonded to another. To Seymour.”

For a moment, Graham stared at him, his green eyes impossibly

filled with sorrow. Morton understood, for he shared that sorrow.

“I cannot explain your hearing Seymour’s voice if he is not

near, but it means greater caution for us. We’ll have to make a
decision as to our next move.” Graham tipped his head to cover
Morton’s lips with his own. “But for what is left of tonight, I want
to be with you.”

“I want that, too. Here. Now.”
Graham raised an eyebrow. “In the kitchen?”
Morton smiled. “We’ve fucked in some strange places before.

The kitchen is mild compared to some. We can begin here and
work our way to the bed.”

Hot, scorching lips claimed his, demanding everything from

Morton with a mere touch against his own. A ragged moan tore
from his lips and he threw his arms around Graham’s neck, pulling
the bigger man closer still.

Graham’s large hands grazed down his back to cup his ass and

he pulled Morton against the hard ridge of his crotch. Gasping,
Morton practically crawled up Graham’s muscular body.

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Then, Graham broke the kiss to lift him onto the granite

counter, yanking at his jeans, growling under his breath.

“Should I—”
“Lift up,” Graham ordered. When Morton lifted his ass enough

off the counter, his lover pulled the offending clothing off him and
dropped it to the floor.

With a whimper, his lips found Graham’s once more, a deep,

intoxicating kiss combined with teeth and tongues, nipping and
tangling. Both of their fangs had elongated and he felt one of his
sink into Graham’s lip. Graham’s sweet blood swirled over his
tongue.

“Fuck, Morton. Want you,” Graham groaned.
Morton pulled off his T-shirt, watching through half-closed lids

as Graham quickly rid himself of the black leather pants and black
shirt.

He swore suddenly. “Be back.” And he was, nearly instantly,

holding a bottle of lube.

Morton smiled. “Ah, should have thought of that.”
“Put it next to you for now.” Graham set it on the counter, then

placed himself between Morton’s legs and tilted his head to the
side to expose his neck. “Since you didn’t have enough to eat, feed
on me.”

“Graham.”
“Do it, love. I have plenty of blood to spare. Take some.”
With his fangs already lengthened, it was difficult to resist

Graham’s offered neck. Closing his eyes, he lowered his fangs to
Graham’s throat and sank his teeth into his flesh. Warm, sweet
blood filled his mouth. Feeding on another immortal wasn’t quite
the experience of feeding on a mortal, but for Morton it was
preferable not to take a life.

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For several moments, he clung to Graham, drinking his fill,

feeling his strength fully return. His erection never waned. He
seemed to get harder, more aroused, and he began to thrust against
Graham.

Still, he did not get greedy. He pulled back and licked the blood

from his lips.

Graham smiled and kissed his forehead. “Better?”
He nodded, his fangs retracting then. “I didn’t take too much?”
“No.”
“Fuck me, please,” Morton begged, their lust-filled gazes

locking.

Graham pulled Morton’s ass to the very edge of the kitchen

counter, and when he felt lubed fingers slip inside him, he almost
came. Over and over the fingers thrust, spreading him, preparing
him for Graham’s big, thick cock.

With an almost feral growl, his lover withdrew his fingers, then

pushed his cock into Morton. Fierce need thrummed through him
as he thrust his ass to meet each push of Graham’s cock. Strong,
blunt fingers sank into the flesh of his hips, and Graham yanked
him closer, pounding into him with almost brutal force.

Morton wrapped his fist around his throbbing cock, while using

his other arm to brace himself on the counter. He stroked himself
hard, fast, demanding the orgasm he knew waited just on the edge.

“Morton,” Graham moaned, jerking stiffly as his cock filled

Morton’s ass.

“Love you.” His own release shot out and over the fingers

grasping the head of his penis.

He lunged forward, wrapping his arms and legs around his big

warrior, searing their lips together.

“Mine,” Graham growled against his mouth.

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“Yes, yours.”
After a few more kisses, Graham lowered him gently to the

floor, but he didn’t stop holding Morton.

Sighing against his lover’s chest, Morton said, “What do we

do?”

“I’m not yet sure,” Graham admitted. “We need to stay ahead

of Seymour. If you heard him, there is no doubt the rumors of his
revival are true.”

“Albert. It had to be him who saw to Seymour’s revival.”
“Yes, I am certain. I liked Albert, but obviously it was a

mistake to allow him to live.”

Morton shook his head. “He loves Seymour.”
“All the more reason,” Graham said. “Let’s retire for what’s

left of the night. By tomorrow night we will need to make our
move.”

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CHAPTER 5

Henry Littlefield opened the door of the room Xavier used as a

dressing room.

Empty.
He’d hoped after having to cancel Xavier’s performance the

night before that Morton would arrive early for tonight’s
performance. He took out a handkerchief and mopped his
forehead.

At least he hadn’t gotten a call saying Xavier wouldn’t show

tonight. He took out his cell phone to make sure he hadn’t missed a
call or a text. Nothing. Good.

Henry hated dealing with flighty rock performers, and Morton

was flightier than most. Probably the gay thing, Henry decided.
He’d never managed anyone quite like Morton before. And his

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damn boyfriend, Graham, was scary as hell. Like some big guy out
of a gladiator movie.

With his index finger, he punched the number for the speed dial

for Morton, then waited through three rings, mopping his forehead
during the second ring.

“Henry?”
Relief made him giddy. He laughed. “Ah, thank God. Are you

on your way?”

“Yes,” Morton said. “But we need to talk.”
“Talk? No time for that. I’m going to have a club full of horny

young people panting to see you in just a few minutes.”

“That’s fine, but we need to talk. About the future.”
“Well, I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.” And that was

certainly true. Morton’s Xavier character was really catching some
attention. Henry knew this kid could go far and, therefore, so could
Henry.

“I know. And I want to move out of the club. Go other places.”
Henry smiled. “That’s great. We’ll talk about getting that going

after tonight’s performance. In a few weeks—”

Morton sighed. “No. Tonight’s club performance is the last

one. I want to change venues immediately.”

“What? That’s not possible. We have a contract.”
“Break the damn contract, Henry.” Another sigh. “I’ll be there

in a few minutes. We’ll talk then.”

And Morton was gone. Henry grimaced and returned his phone

to his pocket. He did not need this.

Break the contract.
“Oh, yeah, it’s so easy,” he said aloud, sarcastically. He needed

a damn drink is what he needed. He went to Morton’s fridge. He
didn’t remember ever seeing any alcohol in there, but he decided to

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check before going out to the bar.

Frowning, he saw nothing but the blue bottles containing

Morton’s tomato juice concoction. He couldn’t help wondering
just what Morton put in them. Probably not alcohol, but one never
knew. Henry grabbed one and twisted the cap off, raising it to his
nose to sniff it for any hint of vodka.

Eyes wide, he quickly twisted the cap back on and returned it

to the fridge. He might be crazy, but the contents did not smell like
tomato juice. Swallowing heavily he backed away from the fridge.

“It’s not like it’s going to get you,” he said to the empty room.
But damn it, the stuff Morton had been drinking smelled like

blood. He’d swear to it. Admittedly artistic types tended to be
extremely strange. But consuming blood? That was totally nuts.

Henry wasn’t sure how he felt about having an unstable client.

Maybe Morton and Graham were some sort of weirdo serial killers
or something. Sometimes it was hard to tell about people.

The door to the dressing room opened and Henry turned to

greet Morton. “I…wait. Who are you?”

Instead of Morton, a slim, pretty blond boy stood in the

doorway. Dressed in jeans and a graphic T-shirt, he looked at the
most eighteen or nineteen.

“I’m sorry, but fans aren’t allowed back here,” Henry told him.
The blond boy smiled, an angelic, sweet smile that should have

put Henry at ease. It didn’t. “I am not a fan,” he said in a very
proper English accent.

“Well, regardless, you can’t be back here. It’s restricted.”
The boy nodded. “Morton is not yet here?”
“No. He’s on his way, but—”
His words froze in his throat as a man appeared behind the boy.

Tall and muscular with shoulder length auburn hair. He moved the

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boy out of the way and walked in, closing the door behind the two
of them. The man was dressed all in black.

“Who is this, Albert?” the man asked the boy. This strange man

also spoke with an English accent, though not as cultured as the
boy’s.

“I believe he is the manager, sir.”
“Who are you people? What do you want?” Henry asked,

forcing himself to sound brave. These two made him very uneasy.

“We want Morton. We have learned he performs here,” Albert

said.

Henry frowned. “Are you interested in booking him for your

venue?”

The mysterious man narrowed his eyes and took several steps

forward until he stood directly in front of Henry.

“No,” said the man. “I am interested in reclaiming what is

mine. Albert, what shall I do with this mortal?”

Albert shifted. “Perhaps leave him here unharmed?”
The man laughed. “I would expect such from you, young one.

But I have told you before it does not do well to leave witnesses.
We don’t want this man telling our secrets.”

“Yes, Master Seymour.”
Henry wasn’t sure exactly what they were talking about, but he

knew it couldn’t be good for him. He tried to back away from the
man called Seymour, but he found he had nowhere to go.

“If you tell me your name, I’ll tell Morton you were looking for

him,” Henry said, his heart pounding hard, his breath choking in
his throat.

Seymour smiled. “Don’t worry. We’ll deliver the message

personally.”

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* * *

“Graham,” Morton said urgently as they approached the club.

He gripped Graham’s arm.

He glanced at his lover, frowning. “What is it?
Morton’s dark eyes were wide and panicked. “It’s him. He’s

near.”

“Seymour?” He tightly gripped the wheel of the car.
“Yes. Graham, we have to get away.”
Graham made a U-turn and headed away from the club and

back toward their house. Soon to be former house. Graham had
hoped they’d have more time. But they were clearly out of it.

“Do you think it’s wise to go back to the house? They might

have someone waiting,” Morton said. His fingers had squeezed
Graham’s arm almost painfully, but Graham ignored the
discomfort.

“There is blood there for you that we should take with us, as

well as other belongings we might need. We’ll sense something
before we reach the house.”

Morton nodded, leaning his forehead against the window, his

face a mask of misery. Graham hated this. Hated the torment. He
would do anything for Morton and it never seemed enough.

“We’ll get away,” he heard himself promise.
“Maybe. But I doubt Henry did. I know Seymour, Graham, if

he came across Henry he would kill him without a thought.”

“I’ve no doubt you are right, love. But there is nothing we can

do for Littlefield now.”

Morton closed his eyes. “It’s all my fault. He didn’t deserve

such an end.”

“Sweetheart, it’s not your fault. Littlefield was using your

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beauty and talent to get what he wanted. He didn’t deserve to die, I
agree, but that is not on your head, it is on Seymour’s.”

Behind them Graham saw flashing lights and heard the high

pitched squeal of sirens. He pulled over to let the fire engines pass,
a sense of renewed dread twisting his gut.

Morton straightened and bit his lip. “Graham—”
He nodded. “Yes, I think so. I don’t know why, but I think

those trucks are for our house.”

“We have to get out of here. We have to go somewhere else.

Please.”

And just like that Graham turned the car another direction,

heading toward the streets that would take him to the Pacific Coast
Highway. Too much visibility on the freeway. But on the PCH,
they could travel for a long time away from Los Angeles and their
life there.

* * *

Soon they would need to stop. They couldn’t drive once the sun

came up, and Graham knew it would be all too soon. He would
have preferred they were farther from Los Angeles than this, but
having driven at night when there was the least traffic had worked
in their favor.

They passed a sign that read Welcome to Saint George, Utah.
Morton had fallen asleep about an hour before and he was

loathe to wake him, but he needed to get them into a safe, dark
motel room.

Ahead slightly he read the sign indicating food and lodging

next right. He took the exit and passed the first couple of motels
without stopping. The third one he came upon was called Crystal

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Inn and from the looks of it there were rooms that would face away
from the rising sun. He pulled into the parking lot in front of the
office that said to ring the bell for service at night.

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

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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.

ETERNALLY HIS

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

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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.”

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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

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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 smiled. “That’s amazing.” He lifted the man’s hair off

his neck.

“How long have you lived, Spirit Guide?”

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“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

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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.

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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 facedown 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.

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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.”

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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.

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“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 anything 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.

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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.”

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“Well, you should think about it,” Seymour said. “Your old

manager is gone, but I am sure we can cover things up enough to
make it go away and you can continue singing. We can make you
famous. If that is what you desire.”

Morton laughed hollowly. “What I desire? When has that

mattered to you? It has always been what you desire.”

“Ah, but, Morton, if I had always gotten what I desired, you

wouldn’t have been parted from me for all these years.” Seymour’s
hand cupped his chin and forced Morton to look his way. His
thumb brushed Morton’s bottom lip. “When we have gotten far
enough from your lover I will see that you understand just what my
desires are.”

“You bastard,” he whispered.
Seymour smiled. “Perhaps. But I am your master and you will

not deny me. Not anymore. You won’t get away from me again,
Morton. Your lover will not be able to rescue you this time.”

“You leave Graham alone.”
“I cannot. He is the reason you were taken from me.”
Morton swallowed, fear gripping him. “You…is he all right?”
“You cannot tell?” Seymour smiled mockingly. “Most of us

can tell when harm has come to those we have made. You are still
so weak, aren’t you, my dearest one?”

“I hate you.”
Seymour laughed. “I care not. I love you. I’ve always loved

you since the moment I first saw you hundreds of years ago. You
were beautiful and I knew I had to have you.”

Morton tried to shake his head but Seymour’s grip on his chin

was tight. “That’s not love, that’s obsession.”

Shrugging, Seymour released his chin. “Your lover lives.

Temporarily.”

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“You said—”
“Only that I would let him go if you came with me. I said

nothing about killing him after.”

Morton looked away once more, unable to face the triumph in

Seymour’s eyes. He had to find a way to end this. But what would
be the best way? Sunlight, of course, but what were the chances
he’d ever be left alone to escape into the sun?

“It won’t be all bad, you know.” Seymour’s oily voice cut into

his suicidal thoughts.

“Really?”
“Remember when I first made you? I was very generous to

you.”

Morton rolled his eyes even though he still refused to look at

Seymour. “You took me away from my life. From my love.”

Seymour snorted. “Your life, your love. You had neither. You

were a mere servant for some pompous lord who kept you in
secret. Who had a wife and children.”

“That’s the way it was then,” Morton protested.
“I took you away from that. Made you the only one I wanted.”

Seymour sighed. “You are still the only one I have ever made
immortal, Morton.”

“I never wanted immortality. I just…wanted to be ordinary.”
“With your looks, you could never be ordinary,” Seymour said.

“And with your voice, you sing like an angel.”

“I should have died seven hundred years ago,” he insisted. “I

despise you for making me a monster.”

“Yes. I know you do. I was once as you.”
Morton did look at him then, surprised to even hear words from

Seymour that implied he was anything other than the evil creature
Morton knew.

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Seymour smirked. “Did you think I just grew out of the ground

one day as I am?”

“I didn’t know, you never said.”
“I was not as young as you, but I had lived a full life before the

change,” Seymour mused. “I had a wife and children, much as
your lover did.”

“What happened?”
“It was several years before I found you. As you say, I did as I

was supposed to and married, produced heirs. But women did not
satisfy me so I sought out assignations.”

“Were you really different then?” Morton asked.
Seymour shrugged. “I dabbled in black magic and I was cruel

to my wife, but I wanted a mortal life then, just as you.”

“Who made you?”
“A man I had arranged to meet,” Seymour said. “I did not

know such creatures even existed then. There had never been
rumors or gossip about those who consumed blood. At least none
that I heard. After we had finished, I fell asleep and when I woke
up he was feeding on me.”

Morton grimaced and withheld a shudder. He should be used to

such things, but he didn’t know if he ever could be.

“I convinced him to change me rather than kill me, and he did.”

Seymour leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “Only a few
years later he was killed himself.”

“How? Did you kill him?”
Seymour didn’t open his eyes, but he laughed. “No, Morton.

You should know enough to know you cannot really kill your
maker. He can kill you, but you don’t have the power to kill him.
Haven’t you realized that after all this time?”

“Not until I learned you had survived this last time, had I

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guessed it might be true.” Morton had tried ending Seymour’s life
a few times. Most often, Seymour had fled before he or Graham
had done much damage. He’d never gotten as close to succeeding
as he had the last time, in the early twentieth century. Exposing
Seymour to the sun should have destroyed him. He and Graham
had believed he’d been successful. But Seymour had been revived
and here he was. Haunting him, tormenting him forever.

“It is. I did not even attempt to murder my maker. Someone

else stabbed him with a stake.”

“Did it bother you, Seymour? Or were you glad?” he asked.
Seymour opened his eyes and stared at Morton with his cold,

silvery eyes. “It did not bother me. Nor was I glad. It did not
matter to me.”

“You did not feel the bond?”
“I felt nothing.” Seymour frowned. “Until he was dead. I felt

great emptiness then, as though a part of me had gone with him. I
was not the same.”

Morton bit his lip. “And now?”
Seymour shook his head. “You never get that back, Morton.

You feel that emptiness for eternity.”

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CHAPTER 8

Graham surveyed the ruins of what had once been the home

he’d shared with Morton. Though they hadn’t lived there for
centuries, in the scheme of things not long at all, they’d loved their
house. They’d felt safer there than they’d felt anywhere.

When he had Morton back, and he told himself he definitely

would have Morton back, and Seymour had been obliterated once
and for all, they’d build a new house. One he hoped they would
make their home for a very long time.

He’d been forced to steal a car to get back to Los Angeles and

he’d driven as far as he dared, almost pushing it too far when the
sun peeked over the horizon. Seymour had quite the head start on
him, unfortunately.

Right now he needed access to the underground storage they

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had carefully created, so he went to the back of the ruined house to
where the secret entrance had been located. His axe didn’t have
any particular magical powers, but he loved its familiarity, its
sharpness. Graham kept it that way himself with diligent care.

Holding his flashlight, Graham lifted the old wooden flat door

hidden in the ground and walked down the stairs into the chamber.
At the bottom of the chamber he flicked on the light switch and
was glad to see the electricity still worked here.

Really, he didn’t know why the fuck he hadn’t decapitated the

fucker before this, but this time he certainly would. Over the
hundreds of years they’d tried traditional, known methods of
killing vampires on Seymour and somehow Seymour had survived
or escaped or was helped by someone.

The last time the bastard had been exposed to the sun and still

Albert had been able to revive him, though admittedly it had taken
years. A headless Seymour would definitely be harder to revive.
Hell, Graham was so pissed, he might hack the fucker to bits. And
then he’d turn his wrath on the too pretty, too sweet Albert.

He turned the corner in the underground passage and headed to

the storage area. They also had created it to escape through, if the
need had arisen. The tunnel ended several miles away from their
house.

There, in the little alcove where he stored weapons, stood a

centuries old wooden cabinet with a padlock on it. Graham
unlocked it and opened the doors to reveal his axe. As his fingers
closed around it, his cell phone rang.

Graham frowned at the unknown caller. “Graham,” he

answered.

“It’s Albert.”
“Albert, you son of a bitch—”

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“I don’t have time for your tirade, Graham,” Albert interrupted.

“I have called to tell you how to rescue Morton.”

“What trick is this?”
“No trick. This time, Graham, we are on the same side.”
Graham pinched the bridge of his nose. “Since when? You’re

the reason Seymour has Morton now.”

“Sometimes one has to do what one wishes not to in order to

get the result one is seeking.”

“What the fuck?” Graham growled. “Don’t do your high and

mighty act with me.”

Albert sniffed. “Very well. This is what you need to do.”

* * *

Graham stepped off the plane in Vienna. He looked around,

watching carefully for any sign of this being a trap. He’d be stupid
to trust Albert. For too long Albert had worshiped Seymour
because Seymour had saved him from being destroyed. Graham
didn’t know why Albert suddenly claimed to be helping him.

Austria, of all places. A long time ago, they’d spent time in

Vienna and Salzburg. Back in Mozart’s day. A place they’d once
loved before, spending long nights walking the cities, listening to
the musicians, blending in with the artists. But then it had soured
with Seymour’s arrival. Strange how Seymour had chosen to bring
Morton to Austria.

Graham hadn’t been back here since a few years before

Mozart’s death. But now, here he was. So far, as he walked
through the exit gates and outside, there had been no sign of any
immortal hunters.

He’d been forced to ship his axe to a shipping office Albert had

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told him about since he didn’t want a bunch of questions about an
antique axe in his checked luggage. As it was, he’d had to tell the
shipper in the United States it was for a medieval reenactment
show he was performing in in Austria. He only hoped Albert
would have the axe for him when the time came.

After picking up his axe, where he was to get further

instructions from Albert, his next destination was going to have to
be a hotel for the day. He might have a couple of hours of darkness
left but he was exhausted and hungry so he didn’t have much time
to do anything but hunt for food and then crash until the next night.
Then he would get Morton back and Seymour would be out of
their lives for good.

* * *

Morton paced back and forth in the windowless room he’d

been put in upon their arrival in Austria. He’d been left alone for
hours.

In a way, that was good. The less he had to deal with Seymour

the better. But it also left him nervous and jittery. And more
determined than ever to put a permanent end to this seemingly
endless misery.

He did not like the idea of leaving Graham with the empty

feeling Seymour spoke of, but better that than to be at Seymour’s
mercy. No more. At any time now, Seymour would come to him
and expect Morton to submit to him. The thought of lying with
Seymour again filled him with revulsion.

The easiest way to end his life, Morton thought, would be to

expose himself to the sun. He didn’t relish the thought of being
burned to a crisp, but it would be the fastest way to manage his

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suicide. But in order to do that, he’d have to escape this room.
Morton figured Albert or whomever he had guarding his room
would be too smart to trick with the old “I’m sick, come help me”
act.

He didn’t carry a spare wooden stake to stab himself with.

Grimacing, Morton stopped pacing and sat in the only chair in the
small, narrow room. The wooden slatted chair had been placed in
front of a small Queen Anne style desk. The only other furniture
was a single bed covered in a big fluffy white down comforter.

Leaning forward, Morton reached into his right black boot for

the dagger he kept there. He could cut his jugular and bleed out. It
might take longer than he had, and someone, Seymour probably,
would feed him blood and heal him before it was too late. His only
chance, Morton figured, would be to disable whoever came to this
room. Just enough so he could get out and head for the nearest exit.
If it were night, he’d have to keep running from his pursuers until
daylight, when he could expose himself.

And so he waited.
Morton wasn’t sure how long he waited but, eventually, the

door rattled a little, indicating someone was about to enter. He
stood, holding the dagger out of sight. He hoped whoever it was
would be alone. It would be easier. Hell, he hoped it would be
Seymour. Morton might not be able to kill him but hurting him
was better than nothing.

The handle twisted and Seymour stood there, bare-chested,

wearing only a pair of black slacks. His long auburn hair had been
tied back. His feet were also bare. He smiled an ugly smile that
made Morton’s blood run cold.

Seymour stepped inside and closed the door. “Good evening,

Morton.”

ETERNALLY HIS

Morton knew what Seymour wanted. Knew all too well. But all

he said was, “Seymour.”

He waited as the ancient immortal came closer, self-confident

in his approach. So sure of his appeal, Morton thought derisively.
But he continued to wait. If he acted too soon, Seymour could
move out of the way and he wasn’t foolish enough to believe he
could physically overpower the larger vampire.

“Are you hungry?” Seymour asked. He placed one hand on

Morton’s waist.

Forcing himself not to flinch, Morton shook his head.
Seymour lowered his head, his lips hovering just above

Morton’s. He parted his lips, waiting for the dreaded kiss, even as
his hand tightened on the hilt of the dagger.

The trembling began when Seymour’s mouth covered his. It

was nearly too much, but he knew he couldn’t weaken and let
Seymour win. When Seymour’s tongue slipped out to push
Morton’s lips apart, he lifted the dagger and shoved it hard into
Seymour’s throat.

Seymour’s eyes widened as blood spurted from his neck.

Morton pushed and Seymour dropped to the floor, the dagger still
stuck in him.

Morton ran for the door and wrenched it open, his whole body

shaking with adrenaline over what he’d done. He turned right and
fled down the hallway, looking for the exit.

* * *

Graham parked the red German sports car he had rented two

streets down from the building where Morton was being held. He
lifted the black leather case he had shipped his axe in out of the

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trunk and slung it over his shoulder.

He walked the two blocks to the rented house Albert had told

him of in the instructions left at the shipping office, watching
carefully all the way for any sign he’d been set up. Other than
normal every day citizens and a handful of tourists, he saw no one
suspicious. He sensed no immortals.

Stopping before the house, Graham slipped behind a tall hedge

when he saw someone running out of the house. Whoever they
were they were too small to be Seymour. Or one of his giant
henchmen who’d ambushed him in New Mexico. Albert?

Graham stepped around the hedge, ready to confront him.
The man stopped short when he saw Graham and gasped.
“Morton,” Graham whispered, elated. He crushed his lover to

him.

“Graham, how? How’d did you find me?” Morton’s arms

tightened around Graham, his breath hitched.

“Albert told me. Where is Seymour?”
“Inside. I stabbed him in the neck.”
“Where were you going?” Graham held him a little away from

him to study Morton’s face.

Morton lowered his eyes. “I sought to end it.”
“End it?”
His lover nodded. “The only way to end this once and for all is

to kill myself.”

Graham shook his head. “I have a better idea.”
“You do?”
Graham took the case off his shoulder and unzipped it,

removing his axe. Morton’s dark eyes focused on the big axe. He
cupped Morton’s jaw. “It will probably be better for you if you
stay out of the way.”

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“Maybe I could help,” Morton protested.
He shook his head. “I don’t want him trying to use his powers

on you. I’d feel better if I don’t have to worry about you.”

Graham didn’t wait to see if Morton did as he’d been told.

Instead he headed up the stone path to the front door of the house
and went inside.

Before he got too far, the two large immortals from New

Mexico appeared, one on either side of him. Graham swung his
axe at the one on the right, cleaving him in half. He flipped the axe
and turned to his left, ready to chop the other one. The vampire
backed up, scrambling away from Graham.

“Wise decision,” he muttered, continuing on down the hall

toward a set of stairs at the back left of the house.

Albert came running down the stairs, looking a little paler than

usual. “Seymour is up there. Second room on the right.”

“This better not be a trap, Albert, or you will be begging for

mercy.”

Albert shook his head as he reached the foot of the stairs. “It’s

no trick.”

“Why are you betraying him now?” Morton asked from behind

Graham. He shouldn’t be at all surprised that Morton had followed
him inside.

“I realize now that reviving him was a mistake,” Albert said. “I

thought…well, it doesn’t matter, really. He’ll never be satisfied
with anyone but you. And you belong with Graham.”

“Why should we trust you? You’ve betrayed us before,”

Morton pointed out.

Albert stepped around them, holding his hands out in surrender.

“I want to be free. Just as you do, Morton.”

“We’re wasting time.” Graham headed up the stairs, axe at the

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ready. He turned to the right and kicked open the door of the
second room. Seymour was rising from the floor. Blood pooled
around him and a dagger still protruded out from a wound in his
neck. He had to hand it to Morton. Nice handiwork.

“Graham,” Seymour snarled, baring his fangs as he leapt

toward him.

His own fangs lengthened in response and his fingers changed

to claws. Bracing for the impact as Seymour launched himself at
him, Graham still found himself knocked to the floor. His axe fell
from his grip.

Seymour’s hands wrapped around Graham’s throat, squeezing.

Graham kneed Seymour’s groin hard.

Seymour’s face twisted in pain and his hold on Graham’s neck

loosened. He flipped Seymour onto his back, and pulled
Seymour’s hands from his throat, bending back the fingers with a
sickening crunch. He twisted the dagger sticking out of Seymour’s
throat. The ancient vampire howled with rage and pain. Seymour’s
head dipped toward Graham’s neck.

“Graham!” Morton yelled from the doorway.
Graham twisted away from Seymour’s piercing fangs, but

Seymour gripped his arms and heaved him away, throwing
Graham across the room and into the nearest wall.

Seymour struggled to his knees as Graham tried to shake away

the daze. Then, Seymour stood.

Morton bent down, picked up the axe, and tossed it to Graham,

who caught the heavy weapon.

“Morton, help me,” Seymour pleaded.
“He will never help you and he will never be yours again.”
“No, I—”
Graham rose to his feet, hoisted the axe, and swung hard,

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slicing through Seymour’s neck, severing his head from his body.
The head rolled on the floor as the body fell. Blood splattered all
over Graham’s clothes and coated the axe.

Breathing heavily, he cast the axe aside and stared at

Seymour’s lifeless body.

He had the urge to cross himself, but as an immortal

bloodsucker himself he figured that would be rather hypocritical.
He felt almost numb staring at the end of his torment. Morton’s
torment. Graham had thought it was over before, though. This
time, however, he couldn’t imagine how Seymour could come
back.

“Graham?” Morton whispered, his eyes wide.
Graham’s legs were just a little wobbly. “Here, love. Come, it’s

all right.”

Morton bit his lip, hesitating. His gaze dropped to Seymour.

“It’s over?”

Graham nodded and held out his arms. Morton rushed to him

and threw his arms around Graham’s middle. He held him tightly.
“You’re mine, Morton. Eternally.”

ETERNALLY HIS

CHAPTER 9

Morton smiled up at the full moon as he sat in the sidewalk

café waiting for Graham. He loved Vienna at night. It was magical.
And sitting outside at a little table under an umbrella watching
locals and tourists eating and sipping coffee made him wish he was
mortal and could join them in every day ordinary things.

Their hotel, the Graben, was next to the café. Morton had

ordered a coffee just so he’d blend in as he waited. He could have
waited in their room, but he wanted the night air, the night life.
One day, maybe, they would settle in Vienna, or at least buy a little
cottage outside the city to spend some of their time. A local
musician nearby played a haunting, mournful song on his violin.

And then Graham was there, walking down the little narrow

street toward him, dressed in dark blue jeans and a black long-

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sleeved sweater that seemed to perfectly set off his blond hair.
Excitement shot through Morton, tightening his balls, and causing
his cock to rise against the crotch of his own jeans.

Graham smiled as he approached and took the other seat at the

table, leaning forward to kiss Morton softly on the lips.

“Mmm. Everything all right?”
“Everything is perfect,” Graham assured him. “Albert and I

saw to the disposal of the remains.”

Moron nodded. “And you’re sure he will not be revived?”
“We burned him. Both parts of him. Until he was nothing but

ashes.”

“And what of Albert?”
Graham shrugged. “I don’t know what he’s going to do and I

don’t care. Albert is free to do as he wishes. Hopefully we will
never see him again.”

He smiled. “So, now what?”
“We can spend some time here in Vienna if you want.”
“I want that.”
“Me, too,” Graham said. “Do you still want to be Xavier?”
“Can I? With what happened to Henry?”
“Don’t worry. We still have contacts with the police in Los

Angeles. I think we can make sure Xavier isn’t blamed for Henry’s
murder. Do you want to continue?”

Morton thought about it. He’d loved performing, singing. He’d

felt almost alive up on stage. “Yes, Graham.”

“Then you will.” Graham reached for his hand and kissed it.

“Come, let’s walk a bit.”

“I’d like that.”
They walked down the narrow street toward Saint Stephen’s

Cathedral, though the cathedral was not their destination. People

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passed them by, about their own business, not any more interested
in them than anyone else. Morton thought it was nice.

“When was the last time we were here?” he asked.
Graham appeared to think about it. “Hmm. Seventeen eighty-

five? Eighty-six?”

“Too long.”
“It’s changed some, but still the same, too.”
They passed more cafés and coffee houses, shops and churches.
“I’d like to go to Salzburg. Before we return to Los Angeles.

It’s been even longer for that.”

Graham grasped his hand as they stopped in front of Saint

Stephen’s. “I remember when we would go to the balls and fetes.
And you would sing.”

Morton smiled. “I know. I loved those days.”
“You sang like an angel. You always have.” He turned Morton

to face him and rested his hands around Morton’s waist. “From the
first moment I saw you, I knew there was no one else I’d ever want
like I wanted you.”

He cupped Graham’s jaw. “I felt the same. But you had a wife.

And children.”

“Yes.” Graham nodded. “In those days, I had little choice. I

knew I preferred men, but I could let no one know. Still I loved
you and wanted you.”

“Me, too.”
Graham leaned his forehead against Morton’s. “The night

Seymour took you from me, we’d fought. I hated myself for that.”

He swallowed. “It was not your fault.”
“Maybe, maybe not. I’d had a…terrible day. Word had come

that my enemy was gaining power and planned an attack on the
castle. I snapped at you and you ran.” Graham closed his eyes.

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“And then, you were gone. I didn’t know where. I just knew it was
because of me.”

“Graham, Seymour had seen me before that night. If it had not

happened then, it would have happened another time. It was not
your fault.”

Graham opened his eyes and nodded. “I’m glad it’s over.

Finally.”

“Me, too.” Morton glanced around them. “It’s colder here at

night than in Los Angeles.”

“It is.”
He laughed. “Funny that. Some things don’t change even when

you’re immortal. You still get cold.”

“And hot.”
“Still feel pleasure.”
“And pain.”
“Love.”
Graham nodded. “And hate. It’s time for me to take you up our

room, so I can show you just how happy I am to have you with me.
Forever.”

* * *

“I don’t know why this place doesn’t have an elevator.”
Graham laughed. “It does. It’s just broken. These old buildings

were converted into hotels. You remember this one from last time.
It was someone’s home.”

They walked up three sets of stairs to their floor and down the

hall to the end. Graham pushed Morton against the door as he was
reaching to take the key out of his pocket.

“Hey—”

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His lips were covered—no…devoured by Graham’s. The big

warrior’s hands slid under Morton’s shirt, stroking over bare skin.
Then Graham inched a hand down to Morton’s crotch and
squeezed.

“Oh, fuck,” Morton gasped against Graham’s mouth.
“I guess I can’t do that here in the hallway where anyone can

see.”

“Probably not a good idea. Inside. Now.”
Graham released him long enough to slip the key into the lock

and then nudged Morton inside. He slammed the door closed after
them and pushed Morton toward the bed.

“Do you like this shirt?”
“Hmm?”
Graham laughed, his fingers on the hem of Morton’s black

shirt. “Do you like this shirt?”

He frowned. “I like it okay, but it’s not a favorite.”
“Great.” Graham tore Morton’s shirt up the middle and quickly

disposed of the remnants. “You are so beautiful.”

Morton trembled at the almost reverent tone in Graham’s voice.

“Love you. Always.”

Graham covered Morton’s naked body with his own, trailing

kisses along his jaw. “I love you. I worship you.” Kissing his nose,
Graham smiled above him. “Roll over on your stomach.”

Morton immediately did as Graham said and waited to see what

his lover had in mind. Big, callused hands parted his ass cheeks
and a blunt finger brushed along his crease. He moaned and
wiggled.

And then a tongue followed the path of the finger.
“Graham, oh.”
Graham’s tongue dipped inside Morton’s hole, pushing through

ETERNALLY HIS

the tight ring. Closing his eyes, Morton fisted the sheet on the bed
and let his mind go blank, concentrating on nothing but the
sensation of Graham’s tongue stabbing in and out of him. His lover
added a finger, pushing it in deep.

“Ah, fuck.”
Morton slid his hand beneath him and closed his fist around the

head of his cock. He stroked the length, building a matching
rhythm to Graham’s tongue and fingers working inside him.
Pressure built inside him, in his cock and balls, almost unbearable.
He couldn’t stop the whimpers and hoarse groans that poured from
his lips.

And then Graham turned him over to lie on his back, his

fingers still thrusting in Morton’s ass, but now Graham’s mouth
sucked his dick, swallowing him down.

Graham’s hand rolled his balls and he sucked hard on Morton,

taking him deeper into his throat.

“Graham, oh, Graham.” Morton shook with the force of his

orgasm as he emptied into Graham’s mouth.

After draining him, Graham released Morton’s cock and lifted

his legs, hoisting them up onto his shoulders. Graham thrust inside
him all the way.

“Fuck me,” Morton urged.
With a deep, hoarse groan, Graham began to move within him,

pounding slow and deep, thoroughly making Morton his own.
Their gazes locked and the look of love and lust in Graham’s eyes
filled Morton with such joy he felt ready to burst.

Tightening his muscles around Graham’s cock, he was

rewarded by a moan.

“Morton, yes.” Graham’s thrusts sped up and his eyes closed as

he pumped Morton through his orgasm.

ETERNALLY HIS

* * *

Morton quietly opened the window in the hotel room and

looked out into night. Wee hours of the morning, really. It would
be dawn soon. Behind him, Graham lay on his stomach, sleeping.

Seymour was gone. For good, it seemed. He searched himself,

wondering if he felt the emptiness that Seymour told him about.
Relief he felt. A sense of finality, yes. But empty? Perhaps he’d
felt empty for so long he could not recognize it. It was not different
from the way he usually felt.

Graham stirred in the bed, but Morton didn’t turn from the

window. Soon, Graham came up behind him and wrapped his arms
around him, drawing him close.

“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just thinking.”
Graham kissed his bare shoulder. “About what, love?”
“Seymour said I would feel empty when my creator was

destroyed. It would be as though a part of me had been destroyed.”

He was turned so that he faced Graham, who pushed his head

onto his broad shoulder. “And? How do you feel?”

Morton shook his head. “I feel…nothing. No sorrow, no

happiness. Just glad it is over.”

“Perhaps that is the feeling he spoke of?”
“It is not a bad feeling. I don’t feel very different except that

for once Seymour won’t come after us.”

“Maybe you are still in shock. We’ve been through a lot these

few days. I am happy. We can finally have the life we wanted
together.”

“Yes, but we are still what we are. We still must drink blood to

survive.” Morton sighed. “Have you ever considered maybe we

ETERNALLY HIS

should end our own lives? Walk into the sun together and put it to
rest at last.”

“You have?”
He nodded. “I have. Perhaps it is the coward’s way. I don’t

know. I don’t like being this way.”

“I know, love,” Graham said, hugging him tight. “In answer to

your question, no. I treasure every moment we spend together, for
however long it is, and by whatever means.”

Morton pulled back slightly and gazed into Graham’s eyes. “I

wonder sometimes why you love me.”

“You are perfect.”
He laughed. “No.”
“For me.” Graham smiled. “You should close the window and

come back to bed.”

“I know.”
Graham tilted his chin up and swept his lips over Morton’s. “I

do know one thing.”

“Hmm?”
“Seymour was wrong about you.”
“About me?”
“You are not his. You never have been. You are mine.

Eternally.”

Morton smiled, feeling hope for the first time in a long time.

HAWN

ANE

Shawn Lane believes love and passion know no boundaries.

Shawn writes both erotic love stories involving men in historical or
contemporary settings and interracial romances between men and
women. Shawn is always looking for new stories and new
characters to create while holding down life in California.

* * *

Don’t miss Lost Between

by Shawn Lane,

available at AmberAllure.com!

Famous horror author Curtis Macintyre has recently rented an
apartment in an historical building in San Francisco. But the
apartment comes with more than just old charm. It also comes with
the spirit of Aaron Carmichael, a man murdered five years before.

After Curtis visits a medium, Aaron’s spirit comes to him and asks
for his help in finding peace since he’s lost between two worlds,
the living and the afterlife. When Curtis decides to visit Aaron’s
boyfriend, Robbie Henley, a beautiful hairdresser, Aaron comes
along…inside Curtis.

Now with Robbie’s help, it’s up to Curtis to find out what
happened to Aaron so he can finally have peace. And maybe,
together, Curtis and Robbie can find their own happily ever after…

MBER

UILL

RESS

LLC

OLD

TANDARD IN

UBLISHING

UALITY

OOKS

OTH

RINT AND

LECTRONIC

ORMATS

CTION

DVENTURE

USPENSE

HRILLER

CIENCE

ICTION

ARK

ANTASY

AINSTREAM

OMANCE

ORROR

ROTICA

ANTASY

GLBT

ESTERN

YSTERY

ARANORMAL

ISTORICAL

IRECT

AVE

www.AmberQuill.com

www.AmberHeat.com

www.AmberAllure.com

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