Eternally His

Prologue-2

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 hooded servant asked for a room at nearly dawn, he didn’t say so. He handed a key to Graham and gave him directions on how to find the room.

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

“I am tired beyond measure,” he muttered.

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

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

“Past time, Morton.”

“Yes, my lord.”

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

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

“Then what, Morton?”

“You have heard of the sorcerer, Seymour?”

Graham nodded.

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

“Attacked you?”

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

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

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

“You speak in riddles, Morton.”

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

“Immortal?”

“He cannot die.”

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

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

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

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

“Morton—”

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

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

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

“What is this?”

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