Keeper (The Morphid Chronicles Book 1)

by Ingrid Seymour

  Struggling with the urge to hop into the car, he bit his lip and clenched his fists. There was as much Human in him as there was Morphid. He could fight this. He could let her go into whatever dangers she chose. Ashby would have an army at his disposal to protect her.

  At first, he’d have been willing to follow her to the depths of hell. Even if she felt nothing for him, he thought he’d be happy just keeping her safe and being by her side. But when he saw them together, when he saw her holding Ashby’s hand, Greg understood it wouldn’t be that easy. The pain was almost crippling. What good was free will when it let you love the wrong person? He would be better off as a true Morphid, a slave to his instincts with no room for love in his heart. Love was too vicious; it had fangs and claws that tore the tenderest parts of you. He wanted to feel nothing.

  He slid off the hood and crouched next to the car, resting his back against the tire. The compulsion to find her was growing rapidly, throbbing in his ears with violence. He wrapped his hands behind his head and covered his ears with his arms, pressing as hard as he could. He hummed and rocked back and forth like a child in need of comfort, but the desire to run to Sam was excruciating. His insides were being pulled apart—every cell in his body diving into either denial or the need to find her.

  He whined like an injured cat, the sound growing at the back of his throat. He was exploding inside. A big bang. He wondered if he’d be able to remain in one piece without detonating and expanding into eternity, if he could live without staying in this fetal position forever.

  Maybe if his Human side didn’t crave her just as much as his Keeper nature did, he could have resisted. Maybe if his Human half weren’t splitting in two as well: One part wishing to be near her, and the other one refusing to be a third wheel. How could he let her go when only one fourth of him was putting up a fight?

  Impossible.

  He was torn between his own choices and the choices of Blind Fate. He had chosen wrongly, had fallen for her. And this freedom to love of his own accord caused him so much pain that he sometimes wished to be a true Keeper.

  Free will hurt . . . free will tore his heart in two . . .

  Free will was a lie.

  Shaking, Greg stood and climbed into the car. He drove instinctively through empty, unknown streets. He could have found the place with a blindfold. After a short drive, he arrived at a hotel. It was a narrow, six-story building, nice but unimpressive. Sam wasn’t here yet. He could feel her absence in his blood like a missing piece on a chess board. Still, he knew she’d be here soon. He was getting better at this.

  It was safe to assume Ashby was staying here, using one of its rooms as a portal to go back and forth, traveling through his exclusive, magical means. No doubt by now, he’d talked Sam into leaving. The thought pained him. If she only knew her decision was taking her straight to danger.

  She sure didn’t take much convincing, he thought bitterly. How quickly she’d stopped giving a damn about him. How easy and convenient for her. In spite of that, here he was, ready once again to stop her from walking into the predator’s mouth. Only this time, he might have to do so against her will.

  Sam’s arrival was imminent, indicated by a pulsating urgency in the back of his brain. He stepped out of the car and walked into the lobby through sliding doors. The large reception counter was empty. Good. He didn’t want anyone asking questions. He hurried and found the elevators. To one side, a metal door read, “Stairs.” He opened the door and stepped into the stairwell. Wedging the door open with his sneaker, Greg waited, peering through a tiny crack. He had a clear view of the elevators.

  Only a minute passed before he heard steps and then he saw them. Ashby had an arm around Sam’s shoulder, and she accompanied him willingly. He pressed the elevator button and kissed her on the forehead, smiling like an idiot. She smiled back, but it seemed reluctant.

  Greg had no time to wonder about Sam’s slack demeanor or whether he was imagining it. The elevator doors opened with a ding and the love-struck puppies stepped inside. After the doors slid shut, he watched the numbers above the elevator door light up, one at a time. They stopped moving on the fourth floor.

  Running at full pelt, he climbed the stairs three, even four at a time. When he reached the fourth floor, he pulled the door open, stuck his head out and looked both ways. He spotted them just as Ashby opened the door, ushering Sam inside.

  The hall was long. The door to the room was already shutting as Greg ran toward it. At the last possible moment, he stuck a hand through the narrowing crack and prevented the door from closing. He slid in the room quietly and unnoticed. The door shut behind him with a click.

  “You can sit while I summon Perry,” Ashby said, reaching for an object that rested on the night table.

  Sam walked to the window. Dim streetlights were visible through the sheer, white curtains. She lifted her hand to draw them aside, her hand feeble, her attitude detached. The curve of her now long neck bowed as she lowered her eyes to the floor. Greg wanted to reach out, touch her shoulder and reassure her. He mentally kicked himself for his stupidity. She didn’t need any comforting. This had to be heaven on earth to her.

  Greg snapped his attention to Ashby. He was turning away from the night table, holding something that looked like an empty picture frame. When he caught sight of Greg, he startled and dropped the object to the ground.

  “What are you doing here?” The anger in his voice was undeniable.

  Sam whirled, scared at first, but—when her eyes met Greg’s—her face lit up, giving hope to his stupid heart.

  “Greg,” she said, but there was only relief in her tone. Part of him had hoped for more.

  Ashby went to stand next to Sam. “What do you want now? I thought you’d finally understood.”

  “I came to warn Sam.” Greg walked farther into the room. A single, undisturbed king-size bed occupied most of the space. There was a dresser and a desk, standing on opposite corners. Red accent pillows atop a white comforter, a painting of crimson roses on the wall, and red valances gave the room that stylish-yet-generic look of hotel rooms everywhere.

  “She only needs to be warned about you,” Ashby said.

  Greg bristled with fury. Sam would never have to worry about her well-being with Greg. “If I’ve guessed right,” he talked to Sam, ignoring Ashby, “you’ve decided to go to England with him.”

  “Of course, she has,” Ashby said arrogantly. “That’s where she belongs . . . with me,” he added in triumph.

  “I’m not talking to you,” Greg said icily. “Sam, when you made that decision, all kinds of red flags went up in my head. If you go, you’re stepping right into danger.”

  “That’s ridiculous. No one means her harm in my home. No one even knows her,” Ashby said.

  “Are you sure about that?” Greg asked.

  “Of course, I’m sure. And even if I’m wrong, I’ll be perfectly capable of protecting my bride.”

  Greg looked at Sam searchingly, hoping for some argument from the Sam he knew, some sarcastic quip. Instead, she lowered her gaze, and Greg almost staggered from the blow of her quiet acquiescence. His Sam was gone. Ashby beamed with unbound gratification.

  “I have to go,” Sam spoke at last. “Even if you’re right. You know I have to, Greg. For the same reason you’re here right now.”

  Had she tried to fight it too? Had she tried and failed just as miserably as he had?

  “What about your family, your friends, school?” Greg had to try something. She obviously didn’t care about her safety or leaving him behind, but she may care about Rose and Brooke.

  “I’ll be able to visit them. Ashby promised.”

  “And what if he can’t protect you? What then?”

  “I trust him when he says I have nothing to worry about.”

  Greg shook his head. “What about me? Do you trust me? My instincts have never failed me. Even he can’t deny that if I know you’re in danger, that means you’re in danger. Isn’t that right, Ashby?�
�

  Ashby stared at his shoes.

  “Not even he, for all his . . . feelings for you, can protect you like I can. He’ll have no forewarning and he can’t be with you every second of the day.”

  “I guess I’ll have to take my chances,” Sam said simply.

  “Take your chances?!” Greg couldn’t believe she was saying that. “Are you insane? You’ll be walking into a death trap if you leave. I guarantee it. How many guys do you know that go by the name Veridan? It isn’t a coincidence, Sam. That guy works for the Regent.”

  “Fine! I’ve already told you my mother wouldn’t hurt Sam, but fine. Come with us, then” Ashby choked out, surprising both Greg and Sam. He looked gray with repugnance, loathing the idea. Ashby continued, “I won’t risk your safety for one moment, Sam. Even if it means carting this… person along.”

  “No!” Sam snapped. She rushed and stood in front of Greg, a desperate fire burning in her eyes. She shook her head over and over. “I can’t ask this of you,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “It’s not fair.”

  “Fair has nothing to do with it, clearly,” Greg said bitterly. He took a step back—her proximity more than he could stand. “I can’t stay behind. Believe me, I’ve already tried.”

  Sam said nothing. Instead, she sat limply on the corner of the bed.

  “I have no other choice.” Greg sat on the chair by the desk.

  Looking on, almost to remind them that he was still in the room, Ashby chimed in, “Very well,” and moved to his bedside table.

  Back to square one, Greg realized. Just where I’d always known I’d end up. Why had he even bothered trying to resist? Armoring himself with indifference was his only choice. He had to be an impervious statue, one whose job was to watch and protect, not feel. A slave, just as Mom had feared.

  Knowing they’d reached an unspoken consensus, Ashby crouched and picked up the object he’d dropped earlier. He held the frame up and looked into it as if it was a mirror. It made Greg think of people in tourist traps, sticking their heads through cutouts of historical figures for silly photos. He might have laughed, in a near past.

  “What is that?” Greg asked distrustfully.

  Ashby lowered the frame, looking aggravated. “Something that allows me to communicate with Perry.”

  “How does it work?”

  “How am I supposed to know? I’m not a Sorcerer.” Ashby seemed insulted.

  “I didn’t invent the cell phone, but I still know it has microchips inside and it receives signal over radio link,” Greg said, trying to sound as obnoxious as possible.

  “He put a spell on it and it works.” Ashby turned away from Greg and started gazing into the frame as if a movie played inside it. He murmured something Greg couldn’t decipher, then set the frame down. “Perry should be here in an hour or so.”

  “Speedier than air travel, just not that speedy, huh?” Greg said sarcastically.

  “We can’t transfer into the castle without alerting everyone. Perry must go somewhere else to cast his magic.”

  “You mean the future Regent has to sneak out without permission,” Greg said, injecting his tone with as much derision as he possibly could.

  Ashby’s lip curled up in anger. He looked like he was having second thoughts about agreeing to take Greg along.

  “Well, I’m hungry.” Greg kicked back and propped his feet on the bed, giving Sam a crooked grin. “If it’ll take an hour, we may as well order some pizza.” His voice was cool with a generous edge of I-don’t-give-a-damn in it. He wanted to show Sam he didn’t care, so he shifted his attention as far away from her as he could. Food was the first thing that occurred to him.

  “Pizza?” Ashby said puzzled at the random idea.

  Sam looked up at Greg surprised, and her expression seemed to say “How can you think of food at a moment like this?”

  Mission accomplished.

  “Yeah, pizza. Some version of Italian food, your highness,” Greg said, feeling the bitterness grow inside of him with every passing minute, despite his outward cockiness. Maybe he’d be good at this game. Greg looked for a phone book inside the drawers of the night tables. “Coke would be good. Oh, and cheesy bread, too.” He sounded positively chipper. “For all we know it will be the last time we’ll have a chance to enjoy some fine American food. No offense, but English cuisine . . . well . . . not such a thing.” He laughed without amusement.

  Sam frowned, looking a bit disappointed at the prospect. Well, if she hadn’t thought about all the things she was abandoning, however trivial, Greg would make it his job to remind her. Then her eyes softened a little, and they exchanged a nostalgic glance from which Ashby was excluded. They had so much in common that Ashby would never be able to understand, but what difference did it make? Greg broke eye contact and stiffened.

  “I only have five bucks,” Greg stared at the contents of his wallet. “Oh wait! I have my parents’ credit card. They said I could use it for emergencies. I think this qualifies.”

  Thirty minutes later, Greg sat, licking his fingers and gulping Coca-Cola with exaggerated delight. Ashby tried the pizza at Sam’s insistence and found it only “acceptable.” The Coke he dismissed as the foulest tasting brew ever invented by man, saying he much preferred tea. At which point, Sam lost her appetite.

  “Good. More for me,” Greg said before devouring five thick slices and drinking more than half a liter. Patting his belly, he forced the last bit of Coke down his throat. He was coarsely burping the alphabet when the air crackled and an almost imperceptible shimmer appeared by the window. Sam jumped off the bed as the empty space was abruptly occupied by Perry.

  “Did you call, My Regent?” Perry said with a mocking flourish.

  Greg grinned. Maybe he would like this Perry guy, after all.

  Chapter 33 - Ashby

  “Transportation?” Ashby asked Perry as soon as they transferred back into the old cottage and stepped outside.

  “Around the corner,” Perry said, already walking off to one side of the decrepit house.

  “Nice castle,” Greg quipped, making Ashby wish he’d been able to avoid bringing this impertinent fool along.

  Ashby acknowledged the comment with a poisonous glance, then turned to Sam and offered his hand. “We must ride for a few miles, and then we’ll be home.” He’d explained that much to Sam already, but she still seemed taken aback by the decrepit surroundings.

  “Okay.” Sam took his outstretched hand in an automatic gesture that was, to Ashby’s disappointment, almost detached.

  Patience, Ashby told himself. He refused to think of Morphid feelings as mere compulsions. There was more to it than that. He could feel it in his own heart every time he looked into her eyes, and he was sure she’d felt it, as well. It was just too fresh for her mind to process all the changes.

  He followed Perry, guiding Sam. It was dark outside, and when his eyes adjusted, he saw two ATVs parked under a tree.

  “ATVs, seriously?” Ashby asked.

  “Hey, that was the only thing your contact had available on such short notice. I had to tow the smallest one, so don’t complain. Besides, they’re the smartest thing on this terrain.”

  “I guess you’re right. You can ride with me,” Ashby told Sam as he sat astride the first ATV.

  Sam turned and looked around. “What about Greg?”

  “He can ride with Perry.”

  “What?” Perry asked from atop his ATV. He didn’t sound pleased with the idea, which made it an excellent way to get back at both of their impertinent asses. “I think he can walk,” Perry added, turning the key to start the engine.

  “Perry,” Ashby admonished.

  “Oh, all right. Get back there,” Perry told Greg.

  Greg stared at Perry and the ATV with a sideways glance. “I think I’d rather walk.”

  “Suit yourself,” Perry revved the engine.

  “Greg, please,” Sam pleaded.

  “Let him walk,” Ashby intervened. “It’ll do him some good a
fter pigging out on cheap, greasy pizza.” He winced internally at his own comment. Lately, it had been very hard to keep from gloating and sounding arrogant. Greg seemed to bring out the worst in him.

  Sam mounted behind Ashby, wrapped her arms around him and said, “We can’t stand here all night. Do what you want.” The comment brought Greg’s posturing to an end. Begrudgingly, Greg mounted behind Perry. Ashby smiled.

  First, they traveled for a mile down a bone-jarring hill until they reached the main road. The narrow, steep road led all the way to Rothblade Castle, atop its craggy mountain. At this early hour, they encountered no one. The countryside slept peacefully, not a flicker of light anywhere.

  With the wind blowing his hair and Sam’s arms around his waist, Ashby felt as if he could fly. Things were almost perfect. If only he could get rid of Greg. Yet as much as he hated to admit it, a small part of him was still worried about Sam’s safety, and Greg’s admonishments had struck a chord with him.

  Although his mother had denied any involvement, a part of him felt wary and unsatisfied with her emphatic denial. He’d turned the events over and over in his mind, trying to convince himself that Veridan had nothing to do with the attempts on Sam’s life, that it was just an unfortunate coincidence. But he couldn’t be 100% certain, and Greg was the only insurance he had if there was foul play. If Veridan was involved, he had to be acting on his own. For some reason, the noxious black cloud in the Sorcerer’s alcove flashed before Ashby’s eyes. The man was evil, no doubt, but Ashby tried to tell himself Veridan had nothing against the Regency.

  Since transferring back and forth between worlds would no longer be necessary, Ashby decided it was time to stop sneaking into the castle. He had to confront his mother. Sam had morphed. The Regent could forbid him no longer.

  “We’ll use the main entrance,” he yelled over the roar of the ATVs.

  “At this hour?” Perry asked. “That may cause some trouble. I think we should—”

  “No, Perry,” he cut him off, “I’m sick of hiding.”

  So instead of trying to slip in their regular means, Ashby rode to the main gate and punched in his high-level access code.