Which was precisely why Harry was in this particular bedchamber. Awaiting his punishment. No, he would not dwell on what he could not change. He was a man of his word. He'd lost the bet. Lost to a vampire -- his vampire overlord, the man to whom he'd sworn allegiance, leader of the house he'd sworn an unbreakable oath to protect. So Harry would do his duty, pay his penance. It was the way of his world. He paced the sumptuously furnished room, barely noting the finely wrought furniture, the roaring fire, the decadent meal laid out to sate his hunger, the mead laid out to quench his thirst. He didn't want to be comfortable. He refused to relax. This would be an uncomfortable experience. He just wanted it over and done with. The large, four-poster bed took up most of the room, but he avoided looking at it, even as he cursed himself for a coward. He had to do this. If he didn't, he knew the vampire would merely wait and make his children or grandchildren pay for his folly. To a vampire, revenge wasn't a dish served cold -- it was a dish served frozen, layered with patience. A vampire could afford to wait, to plot, to plan the perfect revenge. All they had was time. Harry would not see his future family suffer because he was afraid. So, he waited for nightfall. And, he paced. * * * The young squire was made for sunset. Faint rays of fading pink and red sunlight glittered like burnished bronze in the dark brown of Harry's hair and the light turned swarthy skin into something golden, something fiery and not quite tame. Which suited him perfectly. Just as much as the black leggings and shirt that adorned him, made him seem like a wolf ready to pounce. Which, in some ways, was exactly what he was. A predator, trapped, pacing in a gilded cage. Karl, Lord Urban, leaned against the doorway of his bedchamber, taking this moment to study young Harry in private. The mortal was too caught up in his thoughts, his incessant movement, to pay attention to his surroundings, but it wouldn't have mattered anyway. Karl had perfected the art of stealth long before Harry had been born. Karl watched him out of keen hazel eyes, lean body slouched just inside the door. Harry had caught his eye from the very first time Karl had seen him, when Harry had still been just a child. There had been something in those aware, amaretto eyes that had spoken to him, something in that sharp mind and strong body that had called to his. And the adult Harry had more than lived up to the promise in the child. He'd grown into those eyes -- grown into that body. Years of training and swordplay and horseback riding in heavy armor had made Harry solid, heavily muscular. It was a warrior's body, made for combat. Forged, as if by Ares himself, to be the perfect fighting machine. Wide chest, muscled arms, flat stomach, strapping thighs, strong calves -- all of it sculpted and perfect, set off to perfection by lush, golden skin. And Karl had wanted that body from the very start. Wanted to watch that skin flush with passion, wanted those eyes to cloud in wonder. From the first moment Harry had arrived,all bristling intensity and unfocused raw skill, at his demesne to train with him, Karl had hungered. Had wanted that quickness of movement shifting the balance of power, wanted that powerful, wolf-like grace and focus to be placed solely on him. And now, finally, due to the mortal's own arrogance and sense of honor, Karl was going to have him. "That rug you're currently wearing a hole into was brought back from the Crusade at considerable expense." Harry whirled at the first sound of that low, smooth voice, and nearly tripped on his feet. Only years of training and his own reflexes saved him. Lord Urban lounged in the doorway, wearing only a partially laced, thin shirt and a pair of leggings that were molded to his toned thighs. It was too soon. Harry wasn't ready. "I thought vampires were allergic to sunlight," Harry said, noting the last faint rays of light that still flickered in from the tall, narrow openings in the room. "I was born a vampire. Daylight does not affect me the way it would a made one of my kind." Karl straightened, strolled gracefully into the room, all lithe movement and controlled elegance. Harry had always admired that grace and economy, if only to himself. This was still a vampire, still an abomination, for all that they were accepted in society. No matter how gracious and regal and skilled in the ways of combat Lord Urban was, Harry always remembered his master's true nature. "You haven't touched any of the foods." A slender wrist flicked out, and the vampire grabbed a grape from the table, popped it into his mouth, chewing with relish. Even the simple act of eating was a thing of beauty to behold. "Are the dishes not to your liking?" "It's not that." Harry reeled, lost, from the conversational tone. He'd been expecting to be taken as soon as Lord Urban walked through the door. Why was he making him wait, making him suffer? "Or the mead," the vampire observed. He peered at Harry through penetrating eyes -- eyes that always seemed to burn, eyes that haunted Harry long after they'd left his presence. "I thought Clarissa's mulled wine recipe was a favorite of yours." "I'm not thirsty," Harry replied, brow furrowed in puzzlement. What was Lord Urban's game? "Ah." Lord Urban seemed to tuck away that bit of knowledge for later scrutiny. His casual stroll now brought him to the untouched bed. He smoothed a hand over the sheets, and Harry shivered, in spite of the warmth of the fire still blazing in the hearth behind him. "I see you did not take your rest, either. Is aught amiss?" Harry could only stand there, staring, body wound so tight with tension he felt as if he might combust if he moved. Amiss? Was the man mad? "Sire, I would beg of you to cease toying with me." "Toying with you? In what way?" The vampire lifted his gaze from the bed, met Harry's eyes with a focused stare that seemed to see into his very soul. It shook him, angered him. And the anger gave him courage. "I would get this foul deed finished." "Would you now?" Lord Urban mused, tapping a slim finger over full lips. "You perhaps think I ask after your comfort to punish you, to draw this out? I do not. I wish only for you to relax." "Relax? Impossible." Harry was fixed with a look that sent heat skittering up his spine. "I promise you, Harry, things will be much more pleasurable if you do." Harry gritted his teeth, clenched his fists. "I will find no pleasure in this shameful act. I merely do my duty." "Do you?" Harry started, only sheer will preventing him from jumping at the softly whispered question against his ear. He'd never even seen Lord Urban move. "I wonder if it's the act you would find shameful or your body's pleasure in it?" Harry willed himself not to move, not to take the obvious bait, not to respond to that low, insidious voice in his ear. "I have no idea what you mean." A soft chuckle stretched Harry's overwrought nevers almost to the breaking point. "Vampires have heightened senses, I know you know this. So my eyesight is exceptionally keen. I've seen the way you look at me." "Tis merely to study your movements, to learn from you all I can." "That's what you tell yourself, yes." Harry could feel the heat of the vampire behind him, could feel hot breath up against his nape, blowing across the tendrils of hair that clung to his neck. "Shall I tell you why I watch you?" "You...you watch me?" "Oh yes. I've always watched you." That sinful voice was pitched lower now, almost seemed to come from Lord Urban's mind, not his lips. "Watched you every time I visited your father on business, watched you age. Waited for you to grow old enough to train, old enough to come to my house to serve under me. Did you know I asked specifically for you?" Harry swayed into the voice, into the heat, fighting a losing battle with his body to remain detached, to remain calm. He reminded himself that seduction was an unparalleled art for vampires. He hated this forceful reminder that he was only a man, only mortal, but it did not stop the heat from spreading throughout his body. "Oh yes, I watched you then. I watch you now. I watch you wield your sword with unmatched grace, watch you ride your horse as if you were a centaur. I watch this powerful warrior's body excel at every turn, at every task, in every battle. I watch you when you eat, when you laugh with your friends. I love your laugh, love the rich sound of it that seems to come from deep in your belly. I like your sharp mind and biting wit and the way you are so completely unafraid of me. Yes, I watch you, Harry." Each word shattered Harry's control, fragmenting it in tiny porcelain pieces that he somehow knew would never glue back together the same way. His control was slipping, a control Harry had fought his entire life to maintain. He hated Lord Urban, more than he could ever remember hating anyone or anything in his entire life. He longed to move, to strike out, to say something, anything that would stop the voice from pouring more honeyed poison in his ears. But his feet were curiously rooted. And the words were lost in the violent emotions churning within him. Lord Urban circled him, still so close, too close. Eyes the color of dark forests and darker desires gazed at him from a face too beautiful to be real. An angel's face, a male siren's body, a devil's voice. "You are so proud, so beautiful in your arrogance, your focus. I watch you, and I want. Do you know what it is to truly want something?" Harry had no answer. He still could not speak. Yes, he wanted to say. Yes, I know, I feel it now, feel it even though I hate you and hate what you do to me. He could not force his gaze away from those eyes, could not force his body to move away from this forbidden temptation. Yes, he wanted. And hated himself for it. The vampire leaned in, still not touching him, but so close that a deep breath would join them. Dark hair the color of the richest sable fell across a wide forehead and Harry longed to brush it back. He leaned in so close Harry could smell him, smell the unique twining of copper and clove and some nameless exotic scent that wasn't quite human. Felt soft breath ghosting over his ear, sending fresh tremors through his body. Felt heat and desire and lust and need and it all warred inside him, tearing at him with vicious claws. "Tell me what it is you want, Harry." Every word snared him, every syllable trapped him. "Tell me what your wish is, and I will grant it. I am yours to command. Tell me." Harry parted his lips to speak, breathing uneven, heartbeat rapid. He closed his eyes, gathered his strength to him. "I wish that you would free me from this bargain." The vampire pulled back, keen eyes searing him with heat from the inside out, from his toes to his hair, from his cock to his heart. He returned the gaze just as intently, willed himself to meet to meet this test, this challenge. Willed himself to remain strong, to remain firm. A soft smile accompanied a bow of that perfect head. "If that is truly your wish, I release you. You are free to go." The vampire took a step back, and the loss of the heat near Harry's body was like a shoking slap of cold stream water. Free. He was free. "I..." He stopped. He couldn't say anything else. Once again words were trapped, bubbling under this nameless thing, still trying to break free. He bowed his head in acknowledgement and respect. Turned to leave the room. And could not make his feet move. He could not will his legs to carry him out of the chamber. Could not force his eyes to stop staring at the dark perfection in front of him. With a whimper that was part plea, part desire, Harry moved. His mouth was upon the vampire's before either one of them had time to react, before either one of them had time to breathe. Battle-scarred hands framed that beautiful face as Harry finally surrendered to the beast inside him. Heat. There was so much heat. Karl was on fire, in flames, body oxidizing in torrid need. This was the hottest kiss Karl had ever received. Throughout eternity he would remember it, remember every nuance, every soft shift in the body against his, remember every molecule of skin pressed to his, remember the rough hands on his cheeks, remember soft lips and a softer tongue against his, moving in clumsy, unpracticed strokes that still managed to be more erotic than all the other embraces he'd ever had combined. Karl brought his hands up to rub over Harry's wrists, craving as much contact as possible, as Harry's mouth moved over his in desperation, in hunger, in such raw need that it pierced Karl's soul. Never had he shattered from something as innocent as lips touching, but this... This was something more. So great it swallowed him, so terrible in its beauty, so awesome in its power, overwhelming, cascading...and Karl let it consume him. He opened his mouth, moved his lips under Harry's, rubbed his tongue along straight teeth, dove into all that heat, all that intense ache. They parted lips, panting, Harry's hands still on Karl's cheeks, Karl's hands still on Harry's wrists. Harry shuddered, eyes closed, lashes damp with unshed tears, and the sight ripped Karl apart. //Open your eyes.// Long lashes lifted. And the despair, the hunger, the conflict in Harry's gaze brought tears to Karl's own eyes. "Tell me what you want. Tell me what to do here." "I thought you'd know," Harry replied, in a small, lost voice that was completely unlike his normal, authoritative tone. "Tell me." "I..." Harry sighed, the movement shifting his body closer to Karl's. "I want you. God help me." The courage in that look undid something deep inside Karl. He wanted nothing more than to make Harry whole. Somehow, needs had shifted, something fundamental had shifted. Karl was different, everything was different. "There is nothing to be ashamed of." "To me there is." "I would show you the joy in this. I would give you everything I have, everything I am. All that is in my power to give." Karl knew he was making a vow, a serious one, but he didn't care. It felt right; this mortal felt right. That kiss had been like finding a large part of his soul, buried deep in sand and fog. "I will take from you only this night." There was a note of finality to Harry's softly spoken words. "Then let me love you. Let me show you how good it can be." Karl lowered his head, brushed his lips across Harry's, tasted the rich, exotic flavor that was Harry's alone. //Be mine, just for the night.// Harry's only answer was a groan as his tongue darted out to duel with Karl's. This time, the kiss wasn't clumsy or unpracticed. But it was just as desperate, just as soul-shattering. Harry kissed Karl like the only thing in his universe was Karl's mouth, Karl's lips, Karl's tongue. Need exploded in Karl's body in a swirl of exotic color and light, with all the colors of the sunset, all the fire of a shooting star. Large hands now moved to Karl's shoulders, his back, pulled Karl in so close that he was melting from the heat. Harry's tongue licked the edges of sharp canines, and Karl moaned at the brief contact, opened his mouth for more. He grabbed the soft material of Harry's shirt, ripped it in one swift motion, needing the feel of flesh under his hands. Just for tonight, just for tonight. Harry repeated the words as he lost himself inside a kiss that threatened to tear his heart out and hand it to the vampire on a silver platter. They were just lips, just mouths -- different, male, a litte rough, yet not unpleasant. So why was Harry shaking? Why did this glorious taste make him long for things he knew could never be? Hands raced along his bare back, and he arched into the contact, into those clever, aristocratic fingers bringing him painful bliss. Harry lifted his head just long enough to draw the vampire's shirt over his head, to send it flying across the room, and captured those full lips again, already missing the taste on his tongue. They slid to the floor, still kissing, still tasting, hands racing over every inch of available flesh they could find. There was no struggle for dominance, no need to control. Just need and lust and yearning and pleasure and an entire night to explore. "Your mouth is going to be the end of me," the vampire gasped, placing wet kisses on Harry's shoulders. Harry's grin was quick, wicked. As were the hands racing over a muscled chest. "Somehow I doubt all that, Sire." "For God's sake, Harry, call me Karl." Cloudy eyes, dark with want, focused on Harry. "Just for tonight. I'm Karl. You're Harry. Nothing else matters." "Just for tonight," Harry said, lowering his head to tease Karl's lips. "Just for tonight, Karl." Tomorrow would come soon enough. Onto Denial
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