| Title: Oath Series: Chosen Author: Brenda Pairing: Harry Sinclair/Karl Urban Rating: PG13 Summary: This is how bonds are made. Disclaimer: Vampires still don't exist. And I doubt Harry & Karl were ever lovers. But, you never know. Notes: The beginning of a relationship beyond words, beyond time.
Above and beyond all things, Harry Sinclair of the House of Urban, was a warrior. A soldier. A knight. And warriors, knights, soldiers had a certain code of conduct, a certain way of doing things. Loyal to their king, loyal to their vassal. Loyal to their morals. Swiftly dealing out justice at the end of a sword. Honorable, even when forced to do dishonorable things for the greater good. Protector of innocents. Men of their word. Which was precisely why Harry was in this particular bedchamber. Waiting to be... No, he would not think on such things. 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 to protect. So Harry would do his duty, pay his penance. It was the way of his world. He paced in the sumptuously furnished room, barely noting the finely made furniture, the roaring fire, the meats laid out to sate his hunger, the mead laid out to quench his thirst. Didn't want to be comfortable. This would be an uncomfortable experience. He just wanted it over. The large, four-poster bed took up most of the room, but he avoided looking at it, even though 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's or grandchildren's lives miserable. To a vampire, revenge wasn't a dish served cold – it was a dish served frozen, layered by 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 streams of fading pink and red sunlight glittered like burnished bronze in the dark brown of Harry's hair and the light turned tanned 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 the 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 the door, 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 was something in those aware, amaretto eyes that had spoken to him, something in that sharp mind and quick 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 strong, 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, tanned skin. And Karl had wanted that body from the very start. Wanted to watch that skin go dark from passion, wanted those eyes to cloud in wonder. From the first moment Harry had arrived at his demesne, all bristling intensity and unfocused raw skill, 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, nearly tripped, only years of training saving him. Lord Urban lounged in the doorway, wearing only a partially laced, thin shirt and a pair of leggings that 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 streamed in from the tall, narrow openings in the room. "I was born a vampire, young Harry. 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 a bloodsucker, still an abomination, for all that they were accepted in society. No matter how gracious and regal and skilled in the ways of war 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." The conversational tone had Harry reeling, a bit lost, tense. 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 other man 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." He'd noticed? "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, young Harry?" Harry could only stand, staring, body wound so tight with tension he felt as if he might combust. 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. It 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." Harry would not be swayed by that voice, so soft, so seductive. "Relax? Impossible." Lord Urban fixed him with a small wink that sent heat skittering up Harry's spine. "I promise you, young Harry, things will be much more pleasurable if you relax." 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." "Vampires have heightened senses, I know you know this." A soft chuckle near his ear caused nerves to stretch to almost the breaking point. "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 other man behind him, could feel hot breath up against his nape, blowing across the tendrils of dark hair that clung to his neck. "Shall I tell you why I watch *you*, young Harry?" "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. Reminding himself that seduction was an art vampires excelled at did no good. 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, watch you now. Watch you wield your sword with unmatched grace, watch you ride your horse as if you were a centaur. 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 would never glue back together the same way. 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 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, 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, hated himself for that too. Leaned in so close Harry could smell him, smell the unique twining of copper and clove and some nameless exotic scent that was purely this man's. 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 him with vicious claws. "Tell me what it is you want, young 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 other man 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 those eyes, to meet the challenge. Willed himself to remain strong, to remain firm. A soft smile, a bowing 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 heat near Harry's body was like a slap of cold stream water. And just as shocking. Free. He was free. "I..." he stopped. Couldn't say anything else, once again words were trapped, bubbling under a nameless thing trying to break free. He bowed his head, turned to leave the room. And could not make his feet move. Could not will his legs to carry him out of this 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. 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 that warrior's 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 on his in desperation, in hunger, in such raw need 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. 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. The young mortal shuddered, eyes closed, lashes damp with unshed tears, and the sight ripped Karl apart. //Open your eyes.// Long lashes lifted, revealed tawny eyes. And God, the despair, the hunger, the conflict 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, voice so small, so lost. "Tell me." "I..." Harry sighed, the movement shifting that muscled body closer to Karl's, into Karl's. But he didn't look away, didn't blink. "I want you. God help me." The courage in those eyes undid 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, all that is in my power to give." Karl knew he was making a vow here, 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." Karl lowered his head, brushed his lips across the mortal's, tasted the rich, exotic flavor of dark chocolate and Harry. //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, wasn't 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 his body in a swirl of exotic color and light...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 into heat that Karl was melting under it. 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 tanned flesh under his hands. Ah yes, much better. 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 other man on a silver platter. They were just lips, just mouths...different, male, a bit rough, yet not unpleasant. So why was Harry shaking? Why was his soul weeping? Why did this glorious taste make him long for things he knew could never be? The vampire's mouth was a velvet heaven that chained him, claimed him. 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 other man's shirt over his head, 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. No struggle for dominance, no need to control...just need and lust and yearning and pleasure and an entire night to explore, to satisfy. "Your mouth is going to be the end of me," Karl gasped, placing wet kisses on Harry's shoulders. Harry's grin was quick, wicked. As were the hands racing over Karl's chest. "Somehow I doubt all that, Sire." "For God's sake, Harry, call me Karl." He groaned the words, lost in the feel of rough fingers on his sensitized skin. Cloudy eyes, dark with want, focused on Harry. "Just for tonight. I'm Karl. You're Harry. Nothing else matters. No consequences, no tomorrow." They could deal with those later. Right now, Karl just wanted to feast. "Just for tonight," Harry said, lowering his head to tease Karl's lips. "Just for tonight, Karl." Tomorrow would come soon enough.
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