King in Chains Excerpt
KING IN CHAINS: CHAPTER 4
TRAINING
It’s a long, cold night on the road, driving Killian to Brighton for a meeting and standing guard for two hours. Afterward, they stop so Killian can hunt in a nearby wood. Finally homebound, Alastair drives the carriage in a light, cold rain.
After tending to the horses, he makes it back to his room where he finds a fire and a hot meal waiting for him while the bathtub is being filled. After being made Protector, his weekly bath and daily sponge bath are apparently no longer sufficient, and now a bath is prepared for him every day in his chamber. Killian’s sensitive vampire nose will not tolerate human stink, and everyone in Killian’s household is required to take a sponge bath at least once a day. Alastair remembers teasing Finn about his verbena-scented nightly soaks. Now, here he is, sinking down into the warm water, so welcome after the wet night had left him chilled to the bone.
Finn has been gone a month now, and a day never passes when Alastair doesn’t think of him or feel him near. He misses him and often visits his gravesite, one of several artfully carved stones with an engraved sword, each belonging to a warrior who served Killian before him. They dated back two hundred years. Here, Alastair talks openly to his friend as if he were still alive, never failing to bring a bottle of Finn’s favorite scotch.
He imagines Finn fighting beside him when they are ambushed by highwaymen, and again on a recent night when they’d gone into battle with four Torians. But with each passing day, Alastair also feels himself filling out the role of Protector, making it his own, finding his own fighting style or doing certain things a little differently than Finn had. Somewhere on the edge of awareness, he hears mocking remarks from Finn, his teasing never failing to put a smile on Alastair’s face.
The hardest thing is having Killian in his mind. But like everything else, it gets less jarring with time. Finn had given him many gifts; one of most valuable was teaching him how to shield his private thoughts, how to erect walls of random thoughts to hide the ones he didn’t want Killian to see. It was a muscle, and Alastair practices it often.
Not that the link doesn’t have its uses. They live on the razor’s edge every night, a battle around every corner. With Killian in his mind, Alastair has become an extension of the vampire, a voice in his head directing him or helping him avert a fatal blow. Their first night alone, just the two of them in battle with three Torians, had been a revelation. They had fought together many times with Finn, but the new blood link had strengthened the bond that was already there, making their minds one, their bodies moving in perfect synchronicity. Together, they knew the exact location of every Torian and what he was doing; they moved in a flawlessly timed whirlwind, systematically cutting down each soldier. With Killian’s blood in his veins, Alastair moved faster now, his strength more than doubled. Fighting Torians, though dangerous, was exhilarating to Alastair. Not just because of his own enhanced battle skills. He was now part of the enormous storm of power that flowed out of Killian, carrying Alastair along with it. The whole experience felt intensely intimate to Alastair. It was savagely thrilling as much as it was violently arousing to fight together.
After a battle, it takes Alastair hours to come down from the high their bond ignited inside him in the heat of combat. They do not talk of it, but Alastair knows Killian can see it. It is one of the reasons Killian almost always takes him to a tavern afterward to drink and to bed a wench.
TRAINING
It’s a long, cold night on the road, driving Killian to Brighton for a meeting and standing guard for two hours. Afterward, they stop so Killian can hunt in a nearby wood. Finally homebound, Alastair drives the carriage in a light, cold rain.
After tending to the horses, he makes it back to his room where he finds a fire and a hot meal waiting for him while the bathtub is being filled. After being made Protector, his weekly bath and daily sponge bath are apparently no longer sufficient, and now a bath is prepared for him every day in his chamber. Killian’s sensitive vampire nose will not tolerate human stink, and everyone in Killian’s household is required to take a sponge bath at least once a day. Alastair remembers teasing Finn about his verbena-scented nightly soaks. Now, here he is, sinking down into the warm water, so welcome after the wet night had left him chilled to the bone.
Finn has been gone a month now, and a day never passes when Alastair doesn’t think of him or feel him near. He misses him and often visits his gravesite, one of several artfully carved stones with an engraved sword, each belonging to a warrior who served Killian before him. They dated back two hundred years. Here, Alastair talks openly to his friend as if he were still alive, never failing to bring a bottle of Finn’s favorite scotch.
He imagines Finn fighting beside him when they are ambushed by highwaymen, and again on a recent night when they’d gone into battle with four Torians. But with each passing day, Alastair also feels himself filling out the role of Protector, making it his own, finding his own fighting style or doing certain things a little differently than Finn had. Somewhere on the edge of awareness, he hears mocking remarks from Finn, his teasing never failing to put a smile on Alastair’s face.
The hardest thing is having Killian in his mind. But like everything else, it gets less jarring with time. Finn had given him many gifts; one of most valuable was teaching him how to shield his private thoughts, how to erect walls of random thoughts to hide the ones he didn’t want Killian to see. It was a muscle, and Alastair practices it often.
Not that the link doesn’t have its uses. They live on the razor’s edge every night, a battle around every corner. With Killian in his mind, Alastair has become an extension of the vampire, a voice in his head directing him or helping him avert a fatal blow. Their first night alone, just the two of them in battle with three Torians, had been a revelation. They had fought together many times with Finn, but the new blood link had strengthened the bond that was already there, making their minds one, their bodies moving in perfect synchronicity. Together, they knew the exact location of every Torian and what he was doing; they moved in a flawlessly timed whirlwind, systematically cutting down each soldier. With Killian’s blood in his veins, Alastair moved faster now, his strength more than doubled. Fighting Torians, though dangerous, was exhilarating to Alastair. Not just because of his own enhanced battle skills. He was now part of the enormous storm of power that flowed out of Killian, carrying Alastair along with it. The whole experience felt intensely intimate to Alastair. It was savagely thrilling as much as it was violently arousing to fight together.
After a battle, it takes Alastair hours to come down from the high their bond ignited inside him in the heat of combat. They do not talk of it, but Alastair knows Killian can see it. It is one of the reasons Killian almost always takes him to a tavern afterward to drink and to bed a wench.
But life with this vampire is not all fighting. Killian is a businessman of sorts, and Alastair regularly watches large sums of money and property change hands.
Then there is the art of the kill. Alastair often finds the prey, sets up the meeting, and watches Killian go in for the kill. Afterward, Alastair disposes of the body or makes it look like a common human murder.
He knows London’s slums and red-light districts better than anyone, thanks to his own restless wanderings. He can smell corruption, not just among the criminals but also among the merchant classes and the nobles that Killian rubs shoulders with. He knows how to fit in and get people to talk to him. And like a scent, he is drawn to exactly the sort of human Killian prefers to eat.
The blood Dens are where Alastair gets to see the other Protectors and Sangs. Being around other humans like himself is a touchstone he needs. As much as he thrives at his Master’s side, the human part of him still needs to remember what he is. He partakes in the camaraderie of others like himself—those who also walk between two worlds and who have given themselves over to the night, human society now lost to them. Sitting with other Protectors, he eats and drinks wine, letting himself relax and forge amusing friendships. But no matter how jovial the company, he never forgets the fact he is always Killian’s eyes and ears. He listens to conversations around him and charms Sangs, getting them to confide in him about their Masters, reporting anything relevant back to Killian.
Other times, he and Killian sit alone, drinking and talking, each giving their impressions of a meeting they’d just had. Sometimes, Killian seeks Alastair’s opinion on a book he has been given to read, always attempting to challenge his mind. On occasion, Killian can be persuaded to tell tales of his life. Alastair sits riveted, lost in stories of the distant past. Killian has seen wars and plagues and walked through endless battlefields. He has watched the rise and fall of kings and tyrants, mingling in the royal courts of Europe.
Sometimes he talks of his ancestral home in Scotland, of Castle Amberlin, and the Vampire King who murdered his clan and Sired him and his cousin Tristan. It is this Sire for whom Killian served as a warrior in a territory war for close to a century before escaping with Tristan from Scotland. Many of his stories involve vampires whom Killian has known and loved, many of them gone now, long perished. It is because of these lost ones that Killian sometimes withdraws his candor, refusing to speak of the past at all.
Some evenings, Tristan joins them along with other members of Killian’s inner circle. In a relatively short time, Alastair realizes he has been fully accepted. Everyone misses Finn, but it is also clear they have moved on. At first, this angered Alastair, but he is beginning to understand that vampires are not terribly affected by the deaths of their humans. A Protector or Sanguinaire’s life is a relatively short span of years in the overall length of a vampire’s eternal existence. Too many humans pass through their lives for any to be properly mourned.
Thinking over the past month, how far he’s come in such a short time, Alastair sinks lower into the tub, closing his eyes. He takes his cock in his hand and started to rub his length, one face filling his mind. The same face that occupies his dreams. Except in that realm, his Master takes him to his bed and explores every inch of his body with his tongue and teeth before using him mercilessly, taking him the way a male takes another male. Alastair knows Killian is a Dream Catcher, but he cannot say for certain the vampire is responsible for these encounters. After such lust-drenched dreams, dusk would come and he would meet Killian at first meal, seeing no indication in his expressions or demeanor that it had been he. Killian would treat him with the usual warmth and attentiveness that he always gives his Protector and nothing more.
Now, as he calls up those sordid images from his dreams, he grows harder, moving his hips in tandem with his hand. Then he feels it—the pull of a presence in the room. He looks up and finds Killian watching him just inside the doorway.
Alastair quickly lets go of his cock and sits up, running his hands through his long wet hair. “I didn’t see you there . . . ”
“Don’t let me interrupt you, Pet. It was beautiful watching you pleasure yourself,” Killian says in a low, velvety voice as he strolls into the room. He pulls a chair and places it in front of the tub, straddling it. “Sex is not something to be ashamed of with me. Which, ironically, is why I’m here.”
Alastair’s heart leaps in his chest. “It is?”
“As you saw with Finn, there’s a bit more to being a Protector than fighting and procuring. A Protector can be an asset in other ways. Especially ones blessed with fair faces and strong, beautiful bodies. Stand for me, Alastair. Let me see you.”
His cock is still half hard and for a moment he hesitates, but for only a moment. As he rises to his feet, water dripping down his toned body, his muscles gleaming in the firelight, he sees Killian’s eyes darken with approval. “What a fine specimen of male you’ve become, Alastair. And well hung, to say the least. And this is only half hard? Very impressive. Touch yourself. Let me see your full size.”
Some part of him feels embarrassed and self-conscious by this brazen request. But seeing how his naked body pleases Killian, he pushes through the apprehension. Alastair touches himself but his thick, long cock is already at his belly, fully erect. It had been the command in Killian’s voice that sent a bolt of excitement through him, straight into his cock.
“Magnificent,” Killian says, wearing a knowing smile, his eyes two dark purple flames. He is clearly aware of how his voice affects Alastair, a reaction that seems to greatly please him.
Despite being fully hard, Alastair begins to touch himself anyway, letting Killian watch his grip drift up and down his shaft. If nothing else, it thrills him to catch a glimpse of the arousal now overtaking his Master.
“You’ll be in great demand,” Killian finally says in a sultry voice. “You’ll represent me well.”
“Like Finn did.”
“Aye, like Finn. Only I think you have a versatility that many of our young human males do not. A great many favors will be owed, many will be in our debt for a taste of that cock.” “What do you mean, versatility? How am I different?”
A smile tugs at Killian’s mouth. “I think we both know the answer to that. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Quite the contrary, it pleases me greatly.”
Alastair’s heart quickens. He knows I desire both. That I desire him . . . Killian moves closer. “How do you feel about a male vampire touching you or placing his mouth on your cock?”
If it’s you, I feel quite well with it. Alastair shrugs his shoulders. “I guess that depends on the vampire.”
“Fair enough. Listen, Alastair, from now on, you’ll keep yourself not only clean but shaved,” Killian says, pointing at Alastair’s groin. “All the hair around your cock and balls must be removed. I can help with that, if need be. You must be a creature of pleasure and desirability when I need you to be. Understand?”
Alastair bites the inside of his mouth, staring down at the water. The moment has arrived. He is becoming a whore. Shaved and oiled and paraded around like a prized stallion. But if the females Finn had fucked or let suck him were any indication of the sort of partners he’d be pleasuring, it was nothing to sulk about.
Try to think of it more as being a chess piece in a much larger game, Alastair.
Then there is the art of the kill. Alastair often finds the prey, sets up the meeting, and watches Killian go in for the kill. Afterward, Alastair disposes of the body or makes it look like a common human murder.
He knows London’s slums and red-light districts better than anyone, thanks to his own restless wanderings. He can smell corruption, not just among the criminals but also among the merchant classes and the nobles that Killian rubs shoulders with. He knows how to fit in and get people to talk to him. And like a scent, he is drawn to exactly the sort of human Killian prefers to eat.
The blood Dens are where Alastair gets to see the other Protectors and Sangs. Being around other humans like himself is a touchstone he needs. As much as he thrives at his Master’s side, the human part of him still needs to remember what he is. He partakes in the camaraderie of others like himself—those who also walk between two worlds and who have given themselves over to the night, human society now lost to them. Sitting with other Protectors, he eats and drinks wine, letting himself relax and forge amusing friendships. But no matter how jovial the company, he never forgets the fact he is always Killian’s eyes and ears. He listens to conversations around him and charms Sangs, getting them to confide in him about their Masters, reporting anything relevant back to Killian.
Other times, he and Killian sit alone, drinking and talking, each giving their impressions of a meeting they’d just had. Sometimes, Killian seeks Alastair’s opinion on a book he has been given to read, always attempting to challenge his mind. On occasion, Killian can be persuaded to tell tales of his life. Alastair sits riveted, lost in stories of the distant past. Killian has seen wars and plagues and walked through endless battlefields. He has watched the rise and fall of kings and tyrants, mingling in the royal courts of Europe.
Sometimes he talks of his ancestral home in Scotland, of Castle Amberlin, and the Vampire King who murdered his clan and Sired him and his cousin Tristan. It is this Sire for whom Killian served as a warrior in a territory war for close to a century before escaping with Tristan from Scotland. Many of his stories involve vampires whom Killian has known and loved, many of them gone now, long perished. It is because of these lost ones that Killian sometimes withdraws his candor, refusing to speak of the past at all.
Some evenings, Tristan joins them along with other members of Killian’s inner circle. In a relatively short time, Alastair realizes he has been fully accepted. Everyone misses Finn, but it is also clear they have moved on. At first, this angered Alastair, but he is beginning to understand that vampires are not terribly affected by the deaths of their humans. A Protector or Sanguinaire’s life is a relatively short span of years in the overall length of a vampire’s eternal existence. Too many humans pass through their lives for any to be properly mourned.
Thinking over the past month, how far he’s come in such a short time, Alastair sinks lower into the tub, closing his eyes. He takes his cock in his hand and started to rub his length, one face filling his mind. The same face that occupies his dreams. Except in that realm, his Master takes him to his bed and explores every inch of his body with his tongue and teeth before using him mercilessly, taking him the way a male takes another male. Alastair knows Killian is a Dream Catcher, but he cannot say for certain the vampire is responsible for these encounters. After such lust-drenched dreams, dusk would come and he would meet Killian at first meal, seeing no indication in his expressions or demeanor that it had been he. Killian would treat him with the usual warmth and attentiveness that he always gives his Protector and nothing more.
Now, as he calls up those sordid images from his dreams, he grows harder, moving his hips in tandem with his hand. Then he feels it—the pull of a presence in the room. He looks up and finds Killian watching him just inside the doorway.
Alastair quickly lets go of his cock and sits up, running his hands through his long wet hair. “I didn’t see you there . . . ”
“Don’t let me interrupt you, Pet. It was beautiful watching you pleasure yourself,” Killian says in a low, velvety voice as he strolls into the room. He pulls a chair and places it in front of the tub, straddling it. “Sex is not something to be ashamed of with me. Which, ironically, is why I’m here.”
Alastair’s heart leaps in his chest. “It is?”
“As you saw with Finn, there’s a bit more to being a Protector than fighting and procuring. A Protector can be an asset in other ways. Especially ones blessed with fair faces and strong, beautiful bodies. Stand for me, Alastair. Let me see you.”
His cock is still half hard and for a moment he hesitates, but for only a moment. As he rises to his feet, water dripping down his toned body, his muscles gleaming in the firelight, he sees Killian’s eyes darken with approval. “What a fine specimen of male you’ve become, Alastair. And well hung, to say the least. And this is only half hard? Very impressive. Touch yourself. Let me see your full size.”
Some part of him feels embarrassed and self-conscious by this brazen request. But seeing how his naked body pleases Killian, he pushes through the apprehension. Alastair touches himself but his thick, long cock is already at his belly, fully erect. It had been the command in Killian’s voice that sent a bolt of excitement through him, straight into his cock.
“Magnificent,” Killian says, wearing a knowing smile, his eyes two dark purple flames. He is clearly aware of how his voice affects Alastair, a reaction that seems to greatly please him.
Despite being fully hard, Alastair begins to touch himself anyway, letting Killian watch his grip drift up and down his shaft. If nothing else, it thrills him to catch a glimpse of the arousal now overtaking his Master.
“You’ll be in great demand,” Killian finally says in a sultry voice. “You’ll represent me well.”
“Like Finn did.”
“Aye, like Finn. Only I think you have a versatility that many of our young human males do not. A great many favors will be owed, many will be in our debt for a taste of that cock.” “What do you mean, versatility? How am I different?”
A smile tugs at Killian’s mouth. “I think we both know the answer to that. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Quite the contrary, it pleases me greatly.”
Alastair’s heart quickens. He knows I desire both. That I desire him . . . Killian moves closer. “How do you feel about a male vampire touching you or placing his mouth on your cock?”
If it’s you, I feel quite well with it. Alastair shrugs his shoulders. “I guess that depends on the vampire.”
“Fair enough. Listen, Alastair, from now on, you’ll keep yourself not only clean but shaved,” Killian says, pointing at Alastair’s groin. “All the hair around your cock and balls must be removed. I can help with that, if need be. You must be a creature of pleasure and desirability when I need you to be. Understand?”
Alastair bites the inside of his mouth, staring down at the water. The moment has arrived. He is becoming a whore. Shaved and oiled and paraded around like a prized stallion. But if the females Finn had fucked or let suck him were any indication of the sort of partners he’d be pleasuring, it was nothing to sulk about.
Try to think of it more as being a chess piece in a much larger game, Alastair.
Alastair lifts his face, meeting Killian’s intent gaze. Sometimes having Killian in his mind is unnerving as hell. “When?” Alastair asks, finally finding his voice.
“You’re still quite young. You’ll need training. I have a pair of beauties, experts in the art of sex for you to learn from. They are on their way and will be here in a fortnight.”
Alastair shrugs his shoulders. “I’ve had maids. It’s not like I don’t—”
“I’m aware of exactly who you’ve fucked and when, Alastair. You’ll need skill now. Sit, lad, you’ll get chilled.”
Alastair lowers himself back down into the warm water, stunned by Killian’s admission. His face must show his surprise, or perhaps it is the loudness of his thoughts that make Killian lean forward, studying Alastair. “What? Did you think I did not notice what you were doing?”
Alastair shrugged. “Not really.”
A bemused smile. “I’ve watched you, Pet. From the moment you arrived, I’ve watched you.”
“You’re still quite young. You’ll need training. I have a pair of beauties, experts in the art of sex for you to learn from. They are on their way and will be here in a fortnight.”
Alastair shrugs his shoulders. “I’ve had maids. It’s not like I don’t—”
“I’m aware of exactly who you’ve fucked and when, Alastair. You’ll need skill now. Sit, lad, you’ll get chilled.”
Alastair lowers himself back down into the warm water, stunned by Killian’s admission. His face must show his surprise, or perhaps it is the loudness of his thoughts that make Killian lean forward, studying Alastair. “What? Did you think I did not notice what you were doing?”
Alastair shrugged. “Not really.”
A bemused smile. “I’ve watched you, Pet. From the moment you arrived, I’ve watched you.”
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