Reaver of Souls

by Stephanie Burke

  “Well, I wanted to take in the nice weather,” she sighed as she looked longingly at her bike. The sky began to darken as soon as her eyes made contact with its wide-open expanse.

  “Oh great!” she sighed. “Just what I needed, a little more summer rain!”

  She shook her head as she tried to analyze the situation.

  As the clouds covered the sun, Torn’s head snapped up and he began to search the sky for signs of danger. Were there dragons about? Was some mystic casting a malevolent spell that blocked out the sun? Was that why it was so cold in this place? Was Sable in danger?

  “Sable?” he asked as his head cocked to the side and he began to scan the grassy hills that surrounded them.

  Before she could answer, the clouds burst, drenching them with cool droplets of rain.

  “Zornery!” he cried as his head swung around, seeking the mystic who would lay such a dastardly trap! Sorcery! Who had ever heard of water falling from the sky? It was inhuman and messy. Did the wizard think to drown them all, one drip at a time?

  “Torn?” Sable asked. He, again, looked ready for action, but this time not because of anything that she did. What had set him off? “Rain?” she asked as she noticed his disparaging looks in the sky.

  Well, of course rain! He lived under the hills, under the earth. He wouldn’t know rain.

  “Torn,” she called, then a bit louder to get his attention. “Torn!”

  His purple eyes snapped to her face, the long locks now wet and plastering themselves to his face.

  God, he was beautiful! The rain only accented the perfect shape if his head. His tongue flicked out to ease the wetness at his lips, his full succulent lips, before his eyes settled on hers.

  “It’s only rain,” she explained, suddenly affected by his face and body. Wet leather did cling like a second skin.

  “It’s only rain,” he repeated, again looking around for the enemy.

  Well, if Sable didn’t seem concerned, it must not be a mortal enemy, just a bothersome one to cause the sky to spit at them. It’s only rain. Now that he had a name, where was the villain? He closed his eyes and sent his soul seeking, searching for the source of the malevolent and annoying magic.

  “Torn,” Sable called again as she saw him close his eyes in intense concentration. Wasn’t he doing some kind of Faeroe glamour thing? “Torn!”

  This time she walked over and touched his arm.

  His whole body shuddered and his eyes snapped open as he felt her touch against the skin of his arm. Heat! Human contact was so warm! He had forgotten that. Even this cool water from the sky couldn’t sap the fire of her touch. His gaze dropped to her hand, her small hand, against the wide expanse of his forearm, before following it back to her shoulder and finally her eyes.

  “Rain,” she said pointing to the sky. “It is raining, Torn.” She made a fluttery gesture with her fingers as she raised and lowered her arm. “Rain.”

  “Rain,” he repeated. This stuff falling from the sky was rain. She wasn’t concerned, and he felt no magic, so he relaxed his stance. But he still didn’t like it!

  “Stay here,” he began, then shook his head. “Neyt, Sable. Neyt stay here!”

  That was simple enough.

  “You don’t like the rain. Well, buddy, did you pick the wrong place to appear!”

  She shook her head, her shorn curls flinging water around as she made another decision and gripped his arm.

  “I’m not waiting around to catch my death, Torn. You’re about to get your first lesson in bike riding with an obvious head injury. The trick is to follow my moves completely, especially on turns, no matter how many Sables you see!”

  Sable pulled the unresisting Torn behind her as she walked over to her bike. Then she pointed.

  “Harley!” she said as she turned her eyes to his face. “Mine! While you stay here, if you want one of your own, go and conjure one for yourself!”

  “Harley!” he repeated, blinking rapidly in the rain as he pointed to the metal horse thing that she was gesturing to. Well, it kind of looked like a horse, but it was metallic. And it had wheels.

  “Right!” She said decisively as she reached down and pulled her bike upright from its parked lean. It was no easy task, for the bike outweighed her easily. “Harley!” she puffed. “My Harley! My baby! The only thing in this world I love more than sculpting. My Harley!”

  “My Harley!” Torn repeated, still looking a bit confused.

  So the thing was a My Harley! So what was a My Harley and what did it do?

  He watched amazed as she picked up a small helm and popped it onto her head.

  “Safety first!” she said.

  “Safety first,” he repeated, pointing to the helmet. What a stupid name for headgear.

  Then he watched as she threw her leg over My Harley to straddle it. So it was some type of mechanical horse! This was fascinating. What would it do now?

  Smiling at how easy this was, Sable placed her foot on the clutch and jumped.

  The growl, the beautiful growl, of her bike stirred the air and shook the earth. This was the sound of perfection, baby! This was why she was born. There was nothing better than riding on a Harley, except for maybe completing a sculpture, or really good sex—really, really good sex.

  “Torn?” she called, but he was staring, fascinated by the beast.

  “My Harley?” he repeated his mind pulling together facts.

  One, she was riding that thing with no fear. It wasn’t dangerous for her. Two, it hadn’t attacked him, therefore she could control it, it was just a metal machine. Three, it had wheels. Did that mean it was made to drive upon the land, like some great wagon?

  “My Harley, Torn. Sable’s Harley.”

  “Sable’s Harley,” he repeated, getting the idea rather quickly. His mother’s people, he had heard, had been experimenting with mechanical means of transportation for years, but they usually used conveyances of wood. This was fascinating and intriguing. And it was Sable’s. Would she let him experiment with it? Machines always fascinated him.

  “Right,” Sable nodded. This was easy. “Now climb on!”

  “Climb…on?” he repeated, cocking his head to the side, his eyes glued to her face.

  “On!” she called over the roar of the idling engine. “Torn, on!” She patted the space behind her.

  “On?” Torn sounded a bit skeptical, but it was a big bike! A Harley Road Master, easily big enough to carry his weight.

  “On!” she repeated, patting the seat enticingly. “Go away from the rain.”

  He looked up into the sky, flinging sodden hair behind his shoulders, before looking down at her again. What did she want now?

  “Torn!” she wailed. “Come on! It’s cold out here! Get on the bike!”

  She was getting rather disturbed, he decided as he watched her bounce on the seat of Sable’s My Harley. Then it hit him. Extra seat, small extra seat. She wanted him behind her and he wanted that too, if he could fit, that is.

  Tentatively, he raised one booted foot over the rear of the bike.

  “Yes!” Sable cried, nodding excitedly. “Yes, Torn!”

  Straddling the bike, he gingerly began to sit, but he jumped right back up just as quickly.

  “For the love of God, what is wrong now?” she wailed. She wanted to go home, have a cup of coffee, and dry off. What was wrong with him?

  “It vibrates,” Torn growled in his language, not expecting her to understand. “It quivers against my manparts and I do not like that feeling! It…itches!”

  “Torn,” Sable said as she let the incomprehensible stream of words roll past her.

  “Sable,” he returned, a defiant look on his face.

  “Get on the damn bike!” she roared, causing his mouth to drop open in surprise.

  Her face, what he could see of it over the Safety First, was turning a molted shade of red. This was amazing. He leaned in closer for a better look, shifting his weight and bending at the knees a bit.

  �
�Thank you!” Sable crowed as she kicked the clutch and shot the bike forward.

  A loud exhalation escaped from Torn’s throat as the bike moved forward, hitting his bottom and slamming him most uncomfortably on the vibrating seat. His arms automatically went around her shoulders, stabilizing his body, and he lifted his feet out to the sides, not knowing where to put them.

  His eyes widened in fright, then calmed a bit as he felt the rhythm of the bike flow through him. It was kind of like riding a horse. He could feel the bumps in the darkly paved road and the grumble of the My Harley as it picked up speed.

  Sable was a firm and controlled rider as she slowly began to speed up the bike. He observed her actions and began to follow suit, though keeping his legs out at his sides. This was kind of fun, actually.

  “Ten freaking miles per hour!” Sable grumbled as the bike crawled forward. She was miles away from home in the rain and moving at ten miles per hour! There had to be a better way to go than this. He hadn’t even put his legs in their proper place yet. This was maddening.

  “Faster!” Torn called as she wondered why she was moving so slowly. But then he realized that his legs began to tire. He couldn’t let them drag the ground, but where to put them. Behind hers was the natural decision.

  Sable squeaked and the bike wobbled a bit as she felt his body shift and his legs slide in behind hers. He shifted his arms so that they rested around her waist, pulling her tightly to him, close to the heated V of his thighs.

  Mercy, he felt so damn good!

  “Sable?” he asked, noting her momentary loss of control, and wondering at it.

  Sable shuddered at the low, intimate tone in his voice, feeling enveloped by his big body.

  “Home,” she managed to get out shakily. “Time to go home. Hold on.”

  She gunned the engine, pouring on the power and making the bike fly as she rounded the next corner. The sooner she got this Faeroe home, the sooner she could find out why he was here and why she was the one to find him. Then hopefully she could send him back where he belonged! He was too…unsettling for her nerves.

  “This is almost as good as flying!” Torn cried, ignoring the wet slap of rain as it splashed against his cheeks and the gobs of mud that flew up to coat his cold body. If this was one of the delights of Sable’s world, he would be delighted to stay here for a time. And Sable herself— He quashed that thought. She was just a guide. Even if her body did feel soft and smell like spring flowers. He was through with women. Especially women with red hair.

  Chapter Four

  “Three hours!” Sable snarled as she pulled her bike into the garage she had had built just for her most prized possession. “Three damn hours to go fifteen miles in the rain!”

  “My Harley, Sable!” Torn replied, a clear droplet of water suspended on his nose.

  “Yeah, yeah! I know! My Harley!”

  She swallowed a sneeze and stifled a groan as she tried to unbend her frozen fingers from around the handlebars. With a groan, she pulled off the helmet and ran her fingers through her hair. The leather may have kept her upper body dry, but it did nothing for lower protection. Her jeans were a big, heavy, soppy, wet mess!

  “All right, Torn. Off!”

  “Off?” He cocked his head to the side and smiled at her, those tiny sharp little fangs showing.

  “Off my Harley!”

  “My Harley!” he said as he patted the tank of the machine, wincing as the remaining heat sizzled his wet fingers. “Ouch.”

  “Off!” she cried as she slowly pulled her body from the sodden bike.

  “Off!” Torn replied in the tone of someone who had just had a major epiphany. Then he followed Sable’s example and hauled his bottom from the bike. He took one step away, then shook himself like a wet dog, flinging water around the room.

  “Hey!” Sable called out as she raised her hands to protect her face from the sudden onslaught of water. “I had enough rain, thank you very much.”

  She narrowed her eyes and glared at him, but he looked so adorable standing there, long strands of hair hanging into his wet face, that teasing grin of accomplishment on his face that she instantly forgave him. “More fool, I,” she snorted as she made her way to the garage entrance to her house.

  “Fool?” Torn asked as he watched Sable walk away.

  He had heard a lot of strange new words on the journey here, but he couldn’t fathom their meaning. For instance, what was a son of a bitch? With a shrug, he turned to follow her.

  “Stop right there!” she called, holding up her hand, palm outward. Amazed, he paused. You would have to be an idiot not to know what she meant.

  “You will not drip rain all over my rugs! Wait until I bring you a towel!”

  Rain he understood. He was soaked with the stuff. Now, to figure out the context of the rest of her words.

  Okay, rain was falling from his clothing, well, what was left of his clothing. She had floor coverings that looked thirsty enough to absorb every drop and remain ready for more. But she was a woman, thus he had to think illogically. Would rain cause those bright colors on her floor coverings to run? Probably. Solution, remove all clothing.

  Sable walked back into her kitchen entrance to see Torn, her fairy, rising up to his full height, his tattered pants in his hands, his worn boots lying next to him.

  “You are naked!” she whispered in awe as tempting golden bits of him kept showing through his long length of hair.

  “Naked?” he asked, looking for the context of her words again.

  “Naked, naked, naked!” she nearly screamed, pointing to his thick swinging…oh my God, no shrinkage there!

  “Naked?” he asked, looking down at his flaccid manhood. This was naked? To be sure, he grasped himself in his hand and presented his cock to her. “Naked?”

  “Oh Lord!” Sable groaned, her face heating with embarrassed delight. Chagrined interest? Curiosity? Her hand flew to cover her face, but she couldn’t resist parting her fingers and peeking. Boy, he was built fine, uncut, and thick, even flaccid.

  Stop it, you whore, she admonished herself as she tried to pull her tattered composure together. No lusting after the fairy and be careful of what you say.

  “Cover yourself!” she squeaked as she took a tentative step, arms thrust forward, and offered him a towel. Actually, a pink and yellow beach towel, the only thing she could find that was big enough to cover him. “Here.”

  “Here,” he replied, taking the towel and rubbing its texture into his free hand. Then his hand lifted as he examined the nubby texture of it, not bothering to cover his naked body. It felt soft and rough at the same time, the perfect thing to dry off, he decided as he looked towards Sable. “Here.”

  “No, towel.” Sable sighed, then pulled it from his hand.

  His eyes widened in surprise as she began to briskly dry his hair, paying no attention to her own wet clothing.

  She was touching him! Willingly touching him and was not laughing or making any comments about his mixed heritage! This was amazing! Didn’t she find him a dangerous and repugnant mixture?

  “Now we have to cover you,” she said as she wrapped the damp towel around his waist, hiding all of those tempting parts so that her mind would stop wondering what he would feel like between her legs. Mercy! Her face went several shades of red as she tried not to notice what she was covering up.

  “Neyt naked?” he asked as he looked down to where she had hidden his manparts behind the brightly colored toweling. He kind of figured that he had made some faux pas by the interesting colors her face had turned and that she had hidden her eyes. That she was willing to overlook his social awkwardness meant a lot to him. He might have just found a friend after all!

  “Naked is naked!” she sighed, then gave up in defeat. Knowledge would come. Now she needed a Faeroe-English/English-Faeroe dictionary, and all would be well.

  Grasping his hand, she guided him from the kitchen into the large living room, which was comfortably carpeted in a deep, plush, green ru
g.

  “Now, Torn,” she began as she led him to her rundown but comfortable couch. “You sit here while I figure out who to call for help.”

  Then it dawned on her. Of course! Picking up the phone, she quickly punched in the numbers to her best friends in the world. Jack and Jill.

  “Help!” she screeched at the first person who’d picked up the phone.

  “Sable?” Jack’s gruff voice poured over the phone, soothing her with its masterful yet calm tones. “Is that you? Is everything okay?”

  “Jack, you have to help me!” she cried, sending a trembling smile in Torn’s direction, noting his perplexed look as she spoke over the phone.

  “What’s wrong, love?” he asked, his American accent sounding a bit worried as he questioned her. Sable never called for help unless it was something big!

  “I have a naked man in my living room! I need clothes for him, and you two are the only ones that might come close!”

  “Naked man?” he asked.

  “Naked?” Torn questioned, gesturing to his crotch.

  “NO!” she called.

  “There is no naked man?” Jack asked, sounding more confused by the second.

  “Naked man?” a similar masculine voice, but this with a deep Scottish brogue, piped in. “Where? And I wasn’t invited.”

  “Yes, there is a naked man,” she sighed as she gestured Torn’s hand away from where he was about to unleash his, uh, magnificence for her again. “And I need you to bring some clothes for him, please. You are not going to believe this.”

  “Sable, love?” he asked. “Why is there a naked man in your house?”

  “Sable has a naked man?” the voice in the back cried out in delight. “This is too delicious. What’s he doing? Was he any good?”

  “I sort of found him,” she hedged. “And I will answer your questions, but please, I need clothes for him. He can’t walk around here naked. It’s too much!”

  “What’s too much, love?” Jack asked, suddenly all big dangerous man. “Are you in any trouble?”

  “Too much?” laughed the second voice. “Darling, don’t you know that it can never be enough. Even if it hits a foot, there are still nine useable inches and the rest is a handhold!”