Reaver of Souls

by Stephanie Burke

  So eagerly, Torn took this man’s pain unto himself, now realizing that he had added to his own burdens, but not caring at all.

  Now he wanted to scream, to rage at this unfair world that so abused people. He wanted to rant and rage and destroy things on both of their behalves! But by purging the taste of injustice, he could not deal another injustice.

  If he destroyed Sable’s trust in him by harming her home, her realm, what pain would that cause her? So instead, he willingly let the man touch his strange ears, let him touch his person, and he stood firm and let him do it.

  Now all he could do is smile weakly at him and add his misery to the collection of pain he had gathered in his heart over the years.

  “What did you do to Torn?” Sable asked suddenly.

  All through the two men’s exchange, she had kept her eye on Torn watching for any changes in his person, but all she saw was a profound sadness, a sadness that seemed to have grown larger than before he touched Jill.

  “What?” Jill asked as he turned back to Torn, finally noticing the sadness and despair on his face. “I have no idea, Sable.” Then “Torn?”

  The big man turned purple eyes to Jill, and he smiled a little, but it was a pitiful effort.

  “Torn?” he tried again.

  “Torn,” he repeated, pointing to himself, then to Jill.

  He should at least know the name of the man whose pain he now carried.

  “Jill,” he said slowly, catching on real quick.

  “Jill,” he said. “Oct tom a nie.” I feel your pain.

  Jill blinked, then nodded as if he understood what was said.

  Torn then turned to face Jack and pointed.

  Although he could read no evil and felt a lot of pain, he also felt an overwhelming love that seemed to be directed at this man.

  “What?” Jack asked, still looking a bit uncomfortable.

  “He wants to know your name,” Sable supplied.

  “Jack,” he said quietly. “And no Jack and Jill jokes, please.” He eased his stance as if he too could feel the pain pouring off the purple-eyed man.

  Surprising all in the room, Torn dipped into a graceful bow, giving this man his respect. From what he could read off Jill, this man had done a lot to start Jill’s healing process. He admired that, the desire to help others with their deepest anguish.

  “Uh, thanks, I think,” Jack said as he gave Torn a shallow dip, trading respect with this creature, though he didn’t know why.

  “Jack,” Torn repeated with a small genuine grin, then he turned to Sable.

  “Neyt naked?” he asked, pointing to the towel.

  “What?” she asked, confusion written plainly on her face.

  “I think he doesn’t want to be naked anymore,” Jill interjected helpfully. “Pity.”

  “Oh!” Sable let out a blush staining her cheeks. “He means clothes.”

  Taking his hand she tried to pull him towards the back room, but Jill stopped her.

  “I think I should be the one to do it, Sable-cakes.”

  “Should I be jealous?” Jack asked, half-serious.

  “No,” Jill said quietly. “But I think he needs someone to help him who kind of understands.” For once there was no teasing quality to his voice. “And I want to help him. I have no idea what he did, but he took something dark away from me. I would like to return the favor.”

  Silently, Jack nodded and Sable turned over the bag and her Faeroe to his capable hands.

  When he left, Jack wrapped one enormous arm around her shoulders and guided her to the couch.

  “All right, small stuff. You have some explaining to do.”

  Chapter Six

  “Sweatpants,” Jill instructed as he pulled the garment in question from his bag.

  As soon as he tugged the docile Torn into the bedroom, he immediately opened the bag and began to pull out clothing.

  He wanted Torn dressed and ready for the explanations that Jack would insist on. Jack, his savior, his knight in shining leather driving a charger made of steel, would not rest until he had a reasonable account of what had taken place, and that was something that even Jill wasn’t sure of.

  “Pants,” Torn repeated as he looked at the soft-looking garment. He could figure out its use easily. He took the pants from Jill and dropped the towel.

  “Too bad I am committed,” Jill sighed as he watched Torn expose his endowments again. “You look like you could deliver quite an exceptional experience.”

  But he said nothing further as Torn looked at him quizzically.

  “Never mind, my friend.” Jill added. “I may be a size freak, but that is a little bit too much for me.”

  “Pants?” Torn asked as he held up the garment, and Jill nodded in agreement.

  “Pants, and please don them so that I may regain my sensibilities.”

  Torn tilted his head, the words sounding like so much gibberish, but he shook his head, and began to pull on the new clothing. His first thought was that it was very soft and very warm. This was so much more comfortable than his dress leathers or his stiff work clothes. But he would feel even more comfortable leaving this house with the good, solid protection of his leathers.

  He wondered if he could get more here. They didn’t seem to have a problem fitting the man called Jack in leathers, so maybe Sable would be good enough to show him where he could acquire a good herd of skinning animals to make new clothing for himself. He wondered if Jack or Jill made the leather they wore. The tiny stitching was almost invisible to the naked eye and yet they seemed well-made.

  But first, he had to purchase a herd. It would probably take a herd to cover him, as it no doubt had taken that many to clothe Jack. The man was short but he was wide.

  He eased the pants over his hips and discovered that the form-fitting material spread warmth throughout his lower body, even though his cock was a little confined and resting along his left thigh.

  He bent at the waist and examined how the soft material outlined almost every inch of his masculinity, then he blushed red.

  Although some flaunted their endowments, Torn had never been comfortable doing that. He had always tried to conceal what these clothes so obviously and blatantly revealed. He wondered if either of the men would be bothered by such a display and take it as an affront to their manhood.

  He wanted no envy brawls started, as the two tried to prove that they were the better men through violence because their cocks were not as large as the half-breeds.

  But Jill just shook is head and sighed.

  “Yeah, nice to look at, but dangerous to acquire,” he sighed as he reached into the bag for a shirt, hopefully a long shirt. “But we need to cover that up before you give Jack and Sable a heart attack. I know my ticker is pounding to beat the band. I thought nothing could shock me anymore!”

  Not understanding a word, Torn stood up and eagerly reached for the shirt Jill held out to him. It seemed to be made of some material that was as soft as the pants, but thinner and less fuzzy on the inside, although that fuzz felt good against the skin of his thighs.

  “T-shirt,” Jillian added as he watched Torn examine the garment. “It goes over your head.”

  “Head,” Torn replied, and pulled the shirt over his head. Sleeve first.

  “No, let me help,” Jill sighed as he tried to correct the shirt that Torn was trying his best to pull down. Never mind that the hole was too little to let his head pass through.

  * * * * *

  “He really is a Faeroe, Jack!” Sable said as she looked up into her friend’s dark eyes. Even sitting, Jack was way larger than her, but she found it rather comforting.

  “He is something, but I just don’t buy into the Faeroe bit, Sable.” Jack sighed as he ran his hands over his head in frustration.

  He had abandoned his leather coat, and the black turtleneck he wore strained to contain the large muscles that flowed under his skin. He looked down at Sable, arms crossed over his chest, his brown eyes worried, as he stared at his fri
end and favorite sculptor.

  “Then what do you suppose he is?”

  “I have no idea!” He threw his arms up and leaned back into the cushions of her couch. “But I don’t think he’s human.”

  “How else would you explain the ears, and the sudden appearance, the fact that he doesn’t speak a word of English or that purple light show that has Jillian feeling all warm and gooey?”

  “Hormones?”

  “Not even Jillian in all of his glory can produce that many hormones to make his very own laser-light show in my living room! That man is a Faeroe, Jack, as sure as my name is Sable.”

  “But Faeroes are tiny creatures,” Jack argued, still having trouble coming to grips with what was before his eyes. “They have wings and grant wishes.”

  “You’ve been watching Disney too long.” Sable countered. “All you have to do is look around, Jack. We are in the heart of magic country. Scotland is known for magic rings and other magical devices and Druids. And in Celtic legend, Faeroes are large warriors sent to stop evil and help the weak. Look at Finn McCool.”

  “Even if this farfetched story is true, Sable, what evil is surrounding you so that you need your very own personal Finn McCool? Are your sculptures suddenly going to come to life and terrorize the populace?”

  That brought Sable up short. Why would she be sent a Faeroe?

  “Maybe, he is here to…I don’t know, Jack. But he is here, and we have to see to him until we know why.”

  “We?” He lifted one black eyebrow at her, and his eyes darkened in disbelief.

  “Well, I have to see to him then.”

  Before she could answer, there was a thump and a holler from the bedroom.

  Abandoning their conversation, both Sable and Jack jumped to their feet and raced, tripping over each other, to the bedroom.

  “Jill!” Jack called as he and Sable played slap and tickle with the doorknob, each trying their best and fumbling over each other’s fingers to turn the darn thing. “What is going on?”

  Forced open by the combined weight of Jack and Sable, the door exploded inward, slamming against the wall with a thump. Jack and Sable almost hit the floor in a tangle of long arms and legs as they stumbled inward to see…

  …Jill and Torn lying on the floor, or rather, Jill lying on top of Torn on the floor, both of them tangled in a stretched-out T-shirt.

  Torn’s head was missing, probably stuck in a sleeve, one arm under the writhing mass of masculinity, the other trying to hold Jill off the floor.

  Jill, on the other hand, was half-straddling Torn’s writhing body, one arm inside the shirt, trying to untangle from the cotton, the other trying to pull ropes of Torn’s hair out of his face with the other. His head was twisted at an odd angle as he tried to scream soothing words to Torn through his laughter.

  “Need help?” Sable finally managed, fighting to hold in her amusement at the situation. She never thought she would see the day when Jill was unflapped enough to sit on someone to get them dressed properly, although he had threatened her with that same fate many times.

  “Help? I think he’s cheating on me!” Jack added, his deep voice full of amusement even as he tilted his head to the side to observe this phenomenon.

  “Very funny,” Jill chuckled, then winced as Torn again tried to shove him off of his chest. “A little help would be in order right about now!”

  “But you look so comfortable,” Jack teased as he made his way over to the writhing pair. “You look almost happy.”

  “Jack!” Jill called, turning red in the face. “I don’t think that he can breathe.”

  “Get him off!” Sable called as she stood wringing her hands helplessly. Could someone die from inhaling a T-shirt?

  With one mighty heave, Jack lifted Jill off Torn, pulling his face free from the Faeroe’s clinging hair, and pulling his arm free of the shirt.

  Torn sighed in relief as Sable quickly moved in and tugged the shirt off his face. As she pulled the shirt aside, a pair of exasperated purple eyes met hers, and blinked slowly.

  “T-shirt,” he offered before struggling to sit up.

  “Oh Torn,” Sable sighed as she pushed his hair out of his face.

  Torn froze at the contact. Still, she was touching him like no one had ever touched him. He found that the more this female touched him, the more he enjoyed it. That she was touching him, and not being forced to, was almost unbelievable to him.

  Her touch was comforting as she pushed the hair off his face, her fingers calloused, yet soft and feminine. It tingled where her fingers brushed against his lips, the side of his face. It tingled deep in his stomach and along his shoulders, and in his lower back, such a delicious tingle.

  And when her eyes looked deeply into his, he felt a flash of heat right down to his toes.

  He looked down and saw his cock jump and swell a bit, beginning to tent his pants before he could pull his reaction under control.

  He blushed as he looked around to see if any of the men caught his breach of manners, or if Sable had felt his growing desire.

  They all stared back at him, Jack in bemusement, Jill in amusement, and Sable in sheer amazement.

  He felt damn good between her thighs.

  “I don’t think he likes you that way, Jill,” Jack finally managed to say, his eyes going from Torn to Sable, who was still trying to mother the large man despite the flush filling her face because she was trying to fight her own reactions to the man.

  Jill just exploded into laughter.

  “What?” Sable asked as she turned from the endearingly innocent face of her Faeroe to view the two men.

  “Never mind, doll,” Jill snickered. “It’s something that you wouldn’t understand.”

  Sable shrugged and reached for the shirt. In seconds, she had popped the white, cotton garment over his head and tugged his hair free.

  The armholes were self-explanatory, so in seconds he had the shirt on and was standing, admiring the new ensemble.

  “Crietched don geta!” he said. Leather looks better.

  But he would not insult his hosts by pointing out that the garments left little to the imagination.

  “I think he likes it!” Jill laughed as he saw Torn bend sideways and crane his neck around to see what he looked like from the back.

  “I think Sable likes it more,” Jack added, peering at his friend.

  And Sable, well, Sable was staring in open-mouthed disbelief. Torn was one hot Faeroe, no matter how he was dressed, or undressed for that matter. But in his clothes, he looked more human, more manly, and less otherworldly. Even though the eyes and ears were a dead giveaway, Torn still looked…tasty.

  “Uh, Torn, you look fine,” she squeaked, and Torn just stared at her, his eyes glowing softly as he read conflicting emotions in her eyes.

  But he remained silent, taking in all that her body told him, and puzzling over it. Was she beginning to desire him as well?

  She couldn’t understand a word that he’s saying anyway, he thought sadly as he stared at her body, still covered by layers of clothing. He wondered what she would look like nude.

  Too bad he would never know. Sable was not for him because he didn’t want a woman, any woman, and especially a red-haired woman.

  No matter what his body tried to tell him, he didn’t need another woman in his life. He didn’t need a lover who would betray him or try to kill him. He was better off on his own, relationship-wise.

  What he needed was a friend, and that’s what Sable was. But then, why was his body telling him otherwise?

  Not knowing what else to do with the confusion that settled in his soul, he smiled, then sighed as she returned the gesture.

  When did her smiles began to feel so nice, to mean so much?

  So like a pair of idiots, they stood there and smiled.

  They never even noticed Jill’s look of contented joy or Jack’s worried gaze.

  They just stood there and smiled.

  * * * * *

  “How coul
d he do this to me?” Zultha raged as she paced in the confines of her hiding place. Several small rodents scampered out of her way as she paced in the dim light of the fire.

  Dancing shadows cavorted along the walls as she crossed her arms over her chest and muttered to herself.

  “After all that I did for Torn, he would betray me this way!”

  She had yelled, paced, and stormed in the small stone cavern until her throat had hurt, but her anger remained, eating at her soul.

  “I will have to find him and make him pay,” she muttered as she stopped to sit at a large boulder. “He brought me to this low place, and I will make him pay!”

  In the past days, she had hidden from Terror’s guards and the hunters from the Magic Realm. Brought here by her father’s supporters, her family had angered the Master of the Magic, and he wanted all parties involved to pay him a little visit.

  He wanted someone to blame, she thought, because he fell for her father’s plan. And because his daughter had turned on him, once again, after suddenly appearing from the dead, he wanted to slake his anger in her family’s blood.

  But how was she supposed to know that Torn, with his strange ways and odd looks, was the Reaver? It was a solid plan, a good plan, but Torn had ruined it for her.

  He had never shown any hint of the mystical properties that the Reaver possessed in the past, and he was just supposed to be a pawn in the game.

  She had underestimated him. And he had killed her father’s men, and brought the wrath of the Master of Magic down upon their heads. Even the talisman the Master had made her refused to work against Torn in Reaver form.

  So then, she reasoned, it was Torn’s fault, all his fault. She needed someone of her own to blame, and he was it.

  This was all Torn’s fault! If he had died like he was supposed to, none of this would have happened. If not for that violet-eyed mistake, her parents would not be trapped in the Magic Realm, all of their holdings taken away, and she would not have to hide herself away in this wretched cave.