Smirking, swinging the cirvant in wide arcs, Ard circled Chur like a hungry dog. Ard lunged, snagged a shallow thrust to Chur’s upper arm, and then withdrew before Chur could react.
Blood oozed.
Twice more Ard pricked his arms, clearly determined to drain him slowly.
In the background, Chur heard Helton’s gruff voice encouraging Ard to finish him quickly. Twirling, Ard slashed across Chur’s chest. Blood washed down from the cut, cooling his body. The shock dropped Chur to his knees.
When Ard played to the crowd with a chuckling lift of his weapon-clad hand, Chur thrust out, stabbing Ard in the lower back, deep enough to damage his kidney.
Furious, Ard swung around. Wild and unfocused, his blow swept over Chur’s ducked head.
Chur stood and sliced his cirvant in a series of carefully placed arcs. Where Ard wanted to humble Chur by slicing him slowly, Chur took Helton’s words to heart; he aimed to finish as fast as possible.
Blood spurted along several major arteries.
Ard wobbled. He cast his green eyes down, stunned, dismayed, and then cast his gaze to Chur.
Ard collapsed. A crimson pool spread around him. At least in his last moments he wore the color of the empress.
Chur stood over him.
“Finish me.”
Chur plunged the blade deep into Ard’s heart, killing him instantly. Enovese cringed, but he assured her his action was the kindest cut of all. To leave Ard alive and bleeding was malicious for they would wait for him to exsanguinate. A quick, painless death was the last compassionate gift Chur could give.
Ambo again ascended the platform, pronounced Ard dead, cast Chur a furious snarl, and then dissolved into shadow as recruits removed the body.
Another discussion between Helton and the recruits ensued as Chur stood bleeding. His arm and chest thrummed with pain and the trickle of blood began to fuddle his mind. He’d thought the cuts shallow, but on second consideration, he realized they were deep enough to cause a steady flow of blood. His connection to Enovese grew tenuous. A wave of panic ensued.
Bright as the light that blinded them, Enovese pushed to his mind, whispering, I’m here, I’m here.
Chur answered, I feel you.
Strength galvanized his form.
“If there are no more challengers the magistrate must call an end to the challenge.”
After a hushed debate, Sterlave ascended the steps.
Chur had hoped that he would not have to face a man he genuinely cared about, a man he honestly thought would be a valid contender for Harvester. He shot a glare in the direction of what he thought was Helton. How dare he manipulate this honorable man into a challenge for his own end?
Sterlave entered the platform without a weapon. He had chosen to fight bare handed.
No wonder Helton was furious. His oil and blood coating gave Chur a distinct advantage. As an experienced fighter, Sterlave understood this. What would prompt him to wrestle at a disadvantage?
Chur took a neutral position in the center of the platform with his feet shoulder-width apart, his hands open and ready.
Sterlave mimicked the stance.
They nodded and the match began.
Sterlave executed an offensive takedown by lowering his head and shoulder, and charging toward Chur.
Chur created an angle and drove across his hips, knocking him sideways. Using his forward momentum, Chur hooked his leg to Sterlave’s, tripping him back.
On the way down, Sterlave attempted to grasp Chur’s hand but only caught his wrist. Chur broke the hold by rotating his arm. He grasped Sterlave’s hand. Following him down, Chur rolled him over and pushed his arm up to the middle of his back.
Sterlave growled.
Lowering his head, Chur whispered, “You should not have challenged me.”
“I didn’t have a choice.” Sterlave lifted his hips, trying to buck Chur off, but Chur had him locked down. “Just finish me.”
In that hushed plea, Chur understood Sterlave had witnessed Helton’s behavior and knew what was going on, but he was powerless to stop the mass challenge. Sterlave took no pride in fighting a wounded man, a man cheated, but he also couldn’t refuse Helton’s order to enter the platform. To refuse was to exhibit cowardice.
Releasing his hold, Chur stood.
Sterlave took to his feet, blinking confusion.
A rumble erupted. Above the rabble, Chur heard Helton’s voice encouraging Sterlave to take advantage.
Eyeing each other, Chur and Sterlave ignored the crowd and circled around each other.
Plunging his head into Chur’s chest, Sterlave executed another takedown move but held back and asked, “Why did you release me?”
Grasping his shoulder, as if to take him down, Chur said, “I don’t want to kill you.”
“Then I have no choice but to kill you.”
Grappling, they fought for advantage.
Regret caused Chur to give quarter when he knew he shouldn’t.
Lament caused Sterlave to do the same.
Sluggish, time passed as the crowd around them grew restless.
Clearly, neither man had his heart in killing mode.
Chur realized the more he dragged the battle out, the more his blood loss drained his energy. He labored for breath, and what air he drew tasted of copper and sweat. He didn’t want to kill Sterlave, but he had no choice.
With an aggressive step-in, Sterlave sought advantage, pinning Chur down, wrapping his arm around his neck, squeezing until Chur’s vision swam gray.
Bucking his hips, struggling to break the hold, Chur lost his connection to Enovese.
Like a vise, Sterlave’s arm crushed his neck, blocking blood flow, jamming his gasping breaths. How cruel that in his kindness he would taste defeat.
A rush of white light enveloped his body. Chur found a well of power. Bucking Sterlave off, he rolled him over and wrapped his arm around his neck. Squeezing, Chur blocked his breathing until Sterlave moved no more.
Even though he’d won, Chur took no pride in the accomplishment. He slid off Sterlave’s lifeless form and stood. Ambo ascended the platform, pronounced Sterlave dead, and then allowed the recruits to carry him away.
“Call an end to this now.”
Reluctantly, Ambo decreed the challenge finished. Ambo moved to grasp Chur’s hand, to proclaim him victorious, but Chur shoved his hand away.
“You are a man without honor.”
Ambo sneered. Chur no longer cared. His connection to Enovese snapped. He stomped off the platform. As he strode nude to his rooms, thinking only of Enovese, he heard only a dead whoosh of emptiness.
Blood, gore, and sweat dripped off his form as dread consumed his heart. No matter how focused, he could not connect to her.
Alarm quickened his steps.
Shoving open the carved Onic door, Chur stopped dead in his tracks.
Enovese lay in a collapsed heap in the middle of his rooms.
Legs and arms akimbo, she resembled a broken doll tossed aside by an uncaring child. So similar to what he imagined she would look after the paratanist selection ritual.
He panicked.
“No, no, no!” Chur rushed toward her pale and fragile form.
Cupping her up, pulling her nude body to him, he hefted her lifeless corpse into his arms. Her eyes were open, unfocused, dead. Trapping a scream in his throat, Chur placed his mouth to hers.
Breathing life to her, he crushed her close, begging repeatedly, “I love you. Don’t leave me. I love you.”
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Bathed in white, Enovese floated.
She gave all of her life, her power, and her essence to Chur to ensure he won the challenge.
Drained, she collapsed.
In the last moments, she tasted his antagonism, his reluctance to kill a man he admired, but Enovese pushed all her being to him in an effort to help him triumph. When she gave the last of herself, she had no idea if he won or lost. She committed herself to him knowing that she had drained he
rself beyond the point of no return.
Death embraced her, taking her away from the mortal realm.
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Terrified that she would kill herself if he lost, Chur had no idea she would sacrifice herself to ensure he won.
Clutching her lifeless body, he cast his gaze about his rooms. Enovese had laid out his gear, the umer, the estal oil, and all the accoutrements for his Harvest ritual. After a challenge, she would give him a viscous drink that would revive his senses, his strength. Locating the bottle, he poured half into a cup, then placed it to her lips.
“Drink.”
Honey thick, the drink spilled beyond her lips.
Chur again pushed his breath to her.
Enovese remained dead in his arms.
Sinking down, clasping her close, he fell to the floor, breathing his life to her lips. Imagining the white light, he called it forth, begging the brightness to enshrine their bodies.
When nothing happened, he breathed harder into her body, inflating her lungs with his breath.
Enovese laid mute, eyes wide and lifeless.
Lifting his face to the heavens, Chur begged, “Take me instead. Let her live!”
Pressing his lips over hers, he breathed into her again.
Nothing mattered to him but having her back. He could not go on without Enovese. How malicious of him to drain her for the challenge. He didn’t know how he’d had so much strength, but now he did. Enovese channeled her life force to him. Chur drained her to win. He killed a man he respected by draining the woman he loved. Desperate, Chur breathed into her body, imploring the light to consume him.
“I will do anything you ask if you will just bring her back.”
Brilliant, blinding brightness consumed Chur’s form. Still cradling Enovese, Chur blinked into the glare.
“Tell me, Harvester, do you wish to save yourself or her?”
Chur didn’t hesitate. “Her.”
“Do you love her?” the sexless voice asked mockingly.
“More than my next breath. I will give my life for her.”
“Then drink,” the sexless voice encouraged, casting light unto the vial of poison.
Hesitating, Chur grasped Enovese close. “Bring her back first.”
A chuckle reverberated through his mind, his rooms. “Drink and I will bring her back.”
Chur let Enovese slide from his arms. He approached the vial, cupped it to his palm, uncapped the bottle, and lifted the pale blue glass to his lips. Casting his gaze back to Enovese, he tilted the vial and let the cold liquid flow down his throat.
As he gasped with the pain of death, Enovese gasped with life. Turning to her, desperate to tell her everything, Chur died.
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Dirty light wrenched her back to the mortal realm. Enovese resisted for the clean bright light was warm, comforting, and pure. She did not want to return to a life of struggle and pain. Only thoughts of Chur compelled her to go back. She would suffer anything to be with him. When she blinked open her eyes, she saw Chur standing near the kitchen, consuming the vial of poison.
“No!” The one word strangled out of her throat as she coughed up traces of Chur’s reviving drink. She scrambled to her feet as he fell to his knees.
His mouth moved without sound.
He collapsed.
Her heart shattered into countless shards. Tears blurred her vision. Why would he consume the poison when he’d begged her never to take such a dark option?
Dropping next to him, she ripped the glowing vial out of his hand. When she found it empty, she threw it against the wall. Thick blue glass bounced off and skittered across the floor.
“Chur?” Cradling his head, she lowered her lips to his, determined to taste the poison and join him in death. She probed his mouth with her tongue and tasted not bitterness but the sweetest ambrosia.
Chur gasped, pulling her breath from her lungs.
Elated, she called his name over and over, kissing his lips, his strong jaw, his sweaty brow. She touched his neck to make sure her senses had not deceived her. A strong, steady heartbeat pulsed under her fingertips. When he wrapped her up in the power of his arms and crushed her to his chest, she released the tears simmering in her eyes. Oil and dried blood smeared her body and assaulted her nose, but she didn’t care. He was alive. He was kissing her. He was holding her. He was murmuring her name.
And he was glowing.
“Chur?” She struggled to move back, to see him more clearly, but he refused to release her.
“I don’t want to let you go.” He inhaled her scent and grasped handfuls of her hair, turning her head to better angle his possession of her mouth. In between passionate kisses, he murmured, “I know I’m glowing because I can feel power surging along my nerves.”
Reaching out with her mind to his, she had barely touched the surface before she abruptly withdrew.
“Enovese?”
“Too much, too intense, I—I’ve never felt anything so superior.” That wasn’t the right word but she couldn’t verbalize exactly how overpowered and insignificant she felt when she connected. “Almost as if I touched the mind of…a god.”
Chur uttered a laugh that was more demonic than divine. “I am not a god.” He released her from his embrace.
As she leaned back, her breath caught in her throat. Golden light shimmered just below his flesh. His beauty caused her eyes to water. No scar marred his form. All the cuts and bruises from the challenge disappeared. Even the blood and sweat vanished. When she looked down, she still had streaks of both on her body, but he was clean, as if he had just stepped from the Valry Sea. Leaning near, she inhaled his essence and was relieved to discover his familiar masculine scent, but she found a new fragrance, something arousing and compelling. The perfume made her want to throw herself at his feet in obeisance, or fall to her back and part her thighs.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Chur stood and offered her a hand up.
Trembling, she clasped his hand. A shock flashed across her skin, tingling her blood, flooding her sex with sudden arousal.
His brows lifted at her reaction.
“You’re beautiful.”
A wry smile twisted his face. Without the scar to lift his upper lip, it was a grin of intriguing sensuality. “I can’t imagine that trading in death has improved my features.”
Enovese drew him to the mirror.
His jaw dropped. “My scars. All of my scars are gone.” He traced his hand along his chest and face. Leaning near to the mirror, he examined himself with more horror than wonder. “What happened to my eyes?”
Summer-sky blue had deepened to a crystal azure that gleamed with frightful intensity. When he turned them on her, she lowered her head automatically. She wasn’t even aware she had done so until after she completed the motion.
He cupped his hand to her chin and tilted her face, but she kept her eyes downcast.
“Look at me.”
Lifting her gaze to his, she almost swooned. She felt utterly exposed and terribly unworthy to stand in his presence. An acolyte should be properly anointed, not naked and befouled with blood and sweat.
“Why do you cower away from me?”
Even his voice had changed. It was deeper, richer, and painfully arousing, and Enovese knew that even his whisper would command authority. His presence struck her mute. When he glowered with frustration, she panicked and tried to fling herself to the floor in supplication.
Chur grasped her shoulders and commanded her to speak.
Mustering her strength, reminding herself that he was still the Chur she loved, she whispered, “I want to drop to my knees and either worship you or take you into my mouth. Perhaps both.”
A booming laugh filled the room. “I’d prefer the latter.”
When she moved to comply, he chuckled and stopped her. “Not now, Enovese. We must ready for the Harvest.”
A new terror tingled her flesh. Now that he had changed so profoundly, perhaps his thoughts had changed as well. Woul
d he claim her now that he was a god? If this miraculous change could wipe away his scars, it surely could repair his infertility. A god could have any woman. A god could have many women. A god did not have to settle for only one woman. She longed to probe his mind, but her earlier experience frightened her from even trying.
Chur turned his attention to the accoutrements she had placed upon the table. “I think we can dispense with the reviving drink.” He flexed his golden muscles in a slow-motion wave of masculine power that shivered her with attraction. “I believe I have been fully revived.”
She nodded. Even though she had performed this ritual many times, the particulars escaped her. His presence was far too distracting and she could not think straight.
Chur sensed her hesitancy. “First, we bathe.”
He strode to the unit. Every muscle in his body moved in sensual concert. At once, she couldn’t wait to touch him but then feared to do so. He seemed larger than he had before. Powerful, dangerous, and arousing—he was the ultimate male. Perhaps, she thought, he was a god of war and sex, for that’s what he embodied. How dare she, a lowly servant, dare to touch a god?
“Come.” He crooked his finger and her knees threatened to give way, but she moved to his side with sheer determination.
Trembling, she set the water to the right temperature. As he wetted himself, she smoothed the soap between her hands, building the lather. Every sense heightened. She noticed the luxurious feel of the soap, the pop of bubbles against her flesh, even the woodsy scent smelled stronger.
He lowered his head so she could reach.
Her first contact caused her sex to gush anew.
Touching him was sublime.
Smooth and silky as astle, his skin compelled her to explore. She marveled in every plane of his skull, the shape of his ears, the power of his neck and shoulders.
A low chuckle rumbled through his chest as he rinsed the soap from his face. “Ah, Enovese, your moans of pure pleasure are most arousing.”
She hadn’t even been aware of making any noise but realized she oohed and ahhed as she washed him. “I can’t help myself. Touching you is like touching…”
Wicked Harvest Page 28
