“A god.” He waggled his brows. “But I assure you, I am very much a man.” He placed her soapy slick hand around his straining cock.
Her eyes rolled back at the jolt of sizzling pleasure.
Heavy and thick, his shaft pulsed, causing her mouth and sex to water. Licking her lips, she drew her other hand along him, not cleaning him so much as increasing his ardor. She wanted him desperately. If she could not have him within her soon, she thought she would implode upon herself and dwindle into a puff that a strong breeze would sweep away.
“As much as I am enjoying this, I think we will be late if we linger.” He pulled her hands from his sex.
A groan of pure frustration reverberated in her chest.
He shushed her gently and began to soap her body. “My sweat and blood mark you, so I should clean you.” He intoned the words as if prophecy. She tried not to hear the trace of mockery in his tone, but she did. He humored her. He belittled her attraction. He was fully aware of his power and made light of her attraction to it. She wanted to resist his allure, but her frail human body could not.
His soapy strokes were like liquid sex. Each part he touched sprang to awareness. Swaying on her feet, she transcended beyond her physical self. She hovered on the edge of a profound orgasm but could not push over since he did not want her to. Lost in golden clouds of ecstasy, she reached for a higher plane and came close to touching Jarasine. On the verge of parting the veil to the misty world of the gods, she plummeted back to Diola and found herself wrapped in a towel.
Lost in a daze of lust, she had to rely on Chur to prompt her through the rest of the preparation ritual. She oiled him, determined to keep her focus, but again she uttered mewling pleasure groans as her hands slicked along his muscles. When she knelt to cover his legs, she couldn’t help but part her lips and slide them worshipfully across his cock. Pearls of moisture tingled her tongue with delicious magic. She wanted to drink his climax.
“I am hard enough,” Chur said, stepping back.
His withdrawal was like a slap in the face.
He plucked the umer off the table and consumed it with one mighty swallow. A grimace curled his lips. “Gah, it still tastes like burnt wood.” He dropped the cup to the table, then handed her the slender bottle of estal oil.
His attitude was strictly professional. Again, her heart lurched. From his posture to his words smacked of duty and nothing else. Her lips upon his cock didn’t seem to even arouse him. He’d pulled away without any regret. After everything she had done, to help him, to protect him, even giving her very life for him—her sacrifices meant nothing. He had ascended. No matter what he said, he was a god. She was nothing but a sterile mortal, a lowly servant. A paratanist created from a horrific ritual that left her too damaged to be a bondmate to a man, let alone a god.
Pride stiffened her spine even as she knelt before him. She refused to beg or remind him of his impassioned words. Drizzling the golden estal oil to her palm, she coated his cock with rhythmic clinical movements. When she finished, she stood, recapped the oil, and placed it on the table. Unceremoniously, she wiped her hands on a harshan, then tossed the towel aside.
He frowned.
Ignoring his alluring intensity, she helped him don his leggings, his wide belt, and his ceremonial sword with swift, mechanical movements. Last, and most reluctantly, she helped him slip on his booming footwear. Her revulsion for those horrible boots helped her distance herself from his potent appeal.
Once she had dressed him, she stood, and immediately turned away. She couldn’t bear to look at him. In his eyes, she feared she would find pity, confusion, or a mocking indulgence. She could not read his mind, but surely he could tap hers without her knowledge. Gods did things like that. They took advantage of mortals and used them to their own ends.
Determined to cling to her role without any demand upon him, Enovese shrouded herself in her baggy robe. Rough fabric chafed her flesh after his silken touch, but she ignored the assault. She vowed she would play her role to the bitter end. Covering her face with the cowl hood, she placed her bag of accoutrements around her waist and lifted her hand to the door, directing him to precede her for she must walk ten paces behind.
Chur stomped to the carved Onic door.
His boots boomed, echoing in the small space of his rooms.
She cringed. Gritting her teeth, she moved to follow.
He flung the door open hard enough to imbed the black wood into the wall.
She did not react.
Glowing golden, Chur strode down the hall as if he owned the entire palace. In a way, he did. For she intuitively knew no weapon could harm him, and any woman he turned his attentions on would instantly fall at his feet. He would enter the Harvest room and have his pick of any virgin there. Broken in form, he would not select her.
Meekly, she took double-time steps to keep up with his massive strides.
He bothered not to look back to see if she followed for he knew she would. Such was her station to serve the Harvester.
Two palace guards blocked the double hung doors to the Harvest room. Despite years of training, they gasped when they saw Chur. Both recovered quickly. They grasped the massive handles and pulled the doors open.
Chur strode into the elaborately decorated room. Since this was the harvest for Kasmiri, the servants had spared no expense in ornamentation. More gleaming fruits and vegetables littered the floor than ever before. Garlands sagged with a profusion of leaves and autumn flowers. Rather than water in the fountains, red wine splashed in garish spurts, reminding her of horrid battle wounds.
She slipped in behind him before the doors closed. Moving to her alcove, she pressed her back into the wall. Cold and hard, just like her future. Anger flushed the chill from her bones. Why had he ascended when she’d made just as many sacrifices? Had he known all along the poison would have this effect? When she examined the contents, she determined it was a simple concentration of a deadly herb, but there was something odd about the coolness and weight of the bottle.
Chur stopped to consider the portraits of the prior Harvesters. Enovese thought they had captured only harsh brutality, for not a one smiled. Each man looked ready to leap from the wall snarling and waving a weapon. None was as perfectly formed or as beautiful as Chur. She wondered what his portrait would look like, but his portrait would go up only when he selected a bondmate.
What if he decided to continue as the Harvester? No mortal man could best him, and if he didn’t age…the entire structure of the Harvest prophecy would change forever. Now that he knew the secret of the chalice, he would not allow that practice to continue. Paratanists would eventually disappear. Who would serve the Harvesters? Her stomach roiled, for she knew Chur would demand she remain as his paratanist until she could no longer do so. Then what would he do with her? Fury and fear danced hand and hand in her mind. Knowing she had no choice, she huddled in her alcove.
Chur turned his attention to the long sacrifice table. The virgins lay perfectly still, shrouded in their gaudy finery, each trying to outdo the other. Kasmiri caught her eye, for she was the only one dressed in a blaze of crimson and diamonds. Even though it was against the rules, servants had given Kasmiri a bit more space than the other girls had, probably so she would stand out even more. Not that she needed any assistance there. Glittering gems encrusted every inch of her robe and the pillow below her head. Kasmiri glared at the ceiling with profound boredom. She was one of those sacrifices who just couldn’t wait for the ritual to end.
Enovese considered the other virgins and some looked more irritated than Kasmiri, but others had rapture in their eyes. They believed in the transcending power of the ritual. Still others appeared nervous yet hopeful. Usually those who had that peculiar combination wanted Chur to select them. She imaged her face, under her robe, had that tense but optimistic blend.
As Chur adjusted his ceremonial sword and approached the first sacrifice, her last hope that he would choose her evaporated.
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Chur gazed down at the first sacrifice. Sallow faced with enormous brown eyes, her bright orange robe clashed with her ginger hair. He remembered her as the chatty girl from the Festival of Temptation. He also remembered her father from Kasmiri’s party. Following form, her father offered her up as an easily manipulated doormat that would do as he wished, if only he would claim her. When she looked up at him, her mouth parted with wonder, but she quickly lowered her gaze. The reaction caused him to grimace. Enovese had a similar response. He thought the odd glow to his skin was disconcerting, but it seemed to have lessened into a burnished radiance. When she flitted her gaze up and down again, he realized it was not fear for she was not cowering; she was in awe of him.
Suddenly, all of Enovese’s reactions clarified.
“Paratanist!” he bellowed, calling her forth.
She appeared at his side.
Her cowl hood covered her face, but he could tell she kept her head lowered nonetheless. A tender part of his heart splintered. He had not even tried to console her before leaving his rooms. So wrapped up in his own startling transformation, he never considered what this change meant for her. Slipping to her mind as easily as slipping a blade to his belt, he instantly knew her fear that he would no longer want her. That he would continue to be the Harvester for endless seasons. That he would force her to serve him while he lived the life of an indulged god.
He realized he could change the scope of the prophecy forever. The choice was up to him. As much as the power appealed to him, he did not want to shoulder the burden.
Lifting his hands, he pushed the hood of her robe back with great care. Enovese kept her head lowered. Tears shimmered on her cheeks. When he wiped them away, he felt her heartbreak through his wet fingertips. She loved him so much she died to protect him. Now, she was willing to let him go. Rather than making the choice for him, she would leave everything up to him. She could not have given him a greater gift.
He clasped her cold hand and drew her to the head of the table.
She looked at the narrow space above the virgins’ pillows.
Effortlessly, he lifted her and placed her upon the padded white surface.
Enovese gasped in surprise.
After a moment of hesitation, she settled back into the proper pose. Radiant with delight, she was far more stunning than any woman he’d ever known. Even without enhancements, her clear beauty dazzled his eyes. Her hair sparkled in the crystal light, reflecting every harvest color, displaying her indigo starburst eyes to perfection. Most pleasing of all, her truculent nose tilted above her coral lips, which curved into a joyous smile.
He cupped her knees with hands now absent of scars. He slid her forward and parted her thighs. When the rough fabric of her robe clung to her legs, he whisked it aside impatiently. Meticulously shaved and glistening, her coral lipped sex parted eagerly for him.
Enovese flashed him an impish grin.
In that singular moment, he fell irrevocably in love with her all over again. She understood him. She accepted him. She soothed his pains, blessed his needs, aroused his every sense, and accepted his foibles along with his strengths. She knew him down to the very vestiges of his most miserable self. Despite it all, she still loved him.
Chur placed her left foot on the hilt of his sword, lifted her right foot up to his shoulder until her leg was almost straight against his chest. Breathless with anticipation, he pushed the elaborate codpiece aside. In spite of the umer and the estal oil, he felt every pulsing inch of his cock. By proximity, he felt her wet heat longing to smooth around his sex.
Upon a deep breath, he tasted the tangy sweet of her arousal, which only hardened him further. Flowers and spices infused her scent. If he did not possess her, he would go mad. Pheromones filled the room, but nothing enticed him as profoundly as her bouquet. Only Enovese would ever soothe his wanton needs.
In the ancient tongue, he uttered, “By might of the blade I claim that which belongs to me.” He paused just long enough to cause worry to flitter across her face, then added, “I claim you as my bondmate.”
Enovese lifted her face and spoke in the same language, “I freely give myself to you as my bondmate.”
Plunging deep within her silky passage compelled a shared groan to erupt between them. His miraculous transformation offered him no protection from his insatiable lust for Enovese. She fit around him as if she had always belonged to him and forever would. Her pulse matched his. Her breath paced his. Gazes locked and he lost himself within her commanding stare.
Her foot lifted from the hilt of his sword and moved around to his back, clutching him closer. He lowered her other leg so now she held him tightly between trembling thighs as he clutched her bottom. Digging his fingertips into her flesh, he yanked her close, pounding into her with a need to be deeper. Something told him he must merge with her fully or lose everything. Sweat pushed through the oil coating his skin, heating him as if Tandalsul beat down upon his back.
When she leaned up, clasping his shoulders, she tightened around him. His cock pulsed to bursting and he trapped a scream of passionate surrender in his throat.
She nestled her mouth to his ear and whispered three simple words.
An orgasm started at his extremities, blazed along his nerves, built to a bundle at the center of his body, then erupted with such power he shook the table below her writhing form. Repeatedly, he pumped into her body until he collapsed against the edge, spent and shaking. In that moment, he touched the divine essence the gods bestowed upon him. He understood everything from the light, the changes, the struggles—everything made a perfect, wonderful sense. He was not meant to change the prophecy by continuing its traditions; he was designed to change the world by his relationship with Enovese. For even though there was no outward sign, the gods had blessed Enovese far more profoundly.
Below him, still panting from her pleasure, her pale skin gleamed with the pure brightness of the finest crystal. Her light jade eyes had deepened to the color of the Valry Sea in storm. The starburst of deep indigo in the iris blazed with intensity. Coral peach lips parted with gasping breaths.
“I love you, Enovese.”
He had not known how desperately she needed to hear him speak the words until he did. Knowing the sentiment as truth in her heart was not the same as hearing him say it.
“I love you, Chur.”
Wrapping her up in his arms, he pulled her from the table, and then suddenly became aware of rumblings from the sacrifices. He had forgotten them all in his drive to possess Enovese. He set her on her feet and then smoothed her robe.
When she moved to pull her hood up, he stopped her. “Do not cover your face ever again. No bondmate of mine will hide her beauty.” Whispering to her ear, he added, “Let them gaze upon you and seethe with jealousy.”
She cast him that delightful impish grin as she lifted her truculent nose. “What if they fall at my feet? Will you still allow me to dazzle them with my beauty?”
He chuckled. “Worship you they may, but to touch you”—he clasped his blade—“will result in the loss of a limb.”
Placing her hand upon his, she said, “Understand the same applies to you. Women may look, but there will be no touching, except by me.”
He readily agreed. He didn’t want any woman to touch him but Enovese. There was no weakness in this, only strength. He saw through the prophecy, saw clearly how indoctrination shaped his views. Sex did not weaken him. Only sex without love could diminish his spirit. Merging with Enovese transcended the physical. With her, he went far beyond a lover or the mechanical Harvester. In her arms, he became the man the gods meant him to be—strong, secure, utterly at peace.
Whispered babble grew louder as the virgins waited for the ceremony to commence. Those at the south end of the table had no idea what had happened, so those at the north end were whispering that the Harvester had chosen his bondmate. Sacrifice by sacrifice, the information traveled to the end of the table. A myriad of emotions crossed their faces i
ncluding relief, sadness, annoyance, bitterness, and even betrayal.
Clearing his throat, Chur said, “I have chosen my bondmate. Another Harvester will attend you shortly.” He took Enovese’s hand. “Come, we must tell the guards to call the magistrate.”
She squeezed his hand, conveying her fear of reprisal.
“Don’t worry. None would dare to thwart my will in selecting you.”
Crushing his hand in panic, Enovese gasped, “You cannot fight them all.”
Drawing a breath that puffed his massive chest, Chur laughed. “You said yourself that I was a god. Do you think any of them can harm me?”
Demure, Enovese lowered her head. “They would not dare to harm you, but I think they would seek to destroy me. You know what Clathia said.”
“Ah, Enovese!” He laughed. “You are beyond me!” Her frown of confusion softened his tone. “How could you not have surmised the most basic truth of who you are? Think of the carving on the door and on the chalice box. Male and female Harvesters entwined. Merging so fully you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. What comes of that union?”
“A paratanist.” Her voice was soft. Shock widened her eyes.
“I think, if we dig deeply enough into the past, we will find the ancients revered paratanists. Somewhere during five thousand seasons, jealousy forced them into servants. If I am a god, then you are a goddess, and you have been one from the moment of your birth.”
A frown creased her brow as the wheels turned in her mind.
“Think of why, from the moment you could walk, you were covered in a robe and trained only to speak when spoken to. It was to protect others from your allure.”
Her lips parted with surprise, but her eyes narrowed with disbelief.
“Everything that happened to us, the connection, the power in our union, all that has sprung from you, from the supremacy inherent in you. The gods didn’t transform me. You did. So that I would match you in power.”
When she moved to argue the point, he pushed the moment of clarity into her mind, causing her to sway on her feet.
Wicked Harvest Page 29
