Dark Harvest

by Anitra Lynn McLeod

  Loban had tried to include Chur in his dark dreams, but he couldn’t. Fear held him back. He worried that somehow, just thinking about him might alert Chur, as if he would know. He shivered in the warm, moist air. If Chur had any inkling of what he was doing, he wouldn’t hesitate. There would be no brand of shame placed upon his forehead as he returned to his village. No, Chur would annihilate him.

  “But when power fills me, and we are evenly matched, I will best him once and for all.”

  Loban turned his attention to a pair of dark haired servants. The two women looked so similar they had to be sisters. Ensuring they were alone, he left his hiding place behind the wall. He was upon them before they could react. He enjoyed the challenge of controlling both of them simultaneously, but he discovered that if he threatened to hurt one, the other would willingly submit. Loban didn’t understand why. If someone threatened to hurt another, he would simply run while they did. What would he care if another person were hurt? As he wallowed in their fear, he thought he would never understand people.

  When he finished with them, he rinsed the blood from his shaft, applied a thick layer of oil, and then selected his next sacrifice. Twenty times, he repeated his actions. Frustration grew when he did not feel any differently. What was he doing wrong? He mimicked the ritual as closely as he could without having the proper gear. Surely the gods had to understand the limitations he labored under.

  Resolute, he knew he had to try a different approach. Determined to feel something, he vowed to make the next one count.

  A lone servant, slender, with black hair and blue eyes, entered with an armload of crimson laundry. Loban’s skin prickled. Only the empress wore red. He confirmed the servant was the empress’s because he wore a crimson sash. Was his mistake in not taking a higher level of servant?

  Loban studied the man as he methodically cleaned his mistress’s clothing. Mixed in with the crimson items were a few black pieces.

  Sterlave’s? Loban smiled. There was something unbearably arousing about harvesting Sterlave’s servant. Perhaps if he found the right circumstances, he would take his bondmate too. Harvesting the empress would surely empower him. He frowned. Kasmiri had already been harvested, but if he raped her…

  To his shock, he watched the servant lift a scrap of black fabric to his face and breathe deeply. He sniffed something of Sterlave’s, but what? Loban couldn’t identify the item. Whatever it was, he clearly enjoyed the scent of it, for under his beige robes his prick stiffened. Loban’s eyebrows rose as he considered. In a flash, the answer came to him. He knew what he had to do.

  “Does your master know that you sniff his clothing?”

  The servant whirled, swirling his robe around his bare feet. His mouth worked as he frantically tried to explain, but nothing came out. As his eyes widened, Loban saw white shards infused in the soft blue, hypnotizing eyes. His skin was smooth, but not feminine like the ungati last night. The empress had not castrated this one.

  Loban pushed him back onto the mound of crimson fabric.

  His gaze darted around the room, looking for someone to help him, but they were alone. He struggled but quickly realized such was futile.

  Loban plucked the black astle from his hands and held it aloft. “What’s this?”

  “An echalle,” he choked out.

  Loban ordered him to explain. Once he did, Loban considered the special consort undergarments. Only the elite would have such nonsense.

  “Has your master fucked you?”

  With a frown at his crudity, the servant shook his head.

  “But you want him to.”

  Refusing to answer, he looked away.

  Loban reached under the robe, cupped his balls, and squeezed. “Answer.”

  “Yes.” His eyes watered, but Loban couldn’t tell if pain or shame caused his tears. Not that it mattered.

  Squeezing harder, he asked, “Yes, what?”

  “Yes, I want him to fuck me.” As soon as he said the words, he turned his head away. Tears fell, dotting the crimson fabric like rain.

  Loban caressed his balls, testing the weight of them, enjoying the feel of twin bundles of heat. His pubic hair was surprisingly soft, encouraging him to explore. The servant’s erection was gone, but not for long.

  “What’s your name?” Not that he cared, but he was curious.

  “Rown.”

  Loban slid his finger between soft cheeks. “Has any man taken you here?”

  Unable to answer, Rown shook his head side to side.

  A wide smile lifted the edges of Loban’s mouth. Now he knew what he’d been missing. It did matter that his sacrifices were virgins. Rown would help him find the start of the dark power that would ultimately allow him to triumph.

  “Look at me. If you look away again, I will kill you.”

  Rown did as he commanded. Such terror and shame in Rown’s eyes lifted Loban’s arousal to a new and dangerous height. He wasn’t sure he could control himself.

  He must.

  This was the way. He could not falter now. With a deep breath, Loban placed the echalle over Rown’s mouth and nose.

  “Breathe. Think of him. Look at me and think of him.”

  Teasing his fingers along Rown’s shaft did not help him to achieve an erection. Aggravated, Loban tried every trick he could.

  Nothing.

  Loban adjusted the echalle so it covered Rown’s entire face. Still, he gained no reaction.

  Pushing the robe up, Loban lowered his head and wrapped his lips about the servant’s flaccid flesh. Twirling his tongue around as he sucked caused blood to fill his reluctant shaft.

  Loban drew back and whispered, “Think of him. Think of Sterlave doing this to you. Imagine his mouth upon your cock. His finger teasing along the slick, tight need between your legs.”

  Rown emitted a rumbling groan of reluctant surrender.

  Loban continued to tease Rown until he hovered on the verge of climax. At that point, Loban snapped up, slid Rown to the edge of the table, placed his left foot against the hilt of his dagger, and yanked his right leg up along his chest.

  Loban spoke in the ancient tongue. “By might of the blade I claim that which belongs to me.”

  Rown went very still below him and Loban knew he understood exactly what he’d said. Somehow, he’d known that a servant of the empress would know the language of the ancients.

  Loban told Rown what he wanted him say.

  At first, Rown refused, but a threat to kill his master compelled instant compliance.

  “I freely give myself to you,” Rown said, his voice reluctant, terrified.

  Clearly, Rown thought that if he just said the words, Loban would relent. Not a chance.

  Power surged through his cock, swelling him to the point of bursting. He shoved the makeshift codpiece aside. Without preamble, he positioned himself and rammed forward. His teasing Rown with oil-slick fingers helped his prick smooth deep inside.

  A rich feeling borne of Rown’s tightness and his reluctant pleasure wrapped around Loban’s body. This sensation enveloped not just his prick, but also his soul. As he took the servant’s virginity as sacrifice, he felt a new and great power infuse his form.

  This was his first true harvest.

  When Rown tried to scream, Loban shoved the echalle into his mouth.

  Rown’s bucking only allowed him deeper access.

  Just as he had with his first sacrifice, Loban leaned near, and said, “Remember, you asked for this. You freely gave yourself to me.”

  Rown shook his head, trying to spit out the scrap of fabric, but Loban shoved it back in just as he shoved his prick deeper into his ass.

  “Forever after, you belong to me.” Loban thrust as he wrapped his hand tightly around Rown’s cock. Every time he moved forward, he stroked his tight fist down. Rown’s strong legs shook against his body as he tried to fight his orgasm; however, Loban had gauged his needs too well.

  There was no turning back.

  Thrust after thrust m
atched by stroke after stroke made Rown his willing sacrifice. Quickly, he built a rhythm, driving them both toward the edge.

  Loban felt his balls lift and tighten just as Rown’s did.

  “That’s it. Come for me.” Loban leaned over his slight, muscular body, riding him toward fulfillment.

  “I can’t, I’m not allowed!” Panic infused Rown’s voice while he struggled in earnest. As ungati, Rown could bestow pleasure yet not receive it. Ancient law forbade him from experiencing orgasm by the hand of another. Only alone, and under restrictive ritual, could Rown seek satisfaction. All this, Loban knew. Violating Rown’s station would give him the power he sought. He’d not captured this element during his initial harvest. But now, he understood his mistake. He would not make another.

  “For me you will come. You will give to me that which you cannot give to any other.” Loban continued to thrust deeply into Rown as he grasped his engorged prick. No matter how valiantly Rown tried to resist, Loban’s skilled hand and deep penetration forced the servant’s surrender.

  With an agonized cry, Rown climaxed, jetting his sacred fluid along Loban’s fist as Loban spewed his seed deep inside Rown’s virginal bottom. So sweet, so complete was his ascension, Loban lost all of his senses.

  Plunged into darkness, Loban floated without the anchor of a body, the weight of a conscience, or the tether of emotions.

  Here, in the vast nothingness, he was naught.

  Never had he been so humbled. If he had knees, he would have fallen to them in supplication, but he was without form. He felt smaller than a speck of dust. So miniscule was he that he was not fit to cling to the bottom of the gods’ feet. How dare he think himself worthy of being their vessel?

  In a gush of fear, he swore himself to them. However, without a mouth, his words bounced uselessly in the void. With a twitching tingle, he felt something forming from the emptiness. When he found his mouth, he shouted his worthlessness and begged forgiveness. He would do anything, everything they demanded of him.

  A voice asked if he would cut his genitals off.

  Loban said, “Just give me a knife.”

  Below him, his body materialized, and in his right fist, he found a cirvant. With one deft swing, he sliced his cock and balls off. Blood jetted from his body as he knelt to scoop up his offering. He held his gift high over his head for their approval.

  Laughter surrounded him.

  Crushed, Loban tossed the rejected offer away. “Tell me what to do!”

  A voice cast a light upon a huge phallus, then asked him if he would impale himself upon it.

  Without hesitation, Loban squatted over the smooth stone statue. Tears fell as he worked the frigid device deep inside. Excruciating pain doubled him over as he ripped himself, but still he lowered himself until he lodged the entire phallus deep within.

  Laughter crushed him, mocking his eagerness.

  Everything the gods asked, he did. He willingly performed an endless series of perverse sexual acts. No matter what he did, all that greeted his ears was more laughter. Suddenly, he understood: The gods played with him just as he once toyed with the recruits.

  When he refused to do as they bid, the laughter ceased.

  Behind him, a beastly breath of fire seared the hairs along his flesh. Flames licked out, charring his skin. Chunks fell off as he screamed in agony, but he did not run or slap frantically at the blaze. He shrieked, but he stood firm.

  To his fury, laughter enveloped his battered soul.

  Laughter more mocking than what he’d suffered during his childhood made him long to chop off his ears. Once he grew big and strong, he thought he would never hear such taunts again, but even the gods found him pathetic, puny, and pitiful.

  Rage burbled from the deepest hurt in his psyche, then erupted, spewing out of his mouth like liquid fire. Jetting wrath replaced the darkness with molten light. Loban vomited his fury until burning rock surrounded him. He spewed until he lifted himself high on an inferno of rage.

  “I will not be mocked!” he yelled, thrusting his fist to the sky. “Set me a true challenge and I will prove myself worthy!”

  Abruptly, the laughter ended.

  He did not trust the silence, for they had mocked him before. When the voice whispered to his ear, he smiled. They asked of him a service he would gladly provide. He would not only meet their test, but he would also surpass their expectations. When he did, they would bestow upon him more power than his mortal body could contain.

  Loban would be immortal.

  Loban would rule the Onic Empire.

  Bit by bit, the real world infiltrated his awareness. He thought he’d been gone for hours but only moments had past. Below him, Rown still quivered with the ravages of his climax while Loban pumped the last of his.

  Loban removed his hand from Rown’s spent member, then wrapped his fist around Rown’s throat. “Look at me.”

  Wide, terrified eyes met his gaze.

  “If you tell anyone what happened—”

  “You’ll kill me,” Rown interjected.

  “Oh, no, I won’t kill you.” Loban paused dramatically. “I’ll kill your master.” His predatory smile terrified the fragile ungati.

  Rown shook his head, his eyes beseeching. “I won’t tell.”

  “No?” Such panic gave Loban pause. He devised a new and cruel game on the spot. Never had a moral choice confounded Loban, but he intuitively knew most others were quick to sacrifice themselves. Tender, sweet Rown would have deep moral issues and personal concerns, especially if he was gleefully sniffing Sterlave’s undergarments.

  “Choose,” Loban demanded. “Whom do I kill: you or him?”

  Caught in the grip of an untenable dilemma, Rown begged, “I swear I won’t tell.” Rown squeaked around the force of Loban’s grip. “You don’t have to hurt anyone.”

  “I didn’t ask you that.” Loban pressed close until he was nose to nose, then demanded, “Who will die? You or Sterlave?”

  “Please. I won’t—”

  Loban crushed the air from his throat. “Stop telling me the answer to questions I haven’t asked.” Loban rammed his softening prick deep into Rown.

  His answering wince thrilled him.

  “I told you to choose who will die: you or Sterlave?”

  Trapped, Rown said, “Me.” Casting his gaze down in fear, he whispered, “Don’t hurt Sterlave.”

  Loban laughed as he withdrew. “You’d give yourself in his stead?”

  “Yes.”

  Curious, Loban asked, “Why?”

  “He is my master.”

  “It’s more than that.” Loban swabbed the cleaning cloth across his cock. “You would give yourself up in place of him. Why? Isn’t your life worth as much as his?”

  Baffled, Rown shook his head. “Any servant would give his life for his master.”

  “Only a stupid servant would do so.” Once he’d cleaned himself, he helped Rown from the table. Just in case he missed the import of his edict, Loban grasped his shoulder, drew him near, and whispered, “Only a stupid servant would dare to tell what happened to him today.” Trailing his tongue up to Rown’s tender ear, he whispered, “You are not stupid, are you?”

  On a shuddering breath, Rown said, “No.”

  “Good boy.” With a last stroke to his firm buttocks, Loban released him.

  With awkward steps, Rown gathered his laundry and departed the tishiary. Loban didn’t linger. Now that his mission was clear, he wouldn’t need to haunt these rooms any longer. When he exited, Helton Ook intersected his path, just as the gods said he would.

  “I saw what you did.” Helton’s arms were too massive to cross over his chest, so he placed his hands on his hips, which only made his squat, muscular body look bigger.

  Loban was not intimidated. “And?” His gaze lowered to the prominent bulge in Helton’s trousers. “You wanted a private demonstration of my skills?”

  Wizened gray eyes narrowed. “I can still take you down.”

  “Can you
?” Loban took a step closer, looming his superior height over the aging warrior. Helton had a lifetime of skills, but Loban now had the blessing of the gods.

  Helton leveled his gaze, sizing him up. He showed no fear, only a curious speculation.

  “No recruit has ever shown you disrespect, but you’re not a handler anymore.” Loban trailed his finger along one of Helton’s maroon scars. “And I am no longer a recruit.”

  Helton smacked his hand aside. “You’ll always be a recruit because you don’t know how to act like a Harvester.”

  At one time, the insult would have burned his pride, but now, Helton was the one who needed him, not the other way around. The disgraced handler had no one else to turn to. However, Loban should make it clear he was no floor mat for him to push his weight around on.

  “If not for you, I would have been the Harvester.” Loban’s hand strayed to the dagger at his waist.

  Flicking his gaze down, then up, Helton cautioned, “You don’t want to do that, not when I’m offering you the chance to expand your dark harvest.”

  Intrigued, Loban left off his weapon. “Speak then, but make sure you say things I wish to hear.”

  And Helton did.

  16

  With Chur’s help, Kasmiri’s rooms had been thoroughly inspected, and over thirty of the strongest recruits guarded her door and the hallway. Two guards followed her wherever she went, which she resisted, but Sterlave put his foot down. Her privacy was important, but her life was more so. After pouting and trying all of her seductive tricks, she finally relented.

  Since all of her possessions were in her mother’s room, her room was mostly bare. Kasmiri didn’t seem to care. Once they entered, she smiled and wrapped her arms around him.

  “Thank you.” His chest muffled her voice.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Her friendly hug changed into a passionate embrace when she slid her hands down to his buttocks.

  “I was thinking…” Kasmiri leaned back then flashed him her most seductive glance. When she wished, she could be the most alluring woman, all soft curves and luscious promises.