No, he gave a violent shake of his head. It was wrong to think such things. The faine is here to serve my needs, nothing else.
Toran was determined to take what was his to take.
Then, gods be willing, he’d be freed…
He tilted his chin to take in her upturned face. Her delicate features were locked in exquisite concentration, her color rising from feeding from his strength.
It was a thing of beauty.
Unable to tear his eyes away, he stared at her rose-colored lips, lips that were parted in ecstasy.
She moaned and leaned into him, her breasts pressed against his rib cage.
In that instant, everything changed.
His heartbeat began to thunder in his ears as centuries of unassuaged hunger erupted within him, the flowery scent of her hair inflaming his senses, the electric heat of her body shorting out his brain.
His control shattered.
Wrapping a forearm under her ass, Toran wrenched the faine up and crushed her against the hard lines of his body, cradling himself in the beckoning juncture of her thighs.
His mouth crashed down against her own, drowning out a surprised cry. Toran tongued her lips open, groaning as the faine’s soft and willing tongue tangled with his own.
Pivoting and falling forward, he pinned her hard against the wall, needing the friction on her back to free up his hands to explore her body––a body that had blossomed at his touch.
The female moaned into his mouth, the scent of her arousal perfuming the now too-hot room.
It was maddening.
Toran tore at her blouse, near out of his mind with the need to touch her breasts, to put his lips on her pebbled nipples, to suck the sensitive tips until she was as crazed with need as he.
This need, this unholy need, threatened to burn completely out of control.
Control.
With an agonized yell, Toran heaved himself away, the faine left swaying against the wall from the loss of his arms.
He stared at her, his eyes wild. Violence and arousal poured out of his body in waves.
“What the fuck,” he spat, his blackened eyes flashing blue.
“What? What?” The faine panted, her ragged breath matching his own. She reached out her palms as if seeking to reestablish their connection. Her blouse hung in disarray from where he had torn it open, revealing the rounded globes of her breasts cupped high in lacy black scraps of fabric.
Toran sidestepped her beseeching hands. “You know what,” he accused. “You take liberties, faine.”
“But you kissed me,” she cried, her voice still breathless from his kiss.
Toran looked away.
He could not take the look of longing and confusion that shimmered in her slightly unfocused eyes.
He could also not accept the utter insanity that had just transpired between them.
Gods, the shame of it all.
Toran lunged at her again, this time with seething savagery. He wrapped a fist around her throat, his touch no longer impassioned.
It was now intent on causing pain.
Blinding blue pinpricks of venna burst in the night.
“Please, Toran.” The faine’s small hands clasped his forearm, her nails finding weak purchase in his skin. “You’re hurting me.”
His name on her lips only worked to infuriate him further. Unable to stop himself, Toran shook her until her hands fell away, her lips turning purple as she struggled to breathe.
“You use your powers to seduce me,” he ground out, his hand a bruising vise against her throat. “You need to remember your fucking place. Which is serving me.”
Toran shoved her away, spinning her down to the cold wood floor. On her knees and panting, toxic energy––his toxic energy––vomited out of her body in waves.
He stood over her, fists clenched, completely unaware that his revulsion poisoned the very air she breathed.
“You take what I choose to give you,” he said. “And nothing more, like the whore that you are.”
As if unable to bear the weight of his hate, the faine collapsed flat against the floor.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Slamming the door shut behind him, Toran stood in the hallway, his chest heaving, his senses still awash in the scent of the faine’s desire.
He ran a shaky hand through his hair, trying in vain to get hold of the shame and confusion that bombarded him without mercy. He didn’t deserve mercy. His stomach churned, sick with terror that he might have hurt her.
But he couldn’t risk going back through that door.
Because, just as he had been the first night he touched her, Toran found himself consumed with undeniable desire… for her.
If anything, the feelings had intensified.
Ten-fold.
Gods, her lips on mine…
Biting back a groan, he forced himself away and fled downstairs to his office.
Just inside the doorway, he froze. Any hint of his arousal deflated in an instant.
He had company.
Ignoring his visitor, Toran walked to the sideboard and splashed out a shot of whiskey. He tossed it back, downing the heated liquid in one quick gulp. He poured another before turning to face his guest.
“I’m surprised you have not come for me, my darling,” his fiancée purred as she trailed the back of her fingers against the exposed tops of her breasts. “I would have thought you would be more… enthusiastic… in seeking me out.”
“What do you want, Sarai?” Her perfume assaulted his senses. She reeked of it, so unlike the sweet cleanness of his faine.
Godsdammit!
“I wanted to come,” she said, “to fill you in on the details of our fast-approaching marriage.” She smiled as she sauntered towards him. “The timing could not be more perfect. I am most eager to have you.”
“Give it a rest, Sarai.” He tossed back his shot, not fooled by her advances. Over their centuries-long engagement, there had never been even the smallest spark between them.
She pouted.
“But, I do suppose it’s best to wait,” she said, “until, well, you know… your little problem is fixed.” She waited expectantly for an answer and then shrugged when he offered none. “Besides, I’m arranging a posh affair, and that takes time.”
“Then I suggest you absent yourself and get on with it.” Toran contemplated his empty shot glass as something that had been weighing heavy on his mind crashed to the fore. Decision made, he crushed the glass to dust in his hand. “In fact,” he said, tossing the detritus into the fire, “you had best expedite our wedding plans.” With a decisive nod of his head, he declared, “We will be married at the Blessing of the Thorns.”
“What? What do you mean?” Sarai sputtered. “That’s less than five weeks away!”
“It is indeed,” he answered with an even breath. Weeks ago, when they had strategized over Feliks’s terms, Arman had broached the topic of moving up the wedding date, going so far as to suggest the Vimora’s most sacred holiday. Occurring annually just after the third new moon of Autumn, from dawn till dawn again, the Blessing of the Thorns was a great gathering feast that celebrated the suffering that had sowed the seeds of the Vimora’s awesome strength.
On top of facing Feliks’s ticking time bomb, Arman had argued that it only made sense, given the social upheaval of the past few centuries, that Toran’s marriage take place in public in front of all of his people––this despite the fact that some subterfuge would be required.
Toran had resisted.
Until now.
Given how the Sorcieri’s spell had faltered just hours before, the kingdom’s safety was increasingly at stake. Though his men had been able to thwart the attack, women and children could easily have been injured or killed.
And this didn’t even take into account the faine. Considering the insanity that had just happened upstairs, Toran could no longer justify any further delays.
It was time for him to get on with his life.
Thou
gh his venna continued to simmer at a low boil, there was no question he felt… different.
Soothed by the all-consuming touch of his faine, Toran knew now, without a doubt, that he could safely take his bride––as long as his faine was around to serve him.
For so long, the prospect of marriage had filled him with a keen sense of longing… despite his lack of freedom to marry whom he may. Toran had always been eager to step up and do his duty.
Now, he felt nothing but hollowness.
“We can’t get married at the Blessing!” Sarai’s shrill voice catapulted him out of his thoughts. “There’s no way I'll be ready that soon!”
“Well, you’ll just have to suck it up and take it,” Toran spat. He, too, was unnerved that there’d be a delay between consummation and crown. This meant he’d have to… He squeezed his eyes shut. “We’ll worry about making the child when your time comes.”
“But the law says…”
“If you haven’t fucking noticed, we have bigger problems than the law, Sarai,” he answered. “Thus, you’d best keep your mouth shut until after the deed is done.”
“How do you propose to keep such a thing a secret?” she cried. “You know Vimora pregnancies are near-immediately apparent, especially in the case of a son.”
“We will travel off plane,” he said, “the moment after I’m done spending inside your body. Surely,” he continued with a sneer, “our people will not begrudge a new king some time alone with his queen.”
“With the faine in tow, of course,” she added with a sneer of her own.
Toran didn’t answer.
His skin prickled at Sarai’s approach. “Do you have something to tell me?” she whispered at his ear.
“What are you angling for, female?” Leaning away from her presence, it took every ounce of his strength not to push her away.
“Don’t tell me you’ve lowered yourself to…”
“Sarai…” he warned on a growl.
“Oh come on, Toran,” she said with a laugh. “You are covered with her scent.”
He stepped away.
“Jealous, are you?” he asked, hoping against hope his voice was not colored in the same shade of shame that heated his cheeks.
“Whatever.” She waved a ring-encrusted hand, Baltia diamonds glinting in the lamplight. “I have no illusions that you’ll be faithful to me now, or in the future.” She lifted a knowing eyebrow. “You are Vimora, after all. It’s just… Toran, a faine?” She tutted. “Though I shouldn’t be surprised. After all, you are your father’s son.”
The old castle creaked.
“Temper, Tor,” Sarai admonished. He longed to wipe the smug expression from her face. He couldn’t get away from her fast enough.
“I suggest you step away, Sarai, and keep your sick insinuations to yourself.” Toran readied himself to leave. “You can be assured I know my duty.”
“Of course you do, love.”
Gods, had he always hated her?
As he pulsed away, her parting words burned.
“You have always been quite devoted to your duty, haven’t you?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
When Liv wasn’t working at the children’s home, she spent time exploring the land around the ancient castle she now called home. It was a beautiful place even as the vegetation slowly shifted from the purply heathers of a late highlands summer to the yellowed browns of winter. Yes, winter was definitely in the wind. With life-giving venna coursing through her veins, she could actually feel the change of seasons––an eye-opening thing indeed. Now, Liv found herself equally fascinated with the sting of an icy rain against her skin as she had been with the heat of the sun upon her cheeks.
Yet no matter how much she reasoned that she should be content with her new life, her heart ached with loss. It was a sensation so foreign, she had no means with which to process it.
Just as the warm caress of the summer sun was gone, so was any semblance of warmth from Toran. He had been even more distant since the night he had come to let her feed.
Since that night, her corporeal senses had slowly been slipping away––though not nearly as quickly nor as thoroughly as they had on the human ‘el. But, once again, Liv had been reduced to a scavenger. True, here, it was much easier than before. She was able to feed from venna that roamed unharnessed throughout the realm. She was also happy to be of service––bringing a measure of calming presence to the young orphaned daemons that called Venn Dom home.
But nothing came close to what Toran could give her.
Now, he gave her nothing.
They had spoken less than a handful of words since he had left her sprawled out on her bedroom floor. A shiver ran through her as she remembered how the hard bite of wood against her knees had slowly dulled away.
For once, she had had no desire to try to hang on to the tangible sense of feeling.
Liv had welcomed the numbness, but not the loneliness that had settled into the hollow left by his absence.
Over the three weeks since it had happened, she wasn’t quite sure if it was a case of him avoiding her or the other way around.
It was probably a little bit of both.
Whatever it was, Toran was long gone when she came down to breakfast––even at earliest dawn. They never sat together in comfortable silence at the end of the day. Now, when she curled up in front of the fire to read a book, it was just her and her cat. Toran's room across the hall remained quiet and dark, the entire castle cloaked in that empty feel homes get when nobody is home.
Where before she and Toran had lived together in a civil, not-quite friendly truce, there was truly nothing between them now but distance.
Which left her feeling empty… and confused.
That night in her room, he had wanted her.
That she knew for sure.
A shiver that had nothing to do with the crispness in the wind raced across her skin. She closed her eyes, remembering everything that had passed between them. The velvety wetness of his tongue against her own. His rough hands seeking out her aching breasts. The heaviness of his desire pressed hard against her stomach.
She had felt it all.
His venna––and the feel of his insistent arms around her––had made her body come alive.
Gods, there was no denying she craved more. She blushed to think she had thought of little else since then.
But did she want more from him? Or was it just a male’s touch, any male’s touch, she craved?
On that question, Liv feared she knew the answer.
But what, then, of Toran?
What about his anger?
His hate?
Had what transpired between them driven him away?
Obviously it had. His actions––that night and beyond––made it clear he wanted nothing to do with her.
Worse, his abandonment seemed to have poisoned all of Venn Dom. Where before she had come to be accepted by most Vimora as a harmless curiosity, she now found herself a near-universal object of pity. Everywhere she went, she could feel the conflicted nature of the daemons’ feelings, their sympathy, their discomfort, and, in some cases, even their guilt.
She could only guess that it was because she’d been rejected by her Tenn––a humiliating fact indeed.
She knew he didn’t want her here.
Hell, he had never wanted her in Venn Dom.
But did he still need her?
If he didn’t, was she free to leave?
Did she want to leave?
Sure, she missed her friends, especially seeing Mandy every day. But Toran had lived up to his word; in addition to daily phone calls and texts, Mandy was free to visit Venn Dom as she pleased.
Was that enough for Liv to stay?
So thoroughly lost inside her thoughts, she somehow lost her footing.
Unable to recover her balance, Liv found herself slip-sliding down a steep embankment, rough tufts of grass pummeling her body. Desperate to slow her fall, she dug a heel into the uneven ear
th, trying to find purchase, only to twist her leg awkwardly behind her instead.
To add to her indignity, the dreary gray skies opened up as a bolt of lightning split the air.
A cold rain began to fall.
Shocked from her unexpected descent and by the wet and the cold, Liv lay stiff and unmoving for long, shaky seconds. When she finally shifted to rise, she bit back a cry. Her leg was pinned beneath her.
Oh gods, she thought, so this is what it means to really hurt.
She screwed her eyes shut and, with a grimace, she attempted to breathe through the throbbing pain.
When she opened them up again, she screamed.
*****
Her presence in Venn Dom taunted him.
Ever since the night she had taken his venna whole, Toran could feel exactly where she was at any given moment.
In the library, across the village… in her bed.
It was the damnedest thing.
Early on in her stay here, he had tried to convince himself this fascination with her was base curiosity, nothing more. He was but a child, after all, when the last of her kind was gone. Only fuzzy memories of what it had been like before the Cleansing remained.
But, truth was, it wasn’t curiosity.
It was weakness.
Before going to her that night, Toran had had every intention of taking the other female to bed. He had been so cocky, so confident he’d get over this grasp the faine held him in.
He’d been a fool.
And now, try as he might, Toran could not stay away from his faine.
The connection between them was bewildering. It filled him with equal parts fury and an unquenchable sense of longing.
He was a miserable son of a bitch.
An utterly miserable, pathetic son of a bitch.
The ability to sense her presence made his guilty torture easy enough to pursue. By day, he took every opportunity to examine his faine, careful to keep his distance. And, each night after she went to bed, he found himself outside her bedroom door, his fingertips pressed against the wood, desperate to feel her calming presence.
Though his nights were unbearably long, the days ticked quickly by.
Bound By Fate: A Novel of the Strong Page 13
