Bound By Fate: A Novel of the Strong

by Amy Knickerbocker

  “What is it?” His hands flew up, the balls of his fists pressed hard against his forehead. “What’s wrong?”

  “Oh my gods, it hurts,” she said. To his ears, her voice sounded weak and thready.

  “Tell me what you need,” he cried. Heart pounding in his throat, he could barely breathe.

  “I can’t do this,” she whispered. “I need your help. Please.”

  Eyes screwed shut, he fought to swallow past his disquiet. If he turned to her now, Toran would see her bare before him this very day. There’d be no way around it. And, there would be no turning back.

  Gods help me.

  He whipped around and dropped to his knees.

  “Tell me how to help you.” His eyes devoured her, her vulnerability nearly swallowing him whole.

  Leaning down, the faine placed her hands on either side of her injured ankle. “I can’t pull my boot off,” she said. “It hurts too badly.”

  He placed his hands gently over her own.

  Their eyes met.

  Though he ached to give her his venna, to make everything all right, Toran knew he couldn’t force her take it.

  Now wasn’t the time.

  “Your ankle is badly swollen, maybe broken,” he said. Looking down, Toran could easily see there was no way to pull off the knee-high boot without causing her further pain. He grunted, “You’re going to need a new pair of boots.”

  *****

  From her perch on the stool, Liv watched breathlessly as Toran worked his big fingers into the top of her boot. He caught his lower lip between his teeth just before he ripped the leather seam apart as easily as ripping a scrap of tissue.

  “Okay?” He glanced up as he gently pulled the now tattered boot away.

  She nodded, swallowing back her awe.

  Though his strength was magnificent, Liv was even more struck by the gentleness that now blanketed his every move.

  “Good,” he murmured. “Let’s get the other one off then.” This time, he unzipped the short zipper at her uninjured ankle and pulled the boot off without incidence. Bending low, so low his forehead nearly touched her knees, Toran wrapped his big hands around the tops of her feet and toes.

  His hands were feverishly hot against her skin.

  He held his pose for long moments, his hesitation palpable.

  When he raised his head, a question lay in his eyes.

  She nodded again in answer.

  Holding her gaze, Toran trailed his hands lightly past her ankles, up the backs of her calves, then along the tops of her thighs. His big palms paused to rest at her hip bones, his thumbs pressed low and firm against her abdomen.

  She fought to find her breath.

  “Go on now,” he whispered when she made no move.

  He licked his lips.

  Bringing her hand slowly to her waist, Liv popped the button on her jeans, never breaking his stare. Though his hands flexed, his breath remained steady; his eyes were calm.

  She worked the zipper down.

  Pinpricks of sapphire flashed in his eyes.

  She pulled her hand away.

  Liv shivered as she watched his chin tilt down, his eyes seeking her newly exposed flesh.

  His gaze burned.

  Oh, gods.

  His stare remained fixed as he angled his hands slowly back along her hips to hook the tips of his fingers into the waistband of her jeans. Gripping the edge of the stool, Liv leaned backwards and shimmied as he pulled the denim past her bottom to rest just above her knees.

  Glancing down her torso, she saw what held his rapt attention. Legs spread slightly, her white silk panties formed a perfect triangle at the juncture of her thighs.

  Thunder rattled the window panes.

  “Toran,” she whispered.

  With an almost imperceptible shake of his head, he brushed aside her plea and carefully worked the wet fabric past her swollen ankle. He tossed them to the side. Leaning back, he grabbed the quilt he had discarded on the floor. He draped it across the tops of her thighs before wrapping it roughly around her waist.

  “Can you get your shirt off on your own?”

  She jumped at the sharpness in his voice.

  Her voice was shaky when she answered.

  “Yes, I think so.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  As he hung her wet clothes on the mantle to dry, Toran could not quell the tremor in his hands. The memory of her naked thighs parted in welcome, with just the silk of her panties covering her most feminine flesh, burned like a flare at the front of his brain.

  He shifted in his jeans.

  “What’s it like?”

  “What’s what like?” Startled out of his misery, he glanced over to see the faine lying just where he had placed her, in the rumpled sheets of his bed. Her hands were wrapped around a cup of tea––tea he himself had been eager to make just like he knew she liked it… with honey and cream.

  He bit back a groan.

  Gods help me, he thought. What the hell am I doing?

  “The venna,” she said. She adjusted her body up straighter against the pillows, her eyes eager and expectant. “What’s it like to have that inside you?”

  “There’s no need to pretend interest, faine.” He swiped a sock off the floor and pinned it on the mantle under a candlestick.

  “What do you mean?” she asked with what seemed like genuine surprise.

  “You have been in Venn Dom long enough to seek out the answers to your questions,” he accused. “I’m sure Anara has been eager to oblige.”

  Feeling her eyes on his back, he resisted the urge to squirm.

  “I want to know what the venna is like for you.”

  “Now is not the time for this.” Or ever. Toran tossed her torn boot into a corner of the room. “I need to get you home,” he said. “In case you have forgotten,” he leaned towards her and bared his teeth, “you are injured, and you refuse to let me heal you.”

  “Toran, please.” She pressed her lips together. “I’m not going to get into that with you again.” She pegged him with a hard stare. “And you can give me two minutes to answer my question, can’t you?”

  Her directness surprised him. Toran didn’t think she had it in her. She was usually so demure.

  Wasn’t she?

  He frowned. Had they ever really had a conversation before? All those nights they’d sat together enjoying each other’s company, they had rarely talked.

  He squinted into the fire.

  Had he enjoyed her company?

  Yes. He had.

  He had savored every moment with her.

  At any other point in his life, Toran knew he would not have answered. But, now, a feeling he could neither fathom nor describe overwhelmed his senses. Here with his faine, Toran found himself wanting… needing… to talk.

  “It’s hard to explain,” he said. He began to pace as he searched for words. “I guess it’s like having another living, breathing being inside your body. Something that is a part of you, but also completely separate and distinct.”

  In his case, the various strains of his venna were truly separate and distinct, each new strain fighting for purchase––fighting for supremacy––over his own. It was as if an intake valve had been cracked at birth only to rust wide open as he aged. Over the years, his curse had grown into a gaping maw, the mix of his venna all boiled together in one violent, fucked up stew.

  It was as exhausting as it was humiliating.

  He shook his head.

  These things he could not tell her.

  It cut too close to home.

  “What else?”

  Glancing her way, he took comfort in the kindness of her eyes. Helpless against her pull, Toran found himself walking over to the bed. Pulling a stool beneath him, he sat next to where she lay. “When it rises,” he continued, “it feels like an electrical current coursing through my veins, on top of my skin, in the air around me.”

  “That must be nice.” She leaned up on an elbow. “You know, to feel
something like that.” A faraway look crept into her eyes. “All my life, it’s always been such a struggle to feel, well, anything.”

  A twinge of remorse shot through his chest.

  “Here, it’s so different for me,” she said, smiling. “Venna is everywhere.”

  Then take mine now and let me heal you.

  Toran bowed his head.

  “As children, if they’re lucky,” he continued, “Vimor males learn to channel it, to control it. You see what they go through at the children’s home.” He studied his fists. Unclenching them, he wiped his palms along the tops of his thighs. “If they can conquer the venna, it’s part of what makes the Vimor race near unstoppable in battle. Some are able to master theirs completely.” He added after a pause, “Like my cousin.”

  “Merus has mastered his venna?” she asked. “How?”

  “I suggest you ask him that yourself,” he answered, instantly regretting the words that had tumbled from his mouth.

  “Toran.” She reached out to lay a gentle hand on his arm. “Look at me.” He lifted his head to meet her eyes. Inflamed by her touch, he knew venna flashed in his own. “I’m just asking because it’s still all so new to me. I’m trying to catch up on things that I should already know about this world. Before, when I was young, I was insulated from so much. And then, well, I was gone for so long.” She gently stroked his arm. “Please, tell me about Merus.”

  For long moments, he watched her fingers play against his skin.

  Wanting more, wanting…

  Pulling abruptly away, he went to check her clothes by the fire.

  After weighing his answers, any of which were exceedingly complex and none of them especially pleasant, Toran decided the best answer was the simplest. “My cousin is half faine,” he said.

  She gasped.

  “Thus,” he continued, “his venna is considerably weakened from within.”

  “Merus is faine?” she asked. “Why wouldn’t he tell me he’s like me?”

  “Why do you think he’d not admit such a thing?” Toran said. His venna kissed the air, his anger rightfully piqued. “Such impropriety between our races has been expressly forbidden throughout the ages––though, unfortunately, it was not uncommon prior to the Cleansing.”

  “Do you have faine blood?”

  The windows rattled, a blue veil tinting his vision.

  “What?” he hissed. “Don’t be fucking ridiculous.”

  In the aftermath of his outburst, complete silence descended pillow-soft in the confines of the cabin.

  The faine’s voice cut through the quiet.

  “I don’t know where this anger comes from, Toran,” she admonished softly. “I have done nothing to you.”

  Cheeks reddened, he spun away. Consumed by a growing sense of helpless agitation, Toran swiped her clothes from the mantle and tossed them over to the bed.

  “Your clothes are dry enough,” he said. “Dress yourself as best you can. I’m going to get the truck.”

  Pausing at the door, he waited impatiently for her to acknowledge he had spoken.

  She gave him no answer. Clothes pressed against her chest, she simply studied his face, her thoughts hidden away in the depths of her eyes.

  Wanting to apologize but crazed by the intensity of his conflicting emotions, Toran instead found himself baring his teeth to hiss, “I am not tainted with the blood of the faine.”

  He just couldn’t seem to help himself.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  In the bright light of the examination room, the doctor rendered a quick verdict.

  “You’ve got a pretty bad ankle sprain and a torn ligament in your knee,” Anara said. “But, luckily, nothing is broken.”

  Liv squeezed her eyes shut. She sat stiff and hurting on the exam room table, alone with the doctor. A mute and hostile Toran hadn’t bothered to see her inside after their silent ride out of the highlands.

  I am not tainted with the blood of the faine.

  The last words he had spoken to her had been cold and unkind. Of this, there was no doubt. But Liv had also felt his complete bewilderment. It was as if he were compelled to say things he was expected to say––to push her away––instead of expressing something that might bring them closer together.

  Too bad it didn’t matter anymore.

  “What did you say?” With effort, Liv forced her thoughts back to the present.

  “I asked if you’ve been with Toran since this happened.”

  Liv nodded.

  Anger flashed in the doctor’s eyes.

  “You do know, if he’d get off his high horse and let you feed properly, you’d heal pretty much in an instant,” said Anara. “Gods, he can be such a dick.”

  “It’s not like that,” Liv said.

  At that, Anara tilted her head.

  “Ah, I see,” she said after a moment. “You’re not feeding from him.”

  When Liv didn’t offer up an answer, Anara placed a gentle hand on her arm.

  “Okay then. Let me give you a shot for the pain.”

  “No!” Liv cried as she pulled her arm away.

  Anara jerked back in surprise.

  “What in the worlds…”

  “I’m sorry,” Liv was quick to say, “but I don’t want anything to dull the pain. It’s…” She looked down at her hands. With effort, she unclenched and flexed her fingers. “It’s not exactly pleasant, but it’s something, you know?”

  And she didn’t know how much longer she’d have any of it, not with the way Toran continued to make her feel.

  “I can understand that,” Anara answered kindly. “Let’s just get a boot on you, then, while you heal. Oh,” she added, “I’d also like a nurse to come in to take some blood, if that’s okay.”

  “Blood? Why?”

  “Mainly, I’m just curious about how you’re put together.” She smiled. “Though you’re the only true full-blooded faine I’m ever going to get to meet, I think it would be beneficial to study your blood make up, to learn more about you.”

  “Okay, that’s fine,” Liv murmured. After exhaling a long breath, she asked, “How long do you think I’ll feel it?”

  “What, the pain?”

  Liv nodded.

  “That’s hard to say, given your nature.” Anara pushed with her feet to roll her stool over to the sink. There was a snap of latex as she removed and tossed her gloves. Looking over her shoulder, she gave Liv a quick assessment. “If I had to guess, I’d say you’re at about sixty-five, maybe seventy-percent.”

  Anara was spot on.

  “Which is more than enough,” she continued, “for you to feel a good bit of the pain, but not nearly enough to help you heal quickly.”

  “It seems you already know a lot about my kind,” Liv said.

  “Yes,” Anara answered as she went to the cabinet to pull out a leg brace. “When you were first found, Toran asked me to look into things, you know, to make sure you’re properly taken care of.”

  At that, Liv studied the doctor.

  “Is that how you knew of my, what did you call it? Neuropathy?”

  “Yes.” Coming back to the examination table, Anara opened up the boot and gently helped Liv position her leg inside the brace.

  “What else do you know?” Liv asked as she watched the doctor work.

  “Not much.” Pulling the Velcro fasteners taut, Anara affixed the boot snuggly around Liv’s ankle and up and over her knee. She raised her eyes to Liv’s. “Is that good?”

  Liv nodded. “Tell me what else you’ve learned about the faine.”

  “Unfortunately, most of the ancient texts that referenced your kind were either lost or destroyed during the Great Cleansing,” Anara answered evenly. “The few I have been able to get my hands on are written in riddles, as was the old way. I can only conjecture what any of it means.”

  “Do the texts say anything about Toran?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “My mother was an historian of sorts.” Liv studied her hands.
“She mentioned to me many times growing up that Toran was… different.” Liv lifted her head. “You know, different from other Vimora.”

  “He is different, yes,” Anara readily agreed.

  “How?” Liv breathed. When it came to speaking of the future, her mother, too, had spoken mostly in riddles. Liv had never been offered a concrete explanation to her ramblings.

  Until now.

  “Toran was born with a certain genetic flaw,” Anara stated matter-of-factly as she perched back atop her stool. “One that I’ve never be able to explain, or fix. As best as I can tell, it’s a physical anomaly that opens his pores to the venna of others.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Toran's venna isn’t like that of other Vimora,” Anara answered in explanation. “Typically, Vimora males are born with a finite amount of venna, venna they struggle at first to live with and, then, eventually die with. At death, that venna is released back into the Mythos––as it should be… to optimally be fed on by the faine.” Her eyes flashed to Liv’s before darting away. “Yet, in Toran’s case, whenever a Vimor daemon dies, the deceased’s venna is added to his own.” Here, she paused. “As you can imagine,” she continued slowly, “this has caused Toran to suffer greatly from the consequences of the Cleansing.”

  “A lot of people suffered,” Liv interjected. “I lost my family…”

  “And Toran lost his family, too.” Anara raised her hand. “Look, I’m not trying to make excuses for him. But he was a child, just like you were. He was completely blameless for what happened during those times. He lost his father, his mother, and his rightful place as king.” Anara stopped and took a breath before adding, “With the loss of the faine, he also lost all hope of a normal life.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Without the faine, he has no outlet, no peace. Over the years, his venna has become… overwhelming… to live with.”

  Liv blinked as she processed this new bit of information. It certainly helped explain the helpless anxiety she felt coming off of Toran at times in waves.

  But it didn’t explain his anger.

  Or did it?

  “Toran needs you, Liv. And you need him.” Anara leaned forward to catch Liv’s eyes. “You need to feed from him. Especially now that you’re injured. I know you’ll become mostly numbed to the pain, but unless you feed, it’s going to take forever for your leg to heal properly.”