Bound By Fate: A Novel of the Strong

by Amy Knickerbocker

  It had everything to do with her.

  He struggled to swallow past that pain to say, “I… we… will have to be content to let me heal you.”

  He raised his eyes to hers.

  “Will you let me do that for you, Liv? Please? Will you feed from me?”

  *****

  For the first time in her life, Liv heard Toran call her by name, the deep rumble of his voice a balm that smoothed aside her misgivings.

  Against all reason, despite all his protestations about what could not be between them, Liv wanted to feel his hands upon her again.

  She should have been terrified that things would, once again, burn out of control––and his anger would rise.

  She should have protected herself.

  “Are you sure this is what you want?” Liv asked instead in a whisper.

  Toran's eyes drifted shut.

  When he opened them again, his eyes revealed his wanton truth. “Yes,” he said as he held her gaze. “Will you let me touch you?”

  After a minute, maybe three, Liv breathed out a barely audible yes.

  She watched as Toran rose from the chair only to drop down to kneel before her. Even with the disadvantage of being on his knees, his body overpowered her small frame.

  Pushing herself up from where she lay against the pillows, Liv shifted perpendicular to the edge of the bed, her knees slightly bent. Once she was settled, she leaned back on her elbows, her stomach taut.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  At that moment, as she gazed into his eyes, Liv couldn’t answer.

  But, right then, his eyes were calm, giving her courage.

  She nodded.

  The Velcro fasteners on her walking boot each sounded out a screeching scratch as Toran ripped them open to pull the boot away. With gentle fingers, he pushed the hem of her pajama bottoms up past her knee and then he straightened her leg.

  The skin on her leg was mottled and purpled with bruises.

  Liv watched his face as a marked concentration stole across his features. He stared at her injured leg, his Adam’s apple bobbing once in a hard swallow. After a moment, he carefully wrapped his callused hands around her calf and ankle, his long, elegant fingers splayed across her skin.

  She gasped as his venna entered her. A blinding stab of pain was immediately followed by the oozing warmth of pure relief… a relief that quickly morphed into the steady flame of desire.

  Liv breathed out a throaty moan, her back arching slightly as she opened herself up to him.

  Toran raised molten eyes to hers, blue pinpricks of light giving away his matching hunger.

  She panted in the lamplight as he touched her, his shallow breath straining to match the rhythm of her own.

  Too soon, it was over.

  Toran pulled his hands away. He leaned on his forearms against the mattress edge, his hands spread inches from her hips.

  The air in the room vibrated with his venna.

  After a long while, he asked, “Better?”

  Liv nodded, unable to find her breath to answer.

  “Good.” His voice was unsteady but hoarse with satisfaction. “I’ll let you get some rest now. You should be fully healed by morning.”

  She was fully healed now.

  But though her injured leg had been relieved of all pain, Liv now ached for more, her body desperately craving a different kind of relief––relief only he could give her.

  Beyond even that, she was overcome with desperation… to heal him.

  And, that healing had nothing to do with taking his venna.

  Afraid he would leave, Liv sat up and scooted to the edge of the mattress. She perched between his outstretched hands so that his head was near her breast.

  “Toran,” she mouthed.

  Liv quivered as Toran closed his eyes and leaned into her body, his head resting in the cradle of her neck, his lips against her skin.

  Turning her face into his, she inhaled, her body swaying as his scent inflamed her senses. She wanted so badly to put her hands upon him, but she didn’t dare.

  After a moment, he pulled away.

  “Are you leaving?” Try as she might, Liv could not hide the strain of despair that threaded her voice.

  Rising from the floor, he gave the barest shake of the head. “I’ll be next door.”

  He hesitated.

  Liv cried out as Toran placed a warm hand against her neck.

  Bending low, he brushed a soft kiss across her lips before pulling back to reveal the heated desire in his eyes. Though her hands were shaking, Liv placed a steadying palm at his hip. At her touch, he clenched his teeth and groaned, shuddering slightly beneath her fingertips.

  Venna danced in the air around him, a tell-tale sign of his blatant need.

  Lowering his eyes again to graze the contours of her mouth, Toran licked his lower lip.

  She moaned.

  His hand at her neck tightened.

  Then, without another word, Toran turned and walked stiffly towards the door. There, he paused.

  “Toran,” she called out, her voice barely recognizable past her own desperate need.

  He didn’t answer.

  With a resigned shake of his head, Toran slipped out the door.

  Left alone with her thoughts, Liv stared into nothingness with bewildered, unseeing eyes before she finally rose and undressed for bed.

  Sleep was a long time coming.

  But, sometime deep in the night, she awakened as the ceiling beams and walls of her chamber came to life with a shimmering magic.

  Shaken out of her fitful slumber, Liv began to tremble against the force of an inescapable expectation.

  The secret door connecting her room to her Tenn’s swung silently open.

  Driven by instinct––but more by hunger––Liv rose and drew on a robe.

  It seemed her destiny had finally arrived.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Frantic venna flashed in the night, its physical presence adding an electrifying dimension to the bedroom.

  Toran groaned into the light show.

  He lay sprawled against the pillows, a sheet draped across his torso, the soft weight of fabric heavy against his skin.

  Sleep had proven elusive since he had reluctantly left Liv alone in her bed.

  Earlier, when she had taken his venna, he had healed her.

  Now, he desperately needed something of the same.

  Completely lost in his loneliness and need, Toran trailed a hand beneath the sheet, his rough fingertips coming dangerously close to his throbbing sex.

  Though he had long sworn off self-pleasure, the act sacrificed centuries ago as penance for his unforgivable sins, he now swore he skirted the edge of madness.

  Dare he use his fist?

  What harm could come from it? he reasoned.

  Save Liv, the keep was empty.

  Oh gods, Liv.

  His hips thrust up against the sheet, his cock desperately seeking welcoming heat but finding nothing but agony instead.

  Visions of the faine, her thighs open and needy beneath him, overruled any chance of succumbing to better judgment.

  Tonight, he was lost to reason.

  Eyes screwed shut in guilty anticipation, he wrapped his fingers around his shaft.

  His eyelids flew open, his entire body jerking at the unremembered pleasure, his grip so rough against his silky hardness.

  Shouting his defeat, Toran arched his back and splayed his knees. His movement cast the cover aside, exposing his naked body to the cool air of the night. He began to pump, palming the head with an extra twist, reveling in the exquisite feel of friction against his most sensitive skin.

  Soon, he was lost in the rhythm, gripping harder, sliding faster. He bared his teeth to the magnificent pain.

  In his fervid mind, his heavy hand became the faine’s soft mouth, her saliva providing the heavenly slickness he needed to take her throat. The squeeze of his fingers became the welcoming grip of her sex, the honey-sweet heat of h
er core demanding he give her more.

  Gods, I want her.

  In time with his feverish fantasies, his control began to slip, his breath coming out in gasps, great waves of venna lost to the night. Bright blue points of light danced at the edge of his vision.

  Like this, he was wild, open, calling out to his faine.

  The air around him grew heavy, his skin prickling with awareness. Somehow, he stilled his hand, his heart banging inside his chest, so much so its pounding beat was mimicked in his ears.

  The faine was watching.

  She has come to me.

  *****

  Toran, in all his power and vulnerability, was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

  Awakened by his call in the night, Liv had been desperate to answer, a molten heat already abloom between her legs.

  In the murky moonlit darkness, she had found him in his bed, naked and aroused, his big body bared to her.

  Her body, already saturated with his healing venna, came even more alive as she subsumed a sensual assault of sight, sound, scent.

  The erotic notes of his private act of pleasure washed through her senses. His breathy exhalations, the insistent slap of skin, low guttural groans… with each and every sound, it felt as though a string tugged gently at her sex. The scent of his maleness filled her head with such desire, her channel clenched with need.

  So untried in the matters of sex, Liv should have been unnerved by the unfamiliar bombardment of sensations.

  Instead, she was desperate for more.

  Hungry for him, Liv watched in timorous awe as his long fingers pulled and twisted at the pliant skin along his cock, at times so fast, the motion blurred. His dusky sac, pressed tight against the base, looked heavy with seed.

  His size was breathtaking. Her heart quickened at the thought of his massive body straining above her own, feeding his length and breadth inside her sheath.

  Biting back a moan, Liv experienced a fervent tingling at her core––almost a burn––as she grew slick with anticipation.

  She felt the instance he sensed he was not alone, her thundering heartbeat giving away her presence in the dark.

  Frozen before him, a flush spread across her body. But it was no blush of shame for having been caught. No, her skin grew heated with the need for his touch.

  In that instant, Liv became so overcome with a need to be filled… it hurt.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  If the venna that raged in the sky above was any indication, Arman felt for sure his nephew was in the very last throes of battle and would, this very night, lose himself to his faine.

  It was about time.

  Despite everything finally falling into place, Arman felt rushed. So important was his task, he almost wished he could put things off to another night. But, no. That was impossible. He’d heard from his spy that Kellen was finally set to make his move… tomorrow.

  Thus Arman needed the Sorcieri’s help tonight.

  He prayed that, true to form, Feliks could be bought.

  And, just up ahead, Arman could see the spellcaster waiting in the darkness. As Arman neared his destination, the fine hairs at his nape tingled to attention. For not the first time these past few weeks, he got the distinct sensation he was being watched.

  “What’s this about, Arman?” Feliks called out. Already, the male’s voice was thick with impatience. The spellcaster had proved hard to convince, only agreeing to meet with Arman earlier that day. “Why are we skulking about in the night? What do you want?”

  “You’re so right, Feliks,” Arman answered. Considering his unease, perhaps it would be best to move their discussion away from prying eyes. Coming to a stop in front of the Grand Sorcieri, he swept out his hand to say, “Let’s move this to my house where you’ll be more comfortable.”

  The spellcaster refused to budge.

  “Tell me what you want, Arman,” said Feliks. “Right here. Right now.”

  Arman cast about a nervous eye, seeking answers in the shadows. But finding nothing, he forced himself to slip into a guise that had never failed him.

  Now facing the most important conversation of his life, he turned on his charm.

  “As you know,” he began with an ingratiating smile, “I am intent on seeing my nephew installed as king.”

  “Yes…” Feliks drew out. “I’m under the impression he’ll be crowned at the Blessing of the Thorns.”

  “Why would you say that?” Arman raised a questioning brow.

  “The Tenn told me himself that he’d be married then.”

  “Did he now?” Taking his time, Arman limped towards a park bench. “Well,” he said as he took a seat, “Toran may well choose to marry then, but he will not be king.”

  “What do you mean?” A streak of blue lightning illuminated the spellcaster’s unhappy features.

  Arman bit back a smile.

  “To take his crown,” answered Arman, “my nephew must plant his seed inside his fated female––his fertile female. I’m afraid Sarai will not be ready to accept him at the Blessing.”

  “The Tenn failed to mention this.”

  “An oversight on his part, I’m sure,” Arman countered. Here, he paused. “But perhaps there’s a way to make things right, to secure Toran’s crown sooner rather than later.”

  “Which would be?”

  “A simple fertility spell would do the trick.” Arman held his breath.

  “What?” Feliks’s face contorted with confusion.

  “I need the Tenn to impregnate his bride on his wedding night,” Arman explained. He added pointedly, “It’s the law.”

  “What the hell does any of this matter to me?” Feliks yelled. “I don’t give two shits about your moronic daemon law.” He pressed forward, the white of his teeth flashing in the moonlight. “Why the fuck am I here?”

  Arman allowed the spellcaster’s temper to subside before he chose to answer.

  “Because I want the throne.”

  His admission was met with silence.

  “You what?” Feliks asked at last.

  “I want the throne,” Arman repeated slowly. “And I am prepared to pay most handsomely for any assistance in securing it, specifically… your magic.”

  Feliks opened his mouth. Then closed it. After a moment, he opened it again to say, “Isn’t it expressly forbidden for Vimora to buy magic for personal use?”

  “Come, come, Feliks,” Arman laughed, hopeful that he finally had the spellcaster’s ear. “Let’s not let silly superstitions sabotage the possibility of a deal between us. Just hear me out. I can promise you that you’ll like the terms.”

  His heart beating wildly, Arman watched with bated breath as the spellcaster chewed his thumbnail.

  “Not that I’m agreeing to anything… yet,” Feliks hedged, “but how much are we talking?”

  Arman smiled.

  “I can promise you all of Baltia.”

  You’re joking,” the spellcaster scoffed.

  “I assure you that I am not,” said Arman.

  Feliks’s amber-colored eyes filled with suspicion.

  “You’d give up the richest region in Venn Dom,” he asked, “if not all of the Mythos?”

  “The diamond mines mean nothing to me.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Unlike my counterpart Narcyz, I care nothing for riches,” Arman answered smoothly. “I care only for power. And, as the undisputed ruler of the right and true Venn Dom, I will have that power. I will have the respect that is due to me and the house of the Tenn.”

  “Arman, you surprise me.” Feliks looked him over before giving a begrudgingly approving nod. “But just so we’re clear,” he was quick to narrow his gaze, “you’re saying that should I help you, I will receive all of Baltia?”

  “That’s what I’m saying.”

  “What if you fail?”

  “With your help, my friend,” Arman said, smiling his most ingratiating smile, “I cannot fail.”

  “I am not your frien
d,” Feliks answered, not smiling. But, almost immediately, the tenor of his emotions changed as he got down to business, the riches of Baltia squarely in his sights. “Other than the fertility spell, which is simple enough, what else do you need from me?”

  “Just a few small things,” Arman answered. “But I need them quickly. As in tonight.”

  “What are they?”

  Arman told him.

  “Is that all?” Feliks barked out a laugh. “Seriously?” The skepticism in his eyes almost drowned out the thunderless venna that stormed in the skies above.

  “Yes, that’s all I need from you.” Arman tongued his cheek before adding, “My nephew’s currently employed taking care of what else I need to steal his crown.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  In the pulsing darkness of his bedroom, Toran raised his head and aimed a stare exactly where he knew she stood. Venna lit the night, revealing his faine. She wore a white silk robe that fell a few inches below the crease of her bottom. Her honey-kissed hair was wild and tousled around her shoulders.

  Hungry fascination gleamed in her darkened eyes as she took in his naked vulnerability.

  Against all reason, Toran opened his knees wider in invitation while his hand resumed a slow and easy rhythm. His venna, insistent with needs of its own, raged in the air around him.

  Their eyes locked in the darkness.

  “Come to me, faine,” he thought he whispered. Lightheaded with pleasure, Toran adjusted his touch so that just the tips of his fingers and the inside of his thumb worked his flesh in a slow, languid motion. Glancing down his body, he could see a drop of pre-cum glistening in the moonlight.

  She, too, saw his need. He could almost feel the caress of her gaze on his aching shaft.

  Lost in breathless agony, Toran felt more than saw her approach. When she placed a small hand on his knee, a shiver raced across his skin. At her touch, a soothing yet demanding power commanded him to take her to bed.