But he was nowhere to be found.
Instead, when she peeped around the castle corner, she saw that the warrior Ales stood outside the gate barring entry to the keep.
For the time being, she kept her distance.
Cloaked in the darkness of the night, Anara studied the daemon.
He stood, alert and imposing, under the yellow glow of an electric lantern.
With a rugged frame, longish black hair, and square-set jaw, the daemon was handsome in a brutishly coarse way, as was common with the lower class Vimora.
The way he looked now, though, was very different from how she had seen him last, which was mangled, bloodied, and nude.
The daemon had been grievously injured in the border attack a few weeks before, his bravery helping to spare the lives of the women and children in the village from the fire daemon’s destruction. Though his venna had been able to deflect the blasts of the Sumari’s flames, his femoral artery had been severed by a well-placed dagger strike. He had nearly bled out where he fell. Luckily, one of his men had been able to pulse him to her operating table just in time.
When Anara had cut off his leathers to get at his wound, she had been shocked by what she’d found; so much so, her knees had buckled beneath her. She had long thought herself inured to the telltale signs of maltreatment dished out between the Vimora.
She could not have been more wrong.
Somehow quelling the tremble in her hands, she had stitched him back together. In doing so, Anara had found herself, for the first time in ages, cursing her healing gift. Since birth, Anara possessed the not-to-be-coveted ability to discern not only injuries, past and present, but also the agony those injuries inflicted upon their host.
In the daemon’s case, he had been repeatedly smashed from skull to toe.
The tales told by the daemon’s bones went way beyond anything Anara had ever felt before. Multiple fractures ran the gamut from compound to hairline to stress to compound again. Countless long-healed contusions comprised untold amounts of pain.
All this agony had been experienced before he’d reached his state of near-immortality.
As a child, Ales had been unconscionably, unforgivably abused.
Since he’d left the hospital––gone long before she would have ever agreed to discharge him––Anara had looked into him, her interest in his life curious even to her insatiably curious self.
He lived with his mother, a feeble old woman who exhibited classic signs of advanced dementia––dementia Anara suspected was caused by brain injuries suffered from repeated beatings.
Not surprisingly, she had learned that he had murdered his father while the old daemon lay asleep in his bed.
Given the horrors told by Ales’s body, Anara had no doubt the bastard’s death was well deserved. She applauded it. Even as a doctor, she’d never had a problem accepting the righteousness of some of the rougher points of daemon justice.
After all, she had availed of it herself a time or two.
The daemon’s soft burr rumbled through the night.
“Doona just stand out there in the darkness, female. Show yourself.”
After a moment of hesitation, Anara stepped forward into the light.
“I canna let you in,” he said as soon as his eyes lit upon her face. It was clear that someone had clued him in on her days-long mission to breach the castle’s walls.
Instead of getting straight to the point, she found herself lifting a stubborn chin.
“Before we get to that,” she said, “we have other business to discuss.” She walked towards him. “Not only did you run away from my care like a thief in the night, you missed your follow-up appointment,” she accused. “I need to check your stitches.”
“’Tis fine.”
“It ’tis not ‘fine,’” she answered. Even she was surprised by the heat in her voice. “You were critically injured, and I need to make sure the wound heals properly. Even near-immortals can risk infection, gangrene, amputation…”
Tilting his head, the daemon studied her with quiet eyes. Considering what she now knew about his past, Anara wasn’t surprised to find those eyes nothing less than ancient.
What was surprising was the fact that she found herself flustered.
“I know complications are rare,” she yammered on, “but I still need to…”
“I’m fine, lass,” he interrupted. “I’m all healed up… thanks to you.”
At his murmured words of thanks, her heart dropped into her gut, her insides warming more than she dared to admit. But, despite his quiet gratitude, Anara knew he was in no way fully healed.
She feared he could never be fully healed.
“Okay, then,” she ventured bravely on. “Suit yourself.” She once more raised her chin. “It’s obvious that you know why I’m here, so let’s cut to the chase. I need you to let me in so that I can see the Tenn.”
“Only those of Elden blood may enter,” he answered in a steady breath.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She waved away his words. “Trust me, I’ve heard this all before,” she said, the misogynistic bent of the Vimora grating at her very soul. “But I don’t care. I’m Toran’s doctor… and I must insist on seeing him.”
Looking him straight in the eye, she stepped forward with purpose.
He blocked her path.
She tried to step around him.
Once again, he blocked her way, his enormous presence overwhelming her not-so-small frame. Unused to such intimate contact with a male, she was struck breathless by how big he was. And though he didn’t make a move to touch her, Anara could feel the electric pull of his venna.
He wanted her.
Heart pounding, she found herself pressing closer.
“Do not make me lay my hands upon you, female.” His voice was quiet, gentle. It was also infused with purpose. “The Tenn will see you on his own time.”
Anara tilted her head to meet his eyes. Licking her lips, she watched as his gaze dropped lower to linger on her mouth.
“Ah-lesh,” she whispered, the phonetic beauty of his name rolling gently off her tongue. “Please…”
At the sound of his name upon her lips, the daemon tensed.
“I have to see him,” she said, the palpable rawness of their attraction giving her strength. “It’s important. To all of us,” she added on a whisper.
She reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder.
He stood as still as stone before backing away from her touch.
Oddly stung by his rejection, Anara tried her best to push it aside.
“Look,” she managed to say, “doctor patient confidentiality prevents me from discussing what I need to say with anyone but the Tenn.” She paused. “Though, if you promise not to read it,” she ventured, “perhaps I could just scribble out a note and you could take it to him?”
She waited for his response.
“I doona know how t’ read,” he said with a shrug. But before Anara could process his easily-given admission, he added, “But I canna leave my post.”
She bit back a cry of frustration.
“Please,” she said, “I have to speak with him.”
Anara watched as his stunning blue eyes––eyes that flashed with a quiet intelligence––searched her face as if seeking an answer.
She prayed to the gods he’d find one.
Unfortunately, she was out of luck.
“Go home, female,” Ales said at last, jerking his chin in the direction of the village. “You’ll get no help from me.”
Pressing her lips together, Anara exhaled in resignation. With one long, last look at castle, she turned away just as a crack of venna threatened to bring down the walls.
As she walked down the lane, she could feel the weight of Ales’s eyes upon her. Perhaps the daemon was having second thoughts.
Too bad it didn’t matter.
With that last crash of venna, Anara knew right then that she had failed to save Toran from destroying himself… and his future.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Locked away inside the bedroom, Toran continued his murmurs, his lips hot against Liv’s cheek, his insistent hands pulling at her clothing.
“I need to feel your body under mine again,” he said. He let out a groan. “I need you naked beneath me.”
When Liv raised her eyes to his, her gaze was met by a blaze of electric blue.
She pulled away.
“No,” he cried out, reaching for her.
“Shh,” she soothed. With a tremulous hand, Liv pushed him back into the pillows. “Let me give you what you want.”
A growl escaped his throat, her core clenching at the sound.
Lower lip between her teeth, Liv hooked her thumbs in her yoga pants and pulled them down the barest inch.
The walls trembled.
She heard him take in a shallow breath, his mouth going slack as he watched her every movement. Breathless, she continued her slow tease, sliding the fabric down her hips and ass to show her cleft of curls. His head tipped forward to stare. When he lifted his chin in wide-eyed question, she leaned forward to pull away her bottoms and toss them on the floor.
Heart racing, she straddled his thighs. His cock pulsing against her mound, she bit back a groan knowing it had just been in her mouth.
Tilting her hips, Liv felt the tip catch against her rim.
Toran lightly palmed her hips for just a moment before skimming his fingers up under her tank to cup her breasts.
Flicking his thumbs roughly against her achy nipples, he gave them a pinch before, in a blink, he ripped the fabric clean away.
She cried out but quieted to a whimper as his hands returned to palm her breasts. He gave a gentle squeeze.
“That’s better,” he muttered, his lips twisting up into the barest beginnings of a smile.
Liv bit back a gasp, shocked at his playfulness. Breaking into a smile of her own, she leaned in to take his lips in a kiss.
*****
Naked, her body fully alive, Liv was ready for him, the scent of her desire whetting his hunger.
Just like the other night, with one thrust, Toran could be inside her tight heat.
The only thing that stopped him this time was everything.
Here in his bed, in their one night together, he wanted everything.
Squeezing the meat of her thigh to keep their connection, Toran rolled into her body, pushing Liv hard against the mattress.
“Gods, you feel so good,” he breathed as he rocked between her legs. Lifting to an elbow, he threaded a hand down her body to finger her soft patch of curls.
She moaned.
Utter male satisfaction swept through him at hearing his name upon her lips, her hips writhing insistently to meet his hand.
His eyelids slid closed as he slipped languid fingers through her folds. Delving deeper, he gathered the evidence of her desire in his fingertips before drawing them up to make soft slow circles against her heated flesh. His breath grew heavy as her breath shallowed with each slick caress.
“So ready,” he whispered. “So ready for me.”
Though he kept his fingers thoroughly employed, Toran was careful not to rub too hard against her swollen nub. Instead, he practiced a slow and easy tease, careful to save that particular treat for his tongue.
He groaned, his venna hissing with anticipation.
Soon.
Gazing down into Liv’s half-closed eyes, Toran said, “Open to me, faine.” In answer, her knees fell wider apart. Slipping his forefinger inside her tight little sheath, he gave a come hither motion, rubbing back and forth against her upper wall.
At his touch, Liv’s lips parted in ecstasy, her chin and pelvis tilting up in time. Raspy little moans escaped her throat, her body growing more taut beneath his touch.
For long minutes, Toran watched in grateful awe as Liv experienced this first true taste of passion. Unlike the other night where he had mindlessly taken her body, only seeking his own relief, now his every movement, his every thought, was distilled down into one crystal clear focus––doing whatever it took to make her come for him.
In answer, her entire body began to tremble as his fingers played.
She was close.
“Please,” she whimpered, a soft little plea.
Though he knew he was a bastard destined to go straight to a special kind of hell, Toran was eager to give her what she needed. He slid his lower body off the bed. Hands at her hips, he pulled Liv against his face, his mouth open to cover her whole.
She cried out his name again, this time more insistently, her feet planted on his shoulders, her hips undulating against his hungry tongue.
Eyes closed in ecstasy, he groaned into her wetness.
Gods, her taste.
Lifting her ass like an offering, his bruising fingers gripping her thighs, Toran ate at her like the famished man he was, his teeth grazing her swollen peak, his lips sucking and tugging gently, his tongue teasing her entrance. Her fingers in his hair, her soft little whimpers spurred him on.
As he pushed her closer to her release, Toran tensed his muscles to the point of pain, desperate to keep his venna at bay.
The pain was worth it to drown in her sweetness.
Rubbing the meat of his tongue flat and hard against her bud, Toran pressed two big fingers inside her and began to pump a steady rhythm, her cries growing louder as the pressure built.
“Oh my gods, please, Toran…” Liv cried out. Between panted breaths, she begged, “Please don’t stop. Oh my gods… I’ve never…”
“That’s because this,” he said between hungry licks, “belongs to me.”
*****
Toran was consuming her alive, his soft tongue a licking flame that stoked Liv’s body afire from her knees to her belly.
In time, the scorching heat of his venna seared her lungs, making it hard for her to breathe.
Blindingly bright light sparkled against her eyelids. Yet another instance of pleasure wrapped in magnificent pain bombarded her senses as Toran reached up to tweak her nipple, rolling it hard between his fingers.
Hands gripping his hair, Liv writhed and begged for mercy… please… oh gods, help me.
Soon, she could do nothing but lie there and take it, her fists clutched against her stomach, her hamstrings locked tight, her body a shivering mass of tension against his mouth.
She choked out a whimper as Toran pulled back to blow a cooling breath on her heated flesh. The respite was mercifully short lived as, mere seconds later, he pushed his chin forward, his beard a prickled pressure at her core.
Pressing his lips tight against her, he gave a hard suck.
Liv’s world exploded.
She cried out as the vibrations of her orgasm danced with his venna as she came hard against his mouth.
There he stayed, hungrily licking and laving at her hypersensitive folds until, with a whimper, she pushed his head away.
Not waiting even a second to catch his breath, Toran climbed up, ready for her. Hooking his hands in her armpits, he hauled Liv up the bed and deposited her against the pillows and crashed his body down on hers.
He took her mouth in a wet, open kiss as if eager to share the scent of her sex, the taste of her release.
Pulling his mouth away with a groan, Toran levered up on an elbow. He fisted his cock at its base and pressed it against her opening.
His skin shimmering with blue-tinged sweat, his venna wild and unruly, he paused. The tip of his shaft burned against her, its presence heavy with intent.
Anxious he would once again pull away, Liv cupped her palms around his neck. Venna raced into her pores.
Shivering at the electricity pulsing between them, she raised her head, and giving him a soft kiss, she moaned so softly it was nearly a whisper, “Please, Toran. I need you inside me.”
In response, his eyelids slid shut, signaling his defeat.
His big body shuddered as he began to press inside her.
“Yes,” she breathed out in help
less agony as she took him in, his pelvis a slow and purposeful piston that pulled back, then pressed a little deeper, pulled back, then pressed a little more until he was seated all the way inside.
His cock throbbed, hard and thick against her womb.
“Oh my gods, Liv,” he whispered into her neck, “you feel so good.” As they lay, breast to breast, she could feel the thundering beat of his heart against her own.
“Mmmm,” she answered. She was completely lost to the staggering fullness, the fierceness of their connection, her utter surrender.
Soon, Toran settled into a slow yet demanding tempo, her hips rising and falling to match his rhythm.
Angling down, he licked her lips only to pull back to gaze into her eyes, his own so full of intense emotion.
Wherever their bodies touched, with every breath Liv took of his venna, she could feel his love for her.
Heart full, she arched into him. She pressed a hand against his cheek, desperate for him to feel how much she loved him too.
At her touch, his movement grew more frenzied, his back slicking with sweat, his breath growing shallow.
With a grunt, Toran shifted to his knees. Pulling her up his muscular thighs, he wrapped a massive arm around her ass to keep her just where he wanted. Liv cried out at the force with which he took her, her breasts bouncing to his pounding rhythm, a delicious tension building as they each neared a desperate release.
Teeth bared, neck straining, Toran opened his eyes.
Liv’s sharp cry of surprise quickly morphed into a low, wanton whimper as the air around them heated with a dazzling blue brightness, the lust shining from Toran's crazed daemon eyes as hot and brilliant as the midday sun.
*****
“Feel me, Liv,” Toran groaned, his control slowly slipping away, the electric buzz of his venna flooding the room. “Feel how much I want you.”
Feel how much I love you.
Eyes aglow, his arms holding her trembling body to his, Toran fell forward to press her back down onto the bed, Liv’s gold-kissed hair framing her face on the pillow.
Bound By Fate: A Novel of the Strong Page 24
