Bound By Fate: A Novel of the Strong (28 page)

His hand froze mid-caress as she tensed under his touch.
 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Merus cupped his palm around her elbow and steered her into an alcove, out of view from others. When they were hidden away in the shadows, he bent down to catch her eyes. Lowering his voice to a whisper, he demanded, “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” Mandy waved away his words. “It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?” Merus stepped closer. Inhaling deeply, he took in her delicious scent. She smelled of strawberries and sunshine.
 

It made him feel a bit dizzy.

“Is it about that night at PJs?” he asked as he tried to clear his head.

Yes, the witch had approached him days after their session alright, all sexy, loose, and more than a little drunk. Much to his complete surprise, she had asked if he wanted to come over and watch a movie. Befuddled and out of sorts, and so unused to not being in control, Merus had clumsily rebuffed her advances.
 

Is this why she’s upset with me?

“Tell me,” he commanded.

*****

Gazing up into Merus’s imploring eyes, Mandy found herself incapable of giving an answer.
 

As much as she hated to admit it, she felt so much…
hurt.

Days after he’d given her Liv’s number, she had shown up at his place on the Evential ‘el, just as he had expected she would.
No, just as he had commanded.
She should have left it at that. But, no. A week or so after their… whatever that was… she had managed to make a complete ass out of herself in what was a nightmare affair of awkwardness and embarrassment with an extra-heaping dose of humiliation on the side.

Good god, what had she been thinking?

“I’m not telling you anything,” she chose to answer at last.
 

Besides, right now, if there was going to be any kind of interrogation, it should be she demanding answers. Straightening her shoulders, Mandy asked, “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on with your boss?”

“What do you mean?” Lips tipped down in a frown, he shrugged. “He was injured in battle, but he should be fine now that Liv’s with him.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Mandy threw out her hands. “What’s wrong with him? What did you mean by it not being safe? Is he going to hurt her?”

“No,” he answered, a thick vein ticking at his forehead. “He won’t hurt her.”

She studied him for a moment.

“You, know,” she said, “there is more than one kind of hurt.”

He looked away.

“And I’ve heard things.”

“What have you heard?” he asked, refusing to meet her eye.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she cried. “How about how Toran is engaged to be married to some chick… who happens to not be my best friend!”

His eyes snapped back to her.

“Where did you hear this?” Merus demanded.

“My brother told me.”

He paled.
 

“Your brother.” His voice went hoarse. “Who is your brother?”

“Feliks, Grand Sorcieri of the Caste of the Sun,” she answered, though she was loath to claim the pompous ass.

The daemon’s chin jerked back as if she’d hit him.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she demanded.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he whispered. After a moment, he managed to ask, “Does Liv know about what you’ve heard?”

“No, I was just about to bring it up when you showed up in the courtyard,” she answered. “I’ve been hoping that it isn’t true.” Mandy pressed a palm against her chest. “But I can see now that it is true.”

He blew out a breath.

“It’s true,” Merus said. “Toran is set to marry my sister at the Blessing of the Thorns.”

“What?” Wrinkling her nose, she peered up into his face. “Your sister?”

“Yes,” he answered, “my sister.”

“Wait. Wait. Wait.” Mandy began to pace in short circles around him, waving off his words. “You’re his cousin!” she cried. “What are you, hillbillies?”
 

“He’s not a blood cousin, Mandy.” Merus lifted his palms in explanation. “I call him cousin because…”

“I don’t give a shit what you call him, you jerk! Oh my god, Merus,” she moaned. “He’s going to break her heart. I have to tell her…”
 

He blocked the path.

“I can’t let you do that.”
 

She tried to shove him away only to find herself pressed up against his body, his arms around her.

“Let go of me!” She wrenched her knee up to strike him between his legs.
 

He blocked her attack.

“Mandy, listen to me,” he hissed at her ear. “We have to let this play out Toran’s way. For what it’s worth, this isn’t what he wants…”

“Are you kidding me? I don’t have to do any such thing!” Trying to free her arms, she jabbed her elbows into his chest. “And for what it’s worth, that’s bullshit! If it’s not what he wants, then all he has to do is...”

“Godsdammit, Mandy!” Merus erupted, the daemon in him rising to come to his cousin’s defense. “Do you really think it’s that easy? After an entire life of being told… no, of believing with every fiber of his being… that his fate is sealed?” His eyes flashed a darker blue from the venna within him. “Trust me, I’ve tried to talk to him about such things. But Toran isn’t like the rest of us. He doesn’t have the same choices––the same freedoms…”

“I don’t believe that, Merus,” Mandy cried, struggling harder against him as he tensed to pulse them off plane. “If he doesn’t have the stones to fight for what he wants, he deserves every fucking thing fate shoves down his throat.”

Toran came awake with a shout.

Every muscle in his body seized against the fury coursing through his veins. Screwing his eyes shut, he grimaced and panted into the darkness, praying for something, anything to relieve his pain.
 

Despite his misery, he thanked the gods he was alone.

He wasn’t alone.

Another shout escaped him at the feel of her hand, soft against his shoulder. Out of his mind with dread, his body throbbing, his venna pulsing, he screamed through clenched teeth, “Get the fuck out of here, Liv!” When she made no move to leave, he growled in helpless frustration.

The room swayed in time with his agony.

“Let me help you, Toran.” He could barely hear her gentle whisper over the whistle of venna seething in his ears.

“You can’t help…” The room began to spin. Delirious, he fought against the blue darkness that threatened to consume him.
 

“Leave me, faine,” he thought he said. “Leave me.”

Instead of leaving, he felt her lean closer, the silk of her hair brushing his shoulder.
 

Oh, gods.
 

Wide-eyed and shaking, he felt her fingers slide into the fabric of his shirt, tugging it gently up his torso. Unbidden, his elbows rose above his head as she pulled the garment off his back and tossed it aside. At the cool graze of air against his burning skin, his venna sizzled again, this time with impotent rage.

Liv paused. Pressing her hand against his naked chest, she helped him breathe through the pain.

When the rush subsided, Toran watched her hand move down his body to his belt buckle. When her fingers reached their destination, his venna erupted with a boom. The windows rattled. Clutching the sheets, he jackknifed up off the pillows. Weak with fatigue and crippling pain, his face landed in the soft cradle of her neck. Lifting an arm that felt as if it was made of lead, he tried to push her hand away. “Why won’t you listen?” His words were slurred, his throat dry and sticky. “I’ll kill you.”

Despite his frenzied pleas, she gave no heed. As she continued to undress him, the venna of others––venna from battled-hardened males destroyed at his hand––waged war with his own.
 

Gods, it’s too much
.

His feverish mind protested against the onslaught, his heart constricting, his muscles convulsing.

Back and forth went the battle, his venna rising up to stoke his agony, Liv’s soothing caress batting it down in appeasement.

His strength fading, at the healing touch of her velvety lips against his own, Toran at last fainted dead away.

For four long days, Liv sat by Toran's side as his big body was beaten raw by the daemons within, her healing hands and lips struggling to take away just a fraction of the vicious pain.

His misery was soul-wrenching.
 

With a last cry of helpless agony, Toran had finally passed out a few hours ago, this time for good it seemed, the fury within him spent, his fitful peace interrupted by just the barest of shudders.

His venna hung thick and sluggish in the air as if it, too, needed respite from the struggle.

Though tired and edgy with worry, Liv felt strangely exhilarated… and completely alive.

While others may have withered––or worse––under the wrath of Toran's venna, Liv had thrived. Over the course of his suffering, as she’d touched him, held him, breathed his essence in, she had been reborn.

She felt everything.

And, now, she understood everything.

At the height of his torment, Toran had demanded… then begged and pleaded and cried… for her to leave him.

I’ll kill you.

That’s what he had said.
 

As she watched him sleep, all of her confusion was stripped away. She knew now why Toran had pulled away that morning a few days before, why he couldn’t bring himself to let go, to find the relief he so desperately needed.

Toran had been terrified that, in the moment of his greatest weakness, he’d hurt her.

But, if his recent struggle proved anything, it was that his strength––the awesome sting of his venna––was her strength. By taking what he so desperately needed to give, Liv had the power to ease his pain.
 

To make his life better.
 

To maybe, some day, even bring him a bit of happiness.

Blinking back grateful tears, she gazed down at his stunning face, his features slack and relaxed in sleep. Before he had somehow found her lost in the world without him, Toran had suffered this unbearable agony alone.

Never again.

She knew why she was in Venn Dom.
 

She was there to give
him
life.

Eyes wide open, there was no question in her mind that they were bound by fate.

Just as her mother had promised.

Liv reached out, overcome with the need to touch him. She placed a hand on Toran's sleeping chest only to pull it back with a gasp. It was as if she’d touched a smoldering coal.

Rushing to the bathroom, she returned with a wash cloth and bowl, hoping the cool water would help soothe his fevered skin. As she wiped away the sheen of sweat from his chest and shoulders, his venna flickered like static just above his skin.
 

In time, his cock stirred to lengthen and thicken beneath the sheet.
 

As she watched, she lost her breath.
 

He was so beautiful.

A burn low in her abdomen simmered as she remembered the feel of him inside her.

She wanted that again.
 

She wanted that with him… forever.
 

Running her gaze up his rippled stomach and broad chest, she let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d held. Toran's heavy-lidded eyes were watching her with intense, yet slightly unfocused, interest.

She held his stare for long, breathless moments before watching those eyes, eyes that flashed sapphire with the wildness of his venna, slide slowly shut.

Sure he had once again drifted into sleep, Liv attempted to rise. She got mere inches away before she was pulled back down to the bed, his heavy hand engulfing her small one in his to press it flat against his chest.

She could feel the pounding beat of his heart.

Eyes still closed, Toran grated out a throaty rasp, “Don’t leave me, faine.”

Toran felt lightheaded, so profound was his relief in finding Liv here, by his side.

He was also intensely aroused from her touch.
 

With a guilty, yet unrepentant moan, he shifted to his side and pulled her into bed. After an almost imperceptible pause, Liv settled in beside him.

They lay face-to-face.

Lifting his hand, Toran reached out to twirl a curl of her hair around his finger. “You haven’t left me,” he whispered.

“No, Toran, I’m here,” she whispered in answer. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Relieved, he leaned in, burrowing his face into her neck to breathe in her sweet scent. She was so soft, so warm, so…
alive
.

He tensed slightly before relaxing again into her body.
 

Surely this wasn’t a dream.
 

Was it?

Toran ran a tentative hand up the line of her shoulder to rest it against her cheek. A shiver washed through him as she skimmed the tips of her fingers along his forearm before cupping her hand around his, her touch soothing his anxiety. When he pulled his head back and opened his eyes, he knew this was real.

Liv was smiling at him, relief shining in her eyes.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like hammered dog shit,” he answered honestly.

She laughed then squeezed his wrist. “I’ll go tell Wynda you’re awake so she can bring you something to eat,” she said. “I’m sure you’re starved.”

“No, stay with me a while,” he murmured. Unable to relinquish the peace he felt with her at his side, Toran engulfed her in his arms. Pulling up a knee, he intertwined his legs with hers, her body trembling slightly beneath him. It took nearly all his strength not to press his aching shaft against her thigh.

They lay quietly together for many minutes.

“What day is it?” he asked at last. Gods, his throat felt rough. It felt as if he’d been screaming for days.

“It’s Saturday, late afternoon,” she answered. “You’ve been out since Wednesday.”

He tensed.

Saturday, Saturday, Saturday.