Bound By Fate: A Novel of the Strong (7 page)

Wasn’t it?

“And,” Arman added, “I’m sure you’ll be glad to hear that Sarai is most eager to marry. In fact, she has told me she will be primed to accept you at the first of the year, just over four short months away.”

Shit. So soon?

A sweat broke across his brow. Unable to mask his agitation, Toran began to pace the room. He could feel Arman’s curious eyes upon him.

“The timing is nearly perfect, is it not?”
 

Something in his uncle’s voice stopped him cold.

Shrugging it off, Toran crossed to the furthest part of the room. From behind his bedroom’s door, he could feel the soothing pull of the faine.

He breathed out a curse.

“Of course,” the old daemon continued with affable ease, “there are certain conditions that must be met to make the marriage arrangement… agreeable… to both sides.”

“What does the old bastard want?” Toran demanded, fully expecting that Sarai’s father would demand a hefty price for his daughter. Despite their long-standing engagement, it was expected that Toran would expend either wealth or favors to “win” his female from her father’s home.

Toran had a pretty good idea which option Narcyz would choose.

“Narcyz asks for nothing,” Arman answered, “other than the liberty of living out his remaining years in peace and safety at his estate in Baltia.”

Toran leaned forward and cocked an ear.

“Come again?” he asked.

“As I said, Narcyz asks for nothing of consequence.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Toran exclaimed. Over the past three centuries, an army of rebels had waged a brutal war to weaken Narcyz’s base of power in Baltia. Lead by Kellen the 8th, one of Narcyz’s many bastard sons, the rebels had slowly taken a swath of territory, territory that rightfully belonged to the crown.

His crown.

The old bastard would be a fool not to demand that Toran step in to quell the rebellion once and for all––no matter the consequences.

“Narcyz is eager to give up his role on the council, as am I,” Arman answered with a deferential tilt of his head. “As you know, these years since your parents’ deaths have not been easy.”

At that understatement of the centuries, Toran huffed out a bitter laugh.

“It was never supposed to be this way,” Arman murmured in response. “Especially for you.”

At his uncle’s soft words, Toran’s enmity burned. The Great Cleansing had been fervently pursued with the pure intentions of making the Vimora stronger, of protecting their blood against the faine’s wicked pull. Case in point, Toran somehow found himself back at his bedroom door. In angry defiance, he leaned against it.
 

“It is what it is,” he spat. Realizing how close he’d come earlier to succumbing to her wiles, he added, “Fuck the faine.”

His uncle gave an approving nod.

“What about the rebels?” Toran called out, itching for a fight. “Why isn’t he demanding that I take them out?”

“Narcyz cares deeply for Sarai. Thus…” Arman had to raise his voice over the sound of Toran’s laughter. “Thus,” he continued, “he can’t risk you killing Kellen and his men, especially this close to you taking his daughter in your marriage bed.” He glanced Toran’s way. “I’m afraid such carnage would prove too much for you to take at once, faine or no.”

Toran stopped laughing.

“But, as it is,” his uncle said, “we have no cause to worry about such things.” Arman crossed the distance between them to place a mottled hand on Toran’s shoulder. “Instead, you should take this gift that you have been given,” he said, his lips twisting into a gentle smile. “Vile creature though she be, your faine is the key to everything. You must put aside your revulsion––and your pride––and use her the way she was meant to be used. If you do, then soon, you’ll be everything you’ve ever longed to be… husband, father…
and king.
”

The crash of a door slamming home finally shook Liv out of her stupor. Disoriented and dizzy, she felt as if she had just survived a pulse across a distant plane.
 

But that was impossible.
 

She couldn’t pulse.
 

Could she?

Eyes screwed shut, she shifted slightly only to cry out as a surprising surplus of energy surged across her skin, her body tantalizingly close to being fully alive.
 

How was it that such energy flowed through her veins?
 

How was it she could…
feel?

What has happened?

Hazy memories washed over her in waves. The sensation of a male’s hungry hands upon her body. Whispered touches against her skin. Her pores coaxed open to breathe in a bouquet of senses that was equal parts wonderment and shame.
 

The daemon.

Liv opened her eyes.

She lay in a huge canopied bed that was centered in a spacious room.
 

Though she felt sure he had just been with her, she found herself alone in the dusky, blue-gray dawn.
 

Rising slowly from the bed, she blinked as she took in her surroundings. The orange glow from the fireplace cast flickering shadows, revealing large pieces of furniture, dark wood tones, and regal fabrics. The decor was unmistaken in its masculinity.
 

Despite the fire, Liv shivered.
 

She felt…
cold.
 

When she chanced to glance down at her body, she saw why. “Ah, the octagon,” she groaned as she cast her eyes about the room, searching for something more to wear. On the wall opposite the bed, she spied a large armoire. Inside, she found a row of button-down shirts and a stack of neatly folded tees. Liv ripped one of the black tees off the top and pulled it over her head, jamming her arms through the sleeves.

The shirt’s hem fell to just above her knees, nearly swallowing her whole.

Feeling more secure now that her body was a bit more covered, Liv tried to calm her racing heart.

“Okay, okay, okay,” she chanted to herself as she sidled over to a partially opened door.
 

She peeked in.

Bathroom.
 

There was only one other door in the room. She crept across the carpet to press an ear against the wood.

Through it, Liv could feel energy emanating from two males, two distinct sets of emotions. One was a cloying concoction of slyness, haughty disdain, and barely-hidden glee. The other, a potent blend of anger and disgust highlighted by the barest hint of despair.

They were locked in a terse conversation.

Something about duty? Impotence? Marriage?
 

She pressed her fingertips against the door and strained to hear more.

A seething blast of hate knocked her away.
 

Hatred for… me?

Blinking past her hurt and her fear, Liv stood frozen in place, her heart thundering in her chest. If she were brave like Mandy, she’d go back and listen for more. Her friend had always told her that, to protect herself, knowing the lay of the land was key.
 

She wasn’t brave.

Instead, she finally managed to stagger towards the fireplace. Now even colder than before, Liv picked up the heavy poker with shaking hands and bent to stoke the coals.
 

Just as she leaned forward, the air filled with a hissing static. Someone or something solidified in the room right behind her. A scream of terror left her lips as she whirled around and swung the iron as hard as she could.

She connected squarely with bone.
 

A daemon roared.

*****

“What the fuck?”

As pain seared across his scalp, Toran’s venna thrashed and whipped about the room in a frenzy. He fell backwards into a chair, the telltale warmth of blood oozing through his hair.
 

“Oh my gods. Oh my gods.” The sound of a female’s soft and panicked voice thrummed against his eardrums.

He sensed more than saw her dart away. She returned seconds later with a towel from the bathroom. With one arm cradling his head, she pressed the cloth to his wound, her body tucked inside his open legs.
 

He stared right into her heaving breasts. Through his electric blue haze Toran somehow managed to process that she was wearing one of his V-neck tee shirts. Ten sizes too large, the neckline slid down her shoulder, doing nothing to hide her cleavage.
 

“I’m so sorry.” The faine’s body trembled as she pressed her hand tighter against his head. “You frightened me. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Despite the electric charge in the room, a strange sense of calm blanketed his agitation, as though his unease were trapped beneath her fingertips.
 

It was as if she
welcomed
the sting of his venna.
 

He reached up and knocked her hand away.
 

“Step away from me, faine.” Taking the towel from her, Toran held it to his head and angled out of the chair and away.

“I’m so sorry,” she said again. Ignoring his command, she stepped towards him, her palms open in supplication. “Are you okay?”

He spun away from her touch.

“It’s just a cut.” Gods, his throat felt like gravel. “It’s already healing.” As if to prove the point, Toran tossed the bloody towel into the corner.

As an awkward silence passed between them, Toran could see questions swirling in her eyes. When the faine finally spoke, he resisted the urge to close his eyes and lean in to her melodic voice.
 

Which just served to piss him off further.

“Where am I?” she asked. “How long have I been here?”

At her questions, he looked around, the full ramifications of what he had done finally dawning.

He had brought the faine here.

To his bed.

What the fuck had he been thinking?

Toran grabbed her wrist. Throwing a hidden door open with his venna, he dragged her out of his room and down the darkened corridor that led to the chamber of the faine.

The blue luminescence of his venna lit the way.

“What are you doing? Where are you taking me?”

At the terror in her voice, a twinge of guilt nudged his conscience.

He ignored it.

Upon reaching his destination, Toran kicked open the door and pushed her inside before slamming it shut behind them.

They stood facing each other, the faine’s eyes big with fright, his glossy with near panic.

Toran had no idea what to do next.

He was rescued by a cat’s meow.

Looking down, he found the faine’s creature winding its scraggly body around their ankles. It was busy voicing its opinion on their sudden arrival.
 

As the cat grazed the bare skin of her calf, the faine gazed up at him with a look Toran had never before seen in his life.
 

What is that look?

“My cat,” she said. “You brought me my cat.”
 

“Yes,” Toran answered. Overcome with guilty angst at what might have happened had he left it alone, Toran had brought the cat to Venn Dom along with her clothes.

Reaching down, the faine scooped the creature up and pressed it to her breast.
 

“Thank you,” she said, her eyes filling with tears.
 

Tears?
 

“What the hell is wrong with you, faine?” He jumped a little at the harshness in his voice.

Walking backwards until she bumped against the bed, the faine sat and pulled the creature closer.
 

Her eyes, still awash in that look, never left his own.

Fucking hell, what is that look?

“Oh my gods, he’s so soft,” she whispered. The cat struggled against her caresses, eventually slipping from her hold and jumping to the floor. The neckline of his tee gaped, revealing her breasts.

“Cover yourself, female,” he bit out, his gaze darting away, his cheeks heating red as irritation––and a healthy dose of lust––rose within him.
 

Unbidden, his eyes returned to watch as she was quick to obey. Lunging forward, she pulled a knitted blanket from the foot of the bed. Clutching the fabric tight at her chest, she returned a trembling gaze to his.

Toran swallowed thickly as he finally had a moment to take her in.

Awake, the faine was even more stunning than before. The thick black lashes that had lain against her perfect skin now framed smoky green eyes, eyes that were very much alive, open, and soulful… and watching him.

He couldn’t take it.
 

Turning away, he busied himself hauling the duffel bag he’d brought from Vegas onto the bed.
 

“Here are some clothes from the mortal plane. Dress yourself and then come downstairs to my office.” Toran jerked his head towards the door on the opposite side of the room. “It’s that way.”

Breaking her stare, she leaned to look around his body to eye the now hidden door through which they had just come. Then she shifted to study the obviously newly installed door on the wall behind her.

As she turned back to face him, her expressive eyes held just a touch of…
hope?

“Never mind that, faine,” he growled. “Come to me after you’re settled. Then I will tell you how this is to work between us.”

For a long time after Toran left, Liv sat in stunned silence, her fingers stroking Wolfgang’s fur as he purred pressed up against her leg.

At last, she swallowed past her nerves and glanced around, forcing herself to take in the room to which she’d been brought.
 

Though she had been too young to have been fully immersed in her studies before leaving Venn Dom, Liv knew exactly where she was.

She was in the chamber of the faine.

The room was small. A single window, tall but twice as narrow as the width of her body, shed dreary light on the aged wood floors, a small hearth providing the room’s only warmth. Gray stone walls held up a ceiling made of wood and enormous metal beams––beams that shimmered with magic.