REAVER OF SOULS
An Ellora’s Cave Publication, October 2004
Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.
1337 Commerce Drive, #13
Stow, OH 44224
ISBN MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-4199-0058-7
Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned):
Adobe (PDF), Rocketbook (RB), Mobipocket (PRC) & HTML
REAVER OF SOULS © 2004 STEPHANIE BURKE
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without permission.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. They are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.
Edited by Martha Punches.
Cover art by Christine Clavell.
REAVER OF SOULS
Stephanie Burke
Chapter One
“You don’t have to do this,” his father sighed as Torn stood in front of the tall mirror and examined the cut of his white ceremonial uniform. “You know, you are quite young for a joining, and it’s never too late to say no.”
“I need her, Father,” he calmly replied as he brushed the long, dark, curly hair away from his violet eyes. “She makes me feel…not as alone.”
He turned his great liquid eyes to his father, eyes that had seen more than their fair share of pain and misery. He absently nibbled on his bottom lip as he looked at the taller form of the man who had sired him, had raised him to know right from wrong, who had ultimately cursed him.
“Torn,” his father began, but stopped short when his son wrapped his arms around him in a loving embrace.
“I need to do this for me,” he said quietly in the silence that fell between the two of them.
His father stood stiff in his embrace, but now he was listening.
“I am tired of being alone, tired of that emptiness inside of me. Father, there is a hole where my heart should have been, and it aches for fulfillment.”
“And you expect to find fulfillment in the arms of that she-witch?” his father asked as he closed his eyes in pain.
It was his fault his son was so alone, would always be alone. Even now he was terrified of wrapping his arms around his only child, the child of his flesh, his blood. He still didn’t know if his reluctance to embrace his son came out of guilt or fear.
“Father, Zultha is not a witch,” his son’s amused voice breathed in his ear. “She is a bit undemonstrative.”
“Cold!” his father interrupted.
“And shy, but her heart is good.”
“She has a heart?” His father’s gruff voice filled with contempt as he contemplated the woman that his child, his only child, would join with.
Damn it, he still couldn’t bring himself to embrace him.
“She has a heart, Father, a big one. The sex is not so important in a relationship. But the caring is.”
“Sex is not important?” His father took firm hold of his son’s shoulders and moved him back so that he could take a good look at his face.
He had his mother’s eyes. His son rarely smiled, but when he did, he saw his beautiful Nello in the joy that lit up his face. He had the height of his mother’s people, not quite as tall as his sire, yet he was powerfully built. That, Terror thought with pride, came from him. That and his unruly long, curly, jet-black hair. These were the loving gifts he had bestowed upon his son, the only gifts.
“Young man, sex may not be what you base a life joining on, but it certainly can make or break a relationship.”
He held in a smile as a bright red flush of embarrassment filled Torn’s face, highlighting his high cheekbones and his well-formed nose. His lips were full and wide, a mouth that would make any woman melt, but not this Zultha.
“Well, it was not all bad,” he said as he looked up into his father’s eyes.
“Not all…! Save me from blind fools who don’t know their asses from a hole in the ground!” Terror sighed as he tightened his grip on his son’s shoulders. “You had sex with her,” he began.
“Right.”
“And I mean the whole thing, penetration and movement.”
“Yes, sir,” he replied, his blush deepening.
“And it…didn’t move you?”
Torn closed his eyes and thought back to the sweaty grinding that was sex.
Oh, he loved the feel of a woman’s soft skin beneath his hands, the smell of her lush femininity, the sounds she made when penetrated, the gasps and begging moans, but it all seemed…different with Zultha.
Zultha had invited herself in one evening while he was reading by the fire, all long red hair and purring tones.
“I have what you want, Torn,” she purred, dropping the enveloping cloak she wore and exposing the pale naked body beneath.
His breath had caught at the perfection of her form, from the bright pink nipples to the lush thatch of hair that covered her woman’s secrets.
Almost as if in a trance, Torn rose to his feet, nostrils flaring as he fought to control that small voice in the back of his head that warned caution, and strode towards his intended.
Grinning, she stepped forward, allowing one hand to brush his chest as she stared into his purple eyes, reading the hunger that dwelled there.
“I have what you need.”
Then her hands were pulling his loose tunic over his head, her nails scratching at his nipples as she ripped the hapless garment from his body.
“You know what I need?” Torn questioned, a smile in his voice.
Torn was no virgin, untried in the ways of love sport. But he had held his urges back with his mate, both to quell the small warning voice that was always with him and too, to honor her parents. He would show she who would be his mate all due respect.
Apparently, Zultha was more than ready to take this step.
“I know what men like,” she purred, her tongue lashing out to lap at his lips. “I know what men need.”
Startling a gasp from her arched throat, Torn wrapped muscular arms around her body, pulling her abruptly against his chest, smashing her bare breasts into the skin of his chest, a low growl erupting from his throat.
“Then show me.”
He blinked as he realized that the memory did not really turn him on.
Oh, it wasn’t the performance or the lack of willingness on either of their parts, but the whole thing just seemed forced to him, that even when he was slamming into her writhing body on the tangle of furs that made up his bed, there was something missing.
“Well, she enjoyed it,” he said, looking more than uncomfortable under his father’s scrutiny as that particular memory flared through his head.
“I am glad that my son is capable of pleasuring his woman,” he sighed. “But what about you, Torn? Will merely adequate be enough? Can you exist on a lifetime of merely pleasant? Will that be enough to sustain you?”
Hearing that, Torn began to nibble on his bottom lip again, tearing the soft skin with his sharp fangs.
“Well, it’s a start,” he offered after a moment of contemplation. “She will learn what to do to please me, and I will learn to please her better.”
“Torn, you don’t have to do this!” Terror said again, running his fingers through his own long dark hair. “This is not what your mother would have wanted for you.”
“Then you can thank Grandfather for what I have to do to ease the longing in my heart!”
Terror blanched and looked away, devastated.
Torn looked shocked at what he had said, his face showing his pain that he felt at the thoughtless words that had so injured his father. The rift in his heart, in his soul felt wider and more painful that ever.
“Father,” he began reaching out to
him, “I did not mean that.” He sucked in a deep breath as his father pulled away from him. “Father?”
“Then you may as well blame me too, Torn,” he said sadly. “And you would be correct. If I hadn’t angered her father, he never would have laid that curse upon my head. But I just loved your mother so much, son. I would die for her. That is what we both wanted for you. An undying kind of love.”
Terror turned to face his son again, noting the tears of sorrow now filling their deep purple depths.
“I don’t blame you, Father, or Mother!” he explained. “Or even her father! Those were unthinking callous words that I meant not to utter.”
“But you still suffer for our actions, Torn. And I never wanted that for any of my children.”
“Father…”
“And I don’t want my only child to suffer in a joining with a woman who does not deserve him, Torn, please. There must be another way!”
Torn sighed tiredly and lowered his head for a moment. Then as if gathering his thoughts, he cocked his head to the side and eyed his father from beneath curious lashes.
“What woman would have me?” he finally asked. “What woman could put up with the knowledge of what I am and not break under the strain or the fear? I hate being feared, Father. It burns more than the loneliness, and the loneliness consumes what is left of my soul.”
“Torn,” Terror began, but the slow smile on his son’s face quieted him.
“I may not have this all-important love, Father, but I will at least claim a little bit of contentment.”
Terror could say nothing to that. He sighed deeply and examined the man who stood before him dressed in his finest leathers. Torn needed something, anything to ease the pain of his soul.
“You know you can always return home,” his father reminded him, and felt lightened by the joyful smile that lit his son’s countenance.
“I know, Father,” he replied.
That was the closest that his father had ever come to admitting love for the creature that he had spawned. And for the moment, that was enough, more than enough, more than he’d had his entire life.
* * * * *
The room almost glowed, so brightly was it lit with the light of a thousand candles in their high holders. The calming fragrance they gave off soothed the nerves of the nervous bride and her parents.
Zultha stood at the altar, dressed in the ceremonial white of her beloved’s house. The tightly laced sack she now wore came courtesy of her future new-father and his heir, her future mate, Torn.
If this joining ceremony wasn’t going to deliver her father’s worst enemy into their hands, she wouldn’t have bothered with young Torn and his ideals. They were based on such outdated beliefs, like love and fidelity.
Fidelity? Ha! Not with the body she had, or the power she possessed through her father.
Zultha’s black eyes winked and glittered in the candlelight at the thought of what would take place next. Hidden in her flower arrangement, those smelly things that Torn had presented her with earlier, lay a special surprise for her lover-boy.
“He will show?” Her father leaned down and murmured into her ear. To the people watching, it looked as if he was praising his daughter’s beauty, or offering words of encouragement. But Zultha knew that her father had no room in his heart for the kinder things in life.
“Your frostiness hasn’t driven him away, Daughter?” he asked. Which of course meant, “You had better not have driven my pawn away, young lady, before I had a chance to use him, or you will be sorry!”
“He will be here, Father!” she laughed. “Who else would have that fanged-toothed half-breed anyway?”
“There are a lot of reasons a man will prefer his own company, Daughter, than to be frozen out of his bed at night!”
There was a discreet look at her mother, the coldest woman on their continent, before he turned his searing gaze back to his daughter.
“Relax, Father,” she replied. “He will be here! Last night saw to that!” She quickly turned away from the doubt in her father’s eyes and snorted.
Torn would show and he would make the perfect bait to set a trap.
Before she could contemplate her future mate any further, the rear doors opened and Terror, ruler of the Magical holdings, entered the room, looking more gloomy than usual. He took his place at the rear of the room followed by his armed escort of five men.
Terror was still a man of great importance and strength, and his strong physique showed that his age was no deterrent for his skills.
Many a female heart fluttered at the sight of the man in his full warrior’s garb—the tight, black leather vest and matching pants showed every bulging muscle to advantage. The mantle of leadership wore heavily on his broad shoulders, but it was a weight he gladly bore. He alone stood between two worlds, the Magical kingdom of his mate’s people, and the violent world of the savage Swordwielders that he now ruled.
“Zultha, Zoot,” he called down the aisle. “I present my son, with all of the blessings that I could muster.”
The waiting witnesses clapped, not hearing the barb that struck home with unerring accuracy. Terror was not a man to be toyed with. They had only one chance to make this plan happen, or they were all dead.
Zultha tightened her lips and tossed her bright red hair behind her shoulders. Blessings he could, and should muster, she thought. Soon he would be begging for mercy.
Further conversation was stilled as the doors swung open, and Torn stepped into the room.
Many a woman showed shock at the muscular build of the quiet son of their ruler, the one born of two worlds. Although he was the son of a great leader and warrior, no one expected the quiet intellectual son to have the superior build of a fighter.
The sleeveless white vest he wore exposed thickly corded muscle in his arms and plainly marked their strength. The tight leather pants accented the long cords of rippling muscles that moved with grace and ease as he stopped, bowed to his father, then walked down the aisle towards his mate. Many women commented that if they’d known that Torn, quiet studious Torn, that strange man Torn, had a body like that, they would have paid the short man much more attention.
It was apparent to all the warriors watching that the sword, which rested comfortably on the man’s side, was no mere ornament, but a weapon that he was trained well to use. The way he moved bespoke of confidence and experience from proper training. That and the staff at his back were all the weapons any warrior needed. They nodded their heads in approval, but then, he may be a poet and an intellectual, but he was still Terror’s son.
“Are you sure you can do this, Daughter?” her father asked, looking at the man who now approached, exposing his strength for the first time. “You will have to do this right! You will not get a second chance.”
“I can do this, father,” she replied and pasted a wide smile on her lips for her future mate.
“Zultha, how beautiful you look,” Torn said quietly as he stopped before his joining mate. “Zoot,” he nodded politely to her father. His courtly ways in the face of the usual sword wielding warriors had always embarrassed her in the past, but now with his body exposed for the well-maintained machine that it was, Zultha smiled. Then again, she knew what that body was capable of firsthand.
Torn stood a few inches shorter than Zoot, as with just about every male on this planet, but proudly presented himself for the ceremony. His dual blood showed in his pointed ears and purple eyes, as well as his height, but his demeanor said that he was a man of purpose.
Several people whispered that he had the magical abilities of his mother’s people, but that was never proven. In fact, Torn lead a very quiet life, serving the people around his father’s castle, working with their prized horses, and contemplating verse more than warfare. That Zultha, daughter of the second most powerful family on their continent, was interested in the quiet man, was a shock! But now, they all saw what she saw in him, the strength, beauty, and purpose in him. They were amazed at her cunning, f
or seeing what lay below the surface of the man. But then again, he was Terror’s son.
“Will you care for her, poet?” Zoot suddenly asked, and Torn’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. The man had always given his support to their relationship and his intentions before.
Torn looked at the tall robe-clad man, and tilted his head a bit to the side, as if facing some strange puzzle.
Zoot had not the build of his father’s people, nor the magical properties of his mother’s people, yet there was cunning about the man that had often made Torn uneasy. He would ponder that line of thought later, he decided, as he gazed upon the anxious face of Zultha.
Zultha, beautiful Zultha, with her sunset hair and black eyes. Never a more beautiful creature had he seen besides the maidens who dwelled among his mother’s people. He was proud to call her his mate, even if his heart could not feel true love. He would make her happy.
“Of course,” he stated as he cocked his head to the side again, as if that would give him a better understanding of this man’s question.
“Then, will you kneel before her and offer her your pledge? It is…a family tradition,” he said in explanation, and the female witnesses sighed at such a romantic gesture.
Zoot’s people were known for their excess of emotions, so dangerous a fault in a true warrior. How could one fight effectively when one’s head was clouded by anger? That was why his people had become the scholars of their land. Another reason why the beauteous Zultha found Torn so attractive.
“Of course,” Torn replied as he adjusted the sword so that he could kneel at his beloved’s feet. Easily he dropped to one knee and gazed up at his mate’s face, his admiration for her plain to see.
“I promise to keep you and protect you, Zultha,” he said, his deep midnight voice sounding clearly through out the hall. “I promise to care for you and to provide for your every happiness, even at the forsaking of my own life.”
There was a hush as the romantic words filled the room. The emotion, the strength, the intensity of his words rang clear and true.
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