Wicked Harvest

by Anitra Lynn McLeod

  “I’m not sure if it’s against the rules—”

  Chur cut her off. “You will return the box first thing in the morning without examining it.”

  Her mouth opened to disagree with him, but she pressed her lips together tightly. Arguing with him when he was in this agitated state would be nothing short of foolish. She bowed her head in acquiescence and placed the box by the door. Yet, already in the back of her mind she was planning a way to examine it no matter what he said. He may have changed his mind, but now that her curiosity had been piqued, she felt compelled to find the answers.

  Chur nodded. “There will be no more violations, paratanist. We will stay within the limits of our duties. Do you understand?”

  Enovese offered a soft yes that apparently didn’t appease him for he took one great stride toward her and lifted her face with one grimy hand. He did not push back the hood but simply held her face still.

  “Do. You. Understand?” he asked very slowly, enunciating each word.

  “I understand, Harvester.” Her voice quavered. Never had she been afraid of Chur, but she was now. Something had happened during training. She wanted to know what but didn’t dare ask.

  Without a word, she helped him remove his gear. She did so gently, for she discovered a multitude of blows that were already darkening into bruises. Twice she witnessed him wince and clench his jaw to stifle a groan. Empathetic tears flowed down her cheeks for never had she seen him so brutalized. Training sessions were supposed to be controlled events using the weapons without inflicting actual damage. Clearly, a fist had caused some of the marks. She had never read of any exercise that involved bare hands.

  Dismayed, she followed him to the bathing unit and carefully washed away the grime. Rather than dry him with a towel that might hurt, she chose to flick the water away with a soothing combination of regular oil mixed with a bit of estal. She used just enough to deaden some of the pain but not enough to numb him.

  Chur sighed with relief.

  While he slipped on a loincloth, Enovese prepared a meal and set the table. As per her duty, she stood by his side, fetching anything he required. Her meal would come later, but she doubted she would eat much since her stomach churned with anxiety. Chur ate hugely. She refilled his plate twice and offered him a glass of soony, which he refused.

  When she offered it a second time, he pushed back from the table with a sigh. “Why do you want me to drink this?”

  “The soony will further help relieve your physical pain.” Brewed from barley and estal leaves, the alcoholic drink also imparted a euphoric feeling and somewhat deadened tactile sensations.

  Chur eyed the golden liquid suspiciously. “Is it against the rules?”

  “No, much like umer, soony was developed for the exclusive use of the Harvester.” She could cite chapter and verse on how, when, where, and why the drink had been formulated, but the exhaustion in his eyes stopped her. Reverting to her training, she used an economy of words.

  Apparently too weary to question her further, he consumed the drink in a few swallows. His hand trembled as he placed the glass on the table. Deeply concerned, for not only his physical state but also his mental state, Enovese had to bite her lips to keep silent. She could not speak unless spoken to, and she found the edict unbearably restrictive.

  She poured him another glass of soony. This time he sipped it slowly as he leaned back from the table. His summer-sky eyes were bloodshot, clouded with frustration and doubt. He opened his mouth as if to speak but uttered only a long drawn-out sigh. With a shake of his head, he considered his drink, then quickly finished it. Chur stood. Swaying a bit on his feet, he gripped the edge of the table for balance.

  Moving instantly to his side, she placed her arm around his waist to help him to his bed.

  He nudged her away and snarled, “I can walk on my own.”

  Enovese bowed and moved back.

  With an unsteady gate, Chur staggered to his bed. He collapsed and within moments, snored loudly.

  Baffled, Enovese cleared the table, taking a few bites, but the food stuck in her throat and she ended up throwing most of it out. Her gaze darted repeatedly to the box by the door, but she refrained as per Chur’s edict. She decided to wait until he either changed his mind or left his rooms. Her mind gnawed endlessly at why he’d had such a change of heart and why he was so battered.

  Once she’d prepared the kitchen for his morning meal, she dimmed the crystals and moved to his bedside.

  Deep in sleep, his entire body lay limp. Despite his sheer size, Chur appeared vulnerable. His eye was swollen and dark, and more fist-shaped bruises darkened on his face and chest. His dusky mouth, with lips that could be both cruel and kind, was now puffy and crooked. The split in his upper lip grossly exaggerated the scar that often gave him a twisted grin. For the first time, it cast his face ugly, harsh, and frightening.

  Lifting her hand, she stroked down the length of the scar and he turned to her touch with a sigh. A lone tear trickled down her face. How could she help him when he refused to tell her what had happened? She pulled the blankets up and tucked them around him.

  His fist shot out and grasped her wrist.

  Enovese startled back, but he would not let go.

  His one good eye opened and peered up at her. With a rumbling growl, Chur said, “He’ll only hurt you. If you do this to him, he will use you like a harshan, then toss you aside.”

  Enovese had no idea whom Chur referred to. Who would use her like a sweat towel and toss her aside?

  “He is evil. He finds pleasure in inflicting pain. He will destroy you if he succeeds in the challenge.”

  Suddenly, she knew. Loban Daraspe. In a rush, the fist-shaped bruises, Chur’s pain and shame, his desperate desire to cling to his duty, came into full focus. From earlier conversations, she knew Loban had been ready to step in for a season. When Chur first spoke of him, Enovese worried that the threat of Loban might force Chur to choose a bondmate during this last Harvest. When he hadn’t, she put her plan into action so that Chur would not have to face Loban in the challenge.

  Chur had refused that way out and now, apparently, was regretting his decision. Did he cling to duty thinking that would help him triumph over Loban in the final confrontation? Moreover, she understood in a rush that Chur could not claim her now. He couldn’t claim a bondmate until the next Harvest. In order to do that, Chur would have to defeat Loban. His fight with Loban today had put Chur into this temper.

  Enovese wanted to reassure him that he would triumph, that she would never engage Loban as she had him, but everything she thought of saying sounded flat inside her head. Words would not lift his spirits. Thinking that actions spoke louder than words ever could, Enovese defiantly pushed her hood back and met Chur’s one-eyed gaze.

  Chur frowned. “Put your hood—”

  Enovese shushed him with a slender finger to his lips.

  He grasped her hand, pulling it from his mouth. “How dare you?”

  Enovese leaned over and placed her mouth a breath from his.

  Chur met her close gaze but said nothing.

  Emboldened, Enovese pressed her lips to his, never breaking the intense eye-to-eye contact.

  At first, Chur resisted. With a groan of frustration, he cupped the back of her head and kissed her softly. His eye closed when he slipped his tongue between her lips. She tasted the bitterness of soony, then the quiet desperation of his need for reassurance.

  Pulling back, Enovese whispered to his lips, “I serve only you. I offer myself only to you. You, Chur Zenge, you will not fail, for I will do everything in my power to ensure your success.”

  Chur shook his head. “You cannot fight my battles for me.”

  “No, I cannot. But I can prepare you to prevail.”

  “How can a man of honor triumph over a man who will do anything to win?”

  Enovese smiled. “By your honor you will be stronger than any evil. By the might of the blade, you claim all that which belongs to you. Yo
u, Chur Zenge, you will vanquish any who is not worthy to become the Harvester.”

  A befuddled frown lowered Chur’s brows. “How can that be if I myself am not worthy?”

  Refusing to debate the point, Enovese informed, “You have more honor in you than any man I have ever known.”

  Chur opened his mouth to speak and Enovese risked his wrath by shushing him with a slender fingertip to his lips.

  “You will sleep now.” She covered her face with the hood and altered her voice to the sexless intonation of the paratanist. “For the prophecy informs that sleep is one of four cornerstones that build the Harvester.”

  A renewed sense of purpose washed over Chur’s face, soothing the worry in his gaze and smoothing away the harshness of his bruises. Within moments, he returned to sleep.

  Enovese took the chalice box to her room and placed it in the sacred chest. For now, she would follow Chur’s orders, but she would not return the box and risk discovery. Perhaps he would change his mind and they could examine it later, together.

  For now, if Chur believed that clinging to duty would ensure his triumph, then Enovese would support him completely. Even though Enovese didn’t believe blind obeisance would help, her beliefs didn’t matter. Chur believed it, and that’s all that mattered. She understood that to reach her own goal of having Chur claim her as bondmate, she had to help him achieve his goal of defending the title of Harvester at least one more time.

  11

  Chur returned to his training with great vigor. He did not see Loban. Even though he was curious, he did not ask for he almost dreaded the answer. While sparring with Sterlave, Chur complimented him on his focus and Sterlave flashed him a cryptic frown. Later, during the cooldown, Sterlave moved close and said, “You can stop looking for Loban. He will not be back for a while.”

  Chur’s uplifted brows asked the question.

  Without any malice, Sterlave said, “Loban got a taste of his own brutality.”

  Apparently infuriated by Loban cheating during a challenge, several recruits hauled him away and strapped him into the gannett, a punishment device that contorted the person into an awkward kneel-bound position. Sterlave had left the room to check on Chur and when he returned, he discovered Vertase brutally raping Loban.

  “At first, I simply watched, and there was a part of me that cheered Vertase on because I knew Loban had raped him. But when I felt an urge to rape Loban myself, that’s when I knew I had to put a stop to it.” Sterlave shook his head as if to chase away the thought. “I was angry, yes, and I wanted revenge, but how could I hold my head up if I became what I loathed?”

  Chur clasped a hand to Sterlave’s back. “You acted honorably. Brutality begets more brutality.”

  Sterlave shook off his hand. “You should not have challenged him. It was not your fight.”

  Bristled, Chur said, “I did not call him out for you. Loban denigrated the role of Harvester.”

  With a curt nod, Sterlave relented. “I find it odd that having rescued my abuser, I feel freed of him. As you said, my focus is extreme. I am not sure why this is so, but I am pleased I can now move on.”

  “Does Helton know any of this?”

  Sterlave shrugged. “I do not know what Loban told him. But I’m sure you noticed Helton is not here either.”

  Three days later, Helton and Loban returned to training. Tension was thick, but when Helton did not berate Chur for issuing a challenge, Chur decided the matter closed. Sadly, Loban had not been humbled. If anything, his braggadocio knew no bounds. He was as arrogant and brutal as ever, yet Chur noticed Loban left the training room shortly after Helton. Chur heard no more rumors of rape.

  With everything back to normal, Chur was able to fully focus on his training. By the time Chur returned to his rooms each night, he was too exhausted to do anything but shower, eat, and sleep. True to his edict, Enovese held strictly to her obligations. She spoke only when he spoke to her and carefully kept her voice in the neutral paratanist drone. It helped him forget what lay below her ceremonial robe. Yet at night, in his dreams, he could not escape the hunger she’d roused in him.

  Unbound, his imagination ran wild with fantastic scenarios that always ended in his total possession of her lovely form. And always, always, her jade green eyes with the indigo starburst penetrated right into his soul, capturing him, ensnaring him, compelling him. Every morning he woke with a painful erection, but he ignored the mounting pressure thinking only that the time drew close for the ritual of control.

  At the end of each of the nine cycles of thirty-six days that led up to the time of the Harvest, they would spend the last nine nights engrossed in the ritual of control; eight nights of arousal denied, then a shattering climax on the ninth night. The eight days were hell, but the release on the ninth night was so intense he often couldn’t move for hours afterward.

  When the first of the nine-night ritual began, Chur engaged in one of the most punishing workouts for fear that he would have no control at all. When he entered his rooms, he was barely able to walk. Enovese helped him out of his gear, bathed him, and then placed him at the table. While he ate, he watched her set the stage for the ritual.

  She placed a padded chair with no armrests in the center of the room, facing a wall purposely devoid of any decoration. Beside the chair, she placed a bottle of oil and a cushion upon which she would kneel. Despite his exhaustion, his cock throbbed with anticipation. When he finished eating, he stood.

  “We will start the ritual of control,” Enovese said.

  Did he detect a quaver of anticipation in her voice? He didn’t understand why she would be enthusiastic, for in this, Enovese had no pleasure. Then he remembered the end of the Harvest ritual when she’d confessed to climaxing without him even touching her. Did she find release in this ritual too? He opened his mouth to ask, then quickly shut it. There was no point in asking since the answer would not matter. All that mattered was the ritual must be performed and he would have to pray to the gods to keep from climaxing.

  As Chur stood beside the chair, Enovese removed his loincloth. Her movements were focused and precise, even when the cloth caught on his stiffening cock. He sat in the chair with his legs parted and allowed her to tie his hands. Thin straps of soft animal hide kept his arms straight against the back of the chair. When he’d questioned her about this in the past, she informed him the bindings reminded him that he had no control but for what he could exercise with his mind. Somehow, the straps only heightened his excitement by giving her complete control over him. His semihard cock grew thicker and she hadn’t even started.

  Once she had him secured, she bowed formally, then lowered herself to his side. Kneeling on the cushion, she placed a dollop of golden oil in her palm and rubbed her hands together. He felt the heat of her hand before she cupped his balls. When the contact came, his penis twitched, causing a drop of pearly liquid to hang like a teardrop at the tip. His head went back with a rumbling groan from his chest. Softly, she cupped his sack in her hand, stroking with her fingertips until she coated the entire surface with oil.

  Lightly, she stroked her fingertips around the base of his shaft. Working her way up, she coated the entire length with oil, yet left the head alone. Chur kept his attention on the blank wall because if he watched her oh-so-clever hand he knew he would not survive for long.

  Using the deep breathing of kintana, Chur drew in a breath through his nose, then expelled slowly through his mouth. In this way, he could almost exit his body. The sensations lessened, allowing him to enjoy her gentle touch without becoming too aroused.

  Wrapping her thumb and forefinger around the base, she slid her fist up, bringing each finger into contact with his shaft as she moved her hand up. Once her entire fist wrapped around his shaft, with the tight ring of forefinger and thumb just below the head, she held her hand still. For a long time, motionless, she simply cupped her fist around him.

  His gaze darted to her, but the robe kept her hidden, all he saw was her milky pale han
d extended from a sleeve. In his mind’s eye he saw her gaze, riveted to her task, her truculent nose lowered, her tongue touching the edge of her fuller upper lip. Had the straps not bound him, he would have damned the rules and removed her hood, but he knew he wouldn’t stop there. He would yank the robe off and have her straddle his lap, then lower herself onto him as slowly as she worked her hand.

  Ruthlessly, he pushed the image away. He focused again on the blank wall. Alternately squeezing then releasing, she teased until his cock felt painfully thick, on the verge of breaking apart. Her grip changed as her thumb pressed against the most sensitive spot where the shaft met the head. Lifting her fist, her thumb rocked over the tip, wiping away the pearl of moisture, then smoothing the slickness around the head. He had to grip the edge of the chair to refrain from thrusting his hips.

  He continued to pull deep breaths through his nose as she moved her hand up and down, ever so slowly, her thumb teasing the head on each upward stroke. He swore he could smell her arousal. She was wet. He wanted to taste her. He wanted to place her in the chair, part her legs, and then bury his tongue in her cunt.

  Increasing the pace, she lifted and lowered her hand faster, firming her grip, flicking her thumb over the tip. Despite his best efforts, every muscle in his body tensed, his breathing grew to harsh pants, and the head of his cock darkened and more drops of fluid oozed from the tip. Sensing his imminent climax, Enovese removed her hand. He growled and gripped the chair so tightly the bonds strained against his wrists.

  “Breathe deeply, Harvester.” Enovese lost her paratanist drone as her voice rose with concern.

  He tried, but he could not stop alternately panting and groaning. Heaving, his chest hurt and a deep red flush washed over his bronzed flesh. “Help me.” He wasn’t sure whether he begged for release or surcease. Never had the ritual caused him this much distress.

  Enovese shot to her feet. She ran toward her room and returned a moment later with a bottle in her hand. Trembling, she shot a stream of blue lotion to her palm, dropped the bottle, rubbed her hands together, and then quickly smoothed the lotion on his cock.