Wicked Harvest

by Anitra Lynn McLeod

  “Paratanist?” Chur bellowed.

  As calmly as she could, Enovese called back, “Yes, Harvester?”

  “Come!”

  His voice was rough with annoyance. She despised when he ordered her about like a trained animal. He had never done so until lately. Sexual frustration fed his verbal abusiveness.

  Peeking around the corner, she saw Chur standing in the middle of the room with a twist of disgust on his face. Something garishly green and yellow splattered the front of his uniform. Nibbling at her lip, she didn’t think she could get him to wait for a moment, and there was no way she could assist him and keep the dress hidden.

  He bellowed again and she grimaced. In a burst of inspiration, she tucked the dress up between her legs. If she walked slowly, she thought she could keep it hidden. With a shuffling gate, she entered the main room.

  Chur frowned. “Stop dragging your feet. Look at what that bumbleton did to my uniform.” Chur glanced at the mess and snarled, “Damn drunken idiot slopped an entire bowl of lete on me, then had the nerve to tell me I bumped into him.”

  Enovese didn’t bother to ask for a name, it had to be Ambo Votny. Chur despised the man, not that he didn’t have good reason since at almost every function Ambo managed to get something on Chur’s uniform. The pungent odor of the soup would never fade from the fabric, and the garish color…no matter what cleaning magic she performed, the jacket was ruined. What made matters worse was Chur detested lete. He called it vomit in a bowl.

  Carefully, she pried the sticky fabric off the skin around his scar so it didn’t pull any hair. Once she had it free, she then helped him slip the jacket off his shoulders. Chur immediately scratched at the shaved skin.

  “Fetch me that blue lotion.”

  She saw the bottle halfway across the room. Given her predicament, it seemed terribly far away. There was no way she could retrieve it and keep the dress between her thighs. The astle slipped against itself and her flesh. Oddly, the sensual feel of the fabric aroused her and only added to her frustration.

  When she hesitated, Chur sighed and said, “Never mind. I’m going to have to wash the stench off anyway.” He removed his trousers, placed them in her hands with the jacket, and strode toward the bathing unit.

  Enovese waddled toward the kitchen thinking that she could quickly change out of the dress while he cleaned up. She’d only made it a few steps.

  “What’s with you?”

  She shrugged. “I know not what you mean.”

  “Don’t take that tone with me,” he warned. “You’re walking as if toward execution.” He scrubbed at his chest yet never took his eyes off her. With a tilt to his head and a frown, he asked, “What’s under your robe?”

  She ignored him and continued toward the kitchen.

  He shut the water off, wrapped a towel around his hips, and stomped toward her. “Don’t you dare walk away from me.” When he grasped her shoulder and turned her, the entire dress spilled down her legs. The deep green was glaringly bright against the pale beige of her robe. He glared at the fabric, then ordered her to remove her robe.

  Enovese placed the ruined uniform on the table and slipped her robe off. She kept her head down because she didn’t want to see him laugh. She braced herself for a tirade that never came. Tentatively, she lifted her gaze to Chur. Water droplets rolled from his hair, down his face, his chest, but he simply stood there, staring at her with the most perplexed expression on his face. She opened her mouth to speak and he shook his head, silencing her. He took a step back and continued to let his gaze roam over her. A slow, warm blush worked its way across her face. She closed her eyes, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

  Chur chuckled. With a rolling murmur, he said, “I have ordered you to perform the most crude acts, yet standing there in a dress causes you to blush.”

  She said nothing because she didn’t fully understand her reaction herself. Perhaps it was wearing her hopes and dreams for his view, or the fear that he would ask pointed questions that would give him further ammunition to harm her. She felt more exposed and vulnerable at this very moment than she ever had. Unable to speak or even meet his gaze, she simply stood and kept her attention on his feet. After a long moment, he moved, and she realized he was walking around her, examining her from all angles. Was he pleased by what he saw or was his low chuckle just the beginning?

  After the longest time, Chur sat at the table, as if awaiting a meal. She realized he probably hadn’t had time to eat at the celebration, so she removed the ruined uniform and entered the kitchen to prep a quick snack. Little hairs on the back of her neck stiffened when she realized Chur had entered. He didn’t say anything, he just watched her prep the food and clean his jacket. When the meal was ready, he followed her to the table and sat. She stood beside the head of the table as per her duty.

  Chur asked for a glass of soony, which she fetched.

  He nodded to the chair closest to him.

  Confused, Enovese sat. He had never wanted her to sit with him while he ate.

  “Have you eaten?”

  “No.”

  He pushed his plate between them and offered her his fork.

  After a moment of hesitation, Enovese accepted. She took a bite, then handed the fork to Chur. In this way, they cleaned the plate. She wondered what was going on now. His attitude was entirely different, and the way he looked at her was baffling. His face betrayed nothing—not joy or anger, just a quiet speculation. He offered to share the soony and Enovese took a tiny sip. She had never tried the fermented barley and estal drink. Pungent bitterness rolled over her tongue along with tiny bubbles. After a few more swallows warmth flowed from her belly out along her limbs, relaxing every bit of tension. She giggled and instantly clapped a hand over her mouth.

  Chur chuckled and pulled her hand away. “It feels good, doesn’t it?” He cupped her hand in his.

  She nodded. His hand felt big, strong, and warm. Sparks and tingles raced along her body, stiffening her nipples, then dancing down to her hips, teasing across the sensitive flesh between her legs. It had been so long since she felt aroused, but she didn’t know if it was the drink or Chur’s gentle touch. Three cycles of nothing but harsh, uncaring strokes and cruel indifference made this, this simple handholding, bring a flush of pleasure to her body.

  “Where did you get the dress?”

  “I made it.”

  Chur nodded. “Why?”

  His tone was gentle, but she didn’t trust him. What if she told him the truth and he in turn mocked her, throwing it forever in her face? She pulled her hand from his and stood. Without comment, she cleared the table.

  He followed her into the kitchen and watched.

  She cleaned up and attempted to dart past him, but he touched her shoulder.

  “Wait. There is something else I didn’t get to do tonight.”

  Dread seeped cold along all the warmth the soony and his touch had generated. In her mind, she begged that he would not use her tonight, not tonight and not in her beautiful dress, the dress that embodied all her hopes and dreams. She thought if he degraded her in this dress, it would destroy her.

  15

  The fear in her eyes shocked Chur, for he instantly understood what she thought he meant with his touch and statement. Sex was the last thing on his mind. He removed his hand from her shoulder, and said, “I didn’t dance. Do you know how?”

  Surprise widened her eyes, then disappointment lowered her gaze. “No.”

  “I’ll show you.” He offered his hand. After a moment of hesitation, she slipped her hand to his. Just holding her hand surged pleasure. The last three cycles had been unbearable. He’d decided to treat her like a yondie and continued even when he no longer found gratification. The more he tried to distance himself emotionally, by making their encounters strictly about his own pleasure, the more dissatisfactory those encounters became. When he realized Enovese wasn’t wet, he at first eased his way with oil, but then found he could not climax. Until then, he never unders
tood how much her pleasure aroused him. He felt locked into his decision. If he changed his mind, he would lose face.

  As he ushered Enovese into the main room, he realized he was still wearing nothing but a towel. He asked her to wait a moment while he changed into a black loincloth. She didn’t watch him. In fact, she turned her back as if by looking she might encourage something. He grimaced. Both of them were far too proud. She would never admit she’d goaded him into this, and he would never admit he’d taken it too far. Even in his own heart he wasn’t sure what he wanted from her. He could not claim her as his bondmate, but he didn’t want to hurt her. If he were honest with himself, he had to admit that he didn’t want her to be with another man. He couldn’t keep her, and he couldn’t let her go. The only thing he knew with certainty was that their current relationship could not continue without destroying them both.

  Chur set some music playing, a brightly paced tune of woodwinds and strings, and then bowed to Enovese. She mimicked him. He lifted her hand with his and showed her how the dance worked. Normally, many couples performed the expanding flower petal design of the steps, but it worked well with only two. He also thought the minimal touching would reassure her as to his intentions.

  Enovese possessed a natural grace. Her slender limbs, encased in emerald astle, flowed smoothly as if born of wind. She innately understood the flirting nature of the dance, how to tip her face just so, how to use the curtain of her hair to advantage. She was stunning. He fumbled more steps than she did simply because he lost track, distracted by her sheer beauty and elegance. The fabric of her dress moved against her with teasing seduction, showing the curve of a breast here, the turn of her hip there, the flash of slender ankles. Enovese had spectacular eyes and devastating hair, but her ankles intrigued him beyond comprehension, because every time he spied them below the flare of the skirt, he thought of grasping them in his fists, parting them, and then…

  Once the music ended, he played another piece, this one slower. When he cupped his hand to the small of her back and drew her close, she stiffened and lowered her face. Her panting breath puffed against his chest, arousing him, cautioning him.

  “This style is a bit closer, but it’s still just a dance.”

  She relaxed marginally, but he could feel her racing heartbeat. Her reaction reminded him of some of the pre-Harvest women whose parents cajoled them into dancing with him at the Festival of Temptation. They approached him with awe and fear, knowing that he might one day receive the gift of their virginity. Dancing with him was a prelude to that intimacy. Once he swept them onto the dance floor, some giggled, some blushed, but almost all of them were surprised at how delicately he handled them. His massive hands softly touching and his murmured encouragements often caused their first flush of desire and awareness that they were sexual creatures. Enovese was not much different. He had received her virginity and they’d performed a multitude of acts, but there had never been a true seduction. Perhaps that was where he failed. By not giving Enovese the honor of seduction, the honor of pursuit, the honor of allowing her to bloom with his attentions, he denied a basic need. A wry smile crossed his face. She had not done so with him either. She’d placed herself on the sacrifice table leaving him little option. Boldly, she’d staked her claim. He decided the past was past and perhaps, tonight, they could start again.

  “You are very graceful, Enovese.”

  She tilted her face up, surprise washing across her features, then a blush as she lowered her gaze and smiled slightly. He didn’t understand her reaction for a moment, but then realized he had not called her by her name for three cycles.

  All at once, he was afraid of encouraging her fantasy that they would one day be bondmates, for that would not happen, but clearly, he owed her more than harsh indifference. And what he had seen tonight at Ambo Votny’s season celebration had shocked him. He must have answers. His suspicions would remain locked in his mind until he had the truth, even if that truth might destroy the lovely woman in his arms. He needed to slam Ambo up against a wall and shake the truth out of him. Well, he didn’t need to do that, but he wanted to, whether Ambo had any answers or not.

  Moving Enovese in a tight circle, using his hand at the small of her back to teach her the movements of the dance, surged awareness in his body despite the numbing effects of the soony. Her scent surrounded him, intoxicated him, and he lowered his mouth to her ear. He pulled back. Repeatedly he told himself to slow down with her. He tried to imagine this seduction as the ritual of control. Bit by bit he would increase her desire until she wanted him again. Chur couldn’t bear the idea of forcing her to his passions even one more time, not unless she wanted him to. At first, it confused him how Enovese relished him forcing her to his wicked lust, then didn’t. It took him a while to realize that playing at master and servant aroused her beyond comprehension, whereas forcing her to be a yondie who received no pleasure diminished her interest to nothing. His indifference to her pleasure was what had caused the change. He’d taken a gift from her and turned it ugly to drive her away and keep his emotions at bay.

  An emotion he didn’t recognize stirred deep inside his heart as he danced with her. In the end, he decided that he cared about her, and that wasn’t a bad thing. He only cared and there was nothing wrong with that. He couldn’t claim her, but perhaps he could ensure the next Harvester could.

  Round and round they moved as his mind chewed at this new idea. When the challenge came, and if he defeated Loban, then Sterlave would be the next in line. Sterlave was not only strong but also intelligent; he might be a match for Enovese. Chur doubted that Enovese would enjoy him meddling in her life. She said she would never attempt this again with another Harvester, and that simultaneously pleased and disheartened him. How could he move on knowing that she would be trapped behind her robe, performing an endless line of rituals, sleeping alone and lonely in her narrow bed? Just the thought of it tightened his arms around her.

  Enovese stiffened and pushed against his chest. “Please let go. I don’t wish to dance anymore.”

  Chur released her. A thousand apologies hung on his lips, but he only nodded. “Good night, Enovese.”

  Darting him a suspicious glance, she moved toward her room.

  “Enovese?”

  She warily faced him.

  “Thank you, for tonight.” He bowed formally.

  Enovese dipped her face in a quick nod of acknowledgment. As she turned away, the barest curve of a smile turned up the edges of her coral lips.

  Chur removed his loincloth and slipped into bed. He still wondered why she had the dress, for a paratanist would have no need of it, but she’d looked so amazing he hadn’t had the heart to grill her to get the answer. At the celebration tonight, there had been hundreds of very wealthy and powerful women. Despite the more elaborate dresses, hairdos, makeup, and jewelry worn by those women, not a one had fully captured his attention. Not like Enovese. For the life of him, he could not understand what Enovese possessed that those other women did not.

  However, during the insufferable party tonight, there had been one woman who seized his notice. She had to be at least sixty seasons given the silvering of her hair and the lines that subtly altered the beauty of her face. What had almost stopped his heart was the way her nose tilted up at the tip in a most truculent way. Chur had been discreetly prodding those around him as to the woman’s identity when a drunken Ambo dumped the bowl of lete on him. Enraged, more by having to leave without the woman’s name than the stain, Chur vowed he would discover the identity of the woman who looked so much like Enovese.

  16

  Enovese woke thinking last night had been a dream. Had she really shared a meal, a drink, and danced with Chur? Her sleepy gaze fell on the bonding dress she’d carefully folded and placed on the sacred trunk. After she’d slipped it off, she hadn’t been able to place it inside the chest, not when her fading dream suddenly grew sharp around the edges. She had no idea what was responsible for Chur’s change of attitude, bu
t she was glad. Even if the change had been for only one night.

  When he’d held her close for the last dance, her body responded to his for the first time in many cycles. Desire grew slowly with each touch and brush of flesh. She’d been able to feel so much of him, for all he wore was the loincloth. The sensuality of her silk-clad skin against his bare skin, rough with dark hair, caused tingles to shiver all over her body. He broke the spell when he’d pressed her fully against him, nuzzling his cock against her belly. She’d frozen in fear. She thought he’d done everything to waylay her into thinking all was not lost only so he could laugh and force her into yondie service. Yet when she asked, he let her go, and then thanked her for the evening. In that one moment, he’d stolen her heart all over again. If he played a game with her, it was a very cruel one. She would have to guard her heart and be wary.

  As she dressed in her robe, she wondered again at his motives. She did not think for a moment that he had changed his mind about claiming her as his bondmate. He wanted children, and that was the one thing she could not give him. When Enovese lived in the tanist house, the only real joy she’d known was when she’d cared for the children. Seasons later, when she discovered she’d been sterilized shortly after birth, her heart had broken despite the fact her celibacy would prevent such an event. Somehow, thinking that she could have children had given her some hope to cling to, but when that last shred of hope dissolved, that’s when she decided that she would find a way out of her forced role.

  She left her bedroom and found Chur sleeping on his back, the covers tossed to the foot of the bed. He was semihard. Now that his body hair had grown back, he looked sinister, animal, and aggressively male. She had an overwhelming compulsion to wake him up by taking him into her mouth. She stopped and simply stared. How could she think such a thing? He’d used her in a multitude of degrading ways and now, after one night of sweetness, she wanted him again. Perhaps the difference was that the choice was hers, not his. He wouldn’t be forcing her to suck his cock; she would be doing it of her own free will. Was that what he was after? Did he wish to return to the time when she would willingly do anything he asked? He’d made it clear he would choose a bondmate during the next Harvest. Perhaps he just wanted to spend the rest of their time together with her eager participation.