Wicked Harvest

by Anitra Lynn McLeod

  Resigned, she kissed his chest. “I’ve missed you.” She tilted her head back. As if she’d asked without words, he brushed his lips to hers in a welcoming kiss. A homecoming kiss that accepted their time together would be short, but it would also be unforgettable. The darkness of the last three cycles faded away as a new brightness emerged.

  “There is something—” Enovese began.

  “I need your—” Chur said.

  Their voices overlapped, and Enovese smiled. “You first.”

  “Let’s talk somewhere other than here.”

  Tenderly, he helped her dry her hair, then wrapped her in a towel. He dried himself off, dressed in a loincloth, and then offered her one of his shirts to wear. The simple shirt hung to her midthigh, but it was soft and smelled faintly of him. He rolled the sleeves up and kissed the tip of her nose.

  He settled at the table and lifted the warming platters to serve himself. When she took her place by his side, he frowned.

  “I wish for you to join me.”

  Touched, Enovese got a plate and sat to the side of him. They ate in silence. When they finished, she rose to clean up, but he asked her to wait. “I need your help.”

  A flutter of caution caused her belly to tremble. Again, she worried that his motives in treating her kindly were self-serving.

  “Do you know anything about a tome?”

  She considered for a moment. “The Harvester tome? It’s part of your ceremonial gear.” She retrieved the heavy book from the sacred chest. The metal and animal hide was dirty from passing through endless Harvester hands. There were a few blood smears on the cover, as several had no doubt received the tome shortly after killing the previous Harvester. When she placed the book before him, Chur turned it this way and that, baffled.

  His brows lifted. “Have you read it?”

  “No.” Enovese realized her tone was defensive. She smiled and said, “I’ve always wanted to read it, but only the Harvester can open it. In my recollection you are the only Harvester who has ever even asked about it.” She turned the book right side up and placed his palm on the cover. The metal clasps that wrapped the tome slid apart.

  Chur considered the book, then her. With a grin he asked, “Do we dare?”

  Almost too excited for words, Enovese managed, “I dare.” She’d always wanted to peek inside to see if it followed the other texts she had access to. However, the book was rather slim, and she’d given up when none of the Harvesters expressed any interest in it. Disappointment crushed her when he flipped it open. Hand-written in a precise but spidery hand, the ink was faded and the pages smelled musty.

  Chur let out a dissatisfied sigh. “I guess I expected something grander. And more understandable.” He peered closely at the page. “It’s almost but not quite our language.”

  Enovese nodded. “I think it was written at the time when they were moving away from the ancient language. Some of the words are in that language, some more modern, but before they’d standardized spelling.” She pointed to a word. “Notice it has double vowels. And some words are spelled phonetically.”

  “Can you read it?” Chur lifted his gaze to her with a hopeful expression.

  “I can. Do you want me to read it to you?”

  He nodded and looked away. “I guess what Helton said was true. You are the brain and I am the brawn.”

  She stroked his forearm to reassure him. “Please don’t think there is anything wrong with your brain, Chur. I’ve spent my life reading ancient texts. Do you think I could lift, let alone swing, an avenyet?”

  His gaze roamed her form. “You wouldn’t need to. A thousand men would eagerly line up to defend you.”

  His compliment flushed her cheeks. On the tip of her tongue fluttered the urge to say they wouldn’t if they knew she was sterile, but she swallowed it. She didn’t want to ruin this moment. Settling herself beside him, she began to read, but after a moment Chur stopped her.

  “Skip to more interesting parts. I don’t wish to hear about the glory of my role again.” He rolled his eyes.

  She laughed. “It is rather flowery and verbose. Was there something in particular you wanted to know about?”

  His eyes darkened. He took her hand and smoothed his fingers between hers, as if he wished to hold her so she didn’t bolt upon hearing his words. After clearing his throat, he said, “I wish to know about the paratanist selection ritual.”

  She almost asked why but refrained. It didn’t matter if he wanted to know for his own information or if to further appease her by working her from this angle. What mattered was finding the truth. This tome, written between the time of the ancients and now, might contain the answers that had eluded her.

  Since there was no table of contents, she had to skim through the text. “It doesn’t appear to be organized in any way I can tell. It’s almost a stream of consciousness with occasional direct quotes from one of the original texts.” After blathering congratulations to the Harvester for attaining his mighty and powerful role, the tome offered practical information, such as how to maintain the ceremonial gear. Rather than leave Chur out, she murmured what each section spoke of and asked him to stop her if there was something of interest to him. He either waved his hand dismissively or shook his head. The small letters strained her vision and gave her a headache. She rubbed her eyes.

  “Take a break for a moment.” Chur pushed the book away. “You said you had something to tell me.”

  Enovese darted a glance to the door. “Have you ever noticed the carving on the door?”

  “Not really.” Chur considered for a moment, squinting and tilting his head. “It looks like two people hugging or…”

  “Or?” she prompted him.

  “Indulging in the lewd arts,” he said, flashing her a smirk. “I never noticed an erotic carving graced my door.”

  “Wait here.” She retrieved the chalice box from the chest and handed it to him. “I know you told me to return it, but I was afraid of getting caught.”

  Chur nodded. He looked a bit irked but not surprised that she refused to follow his direct order. He stroked his fingertips over the box and then lifted it up, comparing it to the door. “They appear to be the same.”

  “Also, all along the hallway, the gilded paint swirls echo this same pattern.”

  Chur moved as if to stand, then stopped. “I’ll take your word for it.” He darted a gaze from the box, the door, then ultimately to her. “Do you know what it means?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me.”

  “You’re the brain, not me.” When she reprimanded his flippant tone with a frown, he shrugged, and said, “I have no idea. But this”—he touched a particular curve—“looks very familiar.” He pushed up the edge of the shirt she wore. On the verge of slapping his hand and telling him to keep his attention off her body, she realized he was only lifting the shirt far enough to expose the scar on her thigh. “See? It’s the same shape. Like a crescent moon.”

  Her mouth popped open. She sat down and compared her scar with the mark on the box. Time and the growth of her body had distorted her scar, but she saw the similarity at once. “You see, there is nothing wrong with your brain. I knew you would notice things I did not.”

  He only grunted at her compliment and offered her a wry smile. “How did you get the mark?”

  “I do not know. From my earliest memories it has always been there.” Frowning, considering the box and her scar, she let out a frustrated sigh. “Perhaps it doesn’t mean anything. It could be a coincidence.”

  “I don’t think so.” Chur took the box from her and placed it on the table. He pulled her shirt down. He carefully considered his words and softly said, “It’s a deliberate mark, Enovese, I’m fairly certain it’s a brand.”

  A new and terrible shame flushed her entire body. Trying to control her voice, she asked, “Do you mean someone burned this mark on me?”

  With effort, he met her gaze. “When a recruit doesn’t perform up to par, they are branded on their
forehead and sent home. After the mark heals, the scar darkens and looks much like the mark on your leg.”

  Tears blurred her gaze. “Will it never end? They take me from my parents, force me to be a servant, sterilize me, and then further mutilate me by burning a mark into my skin?” She didn’t want to cry over something that she had no control over, and not in front of him. She was ashamed of what they did to her, but moreover, she feared her ability to deal with it. Once she’d accepted one horror, she discovered another, each more monstrous than the last.

  Chur pushed his chair back and gathered her up into his lap. “I am so sorry, Enovese.” Cupping his hand to her head, he pressed her face against his chest. “I wish there was something I could do.”

  Her arms tightened around his shoulders. As she listened to the soothing rhythm of his heartbeat, she thought he could claim her as bondmate and thus rescue her. She could not ask such a grand favor from him. He owed her nothing. She felt in that moment if she did ask, Chur would vow to do so, for honor would compel him to do so. Envisioning their lifetime together, where he would grow resentful, cautioned her to silence. Where once she’d been willing to trick him into claiming her, she found she could not do so now. She understood that deception and force would not bring her what she wanted. What she wanted was Chur to claim her of his own free will because he loved her.

  Chur cuddled her for a long time, his hand idly stroking her hair. He nuzzled the top of her head, murmuring sweet words and placing soft kisses. His strong arms sheltered and protected her. For this moment, she allowed herself the fantasy that he was her bondmate. With Chur at her side, she would be invincible. Together they would find out the truth and make those responsible pay. Almost as soon as she indulged the thought, she dismissed revenge fantasies, for the blame was on a 5,000-season-old prophecy. How could she condemn anyone for edicts written so long ago and faithfully followed to this day?

  18

  Chur wished he could find the words to comfort Enovese, but no words would erase her pain. The hurt ran too deep. If he could fight her pain with weapons, he could defeat the trauma fully, but all his strength gave him no advantage here.

  “Why didn’t you say something before?” Her voice rose barely above a whisper.

  “About your scar?” He lowered his hand and stroked his fingers over the mark as tenderly as he could. “I guess I didn’t really notice until tonight.” Now he wished he’d kept his mouth shut. Why did he tell her something that was only bound to hurt her more? Cupping her chin, he tilted her head back, brushing his lips against hers. “It doesn’t matter to me, Enovese. That mark doesn’t mar your spectacular beauty.”

  Her brows furrowed and she pulled back. “Do you think I’m upset because the brand makes me ugly?” She pushed against his chest. Her voice rose. “I’m upset because someone burned a mark into me when I was a child!”

  He tried to soothe her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—I’m trying—” Chur hung his head and took a deep breath before meeting her gaze. “I’m not a poet, Enovese. I don’t know the right things to say. I know you are hurt and angry, but I didn’t do this to you.” He lifted his hands in a supplicating gesture. “I just wanted to comfort you.”

  All the fury fled from her expression. She stroked a fingertip over his scar. “I’m sorry. I’m not angry with you.” She kissed the edge of his mouth. “I’m frustrated and upset. Every time I uncover new information, it only hurts me more. I want to know and yet I don’t want to know.”

  She pulled the book toward her, but Chur pulled it away and closed the cover. The metal bands locked together. He pushed the tome aside. “That’s enough of that for tonight.”

  “But I thought you wanted—”

  “I do, but we won’t solve the mystery in one night.” He sighed and rubbed the tip of her nose with his. “Slow down, Enovese. We have time.”

  “Not enough.”

  He sensed a deeper meaning than just time to understand the paratanist selection ritual. Sitting very still, he met her gaze. He would not encourage her bondmate fantasy. He wanted her physically and he did care about her. He would move mountains and fight a thousand foes to help her, but he would not bond with a woman who could not give him children. It was that simple and that complicated. Cupping her chin, he said, “We will make the most of the time we have.”

  Fleeting, down in the depth of her jade green eyes, a shocked sadness flashed, then a resigned acceptance. “We will.” She offered him a brave smile that looked entirely forced.

  He didn’t want to hurt her, but he refused to lie to her. “Do you wish to sleep?”

  She shook her head. “My mind is too active. I don’t think I could sleep.” Curling close, she rested her head on his shoulder. “Tell me about where you came from.”

  He told her of Ampir, the region of his birth. Ampir lay at the foothills of the Onic Mountains, a rugged and harsh environment. The region was best known for trade in lumber, mined ores, and the flowers and leaves of the estal flower. “Most of the people in Ampir look like I do—tall, bronze skin, dark hair, and muscular.”

  “Even the women?”

  “Yes.” He chuckled against her head. “Perhaps not as bulky as I, but still, Ampirian women are fearsome warriors. Much taller than you.” He caressed her hip and asked, “Where do you come from?” Chur thought she might come from Plete, the same region as Loban, for she had the same coloring.

  “I do not wish to talk of me,” she said softly. “Tell me more about Ampir.”

  Chur understood that she might not know her origins because of the complications of the paratanist selection ritual. Brushing over his fax pas, he said, “Since the men work in the mountains, the women defend the hearth and home. From youth, everyone learns how to fight and handle weapons. My region takes much pride in that many Harvesters have come from Ampir.” He considered for a moment, then added, “Well, male Harvesters. We have never had a female Harvester.”

  Enovese glanced at him, her uplifted brows asking the question.

  He scowled. “They say our women do not possess the softness of beauty. They say that Ampirian women are too harsh in appearance.”

  Enovese nodded for she understood they selected male Harvesters based on strength and battle prowess; however, they selected female Harvesters based on appearance and the esthetic values of beauty, whatever esthetics were in vogue at the time. Chur always thought male Harvesters had it easier, for their rules didn’t change. Strength was easy to define and measure. Physical beauty was far more subjective, if not brutally harsh. More than one woman had committed suicide over the condemnation that she was too ugly to be a Harvester.

  “Did you love a woman there?” Enovese asked.

  “No.” Chur considered. “In my village, there were many lovely women, but I always knew that I wanted to be the Harvester, so I resisted temptation.”

  “A Harvester doesn’t have to be a virgin.”

  “No, but he cannot have children. If a woman even raises the issue, the recruiter will look elsewhere. I simply didn’t want to take the risk. I knew that my children would come later, when I could provide more for them than just a basic existence in Ampir.” As soon as he said it, he wanted to take it back. He felt as if he’d just rubbed salt into her fresh wound.

  Before he could sputter an apology, Enovese asked, “After the last Harvest, you will not return to Ampir?”

  “No, I will stay here. Helton Ook will leave his post soon and I would like to be a handler.” As one of the most popular and famous Harvesters, Chur fielded endless offers of potential military positions, but he most wanted to train recruits. He felt comfortable in the training room. Becoming a handler would let him utilize all the skills he possessed, and he could subtly choose those he felt most qualified for the position. Under his watch, Loban would not have passed the initial selection challenge. He could do little about it now, but once in a position of power as a handler, Chur would have far more control over the recruits. He would ruthlessly weed out
the evil, the vicious, or those who did not truly hold to the spirit of the role. As he thought of this, he knew he’d violated his duty, but he honestly felt he held to principle. Chur cared about the Harvest. Despite the realization, the shocking understanding that he felt nothing during the Harvest, he still accepted the gift of virginity with reverence and respect.

  Enovese smiled up at him. “I think you would be an excellent handler.” She considered, frowned, then cautioned, “You do understand that you cannot tell the recruits the truth of the rituals.”

  He sighed. “That is the one aspect that troubles me. I remember being furious with Helton for not telling me the truth, but now I understand why he couldn’t. He is bound by his role as much as you and I.”

  They sat in silence for a long time. Chur decided it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence but a contemplative one. He thought Enovese might be thinking of what it would be like to serve a new Harvester and hear complaints about him as that Harvester’s handler. Would such be torture for her? Knowing that he moved about the palace working, living, bonded, rearing children with another woman.

  Would such bother him? Knowing Enovese was within the walls, so close but untouchable. He had a sudden flash of finding her alone, somewhere secluded, pushing her robe up and thrusting into her with crazed lust until a climax rendered them both gasping and breathless. A curious shame possessed him; he had not actually bonded and yet was already contemplating cheating on his mate with his paratanist.

  His cock twitched against Enovese’s hip.

  She lowered her hand, pushed aside his loincloth, and teased her fingertips over the hardening flesh. “What are you thinking about? Please tell me this reaction is not from imagining yourself handling recruits.”

  He laughed. “I was thinking of you. How soft you feel, how sweet you smell.” He slid his hand up her shirt and cupped her breast, teasing his thumb across her nipple until it hardened.

  She moaned and arched her back, encouraging him without words.

  Chur reveled in the honesty of her passion. Enovese held nothing back. Her oh-so-clever hand continued to tease him until he throbbed almost painfully.