Wicked Harvest

by Anitra Lynn McLeod

  Chur slid his finger between her legs with a feather-light stroke. When she began to pant, he reminded her to keep her breathing rate steady. After several minutes, her body relaxed and he now continued his gentle thrusts. He synchronized his breathing to hers, and together they went higher into a dizzying fervor. Increasing his pace and the pressure against her clit caused their breathing to deepen because she tightened around him, gripping him firmly, rolling her hips in small circles as he thrust.

  Enovese tried to part her thighs, but he kept her firmly nestled between his powerful legs. His hand at her hip and that between her legs controlled her movements. A rush of power possessed him, for in this moment she belonged to him. Enovese, soft and smooth, writhed against his hard and hairy body with a need for release. He controlled when and how he would bestow that upon her.

  “Feel the awareness of your whole body, Enovese, not just in your clit, not just in the grasping greediness of your slick sex, but all over your skin. Feel the need in your nipples, in your mouth, down to the tips of your toes pointed and ready to plunge into climax.”

  Enovese growled. So base and animal was her demanding snarl that her lust spilled into him. For all his ability to wait and enjoy the anticipation, he lost control. Chur cupped her chin, drawing her head back. He plunged his tongue to her mouth and she met his invasion with wild abandon.

  Breathless, he pulled back. “You try my resistance. How dare you seek to break my focus?” Blaming her for his own lack of control excited him and her.

  With a whimper, Enovese sought out his mouth and kissed him with crazed need. “Please, Chur, my flesh burns, my lungs cannot take another breath, my—”

  His massive hands lowered to her hips, grasped, and held her steady for his mighty thrust. Her howl spurred him on. “Now, my wanton, feel the power of my body. Feel the aggressive invasion of my cock.” Chur gave a brutal thrust while forcing her hips down.

  Enovese grasped handfuls of his hair and bayed her surrender.

  “Tell me you want more,” Chur demanded. He didn’t need to hear the truth spoken aloud, but he wanted to hear her pleas for her willingness aroused him beyond all comprehension.

  “I want everything you can give.”

  He gave another rough thrust. “Is that what you want?”

  “Yes.” Enovese stretched the word into a hiss of demand.

  Bouncing her upon him, he growled to her ear, then asked, “Deep, hard, ruthless—Is that what you want?”

  “Gods, yes.” She could barely say the words as she clutched her hands to his, helping him to hold her hips steady for his merciless thrusts.

  “Finger yourself. I want to feel you spend on my cock.”

  His permission, his demand, encouraged Enovese to slip her hand between her clamped thighs and press as hard as she could.

  Chur pressed his thighs tight so she could only work one slender finger between her swollen lips. Her frustration lifted up in the form of a moan and the desperate swivel of her hips.

  “Torment upon torment, my servant, that’s what you have done to me.”

  “I beg you, please, let me—”

  Chur didn’t allow her to finish. He parted his legs, then hers, and placed his hand over hers. With her thighs parted, he forced her hand to stroke with sharp pressure, up and down the full of her split sex. “Feel my shaft within you. Feel how swollen your lips and how rigid your clit. Feel my hand master yours.”

  Enovese struggled to breathe deep and steady as he had taught her, but she lost her battle. Her climax gathered in a taut expression of her muscles. Her legs went rigid, then her arms, her hips, her neck, and her back as she lifted away from him.

  Chur rubbed their joined hands faster over her clit. Enovese climaxed with a rush of breath. Her whole body went tight, curling in; then as the orgasm reverberated, she quivered and shook upon him, her body going loose. Her surrender spurred his. Plunging hard and deep, he lost all control.

  With her hands to his thighs, Enovese encouraged his maniacal movements. Low, deep, luscious, her voice and the ancient words further drove him to wild abandon. A madman possessed, Chur captured her hips and forced her to take every lift of his hips. Undaunted, Enovese angled back and captured his mouth, kissing him between growling encouragements.

  “You torment, you tease, you range from sweet to nasty, you drive me to distraction, and then you take all I can give.” He climaxed on a kiss, his body heaving into her with full possession. In that moment, Chur knew he would never let another man know her as he had. He would rather die a thousand deaths than allow any to possess Enovese. The realization shocked him, for he no longer cared about her ability to have children. There was more to a bondmate than that. Together, they would find a way to overcome any trial. With her, he was strong. Without her, he would be nothing.

  Once he caught his breath and the last tingles of his climax faded, he embraced her, turning her so that she faced him.

  “I claim you, Enovese.”

  Her eyes opened with hope, but then a desperate fear darkened the indigo starburst.

  Chur discovered the hurt she denied. His eyes widened, then watered. Devastated, he could not speak. He shook his head side to side in denial.

  Enovese nodded once, then fell to his embrace.

  Her tears mirrored his. Her torment reflected and deepened his. Repeatedly, she murmured that she was sorry, so sorry, that she could not find the words to tell him, for as she discovered the reality of her position as a paratanist she uncovered the ugly truth behind his role as the Harvester.

  21

  Buried in a rambling description of combat rules and Harvest rituals, Enovese discovered the elusive truth. The man who had written the Harvester tome had tossed the information onto the page as if it were the most widely known fact. She had read the passage over and over, unable to comprehend. Then horror filled her. Shame. Disgrace. In the midst of her descent into repulsion, she thought of Chur and how such would affect him. More than anything, she suddenly wished she did not know the truth, for Chur would find out. Once their gazes locked and the threads between them intensified, he would know everything.

  Enovese had avoided meeting his gaze for as long as she could, but when he’d spoken that he claimed her, such joyous surprise caused her to look right into his eyes—in a rush he knew. Devastation stamped harsh lines across his face, twisting his scar, curling his lips back, and causing his head to shake in denial.

  “It isn’t true.” He drew harsh breaths through his nose and blew them out between clenched teeth. In this way, he managed to control himself and blink back his tears. Part of the code he lived by prohibited him from such an emotional display. She would never condemn him for his feelings, but he would criticize himself.

  Enovese simply looked into his eyes and shook her head. “I wish it wasn’t true, but you know, deep down, that it is.” She twined her hand to his and he yanked his away as if repulsed by her touch. Automatically, her spine stiffened. “I didn’t do this to myself.”

  His eyes widened with surprise, as if he’d just realized this wasn’t all about him. He took her hand in his. “I was afraid you wouldn’t want to touch me.”

  She gripped his hand. “None of this is your fault. You are as blameless as I.”

  Chur lifted her hand to his mouth and placed a kiss in the center of her palm. Enovese found the gesture intimate, erotic, and brimming with acceptance. He was genuinely afraid she would reject him when she was convinced he would reject her. Trapped by circumstances beyond their control, they sat silently for a moment, reconciling their feelings.

  “How can this be?” Chur asked. “It is the most revolting situation I have ever heard.” He rolled his head back and glared at the ceiling. “No wonder they hid it away. If not for that ancient tome…” Chur drifted off; then hope filled his summer-sky eyes. “Perhaps that is what they did before, in the time of the ancients, but not now. Our people would not do something so barbaric.”

  Enovese took a moment to
consider her words. “For all the advancements of our culture, most of our rituals come directly from the time of the ancients. Harsh, brutal, barbaric—the rituals have survived the test of time for they are traditions that have served our people well. As much as this information sickens us both, it does answer all the questions we’ve pondered.”

  Chur glared at her. “How can you speak of this with such a lack of disgust?”

  Enovese felt her face harden with a severity she made no effort to hide. “I am a paratanist. I am no less horrified than you are, but I have several times over encountered ugly truths that shook me to the core. And in this, I’ve had more time to consider the information.” She smoothed her finger along his chest scar. “Beyond that I realize there is little I can do to change what is.”

  Chur touched her face, smoothing away the hard lines. “I admire you, Enovese. I do not think there is another woman who is as strong as you.”

  Enovese blushed a bit and lowered her face demurely. “You compliment me greatly.” Chur could not have given her higher praise.

  Cupping her chin, he lifted her face and placed a kiss on the tip of her nose. After a series of sweet kisses, he drew back and asked her to translate the exact passage for him.

  Enovese closed her eyes and visualized the text. The words danced in her mind’s eye in spidery script and maroon ink, the color of which reminded her of dried blood. “The issue of the male and female Harvesters is combined, and all viables are placed within a tanist host. At term, the tanist is sacrificed, the viable is branded, sterilized, and placed in the training house.”

  Enovese shuddered. They didn’t even call her a child but a viable. Worse, she wasn’t actually born but ripped from a tanist during the paratanist selection ritual. As they pulled her forth, the tanist bled to death. Enovese knew if she remained a paratanist, she would one day become a tanist and suffer the same fate. Her dream to have children would transpire but in a most horrific way.

  At long last she now knew exactly where she came from. Her parents hadn’t given her into a life of servitude, for they had never known she existed. Her parents were Harvesters who were oblivious as to what happened with the products of the Harvest. This thought caused her to look at Chur. In his eyes she could see that he wondered how many children he had produced. His horror was born from the life he had inadvertently bestowed them. The life of a paratanist was one of silence, rituals, and ultimately a chilling death if they were female.

  “How many children have come from my three Harvests?” Chur asked the question to the air for he didn’t look at her.

  “I know not. It would depend on how many ova the female Harvester produced.”

  Chur frowned. “Is it not but one when a woman is in heat?”

  Enovese had considered this, but after reading about the rituals the female Harvester underwent before the Harvest, she suspected part of it was to enhance her fertility. “As you and I engage to torment you, to deny you release so you are at your most potent, I believe they do the same to her. With oils and drugs they could force her body to produce many ova.”

  His face twisted with pain. “There could be dozens.” With the delicate threads of the conduit, she saw him picturing his children learning to speak and walk only to embrace a life of servitude. He envisioned them coming of age and then a tanist forcing a ceremonial robe over their heads. “Gods save me, but this would explain why I must sign the immunity clause. I have no right to claim a child produced during the Harvest. I thought it was for children a sacrifice might have, but now I know that I released my rights to all those children they took from me. I can’t claim them now. I can’t save them from their fates.”

  Chur dropped his weary head into one massive hand. His body shuddered and his chest heaved. Desolation rolled off him in waves that broke her heart. Moving to his side, Enovese embraced him, resting her head against his arm. She searched her mind to find something to offer him solace but came up woefully empty.

  By right, by law, Chur could do nothing to help the children he produced during his time as the Harvester. Most devastating for him was knowing that even if he could pluck them from the tanist house, he could not repair the damage inflicted upon them during the paratanist selection ritual. Branded, sterilized—they would be forever lost to him. Deep in her heart, Enovese knew how much Chur wanted children. He wanted them to carry the glory of his name, but he also longed to protect them, to give them a better life than what he had known. To discover his children would one day become as she…No words would soothe such a hurt.

  “There must be something I can do.” His gaze met hers with so much hope her heart splintered even more that she could not think of anything. His face fell when he realized the truth. They could do nothing. Even if they somehow managed to determine which children were Chur’s, and then extricated them from the tanist house, where would they take them? There was nowhere safe. No civilized land would accept them. The frozen tundra of Rhemna would welcome them only to crush them in its icy grip.

  Chur flung the covers back and left the warmth of their bed. He paced. With great strides, he ate up the distance, then turned sharply on his heel to repeat the path. The muscles in his body bunched and flexed. Black hair streamed from his head in a dark wind. The dusting of hair along his body caught and flickered the crystal light. Beautiful, powerful, and dangerous, Chur moved like a deadly animal desperate to find the path of his prey. His nostrils flared as if he sought the scent. A shiver traced her spine, for in such a state Chur would not be civil. He would not be rational. Rhythmically, he clenched and released his hands, and Enovese knew he would use his massive fists with deadly intent. Even now he moved them as if they clutched the throat of the responsible party.

  Enovese watched him pace for a long time. She knew the movement would help him calm and return to a more rational state. For surely he would realize, just as she had, that there was no one person to blame. The rituals were to blame. The traditions were to blame. Even the magistrate himself was bound by ancient laws that none had dared to question in thousands and thousands of seasons.

  “Perhaps the time has come.”

  Chur spun on his heel and faced her. “Do not think I’m training today. In this mood, I might kill one of the recruits in blind rage.”

  “I do not think you should train today.” Enovese rose from the bed and felt a flush of pride at his feral look. Anger aroused him and intensified his base needs. Now that he had calmed a bit, he vacillated between wanting to fight and wanting to fuck. “I think perhaps the time has come for someone to question the customs of our people. I think that someone is you.”

  Chur barked a bitter laugh. “I am the strongest man in all the realm, but I cannot fight everyone.”

  Standing near enough that she could feel his breath upon her breasts, Enovese stroked her hand across his brow. “This will not be a physical fight. You will use your mind, not your muscles.”

  He captured her wrist. “My brain is not my strong suit.”

  With a lift of her brows, Enovese said, “Do not hold yourself in low esteem, for where you know not, I do.”

  A wicked smile lifted his mouth as understanding brightened his gaze. “You would be the brains behind the brawn.”

  “If I could, I would stand and condemn them as mindless fools who blindly follow traditions, but who would listen to me? A paratanist does not speak unless spoken to, and even then they would not hear my words. But you? You are the Harvester.” Enovese traced the mighty scars that marred his magnificent body. “By your title, you command influence. They will not only hear you, but they will listen.”

  A frown drew lines across his forehead. “I am but one Harvester in a long line of many.”

  “You are the most celebrated Harvester in hundreds of seasons. The elite name their children after you. Men aspire to be you. Women desire to bed you.” She paused and grinned. “Perhaps some of the men, too, but the fact remains that you have far more persuasion than any Harvester since Esslean
of Plete.”

  Part of Chur’s training included learning about the Harvesters before him. Esslean of Plete was renown for his changes to the selection and training of Harvesters. Rather than a haphazard system of conflicts within each region, Esslean created a more efficient way to gather recruits and then instituted the rules by which they battled for supremacy. Esslean of Plete was the first official handler. Chur now worked under the Esslean training rules and regulations, often called the Esslean code of conduct.

  “Esslean is a prime example that changes can occur, but not overnight and not easily, but change is not impossible.” Enovese touched one finger to Chur’s mouth. “Change starts with one voice.”

  With a pucker, Chur kissed the tip of her finger and then drew her hand to cover his heart. “What if my one voice is not loud enough?”

  Enovese considered. “Let your voice be the first drop of rain against their dry tradition. Another will join. And another. So many drops will deluge them until they are flooded. They will have no choice but to adjust or drown. I believe they will change if only to protect their positions. Your voice will be the first rumble that starts a torrential storm. For if others comprehend what we know…”

  Chur cast his gaze over her shoulder. “You once cautioned me that if I became a handler, I could not tell a future Harvester the truth of the Harvest. How is this any different?”

  Enovese heard Chur’s belly rumble and moved to start his morning meal. “It is a nasty trick to make a man think he will find erotic pleasure in the Harvest ritual, but to steal his progeny? That is entirely different. It is not a simple deception, it is a gross violation.”

  Chur leaned against the doorway, watching her cook, remarking that perhaps she should always work in the nude.

  “Dangerous, depending on what I’m making.” She selected some fruit and set him to work preparing them.