Wicked Harvest

by Anitra Lynn McLeod

  Entranced, he simply watched her for a moment, drawing his gaze along her pursed lips, the upturn of her nose, and the little line that formed between her brows. Enovese never sat idle. Even when he’d caught her sitting motionless, he could see her mind working. She would not rest until she had found a solution. She had no qualms about sacrificing herself, but she would not allow him to be hurt. Another pang of disgust ate away at his pride for she should not worry over him when he did enough of that himself. As much as he wanted to put an end to the revolting practice, he did not want to forfeit all he’d worked so hard to obtain.

  On the brink of retiring from the fighting arena, he wanted the rest of his life to be nothing but lazy days of decadence. He could choose from a multitude of undemanding military positions and then work himself into a political position if he desired. However, if he decried the ancients and their traditions, they would kill him or cast him out. Where Enovese proudly declared she would forfeit her life for change, he simply wasn’t willing to go that far. He’d worked diligently his entire life to obtain his position, and he didn’t want to throw everything away.

  Selfish, he knew, but it was the truth. Chur did not know how to tell Enovese because he couldn’t stomach watching how her gaze, with eyes that always shined with pride, would look to him then. The fire-bright love that filled her eyes would turn cold, coloring her indigo starburst to ashes. She would claim him a coward. Knowing her as he did, he believed that she would still love him, but she would no longer respect him. He discovered her opinion of him deeply mattered to him.

  Chur did not want the weight of the world upon his shoulders. He wanted the life he’d fought so ruthlessly to obtain. Petulant as a child, he felt cheated anew. Bad enough the Harvest ritual was not as tales would tell, but now to face this situation not of his making made him want to rail how unfair it all was.

  Over his shoulder, he looked to Enovese and a new burst of shame caused him to turn away and gaze toward Ampir, nestled at the base of the Onic Mountains. Circumstances beyond her control gripped Enovese, but she did not cry or protest what was; no, she simply accepted and pushed to change them. He admired her anew for her fortitude. She was much stronger than he was; but also, he admitted, she had far less to lose.

  He berated himself for his uncharitable thought. Who was he to decide her sacrifice was worth less than his was?

  Wind rippled against his flesh, cold and moist, filled with the promise of rain. He shivered. Below the refreshing cool air came the knowledge that the Harvest slouched closer, like a beast that would consume him utterly. Win or lose, he knew his life would never be the same. He could not go back. He must go forward. Whether he went onward as a coward or hero was entirely up to him.

  As he opened the glass door and entered, Enovese glanced up and a smile bloomed her face to touchingly beautiful. He saw himself reflected in her eyes as a strong, powerful, driven man. Acceptance, respect, and love glowed from the very core of her being and flowed toward him.

  In that moment, all his fears dissolved. He would be her hero. Even if in doing so he must forfeit his life, for he could do nothing less for the woman he loved.

  “Shave my whole chest. The uniform will fit better if you do.” Chur stood near the table, his face already shaved, his naked body waiting for the next step of preparation for the Festival of Temptation.

  Enovese paused with lather in one hand and the ceremonial razor in the other. Playfully, she smeared blue froth across his belly, then dipped her hand to his genitals.

  Laughing, he drew her hand up. “I said my chest.”

  She frowned. “Since I’m shaving you, I might as well—”

  “No.” He kept his voice firm but smiled nonetheless. Enovese had a fascination for shaving his sex. He found sensations stronger when freed of hair, but the damn itching wasn’t worth the increased pleasure. “Only my chest. But if you want me to shave you…” he trailed off and dipped his gaze to her hips.

  Hidden in the depths of her robe, Enovese sashayed her hips with an enticing wiggle. “Perhaps you are too late.”

  A growl rumbled from his chest. He loved when she shaved, exposing all of her charms to his gaze. A lack of hair sensitized her skin so that even the barest whisper caused her intense pleasure. When he chewed her naked flesh, she writhed below him, her breath gasping and wild, her head tossing with ecstasy, tangling the length of her lustrous hair. With nothing to bar his contact, he could take all of her essence into his mouth, slicking her silk across his teeth and tongue. If he must choose a way to die, drowning in her arousal would be his first choice.

  “You are lucky I’m going to the Festival of Temptation this evening. Otherwise, I would yank your robe up and inspect you myself.” He offered her his most lustful leer. “A most thorough inspection.”

  “Lucky is not the word I would use.” Enovese palmed another bit of foam and smoothed it around his chest hair. Swirling the puffs of blue into black strands, she worked up a solid lather, then carefully swiped the razor across his skin. What she wielded could only be classified as a weapon, but her delicate touch slicked the hair away with the barest brush against his flesh. In between flicks of her wrist, she cleaned the blade on a harshan tossed over her shoulder.

  His breath tensed, as it always did, when she neared his nipple. Expertly, she circled the puckered flesh, whisking the hair away.

  “You always hold your breath as if I will slice your nipple off.” She glanced at his face, then dipped her head, swiping her tongue across his nipple. His quick intake of breath caused her to laugh. “I would never hurt you, Chur.”

  “I know.” He sensed she meant more than just hurting him with the blade. After she deftly removed the hair around the other nipple, he released a tense breath. “Do you imagine you would be relaxed if I held such a weapon to your breast?”

  “I would be most tense,” she said, her eyes going wide. “For I would wonder how I had grown hair there.” She flashed him a pert grin, then flicked another patch of hair away.

  He waited until she drew the blade back to wipe it off before he laughed. “What about your sex? Would you be relaxed if I were to shave you there?”

  With a purse of her lips, she considered. “Perhaps not. I’ve seen how you are with the kitchen knives.” When he reached for her, she danced back with a delightful giggle. “Now hold still so I can finish. You are supposed to be there soon.”

  “I plan to make an entrance.” He lowered his hands to his sides. “You are most playful this evening.” He suspected her humor sprang from a need to bolster his spirits. She knew how much he loathed official functions. Her joyful banter had the desired effect, for he did feel less cranky and more able to cope with the tedium that awaited him.

  “At least now you do not have such a nasty sneer on your face.” She kissed his chin. “You are far more handsome when you grin.”

  “Are you sure you wish for me to be handsome? What if I entrance some powerful woman and she decides she must keep me for herself?” He asked it in jest, but a look of deep concentration caused Enovese’s brows to lower as she removed the last of his chest hair.

  “A situation such as that would be to your advantage.”

  Her words stunned him, for she wasn’t teasing. Her posture and the cast of her face were intently serious. Before he could ask what she meant, she turned away to place the harshan and blade on the table. She retrieved a water-filled bowl and wiped the remains of foam and hair off with a soft sponge. After she dried him, she smoothed the soothing blue lotion over the shaved area and he breathed a sigh of relief. His urge to itch instantly faded. When she finished, he captured her wrist and drew her close.

  “Explain.”

  She lowered her face. “Nothing. We will talk of it later.”

  A touch of his finger to her chin raised her head. “I wish to talk of it now.”

  She sighed softly, then said, “A powerful woman wields influence.”

  “So? Enovese, I said it in jest. I have no d
esire for any woman but you.”

  Pleasure and sorrow mingled in her gaze. Her heart beat fast against his palm as he held her wrist. Her lips parted to speak, but she pressed them together, as if to desperately hold back the truth from spilling out. He knew only one way to release the tension from her mouth.

  He kissed her.

  She resisted for only a brief moment, then allowed his tongue to tease her lips apart. After a thorough, soul-searing kiss, Chur released her. “Now, tell me what scheme is turning the wheels in your mind.”

  A worried frown cast her countenance into a mask of regret, but she softly said, “If you were to bond with a powerful woman, then you, by association, would wield even more influence.” Enovese drew back and took a deep breath. “Her position would protect you when you confess the truth of the paratanist selection ritual.”

  His heart skipped a beat, then pounded at his temples. After everything he’d gone through to get to the point where he wanted to claim her, she no longer wanted him to do so. Frustration compelled him to grasp her shoulders and yank her against his nude body. “I have already chosen a powerful woman. I have chosen you.” He didn’t give her a chance to speak. Chur lifted her bottom, pulling her up, forcing her to twine her robe-clad legs around his hips. His mouth descended on hers with possessive intent. He plundered, he pillaged, he penetrated. His tongue mimicked what he wished to do with his straining penis. A need for release suddenly possessed him with profound passion. Pressing her against the table, he tugged her robe up, determined to have his needs met.

  Enovese struggled, pushing against his shoulders. She stopped his quest by locking her knees together and gently reminding him they had to wait until after the Festival.

  He retreated. His breath was so harsh and heavy, each pull of air hurt his lungs. Eight nights of torment only added to all the emotions of the past few days. Everything bundled up into a burst of fear, anger, desperation, despair, disgust, and inescapable desire. Trapped in his role with so much weight on his shoulders, he slumped and turned away. He drew deep breaths through his nose and released them through tightly drawn lips.

  He felt her hand, so small and warm, against his back. She did not speak but conveyed her sympathy with a touch. He hated her in that moment. Hated her for understanding how longing ruled him and cast him an animal. Hated how she forgave him for his base actions. In the same breath, he loved her for accepting his outburst, her cool ability to remind him of his duty. He wanted to curse and cherish her in the same breath. He faced her and kissed the palm of her hand.

  Without a word, she climbed off the table and handed him his trousers. He yanked them on, wincing as he fastened them over his straining cock. Enovese knelt and slipped on his socks and boots. She hesitated for a moment, looking up at him. He traced a trembling fingertip to her lips and murmured, “Don’t tempt me.”

  Rising slowly, Enovese held his gaze. “Do you think denial is easier for me?” She helped him slip on the jacket of his uniform. “Do you honestly think my body doesn’t burn and ache each and every time I am near you?” With a sharp yank, she aligned the sleeves and then centered the slash over his scar.

  Chur stood motionless and silent while she applied the sticky gel that would hold the crimson trim against his skin. He didn’t answer because she already knew that he had thought it was easier for her. Why he felt this way he did not know, but the truth of his opinion remained. Glancing down at her flushed face and flashing eyes, he suddenly realized she craved release as much as he did.

  Enovese lifted the ceremonial blade from the table. She parted the flap on the left of his jacket and fastened the sword to a loop on his trousers. He instantly stood taller. A curious tingling rush flowed from the gem-encrusted metal touching every part of his body with strength.

  Once she had the blade settled, she stepped back and assessed him critically. “Lean forward.”

  He bowed from the waist. She ran her fingers through his hair, breaking up the semi-wet strands, teasing his onyx locks over his ears so they brushed the edge of his jacket collar. With her so close, he could smell her arousal. He took a deep sniff to hold the essence in his mind until he returned. When he did return tonight, he would lose himself in her scent.

  Enovese lifted a sleek metal cup from the table and offered it to him. Umer. He knew without tasting for a burnt wood odor wafted from the brown liquid. Reluctantly, he consumed the vile substance and set the cup aside. From the tip of his tongue all the way to his belly warmed on contact. His erection swelled painfully; then he lost all sensation. It was curious how umer kept him aroused yet all he could feel was an odd heaviness in his genitals. He wouldn’t be able to orgasm for hours. A scowl etched lines so deeply on his face he could feel each furrow.

  When he glanced at Enovese, her lips trembled as she compressed them. Concerned, he reached for her only to realize she was holding back laughter, not tears. When her mirth erupted, she clapped a hand over her mouth and turned away. Her back shook with suppressed giggles.

  “What do you find so funny?” Her moods changed as swiftly as a battle on the tilt-table.

  “I’m sorry, Chur, but your face, the way you grimace when you drink the umer—” she cut herself off.

  He shook his head and turned her to face him. When she finally braved a look at his face, he flashed her a smarmy smile, which only caused her to laugh harder. Joining her, he let a cleansing chuckle wash away his tension as he embraced Enovese.

  “You should go.” Enovese reluctantly stepped back.

  Chur cupped her chin. “Will you do me a favor?”

  She nodded.

  “Wear the green dress for me, and wear your hair down.”

  She lowered her face demurely. “As you wish, Harvester.” A flash of devilish delight filled her gaze when she tilted her face up. “Do you wish for me to shave my sex as well?”

  Desire shimmered along his nerves, causing his desensitized cock to twitch. How Enovese could counteract the umer with such a suggestive question was beyond him. Afraid his voice would be nothing but a growl, he simply nodded, then turned away before he lost control again. With his head held high, his shoulders straight, and his terribly hard penis tenting his pants, Chur strode to the Festival of Temptation.

  23

  Enovese gave Chur a few minutes to clear the main hallway, then pulled her hood up, covering her face. She slipped her sandals on and then cracked open the carved Onic door. She pressed her ear to the gap and listened for a few moments.

  Silence.

  She left his rooms. With her head bowed, she walked with processional steps toward the temple. While the revelers celebrated with food and drink, she would kneel and pray. At least she hoped that’s what the guards would think.

  As she passed through the heavy fabric that covered the arched entrance to the temple, she took a deep breath and held it for as long as she could. An acolyte shrouded in a white robe turned toward her, then quickly turned away, placing a bundle of leaves in a large brazier.

  A waft of aromatic herbs caused her to waver on her feet. She kept her breathing shallow in an effort to avoid the effects of the smoke. She’d learned long ago the piles of smoldering plants provided much more than fragrance. Breathing deeply long enough caused odd effects including auditory and visual hallucinations. Once, she truly believed the ancients blessed her. She felt their hands upon her head, sanctioning her, compelling her to accept any sacrifice they demanded. Days later, she realized what had happened and took great care when in the temple.

  Kneeling before the goddess of paratanists, Enovese touched her forehead to the warm floor tiles. She took another deep breath since the air here was free of smoke. If any saw her, they would find her pose one of utter obeisance, but she just wanted a few sips of clean air. Once she realized the acolyte had left, she rose and slipped behind the statue. A wall of draped fabrics gave way to a door. Covering her hand with the sleeve of her robe, she tried the knob and it turned easily. She cracked it open and listened at
the gap. Shimmering blends of voices, music, and hard-soled shoes against Onic tile murmured out of the darkness.

  Enovese entered the small anteroom and closed the door behind her. She was careful not to touch the knob on either side with her bare hands. The oils on her hands would mark the shiny metal and she did not want anyone to know she had been in here. The room was a storage space for herbs, oils, and other temple offerings. Enovese had acquired the fabric and water pearls for her bonding dress from here. As she made her way to the back, the sounds of the party grew louder. Hoisting herself up between the shelving and the wall, she climbed into a narrow cleft, an air duct carved into the rock that linked the temple to the great hall where the Festival took place.

  As she crawled along, using her elbows to drag herself forward, Enovese could hear voices more distinctly and the lowest stirrings of music. When she reached the end of the stone tunnel, she pressed against the decorative grill and peered down.

  A swirl of colors against black flooring stunned her eyes. From her vantage point, they seemed a mass of flowers floating on a dark sea. Each color denoted a family line, and the intensity of the color designated social rank. Only the most elite wore vivid colors, the landed gentry wore pastels, the members of the military wore grays, members of the religious sect wore white, and servants wore browns. Her eyes found Chur quickly, for he was the only one dressed in black. Only the past or present Harvesters wore black. Crimson piping elevated him as the current Harvester, for only the empress wore red.

  The empress, dressed all in crimson, sat upon her throne. She held her head high, black hair twined elaborately with gems, but her eyes seemed weary. Her consort’s intricate seat sat empty. He had died under mysterious circumstances two seasons ago, and despite intense pressure, she had refused to choose another. Enovese had thought it most tragically romantic for surely, the Empress Clathia had deeply loved her consort.