Dark Harvest

by Anitra Lynn McLeod

  And she didn’t even know his name.

  2

  Sterlave had no desire to end his total possession of Kasmiri. He knew it would be a long time before he found himself between her tawny thighs again. As much as he anticipated the challenge, he more anticipated the conquering. She would not be easy to persuade, but he would have fun trying. Deep down he knew she would be worth the effort. Not only was she gorgeous, but also something in her called to him. A part of her that not only needed to be tamed but wanted to be tamed. A strong hand to provide for her strong needs. He had survived the challenge with Chur for a reason, and he believed Kasmiri was his destiny. He had known it from the moment he saw her at the Festival of Temptation.

  Each season before the actual Harvest, all the sacrifices, the current Harvester, and the recruits gathered to celebrate the Harvest ritual. The sacrifices showed off their glory, hoping their beauty would inveigle the Harvester to select them during the Harvest. The recruits could see if there was a virgin worth challenging the Harvester for, and since it was a fight to the death, a woman had to be worth the ultimate sacrifice.

  Amid the many beautiful young women, Sterlave’s attention fell onto a burnished-skinned woman dressed in crimson. Her garment clung to her curves as if painted on. Black tresses had been styled into an elaborate cone atop her head. The style achieved the desired effect of making her appear taller, but she was still much shorter than he was. She had plastered a look of cool serenity on her face, but he knew it was a mask. Her face belied the anxiety expressed in her jerky movements and darting gaze.

  Sterlave had watched her watching the others. Her eyes remained cold until Chur Zenge, the current Harvester, had entered the room. Striding in, dressed in a uniform of pure black with a slash in the chest that exposed his most fearsome scar, Chur ate up the room with his presence. Kasmiri’s eyes had blazed with a determination that would have terrified Chur had he seen it. Kasmiri wanted him and she would do anything to get him. Sterlave’s heart sank. Clearly, she had eyes only for Chur. Sterlave watched her flirt with him, but Chur remained indifferent—polite, but indifferent.

  Sterlave couldn’t believe Chur didn’t want her for himself. Not another woman in the room came close to the exquisite intensity of Kasmiri. Then he thought Chur played the mating game with much more skill than she, for Kasmiri would never want something that came to her so easily. She seemed to thrive on challenges, and Chur certainly offered her that.

  Sterlave watched them dance and noticed how Chur only barely touched his hand to the small of her back and the way he only tilted his head politely to hear her words. Chur wasn’t interested in Kasmiri at all. Then something quite strange occurred—Kasmiri deftly removed Chur’s ceremonial sword, hid it in the folds of her dress, and then swiftly darted away. She’d forced Chur to follow her out of the great room. Sterlave watched, but when Chur emerged he did not have his sword by his side. What was Kasmiri up to? Clearly, she was infatuated with him, but stealing his sword would get her nowhere. Once she’d returned with a bitter cast to her face, Sterlave surmised she had tried to get Chur to perform some type of favor to retrieve his sword. Clearly, Chur had turned her down.

  After that, Kasmiri floated around the recruits like an exotic bird, flirting, laughing, but still her gaze always drifted back to Chur. Taking advantage of her effort to make him jealous, Sterlave had angled himself near. Her face was even more stunning close up. Her full crimson lips nipped at the top into a bow that made him think of kissing. A slight overbite of her white teeth made him think of her mouth wrapped around his straining cock. He imagined her golden brown eyes would be closed as she focused to her task, but with a touch of his finger to her cheek, she would open them. He almost laughed when her eyes were dark, angry pools of resentment. Even in his daydreams, Kasmiri rejected him.

  Her face was a study in angles and curves—prominent cheekbones but a soft chin, delicate ears but a sharp nose. Separate each part and there would be nothing of interest, but put them all together and the effect was mesmerizing. He thought she had a face that he would never tire of looking at. Even in old age, he would find beauty there.

  Gathering his courage, Sterlave had asked her to dance. She’d rolled her eyes and tossed her head as she walked away. Apparently flirting wasn’t working, and she would not lower herself to dance with a recruit just to inflame Chur’s jealousy. Her dismissal plunged Sterlave back to his tribe. Resentment and shame surged fury along his skin, tightening his muscles until he stood as rigid as one of the statues lining the great hall.

  Immediately, he decided to challenge Chur for the right of Harvester. If he won, he would claim Kasmiri as his own. She would not be able to refuse him, and once he had her, he would compel her submission, whether she wanted to submit or not. However, he thought that was exactly what she wanted. A strong man who wouldn’t take no for an answer and wouldn’t fall for her manipulative games. Not that he could truly force her. Having been on the receiving end of such brutality, he had no desire to inflict it on another, yet something in her needed what he offered. If he were her bondmate, she would have no choice.

  At the challenge, Chur had bested him. Sterlave had chosen to fight barehanded, and they were evenly matched until some power filled Chur with unbeatable strength. Chur wrapped his arm around Sterlave’s neck and squeezed the life out of him. As darkness descended, Sterlave watched all his dreams fade away. He would never be able to revenge the wrongs done to him by his tribe or anyone else. Sterlave woke hours later lying next to the other recruits who challenged Chur and lost. They remained dead; however, the gods granted Sterlave a second chance. Another recruit, Loban Daraspe, had claimed he was the next Harvester once Chur selected his mate, but since Loban had not the courage to challenge, the magistrate reluctantly denied his claim.

  Loban’s black eyes burned with resentment as he watched Sterlave walk out of the training rooms. In the back of his mind, Sterlave knew that, for Loban, the fight wasn’t over. Loban wanted to settle the score between them, for a variety of reasons, but Loban would just have to wait.

  Sterlave underwent a hasty indoctrination and preparation ceremony. In the temple, he signed documents, received the sacred ceremonial gear, and then the magistrate assigned him a paratanist, who shaved his entire body except for his eyebrows and lashes. Sterlave found it odd to go from the training rooms where he must do everything for himself to the care of an individual who did everything for him.

  His paratanist even hardened his cock with a deft hand, anointed him with estal oil, and then offered him a cup of umer. His servant answered any questions he had with a droning voice that did not reveal his or her sex. A beige robe proclaimed him or her a servant, but the robe had an enormous hood that more than covered the face. When he asked, his paratanist simply said, “I am female.”

  Having a woman attend to him in such an intimate way astonished him, but such was the nature of the ritual. She dressed him in a pair of black mondi leggings, attached the elaborate codpiece, placed a pair of booming boots on his feet, and then clipped the ceremonial sword to his belt. He felt rushed through the entire thing, but he didn’t mind. Sterlave knew exactly what he wanted as the Harvester. He only hoped Chur had not selected Kasmiri.

  When Sterlave entered the Harvest room, he saw the sacrifice table lined with hundreds of virgins. Hard as Onic steel, his cock stood ready to take them all, but then he spied a flash of brilliant crimson. The object of his affections was twelve sacrifices south of the head of the table.

  A moment of annoyance cast a pall on his joy for he realized the tales were lies. The Harvest was not about luscious women waiting for his rigid shaft. The truth was they waited for him to perform a ritual so they could become full-fledged citizens. He felt nothing because of the umer and estal oil. As cheated as he was, he didn’t really care. With his goal in sight, he approached the first sacrifice. Sterlave paused, for he didn’t see an empty slot on the table and he wondered whom Chur had selected.

 
Pushing aside his curiosity, Sterlave stood in front of his first sacrifice. Bright orange fabric clashed with her enormous blue eyes and her kinky red hair. Her trembling lips broke his heart. When Sterlave placed his hand on her knee, she flinched. He tried to soothe her by projecting every bit of concern he could muster into his gaze.

  He wasn’t allowed to speak to the sacrifices unless he uttered the sacred words, but her terror compelled him to whisper, “Relax, tanata, I will not hurt you.”

  She forced a smile at his endearment and relaxed slightly. She tensed again when he parted her thighs and put her feet into position. He spoke the words, she mumbled hers; then he slid slowly into her. All he felt was slight pressure around his shaft. Her eyes widened with surprise that his thrust didn’t hurt. She offered him a relieved smile. He withdrew. He helped her from the table and she scampered out of the room.

  His paratanist cleaned and anointed him for the next sacrifice. Golden blond with sun-kissed skin, her eyes sparkled with ethereal joy. She was tall, heavy, her body thick with curves. Her robe was washed-out blue with two slits that exposed pale pink nipples. Fraying bits surrounding the edges told him this robe was old, probably handed down for generations. He performed the ritual and helped her from the table.

  The variety of the women, clothing, and decorations amazed him. In his region of Gant, all the women were tall, thin, with brown hair and eyes. These women came from all regions and all strata of society. The sheer diversity astonished him, but he always kept his goal in sight. Sacrifice by sacrifice, he drew closer to Kasmiri, and once he had her, he took his time.

  Her clutching heat still surrounded him, and even though the estal oil blocked the full sensation, he found himself quickly addicted to the plush, wet pleasure of her snug sex. One plunge was too many and a thousand wouldn’t be enough.

  “You are supposed to penetrate, then withdraw,” Kasmiri reminded him with a sharp murmur that managed to convey her disdain. Even her whisper sounded haughty and privileged.

  “Who is here to stop me?” He pulled back, then plunged forward with a grunt of satisfaction. “Your innocence is too sweet to be plucked quickly. No, you are to be savored, Kasmiri. Always with you the pleasure should be sipped not gulped.”

  Her glare could have stripped the paint off the ceiling. When he refused to move on, she apparently decided not to bother even looking at him. Determined to get her attention, he continued to pull slightly back, then push forward again. Fury turned her sharp cheeks red. Even the tops of her ears turned crimson. Sterlave spared a glance to the woman on the other side of them, but she turned away, affording them as much privacy as she could. A secretive smile told him she would never tell, and she didn’t seem to mind having to wait for another Harvester.

  He did not want to step away from Kasmiri, but it would take hours for the estal oil to wear off and the umer. Neither one of them would be able to achieve orgasm for a while, so this would only torment his body further.

  Reluctantly, he withdrew.

  Kasmiri flung herself up and didn’t even take his offered hand to help her from the table. She dropped to the ground with an ungainly plop, then grasped his arm to steady herself. After all that time on her back, her feet must have gone numb. Once she steadied herself, she tossed her head, flinging some of the gems off, and strode to the door.

  He grasped her arm to stop her. “By protocol you will exit at my side.”

  “I will do no such thing!”

  He tightened his grip, not enough to hurt her, but just enough to warn her that he would not tolerate her headstrong antics. “Kasmiri, you may be the future empress, but I’m your bondmate, now and forever.”

  Kasmiri whirled on him as if to strike, but when she realized they had an audience of sacrifices, she gritted her teeth and looped her arm through his.

  He whispered, “You might try smiling as we leave.”

  “I see no reason to pretend I am happy when I am not.”

  Sterlave chuckled. “As you please. If you wish to have the people snicker at how a Harvester forced you to submit to his unwelcome touch…”

  The mere thought of mockery caused Kasmiri to plaster a smile to her face. If nothing else, she understood the importance of appearances. It simply wouldn’t do to have the populace speculate that she was anything less than happy. Well, in public, anyway. He doubted her facade would extend to their private time. At least if he ever needed her to be calm he could simply drag her into a public place.

  “Be sure to understand—”

  “That this is just for the sake of appearances. I understand completely, my mate.”

  “Do not address me in such a derogatory way. You may call me Kasmiri.”

  He did not think mate was disparaging, but he simply said, “As you please.”

  She frowned, but a smile sprang up when he pushed open the double hung doors of the Harvest room. On the other side of the doorway stood four palace guards, who moved aside. Several members of the elite flashed hopeful looks that dashed when they didn’t see their daughter on his arm. The same eyes went wide with shock that he’d selected the daughter of the empress. Tongues instantly started wagging. Kasmiri brightened her smile. Still, the joy never touched her eyes.

  Sterlave had expected Clathia to be among those who waited, but she was not there. Kasmiri clutched his arm and he thought he understood that her mother must have realized Chur had selected another. If mother were like daughter, Clathia would have left in a pique.

  Whispering so that the others couldn’t hear, Sterlave said, “Fear not. I will send a guard to fetch her.”

  He’d misjudged Kasmiri’s panic because she pinched his arm. Through her smile, she whispered, “You will do nothing of the sort. Fetch my mother like a commoner?” With a hiss of breath, she rolled her eyes. “We will go to her.”

  3

  Kasmiri practically yanked him down the hallway to get him away from the prying eyes of the elite. At least he was smart enough to realize the importance of keeping face. However, that didn’t mean she trusted him to maintain the illusion for long. The faster she got him away from the gossiping hordes, the better. Once she got him into her rooms, she planned on a lengthy diatribe about every fault she’d noticed so far, and a few she hadn’t. Then she realized she could place him in his own rooms. She could put him in a suite as far from hers as she could get it, perhaps at the other end of the massive palace.

  As they moved down the hall, her bare feet picked up every bit of grime on the floor, which irritated her to no end. She despised being dirty. His boots boomed so loudly she almost asked him to take them off, but then changed her mind. It would be best not to delay the inevitable.

  Trying desperately to contain her fury, she moved forward with purpose, hardly noticing the gilded walls and artwork that lined the hall.

  He chuckled with a low rumble that reminded her of her mother’s Golden Bird warming for flight.

  “What do you find so amusing?”

  “Your impatience to complete the bonding ceremony.”

  She darted a glance up and down the hallway. There were palace guards within earshot, so rather than berate him, as she wanted to, she snarled, “I wish to get this over with. Once the ceremony is complete, I plan to leave you to your rooms as I return to mine. I will only suffer your company when I must.”

  He stopped in his tracks while she continued forward. Their looped arms practically yanked her off her feet.

  “I will not sleep in a separate room.”

  She pulled her arm free of his. “You will do as I say!” Her voice echoed off the Onic tile floor, so she lowered it. “You are my consort and you will follow my orders.”

  He stood as if a statue. “When I swore to be your humble servant, I did so in jest. I am not your servant but your bondmate and consort, and in this, I will not give. We will share the same rooms.”

  “No, we won’t.” Kasmiri grabbed his arm and tried to pull him down the hallway, but he wouldn’t budge. “Move, you cratif
an!”

  His jaw clenched and his hand closed over hers with stern reprimand.

  Suddenly, she realized the folly of trying to push or pull him around physically. If he wished, he could crush her bones within his grip. He was so much bigger than she was. He was not as big as Chur, but still, his muscles were thick, bulging, riddled with blue veins. This commoner had spent his life training with weapons. He probably knew a multitude of ways to kill a person, with or without weapons. Despite her prominence, if she truly enraged him, she may not be able to run from a burst of maniacal fury. He would not have the refined control of the elite. Even if they executed him right after, she would still be dead. She hated the truth, but she would have to watch her tongue.

  Forcing the words through tight lips, he said, “Never again will you call me a worthless son of yondie. My mother was not a whore.”

  Rather than apologize, which she thought beneath her, she simply nodded, then snaked her arm through his. Calling him a cratifan certainly touched a nerve, one she’d rather not poke again. She took one step, but he didn’t move. Reigning in her annoyance, she politely asked, “What now?”

  “We have not settled the issue of where I will sleep.”

  Guards had now turned their attention to them. She didn’t wish any gossip to reach her mother’s ears, so she reluctantly gave in. “I will allow you to sleep in my rooms, but not in my bed.”

  He still wouldn’t budge. She didn’t want to, but she had to admire his spirit. “You may sleep in my bed.” When he began to move down the hall, she smiled to herself. She would let him sleep in her bed, for she would sleep elsewhere. He couldn’t be angry later that she had backed out on her promise, for she would keep her word.

  He placed his head close to hers, so close she felt the heat of his breath when he said, “Do not even think it, Kasmiri, for you will sleep there with me.”

  It wasn’t exactly a command, but the way he said it caused the hair at the nape of her neck to stiffen. His powerful voice and the intent behind his words flushed pleasure along her exhausted body. What was it about him? Never had she found domineering men appealing. If fact, she took great pleasure in cutting them down to size, but this man would not be humbled before her. She had a terrible and unshakable premonition she would bow to him. Worse, the image excited her.