Dark Harvest

by Anitra Lynn McLeod

  Hours passed as many brought forth their business. Most items she quickly shuffled off to the particular advisor who oversaw that function. When the time came for her to make her announcement, she ensured her guards were behind her. Rather than two, she’d selected twenty. What she had to say might erupt into a dispute. If it did, she wanted protection. Not that anyone had ever attacked an empress, but she thought it wise to be prudent.

  “My esteemed advisors, I now ask for your indulgence. A visiting dignitary has made an unusual request that I am compelled to grant.” She took a breath to steady her pounding heart. If she phrased this just right, all would be well for another day. “He has heard great things about our Harvest.” Several people nodded approval for they thought their ways were best. “To this end, he wishes to learn of our rituals, perhaps to take them to his own planet.” Murmurs of approval washed over her. “In order to gain a full appreciation for our unique ceremony, he would like to spend his visit in the Harvester suite.”

  Her heart stopped at the dead silence, then pounded harder than ever. Tossing up a quick prayer to all the gods in Jarasine, she kept her gaze steady but was ready to dash for the exit.

  “Where will Kerrick of Cheon stay?”

  The woman spoke too quickly for Kasmiri to pinpoint who or where she was. Kasmiri assumed Kerrick was the name of the Harvester who’d taken over when Sterlave selected her. “He will stay with the recruits in the training rooms.” Some grumbling prompted her to come up with an alternative on the spot. “Or, if he chooses, he can stay in one of the suites reserved for visiting dignitaries.”

  “Why don’t the visitor stay there like he’s supposed to?”

  The lower-class syntax told her the speaker would be far in the back and on one of the lowest seats.

  Kasmiri lifted her hand. “Please, he asks little and we could gain greatly from this cultural exchange.” Actually, they would avoid a tremendous amount of violence. She waited a moment, then settled at her screen. “Please vote in favor of this small gift to a great power.” She added the last in case the monster lurked, for she hoped such would appease his ego.

  Below her fluttering heart her empty stomach clenched. A sudden need to rush to the basin to vomit possessed her, but she fought it down. There was nothing in there to come up. Time moved slowly as the votes were imputed, counted, recounted, and then finally she had her answer.

  Loban filed his teeth while watching three slaves pound away at another’s upturned bottom. When they finished, he thought he might take a turn too. Silky blond hair fell into the eyes of the one on the receiving end as he lowered his head to take their thrusts. Loban would like to pull his head back while he rode him so he could see his pain in the mirror across the room. And there would be pain. His penis, large when he was human, was more so now. Bulbous, the tip swelled over the shaft and turned angry purple-black with his arousal. When he climaxed, his seed jetted forth with shocking strength and in copious amounts. Along the underside, he discovered several bumps. If they were like the ones on his back, barbs would eventually rise from the centers.

  Loban had just placed himself behind the young man when Ambo waddled in, fresh from the advisor’s meeting. Rather than stop, Loban tormented the blonde by fingering his ass while he spoke to Ambo. Let him wonder if he’d actually have to take the enormous cock he saw in the mirror.

  “Did she do as I demanded?” he asked, teasing his fingertip around the now-slick ring.

  Ambo blanched, trying not to look at the dark hand buried between pale cheeks or the thick purple prick jutting up from Loban’s hips.

  “She gave you the Harvester suite,” Ambo said hopefully. When one of his serving girls brought him a glass of wine, he gulped it gratefully and immediately asked for a refill. Ambo found life easier to cope with when he was inebriated. Food no longer brought him the pleasure it once had. Within days, his rotund frame had wilted.

  “Did she name me the Harvester?” Loban rammed his finger into the slave’s bottom. His grunt of shock danced a smile upon Loban’s lips. He wasn’t hurt when Ambo shuddered and turned away. Pointed teeth made his smile beyond chilling. No word was dark enough to convey the horror of his appearance. Loban despaired at first, for he’d always thought himself a handsome man, but this was the image the gods had chosen for him. Tall, but curled over with bones that could bend and mold to his needs, his blackened skin was hot and smooth. Overdeveloped muscles in his haunches and his arms gave him tremendous strength. Day by day, he looked more gruesome and terrifying. Perhaps the gods thought this form was the best for keeping the populace in line.

  Ambo guzzled another drink, then answered, “She cannot name you the Harvester.”

  “She is the empress!” Fury caused him to ram another finger inside his slave. His answering whimper soothed him slightly.

  Quivering, Ambo lifted his hand for another drink. “You know you must wait and issue a challenge to the current Harvester right before the next Harvest.”

  Confusion caused him to shake his head. His human mind knew that. How had he forgotten? For a moment, Loban couldn’t remember why he wanted to be the Harvester. Such a position was beneath him. He wanted to be the emperor. That was worthy of his exalted self. Refusing to appear weak before one of his minions, he acted as if he’d known what Ambo reminded him of by nodding. Then he immediately turned his attention elsewhere. “Did she remove Chur as the premier handler?” Bored with tormenting his blond slave, he yanked his fingers out and sent him back to his mat in the corner.

  Ambo’s hesitation was answer enough.

  Loban grabbed the edge of Ambo’s billowing shirt and wiped his fingers off. Apparently, his call on the little empress did not motivate her sufficiently. Another visit loaded with terror might change her mind. Loban couldn’t take over the training of the recruits with Chur in residence. Once Kasmiri removed him, Loban would turn the recruits into his personal army and Chur into his personal slave. His men would enforce his edicts and scour the lands for the most compelling slaves. Of course, Loban would have to dispatch Helton, for Helton entered into all of this for the express purpose of running the recruits himself. When Chur dismissed him, Helton swore he would see Chur humbled. In his drive to obtain his goal, Helton had unleashed a monster on the world. Loban smiled at the thought.

  Turning his full attention onto Ambo, he gave detailed orders for what should await him in the Harvester suite. When Ambo hesitated on reciting his orders, Loban made him write them out. He wanted his first night there to be perfect.

  Ambo hurried off to do his bidding, relieved, no doubt, that he didn’t have to look at him anymore. Sick of his appearance himself, he turned away from the mirror.

  Loban settled on the couch, determined to remember everything he knew before he changed. He wanted to be the Harvester because…He couldn’t remember why it had once been so important to him. Had he gotten all he could from that ritual? Harvesting the ungati, forcing them to pleasure, that opened him up to the gods. Perhaps harvesting them was all he needed. When he closed his eyes, looking within for the answer, he was soothed by a quick series of their faces as he took their virginity. Before he could become lost in the rich memories, he forced himself to stand. Whenever he tried to remember his human thoughts, the inner voice always used those memories to lull him into submission. Who was in charge of his mind, he wondered, him or the gods?

  Pacing now in great strides across Ambo’s rooms, he tried to remember the other things he demanded of Kasmiri. None of them seemed as important as one thing, and it wasn’t Chur’s removal from the training rooms. There was something he was supposed to have asked her for, but he’d refused because…one of the bound servants howled then, breaking his concentration.

  Loban stomped over to him and ripped his head off with one twist from his mighty fist. Tossing the head away, he stood riveted by his hand. He remembered his human hands. They were a bit too large, which gave him excellent control with weapons, but now, his hands were claws. Massive, f
ive-jointed fingers extended from his enormous oblong palm.

  “What have I become?”

  “I didn’t want it to be like this.”

  The voice followed Kasmiri down the hall. When she turned, she found Helton standing there. Her guards went on alert, but she asked them to step back. Getting as close to Helton as she could without causing her guards to overreact, she hissed, “Haven’t you done enough?”

  “This wasn’t what was supposed to happen.” Helton reached for her hand but stopped after glancing at the two burly men. He was a big man, but they were bigger, and there were two of them. “All I wanted was Chur removed so I could be a handler again.”

  He’d unleashed a monster on her over a position as a handler? Kasmiri shook her head in frustration. “What more do you want from me?” She didn’t know why she asked when she didn’t intend to give him anything else. He might be her father, but she owed him nothing.

  When he didn’t answer, she glanced back at her guards, made certain they were out of earshot, and then asked, “Why didn’t you just become my mother’s official consort?” Doing so would have saved her the ruination of her entire world.

  Straightening, he snarled, “I would not be second to a man who had no discipline.”

  His answer infuriated her, and in that moment, she knew that Helton killed the man she thought was her father. Helton killed him, not to be with her mother, but to stop him from cheating on her. Her mother’s refusal to seek out the killer was because she knew exactly who the killer was. Clathia hadn’t turned listless for mourning her consort; she’d become depressed because even then, Helton refused to become her official consort.

  “For your stupid pride you destroyed my life.”

  He had the grace to look ashamed. “No one was supposed to know.”

  “Then how did Ambo find out?” She knew it had to have been him or her mother.

  “Your mother’s consort told him.” There was no escaping the disgusted tone in Helton’s voice. “He thought it would shame her into not seeing me anymore when all it did was drain her funds to bribe Ambo into silence. That was the kind of man he was. He wouldn’t stop philandering, but he wouldn’t let her—” Helton cut himself off for his voice started to rise. Lowering his booming tone, he finished, “I never touched another woman but Clathia. I loved her more—”

  “Don’t speak to me of love!” Kasmiri didn’t care if her guards heard her or not. “If you loved my mother, you would have sacrificed your pride to be with her!”

  His eyes blazed. “You ungrateful child. You made her life miserable with your mischief. Just like him, you have no discipline.”

  At that, she slapped Helton hard enough to leave a palm print. “Go back to Ambo and your monster. Tell them I won’t be your puppet.” Once she said the words, she knew confession was the right choice. She felt nothing but filthy after the lies she’d told to Sterlave and her true advisors; however, the subterfuge ended now. “I will announce the truth myself.”

  23

  Heavy snow turned the world into an icy wonderland of sparkling drifts. Sterlave gazed out at the endless expanse of white. Usually the big storms didn’t hit for another cycle, but nothing about this season was normal. As the sun set, slanting rays turned the land glorious mixed colors of pink, purple, and orange. At his side, Chur squinted into the distance.

  “Why would she do this?” Chur asked.

  “I don’t know.” Sterlave tried to keep the cold from filling his heart. Kasmiri had betrayed him. He felt like a fool for agonizing over whether he loved her, when her confession of love had been a lie. What a fool he’d been to feel bad about tormenting the supposed truth out of her. He’d barely been able to sleep last night from his horrible guilt. As he gazed into the heart of bitter cold, he wondered if she’d fallen asleep with a secretive little grin on her face. Laughing at him, mocking him, as the villagers used to do.

  “Is it possible she is in league with him?” Chur asked the question quietly so as not to disturb Enovese, who sat at the table reading. Sterlave figured the loose pages she considered must be old from the musty smell and the way they curled at the edges. Her concentration was so deep that Sterlave thought he and Chur could engage in a screaming argument and she’d barely notice. Never had he seen anyone sit so perfectly still and so fully engaged.

  “You’re the one with the connection to the gods, why don’t you tell me.” Sterlave hated the bitter tone in his voice, but frustration turned outward struck the closest target.

  Without anger, Chur answered, “That’s not how they operate. I felt something evil brewing, I thought it might be Loban, and it clearly is, but Kasmiri has never struck me as evil. Determined and manipulative yes, but malicious or vindictive? No.” He paused, then asked, “Do you think she is capable of something like this?”

  Sterlave considered the idea of Kasmiri and Loban working together. How could such a thing be true? “I thought I knew her, but now…” He watched his reflection in the glass shrug and turned away. He couldn’t stand the shocked pain on his face anymore. Trust had never come easily to him, but he’d trusted Kasmiri with all his heart.

  When he turned, his gaze fell on Chur and Enovese’s neatly made bed. What Kasmiri had done to him this morning was just more manipulation. Sterlave stilled his thoughts for a moment, running back over not only this morning, but also all the times he and Kasmiri had been together. She couldn’t have faked all of it. The moment in the basin room during their bonding celebration wasn’t phony, nor was the bonding itself. Every time they’d come together, she’d been anxious for release and more than willing to please him in return. A truly selfish woman would have taken her pleasure and not given a thought to his. Kasmiri had tried almost desperately to project that attitude, but he’d seen the truth.

  Sterlave turned back to the window.

  “Don’t condemn her just yet,” Chur cautioned. “We don’t know why she gave over the Harvester suite to Loban.”

  “What innocent reason could there be?” Sterlave had been searching for Loban from one end of the palace to the other when the current Harvester, Kerrick, informed Chur that he’d been forced to give up his rooms for some visiting dignitary. Kerrick gave Chur a copy of the edict, which he, in turn, shared with Sterlave. Chur hadn’t heard about anyone coming to observe the rituals, neither had Sterlave, but Enovese was the one who actually put everything together. Enovese said it only made sense that Loban would want to stay there if he’d felt cheated out of his position as the Harvester. Kasmiri couldn’t tell the advisors who she really wanted to give the room to, so she made up the tale of a visiting dignitary. How Loban compelled Kasmiri to do this was another matter.

  “I don’t know what to think.” Sterlave wanted to leave the safe haven of Chur and Enovese’s room, but he didn’t know where to go. He didn’t want to go back to Kasmiri’s room to confront her. He also didn’t want to confront Loban, not when he’d gone there earlier and saw what Loban had become.

  “And you’re certain the creature was Loban?” Chur offered him another glass of soony.

  Sterlave passed on a second drink. “There’s no mistaking that smile of his. Of course, he’s shaved his teeth into points, but those blood red lips are exactly the same. So are his glittering Onic eyes.” Sterlave couldn’t stop a quick shiver of revulsion. “Underneath that fauben shell, it’s all Loban.”

  “I believe that is what he is.”

  Sterlave gave a little jump and turned. Enovese stood between him and Chur. She moved so swiftly and silently he found her a bit disconcerting.

  Tilting her face up, she smiled at him, as if acknowledging she’d inadvertently startled him. “I think Loban welcomed in one of the fallen ones.”

  Her voice was lilting, musical, and had a tendency to go right to his groin, a feeling he consciously ignored. The last thing he wanted was Chur to throttle him for having impure thoughts about his gorgeous bondmate. Worse, Sterlave didn’t want Chur to realize he’d had lusty thoughts ab
out him too. How could he be in the middle of the most dangerous situation of his life and still be thinking random sexual thoughts? Determined, he focused his attention outward.

  When he’d seen Loban, Sterlave thought Loban had threatened Kasmiri into giving him what he wanted. But how could he have gotten near her with her guards? Even if he had threatened her, why hadn’t she come to him, her bondmate, and the supposed protector of the empire, for help?

  “Why would anyone want to share their form with a fallen one?” Sterlave had heard tales about the evil creatures, but he’d always thought they were myths, much like the gods themselves. Of course, Chur’s transformation changed all of that. If Chur could become a demigod, then why couldn’t Loban became a fauben?

  Softly, Enovese said, “The rejects of Jarasine, the fallen ones, drift in nothingness. They can see us, hear us, but cannot connect to us unless we invite them in. Once the invitation has been made, the person must perform a sufficiently wicked act to grant them entrance. An offering of sorts.”

  “What would be considered a sufficiently wicked act?” Chur asked, wrapping his arm around Enovese and pulling her to his side.

  Understanding hit Sterlave. “Raping an ungati and forcing him to climax.”

  Chur asked what an ungati was and Enovese explained. Sterlave was relieved he wasn’t the only one who’d never heard of them before he’d met Rown. They must be strictly for the elite.

  Within the circle of her bondmate’s arm, Enovese said, “Violating an ungati’s strict code would grant a fallen one entrance.” At Chur’s confused look, she added, “They are allowed to pleasure others, but they can only experience orgasm alone as part of a complex ritual.”

  When she launched into a description of this masturbation ritual, Chur blushed and cut her off with a soft, “I don’t need to know that much.”

  Sterlave tried desperately to ignore the signals between them, but sex itself hung in the air, saturating everyone it touched, until lust ensnared them all—raw, naked, brutal lust. Something in what Enovese had said reminded Chur of something they’d done. Something he’d clearly enjoyed, for his cock awakened, pressing against his loincloth.