“That’s easy for you to say, given you are free to marry––or fuck––anything that moves!” Striking out, he once again pushed his cousin away. “And, happiness? Are you fucking kidding me?” Toran yelled at the sky. “I do not have such luxury if I intend to take the crown!”
As his cry faded away into the growing darkness, his cousin spoke up.
“Well, I think you’re wrong about that.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“You could plant a babe in her,” Merus ventured.
“What?” Toran's entire body went still. “In who?”
“The faine.”
“Have you lost your fucking mind?” I want a family, she had said. Against his will, the thought of taking her took seed, his mind racing back to the time he had seen the heaven between her thighs.
Toran slammed his mind shut tight. Venna blanketed his body like shimmering armor.
Merus ignored it.
“Nope,” he replied. “I’m completely serious.”
Toran stared blankly at his cousin, trying to cipher out why his soul had gone completely cold.
“Are you standing here telling me you wish to see her dead?” Toran asked at last as a whole new possibility––one he’d never bothered to consider––sharpened into razor-like focus.
“What? No,” said Merus. “Considering she’s faine, I don’t think there’s any way you could hurt her when you…”
“I’m not talking about that!” Toran tore at his hair. “I’m talking about the law! Do you not remember what happened to my father’s faine?”
Before, Toran had never considered the long arcane law that dictated death to any faine caught between the lines of propriety. So caught up in his own selfish wants and needs, he hadn’t given the smallest thought to what it would mean to Liv should he give way to his weakness.
“Don’t you remember what happened to your own mother?”
Merus fell silent.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” said Toran. Wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead, Toran started walking again.
This conversation was beyond out of control.
No matter how much he was tempted to act on his desire, Toran could never risk Liv’s life.
Not now.
Not with the way he was beginning to feel about her.
“The Elden would never invoke that law.” Merus’s voice was insistent as he brought Toran back to the present. “Not now. Not after everything that happened after the Cleansing. Besides, it was you yourself who said the Elden wouldn’t dare tempt your wrath.”
“Yes, but that was regarding a different matter entirely,” said Toran. “Since the return of the faine, the Elden have made it clear they’re eager for me to take my crown.” At least most of them, Diogo notwithstanding. “I’m sure they’d have a much different opinion if they found out that I had betrayed everything our people stand for and had gone and fucked my faine.”
Good gods almighty, help me.
Toran gave a violent shake of his head, trying to will away the visions of their bodies locked together. Yet despite his best efforts, tantalizing fantasies raced through his crazed mind.
Liv lying naked and bare beneath him, her soft white thighs open, her hips undulating to receive his cock. Her tight, hot core milking his seed.
“It’s a legitimate option, cousin,” said Merus. “And you know it.”
“Legitimate?” Toran coughed out a laugh. “Seriously? What a ridiculous thing to say.”
Undeterred, Merus was hell bent on having his say. “Repopulating the faine would solve many of the kingdom’s challenges,” he continued. “Even more half-breed faine like me would be better than what we have now… which is no faine but one. Breeding with Liv…” He cleared his throat. “Breeding with the faine, you could choose a new way, a new life. You could rebuild on your own terms instead of just accepting unwritten words from centuries ago.”
“What you speak of is not an option.” Whatever his personal shortcomings and inexplicable hunger for the faine, Toran drew the line at treason. What mattered was the very future of Venn Dom. He pegged his cousin with a glare. “It is not an option, and you know it. To fulfill my destiny––and finally unite our people––my sons must be of purest Vimora blood. There is no denying prophecy.” Unable to dispel centuries of his prejudice and hate, he hardened his voice. “Even if that was not the case, I would not curse my offspring with her blood.”
Now, venna whipped around Merus.
“Mind your words well, my cousin,” Merus said, his eyes flashing a darker blue. “You forget what I am.”
Three feet apart, they stood and glared at each other.
“If you will not bed the faine,” Merus ventured, “then perhaps I should.”
The words barely left his cousin’s lips before Toran had Merus pinned, face first, against the cold stone wall. He released a surge of venna so strong, it threatened to smother his cousin’s very breath.
With effort, Merus raised his hands against the wall in surrender.
“Fucking hell, Toran!” Merus’s words could barely get past Toran’s choking hold. “Fuck me. Get a hold of yourself, man!”
Toran stepped away.
Merus fell to the ground.
“Then you’re back to marrying some bitch you have no interest in marrying,” Merus said when he finally caught his breath. He raised his hands when Toran started to protest. “Don’t start your shit with me. You can lie to yourself all you want, but I know for a godsdamn fact you do not want to marry my sister. Happy fate eternal with Sarai? Please.”
Toran stood over him, his fists balled tight, unable to answer.
“Toran, really think about this… wait, wait, wait.” Merus waved off Toran's new surge of aggression as he staggered to his feet. “I won’t suggest you sleep with Liv again.” He paused. “And you know I would never betray you and take her to my bed.”
Another shimmer of venna lit the night. It was accompanied by Toran's shout of anguish.
“But you have to see––for the sake of your kingdom’s future––you will need to let Liv go.” Merus reached out to touch him before pulling his hand away. “You will need to let her go so that she can find someone else. You see how she is with the babes down at the children’s home. She longs for a family of her own.”
The words she had uttered behind that door sliced his heart to pieces.
And only I can give her that.
Toran screwed his eyes shut.
“If you do not release her,” Merus continued, “you will personally destroy her chance at happiness. And you will also destroy a guaranteed chance to bring some sense of normalcy––and peace––back to Venn Dom. She’s faine, Toran. And we need her and any offspring she can bear.”
She was right. I have to let her go.
“At least go and heal her,” Merus said when Toran couldn’t muster the strength to offer an answer. “Your stubbornness is making her suffer.”
“It’s not me who’s being stubborn,” he whispered.
“Ah, I see.” Merus arched a blonde brow, his eyes flashing an angry blue. “Tell me, Toran. Can you honestly blame her for refusing your venna?”
Hand over his aching heart, Toran stared off into the distance.
“Regardless of what you decide, you need to fix this with Liv. Or, you’ll be left with nothing.” Merus placed a cautious hand on Toran’s shoulder. “What are you going to do?”
Steeling his emotions, Toran shrugged off his cousin’s touch.
There was only one thing he could do.
Gods forgive me.
“Apparently, I need to go fix things with my faine,” he said, “to ensure I’ll have what it takes to fuck my bride.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“How’s the ankle healing?”
Liv looked up to see Anara standing in the doorway.
“I think it’s better,” she answered. “As long as I don’t move too much, I’m fine.” She smil
ed a bit ruefully before adding, “Though, at times, I find myself rethinking this whole, not taking any pain medication, thing. Hurting grows old pretty fast.”
“It does indeed.” Anara smiled in return as she came into the room. “Good thing I brought some self-medication.” She pulled a bottle of wine from her black doctor’s bag. “Want some company?”
“Absolutely.” Liv nodded to Anara’s left. “There are glasses in the sideboard.”
They sat near a roaring fire in a small sitting area tucked away just off the great room. After her little adventure down the hillside, Liv found it too hard to take the stairs. She and Wolfgang had settled to sleep instead in a small bedroom Wynda had made up for her on the ground floor of the castle. Though Toran never slept in his bedroom next to hers upstairs, Liv was still grateful for the added distance.
“Where’s Toran tonight?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Liv waved a hand before giving Wolfie a little scratch behind the ears. “Fighting probably.” As far as she could tell, he hadn’t returned home since he’d abandoned her at the emergency room door a couple of days before.
“That sounds about right for him.” Anara pursed her lips. “You think he’ll be home anytime soon?”
“Probably not.” He’s avoiding me, Liv wanted to add but didn’t. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason.” Though Anara shrugged with seeming nonchalance, her knee bounced with nervous energy. “Just wanted to say hi.”
Liv studied her friend closely. Anara’s usually calm and affable aura felt… different.
Wrong.
“Is everything okay?” she asked.
“Of course.” Anara gave a weak smile before taking a sip of wine. “Why do you ask?”
“You don’t seem yourself.”
“It’s nothing.” Reaching out, she topped off Liv’s glass, her hand trembling ever-so-slightly. “Just a hard day at the office.”
Liv frowned.
Something was up.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine.” Anara sighed. “I’m just tired.”
“I can feel your stress,” Liv gently accused.
“Ah.” She let out a tinny laugh. “I forgot I can’t hide such things from a faine.”
Liv watched her carefully.
“Is it because I asked you to help me?” she asked.
The distinct aroma of antsy guilt hit the air.
Aha.
“Of course not,” Anara denied. “I’m your friend. You know that I’ll try to help you any way I can.”
Another pulse of guilt.
What the hell was going on?
“But, before you do what you’re looking at doing, I really think you need to talk to…”
As Anara’s voice trailed off, Liv followed the doctor’s gaze to find Toran standing in the doorway, his eyes fixed on her face. Though, outwardly, he seemed calm, she could feel the restive energy churning in the air around him.
Wolfie jumped down from her lap and padded away.
“It’s getting late,” Anara said. “I should go.” She glanced sideways to catch Liv’s eye. “You need help getting up to bed?”
Before Liv could respond, Toran answered evenly, “I’ve got her.” His eyes never left Liv’s face.
Throwing a glance between the two of them, Anara patted Liv’s hand and then rose to leave. “I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”
When Anara reached the doorway, Liv watched the doctor rise up on tiptoes to whisper in Toran’s ear. From her position in the chair by the fire, she couldn’t catch what was said.
With a sharp shake of the head, Toran dismissed her, his expression clouded with irritation. A look of pure exasperation crossed the doctor’s face before she skirted around his massive body and left.
What the hell was going on?
Toran didn’t move from his position in the doorway. Liv gazed at him, trying to read his emotions. Try as she might, everything he felt was locked tightly inside.
She resisted the urge to scream in frustration.
“What did Anara just say to you?” she called out instead.
“She asked that I come by her office tomorrow,” he answered without hesitation.
“What for?”
Toran shrugged. “Don’t know. Don’t care.”
In three long strides, he was standing over her.
She leaned away from the insistent heat of his body, her heart pounding in her chest. “What do you want, Toran?”
Bending at his waist, he scooped her up into his arms. Without thinking, she wrapped her hands around his neck, the brush of his whiskers rough against the ticklish insides of her wrists.
He didn’t need to verbalize his answer.
The venna rumbling against her skin announced exactly what it was he wanted. Though her body craved his strength like oxygen, she tensed to block its entry.
At her refusal to take what was freely offered, a low growl rumbled from his chest.
Pressing her hard against his body, he turned and walked out of the room, careful not to bump her injured leg against the door jamb.
“Why are you doing this, Toran?” she asked as he walked across the great room floor and easily took the stairs. “This isn’t what I want, not like this.”
Another growl.
Despite her protestations, Liv fought against an irrational stab of hurt as he bypassed his bedroom, carrying her instead towards the dim light spilling from the open door to her room.
The door slammed shut with finality behind them, nudged by the force of his venna.
Crossing the room, he laid her gently on the bed, the mattress dipping slightly to accept her weight.
“Why are you doing this?” Liv asked again, her voice rising in agitation. Repeating her words from the hospital, she cried, “I don’t understand what you want from me!”
Toran took off his leather jacket and threw it across the foot of the bed. He sat down heavily in a chair, head cocked, legs wide and elbows to knees, his hands dangling loosely between his legs. His chocolate eyes held steady as he said, “I don’t understand what I want from you either.”
*****
As they faced each other and stared, there was no disguising the shock in her eyes, or the resignation in his voice.
The moment he had laid his eyes upon her again, his resolve had shattered. No matter the brave face he had offered his cousin, Toran was helpless to fight his need.
But now, more than ever, he needed to be strong.
He needed to set things right.
In less than two weeks’ time, I will marry.
Yet, no matter how hard he tried, Toran could not force those words to cross his lips.
His strength simply failed him.
Instead, he sat mutely, his heart pounding out a violent rhythm in his chest.
She was the one who broke the silence.
“Why do you hate me?” she asked in a whisper.
“Gods, I don’t hate you.” Toran stabbed his fingers through his hair. “Earlier at the cabin, what I said, how I’ve acted…” Blowing out a breath, he shook his head. “I’m sorry. For everything.”
“I just don’t understand any of this,” she said. “I don’t understand why you…”
Toran raised his palm to stop her.
If he was to shut down whatever this was that threatened to erupt between them, it was time he confessed to everything.
Well, almost everything.
“My father bedded his faine,” he said.
“What?” Liv breathed as she fell back against the pillows. She clutched the shirt at her breast as if trying to hold in place a runaway heart.
“My father’s impropriety brought about the Great Cleansing,” Toran explained. “He is to blame for the downfall and destruction of Venn Dom.” He blinked and then paused. If he were being honest with himself, he’d admit that it was his mother’s wrath that had lit that fuse.
But, he reasoned, with his father’s open, and unapolog
etic, admission to his crime, Toran’s mother had had no choice but to pursue retribution under the full letter of the law.
And that law had meant death to the faine.
There was no call for daemon divorce court, no cause for marital counseling.
No, his mother’s reaction to her husband’s infidelity had been righteous, not to mention swift and bloody: she had dragged the faine into the castle courtyard where, in front of a seventeen-year-old Toran and all the village, she had slit the female’s throat. As the faine lay dying, her blood soaking the ground, his father had bled out venna in great violent waves, his agony and despair ripping Venn Dom’s mystical boundary to shreds.
He had died by her side.
“My mother,” Toran continued slowly with the barest shake of his head, “had every right…” Choking on his words, he couldn’t continue.
The thing was, despite her husband’s most intimate betrayal, Toran knew deep down that his mother’s actions hadn’t been driven by hurt. They had had nothing to do with heartache. No, her response––and all that came after––was driven purely by hate.
Toran could see that now.
But it didn’t change the fact that he could never take his father’s path and betray the crown.
“My mother had every right…” he struggled to say, “she had every right to demand that all of you… all the faine… be destroyed.” He froze for a moment, his heart constricting, as he physically felt Liv’s pain. Fighting through his misery, Toran continued, “My father… he was weak. As king, he was in the wrong.” Buttressed by the strength of long-held convictions, his voice grew steadier. “He should never have…”
“Did he love her?” The faine’s soft voice sliced through his certainty.
Momentarily stunned, Toran found himself raising his hands in futile exasperation. “What does that have to do with anything?”
She blinked.
“Look, you have to understand that this thing between us, it just can’t happen…” said Toran. “No matter how much…” He looked down at his clenched hands, hands that ached to touch her. He was desperate to experience another stolen moment of connection––a connection he now suspected had nothing to do with her taking his venna.
Bound By Fate: A Novel of the Strong Page 17