Gods, she was beautiful.
Shifting up on straightened arms, he slowed his pace. A low rumble of thunder growled in the distance as Toran trailed his gaze down her heaving torso. With tremulous awe, he watched his cock sliding in and out of her gripping sex, his member slick and glistening with her juices.
Deaf to all reason, Toran dared to let himself go just a little more. He bit back a groan as Liv’s welcoming body surged to meet the pulse of venna he released against her core, his cock swelling tighter, binding them together.
“Yes,” she breathed.
Lightning flashed in the room.
She pressed a soft hand against his cheek, her touch grounding him in the moment. Through her fingers, he could feel the power of her love.
Fighting back a cry of agony, Toran somehow slowed his rhythm even more. Slipping a hand between their bodies, his seeking fingers found her swollen nub. Liv cried out as his thumb pressed firmly against her heat, her thighs tightening around him, her nails scoring his back.
Muscles trembling, Toran fought hard against his release.
Gods he was close.
He didn’t want to let it go.
He didn’t want to let her go.
Helpless against his fate, Toran squeezed his eyes shut, desperate to stave off tomorrow.
He lost the fight.
With a brutish thrust, Toran seated himself to the hilt, stilling for just a heartbeat before Liv’s most intimate flesh began quivering hot against his own.
Lost inside her climax, he came completely undone.
All bets were off as his energy raged wild and free, his venna and his seed combining to lash their sting deep inside Liv’s womb. Shouting through his release, Toran pounded mercilessly inside his faine as centuries of pent-up misery poured out of him in waves.
When it was over, silence descended upon the room, his venna receding quietly into the night.
Out of breath and stunned, Toran rolled away before immediately reaching out to pull Liv’s soft––and wholly alive––body back against his own. As their bodies reconnected, a calmness blanketed his soul. Burying his face in her hair, he wrapped his arms around her, needing to feel her warmth, needing to feel her hot breath against his skin, her healing hands upon his body.
Desperate to steal a single night of happiness at the cusp of a miserably endless future, Toran prayed for the strength to hide the truth for just a little while longer.
He couldn’t bear for her to feel what was to come.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Downstairs in the great room of Caisteal Vimora, two old daemons gathered to bear witness once again to madness. It was deep in the night, and the structure was quiet save the electric storm of venna raging above.
Just as his father had before him, Toran the Tenn had fallen to his faine. He was at that very moment upstairs, partaking in her pleasures.
“This crime cannot go unpunished,” Diogo spat into the murky darkness. He sat slumped deep in a chair near the dampened fire, his fingers wrapped tight around a long-emptied snifter of brandy.
“Indeed, it cannot,” Arman answered from where he stood near a window. He could feel the cold leaching through the panes. Spreading his hand wide, he touched his fingertips lightly against the frosted glass. The castle vibrated with the force of Toran’s energy.
Abruptly, the hum of venna stopped.
“And so it is done at last,” Arman murmured with quiet satisfaction, the stress of the last few weeks finally falling away.
Behind him, Diogo forced the corpulent heft of his body up from the chair and stormed towards the staircase.
A blast of venna knocked him to the ground.
The daemon groaned before righting himself to his knees. “What is this, Arman?” he hissed in stunned confusion.
“I’m looking after your health and well-being.” Arman turned away from the window to face his old friend. “Surely you can imagine what the Tenn would do to you should you burst in on him, uninvited. Especially while he’s occupied as he is in the royal bedchambers.”
Diogo struggled to his feet.
“Enough of this,” he growled. “It’s time we take this faine!”
“Is it indeed?”
“What the hell are you talking about? You know she must be drained,” Diogo exclaimed. “There will be no more of this bullshit.” He dropped his voice to add, “Especially since you have failed to deliver what you promised us.”
“Which was?” Arman raised a brow.
“You have failed to deliver Kellen’s head to the Elden!” Diogo accused. “Instead, twelve of my best men are toes up under ground while he still lives!”
“I have indeed failed in that regard,” Arman readily agreed.
At that, Diogo fell silent, his searching gaze roaming Arman’s face.
“What’s going on, Arman?” he asked. “What are you really up to?”
Arman lifted his chin.
With satisfaction, he bore witness as realization dawned in the Elder’s eyes.
“You promised us Kellen,” Diogo murmured, “so that we’d spare the faine until the Tenn could surrender his strength.”
Arman’s lips tipped into a smile.
“You wanted the ambush,” Diogo continued. “You wanted my men to fall.”
Arman inclined his head.
“Why?”
“Why do you think?”
Diogo slowly circled the room.
“Oh my gods,” he said at last, “you are making a move against the Tenn.”
It pleased Arman to no end that his old friend’s voice was full of reverent awe.
“I am,” he answered.
“How?” The Elder let out a breath.
In answer, Arman gave a little shrug.
Diogo studied him closely. Arman could see the daemon’s mind working through all that had transpired over the past few months, tying it all together.
“You asked for the strongest, most loyal Elden,” he stated. “Elden you knew would do your bidding.”
“Yes,” Arman answered.
“And now you’ve infected the Tenn with venna with which you can control.”
“I have.” Arman bowed his head.
“How?”
“Certain secrets were laid out in ancient texts,” said Arman. “Luckily, such texts were in my possession.”
“The missing volumes,” the Elder whispered. “You stole them during the Cleansing.”
“No,” Arman answered calmly, “I merely saved them from destruction at the hands of the Elden. It seemed your kind were keen to destroy more than just the faine.”
To that, Diego had no answer. It was a miracle Venn Dom still stood, such was the Elden's rage during those pivotal years.
“And, tomorrow,” Arman continued, “I will act to take what’s mine.”
Diogo laughed.
“That’s impossible,” he said.
“Is it? Arman asked with surprise.
“Yes,” Diogo cried. “What about the prophecy?”
“What about it?”
“What about Sarai?”
“What about her?”
“Come on, Arman,” Diogo said. “You say you’ll act tomorrow, but to have what you want, you’ll need Sarai to conceive…”
“Yes,” Arman interrupted. “I am aware of such things.”
“But the child will supersede your rule…”
“Please, Diogo, give me some credit.” Arman laughed over the daemon’s stupidity. “Where does it say the pregnancy must come to term?” Lifting an eyebrow, he added, “I trust that you are more than capable of helping me take care of such things.”
After a stunned pause, Diogo’s lips twisted into an evil grin.
“Of course,” he said. He gave a sharp, approving nod. “I will stand with you to get this done… as will the rest of my faction of Elden. We’ll do whatever it takes to finally have a king worthy of the Vimora race.”
“I appreciate your support,” Arman said dryly. Afte
r all he had accomplished, he was wholly confident that he didn’t need any of them. “You can be assured,” he lied, “that you will be well rewarded in the new regime.”
“And what of the faine?” Diogo asked.
“Now that she’s finally stolen that which was hers to steal, we don’t need her anymore,” said Arman. “She must be destroyed.”
“Good then.” Diogo’s eyes gleamed with expectation. “Once the morning comes and the Tenn leaves her side, we’ll take her once and for all. It would be best if we had a diversion…”
“Once the morning comes,” Arman interrupted with a smile, “you will have your diversion.”
Diogo’s eyes narrowed with interest.
“What do you have in mind?” he asked.
“All will be revealed soon enough,” Arman answered, not wanting to risk tipping his hand. “But, once it happens, you’ll need to be ready.” He offered up his palm. “You’ll need this.”
Diogo stared at his outstretched hand.
“Go on, take it,” said Arman.
Diogo’s eyes flashed upwards to meet his own.
“Arman, I can’t…” The daemon shook his head.
“You can, and you will.”
After a long, tense moment, Diogo reached out and carefully plucked the pebble out of Arman’s open palm.
“How is it that you have this?” Rubbing his thumb across the smooth surface of the stone, Diogo gasped as it pulsed with power.
“I have come to an understanding with the Sorcieri.”
“The Sorcieri?” The Elder’s mouth fell open, his eyes growing as wide as coins. “That’s how you know Sarai will be ready tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
“But what if the Tenn…”
“Please, Diogo.” Arman waved a dismissive hand. “I can handle my nephew. While he has wasted away his life pining for prophecy, I have chosen to act, to play the cards I have been dealt. Now that he has fallen to his faine, Toran will soon discover that he lacks the strength to fight my twist of fate. It is I who controls him now.”
As if on cue, Toran’s venna began to churn once again above.
Diogo growled.
“As you can hear and feel,” said Arman as he lifted his hand to the ceiling, “he is helpless to stop me.”
Diogo nodded.
“Nicely done.”
“Thank you.” Arman bowed his head to accept his old friend’s praise. After all he’d accomplished, Arman richly deserved it. But there was no time for celebration, not yet. There was much to be done by morning.
“Tomorrow,” he began, “you will use the scrying stone to follow the faine once she is chased away.” That she’d flee Venn Dom once learning of Toran’s betrayal, Arman had no doubt, especially with the strength she’d just stolen. “To activate the stone, you will need a strand of her hair,” he explained. “Once she is gone and my nephew is… occupied… with more important things, go to her chamber and take one from her hairbrush. Then,” Arman continued, “once she is off plane and in your sights, take your blade and gut her.”
The Elder’s piggish eyes lit bright with anticipation.
“You can count on it, my friend,” said Diogo. He clapped Arman on the shoulder. “On top of your victory over the Tenn, we will finally have lived to see this done… the complete annihilation of the faine.”
So wrapped up in the thrill of soon achieving near-lifelong aspirations, neither daemon felt the weight of watchful eyes upon them.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Since the earliest hours of dawn, Toran sat alone in the throne room of the great castle at Vimora. The cold seeped through the ancient walls, a chill threatening to eat away everything in its wake. But he felt nothing.
He was completely numb.
Well, almost. His heart ached with the weight of the day before him.
Sunday––the day his marriage would be announced to all––was here.
In the depths of the night, restlessly awake and unable to live without having once again breathed in her taste, Toran had slid down Liv’s soft and willing body to bury his face between her thighs. Lapping gentle kisses at her core, his tongue had coaxed her sleeping body awake, the heady scent of her sex driving him near mad with need. He could feel her sweet smile as her long fingers threaded through his hair, her hips undulating to meet his hunger.
After bringing her to come with his mouth, he had taken her again, losing himself inside her, praying for the freedom to choose his own destiny.
There was no question what he’d choose.
Toran wanted a life with her to the point of pain.
Instead, he had left Liv asleep and sated in his bed, feeling no relief himself despite spending countless times over the night inside her body.
Relief.
It was a funny thing indeed.
All along, he’d thought he was seeking a cure to his curse, that random anomaly that stripped away his ability to come inside a female––without leaving a trail of death in his wake.
A cure that would finally deliver his crown.
But, no, the real relief Toran sought was salvation from his miserably lonely existence.
The sudden blaze of a fire warmed the room.
“What are you going to do?” His cousin’s soft voice stirred him from his misery.
Unable to answer, Toran stared mutely out the window.
“Does she know?”
Steeling his strength, Toran quickly steered the conversation away from his faine.
“Did Kellen make it?”
“Yes.” Merus blew out a frustrated breath. “But he’s out for blood.”
“Mine?” Gods knew he deserved it.
“What?” Merus jerked his chin in confusion. “Of course not. He’s vowed to kill Narcyz for his role in the ambush, for killing his men.”
At that, Toran turned his head to study his cousin, working through something that had been niggling at him ever since he had awakened.
He’d been betrayed by his own kind––ostensibly by Narcyz.
But, now that Toran had time to think it through, he could see that there was no way that it could be true. The old daemon was nothing more than cunning and corrupt; he was a common thief. He had no ambitions to rule a kingdom. Whether Toran became king or not was immaterial––Narcyz’s riches weren’t threatened either way. Thus, he had no real reason to thwart the marriage between Toran and his daughter. In fact, it was now clear to Toran that Sarai becoming queen would just serve to further enrich her father’s coffers.
Besides, with his history of plundering his half of the kingdom, Narcyz could never have mustered the kind of loyalty needed for twelve Vimora Elden to betray their future king.
It made no sense, then, that Narcyz could be behind the ambush.
Only a select few could wield that kind of sway.
Diogo.
Or Toran’s uncle.
“If Kellen kills our father,” said Merus, oblivious to it all, “he will seal his fate.”
“Your brother’s fate was sealed centuries ago.” Toran grimaced as he continued to work through the possible permutations of the plot against him. Rubbing his aching gut, he added, “Let him have his revenge.”
“You know the murder of a council member will not stand, no matter how much that fucking bastard deserves it.” Merus spit out the last of his words. “The Elden will rise up. They’ll demand retribution.”
“They will indeed.” Toran turned his thoughts for a moment away from betrayal. At least for this, he could see a path forward––a way to spare his best friend from pain. “Thus, once Kellen takes your father’s head, you will bring him to me.”
Merus sucked in a breath.
“Are we seriously back to this, Toran?”
Toran raised his palm to stop him. “Merus…”
“You cold son of a bitch. You would cause my brother’s death to appease their thirst for blood?” he accused. “To solidify your rule?”
Toran felt a stab of pain, his
chest constricting at his oldest friend’s censure.
“Once you bring him to me,” Toran answered with as much calmness as he could muster, “I will take his venna and exile him to the human ‘el.”
“You might as well just fucking kill him!” Merus cried. “He’s half human, Toran. He’ll die there. Especially without his venna.”
Another stab.
“Yes, he’ll die… eventually.” Toran closed his eyes. When he opened them, he pegged Merus with a hard stare. “Taking his venna will hide him from the Strong. If I don’t kill him outright, nothing will stop them from hunting him down––even when I’m king. The Vimora and their vengeance are like buzzards on carrion. You know this! He’ll never be safe! He’ll never be left in peace unless I kill them all. Is that what you want for me? After all we’ve been through, you want me now to kill what’s left of my own people?” Unless, of course, they’ve betrayed me. To those, he’d have his revenge, no matter the cost to him. Toran took a steadying breath before adding, “Sending Kellen to his mother’s plane will also give him a chance to find a fucking life outside of this shit.” He threw out his arms, his voice rising. “You want me to save him? Well, fucking hell, this is the best I can do!”
Toran's words settled like ash in the room.
“I’m sorry,” Merus whispered. “I see what you’re doing for me.”
Toran didn’t answer.
“Thank you for showing my brother mercy.”
Toran once again gave no answer.
After long moments, Merus dragged a chair over and sat across from him. He leaned forward, his forearms across his knees.
“Anara’s been on the warpath,” he said. “Says she needs to speak with you immediately. I’m surprised she’s not here now. From what I hear, she’s been parked outside the gates every day since the ambush.”
“Whatever she wants can wait.” Toran shook his head, unable to deal with yet another crisis piled on his cracked and splintering plate.
Merus cleared his throat.
“Earlier you said, ‘when you’re king,’” he ventured with caution. “Does that mean you’re going through with the marriage?”
Toran stared into nothingness.
“What about Liv?”
Bound By Fate: A Novel of the Strong Page 25