Bound By Fate: A Novel of the Strong (16 page)

Feed his hunger, stoke his need…

For just once in his life, Kellen wished he could be content to just cheer on the Tenn’s downfall from afar… to simply trust that nature would run its course.

After all, for a Tenn, the faine’s pull was strong.

Toran's father had certainly fallen into his own well-laid trap.

As if reading his thoughts, one of his men called out, “Maybe we’ll get lucky and the Tenn’ll have a touch of his old man in him.”

Kellen’s heart leapt at the thought.

“That’d be fucking rich,” laughed another. “I’d give my left nut to see the bastard self-destruct at the hands of that faine.”

And, just like that, Kellen’s heart settled back in his chest.
 

He knew Toran was nothing like his father.

Thus, Kellen could see that his life’s work was nowhere done.

“Nah, I hear the Tenn is making a
different
move,” one of Kellen’s few detractors said with a sneer. Jerking his chin in Kellen’s direction, he said, “I hear he’s set to marry your sister at year’s end.”

“Mind your tongue, Finn.” Kellen spat in the dirt. Though they shared a sire, he’d slit his own throat before he claimed that bitch as kin. “That marriage has yet to take place. In fact, it’s weeks away.” He paused a moment before adding, “Many things can change in that amount of time.”

His men laughed with heady anticipation.
 

Kellen closed his eyes.

For long moments, he listened to the distant screams of the villagers as they fought for their lives against the Sumari’s onslaught.
 

He took a breath.

“But now is the time for patience,” he said, resigned to the fact he’d once again been dragged into the thick of Toran’s bullshit. He had heard whispers amongst his contacts in the Strong of a hit against him and his men. Given the Tenn’s curse, Kellen could see that a deadly confrontation was the perfect move to destroy Toran’s chance at sparking his legacy,
to triggering the prophecy…

It was fucking brilliant.

And though the word around the ‘els was that his father was behind the plot, Kellen knew the old bastard didn’t have the brains––or the stones––to try to take down the Tenn. If anyone was out to cause trouble, Kellen’s money was on Toran’s uncle.
 

It was Arman who stood the most to gain.

But only if Toran was somehow pushed aside once he managed to take his place as king.

Which would be an interesting play, a complicated play––one that might merit watching closely… especially if Kellen could leverage the old daemon’s actions to at last achieve his own two goals in life: killing his father and somehow, someway finding a way back
to her.

Could that be what this was all about?

He hadn’t a fucking clue.

He didn’t know what to believe anymore.

All these years, Kellen had believed the faine was dead.

After all, it was he who had killed her.

Yet here she was––alive and breathing.

And he needed to do something about it.

“If what I’ve heard is true,” Kellen continued on half a lie, “my father is keen on taking our heads.”

“Let him try,” came the general chorus.
 

As the daemons laughed, Kellen once again held his tongue.

“There’s no way your old man can find us, given your magic,” said one of his men. “Hell, your own brother’s been chasing us for centuries without once sniffing our trail.”

“You’re right, Neran,” Kellen readily agreed. “The Enoth assassins will never find us.” He paused before adding, “That’s why we’ll be taking the fight to them.”

His words were met by the crackle of the campfire.

“You’ll expose yourself to the Tenn if you do,” Neran called out at last.

“I will indeed,” said Kellen in answer.
 

When the time was right, he’d let it be known he was stepping out of the shadows. He’d face his own death if that’s what it took to force the Tenn into the arms of his faine.

It seemed he was helpless to stop himself.

It was well past midnight when Toran finally came to let her feed.

Upstairs in her bedroom, Liv turned away from the narrow window and went to warm herself by the fire. As she stood before the flames, she shivered.

It wasn’t the coolness of the night, though, that made her tremble.

Liv could feel his approach. Even from a distance, the daemon's very essence roused her senses.
 

It was unlike anything she had ever known.

She closed her eyes, grasping at the fleeting tatters of her courage. After their meal, Toran had cornered her in the hallway, his massive body so close she could feel the vibration of his venna dancing on his skin. Still refusing to touch her, he had demanded she retire immediately to her chamber.

It was obvious what he wanted.

What had changed?
 

Her heart leapt at remembered moments of his heated eyes watching her every move, the possessive brush of his venna hot against her skin.

But she had also seen how he had looked at that other female––that daemoness at dinner. It was obvious what had passed between them. Her stomach echoed hollowly at the thought that he was on his way to be with her… all the while harboring the intent to bed another––maybe this very night.

Could he use her that way?

Could he be so cruel?

She hadn’t a clue.

But she did know one thing––she needed to be careful.
 

But while his behavior made her hesitant, her curiosity––and brazen hunger––burned.
 

So very ready to at last taste again the daemon's vibrancy, she prayed his touch was worth it.
 

The door to her bed chamber clicked shut.

“We do this now.”
 

With neither fanfare nor pretense, Toran planted himself in the middle of the room, huge, black-booted feet wide, eyes determined. A lock of chestnut hair fell across his forehead, giving him a deceptively youthful look. The virile intensity pouring from his battle-hardened body, however, announced the daemon in her room was a full-blooded, and ready, male.

In the dancing light cast by the fire, she saw he had changed from dinner. Where before he had been dressed in black combat gear, Toran now wore a long-sleeved black-button down shirt, casually untucked but perfectly tailored to his expansive chest. The expensive fabric tapered down to powerfully narrow hips, his muscular thighs encased in worn, dark denim. Blue venna hissed around him, a palpable force that filled the room with edgy tension.

Everything about him screamed power, poise, and purpose.

Nodding, Liv stepped toward him on shaky legs.
 

She stopped when they stood front to front, mere inches apart. Well over twice her size, the daemon towered over her, her eyes just level with his heart.
 

An insistent heat simmered in the air around him.
 

Breathing in his masculine scent, his life force was a feast to her senses, a heady blend of hesitation, trepidation, and excitement.
 

Beneath it all lay naked, barely restrained hunger.
 

Not just hunger, absolute famine.

For her?

She trembled at the fragrance of his desire, her senses coming alive without a single touch.

He tilted his head down, an inscrutable expression afloat in his chocolate-brown eyes.
 

She swayed under the intensity of his gaze.
 

He was ready.

On a shaky breath, Liv placed a palm softly against his breast and opened herself to him.

*****

The faine stood completely exposed before him, her gentle touch a conduit between her sacred duty and his noble destiny.

Gods, he had wanted to come to her earlier that night, but duty had called him away. There had been trouble at the border, a surprise attack by the Sumari exploiting a sudden weakness in Venn Dom’s protection spell.

Toran and his men had beaten the fire daemons back, but three of his soldiers had been injured, one critically.
 

It seemed the fire daemons were keenly aware of the spellcaster’s games.
 

Fucking Feliks.

All the more reason to get on with this.

Impatient, he leaned into her touch… and groaned.

Unbidden, his eyelids slid shut as he marveled at the preternatural relief that washed through him as restless, pent-up energy flowed freely into the female’s welcoming body.

Is this what my father felt with his faine?
he thought.
Instead of the cold indifference of my mother?

No, he gave a violent shake of his head. It was wrong to think such things.
The faine is here to serve my needs, nothing else.
 

Toran was determined to take what was his to take.
 

Then, gods be willing, he’d be
freed
…

He tilted his chin to take in her upturned face. Her delicate features were locked in exquisite concentration, her color rising from feeding from his strength.

It was a thing of beauty.

Unable to tear his eyes away, he stared at her rose-colored lips, lips that were parted in ecstasy.

She moaned and leaned into him, her breasts pressed against his rib cage.

In that instant, everything changed.

His heartbeat began to thunder in his ears as centuries of unassuaged hunger erupted within him, the flowery scent of her hair inflaming his senses, the electric heat of her body shorting out his brain.

His control shattered.

Wrapping a forearm under her ass, Toran wrenched the faine up and crushed her against the hard lines of his body, cradling himself in the beckoning juncture of her thighs.

His mouth crashed down against her own, drowning out a surprised cry. Toran tongued her lips open, groaning as the faine’s soft and willing tongue tangled with his own.

Pivoting and falling forward, he pinned her hard against the wall, needing the friction on her back to free up his hands to explore her body––a body that had blossomed at his touch.
 

The female moaned into his mouth, the scent of her arousal perfuming the now too-hot room.

It was maddening.

Toran tore at her blouse, near out of his mind with the need to touch her breasts, to put his lips on her pebbled nipples, to suck the sensitive tips until she was as crazed with need as he.
 

This need, this unholy need, threatened to burn completely out of control.

Control.

With an agonized yell, Toran heaved himself away, the faine left swaying against the wall from the loss of his arms.
 

He stared at her, his eyes wild. Violence and arousal poured out of his body in waves.
 

“What the fuck,” he spat, his blackened eyes flashing blue.
 

“What? What?” The faine panted, her ragged breath matching his own. She reached out her palms as if seeking to reestablish their connection. Her blouse hung in disarray from where he had torn it open, revealing the rounded globes of her breasts cupped high in lacy black scraps of fabric.
 

Toran sidestepped her beseeching hands. “You know what,” he accused. “You take liberties, faine.”

“But you kissed me,” she cried, her voice still breathless from his kiss.

Toran looked away.
 

He could not take the look of longing and confusion that shimmered in her slightly unfocused eyes.

He could also not accept the utter insanity that had just transpired between them.
 

Gods, the shame of it all.

Toran lunged at her again, this time with seething savagery. He wrapped a fist around her throat, his touch no longer impassioned.
 

It was now intent on causing pain.

Blinding blue pinpricks of venna burst in the night.

“Please, Toran.” The faine’s small hands clasped his forearm, her nails finding weak purchase in his skin. “You’re hurting me.”

His name on her lips only worked to infuriate him further. Unable to stop himself, Toran shook her until her hands fell away, her lips turning purple as she struggled to breathe.

“You use your powers to seduce me,” he ground out, his hand a bruising vise against her throat. “You need to remember your fucking place. Which is serving me.”
 

Toran shoved her away, spinning her down to the cold wood floor. On her knees and panting, toxic energy––
his toxic energy
––vomited out of her body in waves.
 

He stood over her, fists clenched, completely unaware that his revulsion poisoned the very air she breathed.
 

“You take what I choose to give you,” he said. “And nothing more, like the whore that you are.”

As if unable to bear the weight of his hate, the faine collapsed flat against the floor.

Slamming the door shut behind him, Toran stood in the hallway, his chest heaving, his senses still awash in the scent of the faine’s desire.
 

He ran a shaky hand through his hair, trying in vain to get hold of the shame and confusion that bombarded him without mercy.
He didn’t deserve mercy.
His stomach churned, sick with terror that he might have hurt her.

But he couldn’t risk going back through that door.

Because, just as he had been the first night he touched her, Toran found himself consumed with undeniable desire…
for her.
 

If anything, the feelings had intensified.

Ten-fold.

Gods, her lips on mine…

Biting back a groan, he forced himself away and fled downstairs to his office.

Just inside the doorway, he froze. Any hint of his arousal deflated in an instant.

He had company.

Ignoring his visitor, Toran walked to the sideboard and splashed out a shot of whiskey. He tossed it back, downing the heated liquid in one quick gulp. He poured another before turning to face his guest.