Bound By Fate: A Novel of the Strong (19 page)

He managed to escape just a few feet away before a tearful sniffle stopped him cold.
 

Gut churning with a kaleidoscope of emotions, he spun around and yelled, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Liv didn’t want to ask anything of him, not the way he was right now.
 

But, with her body throbbing with unaccustomed pain, she knew she needed his help. Pointing towards the bed, she asked, “Could you please hand me the quilt before you go?” She could barely get the words from between her chattering teeth. “I’m very cold.”

From across the room, she could feel his anger warring with the need to help her.

Somehow, his need won out.

Toran came back to her.

“Here.” His voice was gruff as he went down to his knees. He rubbed his hands briskly up and down her arms, the friction helping to warm her. “Since you’re in no shape to pulse,” he said, “I’m going to have to go and get my truck. Luckily Glenall is not completely sealed, and I can drive back through the gate.”

“Glenall?” she asked.

“Yes, it’s where we are now,” he answered. “From here, I can pulse back to Vimora, but it’ll take about half an hour to drive here from there, then a half hour back.” He glanced up before immediately focusing his gaze back to where he still worked his hands up and down her arms, his movement growing slower by the second. “So, within an hour’s time, I can get you to Anara where she can get you fixed up, okay?”

“Okay,” Liv managed to whisper in answer. His hands on her body were making her weak.
 

“But first…” He cleared his throat, a blush crawling up his cheeks. “First, we need to get you out of these wet clothes.”

She sucked in a breath.
 

Still not meeting her eye, he continued, “You can warm yourself in my bed while you wait for me.”
 

Though her body trembled beneath his fingers, she found herself holding back. He was so volatile; she never knew what would set him off.
 

“Look, I’ll turn my back while you undress.” He stood and pivoted to swipe the quilt off the bed. Holding out the blanket towards her, he said, “You can cover yourself with this.”

Liv peered up into his face, trying to gauge his temper. Right now, his eyes were calm––a deep chocolate brown, with not even a hint of blue.

Still, she hesitated.

“Listen to me,” he ordered. Though his voice was rough, he slowly reached out to place a hand on her shoulder. He gave a gentle squeeze. “Do not be afraid of me, faine.”
 

When she did not answer, he ducked his head down to catch and hold her gaze. He slid his hand slowly along the line of her collarbone to rest it at the back of her neck, the heat of his palm branding her.
 

He squeezed again.
 

“Do not be afraid,” he whispered.

“Okay,” she breathed. “I won’t be afraid.”

*****

As he gazed into her turbulent eyes, Toran had to admire her bravery. With his behavior the past couple months, he had given her no reason to trust him.

Though the thought gave him pause, he pushed past it to ask, “Ready?”

She nodded.

He stood and faced away, his fists balled at his sides.

He heard the wooden legs of the stool scrape against the floor before, mere seconds later, her cry of pain stabbed at his heart.

“What is it?” His hands flew up, the balls of his fists pressed hard against his forehead. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh my gods, it hurts,” she said. To his ears, her voice sounded weak and thready.
 

“Tell me what you need,” he cried. Heart pounding in his throat, he could barely breathe.

“I can’t do this,” she whispered. “I need your help. Please.”

Eyes screwed shut, he fought to swallow past his disquiet. If he turned to her now, Toran would see her bare before him this very day. There’d be no way around it. And, there would be no turning back.

Gods help me.

He whipped around and dropped to his knees.

“Tell me how to help you.” His eyes devoured her, her vulnerability nearly swallowing him whole.
 

Leaning down, the faine placed her hands on either side of her injured ankle. “I can’t pull my boot off,” she said. “It hurts too badly.”

He placed his hands gently over her own.
 

Their eyes met.

Though he ached to give her his venna, to make everything all right, Toran knew he couldn’t force her take it.

Now wasn’t the time.

“Your ankle is badly swollen, maybe broken,” he said. Looking down, Toran could easily see there was no way to pull off the knee-high boot without causing her further pain. He grunted, “You’re going to need a new pair of boots.”
 

*****

From her perch on the stool, Liv watched breathlessly as Toran worked his big fingers into the top of her boot. He caught his lower lip between his teeth just before he ripped the leather seam apart as easily as ripping a scrap of tissue.

“Okay?” He glanced up as he gently pulled the now tattered boot away.

She nodded, swallowing back her awe.
 

Though his strength was magnificent, Liv was even more struck by the gentleness that now blanketed his every move.

“Good,” he murmured. “Let’s get the other one off then.” This time, he unzipped the short zipper at her uninjured ankle and pulled the boot off without incidence. Bending low, so low his forehead nearly touched her knees, Toran wrapped his big hands around the tops of her feet and toes.

His hands were feverishly hot against her skin.

He held his pose for long moments, his hesitation palpable.

When he raised his head, a question lay in his eyes.
 

She nodded again in answer.

Holding her gaze, Toran trailed his hands lightly past her ankles, up the backs of her calves, then along the tops of her thighs. His big palms paused to rest at her hip bones, his thumbs pressed low and firm against her abdomen.

She fought to find her breath.

“Go on now,” he whispered when she made no move.
 

He licked his lips.

Bringing her hand slowly to her waist, Liv popped the button on her jeans, never breaking his stare. Though his hands flexed, his breath remained steady; his eyes were calm.
 

She worked the zipper down.
 

Pinpricks of sapphire flashed in his eyes.
 

She pulled her hand away.

Liv shivered as she watched his chin tilt down, his eyes seeking her newly exposed flesh.

His gaze burned.

Oh, gods.

His stare remained fixed as he angled his hands slowly back along her hips to hook the tips of his fingers into the waistband of her jeans. Gripping the edge of the stool, Liv leaned backwards and shimmied as he pulled the denim past her bottom to rest just above her knees.

Glancing down her torso, she saw what held his rapt attention. Legs spread slightly, her white silk panties formed a perfect triangle at the juncture of her thighs.
 

Thunder rattled the window panes.

“Toran,” she whispered.

With an almost imperceptible shake of his head, he brushed aside her plea and carefully worked the wet fabric past her swollen ankle. He tossed them to the side. Leaning back, he grabbed the quilt he had discarded on the floor. He draped it across the tops of her thighs before wrapping it roughly around her waist.

“Can you get your shirt off on your own?”

She jumped at the sharpness in his voice.

Her voice was shaky when she answered.
 

“Yes, I think so.”

As he hung her wet clothes on the mantle to dry, Toran could not quell the tremor in his hands. The memory of her naked thighs parted in welcome, with just the silk of her panties covering her most feminine flesh, burned like a flare at the front of his brain.

He shifted in his jeans.

“What’s it like?”

“What’s what like?” Startled out of his misery, he glanced over to see the faine lying just where he had placed her, in the rumpled sheets of his bed. Her hands were wrapped around a cup of tea––tea he himself had been eager to make just like he knew she liked it… with honey and cream.

He bit back a groan.

Gods help me,
he thought.
What the hell am I doing?
 

“The venna,” she said. She adjusted her body up straighter against the pillows, her eyes eager and expectant. “What’s it like to have that inside you?”
 

“There’s no need to pretend interest, faine.” He swiped a sock off the floor and pinned it on the mantle under a candlestick.

“What do you mean?” she asked with what seemed like genuine surprise.

“You have been in Venn Dom long enough to seek out the answers to your questions,” he accused. “I’m sure Anara has been eager to oblige.”

Feeling her eyes on his back, he resisted the urge to squirm.

“I want to know what the venna is like for you.”

“Now is not the time for this.”
Or ever.
Toran tossed her torn boot into a corner of the room. “I need to get you home,” he said. “In case you have forgotten,” he leaned towards her and bared his teeth, “you are injured, and you refuse to let me heal you.”

“Toran, please.” She pressed her lips together. “I’m not going to get into that with you again.” She pegged him with a hard stare. “And you can give me two minutes to answer my question, can’t you?”

Her directness surprised him. Toran didn’t think she had it in her. She was usually so demure.

Wasn’t she?

He frowned. Had they ever really had a conversation before? All those nights they’d sat together enjoying each other’s company, they had rarely talked.

He squinted into the fire.

Had he enjoyed her company?

Yes. He had.
 

He had savored every moment with her.

At any other point in his life, Toran knew he would not have answered. But, now, a feeling he could neither fathom nor describe overwhelmed his senses. Here with his faine, Toran found himself wanting…
needing
… to talk.
 

“It’s hard to explain,” he said. He began to pace as he searched for words. “I guess it’s like having another living, breathing being inside your body. Something that is a part of you, but also completely separate and distinct.”

In his case, the various strains of his venna were truly separate and distinct, each new strain fighting for purchase––
fighting for supremacy
––over his own. It was as if an intake valve had been cracked at birth only to rust wide open as he aged. Over the years, his curse had grown into a gaping maw, the mix of his venna all boiled together in one violent, fucked up stew.

It was as exhausting as it was humiliating.

He shook his head.
 

These things he could not tell her.

It cut too close to home.

“What else?”

Glancing her way, he took comfort in the kindness of her eyes. Helpless against her pull, Toran found himself walking over to the bed. Pulling a stool beneath him, he sat next to where she lay. “When it rises,” he continued, “it feels like an electrical current coursing through my veins, on top of my skin, in the air around me.”
 

“That must be nice.” She leaned up on an elbow. “You know, to feel something like that.” A faraway look crept into her eyes. “All my life, it’s always been such a struggle to feel, well, anything.”

A twinge of remorse shot through his chest.

“Here, it’s so different for me,” she said, smiling. “Venna is everywhere.”

Then take mine now and let me heal you.

Toran bowed his head.

“As children, if they’re lucky,” he continued, “Vimor males learn to channel it, to control it. You see what they go through at the children’s home.” He studied his fists. Unclenching them, he wiped his palms along the tops of his thighs. “If they can conquer the venna, it’s part of what makes the Vimor race near unstoppable in battle. Some are able to master theirs completely.” He added after a pause, “Like my cousin.”

“Merus has mastered his venna?” she asked. “How?”

“I suggest you ask him that yourself,” he answered, instantly regretting the words that had tumbled from his mouth.

“Toran.” She reached out to lay a gentle hand on his arm. “Look at me.” He lifted his head to meet her eyes. Inflamed by her touch, he knew venna flashed in his own. “I’m just asking because it’s still all so new to me. I’m trying to catch up on things that I should already know about this world. Before, when I was young, I was insulated from so much. And then, well, I was gone for so long.” She gently stroked his arm. “Please, tell me about Merus.”

For long moments, he watched her fingers play against his skin.

Wanting more, wanting…
 

Pulling abruptly away, he went to check her clothes by the fire.

After weighing his answers, any of which were exceedingly complex and none of them especially pleasant, Toran decided the best answer was the simplest. “My cousin is half faine,” he said.

She gasped.

“Thus,” he continued, “his venna is considerably weakened from within.”

“Merus is faine?” she asked. “Why wouldn’t he tell me he’s like me?”

“Why do you think he’d not admit such a thing?” Toran said. His venna kissed the air, his anger rightfully piqued. “Such impropriety between our races has been expressly forbidden throughout the ages––though, unfortunately, it was not uncommon prior to the Cleansing.”

“Do you have faine blood?”

The windows rattled, a blue veil tinting his vision.

“What?” he hissed. “Don’t be fucking ridiculous.”
 

In the aftermath of his outburst, complete silence descended pillow-soft in the confines of the cabin.
 

The faine’s voice cut through the quiet.

“I don’t know where this anger comes from, Toran,” she admonished softly. “I have done nothing to you.”