Bound By Fate: A Novel of the Strong (18 page)

Palms still open and apart, Toran squatted on his haunches. Eyes to hers, he slowly lowered his hands.
 

“What hurts?”

“My leg,” she said through a shiver.

Careful not to startle her again, Toran laid a hand on her shoulder. He had seen plenty of injuries on the battlefield but never on a female.

“Can you move it?” he asked as he looked her over. Its odd angle suggested it could possibly be broken.

“Yes, but it hurts. Bad.”

“You feel it?” He glanced up.
 

Gods, why did his voice sound so sharp?

“Yes, I can feel it,” she huffed out in agony.
 

Something very much like jealousy rose like bile in Toran's throat.
 

She grows strong from venna other than my own.

*****

As she lay on the ground before him, Liv fought hard to catch her breath. Memories of that awful night resurfaced.

Him standing tall and tense above her, his powerful body thrumming with aggression.

It was just how he had left her weeks ago.
 

Yet, this time, instead of leaving her to fend for herself, Toran crouched down at her side.
 

When he palmed her shoulder, she braced herself against his touch. Unsure of his current emotional state, and distrustful of her own, she was careful to guard against his venna.
 

She needn’t have bothered.
 

His touch was completely different than before. Unlike the raging fire that had passed between them, his emotions––and his venna––were now lashed down tight, not even a whisper escaping. It was as if there was a concrete barrier between them.

So this is how it’s going to be.

Unable to look him in the eye, Liv didn’t know if she should be disappointed…
or relieved.

He didn’t give her a chance to figure it out.

Shifting forward, he went to lift her in his arms.

When she saw his intent, she let out a panicked breath.
 

“No.”

“I need to get you home,” he explained in a gruff voice. His big hand was warm at the small of her back. “I need to get you out of this rain.”

“No!”
 

Toran jerked back in surprise.
 

Liv placed a palm over her racing heart. “Please don’t pulse me,” she pleaded. “I can’t bear to go through that again.”
 

“Of course,” he said, nodding in ready agreement. It was as if he, too, didn’t want to relive the time he had brought her home to Venn Dom. “But a storm is heading in, and we’ve got to get you out of the cold. You’re soaked enough already.”

“Where can we go?” She could barely get the words out, her teeth now chattering near uncontrollably from the cold.

“I know a place close by.”

In the shabby parlor of an old building located in the rotted-out heart of Vimora village, Arman sat by the fire waiting patiently for news. His unruffled conscience was oblivious to the storm that raged outside his door.

Earlier, he had seen his nephew’s lightning… and had smiled.
 

The door to his apartment swung open as Diogo stepped in from out of the downpour. Still smiling, Arman looked up from the unread book he held in his lap.
 

“Do you have good news for me?” he called out.

“I did what you asked,” Diogo replied. Releasing a surge of venna, the daemon flicked a crystal figurine off the corner of a desk that stood clear across the room. The priceless treasure shattered to pieces against the flagstone floor.
 

“I hope you were subtler than that.” Arman tongued his cheek before his voice turned serious. “Did anybody see you?”

Diogo paused a beat before shaking his head. “No, no one is the wiser,” he answered as he walked up close to the fire, a bitterly wet cold clinging to his clothes.

“Are you sure about that?”

“It’s done, Arman, so what does it matter?” Diogo answered brusquely as he warmed his hands. “The Tenn is with his faine. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it’s exactly what I wanted,” said Arman. His satisfaction was quick to drown out any concerns about there being witnesses to his little schemes.
 

Pushing himself up from his chair, he limped towards the window, the book clutched tight against his chest.

“Was the faine injured?” he asked.

“Injured enough, I guess.” Diogo absently toed the shards of glass on the floor.

“And what did my nephew do?” Parting the curtain, Arman gazed out to take in the storm. He shivered as a streak of natural lightning split the sky. After a moment, thunder rumbled against the buildings.

“He took her to the cabin at Glenall,” Diogo answered, “just as you suspected he would. Where I left them…
alone
,” he added with disgust.

Arman held his tongue.

“Look, Arman,” Diogo huffed, “I don’t know what games you play…”

“Games, Diogo?” Turning away from the window, Arman walked back towards the beckoning warmth of the fire. Stopping at his desk, he placed the heavy tome on the wooden surface, his fingertips splayed against its cover. “I play no games.”

The Elder barked out a laugh.

“Laugh if you must, my friend,” said Arman as he traced his fingers lightly over the intricate patterns of the book’s embossed leather surface, “but it’s true.”

This was no game. Using the faine to his ultimate advantage had turned into the biggest challenge of his life.

It seemed the closer his nephew got to his marriage bed, the more he struggled against using the faine the way she was meant to be used.
 

Thus, the little prod into her arms.

Despicable creature that she was, Arman had no doubt she’d eagerly take all that his nephew had to offer.

Which meant it was time to turn up the heat.

“And while I appreciate your help, and your cooperation,” he said after a taking a calming breath, “there is one more thing I need from you.”

“What else do you want, Arman?”

“I need twelve of your best men.”

“What for?”

“I’ve heard it on good authority that the rebel is making a move,” Arman answered. “It seems Kellen is looking to negotiate a peace with my nephew before Narcyz’s assassins can take him out.” He paused for a moment. “We can’t let that happen now, can we?”

“Fuck no,” Diogo growled.
 

Arman smiled.

The Elden's impulsive hatred could be counted on like the path of the sun. Arman knew that once the Elden held the rebels in their sights, they’d be helpless not to strike them down.

Which was just what Arman needed.

“What about the Tenn?” Diogo asked. “I can’t imagine he’d be eager for the Elden's help.”

“Ah, there you are wrong, old friend. My nephew is most eager to do whatever it takes to put this matter to rest,” Arman lied, grateful as always Toran’s curse had been hidden away. Once again, he pressed his fingertips to the leather bindings of the book. The power within its pages pulsed in expectation, his machinations coming to life.
 

“Can I count on your help?” he asked.

“As always, Arman,” Diogo answered with a shrug.
 

Once again, Arman smiled.

With the Elden in place, all would be set.

Now he just needed to ensure the Sorcieri would cooperate.

Less than a mile away from where Liv had fallen was a crack in the ‘el that led to a small hidden plane.

It was in that direction Toran carried his faine through the pounding rain.

As soon as they crossed its shimmering boundary, the sky cleared up into a crystal clear, almost surreal blue. The sun was bright, so much more so than the sun of Venn Dom. It held no real warmth, though its rays filtered bravely on through the chill.

“What is this place?” Liv asked.

Toran grunted in answer, hiking her small shivering frame up higher against his chest. Concerned, he released just a touch of venna, hoping to get some warmth into her. He glanced down in surprise when his energy, freely-given, met a wall of resistance.

She refuses my venna?

Earlier, not wanting to frighten her further, he had strained to keep his venna under tight control. Now, at the thought she refused what he offered, a hollow ache settled in his chest.

But there was no time to think of this now; he needed to get her to shelter.

Toran set off through a clearing. Soon, a small stone structure at the base of a rocky hill appeared amongst a smattering of trees. He made a beeline to its door.

“What is this place?” Liv asked again.

He grunted again in answer. Kicking the heavy wooden door closed behind him, Toran carefully placed Liv upright in front of the hearth. As he peeled off her coat, she swayed, gasping in pain as she tried to keep weight off her injured ankle. He tossed the wet garment aside. Cupping her elbow, he held her steady as he stretched out to grab a stool. He dragged it closer.

“Sit.”
 

“Where are we?” she asked as she hobbled to take a seat.

“My hunting croft,” he finally answered. Turning his back, he busied himself with lighting a fire. Though Toran had never intended to bring the faine here to Glenall, now that she was in his home, he felt a pang of…
something.

He took a quick glance around, wondering how she would perceive the place that held so much importance to him. The good-sized room was dominated by a large stone fireplace, its hearth taking up nearly an entire wall. A small kitchen area was tucked away off to the side. An iron bed sat beneath the window, its sheets unmade, a colorful quilt thrown across the footboard. A large copper bathing tub and a table with the last of the two wooden stools were the only other furniture in the room.

Her curious eyes took in the unmade bed. “This is where you come when you…” Her eyes flashed to his face. Smiling shyly, she continued, “I can see why you like it here. It’s nice. It’s very different from the castle.”

At her soft words, satisfaction washed through him. “I do like it here,” he found himself answering. Truth be told, Toran loved the quiet simplicity of his hidden retreat. When things had really gone off the rails between his parents, this was where he escaped to. Glenall had always been a safe haven from the insanity.

Then, and now.

Watching her from the corner of his eye, Toran knelt at the hearth to stoke the fire. Tousled and wet, she sat shivering on the stool, her forearms pressed tight across her rib cage, her breasts pressed together. Her nipples stood hard and erect against the taut fabric of her blouse.
 

A fire flared low in his gut.
 

He quickly powered to his feet. Logically, Toran knew he needed to leave, but with her just a few feet away, he couldn’t even begin to force himself out that door.
 

She was his charge, he reasoned.

I can’t leave her in this state.

Who was he kidding?
 

Toran couldn’t leave her, period.
 

Her draw was too strong.

Being near her again, holding her body pressed to his own as he carried her to his home, intensified his craving for that closeness, that intimacy they had shared just a few weeks ago.
 

There was no use denying it.
 

He was obsessed with it.
 

He was obsessed with her.

Selfish to seize hold of that feeling again, Toran blurted out, “You need to feed.”
 

At first she just stared at him. Then she slowly shook her head.

She dares refuse me?

His temper spiked.

“Look, I’ll figure out some way to get you home, but right now, you are going to feed.” Pushing off the hearth, Toran took an aggressive step towards her. “You’re injured, and I can heal you.”

She shook her head again.
 

“No, Toran,” she said. “I’m not going to feed from you. Not like before.” Though her voice was shaky, her words were firm.
 

He forced himself to retreat. At the window, he pulled back the curtain and blindly surveyed the countryside. When Toran turned back to face her, his jaw was set.

Godsdammit, it was her duty to do his bidding.

All that bravado faded away when he saw the expression in her eyes.

He bowed his head under the weight of her gaze, shame flaming his cheeks.
 

“I understand you are angry.
Hurt,
” he managed to say. “Certain things were said… and done… that I regret. I wish to make amends.”
 

When he lifted his chin, he could not read the expression veiled in her stormy gray-green eyes.

Voice gruff, he continued, “It’s been nearly three weeks since you have, since we…” His words died a quick death in his throat. Eyes unfocused on the wall behind her, Toran found himself at a complete loss as to how to process the electric madness that had transpired between them. Pushing aside the now familiar ache in his chest, he said, “You’ll be stronger, you’ll heal faster, if you take what I can give you.”

He could see she weighed her words carefully before she gave an answer.

“I know we have an agreement,” she said, “and I promise you that I’ll live up to my end of it. But, right now, I am not going to take from you.”

“Look,” he said, stumbling on his words, “we don’t have to do… what we did…”

“I am not going to feed from you, Toran,” she repeated. “Not now. Not here.”
 

A low growl escaped him.
 

“Why are you being stubborn?” he exclaimed. “You are injured; thus, you need to feed. It’s as simple as that,” he tried to explain, his mind totally unsettled. “How the hell do you think you’re going to get home?”

She pressed her lips together and blinked in reply.

Stung by her rejection, Toran shrugged and crossed the room. “Suit yourself. I’ll be back in an hour or two.”