[The Onic Empire 03] - Sinful Harvest (17 page)

Ariss returned to her throne. “You may offer me your tribute.”

He’d already heard details of how guard after guard had paraded before her, displaying himself, stroking himself. Now she expected him to do the same. Kerrick thought the entire process was degrading and designed to put him in his place. He was her pet. He was supposed to leap at the snap of her fingers to do her bidding. This did not hold the sensual promise for him as her request had in the mating room. There, he’d wanted to perform for her, to show her the power in his body as he worked his cock with his own hand. Here, he felt lower than low, a trifle, a plaything.

Wincing, Kerrick tried to will his erection away, but whatever Fana had put on him caused his cock and balls to throb in such agony the only way he would have relief was if he climaxed. How bitter that the seed he’d so eagerly wanted to pump into Ariss during their stolen tryst would now be splattered at her feet in a show of his submission to her.

Against his will, Kerrick wrapped one fist around his shaft. He recoiled in pain. He was so sensitive that even the softest brush caused untold agony. If he didn’t give tribute, he would be executed, but he simply hurt so much he was afraid to touch himself. What the hell had Fana done to him in her blithering excitement? Whatever she’d put on him, she had obviously used too much. Even now, his cock glistened and the oil continued to run down to his balls.

Perhaps this was her revenge for catching him with Ariss. He’d been so enraptured that he hadn’t even heard Fana enter his room. But she had. Shocked, Fana left and ran to the guards. She stood before them silently until one of them asked what her problem was. As soon as she had the right to speak, she’d spilled everything. As Kerrick knelt before Ariss, he wondered
what would have happened if Fana had not returned to his rooms. Idly, he wondered what Fana had returned for. Not that it mattered. Not that he would ever get the chance to ask. Fana was at this very moment being given to the next Harvester.

Subtly, he knelt back on his heels, as if readying himself, but he actually used the movement to wipe the oil off his hands and onto his robe. He tried to touch himself again, but the contact was still too much.

Panic drew his body tight, causing his chest to constrict as he held his breath to do as she had bid. He tried again to grasp his cock, but just the heat of his hand caused him to yank his hand back. Desperate to show he was at least trying, he cupped his balls, hoping to remove some of the potent oil. Under the guise of teasing himself, he drew the slickness away, leaning back to wipe it on his robe.

“Stop.”

His heart literally halted mid-beat. When he looked up, Ariss was standing. For the longest time she simply considered him, her head tilted fractionally to the side as if she were debating what to do with him. He swallowed hard. She moved toward him with dreamy slowness. As she drew near, she cupped her hand to his chin, lifting his face, then without words, she commanded him to his feet.

He took a deep breath, tasting the absolute ambrosia of her scent. Maybe she really had transformed, because she certainly smelled glorious. That sweet
valasta
was there but more powerful. Just her scent seemed to calm his frazzled nerves and reduced the sensitivity of his body.

“I’m trying,” he whispered, in the hopes she wouldn’t grow weary of him and call the acolytes to haul him away.

“Silence,” she said, her voice seeming to drift right to his ear.

Looming over her, he peered down, causing her to lean far back to meet his gaze. She did so without any indication of
anger. And why should she be upset? With a snap of her fingers, she could order a contingent of guards to crush him under the stone.

“I want your tribute within me.” Ariss parted her robe, exposing her nude body, then stepped forward. She plastered herself against him. Deftly, she slipped his cock between her legs, wiping the oil away with her inner thighs.

Crying out, stunned by the combination of pleasure and pain, Kerrick grasped her hips. Expecting a horde of acolytes to rush in and yank him away, he held very still.

“They would not dare correct me,” Ariss whispered, placing her hands on either side of his head to angle him for her kiss.

He thought of resisting, of turning his head away, but she’d taken pity on his pathetic state, perhaps she even understood what Fana had done to him. He saw a knowing in her eyes, an absolute certainty in her gaze. When he looked deeper, he saw her genuine hunger. Not for just any man, but for him. Apparently, her encounter with her lofty god left her unsatisfied.

Pulling her hips tight, feeling the welcoming softness of her thighs sliding along his shaft, he forcefully claimed her mouth. He might be a slave, but she would know that he was not a tender servant. To own him would be like owning a wild animal; at any moment, he could turn on her.

Matching his ferocity, Ariss kissed him back, her hands against his head, tugging at his hair. From a distance, it would appear she was the aggressor, but Kerrick didn’t mind. Let her put on a show for the trembling acolytes. He didn’t care what they thought. He tried to withhold his pleasure along with his climax, but his sensitized body wouldn’t allow him even that satisfaction. She truly owned him in this moment. If she pushed him away, a part of his pride would die, and he feared he would never be the same.

Thankfully, Ariss gave no indication that she would do
something so cruel. Each small movement she made drove him mad with passion. Breathless, desperate, he pulled back, angled his cock to the sweet, hot entrance of her cunt, and then shoved forward.

Ariss gasped, pulling her mouth from his, twisting her hands against his head. Her head fell back, exposing her throat. Ker-rick lowered his lips and bit her neck, drawing the tender flesh inside his mouth, marking her as he was now marked with her collar. In his own way, he laid his claim to her, and not as some pathetic servant. He would find a way to be her master, even if he was only so in private. Ariss would beg for him, writhe for him, spreading her legs eagerly to feel his strength and power.

Each thrust of his hips pulled another groan from her and sent another almost unbearable surge of pleasure through him. He thought at any instant he would erupt, but something held him back, something that waited for the right moment. Inside, he felt a power swirling from nothingness to grow larger, filling up every cell in his body until it oozed from his pores. When he looked down, he swore his body was glowing.

Ariss clung to his shoulders. Clasping him by digging her nails in, she lifted herself up, wrapping her legs around his hips, nestling his sex deeply inside. When he glanced at her face, he discovered her eyes were wide open, her pupils so large they ate up the colored portion of her eyes.

Losing himself in that abyss, Kerrick demanded, “Give me your tribute.”

Her lips parted as her head went farther back. Tightening her thighs around his waist, she dug her feet into his buttocks, mashing her clit against the rough of his pubic hair.

Bouncing her once, twice, she let out a scream of pure satisfaction as her cunt clasped his cock. Then, and only then, did he offer his tribute in exchange for hers.

Kerrick climaxed with the strength of a god. He felt the pull from his toes to the tips of his hair. Everything in his body
rushed out to fill her. All of that power that had pushed at the walls of his skin vanished with his orgasm. All of it was gone in the blink of an eye, causing Kerrick to stagger back. He fell to his knees so he wouldn’t drop Ariss.

There was no question in his mind now about his true duty.

Kerrick was not a servant to Ariss, but to Tavarus.

A
riss turned her back on the mirror, no longer caring what she looked like. She’d spent most of the day surrounded by a gaggle of servants who fussed over every strand of her hair, every minute fold of fabric, every tiny flicker of sparkling gems. Being a demigoddess was exhausting work. Whatever she’d become in the temple was changing her. Not drastically, but subtle changes occurred to the color of her eyes, the lift of her cheekbones, the texture of her flesh. Inside, she felt the same, but outside, she was changing. Slowly but surely, she was becoming the vessel of a god. When she placed her hand on her belly, she felt power below, even though the babe wasn’t old enough yet to move in any way she could discern, she still felt him. Him, for she knew that her child was male. Too, she knew, that sacrifice and trauma shrouded his destiny. Ariss had no idea if he would prevail, only that she would not be there to help him through his strife.

“Are you ready?”

Kerrick’s voice tugged at her heart. When she turned, she fastened her attention on his eyes. Beautiful clear green, like the
darkest forest shade. His golden hair was longer now and perfectly straight, sweeping across his gaze so he had to flick the golden curtain back. Always she wanted to reach out and push the strands away, but the one time when she had, he clasped her hand and pushed her away. Not a big push, not enough to hurt her or even unbalance her, just enough to make it clear he did not welcome her touch. Such an action broke her heart. She knew in that moment that Kerrick would never forgive her.

Two cycles had passed since Kerrick had become her bonded slave. At the time, she knew the depth of his anger. On his knees before her, he’d clenched his jaw so tightly she thought he would permanently change the shape of his face. Repeatedly, she wanted to tell him that all of it was for show. She had no intention of keeping him as her servant. But she couldn’t put his fears to rest in the temple. She had to go through with what was demanded of her. Placing the metal collar around his neck hurt her just as much as it hurt him. She didn’t believe in owning other humans. And certainly, she didn’t want to own Kerrick. She wanted him as her bondmate, not her bonded slave. Her joy at fulfilling her duty was lost amidst the pain of what she’d done to him, and the dread of not knowing whose child she carried.

Tavarus had embraced her through the tawdry throne, filling her with the molten lava of his seed. Yet, shortly before that, she’d been with Kerrick. He hadn’t climaxed, but she knew he didn’t necessarily have to. Besides, he’d later given his tribute deep inside her rather than at her feet. Not that it mattered to the acolytes. They said the father of her babe was Tavarus. Sadly, even Ariss herself couldn’t lay claim to her own child. She was simply the vessel chosen to carry the issue of a god.

“I am ready,” she said, extending her hand out to clasp Ker-rick’s arm. She needed his help to maneuver in her heavy robe. Once they entered the celebration, she’d be able to remove the
unwieldy thing, but not until then. Part of her current duty included making grand entrances. The collar of the black robe rose high behind her head, forming a backdrop littered with gold and diamonds. Her hair was piled atop her head, elongating her neck, giving her a regal bearing. She looked every bit fit enough to be a god’s consort. Her dreams of living a simple life in the forest seemed further from her grasp than ever. Because of her foolishness, her single-minded determination to escape her parents and Ambo, she’d placed herself into the grandest mess.

Often, in the dark of night, as she slept alone in her massive bed, she wondered if she could have changed anything, or if all of it, from becoming the Harvester to her willingness to do anything to feel Kerrick’s magical touch, was all predetermined by the gods. How did one escape one’s destiny if a god was determined to use one for his own ends?

Kerrick placed his free hand over hers. To those on the outside, the gesture would seem an offer of comfort and support, but she knew it was simply for show. By the prophecy, he was fated to be at her side until the day she died. On that day, he would be ritualistically executed, so that he could accompany her to
Jarasine.
The only way he could break free of his bond was to precede her in death. Of course, if he did, he was expected to wait in the nothingness for her to die.

Kerrick wore a simple brown tunic and loose brown trousers. The fabrics were of the finest grade, but the color indicated his station as a slave. Only a small black band of trim around his upper right arm indicated his previous status as a Harvester. Around his waist, he wore a thick animal-hide belt, also brown, that held several weapons. Normally a slave wasn’t permitted to own weapons, but Kerrick was her protector. His status among the servants in the palace was unique. There had not been one like him ever in the written history of Diola.

She remembered the night she’d snuck into his room, and
his despair that he couldn’t wield the weapons with much skill. Her teachings were immaterial now. Tavarus could possess him and his skill was unmatched by any mere mortal. Tavarus was the god of the Harvesters, a god of sex and war. If any dared to attack her, Tavarus would use Kerrick to inflict swift and sure retribution. So far, his skills hadn’t been needed, as everyone in the palace avoided them but for when courtesy or protocol demanded interaction.

Already Tavarus left his mark on Kerrick by changing his outward appearance in subtle ways. His hair was blonder, his face stronger, his height slightly increased. However, the alterations that Ariss feared the most were the ones that none could see, not even Kerrick himself. There were times when Tavarus surged through Kerrick. When his eyes darkened and his pupils swelled to cover the irises, that was when she knew Tavarus possessed him. Ariss dreaded looking into his eyes and seeing fathomless black. Because when Tavarus took command of Kerrick, he made him do things that Kerrick would not wish to do. When Tavarus ruled Kerrick’s body, he would throw her upon the bed, mount her in a fury, and then be gone as swiftly as he climaxed. Kerrick would awaken later, his expression bewildered.

Ariss did not tell him what Tavarus was doing.

Kerrick’s resentment at being her bonded slave was bad enough. He didn’t need to know that Tavarus was using him as a sex surrogate as well, especially when Kerrick was forbidden to touch any woman. The only way he could find release was once a cycle in the temple.

At first, Tavarus had possessed Kerrick with great frequency, often several times in the same day, but Ariss knew this was because she was new to him. After a while the novelty faded. Tavarus seemed to come less and less, which eased her mind. She thought at first he would move on to other women, using Kerrick to sample this mortal realm, but apparently the
bonding ceremony literally bonded Kerrick to her; he could not fornicate with another woman, as far as she could tell. Sadly, Kerrick couldn’t have her unless Tavarus was in his body.

Always, though, in her lingered the nagging question of what they would become. Where would they go once the baby came? Ariss feared the acolytes would tear the child from her arms and insist they rear him within the temple. Just the thought of his life there, shrouded in mystery and worshipped by those around him, made Ariss want to run. However, there wasn’t anywhere to run to. If Tavarus wanted his son to come of age worshipped as a living god, then he could make it so. Even if she and Kerrick ran, all he had to do was possess Ker-rick and return her to the palace. Should she dare to run alone, she feared he would do something to her through her child.

Once, when she stood on the balcony looking down at how far the land below was, and just the idlest thought of what would happen if she fell over crossed her mind, her belly clutched in such pain she backed away from the railing. The throbbing ache didn’t stop until she returned to the room and closed the glass door. From that moment on, she hadn’t been able to step onto the balcony. What hurt her more than anything was that she didn’t want to harm her child, it had only been a passing thought, but Tavarus punished her for it. She hated him for not even allowing her the privacy of her own introspection.

When she’d been shaken by his violent sexual cravings, Tavarus had taunted her through Kerrick, chasing her around her rooms, ripping her clothing off in bits until she was covered in nothing but rags. He’d caught her, forced her to her hands and knees, and then brutally used her from behind. Fingertip bruises had lined her hips, and rug burns had marred her knees and hands for days.

Valiantly, Kerrick had tried to fight him. In his eyes, she saw the conflict as the god’s possession turned his green eyes black.
Back and forth, his eyes changed from green to black, but ultimately the god was stronger, and Kerrick’s resistance only fueled his anger. Things were easier for them both if they simply let Tavarus have his way. Kerrick remembered nothing of this encounter, but he’d frowned and raised speculative eyebrows at her injuries.

She knew he thought she was indulging another man; sadly, the only man she wanted was the one she couldn’t have. The only hope Ariss clung to was that Tavarus would never hurt her deeply, only superficially, because he wouldn’t risk the child within.

What made Tavarus’ aggressiveness worse was that in the temple he’d been so unbelievably gentle. When she’d confronted him, he’d laughed, and said that was to waylay her into giving him permission to use her through Kerrick. If she’d known the truth of his sexual hunger, she never would have bonded to Kerrick.

“You are stunning,” Kerrick said, ushering her from their lushly appointed rooms and into a clutch of guards. Four abreast in the front, four in the back, they made their way to the great hall.

Ariss smiled at him, pleased that he appreciated how many hours she had sat immobile to become the living statue she was now. She could barely turn her head less she muss her hair or ruin the line of the fancy robe. Behind the four guards in back lagged several of her servants. They carried extra adornments so that all throughout the celebration, Ariss would always look her best.

Kerrick’s slave collar gleamed. She’d tried to remove the loathsome thing, but she was unable to do so. Even in death, he wouldn’t be free from the band. To outside eyes, Kerrick willingly played his part of dutiful servant. Her heart took a dangerous lurch in her chest because his willingness to do this was to protect her from censure. Almost everything Kerrick did
was to shield her from harm. But only in the public’s eye. When they were alone, his anger was like a palpable force. Her heart broke when she discovered he could barely look at her without clenching his jaw. However, she realized he wasn’t angry with her, but at the situation he found himself in. Deep inside, he still cared about her, but he couldn’t stop resenting his subservient position.

She’d tried not to let her emotions grow, but she couldn’t prevent herself from falling in love with him. Love was an emotion she could not afford, for she dared not cross Tavarus. But she’d only heard him laugh in her mind when he’d forced his way into the secret part of her thoughts, those she’d managed to keep hidden for a time. Tavarus said love was for poets and fools. The gods did not love. They merged to find pleasure, but there was nothing about love in their mating. Only foolish mortals considered themselves hampered by such delusions. If loving Kerrick soothed her, let such be so, for Tavarus didn’t care. All he wanted was access to the plush, welcoming heat of her body when the mood struck him. Kerrick could have her heart, for Tavarus had everything else.

“What is this celebration for?” she asked, moving slowly but steadily down the hall. There had been so many in the last two cycles that Ariss couldn’t keep them straight.

“The new empress has been crowned.”

Ariss nodded absently, then immediately stilled her head. One more forgetful movement and her hair would tumble down.

At one time, she might have cared about the crowning of a new empress, but not now. The petty politics of the palace meant little when her world became that of the gods. The only thing that gave her pause was wondering if her parents would attend this party. She realized they likely wouldn’t. Her sister had vied for the position along with every other girl from the elite Houses who was of age. Ariss didn’t know who had won, but she knew her sister had lost. Mother said Father was so
mortified that he’d wanted to return to Felton. She had no idea if he had, but moreover, she didn’t care. The one time when she’d seen her father, he’d recoiled from her. He’d said all the right things to show obeisance to the god’s vessel, but she could tell he wanted to get away from her as quickly as possible. It took Ariss a while to comprehend the fact that her father was afraid of her.

If he could have extracted some benefit from her position, he would have, but in this, she was alone. Her rise to the state of a demigoddess did not include her family, for her change had come as the Harvester, not as his daughter. Once Radox grasped that fact, he abandoned her. Her father was nothing if not practical. When he realized he couldn’t use her any longer, he was gone, probably off trying to find a way to use one of his remaining daughters.

From what little gossip she heard among her staff, Ariss gleaned that Ambo refused to give her father the palace contract for raw
astle
fibers. All his work in making her the Harvester was for naught; she hadn’t fulfilled her end of the bargain to become Ambo’s bondmate, which voided his agreement with her father. Ariss couldn’t even blame her father for her current misery. If she’d stuck to the rules of her position and clung honorably to her duty, she might have faired a far different fate.

“There’s no turning back now,” Kerrick said.

She startled, for she thought he’d read her mind, but instead, he meant they had arrived at the sweeping entrance to the great hall. Just beyond the arched doorway, hundreds of voices swirled in a cacophony as a thousand individual scents filled her too-sensitive nose. With a deep breath, she squeezed his arm and stepped inside. Glittering dresses of the brightest jewel tones littered the black Onic tile floor. Swirling to high-spirited music, the ladies and gentlemen of the elite were like beautiful flowers blowing in a gracious wind. Ariss’ black clothing separated
her from them. She was darkness in the sea of light that spilled across the expanse of the hall.