Torn (6 page)

“What?”

“Hey! What are you two doing in there? I want to see some fucking going on!” Bron growled.

Torn shoved Honey Wine against the wall, grasped her wrists, and pinned them above her head as his mouth covered hers. His tongue traced the shape of her lips and slipped into her mouth as her own caressed it.

He ran his hand over her ribs, just grazing her breasts.

“It’s all right. You can touch them,” she murmured. They had to make the show look good, but as Torn’s large hand cupped one of her breasts and his thumb stroked her nipple through the fabric of her robe, she wondered if it was a show anymore. Her heart pounded as he dropped her hands and cupped her other breast. He rolled both nipples between his thumb and forefinger while he continued kissing her and nuzzling her neck.

One of his hands untied her robe, baring her body to him alone and shielding her from Bron’s prying stare. She felt his cock brush her belly, then press between them as he deepened the kiss. His steely chest crushed her breasts, and she felt him panting against her ear.

“Don’t worry.” His whisper sounded strained. “I won’t penetrate you.”

Honey Wine almost wanted to scream, No, penetrate me! Shove it in, for the Goddess’ sake! Yet she refrained. Instead she slid her arms around him and held him tightly as his erection remained firmly trapped between their bellies, part of it rubbing her clit and causing her to ache with impending climax. She knew she was going to come if he didn’t stop his movements, and she didn’t doubt he would as well by the sound of his breathing and the slamming of his heart she could feel through his chest.

Suddenly her legs lost all their strength as she throbbed and shook in frenzied orgasm. She would have fallen had Torn not held her upright.

As her breathing returned to normal, she realized his was taking a lot longer. His cock still felt rock hard.

“Stay here a minute,” he whispered, pushing away so he no longer touched her. He remained, his hands braced against the wall, eyes closed, until his cock returned to its flaccid state as if by his force of will alone.

He turned away from her suddenly, and Honey Wine, hands trembling with desire and anger at the spectacle they’d been forced to act out, tied her robe and stared at the door.

Chuckling, Bron strode in, followed by several guards to drag Torn back to his cell.

“I think you really liked that.” Bron grinned at her.

“Apparently so did you.” Honey Wine sneered, nodding toward the wet patch on the crotch of his leather pants. She shoved past him, muttering, “Pathetic.”

* * * * *

The following evening, Honey Wine’s face was covered with a black hood as she sat beside Alva in her carriage. Her hands, bound with chains similar to the beasts’, were concealed beneath the folds of an expensive, fur-trimmed cloak The Mistress had insisted she wear.

“Understand that all guests are of the purest blood,” Alva said. “Though your father was common—the Goddesses only knows why our mother chose to slip down with such a peasant— you can at least look the part of a lady. You might even find you enjoy the Entertainment, particularly when you see the Knight at work.”

“I have no interest in your perversions,” Honey Wine said.

Alva giggled, still lost in her own dreaming. “I’m so glad you convinced me not to let The Lady kill him. Watching him fight is ever so much fun. It’s like grasping a lightening bolt out of the sky and containing it in a sorceress’ crystal ball. He’s glistening energy just waiting for the chance to explode into a full-fledged storm! And he will, Honey Wine. Tonight, he will!”

Honey Wine gritted her teeth in disgust as Alva’s excited fingers bit into her upper arm. Her mind churned with thoughts of the sort of beast who inspired such added pleasure to Alva’s decadence. From what she’d overheard from the guards’ conversations in the holding cells, Torn’s victories had been almost effortless. Even guards from other kingdoms had begun to wager on him over their own beasts, and the royals were becoming frustrated by The Mistress’s champion. They were losing interest in the Entertainment, until the announcement at the last match. Bron had gloated over Master Sparro’s boast that he’d been training a beast for months, one he’d kept from Entertainment to specifically hone his skills to such a vicious state that guards slipped his food beneath a barbed wire cage and had drugged him with a dart so they could bring him to the Entertainment field.

Though Honey Wine feigned indifference, she feared for Torn. He was skilled, but he was not a beast. At times she wasn’t even certain he’d have made a decent guard. He was strong, a great fighter, and knew how to bury his own fear, but he felt for others. A severe fault in both guards and beasts. She knew that first hand. Her own empathy had cost her everything.

The carriage stopped, and Alva jerked the hood from Honey Wine’s face.

She squinted in the dusk. Set in an enormous clearing in a wood, a round rock building stretched toward the treetops. Torches rimmed a cobbled walk from Alva’s carriage to the wooden double doors guarded by ten warriors, two from each of the participating kingdoms. She noticed none were from Warefield, the official city of High King Verick who presided over most of the islands of Travelle. Only the Ruby Order’s official kingdom of Rubyshire and the Opal Hill, owned by the Knights’ female counterparts, the Dames of the Opal Order, were beyond Verick’s control. His absence lent Honey Wine the slightest relief.

At least the High King was not involved in the Entertainment, not that it helped anyone in The Mistress’s land.

“Ready, Honey Wine?” The Mistress smiled, a shiver running down her spine, though she was draped in a mink robe dyed the color of blood. “Oh, and before you forget yourself and start preaching against Entertainment, remember that everyone here loves it as much — if not more — than I do. They would be all too pleased to vote to drop you into the ring, and I, being the hostess, would be unable to deny their pleasure.”

Honey Wine glared at her before guards ushered them both out of the carriage, down the walk, and through the doors to Alva’s private hell.

Inside, they walked up a narrow stone staircase opening to a balcony that surrounded the vast room. The black, white, and red tiles on the dome-shaped ceiling depicted various methods of execution, the richness of the design a strange contrast to the dirt floor below. There was only one door in the single, enormous room below, and that door was encased by a small square cage of barbed wire. Honey Wine later realized the cage protected the guards from the fighting beasts once they were turned loose.

Guards lined the back wall of the balcony, and cushioned seats were placed close to the railing so the onlookers had a perfect view of the battles below.

Nobles, many whom Honey Wine recognized, already filled most of the seats.

High born respected lords, ladies, and monarchs. If she hadn’t been so worried for Torn, Honey Wine would have laughed aloud at their hypocrisy.

She took her place beside Alva who perched on the edge of a chair and laughed with a tall, red-haired man whose hands were covered with sapphire rings.

“Sparro, this is my sister, Honey Wine,” Alva explained at the man’s curious glance. So, this was the man who claimed he had a beast who could destroy Torn. “She’s rather simple and doesn’t get out much, but I thought she deserved to share in the excitement at least once.” Alva glared at Honey Wine before she could comment. “She doesn’t talk much either. She’s rather shy.”

Honey Wine understood her sister’s implication. Unless she acted how Alva expected her to, she’d suffer.

“Too bad.” Sparro placed a hand on Honey Wine’s knee. “Maybe I can get her to relax.”

“You wouldn’t want to be bothered.” Jealousy sparked Alva’s eyes. “She has some common blood in her – though I wouldn’t want you to spread that information around.”

Sparro’s eyes fixed on Alva and he edged past Honey Wine to placed his bejeweled hands on the Mistress’s shoulders. “Perhaps you could convince me to keep my silence.”

“Of course,” Alva smiled, her expression full of lust as she looped her arms around Sparro’s neck. She glanced at Honey Wine. “Do you see what I’ll do to protect your reputation, my dear?”

Honey Wine didn’t try keeping the disgust from her face as Alva and Sparro’s mouths met. Their tongues visibly raked each other’s lips, then met, caressing and stroking as Alva’s hands parted Sparro’s robe and dipped into the waistband of his satin trousers.

“Such a marvelous cock,” Alva whispered. “How I love to make it crow.”

“And you do it so well,” Sparro purred. He tugged down the front of Alva’s gown. Her breasts popped free and he bent, taking one of her nipples between his lips while he pinched the other with his thumb and forefinger.

Alva’s eyes slipped shut and a flush darkened her skin as he parted the folds of her skirt, brushing aside lace and revealing a carefully hemmed slit in her dress that Honey Wine hadn’t noticed, so well was it disguised.

Sparro’s hand disappeared in the slit and by the quickening of Alva’s breathing; he’d found her clit and pussy quite easily.

Alva’s stroking of Sparro’s cock slowed as his hand sped up in its ministrations.

At her moment of crisis, Alva threw back her head, her entire body tense, her breasts heaving, and her ribs threatened to break her tightly corseted gown.

“I think you really owe me, my dear,” Sparro hissed close to her ear.

Alva grinned, her hand once again pumping faster beneath his trousers.

“Wait!” Sparro gasped, his orgasm imminent by the rasp of his breath and the glaze of his eyes. With trembling fingers, he withdrew a smooth platinum ring from the satin pouch at his hip.

“I see.” Alva’s lips slid into a wicked smile and she removed her hand from Sparro’s trousers. He tugged them down, freeing one of the largest cocks Honey Wine had ever seen. It was thick and ruddy, the veins weaving along its shaft prominent. He adjusted the ring at the base and cupped his huge, hair-dusted balls before gesturing to Alva to continue.

Alva dropped to her chair, placed her hands on Sparro’s hips, and tugged him close, her mouth engulfing his cock – or as much of it as she could take in.

Sparro placed his hands on her shoulders as she sucked, one of her hands kneading his balls.

Sparro’s breath came in hard pants as Alva’s attack increased. His buttocks squeezed and released, as if seeking an orgasm he was doing his best to hold at bay.

Alva drew back slightly, revealing his dark red cock, glazed with her saliva.

It looked ready to burst and Honey Wine watched in repulsed fascination.

Never in her life had she imagined people so disgusting as her Sister and these lords and ladies. Even when she averted her eyes to the other seats, most of the onlookers were engaged in sexual play of one kind or another.

A low groan seemed dragged from Sparro’s throat as Alva ran her teeth along his cock. The tip of her tongue traced one particularly prominent vein before running over the head, paying close attention to the little eye. She rotated between sucking him deep and using her teeth on him. A glaze of sweat glistened on Sparro’s brow, and his chest heaved.

A horn sounded, and Alva pulled away so fast that Sparro staggered backwards from the shock. Teeth clenched, his expression annoyed, Sparro hitched up his trousers.

He and Alva stared at the door below that opened to the fighting ground.

Guards dragged two chained beasts out of the cage. They were dark, burly, hirsute creatures who tugged so hard on their bonds that Honey Wine thought the guards’ arms might tear from their sockets. Protecting themselves with whips and hot irons, the guards released the creatures, hurried to the safety of the cage, and tossed swords through the bars.

The beasts scrambled for the weapons and attacked each other with little skill, merely brute strength. The fight lasted through several bloody moments before one of the creatures, his body slashed almost in half, dropped to the dirt.

The victor, also dripping blood and panting loudly enough for onlookers to hear him in the balcony, remained standing for several seconds before collapsing beside his dead foe.

The crowd cheered, laughter echoing throughout the room. Honey Wine repressed the urge to vomit. Death during war was bad enough, but this carnage for the fun of a wealthy, wicked audience was beyond evil!

She sat through two more matches, all the while thinking she had been wrong. The men forced to fight were less bestial than those who insisted they do so.

“It’s them!” Alva squealed, nearly jumping out of her chair.

Honey Wine’s heart pounded so hard for a moment she couldn’t see clearly, then she focused on Torn as he walked between his guards. Unlike the other beasts, he appeared calm. Honey Wine was probably the only person in the room who noticed the faint signs of discomfort by the stiffness of his posture.

His steps were uncharacteristically slow, and his face bore a strange expression that she’d never seen before.

Behind him stalked his match. Tall, muscled, his skin marked with scars, Torn’s opponent was held by many guards. Though, like Torn, he didn’t act as wild as the other competitors, Honey Wine saw, even from such a distance, an animalistic expression in his shifting eyes. His fists flexed in his manacles, and he growled at Torn. Both men, like all others in the match, wore daggers at their hips.

The two were released and weapons tossed to them, a sword to Torn’s opponent, and a staff to Torn.

A Staff!
Honey Wine nearly screamed with terror and leapt out of her chair.

Was Torn mad? He could have had the weapon of his choice, yet he picked a staff to use against that maniac’s sword?