Chapter 33
Chapter
Thirty-Three
Iwake up the next morning, sticky between my thighs and smelling like sex.
God, how embarrassing. I sit up on the cot and rub my mouth, vague flashes of the nightmare from last night coming back.
There’s nothing on my face but a few drool tracks.
Kalos isn’t in the monastery, and neither is Omos.
It’s probably daylight outside, and when I find a fresh bucket of water by the bathing stand, I know that I’ve overslept.
While I’m alone, I wash up. Twice. I change clothes and soak my nightgown, wring it out, then hang it on the drying rack by the fire, but everything still smells like sex to me.
So embarrassing. Omos is going to know exactly what we were up to.
I know he said he doesn’t care, but I’ve never dealt with a walk of shame up to this point.
I’m a grown adult, but for some reason, the thought of someone knowing that I was getting felt up by a god makes me all giggly and embarrassed.
Food has been left in the covered tray for me, and I eat a hard roll stuffed with honey and cheese. As I polish off a second one, the door opens, and both Omos and Kalos enter the monastery.
“Hey. Hi there. How’s it going?” I chirp out between mouthfuls. “I must have slept in.”
Omos smiles brightly at me, a bucket in each hand. Kalos holds the door open for him, and Dingle trots in after him. The goat takes one look at me with food in my hands, bleats, and prances in front of me.
“Hello to you too,” I say, and give him a crust, because I can’t resist his cute goat-y face. “What are you doing inside?”
“He needs grooming,” Kalos says. “He smells bad. Plus, I thought he might look nice with some ribbons on. Or a scarf. Come on, Dingle. Let’s go by the fire and warm some water for you.” He nudges the goat and heads over to the fireplace, putting the heavy cauldron on its normal hook.
“Ribbons?” I murmur to Omos, my brows going up.
Omos leans over. “Hedonism. He wants to redecorate the monastery for me, too. Says it needs color.”
Oh. Well. I take another bite of a roll, watching as the monk moves to the sink and pulls a large mass of fresh-churned butter from one bucket.
“Do you need help with any chores? I want to work on my medicine book, but it can wait until later.” I gesture at the half-eaten roll in my hand.
“I’m going to eat you out of house and home at this rate. ”
“An Anchor always eats an excessive amount. You are fueling yourself as well as your god. Eat all you like. Lady Magra will provide more.” Omos wraps the butter in cheesecloth, then squeezes it over the bucket again. “But I wouldn’t mind an extra pair of hands when it comes to baking.”
Baking I can do. I’ve had a few chances to practice it since we arrived here, and Omos already has dough rising in a covered bowl.
I take it out and knead it for a bit, then shape it into rolls that are sprinkled with more nuts and honey.
They fill every cast iron pan Omos has and take turns baking over the fire.
As they bake, I chop nuts and dice vegetables for tonight’s stew, saving scraps for Dingle.
Kalos bathes the goat and adds a bow to Dingle’s forelock, and another thick yellow ribbon around his neck in a very jaunty fashion.
It lasts for all of five seconds before Dingle tries to eat it.
Kalos sighs and takes it off the goat with a shake of his head. “You just don’t have the same appreciation for beauty that I do, my little friend.”
And then Kalos ties the ribbon to his own head, crossing over his brow like a pirate. Or a ninja. Or possibly an exercise enthusiast from the 1980s.
I smother my laughter at the sight.
“What?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” I shake my head. “Carry on.” I force my attention back to the stew, adding the last of the chopped vegetables to the large simmering pot over the fire.
Omos pulls out one of the nearby books and opens it up, laying it flat on a small table. “While we’re waiting on the stew, we can start with some simple herbal cures. What do you want to go over first?”
Oh, perfect. I get out my small journal I’ve claimed for notetaking and a charcoal stick that acts a lot like a very soft pencil.
I pull up a stool next to him and eye the open book.
There’s a large diagram of the inside of a flower detailed on one page and a ton of small, scribbly writing on the other side.
“I think, perhaps, let’s start with headaches.
” They’ve been plaguing me on and off for weeks now and I wouldn’t mind knowing how to easily take care of them myself. “Everyone gets headaches.”
The monk flips through the pages of the book, pursing his lips as he thinks. “There are several headache remedies. Do you want feverfew? Mint? Chamomile?”
“What’s the easiest to find around here?”
He considers for a moment, then opens the book to another section. “Willow bark, I think. You can get it year-round. Start here. After I’m done with my chores for the day, I can find you more books if you need them.”
The open book is turned toward me. I stare at the diagram of a tree trunk with a lot of writing alongside it.
Omos gives me an expectant smile, and I feel a bit like a jerk as I realize that my great big plan is going to take up a lot of his time.
“I can’t read that. You’re going to have to read it aloud to me. ”
“Oh, but of course.” Omos gives me a sheepish look.
“I should have realized. Lady Faith could not read our language either. She found it quite infuriating. Well, let us see.” He runs a finger down the page.
“We can do a bit while the bread is baking, and we can pause while I tend to the flock. Where would you like for me to start? Symptoms? Harvesting? Preparation?”
All of that? I poise my charcoal stick over my journal. “Maybe we start with symptoms?”
“Of a headache? How about ‘head’ and ‘aches,’” Kalos points out, coming over to my side and leaning over me. He taps a finger on my page before I can even write. “Put it right there.”
I nudge him, trying not to smile so I don’t encourage him. “Thank you for the obvious.”
He keeps a hand on my shoulder, watching as I scribble out a heading. Then, he glances over at the monk. “You’re not needed for this. I can read it to her. You may go tend to your goats.”
“Oh, that’s very kind of you,” Omos blurts out, maybe a little too quickly. He flicks a look over at me and clears his throat. “I’ll just head out there right now, actually. And I need to trim their hooves so I might be a while.”
The monk hands the book over to Kalos and practically rushes out the door. I’m a bit surprised at his actions. Turning to Kalos, I blink. “Did we say something wrong? He’s acting strange.”
“Nothing wrong.” Kalos snaps the book closed and tosses it down on the table. He sets it down with such force that the small table tips over and spills the book onto the floor, where it skids away several feet.
I exclaim in surprise and automatically get up, retrieving the book and dusting it off with my skirts. “What the hell, Kalos? Do you know how hard the monks work on these books? Every page is hand-illustrated, and we need to be careful…with…them…”
I trail off as he pushes the table aside and stalks toward me slowly. There’s a feral gleam in his green eyes, and I feel like a piece of meat in front of a particularly hungry tiger. I take a step back.
He takes a step forward.
I retreat another step.
Kalos continues to prowl toward me, his eyes heavy-lidded slits.
My back hits the bookshelf against the wall, and I’m trapped. I put a hand up to stop him, heart racing with alarm. “What’s gotten into you? You—”
The god grabs my wrist and tugs it over my head, stepping ever closer.
His gaze remains locked on mine. He takes the book out of my hand and tosses it aside again, then lifts my other hand and pins it against the first. Both are anchored above my head, and the pose makes my tits thrust out, my nipples brushing against his chest.
“Keep your hands above your head,” Kalos tells me, and a hint of a smile curls his hard mouth. “Right where I put them. Understand?”
And before I can answer, he sinks to his feet. Kneeling before me, he puts his hands on my hips and buries his face into the cradle of my thighs.
Oh. Oh. That’s what this is about.
He lifts my skirts just enough to duck under them. Then his hot breath is on my thighs, and I’m painfully, exquisitely aware of my current lack of panties.
“You smell like sex,” he murmurs, and his tongue dips against the top of my cleft.
“I could drink in the smell of you all day long. Maybe I’ll just stay here.
Pull up a stool and just tongue this sweet cunt all day long.
I do still have my five kisses to claim.
I could take them right now. In fact, here’s the first one. ”
And then his mouth is on me.
I whimper, twisting as his tongue flirts with the seam of my pussy. His hands stroke the outsides of my thighs, then slide up to grip my buttocks and push my pelvis forward. I shoot a quick glance over at the door, panting. “Omos—he’s going to walk in—”
“Omos knows exactly what we’re doing,” Kalos continues between tonguing my folds. “Why do you think he ran so quickly?”
Oh. Oh god. I should be embarrassed. Our host knows Kalos isn’t himself right now.
Hell, I know Kalos isn’t himself right now.
I should push him away, but then his tongue skates deeper and he finds my clit, and everything in me just quivers.
I gulp for breath, and he teases the hard bud of my clit with the tip of his tongue and takes me into his mouth.
A hard little cry escapes me, and my hands fall. I clutch his head through the fabric of my skirt. “Kalos—you—we—we shouldn’t. I don’t want you—regretting—later—” I choke on the words, utterly distracted by his tongue as it teases my clit.