Chapter 2
IT HAD BEEN A few days since she had encountered the apparition in the temple, and still, the mysterious stranger hadn’t left Isabelle’s thoughts.
She had an odd sensation that he was watching her, catching glimpses of a shadowy figure in the corner of her eye that always disappeared just as she turned to look.
As she wiped down the counter of the bar, she pressed her palm to her thigh, right where the metal chain of her cilice wrapped tightly around it. The inwardly pointed tines dug into her flesh, helping her focus while the delicious sting of pain wrapped itself around her.
Her mind was playing tricks on her, that was all, and she had to pull herself together.
Isabelle had skipped her normal worship schedule, choosing to stay in her small cottage instead of visiting the temple and reciting her prayers. She’d been certain the man would be there if she returned, though now it all seemed so silly.
Either she’d imagined him or he was just a man, a strange one, but a man nonetheless. The moon goddess had her faith warriors to protect the temple, to protect those who worshipped her. There was nothing to be frightened of.
Besides, she had bigger problems to deal with.
Her cunt tensed as she pressed harder on the cilice, and she had to stifle a moan, the pain stimulating her nerves in just the right way.
The device was meant as penance for her sinful thoughts, and yet from the first moment she’d put one on, she’d been entranced by the intricate mix of pleasure and torment.
Goddess, she was losing sight of her virtue, shame filling her with heat as she lifted her palm from her thigh. She was disgraceful in every sense of the word, unworthy of the moon mother’s eternal love, destined for the Veil if she couldn’t defeat her base instincts.
An uncanny sensation overcame her, a prickling of her skin like flames were dancing across her flesh. Her eyes darted around the noisy tavern, quickly cataloguing the usual customers before pausing on someone—both familiar and not.
The man from the temple of Celeste.
He was dressed simply, almost like he belonged in Marilet, though his crisp white shirt and well-tailored pants made it clear he wasn’t from the town of tradespeople and farmers.
He had that same strange smirk, one that curled his lips in a way that coiled uneasy tension in her stomach.
Her cheeks flushed, his gaze so strong, so piercing, that she had to look away.
What was he doing in Marilet? And why did he seem so focused on her? She’d heard no chatter about a mysterious stranger in either the café or tavern all week, as if he were an apparition sent to haunt only her.
Before he could escape once more, she steeled herself, striding over to the table he sat at so casually and stopping in front of him.
“Can I get you something, monsieur?”
The man chuckled, a deep and dark sound that sent ice through her veins, though a flicker of something settled in her core.
“There are many things you can get me, my dear.”
Isabelle narrowed her eyes, propping a hand on her hip.
“We have ale, wine, and the owner’s special mead. Which one would you like?”
She had no patience to suffer cheeky fools, had made that mistake more than once already, and had vowed herself to chastity anew.
Luckily, the moon mother was a forgiving goddess.
“A glass of wine then.”
His smile was coy, but something flashed in his eyes, and Isabelle shuddered, hurrying back to the bar to make her escape. She sighed as she grounded herself against the counter, serving two regular patrons who’d stumbled up for another round before pouring the man’s glass.
Cabernet, as red as blood, the aroma of black currant and pepper filling her nose. Isabelle took a steadying breath, willing her hand to stop shaking as she resisted pressing her palm to her thigh.
She normally had no trouble fending off the male patrons who flirted with her, and in such a small town, they were mostly regulars. Even seeing Henri or Pierre—two men whose intimate company she’d enjoyed on more than one occasion—didn’t give her these kinds of nerves.
The man smiled as she returned and set the glass on the table, grasping her arm when she tried to walk away. Electric energy spread from his touch, like a bolt of lightning had struck her, and Isabelle’s eyes widened.
“Can I help you, monsieur?”
She tried to keep her voice steady, but his grip was powerful, reeling her back in as if she were nothing more than a child.
“Sit with me, darling. It’s slow tonight. Surely you can spare a moment.”
Something in his voice urged her to obey, and she pulled out the wooden chair to sit across from him. He released his grip, and she glared, trying to forget the peculiar energy that had coursed through her at his touch.
“Who are you? I’ve never seen you in Marilet.”
She glanced around the tavern, but no one seemed to take notice of her, lost in their own worlds.
“You may call me Jean-Phillipe. And you?”
The man picked up the glass, swirling the wine under his nose and breathing in the scent. He eyed her as he took a sip–his lips pursed ever so perfectly–bringing a flush to her cheeks.
“I’m… Isabelle,” she stammered, trying to maintain her composure as Jean-Phillipe refused to break eye contact.
“Isabelle, how lovely it is to meet you.”
The way his words rolled off his tongue made her hair stand on end, the growl of a predator.
Henri and Pierre weren’t like that, which she supposed was why she’d let them talk her into their beds.
Not that she had needed much convincing, both being quite handsome in their own ways and her lust close to unbearable when she’d finally given in.
She had needed someone, anyone, using sex as a reprieve from her distress when she should have been worshipping the moon mother.
And they were safe choices, nice young men who worked hard and treated her well. It had been she who had cut off the courting from both of them.
“I should… get back to work,” she said, moving to stand, but the look in his eyes made her freeze in place.
“Look around. All of your customers are perfectly content. We can chat for a bit longer.”
Isabelle focused back on the rest of the tavern, tearing her eyes away from Jean-Phillipe. As he’d said, everyone was happy, no one waving or shouting at her for more ale or mead. In fact, no one seemed to notice her at all, their gazes passing through her as if she didn’t exist.
She turned back to Jean-Phillipe, that wicked grin still gracing his face.
“What are you doing here? Do you have business in town?”
More brash than she normally was with patrons, but this man was frightening her, his fierce stare making her uneasy as he sipped his wine.
“Yes, some business,” he said, explaining exactly nothing.
“What kind? Are you a tradesman?” she asked, frustrated with his non-answer.
“I give people what they want.”
She was tempted to roll her eyes, but instead, continued with her questions.
“And what do the people want?”
“You’d be surprised how many are desperate for an escape. How many seek liberation.”
His answer sent a chill down her spine—as cryptic as it was—and she narrowed her eyes.
“And how long will you be staying in Marilet?”
Hopefully not long. She would be glad when she didn’t have to look over her shoulder anymore.
“As long as I need to.”
She swallowed hard, wanting to flee, but feeling an odd compulsion to stay. He remained silent, her discomfort growing until she felt the urge to speak again.
“I saw you at the temple the other day. What were you doing there?”
Jean-Phillipe considered her question with a thoughtful hum, taking a moment before answering.
“Searching for something.”
Dread settled in her stomach, an ominous wave overtaking her like she knew where this conversation was heading.
“And did you find it?”
Another smile, this one wicked, with too much teeth, like he was a beast from the woods and not a civilized man.
“I most certainly did.”
A man. A man. He was just a man. A forward man. A man who wanted to frighten her. But just a man.
“Well, I am happy for you. The moon mother has provided me much comfort in times of trouble.”
Celeste and her devotees were there when her father had died, when she needed a job, when an infestation of locusts had destroyed the crops and famine had set in.
They welcomed her with open arms, providing food and opportunities when she needed it, but most importantly, giving her a sense of belonging, like she wasn’t alone in the world.
Like she had someone watching over her.
“Faith is such an important thing, isn’t it?”
A chill shuddered down her spine, the words innocent enough, though there was a darkness in his voice that told her he was playing with her. Like she was a toy to be trifled with.
But the moon mother would protect her, like she always did.
Isabelle had faith.
“Very important, monsieur. Now, I really must be going,” she said quickly, standing before he could reel her in once more.
She gave a curt bow, the man’s smirk seared in her mind as she darted back to the bar and waited for another customer to order, distinctly aware of the sharp tines digging into her flesh.