Chapter 5
THE TEMPLE GARDEN WAS dim, lit only by the glow of candles, the devotees of Celeste like phantoms in billowing fabric.
Isabelle wore a white dress like the other women, long and flowing, representing their chastity and grace. She eyed Pierre and Henri across from her in the circle, their white shirts glowing yellow with candlelight and matching grimaces on their faces.
They seemed to perk up as they noticed her staring, and she shook her head, trying to clear her mind and focus on reciting her prayers.
She resisted a yawn; the day long and the night even longer.
They had been out here for hours, her body aching as she awaited the coming dawn, all in reverence to Celeste.
The lighted candles represented their spirits, which they gave freely to the Goddess, and the physical discomfort was their sacrifice.
A sharp thwack rattled her back to alertness as the burning pain of the leather flogger met the bare skin of her arm.
Tension coiled in her core, and she stifled a moan, her cunt shamefully wet from something that was supposed to remind her of her sins, not urge her to sin more.
The pain was their repentance, and yet she couldn’t help but think she was broken in some way for enjoying her punishment.
Isabelle squeezed her thighs together, the pressure helping little, and in fact, making it worse with the way the cilice dug into her skin. She took a deep breath, focusing back on her fellow penitents and trying not to be too eager for the priestess to make her way back around the circle.
The chant was low and eerie, all of their voices coming together as one to make sure they were heard by the moon mother.
Normally, an offering of light filled her with a semblance of peace, but tonight she was on edge, expecting Jean-Phillipe to arrive at any moment and spill the secrets of her sins.
It went beyond fear, though, a strange sense of hope filling her at the possibility of seeing the man.
Not a man, but a monster.
Why did she want him to show his face again?
A face that surely wasn’t his. Not when deep in her heart, she knew he was the beast from her dreams. If she could just see him once more, perhaps she could forget him, let the strange infatuation die for good.
One more night would ease the burden of her lust and let her fly with the moon mother again.
Stranger still was the ache in her stomach, tracing along the lines of the mark that refused to fade. She was certain it would be glowing red if she removed her dress, like the embers burning in the fire at the center of the garden.
As the night wore on, the luscious pain grew, her chanting prayers whispered through gritted teeth. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to handle the sharp sting much longer if dawn didn’t come soon.
When the sky finally began brightening, she let out a sigh of relief, snuffing her candle out on the order of the High Priestess and returning it to the temple.
Isabelle avoided the gazes of the other devotees, eager to return to her cottage and quell the ache between her legs, no matter how much shame filled her.
Eager to see Jean-Phillipe once again, even if it was only in her dreams. She slipped out of the temple without the notice of Henri or Pierre, hugging her reddened arms around herself.
As she hurried down the path, she felt her skin prickle, the deep blue of dawn like a filter over the forest. Was she being watched? She glanced back, seeing no one behind her, just the lights of the town in the distance.
It wasn’t a long walk to her cottage, but she hurried, her skirts rippling in the slight breeze. A sudden jolt of pain almost brought her to her knees, and she gripped her stomach, the skin warm even through the fabric of her dress.
What was happening? Was the moon mother punishing her for her wicked thoughts? Or was this the monster’s doing?
Isabelle stopped in her tracks, a strange noise drawing her attention from deep within the woods. There was a tug at her chest, like something was gripping its claws into her and drawing her into the dark.
As she took a step off the path, the ache in her stomach eased. It was how she normally felt after a devotional to the goddess, that release of the heaviness and internal pain that inhabited her body, but why now?
Straying from the path was a bad idea in the best of times, all manner of animals making the forest surrounding Marilet home, but now it was completely foolish, knowing some beast was haunting her dreams.
And yet, she found herself entering the darkness, step by step, like an unseen rope was dragging her into the forest’s depths. On she walked, her dress dragging along the dirt and twigs, her body relaxed even after the discomfort of the night.
“Were you looking for me, darling?”
Isabelle froze, the deep voice echoing through the trees as if it came from all around her. She recognized it, of course she did, even with the strange roughness to it.
Jean-Phillipe.
“I… I don’t know. I needed air.”
A dark chuckle filled the forest with its melody, sending a tremor through her as her eyes darted in all directions, though she could see nothing.
“Don’t forget, I know all of your secrets. You can’t lie to me.”
Isabelle turned, taking a tentative step toward the path, reprimanding herself for coming out here in the first place.
What had she been thinking? A foolish idea, one which would only get her hurt.
She didn’t know who this man was, what this man was, or what he would do to her.
All thoughts that tingled her nerves with excitement instead of fear, a pit of shame opening in her stomach.
“I’m sorry,” she said, soft moss caressing her bare feet as she hurried back toward the path, the light of her cottage like a beacon peeking through the trees.
Who was the apology for? The man? The Goddess? Herself?
She wasn’t certain, just knew she needed to get away, couldn’t let this beast devour her like he so surely would.
“Isabelle,” he cooed in a singsong voice, which prickled the hair on the back of her neck.
She started running, the light in the distance urging her on as the world narrowed around her. She gripped her skirt in her hands, crying out when a branch scratched against her face, though she continued onward.
Suddenly, the light was gone, snuffed out like a candle, and she paused, unsure whether to turn around or continue. Had he done it? Was she running straight into his arms? She could hardly think, hardly breathe, turning and moving back in the direction she’d come.
Where was she going? She could go into town, find Henri or Pierre, or someone else to help her. Was she going into town? No, she was going deeper into the woods, straining to hear anything beyond her feet thumping against the ground with each step.
Silence.
There was no beast barreling along behind her, no growl echoing through the night, just the sound of her own heaving breaths.
Where was he?
Branches slashed at her like clawed hands, and she tasted iron as blood trickled down her cheek, pooling in the corner of her lips. Her chest burned with exertion, and she slowed to a stop, electric energy racing through her veins.
Isabelle leaned against the trunk of a large tree, trying to catch her breath, trying to see anything in the dim forest.
Had it been another trick of her mind? What was she doing running around like a mad woman?
If anyone caught her out here, she’d be the laughingstock of town with her dirty feet and torn dress, the slash across her cheek.
With a flick of her tongue, she tasted blood, still warm as it trickled from the wound on her face.
As her breathing slowed, she pressed her palms to the tree trunk, grounding herself against the rough bark.
She was a fool, letting her imagination get away from her like that. Was Jean-Phillipe even real? She closed her eyes, breathing in the cool morning air, the scent of fresh grass and early spring flowers filling her nose.
There was a flutter of wings and a gust of air, and when she opened her eyes, her pulse quickened.
No, no, it wasn’t real. It had to be a dream.
A beast towered over her, like the one who stalked her slumber, his milky eyes burning right through her chest. He looked exactly as she remembered—light blue skin, a fanged maw, two large horns glinting menacingly in the low light.
His hair was dark, wild, and black vines circled his arms, some sort of strange tattoo that accentuated his muscles.
His wings were unfurled, plush feathers as dark as the moonless sky with oval-shaped eyes on the tips, black slit-like pupils with red irises.
“Well? Were you looking for me?” he asked, cocking his head, the smile on his face sending a tremor through her.
“Yes,” she said, surprising herself, though she knew it was the truth.
One more time. One more time, and she could forget about this man haunting her dreams, go back to her devotions. She could agree to being courted by Henri or Pierre, live a perfectly adequate life even if she wasn’t truly happy.
Just one more time.
“What would your goddess think of you? Giving yourself to me like this?”
Between the morning chill and the icy fear twisting through her, Isabelle trembled, swallowing hard but unable to find an answer.
The monster took a step forward, placing a clawed hand on the trunk and looking down at her like she was a mere rabbit quivering in the wake of a wolf. He cupped her cheek with his other hand, brushing his thumb against her lips and sending a jolt of arousal to her core.
Goddess, why did she want this? Why did she want him?
His touch was like fire, spreading through her body and filling her with need.
“You hurt yourself,” he noted, swiping a finger through the sticky blood on her cheek.
She didn’t respond, her arms frozen at her sides, her mouth utterly devoid of moisture.