Chapter 6 #2
Rul laughed, a deep, hearty bellow, and she shivered, the chill of fear taking away any warmth of arousal which still threatened to burst forth.
Jean-Phillipe moved to the end of the bed, petting his hand along her ankle.
“She is quite helpless like this, isn’t she?”
“Please,” Isabelle begged. “Just let me go home.”
Now they both laughed, like what she’d said was the funniest thing they’d ever heard.
“Darling, you seem to be under the impression that you have a choice. Whether here or earthbound, you’re mine. I own you now.”
She took a gulp of air, the words simultaneously making her heart race with fear and her cunt ache with twisted need.
With wide eyes, she watched as he circled her like a predator, pausing near her head and petting a hand across her cheek.
He was scrutinizing her, taking in every inch of her bare skin like he was planning out all the intricate ways he could torture her.
Instead, he reached for her wrist, unbuckling the cuff and massaging where it had bit into her skin.
Jean-Phillipe was silent as he did the same with her other limbs, Rul watching from afar with a strange look on his face.
“Can you walk?” he asked when he finished, and she nodded, though she wasn’t certain it was true. “Come, then.”
He extended a hand, and she accepted it, letting him help her out of the bed. She finally took notice of the room, an elaborate chandelier hanging from the ceiling and providing light.
The bed was made of dark wood, each post mounted with thick brass rings that linked to the leather cuffs she’d worn with silver chains.
There were three holes in the footboard, a large one with a mounted hook above it and two smaller ones on either side.
The mattress was topped with lush sheets and pillows of deep maroon, a silky sensation caressing her as she slid her way off the bed.
There were heavy black curtains covering parts of the walls—possibly windows?—and candles melting away on side tables. An elaborate rug with strange spiral motifs protected much of the stone floor, soft under her sore feet, her legs wobbly as Jean-Phillipe looped his arm around her waist.
They passed through a door into what appeared to be a bathing room, sheer black curtains leading the way to a central tub, which looked like it was carved from a single block of glimmering white crystal. Steam rose from the water, a mirror revealing the utter state she was in.
Her neatly braided hair from the offering of light was disheveled and tangled, dried blood coating her shoulder where she’d been marked.
The symbols on her belly were as clear as ever, pink lines etched into her pale skin, small punctures from the thorns creating a meandering pattern along her legs and ass.
The cilice glimmered, a silvery circle around her upper thigh.
Each scar was a reminder of her sins, of the way she’d given in so easily to the beast standing before her.
“Let’s take this off,” Jean-Phillipe said, reaching for the buckle of the cilice, though she quickly jerked backward.
He raised a brow, then knelt before her, grabbing the back of her thigh so she couldn’t shy away again.
“You can’t want pain all the time, can you?”
His voice was soft, his fingers nimble as they unbuckled the cilice and dropped it to the floor in a tinkling clatter.
Pinpricks of blood beaded on her skin, and before she could back up, he was licking across the wounds, her core tightening with arousal.
She bit her lip hard to stifle a moan as he spun her around, lapping up every bead of blood with his forked tongue and sending an erotic shiver up her spine.
“I deserve it,” she finally said, finding her words as he got to his feet.
“Do you deserve it, or do you enjoy it?”
A question she didn’t want to think about, let alone answer, even if deep down she already knew the truth.
“Both.”
Jean-Phillipe smirked, taking her hand and helping her into the tub as sticky cum dripped from her.
The heated water was an immediate balm on her sore muscles, and she rubbed her wrists where they’d been restrained by the cuffs, eyeing the man warily.
The demon.
Goddess, it all felt like a bad dream, but it was too real, too visceral.
Could her mind really be making all of this up?
Oh, she had let the moon mother down, the fact settling in her stomach like a great weight.
For so long, worshipping Celeste had been her greatest joy and devotion, and she’d scorned the one who’d protected her. And for what?
For a beast to fuck her in the forest? For a monster to claim her?
Right now, he didn’t seem like a monster, though, kneeling and helping her lean back until her hair was submerged in the water. Without speaking, he reached for a glass vial on the edge of the tub and dripped liquid onto her head, scrubbing up a lather as she breathed in the scent of cinnamon.
He was a bit clumsy, tugging at her hair too hard and forcing a whimper from her throat, his eyes widening for an instant before he continued.
Isabelle almost let her eyes shut, almost, but was determined to stay vigilant even as her body hummed with the pleasure of his touch. He dipped her back into the water and rinsed her hair before righting her once more.
“When can I go home?” she asked, wrapping her arms around her chest and eyeing him carefully.
The corner of Jean-Phillipe’s mouth quirked into a smile.
“You bound yourself to me. This is your home until I am done with you.”
She sucked in a breath, trying not to let despair overwhelm her. Surely the moon mother would protect her–wayward as she was–and bring her back into the light. She just had to have faith.
“And what am I supposed to do here?”
Jean-Phillipe tilted her chin toward him, studying her face like she was one of the holy paintings within the temple’s walls.
“You will serve us as we see fit, take us whenever we require it without complaint.”
“Both of you?” she asked, swallowing hard to stop the bile from rising in her throat.
“We share everything. Especially our beautiful playthings.”
So, they’d done this before. Of course, she wasn’t the first. There were likely other foolish humans within these walls—their choice of pleasure dolls.
“What’s going to happen to me?” she whispered as he rested his hand on her neck, not squeezing, though the possessive intent was clear.
“Well, that’s entirely up to you, darling.”
Another non-answer, one he clearly had no intention of clarifying. A thought came to her, yet another potential horror lurking on the horizon.
“Can demons… procreate?”
She had never let Henri or Pierre finish inside her for obvious reasons, but that had all changed this morning in the forest.
Jean-Phillipe chuckled.
“Not in the way you are thinking, my dear. Your precious womb is safe.”
When she raised a brow, he continued.
“Cambions cannot be created directly from the union of a human and a demon. Rul can sire offspring, but he requires a male and female human to do so.”
“How is that possible?” she asked, her morbid curiosity getting the better of her.
Jean-Phillipe leaned in close with an eager look on his face.
“Rul seduces a human man while in a female form and harvests his seed, then inseminates a human woman with it.”
“He can change his form like that?”
“Of course, though he much prefers presenting as a male.”
“And you? Have you sired offspring?”
“I am unable.”
“And why is that?”
“So many questions,” he said, cocking his head.
Isabelle remained stubbornly silent, waiting for him to answer.
Finally, he huffed, rolling his eyes.
“I was once human, and thus am unable to procreate any longer.”
How could that possibly be? The priestesses had taught them that le Voile was a place of punishment for your sins, one where there was no escape or salvation. But to turn into a beast like this? What could someone have done to be cursed in that way?
“Was that your name?” she asked, taking a guess. “Jean-Phillipe.”
His smile disappeared instantly, mouth pursed into a pout.
“Yes. That was my name. But I’m Bellinor now.”
“And this was your face?” she asked again, reaching and stroking her fingers across his pale cheek.
He winced at the touch, moving from her grasp and rising to his feet. He grabbed a towel and held it out for her expectantly as he answered.
“Yes, this was. Now get out.”
Isabelle stood, feeling refreshed after the soothing bath but not letting it appease her. Such a strange reaction to her questions, especially when they aimed toward him. The human turned demon.
What did he expect of her? If she were to remain here–even for a short while–she wanted to understand what was going on. He was clearly uncomfortable with whatever had cursed him here, and she vowed to get to the bottom of it.
She stepped out of the tub and let him wrap her in the warm towel, her back pressed flush against his chest.
“How did you get here?”
Bellinor gripped her wet hair, yanking her head back so he could hiss in her ear, shock jolting through her after the seemingly polite conversation.
“Don’t ask questions you won’t like the answers to.”
He shoved her forward, and she almost tripped, steadying herself as the towel fell to the floor. She turned to see a scowl plastered on his face, his gaze raking over her naked body. He cleared his throat, though still eyed her with a look of utter disdain.
“A feast has been prepared for you. A servant will return with something for you to wear, then escort you to the dining hall.”
He bowed slightly, then hurried from the room, uncharacteristically disarrayed.
Before Isabelle could ponder his peculiar reaction, the door opened once more and something walked in.
It stepped toward her with its arms outstretched, handing her a wrapped parcel without saying a word.
Of course, it didn’t speak; its face was as blank as a slate, just a smooth, milky white surface where the eyes, nose, and mouth should be.
It looked like a mannequin, something the seamstress in Marilet used, a humanoid figure with no discernable features.
“Thank you,” Isabelle said quietly, unsure whether she should speak to the thing.
She moved to sit on one of the chairs and unwrapped the package, keeping her eye on the servant the entire time.
There were a number of tiny vials, and when she opened one, the scent of sun-drenched flowers met her nose.
Her fingers grazed soft fabric, sheer marquisette in many layers of sage green, along with a sky-colored corset that laced up in front.
She took a few moments to dress, admiring herself in the mirror while she fixed her hair with the brush provided.
Such a strange place. Such a strange man.
One moment, he was chasing her through the woods like an animal, and the next he was giving her the most beautifully crafted pieces of clothing she’d ever laid her hands on. She kept her brown hair loose, letting the air dry the tendrils, then cleared her throat to get the servant’s attention.
The mannequin gestured toward the door, and Isabelle nodded, following as it escorted her from the room, nerves prickling her skin.