Chapter 8
ISABELLE STRETCHED, YAWNING AS she tried to drag herself out of her slumber.
There was a tickle at her thighs, not unpleasant, though she swiped at her leg to try to figure out what it was. She felt warm flesh and her eyes shot open, Rul’s hand under her bloodied nightgown.
She grabbed his arm, and he paused his movement, the smile on his face making her stomach turn.
“What are you doing here? Where’s Bellinor?”
She’d fallen asleep in his arms last night and hadn’t awoken until now. Was it morning? Did they have morning in a place like this? She felt well rested, but she had no way of knowing how long she’d been out of it.
Rul was shirtless as he lounged on the bed next to her, propped up on his elbow, lithe muscles flexing in the light of the fire. Thankfully, he had pants on, though they were tight enough to reveal the bulge that told her exactly why he’d come to her bed.
“What? Do you miss him already?”
Of course, she didn’t. He’d snuck into her room in the middle of her night with ill intentions, had used a knife handle on her when she dared to fight him. He was a vile creature who she had no business thinking about in any way other than how she might actually hurt him next time.
And yet she’d been the one who’d begged him to stay, who wanted to have sex with him as Jean-Phillipe, not Bellinor. It was like a fog was clouding her mind, obscuring her devotion to Celeste.
“No,” she said, perhaps a bit too defensively. “I was just wondering.”
“He spends a lot of time in his study.”
“Doing what?”
Rul shrugged.
“Creating things. Brooding. Coming up with new ways to entice fair maidens to our domicile.”
A pit opened in her stomach, and she turned onto her back, staring up at the high ceiling. And why exactly was she upset? No, the only reason she balked at the thought of being replaced was because it meant another poor soul going through the same torment as herself.
“He told me about last night,” Rul said with a chuckle. “You are very naughty.”
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, a foolish grin plastered on his face.
“I mean, we’ve tried just about everything, and he’s never fucked me with a knife. Lucky girl.”
She wasn’t sure how that could be considered lucky, but she tried to focus on getting information.
“What exactly is your relationship with him?”
Rul cleared his throat, face twisted into a grimace like he was trying not to show his discomfort.
“We bring each other pleasure,” he said, though his sly grin had disappeared.
“Do you love him?”
She wondered if Bellinor was like Celeste to him, a being he cherished beyond all measure, though with the distinct difference that he was corporeal in this world, unlike the moon mother.
“Love? There is no love in le Voile, just lust and rapture. I give myself to him in any way he asks, and he sustains me.”
“Sustains you?”
In a flash, Rul was on top of her, pinning both arms above her head. He ground his erection against her entrance, the sensation awakening the arousal that always seemed to lay dormant within her.
“An incubus feeds on lust and pleasure, on the exquisite excess of erotic revelry. I need it to survive.”
His mouth was at her neck, biting, sucking, pressing kisses to the skin that made her entire body hum with need.
“Is that why Bellinor kidnaps people? For you or for him?”
Rul cocked his head, slowing his rutting.
“He doesn’t kidnap anyone. They all come here willingly. Including you.”
Isabelle struggled in his grasp, tired of the way they continued to put the blame on her, but as always, it was useless.
“You all keep saying that, but I didn’t realize what it meant to be bonded.”
“And whose fault is that?”
Tears burned her eyes, guilt welling in her chest and tightening her throat. It was her fault, for letting her lust consume her, for listening to the needs of her body and not her soul. She’d failed Celeste, had failed the temple, had failed herself.
“There, there, don’t cry,” he said, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “I can tell he is pleased with you. I am too. You will be different from the others. I promise I can… behave.”
A tremor of fear met the tingling burn of arousal, a curiosity it would probably be wiser not to satisfy, but she needed to know.
“What happened to the others?”
“Sometimes we forget our own strength. Eventually we tire of them and offer them freedom.”
Horror twisted in her stomach like a knife, her mind whirling with all the possibilities of what his answer meant. But perhaps there was some hope.
“Offer them freedom?”
He nodded.
“Yes, though they are forever changed by their time here.”
“So, I’ll be able to go home?”
Rul cocked his head with a wry smile.
“I don’t see that happening anytime soon. Not with the way Bellinor looks at you like you’re the most valuable jewel in the universe.”
Cold shuddered up her spine, and she started struggling again, a distinct sense of unease permeating through her. She was a nobody, worth nothing at all, certainly not some prized trinket to put on a pedestal.
“Can you get off me?”
Rul held her down for a few more moments before rolling his eyes and sliding off of her, though he pulled her into his arms.
“Would you like me to show you around?”
It felt like a trick, the possibility that this offer was truly benevolent less likely than her chances of escaping, but she didn’t know what choice she had.
“Fine.”
He chuckled.
“We’ll get you something to eat first. And then maybe after your belly is full, you’ll be more in the mood for fun.”
Isabelle groaned, though a small part of her was pleased he’d respected her wishes, even if it was in the smallest capacity possible. Even if, in reality, she was very much in the mood, the incubus’ strong embrace and tender kisses making her cunt tighten with erotic need.
“Does this place have any coffee?”
Rul quirked a brow as he sat across from her in the dining room, a half-eaten croissant on her plate.
It tasted divine, the perfect mix of buttery and flaky, practically melting in her mouth.
Whoever had made it would have given Margot–the woman who baked pastries for the café–a run for her money, certainly.
Isabelle wore a simple dress made of layers of sheer cloth, as pink as a tulip’s petal, her nipples visible if one looked close enough. A thrill had raced through her when she’d put it on, the silky smooth fabric divine against her bare skin and the expression on Rul’s face positively feral.
“I can get you some if that would please you,” he answered, and she nodded, taking another bite of her croissant.
She wondered if a servant would bring some in, but Rul didn’t move from his spot, instead raising his hands in front of him and clasping them together lightly.
Before she could ask what he was doing, his hands separated, a ball of black light floating between them.
He massaged the substance, which pulsed with its own energy, like it was a living, breathing being.
From the void, the intoxicating scent of freshly ground coffee bloomed, bringing her back to the café in Marilet.
As the dark orb swirled, a porcelain cup appeared, white with dainty pink florals dotting the surface and a delicate saucer underneath.
Wisps of steam rose as the liquid took form, a creamy brown that she recognized.
Café au lait.
Rul held the cup and saucer out to her, a pleased grin on his face.
“How did you do that?” she asked, taking the coffee and setting it on the table in front of her.
She inspected it, raising it to her lips and wondering if it was some sort of trick, though she knew she was too desperate to care.
“Those who are born of le Voile can learn how to shape it. Bellinor is an… exception, and much more skilled than I, though I can do some simple things. He prepared your feast last night.”
Isabelle took a tentative sip, the taste both deeply comforting and oddly electric, delivering the perfect zing.
“The whole feast?” she asked, savoring the warmth of the coffee, the energy it gave her after the strange day.
“Anything for his precious little human.”
Rul was mocking her, and she glared, heaving out a deep breath.
She tried not to be happy about the efforts Bellinor went to in order to please her, the mountains of food that she never could have dreamed of back home.
Far from the ascetic meals she shared with other devotees at the temple or the simple ones she cooked in her cottage, the overindulgence was obscene, though she had guiltily enjoyed it.
This place was supposed to be a hellish abyss, and yet he had crafted something so perfect from nothing.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, taking another delicious sip.
Rul pursed his lips, resting his chin on his hand.
“I suppose you wouldn’t. It’s been a long while since he brought a human here for us. Decades actually, but you caught his eye.”
She ignored the strange focus on her, another part of his statement shocking her.
“Decades?”
He nodded.
“Time passes… differently here. It can stretch on and on at times or rush by. Bellinor can keep me satiated on his own, so others are only brought at his whim.”
“How old are you?”
Rul chuckled, a delighted grin on his face.
“I don’t remember anymore. Old.”
“And Bellinor? He was human once…”
“That he was, though he doesn’t talk much about it.”
“He came here when he died?” she asked, popping the last bite of croissant in her mouth.
Rul cocked his head, confusion furrowing his brow.
“He didn’t die earthbound. He was sent here.”
“Sent by who?”
He chuckled, shaking his head.
“You really are a curious little kitty, aren’t you? Finish up so I can show you le Jardin.”
Isabelle dutifully finished the last decadent sip, eyeing Rul with suspicion. She buzzed with peculiar energy, from the fabricated coffee or the new information, she wasn’t sure.
“Thank you. For the coffee, I mean.”
“Of course, my sweet. Anything for our precious human.”