Chapter 17 Elior
Elior
I woke just before dawn, with Daddy’s warmth still clinging to my skin. He’d slipped out hours ago, but the memory of him lingered, and the sheets smelled like him. I shouldn’t have felt so peaceful, wrapped in his scent. Father taught that yielding to the flesh brought only corruption.
But when I thought of Daddy’s hands, his voice in the dark, the way he made me feel so loved, I didn’t feel corrupted.
I felt whole.
And lately, that feeling wasn’t fading when he left. It was staying with me, following me like a little happy shadow. Even now, as I washed and dressed for the day ahead, there was a hum under my skin, a brightness I didn’t know how to hide.
Father had noticed something—that much was impossible to miss.
The past few days, he’d been taut as a pulled wire.
Short-tempered, erratic, and always watching me with this scrutiny, as if he were trying to solve a puzzle he wasn’t sure existed—as if he could smell sin on me but couldn’t quite place the scent.
“Elior,” he’d say, whenever he caught my eye, his voice dipped in warning. No reason, no explanation.
The congregation had noticed his shift, too. They looked at Father with even more fear and doubt in their eyes.
Yet every forbidden moment with Daddy only deepened the ache in my chest, made me want more—more warmth, more closeness, more of the quiet safety I never knew I’d been starved for.
I tried to bury it—the want. But sometimes, I just couldn’t. And when I caught myself smiling at nothing, I felt an icy chill run through me at the thought of Father finding out.
Standing in the narrow window of my room now, looking out toward the fields, I rubbed my thumb over the faint bruising on my hip, no doubt left from Daddy’s fingers pressed against my skin.
I should have confessed.
But confession meant punishment.
And punishment meant losing the only thing in my life that felt good. The only thing in life that was mine.
I told myself Father was simply distracted, or tired, or angry about something else entirely—that he couldn’t possibly suspect the truth. That he wouldn’t imagine I could ever disobey him so profoundly.
A knock sounded at my door.
A precise, sharp rap.
Father’s knock.
My breath stalled.
“Elior,” Father’s voice called through the door, calm but clipped.
My heart gave a single, jarring kick. I smoothed my robe, forced my breath steady, and rushed to the door leading to the chapel.
I hurriedly opened it.
Father stood in the hallway, his robe as immaculate as always, his hands folded behind his back. He wasn’t scowling, but something in his expression was tight, like he’d been awake for hours, overthinking. The dark circles under his eyes seemed to confirm that.
“Good morning, Father,” I murmured, bowing my head.
His gaze traveled over me, assessing. “You look well.”
I swallowed. “Oh, um, thank you, Father…”
“The Light has been shining through you,” he said.
“T-thank you.”
His eyes lingered on my face—too long, too scrutinizing. I felt utterly transparent under that stare.
“Walk with me,” he said.
I followed him into the sanctuary, anxiety buzzing under my skin. I kept my gaze on the floor, but I could feel Father’s attention skimming over me in intervals.
He stopped toward the back of the chapel, gesturing at the empty pew at his side. We sat down, the old bench creaking underneath us.
“You’ve seemed… different,” he said quietly, “ever since you took that Silas’s boy’s punishment.”
My throat tightened. “I’ve been trying to be better,” I whispered. “To serve you properly.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
My fingers fidgeted with my robe.
“Is there something you wish to confess?” he asked.
I froze.
My lungs barely expanded as I tried to think, to sift through possible meanings, to hear the exact tone he’d used.
It wasn’t angry or disappointed.
No. It was hungry.
He wanted to hear something specific. And he was waiting to see if I would offer it willingly.
“No, Father,” I murmured. “I have nothing to confess.”
For a long moment, he only watched me—eyes narrowing, breath steady, mind working. Then, slowly, he nodded.
“Very well. I’ll take you at your word.” His voice softened, though it felt colder somehow. “For now.”
A coil of unease wound tight in my gut.
“Yes, Father. Thank you.”
“My son,” he murmured. He reached out—not touching, but lifting his hand toward my cheek, hovering there as if considering it. He lowered it before contact. “Keep yourself pure, Elior, for all our sakes. Do not succumb to the Devil and his shadows.”
“Never, Father,” I breathed, feeling faint.
“Good.” He stood, looking down at me. “Now. It is time for morning prayers.”
* * *
Father never outright said he was watching me, never hovered close enough for others to notice. Still, I felt him all the same—his gaze brushing the back of my neck whenever I left a room, the weight of his attention prickling along my spine each time my steps carried me too far from the chapel.
Every time I dared to glance up, he was there.
By midday, my nerves were stretched thin.
Daddy found me on the edge of the compound, staring blankly out at the crops blowing in the wind.
“Hey,” he murmured, brushing his fingers over mine.
I flinched before I could stop myself.
His brow creased. “Elior…?”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered quickly. “I’m just—Father’s been acting strange today.”
He tilted his head. “Strange how?”
“He keeps watching me.” I knotted my fingers together. “Everywhere I go, I can feel it. Like he’s waiting for me to slip up.”
Daddy’s jaw tightened in a way that made my chest warm with both fear and comfort. “You’re not slipping up—you won’t,” he said. “You’re just living your life. That’s not a crime.”
It wasn’t a crime out there, maybe.
But in here…
Here, it could be a death sentence.
I didn’t say that. I just nodded and breathed in his scent, the smell comforting in a way that should’ve felt sinful, but didn’t at all.
Just before I went to lean into him, my ears pricked, hearing footsteps approaching us.
Daddy must have heard it too, as his hand dropped from mine instantly. He stepped away, mask settling over his face so seamlessly it made my heart clench.
A second later, Brother Gabriel’s voice sounded from behind us. “Elior, Father Malachi requests your presence at his home.”
My stomach swooped. “Now?”
“Yes. He said immediately.”
Daddy kept his posture neutral, but something sharp flickered through his eyes—worry, anger, and something unspoken.
“I’ll be right there,” I told Gabriel.
He nodded, looking between me and Daddy—Jace, I mean—with an odd coldness in his gaze, then turned and walked away.
For a moment, it was silent, but then, Jace stepped closer—not touching, but close enough that I felt surrounded by him. “Be careful,” he murmured. “Whatever this is, don’t let him get inside your head. I’ll wait for you, cherub.”
“Okay,” I whispered shakily.
Jace’s brows furrowed in concern. “Is there something more that you’re not telling me? You look terrified, baby.”
“No, I just… I think I’m just being a little paranoid. I’m sure it’ll be fine, Daddy. Father used to call on me frequently for many things.”
Jace didn’t look convinced. Not even a little.
His mouth pressed into a thin line, and that muscle in his jaw ticked the way it did when he was resisting the urge to grab me and pull me into him.
“Maybe he used to call on you frequently,” he said slowly, “but things aren’t the same right now. You feel that, don’t you?”
I swallowed. Hard.
Because yes—I did. I felt it in the marrow of my bones.
“I’ll be okay,” I said again, softer this time, as if lowering my voice might make it true.
He stepped closer, gaze flicking toward the path Gabriel had taken. Then he tilted his head down just enough that his words brushed against my ear.
“If he says anything that scares you, you leave and come find me. Promise me that, cherub.” The intensity in his voice made my breath catch.
“I will,” I whispered. “I promise.”
Still, he didn’t move away.
His hand twitched, like he almost reached for me and then remembered he couldn’t. Not out here, not where it was possible for someone to see.
He exhaled, a frustrated sound. “Go on,” he murmured, his voice softening. “Just stay safe, Elior. I love you.”
“I love you too,” I breathed out before giving him one last look—one that I hoped conveyed how much I didn’t want to go, how much I wanted to lean into him and let him tell me it would all be fine.
But I turned away.
The walk across the compound felt like wading through thick, murky water. Every footstep sounded too loud in my ears. Every quiet rustle of leaves or drifting murmur of conversation felt charged.
Father’s house sat on the outskirts of the compound, the shingles gleaming in the afternoon sun. It looked peaceful, but as I approached, a prickling sensation crawled up my spine.
The front door stood slightly ajar.
Father never left his door open. Unlocked? Sure. But actually open? Never.
My pulse stuttered. I lifted my hand and tapped lightly on the door, even though it was already cracked open. “Father…? I’m here.”
Silence.
A horrible, heavy silence.
My fingers curled around the edge of the door. I pushed it open slowly, breath catching as the familiar smell of polished wood washed over me.
“Father?” I called again, doing my best to keep my voice from shaking. “Father, Brother Gabriel said you wanted to see me? Where are you?”
A soft sound answered—somewhere deeper in the house. Not quite a word. More like… a breath. A sigh. Maybe even a quiet hum.
I stepped inside fully, letting the door fall shut behind me with a gentle click.
“Father?”
Finally, making me jump, he answered, “In my office, boy,” voice floating from the back of the house.
I swallowed and stepped down the narrow hallway. The house felt colder than usual, as if the sunlight hadn’t managed to reach inside today.