Chapter Eleven

One of the most crucial teachings in the monastery was the mastery of one's emotions. While I was a beast, my emotions controlled every aspect of my savage life. Granted, my emotions weren't very complex—they were simplified to only anger and desire, but they were the ones steering the ship, so to speak.

Every day, we would wake at four in the morning, in the dark and with the birdsong. The monastery was located on top of a jagged rock that had broken away from the mountain pass long ago. We were completely isolated, with few visitors daring to traverse the ladders to reach us.

Despite this, my job every morning was to haul up the ladders and clean the rungs. We were told that when we did welcome people, they couldn't dirty their feet—it would be unholy—so each rung had to be wiped clean before the day began.

The problem was that the rock was also home to a nesting colony of wallcreepers that used the ladders as a perch as they pecked at insects on the rock. Where they perched, they would shit. As soon as I cleaned the ladder, I would lower it, and the birds would fly back to use it as their own little latrine.

Again and again.

One could see how this was a lesson in patience and anger management. In time, the seemingly pointless and bothersome work taught me how to store my rage away. I became even-keeled, methodical in my thoughts, and learned how to put distance between me and my emotions, to be an observer and not a participant.

I no longer let anger rule me.

I no longer let desire rule me.

Until tonight.

Until Larimar batted her damn lashes and stared up at me with those seductive lilac eyes, asking for me to treat her kindly, if I knew what loneliness was, as if I hadn't spent most of my life in its clutches.

So fucking lonely.

Then, she told me to kiss her until she couldn't speak, and all I wanted to do was exactly that. To stop her from saying those words that were starting to sink into my heart like bile. To feel her lips and her tongue and taste her so deeply that she'd become part of my veins.

But desire didn't win out—not at first.

Instead, it was anger, a fanged, hairy shadow that shot out of me as I grabbed her throat.

I hold it now, my fingers squeezing her soft skin tightly, and I'm watching the light start to leave her beautiful eyes. In this moment, I know I'm willing to kill her to not feel anything for her.

This terrifies me.

Sheterrifies me.

I let her go.

She gasps, her hands going to her throat to soothe the bruises I left behind.

I think to those early mornings on the mountain.

I think of birdsong until the anger dissipates.

Anger quickly replaced with desire.

And for desire, there is no cure.

I want her.

I need her.

I reach out again and grab her face, holding it roughly in one hand while my other hand goes to her hair, making a tight fist. I want to see if her tongue tastes like sugared, salted lemons.

She lets out a cry, her mouth falling open, petulant and pink and wet.

Blood thrums in my groin as lust takes hold.

And I lean into it. Lean into her.

I kiss her.

I kiss her hard.

This is punishment.

For her for being a little brat.

For me for not kissing her earlier.

Christ, I want to kiss her until we both choke on it.

When was the last time I felt a woman's lips? I can't remember, but my body knows exactly what it wants. It wants her tongue fucking my mouth, slick and soft. It wants her greedy little moans.

She gives me both, offering them up on a silver platter.

I grunt into her mouth, her tongue teasing, licking me as I'm licking her. It slides beside mine—slick and smooth, tasting of the sea and herbs—and the heat in my trousers grows until it becomes unbearable, a fire that will consume the both of us if I let it go on too long.

Let us burn.

My mouth opens wider, wanting to devour her whole, and she matches me, gasping in a way that has a lightning storm forming in my chest. I twist my fingers into her silky hair, bite her lips, fuck her tongue like a starving man.

She pulls back, just enough to catch her breath, and my fist in her hair grows tighter, as if it will help me stay in control.

But I'm losing hold.

"Take me," she whispers, her voice raw, roughed up with need.

I try to swallow and can't.

It's too much. There's something clawing up my chest, into my throat.

The monster thrives on this.

I want to give the monster everything.

I want him to feed.

"Forget your vows," she rasps, leaning in to take my bottom lip between her teeth. She tugs on it hard, my eyes rolling back in my head. "Forget your vows and take me. Please."

This beautiful creature of mine.

Begging for me.

Bound to me.

Therefore, I must keep her.

I must keep her alive.

Anger is a firestorm in my chest, but it all seems to go to my cock, and I let out a frustrated roar.

I shove her back to the floor and reach down for her. My shaking hands almost go for the bottom of her shift, but there's a moment of divine intervention, and I grab the fabric of her neckline instead.

I growl as I rip her shift open down the middle, exposing those full tits of hers. I'd been staring at them for weeks now, and suddenly, after being covered up for a day, it's like I'm seeing them with new eyes, seeing something I shouldn't.

Forbidden fruit to eat.

I lean over and spit on her chest, once, twice, and then move over so I'm straddling her. She stares up at me with wild, questioning eyes, her blonde hair spilling around her like a halo. I want nothing more than to shoot my seed all over that beautiful face, to revel in the depravity of it all, and from the wanton way she's biting her lip, I think she might want the same.

My sea goddess wants to be taken, but I'd be a fool to give her what she wants, so I'll take her as selfishly as I can.

Like I'm running out of time, I bring my cock out of the flap of my trousers, heavy, solid, and hot in my hands, my movements frantic.

Her eyes go even bigger at the sight of it—longing mixed with a dash of fear. I can't help but feel satisfied at her reaction; it has been a long time since anyone has looked at me like that.

I move up so I'm just below her chest, my rigid cock hitting the skin between her breasts with a heavy smack, making the spit fly. This will be hard to do without her help, but she's a quick learner. She reaches up, setting her hands on either side of her breasts, pushing them in so they engulf my dick.

"Yes," I hiss, planting my hands on either side of her head as I begin shamelessly rutting myself between her tits like a fucking animal. I know I must look utterly depraved, full of dirty sins I want to unleash on her, like a man so driven by the primal need to come that I have to take it any way I can.

I'm desperate now, reduced to a savage creature as I pump and thrust on pure wild instinct. When the friction becomes too much, I spit on my palm and stroke over my cock, making sure to capture the weeping precum at the tip before spreading it down my stiff length.

"I want to see it," she whispers, her head rising to catch my earlobe between her teeth. "I want to see you come."

A feverish growl rumbles through me, and I pump my hips harder, the tip of my cock hitting the bottom of her chin, making me wince. It's messy, animalistic, and about to get messier.

Wildfire spreads down my spine, gathering at the base with a sharp stab of sinful need, and I'm unable to hold back. I erupt, watching as long, thick ropes of cum stream over her chest and neck, face and hair. I keep coming, pumping fast and hard, and Larimar opens her mouth so some of my release slips through her lips and onto her tongue.

Finally, I'm empty, my cock spent and twitching, though I know I could go again in a second. Except I wouldn't fuck her tits again. Maybe her mouth. Or maybe I would throw my vows to the wind and wedge into that pretty little cunt of hers, just like she wants. Maybe I'll find salvation there.

Maybe I'll find hell.

For now, though, I am dizzy and somewhat sated, the fruitless anger dissipating and that sweet haze of peace washing over me. I get to my feet carefully and loom over her. I want to sear this image of her into my brain: lying below me, my ejaculate sprayed over her, her eyes dancing with coy excitement as she stares up at me.

Filthy, filthy priest, I think.

I tuck my cock back into my trousers and then grab one of my robes before kneeling beside Larimar and dabbing it across the mess I left. It's the least I can do. Besides, the stains will remind me of her while I'm delivering my sermon.

She sits up and looks at her shift. "This didn't last very long."

"Thankfully, I brought you a spare," I say, pulling up the shift on her shoulders, just so her breasts are barely covered.

"May I ask where you got these clothes from? Do you keep women's garments on hand, perhaps locked in a trunk somewhere, just in case you find a Syren?"

I give her a wry smile as I sit down on the chair. "I stole them."

She looks surprised. "From who?"

"The general's wife. They live in another town, about a full day's ride from here."

Her lip pouts slightly as she frowns, thinking. Now that I know what her lips feel like, what her mouth tastes like, I can't help but want to kiss her again.

But that would be a mistake. If I kissed her, I would become ensnared by her feminine wiles. Only now is that haze starting to lift, hard clarity settling back into my bones. I need to put distance between us again. I need to stop thinking with my dick.

"When did you do all this?" she asks.

"Last night."

"But when?"

"When I left you on the cross."

"But a full day's ride…"

"You know I can move fast. Being a blood-drinker isn't just about drinking blood to survive. You know how strong I am. All my senses are heightened, and I'm fast too."

"Anything else I should know?" she asks with a small smile.

"I'm immortal."

She seems surprised by that admission, her mouth forming an O, and for one lewd second, I dream about grabbing her head and shoving my dick past her lips.

Lord, protect me from my thoughts.

"You mean you can't die?" she finally says.

I shrug. "Well, it's not that I can't. I can, but it takes a specific kind of effort. Otherwise, I will live until the end of time. How long do you Syrens live?"

"Three hundred years, give or take," she says.

"That's still a long time."

"I suppose, though it's hard to know now that I'm in this body," she says, gesturing to herself, and I try not to stare at the body in question.

"You still have Syren blood. You have your gills, though thankfully, not your teeth."

"No," she says in an odd voice, looking away as she curls her fingers into her palm. "Or my claws."

"I'm sure you'll still live a very long time."

She looks up at me sharply. "A long time in your care," she says, the bitterness clear in her tone.

I nod, giving her a placating smile. "Yes."

One day, she'll get used to it. She might even like it.

"Kind of funny, isn't it?" she says slowly. "To be a priest when there's no chance of you being called to the afterlife to meet your maker."

"That might still happen. I could be terribly unlucky. There are only three ways to kill a blood-drinker."

"What are they?" she asks with glinting eyes.

I chuckle. "I wouldn't dare give you that information, not when you want me dead."

"I don't want you dead…" She trails off. "But I would kill you if I had to."

I shrug, taking no offense. How can I, when I claimed I would slaughter her one day?

She studies me, her gaze sliding over my features, pausing at my mouth, my nose, my brow, as if she'll find some answers there. "You had said you were a father once."

I visibly bristle, shoulders stiffening.

"Did you have a family?" she goes on, her voice gentle now. "Children? A wife?"

A dull pain forms beneath my chest, the kind I usually run from. But her eyes are looking at me more closely now, and I feel trapped, with nowhere to go.

"I had a wife, a son, and a daughter," I manage to say. I shouldn't have even said that, but it's as if I was compelled to, as if I want to tell this little fish everything.

Distance, I remind myself. Put distance between you in every way.

"What happened to them? Were they turned too?"

I glance down at my hands. These same hands that pray to God are the same hands that belong to a beast.

I can only shake my head. "No." My voice comes out in a hush. "It was only me." I close my eyes, and I can see it now: the moments I try so hard to bury alongside my demons. It comes slowly, like a dream descending through the fog, one I know will quickly turn into a nightmare.

I take in a deep, shaking breath.

And, against my better judgment, I tell Larimar my beginning.

And my end.

"I was in the village, at my shop as a blacksmith, about to finish my work for the day," I say to her. "My shop was at the end of a cobblestone street, and it was quiet that early evening. The sun was still in the sky, summer twilight a few hours away. There were early crickets and the smell of sunbaked wheat from the surrounding fields, and suddenly, the crickets stopped.

"Darkness descended, and I remember looking at the sun shining beyond the oak, but the air had a shadowiness to it that I couldn't explain, and suddenly, I was chilled down to the bone. The magic I could always feel in my veins was starting to buzz like hornets.

"They came out of the forest, a band of them on foot, and I remember wondering why I hadn't heard them. How could this group of men have come so fast through that thicket without making a sound?

"But as they came closer, I understood. The magic in my veins had been warning me. They were not men.

"The one at the front, dark hair, wide jaw, was smiling like a fool. I saw the fangs. Then, I saw the sword. It plunged straight into my heart, killing me on the spot.

"My last memories of a man, of a pure human being, were of me on the ground. The one who stabbed me took the sword from my chest and told me his name was Kaleid, that he was the Son of Skarde, and I was going to join his army of monsters. Then he took his sword and sliced open his wrist. I was dying as he put his wrist to my mouth. I remember tasting his blood, and that was it."

I glance over to see her leaning toward me, worrying her lip between her teeth. "That was it?" she whispers.

I nod. "Everything after that was just…shadows. Anger. Hunger…"

"What happened to your family?" she asks in a small voice.

I give my head a shake. I can't admit it, even to her, even though, somehow, I know she would understand.

Clearing my throat, I get to my feet. "I better go back to my house," I tell her. "Another villager might stop by with more bread."

She blinks at me. "You're leaving me again?"

I'm about to tell her yes and walk away, but I remember her hands are undone. Despite what I just confided in her, the intimacy between us isn't real. She is still my prisoner, my captive, my pet, and she will do all she can to escape.

Even kill me if she has to, I think. I'm even more glad I didn't tell her how.

I pick up the rope and stand over her, and she flinches, backing up as if trying to get away.

"I'm sorry," I say, reaching for her arms. She tries to yank them out of my grasp, but my hands are large, my grip strong.

"No, you're not," she cries out softly, still fighting me.

"I am sorry," I snap, quickly wrapping the rope around one wrist before pushing her over on her stomach and tying her hands behind her back. "I wish I wasn't this way, but I am. I've done far worse than what I'm doing to you. Perhaps you should try to be a little grateful."

"Grateful?" she yells through her ruined voice. "Grateful that you keep me here to use for whatever you want?"

I flip her back over and lean over her, grabbing her chin between my fingers. "Don't act like you're not trying to use me too."

"Use you for what?"

"A stepping stone for what you really want."

"And what's that?"

I press my lips together in a grunt. That's the problem: I don't know what she really wants, but it's something.

And it's sure as hell not me.

"I'll be back tomorrow," I tell her, letting go of her face and straightening back up. "Bring you some water so you don't have to drink the church's wine. More food if you're hungry. Perhaps even a proper bed."

I leave her there on the floor, on a pile of dresses that will probably never see the light of day, making sure to lock the door after me.

The evening is darker than sin as I step out of the church and walk toward my cottage. The lone candle in the window would look inviting to anyone else but me. The fact is, I don't want to be with my thoughts. I want to be in the back room with her, even if I'm telling her things no one but Abe would know. But that's all the more reason I must be alone.

Suddenly, I sniff an unwelcome scent in the air.

I'm not alone after all.

"Father Aragon."

I turn to see one of the soldiers walking past the church and coming toward me, the same suspicious one I dealt with after Larimar's attack on the fishermen.

"What is it, son?" I ask as a caring priest would, pressing my palms together as if in prayer.

"You've been quite busy these nights," the soldier says, stopping a few feet away. "Always coming and going into the church."

How damn observant of him.

"God is active at all hours of the night," I tell him with my most patient smile. "I don't take time off from my mission."

The soldier's eyes are cold, and I wonder if mine look the same.

"You should be careful around here," he says, hidden meaning lacing his words. "At night. Us soldiers are few and far between. You're lucky I patrol here as often as I do."

"I don't fear anything except God's judgment," I say with reverence.

The soldier frowns and then gives me a sour smile. "Of course not. Well, just so you know. We don't want what happened to those fishermen to happen to you."

He then turns on his heel and walks away, disappearing past my cottage and into the darkness.

I don't want that to happen to me either.