Celeste and her devotees were there when her father had died, when she needed a job, when an infestation of locusts had destroyed the crops and famine had set in. They welcomed her with open arms, providing food and opportunities when she needed it, but most importantly, giving her a sense of belonging, like she wasn’t alone in the world.
Like she had someone watching over her.
“Faith is such an important thing, isn’t it?”
A chill shuddered down her spine, the words innocent enough, though there was a darkness in his voice that told her he was playing with her. Like she was a toy to be trifled with.
But the moon mother would protect her, like she always did.
Isabelle had faith.
“Very important,monsieur. Now, I really must be going,” she said quickly, standing before he could reel her in once more.
She gave a curt bow, the man’s smirk seared in her mind as she darted back to the bar and waited for another customer to order, distinctly aware of the sharp tines digging into her flesh.
CHAPTER 3
ISABELLE HURRIED DOWN THE dirt path, the quarter moon peeking through the trees and illuminating her in its otherworldly glow. She said her prayers, begging the moon mother for protection as she caught sight of her small cottage in the distance.
A gift bequeathed to her by her late father, a place still full of the memories of their evenings spent playing chess and the stories he told her of the mother she’d never known.
There were dark memories too, ones she tried her best to forget, depressive episodes so grim he had locked himself away in his room for days. And the moment she lost him for good, the only person who had ever loved her and made her feel safe.
The strange man, Jean-Phillipe, had frightened her, and she was eager to stoke the fire and curl up in her bed. She’d go to the temple tomorrow, beg Celeste for protection from whatever evil the manworshipped. And in a week’s time, there would be the offering of light, and she would repent for her sins.
The hoot of an owl echoed through the silent woods, and she quickened her pace, wrapping her arms tightly around herself.
Suddenly, a figure stepped out of the shadows, blocking the path to her cottage. It was easy to recognize him in the pale moonlight, that evil grin unmistakable.
“Now, where are you running off to, darling?”
Isabelle took a gulp of air, stopping in her tracks.
“N-Nowhere…”
She weighed her options, fear gripping her with icy tendrils as she kept her eyes glued to the stranger. She could flee, but she had no faith in her ability to outrun this man. His body was lithe, a sturdy chest and stout thighs that would easily catch her. Screaming would do little good out here, isolated from the rest of the town.
“Nowhere? Just dancing under the moonlight like a good little witch, hmm?”
Isabelle furrowed her brows, trying to calm her racing heart, though it did little good. What was he talking about?Good little witch?
“Come, show me your home, Isabelle. I’m eager to see inside your lovely cottage.”
The words sent a chill through her, the confidence of his outstretched arm making her body tremble. And yet, she couldn’t stop herself, her legs working of their own accord, taking one step and then another until she reached for his hand.
His touch set her body aflame, starting at her palm and coiling through her like a snake. An unnatural warmth settled over her, melting away the icy dread inch by inch, her entire body humming with anticipation.
Jean-Philippe smiled, pulling her along until they stood outside her door.
“Well?” he asked, gesturing for her to enter, and Isabelle obeyed.
His gaze was hot against her neck as she unlatched the door, slipping in and trying to slam it shut behind her. All for naught, as Jean-Phillipe held his palm against it, pushing his way through with unexpected strength.
“Now, now. That wasn’t very nice, was it?”
“I-I’m sorry,” she found herself saying, backing away from him as if he were a wolf in disguise.
Jean-Philippe eyed her dark cottage for a moment before moving to a chair and taking a seat. He said nothing, fiddling with the wooden pieces on the chessboard her father had carved, eerie silence filling the space. Isabelle busied herself by lighting the candles, panic building as her shaky hands ignited flame after flame.
