“I didn’t touch it,”Isay quickly—a blatant lie, told right in the temple–but it comes rolling off my tongue anyway.“Iswear it.Iwas just standing here when—whensheappeared.”
“She?”SisterAgathademands.“Shewho?”
“The witch,”Iwhisper but at least this part is true.Myvoice trembles despite my best efforts.“Grizalyn.Shewas here.She…she knew me.Sheasked me questions and then—then she took it.”
A ripple of unease moves through the gatheredSisters.
“The witch entered the temple?”one of them breathes.
“That’s impossible,” another insists, though her voice lacks conviction.“Thewards to keep out evil?—”
“I saw her,”Isay, a little more firmly this time.“Shecame out of the air itself.Andwhen she left…”Iswallow, remembering the choking smoke, the bitter smell.“Shetook theGrimoirewith her.”
SisterAgathastudies me for a long moment.
I force myself to hold her gaze, even as the heat inside me pulses again–sharper this time–making it harder to focus.Mybody feels too tight, too aware–every nerve ending turned inward toward that one relentless need.
At last, she looks away.
“Seal the doors,” she orders crisply.“Doublethe wards.Noone enters or leaves the temple until we understand how this breach occurred.”
The otherSistersmove at once, their outrage shifting into controlled, purposeful motion.Somehurry toward the doors, others toward the windows, their hands already lifting to weave spells into the air.
“TheGrimoiremust be recovered,” one of them says.“Withoutit?—”
“We will recover it,”SisterAgathasnaps.“Butfirst, we ensure our own house is secure.”
Her gaze flicks back to me briefly.
“Return to your dormitory,Elowen,” she says coldly.“Youwill not leave it untilIsay otherwise.”
Relief and dread twist together in my chest.
“Yes,Sister,”Imurmur.
I turn quickly, before anyone can stop me, and make my way out of the library.Thesound of the alarm follows me down the corridor, fading only gradually asIdescend the broad marble staircase.
The temple feels different now.Theairy openness that once comforted me—the soft light filtering through high windows, the green of the trailing vines and flowering plants—now feels exposed.Tooopen.Toowatchful.Everyshadow seems deeper, every whisper louder.
And all the while, the heat inside me builds.Bythe timeIreach the dormitory,I’mtrembling.
The room is nearly empty.Onlya few of the younger acolytes remain, huddled together and whispering anxiously about the alarm, about the missing book, about the witch who may or may not be real.
No one looks at me.Orif they do, they look away quickly.
I go to my cot and sit down, my hands gripping the edge of the thin mattress.ThemomentI’mstill, the full force of it crashes over me.
Theneed.
It pulses through me in heavy, insistent waves, impossible to ignore now thatI’mno longer surrounded by noise and questions and watchful eyes.Mybreath comes faster asItry to fight it, to push it down, toignoreit.
I can’t–it’s worse than before.Somuch worse.
It feels like a thirst–a terrible, unrelenting thirst that no amount of willpower can quench.
I press my thighs together, squeezing my eyes shut asItry to steady myself, but the sensation only intensifies.Everythought seems to circle back to it, drawn inescapably toward the same place…toward the same memory.
I can’t stop thinking aboutTheron.Hishands…the way he looked at me—not with cruelty or hunger, but with something gentler.Somethingthat made me feel…safe.Theway he touched me…the way he sucked my nipples and stroked my pussy…the way he made me come harder thanIever have in my life…
