Embrace of the Goddess
Chapter 9: Dreams & Prisons
By Trixie Adara
You walk through your mother’s garden. Each tulip and primrose are in bloom. The scent is thick in the air, like the summer heat of a muggy swamp. It wraps around you, caressing your skin, sliding up and down your back, your neck, your legs.
You walk for hours, lured be some strange yet familiar scent. It is sickly sweet, like an overripe strawberry. It’s the wrong season, and you go deeper and deeper into the garden, looking for it.
As you go, the walls of the garden crumble. There are vines and flowers. Animals roam. The flowers don’t lose their beauty for the savagery. The wildlife revel in your sight, in the sound of your steps in their wilderness, in the taste of your scent mingling with theirs.
You spot the source of the smell: a carpet of jasmine flowers that cover a ruined throne. The smell is right, but the rot is wrong. The flowers are in bloom. Your timing is perfect. You reach out and pluck one, then hiss from the sting of the thornless plant.
Blood swells on your fingertips. You bring them to your lips and suck, but it is not the iron you’ve known your whole life. It is the pungent and sticky scent that haunts the shattered garden. You pull the finger away, but the blood returns quickly. You suck at it again, and the same taste washes over you like lover’s hands. You sigh into it, but when you pull the finger away, it’s still bleeding.
So you keep feeding.
Orilana took another bath when she woke up. Water was in short supply in the corner of the Abbey where the paladins were hiding, but she couldn’t lead her people drenched in sweat and reeking of lust. There was a rebellion to put down — an incursion by the worst foe of their goddess — and she could barely keep her mind focused on the task at hand.
This would have been a lot easier if Iriel had never kissed her. Fighting Maloth was going to be hard enough, but trying to fight off her best friend crushed her. Add the kiss and —
“Captain?” asked Harza.
“Hm?” Orilana looked at the small council of paladins that she was meeting with. They all stared at her. Two of them were covered in dirt and gore from a night of patrolling and fighting off demons and nymphs.
“We’re running out of cells for the … afflicted,” said Harza. The half-orc sergeant’s bravery and reliability made her an easy choice for second-in-command. She was lithe and muscular, with the sides of her hair shaved, and the hair on top spiky and dark when it wasn’t matted down by a helmet or sweat. Her dark green skin and tusks made her the target of rumors and speculation from other paladins — Orcs were often a wild and dangerous foe — but there was none gentler in the Abbey than Harza.
“Ah, right. How many from last night’s raid?”
“We just said —”
“I know,” sighed Orilana. “I apologize. I’m not getting much sleep.”
Eyes darted around the room at each other. That could be interpreted several ways, but the conclusion was the same: maybe Orilana wasn’t fit to lead them.
“Three,” said one of the elven paladins.
Orilana shook her head. “Pierced, charmed, or worse?”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “We cut down anyone beyond ch—”
“That’s enough,” said Harza softly. “Just answer the Captain’s question.”
“Three charmed,” said the elf with a bite. “Two were put down.”
Orilana ran her hands through her hair. On one hand, Maloth didn’t want to kill any of the paladins. She seduced and corrupted them, but the demon goddess was never the one doing the ripping and slaying. The paladins had to cut down their own sisters that were pierced or forced into the pools. Anyone simply charmed was forced to sit in a cell until they detoxed or the charm could be dispelled.
But they were running out of cells in this shabby cave.
“We can’t keep this up forever,” said a human woman still wrapped in bandages. Kivyet had ripped the piercings out of her nipples before their power took effect. She was still recovering but refused to abandon her role as guard or councilor.
“I know,” said Orilana.
“No,” said Harza softly. “We don’t mean a few more weeks or months. We may be talking days before we’re too small to defend this place.”
“Exactly,” said Kivyet.
“But we have the Staff of Eclipse,” said Orilana.
“And have you any breakthroughs in using it?” asked a pale half-elf with bright red hair.
“No,” said Orilana. She had been forced to stay with the Staff of Eclipse night after night, trying to make sense of its power. Perhaps it could cure those afflicted. It may even save Iriel. But paladins were trained in the combat magic and only the most basic of healing and casting. They weren’t skilled enough to do much with it.
“If you can’t maintain the stamina to defeat a stronger opponent, what do you do?” Serra, an Aasimar that was usually silent during these meetings, said.
“Run,” said Orilana.
“And when you can’t?” The angelic woman turned her pale white eyes on her. Serra had always been more angel than woman. It made most of the paladins distrust her, though Orilana thought it should always have done the opposite.
“End it quick, probably at a high cost.”
“How can we end it?” asked Kivyet. “We’re outnumbered.”
“We need information,” said the elven woman.
“I agree,” said Harza. “We need to know what Iriel wants and what she can or can’t do.”
Orilana nodded. “If Maloth had really returned, she could have blasted us out of this cave.”
“So she must need something.”
“The staff,” said Serra.
“That,” said Serra as she stood. “Is what we need to find out.”
The few paladins with a mind for the intricacies of magic had looked at the piercings they’d taken from a few women. They didn’t know how they worked beyond controlling those that were pierced. The paladins were cut off from the library and anything else more reliable. They were fighting blind.
“Send a team,” said Orilana. “A stealth operation.”
“Who wants to go?”
They all raised their hands.
“Kivyet, you’re hurt,” said Orilana.
“I don’t plan to do much fighting,” said the woman. “Besides, I don’t need nipples to sneak.”
The half-elf woman flinched at the thought of having damaged nipples. Some said Kivyet had none, but that wasn’t true.
“I need some here to help me watch over this.”
“I’ll stay,” said Harza. “But I’m willing to go if that will be better.”
“You stay,” said Orilana. “The rest?” she looked at the wounded and tired women and the impassive and almost immortal eyes of Serra. “Rest up. Gather whatever you need. You get the best. If we’re not going to last long, there’s no point in saving it for a rainy day. This is it.”
The women nodded in agreement. “Agreed,” said Serra. They all stood up, feeling the ending of the meeting.
“Dismissed,” said Orilana.
You run through the smoke of the burning building. From deep inside, you hear the cries of a woman, panicked and afraid. You call out to her and calm her. But the smoke drowns out your voice. It drowns out vision and smell. Your body awakens and burns. It lusts for oxygen, but only drinks in smoke upon smoke.
The walls crumble around you, and the way is shut behind you. You follow the voice, the only hope of life in this abandoned place. It’s high and desperate. It’s almost a shriek. You want to tell her to conserve air.
You find her in the bedroom, but the woman there is charred to a husk. There is a silhouette of shadow and smoke lying beside her. The shadow’s legs are spread, and one hand is between them. The shrieking comes from the smoke, and now it sounds like moaning.
Behind you, the building collapses until there is nothing but this room and the smoke. The ash of the corpse flutters away. There is only the smoke and the flame. There is only the heat and the moans. There is only the fire. There is only the smoke as it floats towards you and presses against you.
When the moans wrap around you, you don’t know where they come from anymore.
“I’m not convinced it’s wrong,” said Harza over breakfast.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Still not getting sleep?”
Orilana rubbed her eyes. “No.”
“Maybe you should take less baths.”
The Captain lifted her head to stare down the half-orc. Harza looked appropriately ashamed and turned away. “Guess not,” she muttered.
“The cold baths keep me awake,” said Orilana. “That’s how —”
“You don’t need to explain it to me,” said Harza. “I apologize, Captain. I overstepped.”
Orilana finished the last of her dried apple. Her stomach grumbled for more, but that wasn’t going to happen. She refused to lose because they were starved out. She’d conserve, for now.
“Do you have siblings, Sergeant?”
Harza shook her head. “Just a tribe, but I don’t — for obvious reasons, I don’t —”
“I understand.” Orilana knew that Harza came from a brutal people. They had asked her to butcher some slaves to make a point. She couldn’t do it. They claimed it was her human side and sent her away. Even during her interview to join the Abbey, getting her to talk about it was like pulling her tusks.
“I have six sisters,” said Orilana. “And the more time we spend cramped in this tiny cave, the more I’m starting to feel like a girl in my mother’s house.”
“Too many eyes. Too much pressure. Too much …” Orilana waved her hands as she struggled to find the word.
“No privacy,” said Harza.
“It was the same in the tribe, though some of the things fancy elves want privacy for are a bit silly to Orcs.”
“Well no Orc blinks when they hear rutting from the tent nearby, but I imagine it’d be the scandal of the Abbey.”
“Oh,” Orilana blushed and looked away.
“Though that’d be debauchery here, I guess,” said Harza.
“But I thought with our battle against Maloth and —”
“Azora isn’t against love making between consensual adults. What Maloth is suggesting is different.”
“What about two women?” asked Harza.
“I don’t think Azora frowns on that.”
“Then what are we —”
“Maloth is a predatory creature,” said Orilana. “Azora is a goddess of love and respect. Nothing that happens between the worshippers of Maloth is built on that. They celebrate lust and hunger and carnality and taking. They have perverted Azora’s gifts.”
“Among the Orcs, I have seen some horrible things that I know Azora would condemn. I have also seen beautiful things that I think Azora would condemn.”
Orilana sighed. “I wish I could leave theology to the theologians.”
Harza smirked. It twisted the pale silver scar on one cheek. “What does that mean?”
“It means that I’m not fighting Maloth’s theology. Nor am I proselytizing for Azora. I’ll leave that for the clerics if we can save them.”
“But what about —”
“We’re fighting Maloth. A demon goddess. She possesses people and takes them against their will. She hurts them for fun, for pleasure. She turns them into monsters. I don’t care who’s right and who’s wrong when it comes to sex. Maloth is wrongness herself.”
Harza shrugs. “Makes sense to me.”
They fell into a silence, but the questions still lingered with Orilana. If she weren’t a member of the Abbey, if she weren’t a paladin, would she want to have these experiences with other people? Other women? It seemed strange to think that her role as a paladin — that being in service to Azora — would disqualify her from ever making love. Though it was technically her vow, why would Azora keep her servants from the thing she blessed and encouraged among her followers? Azora was a goddess of love. Why shouldn’t Orilana be allowed to make love to a man or a woman if she wanted?
Who was she kidding? She was thinking about Iriel.
Slaying Maloth was an obvious good. It was Iriel that muddled the water. Her friend was listening to darkness incarnate.
Not her friend, not quite. Iriel had — no.
It didn’t matter. Perhaps the information her team gathered could tell her what Maloth wanted. But maybe — if they were lucky — it could tell her how to reverse the change. It wasn’t just for Iriel’s sake. Or at least, it wasn’t entirely for Iriel’s sake. If Orilana could undo the hurt Maloth had done to her sisterhood and the Abbey, then they could start to rebuild. As it stood, there was no perfect fix for this. Even if they won, the Abbey would be crippled for generations. They would battle and sweat only to be crippled at the end. Sometimes Orilana wondered if it would be better to give in, to run into the burning building instead of away from —
“What’s that?” Harza jerked her head around and several other paladins stood up. There was some commotion from the entrance to the cave. Orilana stood up and moved to the front of the crowd gathering. There she saw the team she’d sent down into the Abbey. Kivyet and Serra were dragging a lanky and bony demon with brown skin down to the prisons they had. The crowd parted for Orilana, and the captain followed her two paladins down to the side cavern where they kept prisoners.
“Where are —”
“Didn’t make it,” said Harza from behind her.
Orilana stifle the urge to curse.
The demon howled and lunged to one side, pushing Kivyet away from her and freeing one arm. But Serra grabbed the free wrist like a viper. Her hands glowed white, and the demon’s skin crackled and peeled away as the stench of burning flesh and rotten meat filled the passageway. The demon shrieked and bucked, but Serra was unyielding. Smoke rose from the skin, and eventually the demon sagged and gave up.
“What is it?” asked Harza.
Kivyet turned and looked at her.
“You mean you don’t recognize Farryn?”
Orilana gasped. Farryn, the red-haired wonder and apprentice to Fella. She had been one of the greatest minds of the Abbey, and one of the most promising wielders of magic. Now she was nothing more than tight skin and bones that stuck out and looked like armor over a wraith. Her once beautiful and fiery hair was now wiry and dull. She had long claws and — no. She was nothing like Farryn. There was nothing of the former acolyte left in that body.
“Lock her up,” said Orilana. “Our best guards if we have to.”
“I’ll watch her,” said Serra. “I don’t have to sleep as much as —”
“You should sleep,” said Harza. “You don’t want to —”
“I’ll watch her.” Serra’s voice was cold and hollow. “For the sake of my two sisters, I’ll find the strength.”
The rest of the paladins were silent as Serra and Kivyet took Farryn to a cell. The two women looked battered and weary. Orilana dreaded the report they would give her. Every time she tried to imagine what Maloth would do to one of her paladins, the dark goddess did something worse.
“I can’t believe that’s Farryn,” whispered Harza next to Orilana.
“Neither can I. But there’s one bit of good news.”
“She’ll have answers for us.”
You wander through a maze of mirrors. You’re reflected in a dozen lights and shapes. The sight of your pale ashen skin and dark hair anchor you. The lines of your muscles remind you that you can smash your way out. You’re not trapped here.
And yet you keep walking.
As you go, the reflections twist into nightmares. You see yourself at a thousand wicked angles. You are a succubus with wings and a flaming whip. You are a pale shadow with fangs glistening red. You are hoofed and clawed. You are horned and dark. You are pale and twisted. You are tall and bony. You are curvy and seductive. You are large and muscular. You are hunched and crooked. You are beautiful and horrible. You are everything you feared.
And yet you keep walking.
The maze leads to a dark chamber lit by torches on the wall. In the center is a pentagram drawn on onyx stone in red salt or chalk or blood. It stains the floor and captures the light of it. Laying in the center, naked and waiting for you, is a demon. Her hair is black and cascades down her back. She has horns, claws, hooves, and a tail flicking. Her skin is a pale lavender, and smoke billows out of her like breath in the cold. Her eyes are solid black and glitter like obsidian.
She smiles and purrs at the sight of you.
One clawed hand reaches down and begins to idly tease the demon’s pussy. She moans, and you burn with lust and shame. It is then that you remember your nudity. In each reflection of the twisted halls, you were bare. You are bare. There is no armor to defend yourself, no sword to cut the demon down. There is no hiding.
The demon whispers your name, and with her free hand beckons you to come closer. You recognize her voice though her body is twisted: Iriel. She’s inviting you into the pentagram, to join her dark ritual. The hand at her pussy moves faster, and she moans your name this time. You want to flee, to strike, to lash out.
And yet you keep walking.
Walking towards your lover.
Farryn’s cackling filled the prisons. No matter what they did to her, there was no breaking the demon. They were running out of time. Two days of interrogating, and the demon only mocked them. Some of the paladins reported Farryn appearing in their nightmares. Some said they couldn’t sleep through the sound of her high pitched and cruel laughter.
No matter how much time Orilana spent with Farryn, she could never get over the demon’s body. The twisted lines and cruel protrusions. It looked as though it hurt for the creature to move, to breathe, to be. And yet there was a terrible feline grace to each of Farryn’s movements. The power in the beast was undeniable. It seemed to enjoy what it had become. Orilana wondered if Iriel felt the same.
Somebody said something.
The captain flexed her hands and looked down at her fingers. They were calloused and scarred from hundreds of fights. She kept her nails short, but they were perpetually dirty with sweat and dirt. They weren’t what she thought of as feminine, but at least they weren’t the crooked claws of Farryn.
Or the crooked claws of Iriel.
Orilana had assumed her best friend was in agony as she was transformed into a monstrosity. But perhaps that’s not it. Perhaps she’s loving it as much as Farryn. Perhaps she’s powerful and feels complete. What would it be like to trade fingertips for claws? What kind of lover could Iriel make with claws? Would it be pleasure or pain? Could it be both?
“Captain,” snapped Harza.
“Huh?” Orilana looked up. Harza and Serra were both looking at her. On the ground, in chains, Farryn was laughing at the captain.
“What do you think?” said the half-orc. Harza was haggard and worn out. Even Serra had lost her luster and intimidating presence over the last two days.
Serra sighed. “She’s not getting sleep,” said Harza to the half-angel. “It’s okay.”
“None of us are getting sleep,” said Serra. “If she can’t focus, she should go get some sleep.”
Sleep. Where more dreams would haunt Orilana. “No,” said the captain quickly. “I’m fine. Just catch me up. I apologize.”
“I’ve asked permission to … encourage it to talk,” said Serra. Her hands glowed white.
“My thoughts exactly,” said Harza. “We’re better than that. We don’t need to —”
“This is a war,” snapped Serra. “We don’t have time to —”
“If we sink to their level, then we’re no better than —”
“It’s a demon. Why on earth are you protecting a demon that —”
“She’s our sister. Perhaps there’s a way to change her back and —”
“Enough!” roared Orilana. She stood up, and her two sergeants looked at her. Her head throbbed with pain. Orilana turned to Farryn and approached the demon. It smiled wide, revealing teeth that were sharpened to points. “Is there a way to turn you back?”
Farryn laughed at them.
Serra sighed. “This is what I’m talking —”
“No!” snapped Orilana. “Leave me alone with her.”
“Captain?” asked Harza. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“Double or triple the guard at the door. I don’t care. If she escapes, cut her down.”
Serra stepped up to Orilana’s side. “Captain, I can —”
“No,” said Orilana. “I’ll do this.” She turned and looked at her two sergeants. They looked at her like she was crazy. Perhaps she was. Perhaps the sleep deprivation was getting to them all.
“Go,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”
“No, you won’t,” said Farryn. Her voice was grating and cruel. She clearly delighted in their fear and uncertainty.
Serra grabbed for her blade. “Captain, let me —”
“Go,” said Orilana softly.
Harza and Serra gave each other one last nervous glance and towards the door of the prisons. Around them, other women that were still afflicted with charms moaned and whimpered at the sight of flesh. Most of them thrust against the bars of their prisons in erotic despair. The paladins did their best to ignore them.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” asked Farryn.
“I have questions.”
“Nothing new there.”
Orilana looked down at her hands. She was picking at her thumbnail, imagining how it would feel if it were a claw.
“There’s no way to change you back, is there?” said Orilana softly.
“I wouldn’t want it if there was.”
Orilana shook her head. “That’s a manifestation of your affliction.”
“Which came first, the chicken or the egg?” Farryn laughed. “The twisted soul or the twisted flesh.” The bony demon shrugged against the chains binding her to a pole in the center of her cell. “Same paradox.”
“Maloth says you were always this way?”
Farryn’s smile spread, showing her sharpened teeth. It kept going until it revealed her entire huge mouth. Orilana looked away. “We all are,” said Farryn.
“I don’t believe that.”
Orilana thought of Iriel. She hadn’t always been a monster. Even when Orilana saw her last. When they had … kissed. Iriel wasn’t a monster then, not completely. The beastly flesh her friend was trapped in didn’t match the demon haunting Orilana’s dreams. Maybe she wasn’t done transforming. Which means it can’t all reflect who she always was.
“The piercings,” said Orilana, looking back up at Farryn. “They control you?”
“They open our minds.”
Orilana arched an eyebrow. “Now you’re talking?”
Farryn ran her tongue over her teeth. “It’s just us monsters here.”
“I’m not a —”
“She’s got plans for you, you know?”
Orilana’s chest tightened. “Iriel? Or …”
Farryn laughed. “There is no Iriel.”
“The High Priestess,” clarified Orilana. Maybe Iriel was using a different name now. Maybe she was as corrupted as Farryn, but her best friend had to be under there somewhere. She had to be. “She has plans for me?”
“Oh yes. Talks about you all the time.”
Orilana stepped closer. “What does she say?”
“You know she wants you, don’t you?” Farryn chuckled to herself. “Fool says she loves you.”
Orilana gasped. Iriel had said it before, and she said it back, but she assumed it was a trap. She ran from Iriel because she felt the walls closing in around her. It had to be a trap. Maloth was a seducer, and she had taught Iriel her ways. What better way to lower Orilana’s defenses and lure her under Maloth’s sway? Iriel had offered her something Orilana ached for but never named.
“She says it still?” whispered Orilana, stepping closer.
“Not to just anyone, but I’ve been helping her with her little projects. Sometimes she mutters it in her sleep.”
“Projects? The piercings. You helped make the piercings, didn’t you? You were always an exquisite artificer.”
“What do they do?” Orilana stepped closer. She was inches from the bars of Farryn’s cell. “What are they?”
“Made from Maloth’s bones. Did you know that?”
Orilana nodded. “We knew it was bone, but … no.” She shook her head. “We didn’t know.”
“They power a little spell to make someone more compliant.” Farryn chuckled. “But the newer models will make someone horny and desperate and docile and eager to have all their friends get piercings too.” The beast smiled wide again, revealing her whole mouth. “They’ll be piercing each other in the end. Like a goddamn plague.”
“And … Iriel. Is she —”
“There is no Iriel.”
“The High Priestess. Is she pierced as well?”
Orilana’s lips parted, and she closed her eyes. She imagined the ringed piercings of white bones with glowing purple runes adorning her best friend’s breasts. She forced herself to see them on copper skin and pink nipples rather than the lavender and dark purple that Iriel undoubtedly had now. She wanted to see Iriel as she used to be, even if it was naked and pierced.
No. Orilana opened her eyes. Not naked. Not anything like that.
“Not pierced,” said Farryn. “She doesn’t need it.”
“She isn’t … she’s not forced?”
Farryn laughed. “She invited it.”
“Was she tricked? Seduced?”
But Farryn didn’t answer. The bony demon just laughed and laughed. If she weren’t chained to a pole, Orilana could imagine the demon falling to her side and holding her stomach as laughter shook her to her core.
“Tell me!” said Orilana. She stepped forward and wrapped her hands around the bars of Farryn’s cell.
Farryn lifted her cold and lifeless eyes to Orilana as she calmed down. “Not every woman is a victim here.” She spoke softly, and Orilana was unnerved by the strange gentleness.
“Sure, some are. Some are perfect angels. We pierce them, drown them in the pools, and they’re reborn. But some of us have been waiting our whole lives to be free of these shackles.” She shrugged against the chains holding her to the pole and laughed at her own joke.
“Are you —”
“Ask Fella and Mola.” Farryn laughed again. “Or Melior as they are now. They were naughty girls before. Shameful what they did. But now they delight in it.”
“But Iriel —”
“Maybe she’s no different. Maybe she’s been longing to feel a woman’s lips over every inch of her body for a long time?” Farryn shrugged again, and her chains rattled. “Maybe it’s you she’s been imagining doing all that kissing.”
“You ever had your pussy licked?” Farryn said it simply, as though asking if Orilana had ever been to Tinue.
“What? No. I —”
“Can you imagine having a beautiful woman between your legs? Her soft and wet tongue gliding over you? Setting each nerve in your body on fire?”
Orilana sighed and pressed against the bars. Her grip tightened to hold her up as her knees softened. Iriel in the pentagram. She hadn’t imagined it, but she dreamt it. It was real as a memory. Iriel licked her, and though Orilana writhed among the blood marking the ritual, she didn’t pull away.
“You hold her head in place and drive her deeper,” said Farryn.
That’s exactly what Orilana did in her dream.
“Her tongue slithers inside you.”
“Reaching spots you didn’t know you had.”
“Yes,” whispered Orilana.
“Melting you in the most exquisite kind of death.”
Around her, in the other prison cells, the charmed women were writhing against the bars of their cells and moaning. They made a symphony of their pleasure, and Orilana felt the heat of their hot breath on her neck. She turned to look at them and —
Farryn dashed out the chains she had broken long ago and grabbed Orilana’s hands through the bar, holding the captain in place while the other prisoners kept moaning.
“We’re not so different,” said Farryn.
Orilana tried to pull away, but Farryn’s sharp claws dug into her wrists. “Please,” whimpered Orilana.
“I’m not the one trapped,” said Farryn. Then she let go of Orilana’s hands and stepped back into her cell. She licked the blood from her fingertips and laughed as Orilana backed away.
The captain turned and left the prisons. She climbed the steps and opened the door. Harza stepped up first, asking what happened, but Orilana only turned to Serra and told her to make the demon talk. Harza asked about Orilana’s bleeding wrists, but the captain walked past them all. Her head was fuzzy and still burning.
I’m not the one trapped.
Orilana walked through the caves to the tiny room that was reserved for her at the back. Other paladins asked her if she was okay. Some asked her questions about their food stores or the timeline for the next attack. But Orilana ignored them all.
You ever had your pussy licked?
She walked into the room and closed the door behind her. She didn’t bother to peel off her clothes or even get into her cot. She leaned against the door and slid her hands into her breeches, reaching between her legs. She was wet. Goddess, she was soaked. She should be ashamed to —
But she pushed through, sliding a finger over her clit while the others casually glided between the lips of her pussy. She closed her eyes and revisited the dream. She could feel Iriel’s hair in her hands. She tried to imagine her fingers were the High Priestess’s tongue. She wanted to feel Iriel deep inside of her. All the way. She didn’t care about the pentagram or the thin door separating her from her troops. She didn’t care. It didn’t matter. She wanted Iriel. Iriel. Iriel.
“Iriel,” she whispered.
A howl ripped through the caves as Serra began forcing Farryn to talk. But at the end of each shriek there was an upturn, as though the pain was a question. It may have confused the other paladins, but Orilana could hear it now. It was pleasure. It was the quick slip of a moan. Pain was heaven to Farryn. There was no way to force her to talk without power. None of them had enough to compel the demon.
But Farryn’s moans echoing throughout the caves only pushed Orilana further. Her knees softened and sagged as she played with herself faster. She tried to slide more fingers inside of herself and regretted not stripping. She couldn’t get the angle. She needed more. She needed it deeper. Iriel had a long tongue — a demon’s tongue. She could slide all the way inside Orilana. There was no place Iriel couldn’t reach, no crevice she couldn’t slip through and taste.
“Iriel,” moaned Orilana as she slid further down the door. There was more chaos and rumbling in the caves behind them, but Orilana didn’t care. She was so close. She needed to cum. Days and weeks. Even a lifetime of celibacy. She needed to break, to try it, to give herself permission. Maybe Farryn was right. Maybe some were always born different, born off. Maybe Iriel was that way, but maybe Orilana was too. Maybe they could be that together.
“Iriel,” moaned Orilana. She was close. She was —
“Captain!” There was a banging on the door behind Orilana.
“Just one minute,” said Orilana. She was breathless. They must be able to hear it in her voice — the lust and debauchery. They must know what she was doing in here. They knew she’s touching herself, that she’s giving herself over to —
“Captain!” The banging was harder and incessant. “It’s an emergency.”
Orilana whimpered as she pulled her hand free and adjusted her breeches. She looked for something to wipe her hands on but settled for her pants. She opened the door, and Harza was standing there with seven other paladins.
“What?” snarled Orilana.
Harza jumped at the tone of her captain. “There’s someone here to —”
“Iriel?” asked Orilana. She hated the softness in her voice, the obvious eagerness, but her heart leapt at the thought of —
“No,” said Harza. “Rella.”
“Yes. It seems she’s escaped the other side and brought another prisoner.”
Orilana pushed through the crowd of paladins and stormed back through her camp. There was a crowd at the cave entrance, and the moaning from Farryn had stopped. The crowd parted for Orilana, and she walked with Harza to the entrance of the cave where several guards were talking to another woman.
Orilana recognized her immediately by her thick white veil that covered her head to toe, only revealing her captivating eyes. She was the one that had always been bothering Iriel. She was devout and almost fanatical. How did she escape?
But Orilana’s questions faded as she saw the prisoner beside the acolyte. She was in chains, with an iron mask latched over her face, especially her mouth. But the ghostly white hair and amused eyes left no doubt. Orilana’s old sergeant had arrived.
“Hello Prim,” Orilana said.