Page 5 of The Fallen

Again, my pulse quickens with every chaste step, with every minuscule bit of space between him and me. The distance closes far faster than I’d like until I’m face to face with him—my tormentor and my salvation.

His eyes turn black as coal as he stands there, watching me. For a moment, he sways, but it’s so slight, I cannot say for sure I’m not just seeing things. Inclining my head forward, I do my best to be reverent and respectful, but his scent overwhelms me.

It’s dark and masculine, something I’ve never experienced before moving here. No doubt the other priest that assisted through the gates was a beta and not prone to such odors. Or maybe it’s just him. Maybe it’s just Father Draven.

Closing my eyes, I draw the forbidden air deep into my lungs. It’s like the salty spray of the ocean as it slams against the rocks, of the scorching sun as it bakes the warm sand, and of dark twilight with only the stars to light the way.

He’s familiar and foreign all at once, an amalgamation of longing for the past and desperation for the future. As I lift my eyes, he smiles down at me, but it’s not tender. There’s something cruel lurking behind the depths of blue that calls me to sink further into the spell the Father Confessor weaves around me.

Just as quickly as it’s there, it’s gone again. Perhaps it’s merely the higher elevation and cold that makes me see such odd things and feel such conflicting emotions rioting through my body. Either way, I’m lost as he looks at me, holding my gaze for far longer than he did with the other Sisters.

I kneel at the altar, my breath coming in haggard gasps. If the Sisters around me notice, they make no mention. Sweat beads at my forehead as he starts from one side of the altar rail and moves over each Sister before coming to me.

“The Body of Christ, The Bread of Life,” he eventually murmurs, holding out a bit of bread for me to take.

My fingers tremble as I cross myself and slide it into my palm. The other Sisters slip it into their mouths, but I merely kneel there, holding onto it as my stomach revolts. I’ll have to partake, eventually.

Thankfully, I have these few minutes before he comes back with the wine. Just a few moments where I might collect myself and bring my attention back to Christ. But it doesn’t work.

All I can concentrate on is the maddening swirl of his cassock as he moves about, agile and seductive, like a serpent circling its prey. The glint of the silver chalice drives me to distraction, making my vision splinter and shatter until I have to close my eyes to keep the headache at bay.

Again, I hold out my palm, keeping the bread in the center as he comes back my way. The other Sisters can drink from his hand with nary an issue, but it seems as if I am not that strong.I don’t even dare look at him as he takes the bread from me and dips it into the chalice.

“The Blood of Christ, the Cup of Salvation.” His words pour over me like warm honey drizzling over a hot, buttered roll.

It does things to my calm, disturbs me in a way I cannot articulate. A soft moan, so slight that it’s nearly unperceivable, flits past my lips as I hold my mouth open to him, inviting this Father Confessor to slide his fingers inside to rub the Holy Communion against my tongue. He hovers over me, looming over my bent, submissive form.

I don’t even question the intrusive thoughts as they thrum through me, making me burn once more as he sets the thin wafer against my sensitive organ. Instead of pulling back, he keeps his fingers there for a moment, pausing, rubbing me as he pulls back out.

For just that infinitesimal instant, my world goes dark as I pitch forward, forcing his thick digits even further into my mouth until I gag. With a loud roar, he pulls back as I fall against the altar rail in a slump. His hands are rough as they grip me hard through the billowing sleeves of my habit.

So strong, so virile, and so masculine. So inappropriate for me to contemplate. Soon, other hands, softer, gentler, feminine hands, scoop me up and carry me away.

As I blink, the other Sisters come into focus, their eyes traveling over my body as they lead me away. For a moment, my feet refuse to find the floor. They splay out from under me as if I’m a newborn colt in need of assistance.

“Are you well?” one of them asks as she lays her hand against my cheeks. “She’s warm. Perhaps the infirmary?”

“No,” I croak, glancing back at the Father Confessor, noting the worry pinching his brows as he finishes serving the wine to the other Sisters. “I think I kneeled wrong, is all. Possibly cutoff blood to my brain. As for feeling warm, I think it is just the contrast between the outside and here. I- I think I’ll be fine.”

“Be that as it may,” Mother Superior murmurs, pulling me further off to the side to not be a distraction. “I feel a day in bed will serve you well. You’re still getting used to things here. At the convent, you were not overwhelmed with all this extra stimulation. I fear it might be too much for you.”

“No!” I cry out, gripping the front of her habit. “Please, don’t send me away. I will try harder. Do better-”

“Silence, my child. No one is sending you away. I merely worry about your health.”

I glance over her shoulder, watching as the service continues without me. “I don’t know what to do,” I finally admit, unease slinking over my body like an oily film.

“Fear not, Sister Agnes. In time, you will learn our ways and become used to dealing with the public. In the meantime, I’m restricting you to the abbey. You may assist with chores around here and one of the other Sisters will take over your tutoring.”

“But-”

She holds up her hand. “No buts. My word is final. It was against my better judgment that I allowed you so much unfettered access at all. Why, with your history, I should have kept you secluded from the onset and allowed you freedoms at a much slower pace.”

Then I wouldn’t have seen the Father Confessor until I was far stronger to handle the pure Alphaness about him. A romantic notion, to be sure, but I’d wager my very soul that the outcome would have been the same. Nothing would have prepared me for him.

With great reluctance, I hang my head and allow the Mother Superior to guide me back to my room. The only blessing is the frigid wind that bites at my face, cooling the heat still climbingmy cheeks. As she opens my door, I turn, my insides still twisting as I make sense of everything.

“Will I have to spend my time in silence?”

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