Prologue
It came back to her often in dreams…
“Are you a virgin, little priestess?” he asks, his dark, unreadable eyes searching hers. They are in the small, dim closet together. Outside the clatter of the human celebration—a holiday called “Christmas”—is loud and happy.
But in the closet with him, the sounds are muted. Ellilah can hear her own heart pounding in her ears. The drugged punch he has forced her to drink is fizzing through her veins and she can feel the hot desire flowing through her body.
Her desire has always been a source of shame to her. She runs hot—as hot as the males in her family, she thinks. At least, all her brothers Joined with their mates young—though several of them were bonded before they got Joined—a great scandal on Torl Prime, her home planet.
But with males, of course, the urge to fornicate could be excused. Males have needs, after all, and as long as her brothers Joined with their brides before the brides’ bellies started to show, what harm was really done?
Of course, it’s different for a female—at last on Torl Prime. Elli knows she shouldn’t have desires at all—shouldn’t long to be touched and certainly shouldn’t touch herself at night, after lights out when everyone is supposed to be asleep. But she can’t help it—she’s always been drawn to self-pleasure…to desires of the flesh.
Like her knack with zorels, it’s not considered ladylike or proper in a female. It’s the reason she was sent to the Mother Ship to be a priestess in the first place. Or maybe her stepmother just wanted to be rid of her.
Either way, Elli has barely been here a month and already she is breaking the rules…Sneaking out after curfew to attend the human party. Joining in their festivities when she ought to be back at the Sacred Grove, meditating quietly instead.
Being around male warriors at all is grounds for punishment. For she hasn’t completed her Novicehood yet. And she has yet to partake in the Ceremony of Shriving and drink the Mortem Amore which will kill, once and for all, any desires of the flesh still lurking in her soul…
“Are you a virgin, little priestess?” he says again and this time Elli answers him.
“Yes,” she whispers, looking up into those unreadable eyes. She wished she knew what kind of Kindred he is. He looks like a Beast Kindred, with his braided beard and shaggy mane of black hair. But his eyes are dark, not golden as he looks down at her.
“I will not take your chastity,” he murmurs, tilting her chin up to his. “But forgive me—I must test the effectiveness of the potion.”
Then he bends down and takes her mouth in a kiss as sweet as Elli always dreamed her first kiss would be. Well, that is until she was shipped away to be a priestess. Now she’s not supposed to be kissing anyone. But she can’t stop—even though she doesn’t know him. Doesn’t even know his name.
But one kiss isn’t enough. As he pulls away, she reaches for him. Looping her arms around his neck, she pulls him back down. He doesn’t have to come—he’s nearly seven feet tall and immensely muscular while she’s barely five-five. But he comes anyway, allowing himself to be drawn down for more of the sweet-sticky forbidden kisses, flavored with the fruity punch he made her drink.
“Gods, little priestess,” he murmurs, when he pulls back at last. “That punch is potent stuff, isn’t it?”
He strokes her lightly, just over her breasts where her nipples poke against the coarse white fabric of her robes.
The touch is barely there but Elli feels her body respond at once—lighting up for him like the strange tree in the human’s party—the one they have strung with many small, twinkling lights. Her body feels like that now—sparking, lighting, coming to life under this stranger’s touch.
“Oh!” she gasps, her nipples peaking under his gentle caress.
“You like that, do you?” He cups one breast more firmly and strokes her tight nipple gently with his thumb. Even through the coarse robe, his touch stirs her almost unbearably. Elli feels as though the sparking has turned to a smoldering fire which might soon burst out into outright flame. More—she wants more.
And she suspects it isn’t just because of the punch, though that certainly helps things along. But thanks to the punch, she no longer feels any guilt or obligation to stop doing what feels good. What feels right.
“Easy, little priestess—you’re panting,” he murmurs. After stroking her nipple through the coarse white cloth of her robe a moment more, he pulls his big hand away.
But Elli doesn’t want him to go.
“Touch me,” she begs, reaching for his hand and placing it on her other breast.
He strokes it, almost reflexively.
“I should go now,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Clearly the punch is working.”